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Yucks Digest V3 #3
Yucks Digest Mon, 18 Jan 93 Volume 3 : Issue 3
Today's Topics:
Comment of the day (on GNU software...)
CYLINDER - sci.chaos #23
elvis day, indeed
feh!
FYA --- the worst PostScript code generator I've seen
More Harpers Excerpts
new year's reflections
notes from the field
NOTW
speaking of star trek....
Stupid Final Exam stuff
What's the diff???
yucks submission
electrical stimulation (long, kinky)
For yucks, because I sure can't think of where else to send it
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 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: Fri, 15 Jan 93 23:33:59 -0500
From: kane@sonata.cc.purdue.edu
Subject: Comment of the day (on GNU software...)
To: spaf
I was reading comp.lang.objective-c today, and came across a
comment on GNU software that I thought you might find humorous.
(#import is like #include, except that that preprocessor keeps
track of files included, and does not include a file more than
once. gcc spits out a rather lengthy message if it finds it in
a file, along the lines of "#import is the spawn of Satan", but
doesn't go so far as mentioning Old Nick.)
-----begin forwarded extract-----
ian@ohm.york.ac.uk (I Stephenson) writes:
[...]
>Why does GNU dislike #import so much - true it isn't realy needed but
>is therereally any need for cccp to give quite such an extensive
>programming lesson and policy statement every time it encounters one.
>#import is a lot neater than using #defines for each include file, which
>is a real hack. [...]
I think putting up with random religious diatribes in your software is
just one of the prices you pay for using GNU stuff.
[Just one.... --spaf]
------------------------------
Date: Fri, 15 Jan 1993 18:07:48 -0500
From: lark@ora.com (Lar Kaufman)
Subject: CYLINDER - sci.chaos #23
To: eniac
Virtual Unreality approaches feasibility...
In article <1993Jan14.031023.31463@news.weeg.uiowa.edu>, cylinder@news.weeg.uiowa.edu (Cylinder) writes:
> CYLINDER
>
> The International Society for the Philosophy of Tools & Space
>
>
> We are an interdisciplinary organization, small but growing, dedicated to
> thoughtful discussion about and research into issues concerning tools and
> space. Currently, we maintain a membership list and circulate a short
> newsletter. Our future plans call for expansion - a regular journal and
> a number of conferences are possible in the coming year.
>
> Our membership list includes philosophers, artists, computer programmers,
> scientists, graphic designers, architects, teachers - as well as those whose
> professions are still unnamed. We are not a school or a sect or party because
> we are not in agreement over particular doctrines. Our society is bound by an
> implicit faith in the silent potency of tools, space, meaning and metaphor, in
> a wide range of seemingly unrelated fields. Within the scope of our talks to
> date, members have raised diverse and fascinating issues for consideration:
>
> - A phenomenology of humor, tools and toys
> - Space and the banality of cause and effect
> - Rhetoric and metaphor: language as tool/toy
> - The iconology of computers
> - Speed and annihilation
> - Victimless crimes and crimes of trespass
> - The mechanics of the dreamwork in psycho-analysis
> - Architectural theory and practice
> - Political theories of reterritorialization
> - Viruses: information systems and genetic engineering
> - Media theory
> - Virtual Reality: the emergence of simulacra in social space
> - Transit technology and urban planning
> - Infrastructure catastrophes
>
> The thematic study of tools and space forces us to reconsider and sharpen
> the boundaries separating the various specialties of our members. Many of
> us are involved in concrete and ongoing projects which undo customary lines
> of inquiry and uncover fruitful new questions in what was formerly considered
> "obvious" and explained. We seek to move beyond conventional genres without
> abandoning meaning and beauty for the sake of novelty.
>
> For more information about Cylinder, including membership materials,
> please write us with your name and address.
>
>
> CYLINDER
> c/o Graham Harman, Secretary
> Philosophy Dept., DePaul University
> Chicago, IL 60614 USA
> email: cylinder@uiowa.edu
>
> (If you have already written to Cylinder, please refrain from doing so a
> second time. Your name and address have been added to our mailing list and
> you should be expecting membership materials in the coming months.)
[I wish I had the time to subscribe to another list. "Infrastructure
catastrophes" and "Space and the banality of cause and effect" sound
like fun reading, as well as describing my life at the moment.
--spaf]
------------------------------
Date: Tue, 12 Jan 1993 15:12:52 -0500 (EST)
From: Sally Shepherd <ssay+@andrew.cmu.edu>
Subject: elvis day, indeed
To: eniac
the king is dead
long lick the king
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 13 Jan 93 14:56:37 PST
From: Lisa.Chabot@Eng.Sun.COM
Subject: feh!
To: eniac
Honestly, I thought this was the cat-lovers digest, so what
gives with all this dratted star trek clatter?! Here, take this:
An Ode to Spot
Felix Catus is your taxonomic nomenclature,
An endothermic quadroped, carniverous by nature.
Your visual, olfactory, and auditory senses
Contribute to your hunting skills and natural defenses.
I find myself intrigued by your sub-vocal oscillations,
A singular development of cat communications
That obviates your basic hedonistic predelection
For a rhythmic stroking of your fur to demonstrate affection.
A tail is quite essential for your acrobatic talents:
You would not be so agile if you lacked its counterbalance;
And when not being utilitized to aid in locomotion,
It often serves to illustrate the state of your emotion.
Oh Spot, the complex levels of behavior you display
Connote a fairly well-developed cognitive array.
And though you are not sentient, Spot, and do not comprehend,
I nonetheless consider you a true and valued friend.
Lt. Cmdr. Data
First recited on USS Enterprise in the Amagosa Diaspora on stardate 46154.2
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 13 Jan 1993 11:39:40 -0500
From: young (Michal Young)
Subject: FYA --- the worst PostScript code generator I've seen
To: spaf, russo, kumar
Since I used PostScript as the object code for CS502 last spring,
and since I also have a little calendar drawing program that generates
PostScript, I am always interested in seeing what the PostScript
output of different programs looks like. My previous candidate for
worst PostScript code generator was FrameMaker, which not only breaks
all the structuring rules for encapsulating pages (so that FrameMaker
pictures are nearly impossible to include in other documents) but is
also completely stupid about bitmap images (no compression
whatsoever). But in the contest for stupid PostScript generators, I
think there is a new winner: Calendar Manager (cm) from Sun. For
what in Pidgin Pascal would be:
s_y := s_y - (96 * s_height);
the PostScript code generated by cm is:
/s_y s_y s_height sub def
/s_y s_y s_height sub def
[ ... 92 more identical lines ... ]
/s_y s_y s_height sub def
/s_y s_y s_height sub def
This pattern occurs several times, with varying numbers of iterations,
in a single PostScript file. I had been frustrated at not having
access to the source code for cm, but now I think I can see why Sun is
not anxious to have other people looking at it ...
------------------------------
Date: Mon, 18 Jan 93 09:37:24 CST
From: Joe Wiggins <JOE@UAFSYSB.UARK.EDU>
Subject: More Harpers Excerpts
To: yucks
From Harpers Index: [Comments in brackets strictly the opinion of jw]
Percentage of American men who say they enjoy sex more than money: 47
[What are those other 53% DOING with their money?]
Percentage of American women who say they enjoy sex more than money: 26
Percentage of American women who say they enjoy neither sex nor money: 16
[OK, I won't ask them for sex, but...]
Estimated number of pornographic videocassettes that are rented each day:
550,000 [I think this answers my first question.]
Federal funds spent in 1990 to promote celibacy among teenagers:
$9,500,000
Number of condoms used every second in the United States: 14
Number of lambs needed to make one lambskin condom: 1
Number of condoms sold in the United States each year, per adult male: 5
Number sold in Japan each year, per adult male: 11
Percentage of rural Chinese couples who say they spend less than
one minute on foreplay: 34
Average weight of a Chinese man's testicles, in grams: 19
Average weight of a Dane's, in grams: 42
[As in 'great'?]
Average length of an erect penis, according to American men,
in inches: 10
Average length, according to American women, in inches: 4
[I'll bet the metric system has something to do with this!]
Average duration of sexual intercourse for humans, in minutes: 10
Average duration for chimpanzees, in seconds: 10
[Remember now, these are AVERAGES.]
Percentage of bird species that are monogamous: 90
Percentage of mammal species that are: 3
[Gee, I wonder if humans... ]
Percentage of men earning more than fifty thousand dollars a year who say
they have had at least six affairs with coworkers: 20
[Nice to know it's my salary that's the problem!]
Average number of sexual fantasies an American man has in a day: 7
[Let's see, for the average to be 7, I know at least 10 guys who just
aren't having ANY.]
Average number an American woman has: 3
Percentage of water-bed owners who say that sex is better on one: 33
[Better than on WHAT?]
Chances that a bed in California is a water bed: 1 in 5
[This will go up after the 'big one.']
Percentage of Redbook readers who say they would rather have their
genitals permanently numbed than go deaf: 70
[Who ARE these readers? Huh? What'd you say?]
Percentage of runners who say they think about sex while running: 66
Percentage who say they think about running while having sex: 8
[Especially when you hear the spouse arriving.]
Average number of calories burned during an "extremely passionate"
one-minute kiss: 26
Number of calories in a Hershey's Kiss: 25
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 13 Jan 93 15:50:30 PST
From: ross@qcktrn.com (Gary Ross)
Subject: new year's reflections
To: yucks
All the year in review pieces that show up every December got me
wondering if in 1999 we are going to see any millenium in review
stories Anyone want to contribute their favorite event of the millenium?
I figure it's going to take a while compile a complete retrospective.
And please don't tell me that the millenium ends in the year 2000. We've
got another 6 years before we have to start that argument.
------------------------------
Date: Sat, 16 Jan 93 16:19:36 -0500
From: Patrick Tufts <zippy@berry.cs.brandeis.edu>
Subject: notes from the field
To: spaf
Spaf, please enlighten us prospective turf majors. Is there a catalog
description? --Pat
>Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
>From: jcarroll@ferris.cray.com (Jeff Carroll)
>Subject: Re: Mud
>Date: 15 Jan 93 22:35:04 CST
In article <1993Jan16.002738.7381@microsoft.com>, benth@microsoft.com (Ben) writes:
> So I heard on the radio this morning that Candlestick Park
> has turned into a huge mudpit. They brought in the NFL Turf
> Specialist to re-sod it. Two questions:
>
> Wouldn't the game be more interesting (or become interesting)
> if they were playing it in two feet of mud?
[....]
> How does one get to become an NFL Turf Specialist? Is there a
> quiz? Do you have to sustain a lifelong interest in turf and
> various grasses and their properties?
You can major in it at Purdue. In fact, the surface at Notre Dame
Stadium at South Bend is "Purdue grass" or "Purdue turf" or "Purdue
sod" or whatever the hell they call it. They don't mind, because
Purdue has such a lousy football program.
I'm sure you can major in something similar at Washington State, too,
except that people by and large don't play football on sagebrush.
[Purdue turf was invented here decades back and patented. It is used
lots of places in the US to provide a natural turf field. It involves
putting in a special substrate with lots of interesting pipes and pumps
and so forth. The pumps mean that the field never dries out (they
water from underneath) and never floods (they reverse the pumps).
I dunno if there is a course in this -- I don't have a course catlog from the
ag school. I wouldn't be surprised. However, I would be surprised if there
is a matching course in "Purdue Turf Toe."
--spaf]
------------------------------
Date: Sat, 16 Jan 93 20:49:03 -0800
From: Bill Wisner <wisner@mica.berkeley.edu>
Subject: NOTW
To: eniac
In 1989, a Union Bridge, Md., high school permitted a female student,
Tawana Hammond, 17, to try out for its football team under the pressure
of a federal statute that bars school discrimination on the basis of
gender. On her first scrimmage, Tawana, a running back, was tackled and
suffered massive internal injuries. In October 1992, she filed a $1.5
million lawsuit against the county board of education for its alleged
failure to tell her how dangerous football is.
--
Larry Ketchum, 23, and Mike Minnerath, 22, were slightly injured after
being hit by a car in Billings, Mont., in September. Minnerath was being
pushed across the street in a wheelchair in heavy rain by Ketchum, who is
blind.
--
In December, as France was on the verge of repealing its 88-year-old system
of local funeral-service monopolies, Michel Leclerc was speeding up the
process by opening his latest funeral-service "supermarket" in Creteil.
"Here, people can take a cart and do their shopping," Leclerc said.
Consumers wander down lengthy aisles and satisfy their funeral needs at
"sale" prices. Leclerc offers models of caskets, headstones, plastic
flowers and other accessories, and consumers make selections to upbeat
background music from local radio stations.
--
Patrick Foley, 42, was arrested in Redwood City in November and charged
with arson. He started 42 grass fires there because he said "voices from
the church" created a back pain that only fire could alleviate.
[The judge who first heard this case said that Foley was the first and
only arsonist that he actually felt sorry for. w.]
--
James "Scott" Hooper, a student at Oklahoma State University, had his
lawsuit against Pizza Shuttle tossed out by a Stillwater, Okla., court
in October.
He had sued for $7 because his pizza contained the wrong toppings,
which he mistakenly ate part of. Hooper said he turned down an out-of-
court settlement of a $4-off coupon.
--
Escondido attorney Ben Echeverria filed a $2 million lawsuit in August
against Texaco Inc. and a local gas station manager because station
attendants were pumping gas for women at self-service prices, but not
for men.
The station almost immediately stopped its practice and forced women
to start pumping for themselves.
--
Several white, Hispanic and Filipino boys were disciplined for a recess
"game" they played with a 12-year old African-American classmate at a
Poway, Calif., school in June. They pushed the boy down and started
kicking him in what they called the "Rodney King game."
--
In October, the Illinois Supreme Court reinstated a $1.5 million verdict
against the Chicago Transit Authority in a 1977 wrongful death lawsuit.
The family of Korean immigrant Sang Yeul Lee had sued CTA for inadequate
warnings after Sang, who was drunk, urinated on the electrified "third
rail."
--
A West Milford, N.J., 13-year-old boy was arrested at the Macopin School in
September and charged with selling a classmate marijuana laced with poison
ivy. Because it causes tissue to swell, the poison ivy could have been
fatal to people with allergies.
--
In Naples, Italy, in November, masked men attacked four members of the
Napoli soccer team with iron bars, sending one of them to the hospital. A
group of fans later claimed responsibility, declaring that the attacks were
to punish the players for a 5-1 loss to the AC Milan team.
"(The Napoli players) earn billions of lire and do not play hard," declared
the group. "We will attack them again if they do not improve."
--
In September, a high school senior in Waianae, Hawaii, who was allowed to
run for homecoming queen after she became a female in a sex change operation,
finished last in a field of seven.
------------------------------
Date: Thu, 14 Jan 93 8:12:04 CST
From: peter@taronga.com (Peter da Silva)
Subject: speaking of star trek....
To: eniac (comp.protocols.tcp-ip.eniac)
> why does worf wear that silver-colored sash?
Klingons are made of unstable molecules, and if they don't wear tacky
barbaric jewelery they explode. That's also why Romulans wear those
ugly padded jackets.
> and how come ro's
> left ear is the one that's pierced whereas all the other bejor-
> ians (in STDS9 anyway) have their right ears pierced?
I don't know, it's probably some sort of Bajoran hanky code.
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 13 Jan 93 13:30:36 CST
From: Jon Loeliger <loeliger@bach.convex.com>
Subject: Stupid Final Exam stuff
To: spaf
> Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1992 21:26:05 -0500
> From: PTomblin@gvc.com (Paul Tomblin)
> Subject: Yucks Digest V2 #63 (shorts)
> To: spaf
>
> > From: jt3h+@andrew.cmu.edu (Jeremy Matthew Toeman)
> > Subject: Finals Week
> > Newsgroups: rec.humor.funny
> >
> > 50 Fun things to do in a final that does not matter (i.e. you are going
> > to fail the class completely no matter what you get on the final exam)
> >
> > [So far, I have yet to have a student do any of these things in any of my exa
> ms.
> > Pity. --spaf]
ANOTHER TRUE STORY: When I was a freshman at Purdue ('81), I was doing
particularly well in the CS 230 (intro to CS for CS majors) course.
I decided to be obvious and *way* out of character so I dressed in
a suit and ostentatious purple and black cape. The exam was being
held in the Purdue Armoury, along with about 2 or 3 other exams.
I walked into the exam about 10 minutes late after all were well
seated and quiet. Strode up the main aisle, followed by my roommate.
He promptly set a table cloth, candles and setting for one on my desk,
poured a glass of wine, took pictures and left. About half way through
the exam, the instructor (Paul Young) came up to me and asked, "You don't
happen to have another glass do you?". I blew that one.
jdl
PS- If the truth be known, it was actually White Grape Juice. I figured
that if they were going to nail me for *something* it would be drinking
under age, or alcohol on campus, or some such stupidity...
------------------------------
Date: 15 Jan 1993 19:10:15 GMT
From: the lost cause
Subject: What's the diff???
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
In this week's "the Rose Thorn", the student campus newspaper, there are 2
ads, from the Indiana State University Psychology Department. The first one
reads:
SEXUALITY STUDY Gay and bisexual men 18-55 years old are needed to participate
in a research study on sexual orientation. Paying $20 for participation.
The second one reads:
SEXUALITY STUDY Men 21-40 years old needed for research focusing on the
effects of alcohol on sexual response. Paying $10 for participation.
The possibilities are mind-boggling, but I don't have the time right now to
list all of the ones that come to my mind.
------------------------------
Date: Fri, 15 Jan 1993 13:25:24 -0800
From: John R Mudd <jrm@pgroup.com>
Subject: yucks submission
To: spaf
Seen in the Jan. 15, 1993 edition of the Oregonian (almost certainly off
a--probably AP--news wire):
Zamboni wrecking proves popular with Denver college hockey fans
The University of Denver has come up with a sports promotion
that might appeal to the demolition derby crowd: Zamboni car-wrecking.
Between periods of the championship game of the recent Denver
Cup hockey tournament, a small remote-control car--a regular feature
between intermissions--raced around the ice while a Zamboni machine
resurfaced the ice. The car hit a wet spot, spun, and disappeared
under the Zamboni.
To the delight of a crowd of 4700, the car was mashed into
hundreds of pieces littering the ice. The Zamboni driver looked back
at the debris as he drove away--and crashed into a goal, drawing another
roar from the crowd. A backup Zamboni had to finish the task, and the
Denver team, as if inspired by the mayhem, crushed Notre Dame 6-1.
A local car dealer had sponsored the remote car. At last check,
the dealer and the school were undecided whether to repeat the promotion.
------------------------------
Date: 12 Jan 93 23:00:00 GMT
From: A posting to the Telecom digest
Date: Tue, 12 Jan 93 17:45 EST
From: Bill_Everts@vos.stratus.com
To: John_Daleske, Dan_Danz
Subject: These phone systems are great!
Nat'l Lampoon True Facts 12 Jan 1993
According to the {Houston Chronicle}, Suzanne Handerson offhandedly
answered a ringing pay phone at a Waco, Texas shopping mall.
A voice asked, "Hello. Mrs. Henderson?"
Henderson looked around to see if she was on Candid Camera, or a
program of that sort. On the phone was the man who tends her yard,
calling with a question about the garden. It turned out that the mall
pay phone had almost the same number as her home phone.
Said Henderson, "It was a question of dialing the wrong number and
getting the right person. I was speechless."
------------------------------
Date: 7 Jan 93 18:42:24 GMT
From: an3822@anon.penet.fi (Erik the Rude)
Subject: electrical stimulation (long, kinky)
Newsgroups: misc.misc
[The guys in our hardware lab especially like this post. --spaf]
Oops, I botched my first attempt to send this to misc.misc. I'd
appreciate it if someone would forward this to alt.sex.masturbation,
which I cannot do from my anonymous host. - E the R
all about electronic masturbation
version 1.0
7 January 1993
SYNOPSIS. This textfile describes self-stimulation for men by means
of electrodes and low-voltage, carefully controlled electric current.
This technique is vaguely similar to the electrical stimulation
which is used to extract semen from stud bulls (but it probably
feels better).
When you talk about running electricity through someone's genitals,
most people think of torture. However, we have found that low power,
high frequency (audio) current can produce some very interesting
tingling and throbbing sensations.
We have been reluctant to publish this information in the past, for
fear that 1) a lot of people might get addicted to this technique,
and 2) it might be used to extract semen from men against their will.
We are in a reckless mood today and have decided to spill the beans.
WARNINGS. Like everything that feels good, this method has risks.
There is a remote chance that this method can cause tissue burns;
molecules migrating from the electrodes can theoretically cause
heavy metal poisoning; if you use a plugged-in amplifier and tone
source (instead of battery powered) there is chance of getting
shocked or electrocuted; use of electrodes that have not been
sanitized could spread disease or cause infection. Proceed at your
own risk. Because we have no control over the manner in which this
information is used, we assume no liability for damages resulting
from its implementation.
If you are electronically illiterate -- if you've never handled
a wire stripper and soldering iron -- DO NOT attempt to perform
the experiments described below.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
PHASE ONE. You will need the following items:
1) An audio amplifier, with 1 to 5 watts per channel of output power.
Battery-powered is best for safety reasons, although we have used
plug-in amplifiers for several years with only one unpleasant
accident. Do not use an expensive, high-power amplifier; they can
be damaged by short circuits and by being connected to loads of
unusual impedances (which is what we'll be doing).
2) A tone generator of some sort. An electronic music synthesizer
will work; or you can use a tone generator like those found in an
electronics workshop. (Hint: sine waves feel better than square
waves.) A battery-powered tone source is safer than a plug-in unit.
Do not use an electric guitar.
3) Insulated, solid (not multi-strand), 18-guage copper wire.
4) Soldering iron, solder, wire stripper, maybe some connectors.
Cut a piece of wire 10 feet (3 meters) long. Strip 3/4 inch (2 cm)
of insulation from one end. Form the exposed wire into an elliptical
loop. Solder the loop closed with a single, rounded bead of solder.
You want a nice smooth loop of wire and a nice smooth bead of solder
holding it closed -- no rough spots. Strip a bit of insulation from
the other end of the wire and connect it to the left channel "hot"
output of the amplifier. (The "hot" terminal is usually color-coded
red. If the amplifier output uses RCA phono-plug outputs, the "hot"
wire is attached to the center conductor of the jack.)
Cut another piece of wire 10 feet long. Strip 1.5 inches (4 cm) of
insulation from one end. Make it into a loop, as above. Connect
the other end of this wire to the left channel "ground" output of the
amplifier.
Set the amplifier's volume control to MINIMUM. Set your tone source
to produce a continuous tone of about 440 Hz (cycles per second).
That's the "A" below "middle C" on a musical keyboard. Insert the
small loop electrode just inside your urethra -- don't shove it
very far in. Insert the big loop electrode just inside your anus.
Now SLOWLY turn up the amplifier's volume control. Experiment with
different tone frequencies and waveforms. If you produce some
sensations that you like, congratulations. If none of these
sensations feel good to you, this method is not for you; sorry.
WARNING: Don't touch any plugged-in appliances while you are wired up!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
PHASE TWO. If you liked phase one, you'll eventually want to move
on to phase 2. For this you need two different tone generators, a
stereo amplifier, and more electrodes.
The amp's left channel "hot" output is connected to a small loop
electrode just inside the urethra, as before; and also to a large
loop electrode around the "head" or "neck" of the sex-wiener. Use
some sort of conductant around this external electrode, such as
skin moisturizing cream, to get a more pleasant sensation.
The amp's left channel "ground" output is connected to a small loop
electrode 2 or 3 inches deeper into the urethra than the "hot"
electrode. Make this electrode carefully, and test it to be sure
that it won't come apart (i.e. that the wire loop won't come open).
If the loop comes open when you're trying to pull the electrode out,
the wire will scrape your urethra -- a bloody, painful experience
which can be avoided by proper electrode construction. Also, be
careful not to nick the wire while stripping the insulation off it;
you don't want to weaken the wire because the loop might break off.
The amp's right channel "hot" electrode is connected to a scrotum
(balls) electrode. There are at least 2 types of scrotum electrode;
you need to be sitting down to use either type. One method is to use
the handles (not the cutting blades) of a pair of all-metal scissors;
lightly clamp them onto the scrotum, between the two sex-nuts, and
apply some conductive liquid such as skin moisturizing cream. The
other method is to cut a two inch square piece of synthetic sponge,
wrap some exposed wire around it, dip it in salt water, put it on a
coaster or small plastic tray, then sit down in a position that causes
the sponge to gently press into your sex-nuts.
The amp's right channel "ground" output is connected to a big loop
electrode just inside the anus.
The output of one tone generator is connected to the left input of
the amplifier; the other tone source is connected to the right input.
By playing two slightly different tones on the two tone sources, you
can produce some very interesting sensations. For example, play
the "A below middle C" on the left channel, and play the "A" an
octave higher on the right channel. Or play "C" on one channel
and the adjacent "C sharp" on the other channel.
We have produced a cassette tape of tones that feel good when played
into genital electrodes. If there is enough interest, we will find
a way to make it available.
We have not found much recorded music that feels good when played into
electrodes, although some parts of Kraftwerk's "Radioactivity" album
(on CD from Capitol records) aren't bad (especially the tunes "Radio
Stars" and "Uranium"). Generally, the drums and bass notes in pop
music don't feel very good. Maybe orchestral or "new age" music would
feel better.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
produced by STEM (Society for Technologically Enhanced Masturbation)
This document is public domain and may be freely re-distributed.
Share and enjoy!
[Hint: the 1812 Overture as experienced through Carver Silver 9-t amps
is not advised unless you are making your final appearance in a snuff
film. --spaf]
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Date: Mon, 18 Jan 93 22:26:52 EST
From: rsk@gynko.circ.upenn.edu (Rich Kulawiec)
Subject: For yucks, because I sure can't think of where else to send it
To: spaf
[This is quite long, and one of the more bizarre things I can recall
from recent memory. Evidently Darth thinks so too. --spaf]
Originally-From: oday@lobster.gsfc.nasa.gov (Orin Day)
Newsgroups: rec.sport.basketball.college,talk.bizarre,alt.licker.store
Original-Subject: Brush With Greatness
Date: 12 Nov 92 21:32:29 GMT
Organization: Goddard Space Flight Center
Warning: This, and the following post, is intended for the less
sensitive readers of the net, and contains in-explicit sex in a large
Tarheel Blue stadium. If you are easily offended by either, press "n" now.
"Brush With Greatness - If You Can't Follow Your Nose, Get Out of the Kitchen"
- how a former Royal and Blue University Basketball Fan chased THE MAN
and saw the light, even if it did just turn out to be a great big
drippy booger on the end of somebody's chin, and got the girl, not in
the end, but in all four corners, and mortgaged his manhood for the
Tarheel Blue in vain.
[ A Terrible Human Tragedy with hideous loss of human life, well, OK,
something even more precious, gollum, gollum, in Five Acts, Including
a rather Poorly thought out Preface. ]
Preface: The Matriculation.
After wiping the DePaul and Loyola programs off my inner thigh,
it was time to proceed upward and onward to a higher level, despite
the fact that it would take all my time and money, and then some
money, and then some time, and then more money. Little did I know then,
starry eyed hoops virgin in royal blue, that I'd end up taking it to the
hole in another shade and writing run-on sentences, worn cliches,
fragments, and ever changing person & tense, to the people of the net
in this electronic "True Confession".
Chorus: "We are the chorus, and We Agree."
Act I: College Life without the net, a foreplay to Dean.
It was a dark and stormy night. It began innocently enough,
with merely a simple kiss. Little did they know that it would
lead to "loosing", and mayhem, and murder, and Denver.
It was the Winter of 1990, and the Winter of my discontent.
Rations were scarce, and roommate relations were at an all
time low. But Earth Girls were Easy - just not in North
Carolina - and as band equipment manager, I'd just scored
an extra rugby shirt. The management of my equipment is
another story, for another road, another time. I looked at
the shirt as a "tabula rasa", a blank slate for the coaches
of the NCAA to make their mark, their eternal scribble, a
penetration into the void that would last a lunchtime.
The first to soil the (actually existing and in front of
me now) shirt was Digger Phelps, the acclaimed "Their
mothers carry beds on their backs/Their fathers' mack
trucks can't fill their cracks/Digger Phelps a fuckin'
mick/so Irish suck off my dick" Notre Dame coach. Soon
followed Lute "Merlin" Olson, a polite fellow even when
lightly steamed, Dick Tarant"ula" of Richmond, Chuck "Do you
really want me to sign this? Are you sure? Some great people
have signed this" Swenson of William & Mary, Jim "Hey son, no,
I didn't do it, they framed me" Valvano, Bob "on a" Bender of
Illinois State, Steve Fisher "King" of Michigan, and The Next
President of the United States, North Carolina Coach-Elect
Roy "Huck" Williams and his ne'er-do-well brother Gary.
Various former Royal Blue school players signed the shirt,
as did their honored trainer/grand dragon of Cherryville, NC,
and assorted assistants and athletic directors smelling of
hair tonic and stale margarine. Members of the media clamored
to be part of the asshole event, including Brent Musburger on
the eve of his parting of ways with CBS on his eventual path
to Harry Carey's drunken stool (and chair), Jim Nantz "in his
pants", Mike "Chocolate Smiles" Francesca"'s", Pat "I'm an
asshole and everybody who's met me knows it" O'Brien, "Free"
James Brown, "I'm a" Dick "Unless You're a Home Fan" Vitale,
Bob "Homer" Harris, Billy "Fudge" Packer, and John "Yeah, tennis
is really a sport, just get a sex change" Feinstein. Even actor
Danny Aiello (co-star with a yours truly in the flop movie
"Once Around", where that lobster extra fellows' RDU airport band
bathroom sex scene with Southern Mega-Babe-Belle "We've all got a
raging foot fetish for" Holly Hunter, alas, fell to the cutting room
floor, resulting in his attending an evening showing of the movie at
Willowdaile Cinemas with a friend, and nobody else showed up, except
the usher who said "Shut Up", so we said "Fuck Off, Pig, there's nobody
else here, and I'm in the movie" and didn't get thrown out even though
the movie sucked a nut, and the little lobster-mon wasn't in it much)
and former North Carolina State Rodney "Was it fire or ice or just cut
from the NBA" Monroe got into the signing act.
However, this is all another story, as one man stood alone. Dean Smith,
the Dean of ACC coaches, the Dean of the University of North Carolina,
the Dean of the STATE of College Basketball, the Dean of Dean's
Dairy, the Dean of Old-Boy Chicago Politics, the Dean of James Dean's
turned up collar, and the Dean of Male Personal Hygiene. This man had
escaped me, and I was determined that he escape me no more.
Act II: The Chase
Dean was lucky the first time, as I pursued him, hair tussled
from Lobster-Hat once removed, down the smoke-filled hallways of
Cameron. But the feisty Monty Hall individual eluded me, and a
security guard turned me into a newt just for following the Dean.
I got better though. So I figured, wait 'til next year, and heard
"you don't want that asshole to sign your shirt". But I knew better
and had seen better and would make better on my mission.
Cut to Denver, at a shadowy hotel without a name. The Royal Blue
school had advanced to the Final Four, and had made its annual
asshole commute to the mountains, where 3.2 beer was available to
us youngsters, in stark contrast to the dark gothic prohibition
previously only seen in remakes of Batman and Mr. Smith Goes To
New Orleans (--> w/team w/o Curtis). Standing in the lobby, non
drinking our non-mint non-Juleps, we spotted the MAN, appearing
in a cloud of smoke, which was emanating from a chain smoking
Larry Stogner. This was my big chance, but the shirt was far
away. Little did I know the reign of terror it would led to -
unmatched except by the reign of terror propagated by Cardinal
Ximinez of Spain that make for a smashing film. But I digress.
The only choice was to contact the man in his room, and the
security would be tight. Reviewing old episodes of the Patty
Astin (nee Royal and Blue) Show on my official Chem-Study Royal
and Blue University issued wrist Color Watchman with built in 8mm
Exabyte/Video tape drive, compact disc player, and 35 MHz RISC
DECStation, I figured that going into the old man's room under a
room service cart as Patty and her identical, missing, presumed dead,
cousin did to see Elvis naked just wouldn't work. As Dean might be
naked. So I left a note at the desk instead (Truly).
March 29, 1990
Dear Coach Smith,
Welcome to Denver! I hope you had a pleasant flight.
I am a [Royal and Blue] University student who is a big
fan of yours, and would like to obtain your autograph on
a shirt I have had signed by many ACC and NCAA Coaches.
Please call me at Room 218 if you have any free time,
and could meet me at some point this week-end.
Sincerely,
Orin Day
But I was spurned by Dean, as he never returned my note, instead
choosing to have his Cadillac hit by a Royal and Blue University
Bus. My work was cut out for me if I was to get it. Future
attempts at Indoor Stadium passes proved pointless, and even the
discovery of the net (where I was pulled in by the posts of a strange
man with a tic on the caps-lock key) so the next chapter started soon
thereafter.
Act III: A Flight of Fancy, or, Curtis was there for part of it.
After the last attempt to sign Mr. Smith, the intrepid []wannabe
gave up on Dean. Even though the man farted petunias, shat rosewater
and had never seen a dead donkey, much less its dick, a Royal and Blue
University Mascot knows when it's beat, much less beat off. But that
Philadelphia "Stranger in my Own Pants" [as once seen on the forsaken
Lobster "Loser" Hat (tm-expired) in days where the skies were another
color altogether] is yet another story, and is best not told over the net.
So I went to He's Not Here with Curtis for a round of blue cups. Round
followed round, black and tan followed by the Rock, followed by the Beast,
followed by a horde of abominable snowmen on motorized bobsleds, followed
by more hideous and sundry things, followed by a beautiful girl, followed
by Natty Bo, followed by the Rock again. Wait, I realized, there's a
beautiful girl!! "So what if I'm not sober," I half-thought/half-said.
"Maybe I can hook up, which is impossible at [Royal and Blue] University".
"No, No," said Curtis, ever the slick operating Ladies' Man. "Do you know
who that is? You can't hit on her, since you're the eternal Dook fan
much less the unknown stuntman and a shadowy figure without a name and
have no screwdrivers in your car. That's Jenny "Holly Hunter bodytype" Smith!
You can't! You can't! You're from Dook!"
But contrary to the odds, I did. Curtis was hit by a satellite in his
lust (no doubt directed by the GSfC and GSFC in their unholy union), and
I scored the babe. "Look into my eyes, young Dookie (breathe, breathe),
for I am your MENTOR," she said. Given her size-4 Reebok sneakers, I
couldn't disagree, not noticing the argyle sweater, but only the treasures
concealed within. "I'll teach you to play the four corners, and the
press, and how to recruit, and how to speed in Virginia," she said.
I wasn't disagreeing, and she was agreeable to the act.
ACT 4: The Act
She took me back to her place. It was large. It seated about 21,572
and was done up in a shade of blue. Given that I had three sheets to
the wind, I didn't think anything out of the ordinary. She showed me
the four corners, and didn't stall. We took it to the hole, and didn't
leave it on the rim. We cut down the nets and hit the boards hard,
grabbed the rebounds and chased after loose balls. In short, she brought
me to 'Heel. It was My Blue Heaven, and more.
I woke up sore the next morning, flat on my back, buck naked, looking
up at a sea of sky blue banners. Immediately, I got an erection.
"Was iz dis," the Freud in me thought. Next to me was Holly, also
naked. And we were not alone. Not alone in the room, that is, but
alone in our nudity. I heard the noise of basketballs bouncing,
and loud whistles and sneezes, and the smell of sweat that wasn't
mine, or hers. "Quick, hurry," she said. "Put this on before my
father sees you." She handed me a North Carolina designer #11 jersey
which I slipped on, and a pair of designer warmup pants which further
covered my nakedness. "Let me introduce you to my dad," she said.
Grumbling toward us was THE MAN, Dean Smith!! "Howja Do, young man?",
he said.
"Uh, well, sir," I said. "Once I wrote you a letter, in Denver. Did
you get it?"
"Yes, are you one of them Dook boys? My appendage Boss Hogg's been
trying to chase you down for years! Any idea how much damage you've
done to those po-lice cars!!! Yes, son, I got your letter, and called your
room. The guy there says 'Yeah right, and I'm the fuckin' pope' when
I said 'Hello, this is Dean Smith, is Orin there', so I hung up. Good
folk don't say those words. Did you spend the night here? If so, you
know the RULE!!!"
"Sir, what's that?" my voice quavered, with the fear of UMASS!!! upon me.
"If you had relation with my daughter here on the four corners, and you
enter that Shit-Box Indoor Stadium again, except in an official capacity
with this great University, this fine school of the tobacco state (that casts
64 votes for the next President of the United States Jessie Helms), your, uh,
test-tie-kules will shrivel like a Billy King jump shot, never to score again.
And if you took the shot from Center Court, you'll have to marry her, or suffer
the consequences. And if you didn't fill her to capacity, like the 91.8%
attendance we had in 1992, you'll have to be enlarged."
Having not realized that ALL triangle hoops coaches had slut machine
daughters, I had to weigh my options carefully. On one side of the coin,
she didn't look so good now that I was within the legal limits of being
able to walk, much less sobriety. She had her father's chin. Then again,
Dean was from Kansas.
"Coach, may I marry your daughter, and be an assistant coach like Quin
Snyder, and suck up to you just like he does to Larry Brown, but not
do coke and look like Shawn Cassidy with AIDS, and fill your daughter
to capacity every night?" I sniveled, snivellingly.
"If she is willing," he replied, "And since she was last night, there's
no reason on God's earth that she won't be now, except maybe that she is
sober. Plus I don't want those Montross genes in my family, and the Institute
of Geauxing and Kneauxing wants him and Zwikker for a cross with the Burge
twins anyway. It's part of their breeding program to obtain a white O'Bannon.
Don't think I don't know these things, because I have friends at BWI and NSA!
Plus I like your husky voice. It reminds me of somebody, but I don't know
who."
ACT V: The Nuptuals, and severing of the ties.
The wedding took place at the Binkley Baptist Church on 15-501,
the road that led to my new life. The groomsmen were Curtis and
Hubert Davis, and JR "Not Robert" Reid, and James "We're scum.
We're not" Worthy. My best man, Chris Hughes, was drunk off
Pabst (Royal) Blue Ribbon in Durham, and unable to attend.
The bridesmaids were lovely in the only blue known to real men, men
who get some rather than have Royal Blue (University) Balls in their
shrunken shrivelled helpless and inefficient sacks, and danced the
night away drunk on screwdrivers made with the expensive tequilla
left over from Curtis's birthday while partying in his car. But
that is another story, for another place, another road, another time.
Soon to be father in law Dean, in his rental Tuxedo, looked and sounded
just like the Penguin. Dick Paparo read from the Songs of Solomon, Frank
Scagliotta intoned from the tome of Merzbacher, and Lenny Wirtz giggled at
pictures of Madonna during the hymns. Rusty Herring watched Itchy & Scratchy
on the discarded Royal Blue University issued wrist Color Watchman with
built in 8mm Exabyte/Video tape drive, compact disc player, and 35 MHz
UNIX workstation in a hideous foreshadowing of things to come.
The [shadowy puppet masters] sat in the balcony eating Bullock's Bar-b-que,
Fried Chicken, Brunswick Stew, Okra, and Spam, and eggs, and eggs, eggs, and
Spam, and beamed.
A strange man in a red jumpsuit with two small robots were in the vestibule
mocking the whole thing for no apparent reason.
Yes, another Duke Mega-poster had been converted by the cast iron bullets -
bullets of true love, and veiled threats of Kansas, where Typhoid Mary rules
the land, and sheep are scared.
Tragically, the wedding, and the coaching life of the newly anointed net
newbie would not last long. For though his lust for Durham was forever gone
(except an occasional lunch run to El Rodeo, taking a wide berth around
that Shit-Box Indoor), Jenny Smith's lust for Durham was ever growing - but
not for the City Of Medicine, Tree City USA, the All American City, and the
City of Steaming Pus Milkshakes with a Mayonnaise Filled Donut on the Side, but
for "I've got a great big Over the Radio Waves" Woody Durham, the venerable Tar
Heel broadcaster.
Dean could not stand having a son-in-law coach that couldn't shoot from inside
the 3-point stripe, and a son-in-law who lost his husky voice along with the
phlegm from his blue-cup induced hangover. So at Half Time of the Royal
Blue University vs. Carolina game, the intrepid newbie was fired, and his
testicles dropped off and were shipped out to the Goldwater state for
immediate Dead Donkification.
So I left Durham, stripped of my manhood, broken hearted as the love of my life
left me for Durham (even though she did have her father's chin), and with a
deep heartfelt (and then some) understanding of life in the ACC fastlane, and
the desire to never return to the site of my castration, but to instead visit
the site of my greatest triumph, the Dean Dome, twice each year to see Pat
Kennedy and Les Robinson spit wine and sneeze cheese and get whupped like
new ACC coaches are supposed to. Soon, a job was offered at the GSFC.
Thinking it was the GSfC, I accepted immediately without regard to salary, and
fell into deep moral and financial debt.
But naught was regretted, except maybe the case of psoriasis contracted
via scratching my former father-in-laws 10 year (and counting) itch without
wearing an adequately lubricated rubber glove.
CHORUS: "We are the chorus, and we agree. We agree, we agree, we agree."
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End of Yucks Digest
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