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Yucks Digest V7 #28 (mixed nuts; many seasonal)
Yucks Digest Fri, 19 Dec 97 Volume 7 : Issue 28
Today's Topics:
Basketball Advice
Daddy, can we go to the sanitary plumbing museum?
Don't Blame San Francisco
Funny world we live in....
FW: Forward to Fun Bunchers
Guffaws #174
Ho, ho, ho! -- A Christmas book review
Hugh No!
It's a Wonderful Machine
Martha Stewart & Erma Bombeck
Martha Stewart Christmas
Maybe you should get rid of the body before you do the wash.
Oh my.
The Comedian's-eye View of 12/12/97
The Comedian's-eye View of 12/18/97
The X(mas) Files
yet more mixed gags
Unique Case of Aerial Sleigh-Borne Present-Deliverer's Syndrome
The "Yucks" digest is a moderated list of the bizarre, the unusual,
the sometimes risque, the possibly insane, and the (usually) humorous.
It is issued on a semi-regular basis, as the whim and time present
themselves.
Back issues can be obtained via WWW as
<http://www.cs.purdue.edu/homes/spaf/yucks.html>; back issues and
subscriptions can be obtained using a mail server. Send mail to
"yucks-request@cs.purdue.edu" with a "Subject:" line of the single word
"help" for instructions.
Submissions and problem reports should be sent to spaf@cs.purdue.edu
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: Thu, 11 Dec 1997 08:35:34 -0700
From: cdash@ludell.uccs.edu (Charlie Shub)
Subject: Basketball Advice
To: spaf
Adapted-by: Charlie Shub
From: Peter Langston <psl@langston.com>
Forwarded-by: "Otermat, Dennis E" <Dennis.Otermat@unisys.com>
Forwarded-by: Cantu, Emilio G
Forwarded-by: Christen, Charlie C
Bobby Knight, clearly upset about Indiana's losing record,
decides to find out from Roy Williams what his secret is. So, Bobby
travels up to a jayhawk practice and asks Roy, "Coach, how is it that your
team is so good? What's your secret?"
Roy responds by calling Raef LaFrenz over. "Faef, who's your father's
brother's nephew?" LaFrenz answers, "Why coach, that's easy. It's me."
Williams turns to Knight and says, "That's the secret, Bobby. A smart
playmaker. You've got to have a smart playmaker."
Thinking he's finally got all the tools he needs, Knight returns to Bloomington
and the Hoosier work-out. He promptly calls over his star playmaker. "Who's
your father's brother's nephew?" The player looks perplexed, thinks a minute and
says, "Coach, can I get back to you after practice on that one?" Knight
(disgusted) says, "OK."
During practice, the playmaker calls over the point guard. "Say, coach just asked
me the weirdest question. Who's your father's brother's nephew?" Point Guard:
"Duh! That's easy. It's me!"
After practice, the playmaker catches up with Knight: "Coach, I think I've got
it. My father's brother's nephew is our point guard."
Knight (angrily): "No, No, NO! You idiot!! It's Raef LaFrenz!!!"
------------------------------
Date: Fri, 12 Dec 1997 12:05:02 -0500 (EST)
From: Nev Dull <nev@bostic.com>
Subject: Daddy, can we go to the sanitary plumbing museum?
To: nev@bostic.com (/dev/null)
Forwarded-by: Scott Patrick <transplex@pol.net>
Daddy, can we go to the sanitary plumbing museum?
When you go on vacation, you're expected to visit museums. It's
obligatory. But for many people, the thought of standing in line to see
important art or ancient artifacts reminds them of all the boring lectures
they were subjected to in school. For those folks, there is an answer.
For instance, while in Chicago, they could visit the International Museum
of Surgical Science (That's something to tell the 'ER' fans about back
home). Or, in Connecticut, there's the Nut Museum in Old Lyme, the Barnum
Museum (as in P.T.) in Bridgeport and the Children's Garbage Museum in
Stratford. All of the above institutions are featured in 'OFFBEAT
MUSEUMS' by Saul Rubin (Santa Monica Press/238 pgs./$17.95, out now),
which profiles oddball collections and curators around the country. There
are museums devoted to cockroaches, Houdini, hamburgers, questionable
medical devices, bananas, menstruation, rattlesnakes, duck decoys, toilet
seat art, rosaries, burlesque dancers and funeral services. This volume
has a glib tone and should have been more fun to read (the subject was
done better in 'America Off the Wall' by Kristan Lawson and Anneli S.
Rufus, published by John Wiley & Sons in 1989). But 'Offbeat Museums' has
the advantage of a large, glossy format to display its cockeyed wares.
Get a gander at the car Lee Harvey Oswald drove to the John Kennedy
assassination (at the Tragedy in U.S. History Museum in St. Augustine,
Fla.) without leaving your comfortable couch.
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 10 Dec 97 23:54:41 -0800
From: Peter Langston <psl@langston.com>
Subject: Don't Blame San Francisco
To: Fun_People@langston.com
Forwarded-by: S Cruzin <SCruzin@aol.com>
Excerpted-from: S.F. Chronicle, Wed. Dec., 10, 1997
For That Special Guy
by Leah Garchik
Romantasy's latest catalog, the Mystery of Corsets, includes a section on
corseting for men that contains some fascinating tips.
"The female waist occurs generally at one inch above the belly button while
the male waist occurs one inch below. Thus, for a man to achieve a female
figure the corset must pull in the waist above the belly button."
Romantasy suggests that a man wearing a corset for the first time opt for the
comfort of the "underbust hourglass Victorian. It is also the most easily
disguised corset when wearing under male clothing."
Meanwhile, Kristina Bonfield of Santa Rosa represents Apres Nior, vendors of
feminine-style lingerie for men. Bonfield says the most common comment she
gets is, "Our sort of underware must sell quite well in San Francisco." To
set the record straight, the largest concentrations of customers are in Texas,
Tennessee and Washington, D.C.
------------------------------
Date: Mon, 08 Dec 1997 14:57:08 -0500
From: maneel (Mary-Ann Neel)
Subject: Funny world we live in....
To: spaf, glc, walls, wrd, kbquick@Bellsouth.com
[I ran this 3 years ago, but it is that time again, so enjoy. --spaf]
>Engineer's Reading of 'Twas The Night Before Christmas
>
>'Twas the nocturnal segment of the diurnal period preceding the
>annual Yuletide celebration, and throughout our place of residence,
>kinetic activity was not in evidence among the possessors of this
>potential, including that species of domestic rodent known as Mus
>musculus. Hosiery was meticulously suspended from the forward edge of the
>wood burning caloric apparatus, pursuant to our anticipatory pleasure
>regarding an imminent visitation from an eccentric philanthropist among
>whose folkloric appellations is the honorific title of St. Nicholas.
>
>The prepubescent siblings, comfortably ensconced in their respective
>accommodations of repose, were experiencing subconscious visual
>hallucinations of variegated fruit confections moving rhythmically through
>their cerebrums. My conjugal partner and I, attired in our nocturnal head
>coverings, were about to take slumberous advantage of the hibernal darkness
>when upon the avenaceous exterior portion of the grounds there ascended
>such a cacophony of dissonance that I felt compelled to arise with alacrity
>from my place of repose for the purpose of ascertaining the precise source
>thereof.
>
>Hastening to the casement, I forthwith opened the barriers sealing
>this fenestration, noting thereupon that the lunar brilliance
>without, reflected as it was on the surface of a recent crystalline
>precipitation, might be said to rival that of the solar meridian
>itself - thus permitting my incredulous optical sensory organs to
>behold a miniature airborne runnered conveyance drawn by eight
>diminutive specimens of the genus Rangifer, piloted by a minuscule,
>aged chauffeur so ebullient and nimble that it became instantly
>apparent to me that he was indeed our anticipated caller. With his
>ungulate motive power travelling at what may possibly have been more
>vertiginous velocity than patriotic alar predators, he vociferated
>loudly, expelled breath musically through contracted labia, and
>addressed each of the octet by his or her respective cognomen - "Now
>Dasher, now Dancer..." et al. - guiding them to the uppermost exterior
>level of our abode, through which structure I could readily distinguish the
>concatenations of each of the 32 cloven pedal extremities.
>
>As I retracted my cranium from its erstwhile location, and was performing a
>180-degree pivot, our distinguished visitant achieved - with utmost
>celerity and via a downward leap - entry by way of the smoke passage. He
>was clad entirely in animal pelts soiled by the ebony residue from
>oxidations of carboniferous fuels which had accumulated on the walls
>thereof. His resemblance to a street vendor I attributed largely to the
>plethora of assorted playthings which he bore dorsally in a commodious
>cloth receptacle.
>
>His orbs were scintillant with reflected luminosity, while his submaxillary
>dermal indentations gave every evidence of engaging amiability. The
>capillaries of his malar regions and nasal appurtenance were engorged with
>blood which suffused the subcutaneous layers, the former approximating the
>coloration of Albion's floral emblem, the latter that of the Prunus avium,
>or sweet cherry. His amusing sub- and supralabials resembled nothing so
>much as a common loop knot, and their ambient hirsute facial adornment
>appeared like small, tabular and columnar crystals of frozen water.
>
>Clenched firmly between his incisors was a smoking piece whose grey
>fumes, forming a tenuous ellipse about his occiput, were suggestive
>of a decorative seasonal circlet of holly. His visage was wider than it was
>high, and when he waxed audibly mirthful, his corpulent abdominal region
>undulated in the manner of impectinated fruit syrup in a hemispherical
>container. He was, in short, neither more nor less than an obese, jocund,
>multigenarian gnome, the optical perception of whom rendered me visibly
>frolicsome despite every effort to refrain from so being. By rapidly
>lowering and then elevating one eyelid and rotating his head slightly to
>one side, he indicated that trepidation on my part was groundless.
>
>Without utterance and with dispatch, he commenced filling the
>aforementioned appended hosiery with various of the aforementioned
>articles of merchandise extracted from his aforementioned previously
>dorsally transported cloth receptacle. Upon completion of this task,
>he executed an abrupt about-face, placed a single manual digit in
>lateral juxtaposition to his olfactory organ, inclined his cranium
>forward in a gesture of leave-taking, and forthwith effected his
>egress by renegotiating (in reverse) the smoke passage. He then
>propelled himself in a short vector onto his conveyance, directed a
>musical expulsion of air through his contracted oral sphincter to the
>antlered quadrupeds of burden, and proceeded to soar aloft in a
>movement hitherto observable chiefly among the seed-bearing portions
>of a common weed. But I overheard his parting exclamation, audible
>immediately prior to his vehiculation beyond the limits of
>visibility: "Ecstatic Yuletide to the planetary constituency, and to
>that self same assemblage, my sincerest wishes for a salubriously
>beneficial and gratifyingly pleasurable period between sunset and
>dawn."
------------------------------
Date: Thu, 11 Dec 1997 11:52:45 -0500 (EST)
From: tale@vix.com (David C Lawrence)
Subject: FW: Forward to Fun Bunchers
To: "Morgan, Steve" <steve_morgan@mail.nobl.k12.in.us> spaf@purdue.edu "Alexander, Shirley" <SCA@iquest.net>
Someone wrote:
> Did you guys like SNL?
>
> This is only for those SNL fans!!! This is from an actual newspaper contest
> where entrants ages 4 to 15 were asked to imitate "Deep Thoughts" by Jack
> Handey. Enjoy!!
For what it's worth, the Washington Post Style Invitational contest is
open to all ages and responded to nearly completely by adults. The
real attributes for the Washington, DC, area authors of all of those
quips were published along side each one (with no ages). I don't know
who went through the trouble of making up and inserting ages for each
of the remarks, but it doesn't do the real authors any honor. (So it
is patently clear, I am by no means saying any one of you did it; I
know it happened long before the message landed in any of your boxes.
I'm just commenting for the record.)
[And I try to correct such errors and oversights when told. --spaf]
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 17 Dec 1997 20:51:19 -0500
From: Peter Lytle <plytle@capital.edu>
Subject: Guffaws #174
To: "Guffaws List":;;@hermes.capital.edu, "Guffaws List":;;@hermes.capital.edu
The Top 15 Reasons For Being Fired From Toys 'R' Us
15> A little too much joie de vivre while demonstrating the erector
set, if you know what I mean.
14> Every time you're passed over for a promotion, you stick your
head in an Easy Bake Oven and threaten to "end it all."
13> You got caught adding a garage to your house using embezzled
Lego bricks.
12> Numerous parental complaints about your "Tickle Me Carl The
Stockboy" display.
11> You went overboard with your GI Joe Militia display by adding
the Tonka truck full of fertilizer.
10> Cross-dressing the Ken and Barbie dolls and telling kids
they're the new "Jerry Springer" edition.
9> The "My Little Taxidermy Kit" (with starter squirrel) is not
selling.
8> Impromptu demonstrations of why Malibu Ken is not anatomically
correct.
7> Got caught doing your Dolly Parton impression with basketballs
again.
6> Source of reefer smoke finally traced to "nostrils" of Geoffrey
the Giraffe.
5> Jaws of life needed to pull your knees out of your chest after
you jackknifed a Big Wheel.
4> Caught hocking phlegm into tykes' hands and telling them it was
"homemade Gack."
3> Your sales display, "Barbie's Struggle for Survival in Post-
Nuclear Holocaust Malibu" was not exactly an overwhelming
success.
2> Too many reports from people who swear they saw Geoffrey the
Giraffe in a leather bar.
and the Number 1 Reason For Being Fired From Toys 'R' Us...
1> Regardless of the question, you answer, "Bite me, kid --
I R on break."
[ This list copyright 1997 by Chris White and Ziff Davis, Inc. ]
[ The Top Five List top5@walrus.com http://www.topfive.com ]
[ To forward or repost, please include this section. ]
------------------------------
Date: Tue, 16 Dec 97 12:38:17 -0800
From: Peter Langston <psl@langston.com>
Subject: Ho, ho, ho! -- A Christmas book review
To: Fun_People@langston.com
Forwarded-by: elshaw@MIT.EDU (Libby Shaw)
From: "george m. anderson iii" <georgea3@ix.netcom.com>
BOOK: HOLIDAYS ON ICE
AUTHOR: DAVID SEDARIS
A compilation of Yuletide stories from a decidedly jaded perspective. The
first chapter, entitled SANTALAND DIARIES, narrates the tale of David, broke
and approaching homeless in NY,NY. Entranced by the want ad: Macy's Herald
Square, the largest store in the world, has big opportunities for outgoing,
funloving people of all shapes and sizes who want more than just a holiday.
Working as an elf in Macy's SantaLand means being at the center of the
excitement...
(REVIEWER'S NOTE - FAR AWAY IN THE NORTHERN LANDS IS A LARGE CITY FILLED WITH
MUCH MOVEMENT CALLED NY,NY. IN THAT PLACE EXISTS A VERY LARGE STORE IN
WHICH MORE THAN 20,000 PEOPLE A DAY SHOP. While I know this secondhand since
my sister has been there and does so attest, I do believe.)
Turns out that being an elf is more complex than one might suspect.
Divisions of elfin responsibility: entry elf, greeting elf, photo elf, santa
elf, register elf, exit elf, and a plethora of elf associated with various
sites like 'the Magic Tree' which are arranged in this near unimaginable
production.
As Christmas approaches, people become unreasonable, extracting a toll on
the elves:
*********************************************
(page 28).
This afternoon I worked as an Exit Elf, telling people in a loud voice,
"THIS WAY OUT OF SANTALAND." A woman was standing at one of the cash
registers paying for her idea of a picture, while her son lay beneath her
kicking and heaving, having a tantrum.
The woman said, "Riley, if you don't start behaving yourself, Santa's
not going to bring you ANY of those toys you asked for."
The child said, "He is TOO going to bring me toys, liar, he already told
me."
The woman grabbed my arm and said, "You there, Elf, tell Riley here
that if he doesn't start behaving immediately, then Santa's going to change
his mind and bring him COAL for Christmas."
I said that Santa no longer traffics in coal. Instead, if you're bad
he comes to your house and steals things. I told Riley that if he did'nt
behave himself, Santa was going to take away his TV and all his electrical
appliances and leave him in the dark. "All your appliances, including the
refrigerator. Your food is going to spoil and smell bad. It's going to be
so cold and dark where you are. Man, Riley, are you ever going to suffer.
You're going to wish you never heard the name Santa."
The woman got a worried look on her face and said "All right, that's
enough".
I said, "He's going to take your car and your furniture and all the
towels and blankets and leave you with nothing."
The mother said, 'No, that's enough, really."
(page 34)
She said, "I'm going to have you fired."
I had two people say that to me today, "I'm going to have you fired."
Go ahead, be my guest. I'm wearing a green velvet costume, it doesnt get
any worse than this. Who do these people think they are?
I'm going to have you fired" and i wanted to lean over and say, "I'm
going to have you killed."
*****************************************
There's lots more for interpersonal exchange, but really, what Sedaris is
doing here is a crude, lighthearted parody of Par Lagervist's book "The
Dwarf" which is one of the most alien books you will ever read. It is in
analogy style and works straight on the subconscious. If you ever wonder
what the dark cold world of the near artic circle can do to the human mind,
read The Dwarf (but I bear no responsibility as to the outcome).
------------------------------
Date: Tue, 16 Dec 1997 14:05:05 -0500 (EST)
From: Nev Dull <nev@bostic.com>
Subject: Hugh No!
To: nev@bostic.com (/dev/null)
Forwarded-by: Ann Benninger <ahb@exelixis.com>
Forwarded-by: jpr@munch2.gene.com Thu Dec 11 08:56 PST 1997
Forwarded-by: "Dave Shaw" <dms@gene.COM>
From: "Rasicot, Randall R. (rrra)" <RRRA@chevron.com>
So, it seems that some friars were behind on their belfry payments, so
they opened up a small florist shop to raise the funds. Since everyone
liked to buy flowers from the men of God, the rival florist across town
thought the competition was unfair. He asked the good fathers to close
down, but they would not. He went back and begged the friars to close.
They ignored him. He asked his mother to go and ask the friars to get
out of business. They ignored her too. So, the rival florist hired Hugh
MacTaggart, the roughest and most vicious thug in town to "persuade" them
to close. Hugh beat up the friars and trashed their store, saying he'd
be back if they didn't close up shop. Terrified, they did so. Thereby
proving that Hugh, and only Hugh, can prevent florist friars.
------------------------------
Date: Thu, 18 Dec 1997 10:05:01 -0500 (EST)
From: Nev Dull <nev@bostic.com>
Subject: It's a Wonderful Machine
To: nev@bostic.com (/dev/null)
Forwarded-by: Ginger Ogle <ginger@CS.Berkeley.EDU>
From: Regan Gill <Regan@knowmed.com>
IT'S A WONDERFUL MACHINE
The Sweetest Christmas Movie Frank Capra Never Made
-- by David Pogue
I guess I shouldn't have gone to a party where the eggnog was spiked, and
maybe I shouldn't have watched the movie It's a Wonderful Life while
leafing through MacWeek. But anyway, I had the weirdest dream last
night -- like a bizarre black-and-white movie that went like this: Jimmy
Stewart stars as Steve "Jobs" Bailey, who runs a beleaguered but beloved
small-town computer company. For years, big monopolist Bill "Gates" Potter
has been wielding his power and money to gain control of the town. And for
years, Steve has fought for survival: "This town needs my measly,
one-horse computer, if only to have something for people to use instead of
Windows!"
But now an angry mob is banging on Apple's front door, panicking. "The
press says your company is doomed!" yells one man. "You killed the clones!
We're going to Windows!" calls another. "We want out of our investment!"
they shout.
Steve, a master showman, calms them. "Don't do it! If Potter gets complete
control of the desktop, you'll be forced to buy his bloatware and pay for
his cruddy upgrades forever! We can get through this, but we've got to
have faith and stick together!" The crowd decides to give him one more
chance.
But the day before Christmas, something terrible happens: On his way to
the bank, the company's financial man, Uncle Gilly, somehow manages to
lose $1.7 billion. With eyes flashing, Steve grabs the befuddled Gilly by
the lapels. "Where's that money, you stupid old fool? Don't you realize
what this means? It means bankruptcy and scandal! Get out of my
company -- and don't come back!"
Desperate and afraid, Steve heads to Martini's, a local Internet cafe, and
drowns his sorrows in an iced cappuccino. Surfing the Web at one of the
cafe's Macs, all he finds online is second-guessing, sniping by critics,
and terrible market-share numbers.
As a blizzard rages, Steve drives his car crazily toward the river. "Oh,
what's the use?!" he exclaims. "We've lost the war. Windows rules the
world. After everything I've worked for, the Mac is going to be
obliterated! Think of all the passion and effort these last 15
years -- wasted! Think of the billions of dollars, hundreds of companies,
millions of people...." He stands on the bridge, staring at the
freezing, roiling river below -- and finally hurls himself over the railing.
After a moment of floundering in the chilly water, however, he's pulled to
safety by a bulbous-nosed oddball. "Who are you?!" Steve splutters
angrily.
"Name's Clarence -- I mean Claris," says the guy. "I'm your guardian angel.
I've been sent down to help you -- it's my last chance to earn my wings."
"Nobody can help me," says Steve bitterly. "If I hadn't created the Mac,
everybody'd be a lot happier: Mr. Potter, the media, even our customers.
Hell, we'd all be better off if the Mac had never been invented at all!"
Music swirls. The wind howls. The tattoo on Steve's right buttock -- Buzz
Lightyear from Toy Story -- vanishes.
Steve pats the empty pocket where he usually carries his Newton. "What
gives?"
"You've got your wish," says Claris. "You never invented the Mac. It never
existed. You haven't a care in the world."
"Look, little fella, go off and haunt somebody else," Steve mutters. He
heads over to Martini's Internet cafe for a good stiff drink. But he's
shocked at the difference inside. "My God, look at the people using these
computers! Both of them -- they look like math professors!"
"They are," says Claris.
"What is this, a museum? It looks like those computers are running DOS!"
"Good eye!" says Claris. "DOS version 25.01, in fact -- the very latest."
"I don't get it," Steve says.
"DOS is a lot better and faster these days, but it hasn't occurred to
anybody to market a computer with icons and menus yet. There's no such
thing as Windows -- after all, there never was a Mac interface for Microsoft
to copy."
"But this equipment is ancient!" Steve exclaims. "No sound, no CD-ROM
drive, not even 3.5-inch floppies!"
"Those aren't antiques!" Claris says. "They're state-of-the-art Compaqs,
complete with the latest 12X, 5-inch-floppy drives. Don't forget, Steve:
The Mac introduced and standardized all that good stuff you named."
"But that's nuts!" Steve explodes. "You mean to tell me that the 46
percent of American households with computers are all using DOS?"
"Correction: All 9 percent of American households," says Claris
cheerfully. "Without a graphic interface, computers are still too
complicated to be popular."
"Bartender!" shouts Steve. "You don't have a copy of Wired here, do you?
I've got to read up on this crazy reality!"
The bartender glares. "I don't know what you're wired on, pal, but either
stop talking crazy or get outta my shop."
"No such thing as Wired," whispers Claris. "Never was. Before you wished
the Mac away, most magazines were produced entirely on the Mac. Besides,
Wired would be awfully thin without the Web."
"Without the -- now, wait just a minute!" Horrified, Steve rushes over to
one of the PCs and connects to the Internet. "You call this the Net? It
looks like a text-only BBS -- and there's practically nobody online! Where's
Navigator? Where's Internet Explorer? Where's the Web, for Pete's sake?"
"Oh, I see," Claris smiles sympathetically. "You must be referring to all
those technologies that spun off from the concept of a graphic interface.
Look, Steve. Until the Mac made the mouse standard, there was no such
thing as point and click. And without clicking, there could be no Web...
and no Web companies. Believe it or not, Marc Andreesen works in a Burger
King in Cincinnati."
Steve scoffs. "Well, look, if you apply that logic, then PageMaker
wouldn't exist either. Photoshop, Illustrator, FreeHand, America Online,
digital movies -- all that stuff began life on the Mac."
"You're getting it," Claris says. He holds up a copy of Time magazine.
"Check out the cover price."
Steve gasps. "Eight bucks? They've got a lot of nerve!"
"Labor costs. They're still pasting type onto master pages with hot wax."
"You're crazy!" screams Steve. "I'm going back to my office at Apple!" He
drives like a madman back to Cupertino--but the sign that greets him there
doesn't say, "Welcome to Apple." It says, "Welcome to Microsoft South."
"Sorry, Steve; Apple went out of business in 1985," says Claris. "You see,
you really did have a wonderful machine! See what a mistake it was to wish
it away?"
Steve is sobbing, barely listening. "OK, then -- I'll go to my office at
Pixar!"
"You don't have an office at Pixar," Claris reminds him. "There was no Mac
to make you rich enough to buy Pixar!"
Steve has had enough. He rushes desperately back to the icy bridge over
the river. "Please, God, bring it back! Bring it back! I don't care about
market share! Please! I want the Mac to live again!"
Music, wind, heavenly voices -- and then snow begins softly falling.
"Hey, Steve! You all right?" calls out Steve's friend Larry from a passing
helicopter. Steve pats his pocket -- the Newton is there again! It's all
back! Steve runs through the town, delirious with joy. "Merry Christmas,
Wired! Merry Christmas, Internet! Merry Christmas, wonderful old
Microsoft!"
And now his office is filled with smiling people whose lives the Mac has
touched. There's old Mr. Chiat/Day the adman. There's Yanni the musician.
And there's Mr. Spielberg the moviemaker. As the Apple board starts
singing "Auld Lang Syne," somebody boots up a Power Mac.
Steve smiles at the startup sound. "You know what they say," he tells the
crowd. "Every time you hear a startup chime, an angel just got his wings."
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
David Pogue's latest book is The Microsloth Joke Book (Berkeley, 1997).
If the World Wide Web still exists, his home page is www.pogueman.com.
------------------------------
Date: Mon, 15 Dec 1997 12:58:50 -0500
From: "Georgia L. Connaroe" <glc>
Subject: Martha Stewart & Erma Bombeck
To: spaf
Here's a cutie between Martha and Erma.
>> A Holiday Letter from Martha Stewart
>>
>>Dear Friend,
>>
>>This perfectly delightful note is being sent on paper I made myself to tell
>>you what I've been up to. Since it snowed last night, I got up early and
>>made a sled with old barn wood and a glue gun. I hand-painted it in gold
>>leaf, got out my loom, and made a blanket in peaches and mauves. Then to
>>make it complete, I made a white horse out of DNA that I had just sitting
>>around in my craft room to pull the sled.
>>
>>By then, it was time to start making the place mats and napkins for my 20
>>breakfast guests. I'm serving the old standard Stewart twelve-course
>>breakfast, but I'll let you in on a little secret: I didn't have time to
>>make the table and chairs this morning, so I used the ones I had on hand.
>>
>>Before I moved the table into the dining room, I decided to add just a touch
>>of the holidays. So, I repainted the room in pinks and stenciled gold stars
>>on the ceiling. Then, while the homemade bread was rising, I took antique
>>candle molds and made the dishes (exactly the same shade of pink) to use for
>>breakfast. These were made from Hungarian clay, which you can get in almost
>>any Hungarian craft store.
>>
>>Well, I must run. I need to finish the buttonholes on the dress I'm wearing
>>for breakfast. I'll get out the sled and drive this note to the post office
>>as soon as the glue dries on the envelope I'll be making.
>>
>>Hope my breakfast guests don't stay too long...I have 40,000 cranberries to
>>string with bay leaves before my speaking engagement at noon. It's a good
>>thing.
>>
>>Love,
>>
>>Martha Stewart
>>P.S. When I made the ribbon for this typewriter, I used 1/8-inch gold gauze.
>>I soaked the gauze in a mixture of white grapes and blackberries which I
>>grew, picked, and crushed last week just for fun!
=======================================
> Dear Martha,
>
> I'm writing this on the back of an old shopping list, pay no
> attention to the
> coffee and jelly stains. I'm 20 minutes late getting my daughter up
> for school, packing a lunch with one hand, on the phone with the dog
> pound, seems old Ruff needs bailing out, again. Burnt my arm on the
> curling
> iron when I was trying to make those cute curly fries, how DO they do
> that?
> Still can't find the scissors to cut out some snowflakes, tried using
> an old
> disposable razor . . . trashed the tablecloth.
>
> Tried that cranberry thing, frozen cranberries mushed up after I
> defrosted
> them in the microwave. Oh, and don't use Fruity Pebbles as a
> substitute in
> that Rice Krispie snowball recipe, unless you happen to like a
> disgusting
> shade that resembles puke!
>
> The smoke alarm is going off, talk to ya later . . .
>
> Erma
------------------------------
Date: Thu, 11 Dec 1997 09:34:05 -0500 (EST)
From: Larry Auton <lda@control.att.com>
Subject: Martha Stewart Christmas
To: spaf
December 1 - Blanch carcass from Thanksgiving turkey. Spray paint gold,
turn upside down and use as a sleigh to hold Christmas Cards.
December 2 - Have Mormon Tabernacle Choir record outgoing Christmas
message for answering machine.
December 3 - Using candlewick and hand-gilded miniature pine cones,
fashion cat-o-nine-tails. Flog gardener.
December 4 - Repaint Sistine Chapel ceiling in ecru, with mocha trim.
December 5 - Get new eyeglasses. Grind lenses myself.
December 6 - Fax family Christmas newsletter to Pulitzer committee for
consideration.
December 7 - Debug Windows '95
December 8 - Debug Windows '95 (still working)
December 9 - Debug Windows '95
(I didn't finish. Oh well, I have to move on.
After all, one person can't do everything.)
December 10 - Align carpets to adjust for curvature of Earth.
December 11 - Lay Faberge egg.
December 12 - Take dog apart. Disinfect. Reassemble.
December 13 - Collect Dentures. They make excellent pastry cutters,
particularly for decorative pie crusts.
December 14 - Install plumbing in gingerbread house.
December 15 - Replace air in mini-van tires with Glade "holiday
scents" in case tires are shot out at mall.
December 17 - Child proof the Christmas tree with garland of razor
wire.
December 19 - Adjust legs of chairs so each Christmas dinner guest
will be same height when sitting at his or her assigned seat.
December 20 - Dip sheep and cows in egg whites and roll in sugar to
add a festive sparkle to the pasture.
December 21 - Drain city reservoir; refill with mulled cider, orange
slices and cinnamon sticks.
December 22 - Float votive candles in toilet tank.
December 23 - Seed clouds for white Christmas.
December 24 - Do my annual good deed. Go to several stores. Be seen
engaged in last minute Christmas shopping, thus making
many people feel less inadequate than they really are.
December 25 - Bear son. Swaddle. Lay in color coordinated manger
scented with homemade potpourri.
December 26 - Organize spice racks by genus and phylum.
December 27 - Build snowman in exact likeness of God.
December 31 - New Year's Eve! Give staff their resolutions. Call a
friend in each time zone of the world as the clock
strikes midnight in that country.
--
(Source Unknown)
------------------------------
Date: Mon, 15 Dec 1997 16:05:02 -0500 (EST)
From: Nev Dull <nev@bostic.com>
Subject: Maybe you should get rid of the body before you do the wash.
To: nev@bostic.com (/dev/null)
Forwarded-by: "Harry I. Rubin" <harry@redarrow.com>
Forwarded-by: David Lyon <davidlyon@earthlink.net>
"When you look at Prince Charles, don't you think that someone in the
Royal family knew someone in the Royal family?"
--Robin Williams
"I've been doing the Fonda workout: the Peter Fonda workout. That's where
I wake up, take a hit of acid, smoke a joint, and go to my sister's house
and ask her for money."
--Kevin Meaney
"I was a vegetarian until I started leaning towards sunlight."
--Rita Rudner
"Thou shall not kill. Thou shall not commit adultery. Don't eat pork.
I'm sorry, what was that last one?? Don't eat pork. God has spoken.
Is that the word of God or is that pigs trying to outsmart everybody?"
--Jon Stewart
"My mom said she learned how to swim. Someone took her out in the lake
and threw her off the boat. That's how she learned how to swim. I said,
'Mom, they weren't trying to teach you how to swim.' "
--Paula Poundstone
"In elementary school, in case of fire you have to line up quietly in a
single file line from smallest to tallest. What is the logic? Do tall
people burn slower?"
--Warren Hutcherson
"Today I met with a subliminal advertising executive for just a second."
--Steven Wright
"A study in the Washington Post says that women have better verbal
skills than men. I just want to say to the authors of that study:
Duh."
--Conan O'Brien
"When I was a kid, I had two friends, and they were imaginary and they
would only play with each other."
--Rita Rudner
[My imaginary friend didn't believe I existed. Then he died. --spaf]
"I haven't taken my Christmas lights down. They look so nice on the
pumpkin."
--Winston Spear
"I had a linguistics professor who said that it's man's ability to use
language that makes him the dominant species on the planet. That may
be. But I think there's one other thing that separates us from animals.
We aren't afraid of vacuum cleaners."
--Jeff Stilson
"My grandfather's a little forgetful, but he likes to give me advice.
One day, he took me aside and left me there."
--Ron Richards
"I worry that the person who thought up Muzak may be thinking up
something else."
--Lily Tomlin
"Some women hold up dresses that are so ugly and they always say the
same thing: 'This looks much better on.' On what? On fire?"
--Rita Rudner
"The ad in the paper said 'Big Sale. Last Week.' Why advertise? I
already missed it. They're just rubbing it in."
--Yakov Smirnoff
"Now they show you how detergents take out bloodstains, a pretty violent
image there. I think if you've got a T-shirt with a bloodstain all over
it, maybe laundry isn't your biggest problem. Maybe you should get rid
of the body before you do the wash."
--Jerry Seinfeld
"I just broke up with someone and the last thing she said to me was,
'You'll never find anyone like me again!' I'm thinking, 'I should hope
not! If I don't want you, why would I want someone like you?' "
--Larry Miller
"Why does Sea World have a seafood restaurant? I'm halfway through my
fish burger and I realize, Oh my God... I could be eating a slow
learner."
--Lynda Montgomery
"I planted some bird seed. A bird came up. Now I don't know what to
feed it."
--Steven Wright
"Sometimes I think war is God's way of teaching us geography."
--Paul Rodriguez
"I don't do drugs anymore 'cause I find I get the same effect just by
standing up really fast."
--Johnathan Katz
"Where lipstick is concerned, the important thing is not color, but to
accept God's final word on where your lips end."
--Jerry Seinfeld
"I think that's how Chicago got started. A bunch of people in New York
said, 'Gee, I'm enjoying the crime and the poverty, but it just isn't
cold enough. Let's go west.' "
--Richard Jeni
------------------------------
Date: Thu, 18 Dec 1997 12:14:06 PST
From: Berry Kercheval <berry@kerch.com>
Subject: Oh my.
To: ark@placeware.com, emmabull@aol.com
------- Forwarded Message
From: Scott Fisher <sfisher@KalSoft.com>
Subject: Denied Beef or Crispness
Date: Wed, 17 Dec 1997 09:25:09 PST
Denied Beef or Crispness
oar
Avis Affront Sent Nickel less
bike Lemon Seymour
Trains crypt shun vice Codfish Hur
Trust denied beef or crispness, endow Trudy howls
Gnaw decree churl wisteria, naughty venom owls.
This talking sarong bide each amnion scare
Indeo thatch sent Nickel less Holmwood bidet err.
Ditch elder Norn assailed owls noggin dare bats
Whale fissions assure kerplunks tan stinter hats.
Enema inner cur chiffoned ion Mike apt
Adjust saddle daub rains Farralon went her snap.
Win autumn along Thera roe Sedgwick latter
Ice prang form abed Tuesday water the smatter.
A whey Tudor Wendy wife low Wycliff lash,
Tyropita shudder, Andrew opus ash.
Them Noonan depressed over Newfoundland's know
Gay baluster omit dative abject spell low
Windward tomb Ivan daring ice showed up here
Button manager slave, innate tine errand ear
Withal eidolon dry verse alive eel ink wick
Ainu anymore minted moose bison tick.
Murre wrap idem eglises corsairs ache aim,
Andy whiz seldom chowder dun cauldron Benet him:
"Gnawed ash around answer! Gnaw pram surround fix in!
Ankh omit! En queue paid! Undone a ramble its in!
Fundy papaver Porsche strudel tapas AWOL,
Gnaw Dacia whey, Dacia whey, Dacia whey haul!"
Astride lees daub afford awhile derrick enough lie
Wednesday mead wither knob stickle, Mantua descry,
Sew Aptos dehors tapas corsairs Dave loo,
Wither slave aloft hoys, ensign Nickel less stew.
Undone inert winkle Ngaio Donner oaf
Dip rant singing poring a vetch lid aloof
Assayed ruin my hedonist yearning oar hound
Donna Jiminy sent Nickel Less gay myth abound.
Hugh as stressed Allen furtive he said Tuohy's put
Andy's close whir Altair nest wee thatches unsought.
Abound aloft hoys hee-hawed flowing onus pack
Andy hooked Lycra ped largess taupe ninny's back.
He sighs, outdate winkled! He Stempel some airy!
Hiss chicks warlike roe scissors know sly kitsch hairy!
He stroll it elm outwards Ranulf ply Cabo
Ann de Beer Dover's Genoa's wight asters know.
This tempo fur pie peahen titan is tea,
Thin desmo kitten sir cul-de-sac Laika wraith.
Hee-hawed abroad fay, Sinaloa rowan Bali
The Chuck fenny left likable fell agilely.
Ewoks chapati aplomb, pariah jelly hole Delft,
Andial Afton eyesore hemming spider mite shelf.
Owing covey sigh, inert wester fizz Ed
Sung Avery tuna Ahab knotting toot red.
Hiss poke gnaw toward, button stray towhee smirk,
Unfilled alder stalkings, interned with edge irk
Inlay ingot vinegar a sigh Dover snows
Ungiving unawed, hope itch enemy arrows.
Hiss prang Tuohy slay, Tuohy steam gay vibrissa
Andy wither elf lowlife can Donovan this ill.
Bowtie herd Emmick's claim, harried roe vow despite,
"Murray Crispness two wall, unto Allah goon height!"
- --Scott "Bring a torch and a net, Isabella" Fisher
------- End of Forwarded Message
------------------------------
Date: Thu, 11 Dec 97 18:44:37 -0800
From: Peter Langston <psl@langston.com>
Subject: The Comedian's-eye View of 12/12/97
To: Fun_People@langston.com
Excerpted-from: 12/12/97 -- ShopTalk
Now that O.J. Simpson defense lawyer Johnnie Cochran is advising Latrell
Sprewell, says Steve Rosenbloom of the Chicago Tribune, "Sprewell is
expected to announce that during his suspension he will begin searching for
the real stranglers."
"The way I hear it," says Larry Guest of the Orlando Sentinel, "this open
choking season on coaches who have yelled at you has set off a stampede of
dozens of former Indiana basketball players racing back to the campus."
------------------------------
Date: Thu, 18 Dec 97 01:01:19 -0800
From: Peter Langston <psl@langston.com>
Subject: The Comedian's-eye View of 12/18/97
To: Fun_People@langston.com
Excerpted-from: 12/18/97 -- ShopTalk
But Didn't Ali MacGraw's Character Die At The End? Vice President Al Gore
recently hinted that the star-crossed couple in "Love Story" was modeled
after him and his wife. "Later, Gore said he was mixed up, and that he and
Tipper were actually the inspiration for the film 'Coma.'" (Premiere Radio)
How About 'The Blob'"? "Meanwhile, actor Tom Arnold claims that the main
characters in 'Titanic'- the boat and the iceberg- were inspired by his
ex-wife, Roseanne." (Roy Rivenburg)
------------------------------
Date: Thu, 11 Dec 1997 14:05:03 -0500 (EST)
From: Nev Dull <nev@bostic.com>
Subject: The X(mas) Files
To: nev@bostic.com (/dev/null)
Forwarded-by: Jon Loeliger <jdl@jdl.com>
57 ELM STREET
BETHLEHEM, PA.
11:51 P.M., DECEMBER 24TH
Scully! We're too late! It's already been here.
Mulder, I hope you know what you're doing.
Look, Scully, just like the other homes: Douglas fir, truncated, mounted,
transformed into a shrine; halls decked with boughs of holly; stockings
hung by the chimney, with care.
You really think someone's been here?
Someone ... or something.
Mulder, over here -- it's a fruitcake.
Don't touch it! Those things can be lethal.
It's O.K. There's a note attached: "Gonna find out who's naughty and
nice."
It's judging them, Scully. It's making a list.
Who? What are you talking about?
Ancient mythology tells of an obese humanoid entity who could travel at
great speed in a craft powered by antlered servants. Once each year,
near the winter solstice, this creature is said to descend from the
heavens to reward its followers and punish disbelievers with jagged chunks
of anthracite.
But that's legend, Mulder -- a story told by parents to frighten children.
Surely you don't believe it?
Something was here tonight, Scully. Check out the bite marks on this
gingerbread man. Whatever tore through this plate of cookies was
massive -- and in a hurry.
It left crumbs everywhere. And look, Mulder, this milk glass has been
completely drained.
It gorged itself, Scully. It fed without remorse.
But why would they leave it milk and cookies?
Appeasement. Tonight is the Eve, and nothing can stop its wilding.
But if this thing does exist, how did it get in? The doors and windows
were locked. There's no sign of forced entry.
Unless I miss my guess, it came through the fireplace.
Wait a minute, Mulder. If you're saying some huge creature landed on the
roof and came down this chimney, you're crazy. The flue is barely six
inches wide. Nothing could get down there.
But what if it could alter its shape, move in all directions at once?
You mean, like a bowl full of jelly?
Exactly. Scully, I've never told anyone this, but when I was a child my
home was visited. I saw the creature. It had long white shanks of fur
surrounding its ruddy, misshapen head. Its bloated torso was red and
white. I'll never forget the horror. I turned away, and when I looked
back it had somehow taken on the facial features of my father.
Impossible.
I know what I saw. And that night it read my mind. It brought me a Mr.
Potato Head, Scully. It knew that I wanted a Mr. Potato Head!
I'm sorry, Mulder, but you're asking me to disregard the laws of physics.
You want me to believe in some supernatural being who soars across the
skies and brings gifts to good little girls and boys. Listen to what
you're saying. Do you understand the repercussions? If this gets out,
they'll close the X-files.
Scully, listen to me: It knows when you're sleeping. It knows when you're
awake.
But we have no proof.
Last year, on this exact date, SETI radio telescopes detected bogeys in
the airspace over twenty-seven states. The White House ordered a
Condition Red.
But that was a meteor shower.
Officially. Two days ago, eight prized Scandinavian reindeer vanished
from the National Zoo, in Washington, D.C. Nobody -- not even the
zookeeper -- was told about it. The government doesn't want people to
know about Project Kringle. They fear that if this thing is proved to
exist the public will stop spending half its annual income in a holiday
shopping frenzy. Retail markets will collapse. Scully, they cannot let
the world believe this creature lives. There's too much at stake.
They'll do whatever it takes to insure another silent night.
Mulder, I --
Sh-h-h. Do you hear what I hear?
On the roof. It sounds like ... a clatter.
The truth is up there. Let's see what's the matter.
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 17 Dec 1997 22:27:11 EST
From: Santasam <Santasam@aol.com>
Subject: yet more mixed gags
To: undisclosed-recipients:;
In a small Southern town there was a "Nativity Scene" that showed great
skill and talent had gone into creating it. One small feature bothered
me. The three wise men were wearing firemen's helmets. Totally unable to
come up with a reason or explanation, I left.
At a "Quik Stop" on the edge of town, I asked the lady behind the
counter about the helmets.She exploded into a rage, yelling at me, "You
darn Yankees never do read the Bible!" I assured her that I did, but
simply couldn't recall anything about firemen in the Bible. She jerked
her Bible from behind the counter and ruffled thru some pages, and
finally jabbed her finger at a passage.
Sticking it in my face she said "See, it says right here, 'The three
wise man came from afar.'"
Bad Day
-------
A fellow went to work one day and was met at the door by his boss.
"You're fired, and there may be a summons for your arrest out of this!" the
boss exclaimed.
The fellow then started to drive home when the steering went out on his car
and he ran into a carload of nuns. After the policeman let him go with the
collection of tickets, he called his insurance company, only to find out
that his wife forgot to send in the premium payment and that his insurance
ran out last week.
On his way home, he stopped into the bank to get some money and found
out
that his wife had been there earlier with his best friend and emptied the
accounts. After leaving the bank, he was on his way home and saw the fire
engines heading down his street. Upon arriving at his house, he
discovered
that it was indeed his house on fire. The fire chief was sure that it was
going to be a total loss. Again, calling the insurance company, he found
that the homeowner's insurance also had been cancelled.
By now the fellow was somewhat depressed and went into the local bar. As
he
was telling his troubles to the bartender the bartender said, "You've got
the chance of a lifetime. All your obligations are gone and you can start
all over. Why don't you take this bucket, go up to Huckleberry Hill, pick
huckleberries, and go door to door selling them."
Well, this sounded O.K. to the fellow, so off he went. After picking most
of the day he finally had enough berries to sell. At the first house he
stopped at the woman said that she would indeed take all his
huckleberries
but would he mind coming around to the back door. As the fellow got to the
back door the woman opened it and was totally nude. (And not hard on the
eyes.)
The fellow just broke down and was weeping hysterically. The woman was
quite beside herself and asked what the problem was. The fellow
answered
"I've lost my job, my car is ruined, my wife ran off with my best friend
taking all my money, my house burned down, all my insurance has been
cancelled, and now... You’re going to screw me out of my huckleberries."
\/' \ / "Darling, you get on top and I'll try." That didn't
|'.|` work. Figuring they needed more weight on the lid,
\_/ she said, "Sweetheart, you get on top and I'll try."
Still no success. Then he said, "Look. Let's both
get on top and try."
At that point the parrot yanked away the towel and said, "Zoo or no zoo.
This... I gotta see !!!"
Al Davis had finally put together the perfect Raiders team for '98. The
only thing he was missing was a good quarterback. He had scouted all
the colleges, and even the high schools, and he couldn't find a ringer
quarterback that would ensure a SuperBowl win.
Then one night, watching CNN, he saw a war zone in Bosnia. In the
background, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a young Bosnian
soldier with a truly incredible arm. He threw a hand grenade straight
into a 15th story window 200 yards away -- ka-boom! He threw another
hand grenade into a group of about 10 soldiers a good 110 yards
away--ka-blooey! A car passes going 90 miles an hour--bulls-eye!
Right
into the barely open window.
"I've got to get this guy," Al says to himself. "He has the perfect
arm!"
So he brings him to the States and teaches him the great game of
football. Predictably, the young man breaks all the NFL records for
completed passes, and the Raiders go on to win the SuperBowl.
The young Bosnian is lionized as the Great Hero of SuperBowl XXXI, and
when Al asks him what he wants, all the young man wants to do is to
call his mother.
"Mom," the young man says into the receiver, "I just won the
SuperBowl."
"I don't want to talk to you," the old woman says. "You deserted us.
You're not my son."
"I don't think you understand, mother," the young man pleads. "I just
won
the greatest sporting event in the world. I'm in the middle of
thousands of adoring fans."
"No, let me tell you," the mother implores. "At this very moment,
there are gun shots all around us. The neighborhood is a pile of
rubble. Your
two brothers were beaten within an inch of their lives last week, and
this
week your sister was raped in broad daylight...."
The old lady pauses, in tears. "...I'll never forgive you for moving
us to Oakland!"
------------------------------
Date: Mon, 15 Dec 1997 09:10:49 -0500
From: Paul Oakes <POakes@TECHDEV.CompuServe.com>
Subject: Unique Case of Aerial Sleigh-Borne Present-Deliverer's Syndrome
To: "'spaf@cs.purdue.edu'" <spaf>
---------- Forwarded message ----------
Date: Thu, 11 Dec 1997 22:26:30 -0500
From: Scott Anderson <joker@joker.org>
Case Report: Unique Case of Aerial Sleigh-Borne Present-Deliverer's
Syndrome
Source: North Pole Journal of Medicine, vol 1 no.1, December 1997
Author: Dr. Iman Elf, M.D.
On January 2, 1997, Mr. C, an obese, white caucasian male, who appeared
approximately 65 years old, but who could not accurately state his age,
presented to my family practice office with complaints of generalized
aches and pains, sore red eyes, depression, and general malaise. The
patient's face was erythematic, and he was in mild respiratory distress,
although his demeanor was jolly. He attributed these symptoms to being
"not as young as I used to be, HO! HO! HO!", but thought he should have
them checked out. The patient's occupation is delivering presents once a
year, on December 25th, to many people worldwide. He flies in a sleigh
pulled by eight reindeer, and gains access to homes via chimneys. He
has performed this work for as long as he can remember. Upon examination
and ascertaining Mr. C's medical history, I have discovered what I
believe to be a unique and heretofore undescribed medical syndrome
related to this man's occupation and lifestyle, named Aerial
Sleigh-Borne Present-Deliverer's Syndrome, or ASBPDS for short.
Medical History: Mr. C. admits to drinking only once a year, and only
when someone puts rum in the eggnog left for him to consume during his
working hours. However, I believe his bulbous nose and erythematic face
may indicate long-term ethanol abuse. He has smoked pipe tobacco for
many years, although workplace regulations at the North Pole have forced
him to cut back to one or two pipes per day for the last 5 years. He
has had no major illnesses or surgeries in the past. He has no known
allergies. Travel history is extensive, as he visits nearly every
location in the world annually. He has had all his immunizations,
including all available vaccines for tropical diseases. He does little
exercise and eats large meals with high sugar and cholesterol levels,
and a high percentage of calories derived from fat (he subsists all year
on food he collects on Dec. 25, which consists mainly of eggnog, Cola
drinks, and cookies). Family history was unavailable, as the patient
could not name any relatives.
Physical Examination and Review of Systems, With Social/Occupational
Correlates: The patient wears corrective lenses, and has 20/80 vision.
His conjunctivae were hyperalgesic and erythematous, and Fluorescein
staining revealed numerous randomly occurring corneal abrasions. This
appears to be caused by dust, debris, and other particles which strike
his eyes at high velocity during his flights. He has headaches nearly
every day, usually starting half way through the day, and worsened by
stress.
He had extensive ecchymoses, abrasions, lacerations, and first-degree
burns on his head, arms, legs, and back, which I believe to be caused
mainly by trauma experienced during repeated chimney descents and falls
from his sleigh. Collisions with birds during his flight, gunshot
wounds (while flying over the Los Angles area) and bites consistent with
reindeer teeth may also have contributed to these wounds. Patches of
leukoderma and anesthesia on his nose, cheeks, penis, and distal digits
are consistent with frostbite caused by periods of hypothermia during
high-altitude flights. He had a blood pressure of 150/95, a heart rate
of 90 beats/minute, and a respiratory rate of 40. He has had shortness
of breath for several years, which worsens during exertion. He has no
evidence of acute cardiac or pulmonary failure, but it was my opinion
that he is quite unfit due to his mainly sedentary lifestyle and poor
eating habits which, along with his stress, smoking, and male gender,
place him at high risk for coronary heart disease, myocardial
infarction, emphysema and other problems. Blood tests subsequently
revealed higher-than-normal CO levels, which I attribute to smoke
inhalation during chimney descent into non-extinguished fireplaces. He
has experienced chronic back pain for several years. A neurological
examination was consistent with a mild herniation of his L4-L5 or L5-S1
disk, which probably resulted from carrying a heavy sack of toys,
enduring bumpy sleigh rides, and his jarring feet-first falls to the
bottom of chimneys. Mr. C. had a swollen left scrotum, which, upon
biopsy, was diagnosed as scrotal cancer, the likely etiology being the
soot from chimneys.
Psychiatric Examination and Social/Occupational Correlates: Mr. C's
depression has been chronic for several years. I do not believe it to
be organic in nature-rather, he has a number of unresolved issues in his
personal and professional life which cause him distress. He exhibits
long-term amnesia, and cannot recall any events more than 5 years ago.
This may be due to a repressed psychological trauma he experienced, head
trauma, or, more likely, the mythical nature of his existence. Although
the patient has a jolly demeanor, he expresses profound unhappiness. He
reports anger at not receiving royalties for the widespread commercial
use of his likeness and name. Although he reports satisfaction with the
sex he has with his wife, I sense he may feel erotic impulses when
children sit on his lap, and I worry he may have pedophillic tendencies.
Thiscould be the subconscious reason he employs only
vertically-challenged
workers ("elfs"), but I believe his hiring practices are more likely a
reaction formation due to body-image problems stemming from his obesity.
The patient feels annoyed and worried when he is told many people do
not believe he exists, and I feel this may develop into a serious
identity crisis if not dealt with. He reports great stress over having
to choose which gifts to give to children, and a feeling of guilt and
inadequacy over the decisions he makes as to which children are
"naughty" and "nice" Because he experiences total darkness lasting many
months during winter at the North Pole, Seasonal Affective Disorder
(SAD) may be a contributor to his depression.
Treatment and Counselling: All Mr. C's wounds were cleaned and dressed,
and he was prescribed an antibiotic ointment for his eyes. A referral
to a physiotherapist was made to ameliorate his disk problem.
On February 9, a bilateral orchidectomy was performed, and no further
cancer has been detected as of this writing. He was counselled to wash
soot from his body regularly, to avoid lit-fire chimney descents where
practicable, and to consider switching to a closed-sleigh, heated,
pressurized sleigh. He refused suggestions to add a helmet and
protective accessories to his uniform. He was put on a high-fibre, low
cholesterol diet, and advised to reduce his smoking and drinking. He
has shown success with these lifestyle changes so far, although it
remains to be seen whether he will be able to resist the treats left out
for him next Christmas. He visits a psychiatrist weekly, and reports
doing "Not too bad, HO! HO! HO!".
Conclusions: Physicians, when presented with aerial sleigh-borne
present-deliverers exhibiting more than a few of these symptoms, should
seriously consider ASBPDS as their differential diagnosis. I encourage
other physicians with access to patients working in allied professions
(e.g.Nightly Teeth-Purchasers or Annual Candied Egg Providers) to
investigate whether analogous anatomical/ physiological/ psychological
syndromes exist. The happiness of children everywhere depend on
effective management of these syndromes.
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End of Yucks Digest
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