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Yucks Digest V1 #58
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To: yucks
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Subject: Yucks Digest V1 #58
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From: spaf (Gene "Chief Yuckster" Spafford)
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Date: Tue, 4 Jun 91 20:01:02 EST
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Reply-To: Yucks-request
Yucks Digest Tue, 4 Jun 91 Volume 1 : Issue 58
Today's Topics:
administrivia
A letter to the editors
A poke in the pig?
Cat War
Diplomacy
disabled yuck
fluorescent pickle trick
Life's so simple in rural parts
Microsoft C
OBLIQUE PERSPECTIVE
ONA Offers New Horizons for Telesleaze
Translations from the English
Virus sale
Wishing well letter
yucks submission (pretty gross)
The "Yucks" digest is a moderated list of the bizarre, the unusual, the
possibly insane, and the (usually) humorous. It is issued on a
semi-regular basis, as the whim and time present themselves.
Back issues may be ftp'd from arthur.cs.purdue.edu from
the ~ftp/pub/spaf/yucks directory. Material in archives
Mail.1--Mail.4 is not in digest format.
Submissions and subscription requests should be sent to spaf@cs.purdue.edu
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From: spaf
Subject: administrivia
To: yucks
I will be out of the country from June 8 thru June 22. There will be
no "yucks" delivery while I am away (at least, none by me!).
Send your suggestions and postings anyhow, and we will have a flock
(gaggle?) of yucks after I return and empty out my mailbox.
Cheers,
--spaf
------------------------------
Date: 3 Jun 91 23:30:05 GMT
From: rick%pgt1@princeton.edu (Rick Mott)
Subject: A letter to the editors
Newsgroups: rec.humor.funny
There exists a magazine called "Business Tokyo" which provides an interesting
glimpse of Japanese politics, business, and culture. In a recent issue, a
guest editorial appeared which was written by none other than Ralph Nader.
He argued, apparently perfectly seriously, that Japan's major problem was
a shortage of lawyers which hampered the advancement of consumer protection.
I was moved to write the following:
Editors
Business Tokyo
104 5th Ave.
New York, N.Y. 10011
Dear Sirs or Madams:
Mr. Nader is absolutely correct in his assessment that Japan suffers
from a critical shortage of lawyers ("Meeting Point", February 1991
issue). Fortunately, the United States possesses the wherewithal to
remedy this problem at once.
Clearly, all right-thinking Americans should request -- nay, demand!
-- that their Congresspersons immediately authorize the export of
some small fraction (say, 40,000) of America's lawyers to our friends
in Japan. Furthermore, Congress should offer to pay their salaries
for the ten years deemed necessary to bring Japan's regulatory and
liability litigation climate up to America's advanced standards.
Our government has shown that, when the interests of society are at
stake, it is willing to pay people not to do something; witness the
farm support programs. I have long thought that this philosophy
could usefully be applied to the activities of the legal profession.
Here we have a golden opportunity to double the benefits of this
approach while taking the moral high ground. The $6-8 billion/year
cost of the program would be repaid manyfold by the elimination
or, possibly, complete reversal of America's trade deficit with
Japan by the end of the decade. We could undo the damage wrought
by Mr. Deming at a single stroke.
The only tiny flaw in this otherwise admirable scheme is the
likelihood that the Japanese may miscontrue our beneficence
as an act of war...
Sincerely yours,
Richard B. Mott
Princeton Gamma-Tech
------------------------------
Date: Sat, 1 Jun 91 23:14:43 PDT
From: one of our correspondants
Subject: A poke in the pig?
To: yucks-request
Pork Fans Blast Veggie Touters
DES MOINES, Iowa (AP)
The day after an animal rights activist shoved a pie in the face
of Iowa's Pork Queen, the other pie dropped.
Sandra O'Neall threw a whipped cream pie Saturday at a protester
with People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.
"Turnabout is fair play," O'Neall said after hitting 16-year-old
Denise Berner with the pie outside the World Pork Expo.
O'Neall said animal rights activists are entitled to their view,
but should not have taken it out on the Iowa Pork Queen, Dainna J'Ann
Jellings.
Jellings, 19, was uninjured in Friday's incident by an anonymous
animal rights activist dressed in a pig costume.
Robin Walker, a spokeswoman for the vegetarian advocates, said the
action was taken to protest the killing of millions of hogs "to feed
America's meat addiction."
The first pie-throwing incident alienated pig farmers on hand for
the year's biggest pork trade show as well as an Iowa-based animal
rights group.
Tensions were evident Saturday when a motorcyclist drove onto the
sidewalk near the protesters, revved his engine and drove away. Some
motorists also taunted the demonstrators.
Vicky Eide, founder and director of the 500-member Iowa Alliance
for Animals, said she is urging Midwest animal rights activists to
end their financial support for Washington, D.C.-based People for the
Ethical Treatment of Animals, which claims more than 350,000 members,
including 2,000 in Iowa.
"It was a stupid stunt," said Eide. "They have turned it away from
being an issue for treatment of animals into an issue of treatment
for humans by their blatant disregard for human dignity."
People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals continued its protest
outside the Iowa State Fairgrounds. But just 11 demonstrators
appeared, much less than the 25 to 50 expected by organizers.
Charles Harness, a spokesman for the sponsoring National Pork
Producers Council, urged farmers to ignore the protests and enjoy the
displays.
"We consider it a bizarre sideshow," Harness said.
James Todd, who works on a hog farm at Stronghurst, Ill., said he
was upset by Friday's incident.
"I'm definitely against them coming in and trying to tell us what
to eat and what to do," Todd said.
------------------------------
Date: Mon, 3 Jun 91 21:56:58 PDT
From: one of our correspondants
Subject: Cat War
To: yucks-request
"Cat War"
By John Sinor Copley News Service
We have a cat war that wages on and on. So far, there has been no
bloodletting that I am aware of, but the screams that accompany it
would turn most people's blood cold.
To look at them, the opponents do not seem particularly fierce.
One is a small grandmother of a cat named Frankie, who is
willing to stand in the rear of the line and eat last after her
children and grandchildren.
The other is a big lummox of an orange male cat known
alternately as Enzo and Bo-bo, who rarely does anything more
threatening than look at you a little vacantly.
But the two cats, if they end up in the same room, will create
the sounds of unmitigated terror.
Actually, it is Frankie who makes the sounds. She screams. But
she doesn't scream like a cat. She screams like three sopranos who
are being scalded by flaming oil.
I can't understand what she is screaming. I can only tell you
what it sounds like she is yelling.
It sounds like, "Omilord! He is tearing my heart from by body
and plans to eat it!!"
What has actually happened, usually, is that Enzo has looked at
her.
My wife says this is a territorial feud. Frankie knows she is
the boss of the house and is here to protect her family.
Enzo doesn't know any such thing. He figures he is the male cat
and that makes him boss and Frankie is a hysterical female.
As a result it is almost impossible for anybody to sleep at
night if both of them are somewhere in the house.
When the yelling starts, I usually open the front door until one
of them goes out.
If they both go outside, no one in the neighborhood will sleep
that night. The outside world is not big enough for the two of them.
Often both will go to sleep in the house somewhere in rooms far
away from each other.
Around 3 a.m. they will(somehow find each other.
Then Frankie will let out a cry that sounds like, "Aaagghh! Now
he is eating me bit by bit and he will come and eat all you humans
next!"
When found, Enzo will usually be sitting a good four feet away
from her, looking at her with mild indifference.
What Frankie is yelling in that soul-wrenching scream of hers
may really be, "Somebody come and help! That cat is looking at me!"
One day my wife accidentally locked one of them in a guest
bedroom without knowing the other one was already asleep somewhere in
there.
Then we went out of the house for a while.
When we came back, lamps, clothing and alarm clocks were
scattered about throughout the guest room. The room actually needs to
be redone.
The cats, without a mark on either of them, were sitting on the
floor glaring at each other.
It would be difficult for a human to judge this territory
business.
Actually, Frankie was here first. Enzo is a transplant from
Seattle, a daughter's cat. But he is pretty chauvinistic.
Besides, this is a cat's world we are talking about. I don't
suppose they would consider reasoning their argument out. Detente
seems out of the question.
Humans are lucky if they can handle human affairs. Cat affairs
are beyond us.
------------------------------
Date: 1 Jun 91 10:30:03 GMT
From: sfleming@cs.heriot-watt.ac.uk
Subject: Diplomacy
Newsgroups: rec.humor.funny
[The following, possibly apocryphal story appeared in this morning's
(28/03/91) Glasgow Herald.]
Lord George Brown, when the band struck up at an embassy function,
asked: "Beatiful lady in scarlet, will you walt with me?"
"Certainly not," was the reply. "First, you are drunk. Secondly, it
is not a waltz, but the Venezualian national anthem; and thirdly I am
not a beautiful lady in scarlet, but the papal nuncio."
------------------------------
Date: Sat, 1 Jun 91 12:40:28 PDT
From: osc!strick (henry strickland -- strick@osc.com)
Subject: disabled yuck
To: spaf@cc.purdue.edu
Here's a joke told on "West Coast Weekend" (KQED-FM-SanFrancisco) by a
dyslexic who admits that sometimes when she tells jokes she gets the
punchline last.
Er, first.
How many dyslexics does it change to take a light bulb?
[I'm not sure if I'm missing the joke here, or Henry forgot to
send a punchline..... --spaf]
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Date: Fri, 31 May 91 00:32:33 EDT
From: decwrl!uunet!popeet!gypsy (moxie)
Subject: fluorescent pickle trick
To: eniac@mejac.palo-alto.ca.us
i got this in the mail today...
---------
> From: This is _intense_! <guess.enet.dec.com!yerazunis>
> Subject: Fluorescent pickles
First of all, fluorescent pickles contain hazardous voltages and can be
dangerous if misused. Unless you are sure of what you are doing, have a
licensed electrician wire your pickles for you. (Hi regis!)
Take a large whole pickle. Take two 2" nails. Take an extension cord.
Preferably, take them from your housemates because they will not be
reuseable later on... It helps to have a lava-lite too...
Put the pickle on a ceramic plate. Put a nail in each end of the pickle.
Cut the receptacle end off the extension cord, and strip each of the two
wires about 2.5 cm (1 inch to you archaics). It's a good idea to
unplug the extension cord before cutting into it.
Wrap one of the wires from the extension cord tightly around one of the nails.
Wrap the other wire around the other nail. Make sure the nails are nowhere
close to touching inside the pickle.
Put on safety glasses. Put plate on heat-resistant flooring. Stand back.
Dim room lights. Put on romantic music- something by the Doors is always
good. Plug in extension cord.
--->DO NOT TOUCH ENERGIZED PICKLE!<---
Within thirty seconds or so, the pickle will start to glow with a flickering
green light. This light gets brighter as the pickle warms up (yes, pickles
need to warm up, just like TV sets). The flickering green light is very
60's-ish.
When the pickle starts to make a really bad smell, unplug.
Do not try to fix the burned-out pickle. They are all solid state, and
like the label says, "Do not remove cover. No user serviceable parts inside."
-Bill (V for Vindaloo) Yerazunis
------------------------------
Date: Tue, 4 Jun 91 17:00:34 -0700
From: bostic@okeeffe.Berkeley.EDU (Keith Bostic)
Subject: Life's so simple in rural parts
To: /dev/null@okeeffe.Berkeley.EDU
from the Sunday Chronicle:
New Hamphire, the home of John "Air" Sununu and
David "mention abortion and go to jail" Souter, is a special
case. Perhaps you remember the couple who lived a little too
free and was arrested for putting tape over the "Live Free
or Die" motto on their New Hampshire license plates. They
took their case to the pre-Souter Supreme Court and won.
The follow-up, please. The couple was awarded $30,000
in court costs, but for months and months New Hampshire refused
to pay up. Finally, federal marshals took warrants and guns to
one of New Hampshire's state-owned liquor stores and made the
manager hand over $30,000. New Hampshire is the only place
in the world where justice can be done by holding up a liquor
store.
------------------------------
Date: 2 Jun 91 10:30:03 GMT
From: jrp@rducky.UUCP (JIM PICKERING)
Subject: Microsoft C
Newsgroups: rec.humor.funny
[9] From: Mark Swift 4/4/91 4:58PM (892 bytes: 17 ln)
Microsoft C 25.25
C** Compiler Version 25.25, Command Line Release
Copyright (c) 1983-2525 Microsoft Corporation
Copyright (c) 2525 Bill Gates XIV
Compiling ai.c
Warning C1007: Obvious Attempt to Perform Pointless Operation
Warning C1009: Attempt to Bypass Unforgiving C Compiler Detected
Warning C5150: Attempt to Crash C Compiler Circumvented
Warning C2109: Internal Programmer Recognition Module Failed
Warning C2007: Attempt to Intuit Programmer's Intent Failed
Warning C0001: Compiler Out of Patience
------------------------------
Date: Tue, 4 Jun 91 17:22:07 -0700
From: bostic@okeeffe.Berkeley.EDU (Keith Bostic)
Subject: OBLIQUE PERSPECTIVE
To: /dev/null@okeeffe.Berkeley.EDU
OBLIQUE PERSPECTIVE
-- by John Wharton
The story you are about to read is true. Identities have been
concealed to protect the enterprising. Those of us who design and
build microcomputers usually think we have a pretty good idea of our
target markets and who the potential users may be. We're usually
wrong. If a product succeeds in the marketplace, its eventual uses will
extend far beyond the horizon foreseen during product definition.
Consider the following bizarre tale. I was driving to a friend's
wedding in southern California one snowy Saturday morning, already
running late, when a cloud of greasy smoke erupted from my dashboard.
I soon found myself in Tehachapi, CA (population 4,126) desperately
seeking a mechanic.
The third garage I came to looked open, so l knocked on the door and
went in. Just inside stood two coverall-clad mechanics who seemed to
be anxiously waiting for someone. They eyed my wedding garb
suspiciously, and I felt like I'd stumbled into a Miami Vice drug buy,
but after a while the older mechanic spoke up. "Did you bring the
PROMs?" he asked.
A very strange question, coming from a car mechanic, but I was in a
rush. "No," I answered, "I'm afraid all I've got is a broken-down
Toyota, and a desperate need to get going again as soon as possible."
The mechanics asked about the car's failure mode, maintenance
history, anti-freeze level, and so forth, to which my answers merely
showed how poorly I understood how cars work. I design computers for a
living, but automobile engines are black magic.
After realizing I'd be of no help at all, the mechanics began poking
under the hood, pressurizing the radiator, tracing the path of the
cooling-system hoses, unplugging connectors, and testing for leaks.
I was struck by how his actions resembled a computer designer
debugging a giant, grease-encrusted breadboard. The Master Mechanic
concluded I had blown the heater core in the dashboard, for which the
quickest fix would be to "short-circuit the core with a bypass hose,
which would hold me until the core could be replaced. The computer
industry is not the only one with garage-shop hackers, I thought.
ENTER THE COMPUTER
Now, Tehachapi is chiefly a bedroom community for test pilots from
Edwards Air Force Base, hardly a hotbed of computer system design, so
the Mechanic's earlier question about PROMs had come as a surpise.
While his partner hacked away at the heater I/O hoses (literally, with
a knife), I asked the Master Mechanic what (in his business) the word
PROM meant. "Oh, that," he replied. "PROMs are how microcomputers
store programs. We're rebuilding the engine computer in that Taurus
over there." Great, I thought. Here was a topic I could relate to!
"I didn't know engine computers could be fixed," I said. "I thought
you had to replace the whole assembly." "Used to, you did," the
Mechanic replied. "Everything was soldered down and potted in resin,
but no more. If you can get the box open, you can swap chips until it
works. It's a lot cheaper than junking the whole board. Everything's
in Augat sockets now," he said, showing me an open module. Augat
sockets! It had been ages since I'd heard hardware engineers sing the
praises of Augat sockets, certainly not what I'd expect here. The only
engineering circles in which Tehachapi is famous are of the railroad
variety, thanks to the Tehachapi Loop, an unusual switchback in the
tracks through a local mountain pass. The conversation had taken an
unusual turn, but at least now I could show off my computer expertise
and soothe the battered ego I'd suffered from being so helpless under
the hood. "I actually design computers like that, up in Silicon
Valley," I began. "In fact, I developed Ford's very first engine
computer, back in the `70s." That should impress him, I thought. He
pondered briefly, then asked: "EEC-3 or -4?" Damn! This guy was good.
"I thought it was EEC-1," I began, trying to remember the "electronic
engine control" designators. "It was the first time a computer..."
"Nah, EEC-1 and -2 used discrete parts," he interrupted. "EEC-3 was
the first with a microprocessor." "That was it, then. It had an
off-the-shelf 8048." "You mean you designed EEC-3?" the Master
Mechanic asked incredulously. "Hey, George!" he shouted to the guy
working under the hood. "When you're done fixing this guys car, push
it out back and torch it! He designed EEC-3!"
So much for impressing the Mechanic, huh? I shot back defensively.
"Did EEC-3 have a problem?" "Reliability, mostly," he replied. "The
02-sensor brackets could break, and the connectors corroded." I beat
a hasty retreat. "Those sound like hardware problems," I said. "All I
did was the software." "EEC-4 was much better," the Mechanic continued,
gazing wistfully into the distance, as though thinking back to his
first `57 Chevy. "Now there was an engine computer. Sixteen-bit CPU,
fuel injection, timing, spark advance... Boy, that EEC-4 could do
anything!" "I should hope so," I responded. "Intel designed its CPU
just for engine control. Later they repackaged it called it the 8096.
Still sells pretty well, too." Common ground at last!
"Yeah, it was EEC-4 that really sold me on Intel," the Mechanic
continued. "Made me scrap my AT motherboard and put in a genuine Intel
386 version. Tried a turbo card first, but it just couldn't hack it."
(Note to Intel marketing strategists: you might as well scrap your
Business Week ads: the real grass-roots buyers read Road and Track. How
about a promo with a monster truck crushing a row of Motorola
processors, with the catch-line, "The Computer Inside"?)
TWENTY QUESTIONS
"Say, you know anything about the 387?" "Sure," I answered,
confidently. I'd written several articles and two manuals on
386-family products. Data formats, FPU instructions, I knew it all, I
thought. "What's the difference between a 387-2 and a 387-10? I had
my system's hard disk upgraded, and when it came back from the shop my
spreadsheets wouldn't run. I think the technician switched
coprocessors on me. "Sorry," I said. "I never studied the different
steppings, or speeds, or binnings, or whatever." "How about the
BIOS?" he tried again. "Could new BIOS PROMs make an application stop
running?" "I've no idea," I replied, again feeling unredeemed "but
frankly, with DOS I wouldn't be surprised by anything that broke if
the BIOS was changed." "Well, can you at least tell me where you buy
DRAMs, and what's a good price?" Finally! A question I knew I could
answer! "I get mine at Fry's," I said. "They're down to $49 for mega-
byte-by-nine SIMMs." I started describing the Fry's supermarket chain,
a local curiosity that stocks the valley's best assortment of
software, microchips, and Freon alongside soft drinks, potato chips,
and deodorant, but the Master Mechanic wasn't amused. "That's too
small. My board's already stuffed with one-megs. I need four-meg SIMMs
now." Strike three. Now it was my turn to be incredulous. "What do
you do with your PC, anyway?" I asked. One-meg SIMMs had always been
enough for me. "Oh, PROM burning, data acquisition, DSP, that kinda
stuff. Just got a new 16-bit A/D and D/A add-in board for analog work.
Use it to check out connector voltages, to see if the engine
electronics is working. Hey! Wanna see my new HP oscilloscope?" he
offered. "Four traces, 100-MHz . I declined. I'd thought car mechan-
ics only used scopes to check ignition timing. "I'm thinking of
getting a logic analyzer," the Mechanic continued. "You build
computers, you must know something about logic analyzers. What kind
should I get?" (I *swear* I'm not making this up.) "Logic analyzers?"
I said, counting the years since I'd last touched a logic analyzer.
"Yeah, sure, logic analyzers are good..."
The conversation had crossed into the surreal. Suddenly it dawned on
me why these guys were working on a weekend. "You know," I said, "back
when I was working on EEC-3, my boss said I should keep a copy of
the program listings for my records. He predicted someday there'd be
an aftermarket for high-performance PROMs that could hop-up the engine
by overriding the standard emissions controls and fuel-efficiency
algorithms. Do you think that'll happen?" "Already has," the Master
Mechanic replied with a wink. "Sold through the mail, mostly. They'd
be illegal, of course, if they failed state emissions standards." Of
course. And just imagine how difficult it must be to reverse engineer
an undocumented engine computer. You'd need a PROM burner, a
data-acquisition system, and a good scope, for starters. And maybe a
logic analyzer... But by then my car was ready, and I had an
already-in-progress wedding reception to join. I can only guess the
fate of the disassembled Taurus.
RUMINATIONS AND CONCLUSION
There's probably a slew of morals lurking in this story, about not
prejudging technical competence based on appearance, and the hazards
of trying to impress strangers. Pride doth goeth before a fall. But
what struck me most was how these computer-proficient grease monkeys
seemed to come straight from today's science-fiction. Cyberpunk novels
like John Brunner's Shock wave Rider and William Gibson's Neuromancer
often pit computer hackers against a repressive future establishment.
Their mastery of technical arcana lets them navigate the interstices
of cyberspace, hide from authority, and escape domination. I thought
especially of Terry Gilliam's bizarre film Brazil, in which a renegade
plumber hacks sewage systems and cooling ducts much the same way
George used a bypass hose to short-circuit my heater core. At first
it seemed remarkably incongruous to find self-taught computer
engineers fixing cars in a smalltown garage, but in a way it's
inevitable. The basic skills needed to diagnose and repair complex
systems are the same, whether the underlying technology is
gasoline-engine or microprocessor-based. The same kind of personality
that souped-up MGs in the past might naturally enjoy souping-up PCs
today. As microelectronics pervades society, the range of engineers
who apply the technology will broaden too, as will the range of
engineers who adapt it into new, unintended areas. "Hacking" will
expand beyond the realm of slightly-disheveled stereotypical nerds to
include a much broader cross section of society.
------------------------------
Date: 23 May 91 09:23:00 GMT
From: 0004133373@mcimail.com (Donald E. Kimberlin)
Subject: ONA Offers New Horizons for Telesleaze
Newsgroups: comp.dcom.telecom
OK, Telesleaze fans. Here's a really marvelous way that
opening telecommunications to competition by getting into the FCC's
mandated Open Network Architecture will brighten and benefit all our
lives. (Why is it that the worst seems to come out first?)
It seems someone has a patent to inject advertising messages
in the silent intervals between audible ringing signals. Worse yet,
the RBOCs seem to be all agog at this marvelous new thought about
getting revenue out of otherwise "dead air time!"
Communications attorney Vic Toth of Reston, VA has reported
that a firm he describes as creators of a "home spun invention from a
backyard in Kansas" called Phone Spots, Inc. has the LECs "real hot"
over the idea as they meet in a group called the IILC discussing ways
and means to provide "enhancements" to local exchange switching by
creating access points in the LEC exchange.
Toth's report indicates that telephone consumers might be
compensated for enduring this form of telesleaze by receiving a
discount on their local service bills or being given free local
payphone calls. (Of course, so far only the "techies" are talking.
The commercial office of the LECs has yet to be heard from. From
there, I expect to hear some tripe that no, there's no kickback to
sufferers; rather, PUC permission to inflict ringing-interval
telesleaze as a "means to defer rate increases" -- for at least a
month -- will be their rationale. It's Telco Hymn number 132 for those
who want to look up the words in the LEC Hymnal.)
Well, I guess we can anticipate a whole raft of free market
opportunities to arise from this:
*Advertising agencies are probably already hiring vice presidents
to place spots and research audiences in this whole new market
segment.
*Writers of slogans as once used on Burma-Shave signs along U.S.
highways may once again find employment (as they will have to
fit advertising into four-second slots betweem two-second
audible ringing signals).
*Hardware manufacturers can forecast their market of 14,000
units to sell (this being the number of central offices in the
U.S., as I recall).
*Sellers of 900 rip-offs will have a far more economical and
pervasive means to entice you into further telephone scams
(Just think of listening to a 900 pitch EVERY time you place
a call!)
*LECs will derive yet a tertiary revenue source by tariffing a
monthly charge to *stop* the telesleaze on your order (Do we have
any *7n codes left for an "ad blocking" option?).
....and so on. The mind boggles, once the nausea subsides.
I bet our readers at Rolling Meadows are already working on
this marvelous enhancement to our lives and well-being. However, the
STP Rule ("Sorry, That's Proprietary") probably applies, so they can't
comment. I'll speak for them:
Bleeeecchhh!
------------------------------
Date: Tue, 4 Jun 91 10:27:25 -0700
From: bostic@okeeffe.Berkeley.EDU (Keith Bostic)
Subject: Translations from the English
To: /dev/null@okeeffe.Berkeley.EDU
I don't think this is a joke in Britain. From a news report:
"Labour MP Ken Livingston...called for the need to continue the fight for
lesbian and gay equality long after Clause 25 was amended, and pledged to
introduce a Private Members Bill to Parliament which would decriminalize
all consenting homosexual behavior over the age of 26...".
------------------------------
Date: 4 Jun 91 10:30:05 GMT
From: JRP1@phoenix.cambridge.ac.uk (Jonathan R. Partington)
Subject: Virus sale
Newsgroups: rec.humor.funny
At last a much-needed gap in the computer market has been
filled! Up to now, there were lots of firms advertising
anti-virus services for your computer. We, JRP's virus service,
are the only widely-advertising organization from whom you can
buy viruses for your friends!
Our firm has a long history of sabotage and deceit -- for
example the original Trojan horse (the wooden one) was designed
and built in our factories; also in fact when God designed the
Universe, He consulted our Pan-Universal Parent Company -- with
the result that the whole world is due to be consumed by fire
next week.
But it's only now that we've gone into the computing and
electronics business.
Q. How do I choose a virus for (e.g.) my grandmother?
A. I'm glad I asked me that. The answer is, first see what sort
of computer she's got. If it's an IBM PC, then frankly I wouldn't
bother... she's probably got lots of viruses already and maybe
some other present, such as a scarf for winter, would be more
appropriate. (We can recommend virus-infected scarves that cause
unmentionable diseases, strangle the wearer, burst into flames,
etc. -- just send for the catalogue.)
If she's got, say, a Macintosh, then maybe she'd like a nice
mouse-virus. This one, JRP/1/666/42/SPONG/94 has a real mouse
inside the plastic one. Won't she get a thrill when it comes out
and start crawling up her arm, squeaking, etc.?
Anyway, send off now for our full catalogue. We have viruses
that sing to you, gas you (a popular one in Iraq this one), print
NEEDLE NARDLE NOO somewhere in the middle of your thesis where
you won't spot it, turn your floppy discs into marzipan (actually
this one does no obvious damage at all), and ones that phone up
the nearest police station and request them (in a Chinese accent)
to bring round a pickled-onion-and-custard-topped pizza.
Q: No, I don't think those sorts of viruses are quite what I
want. What else can you recommend?
A: I'm asking me a lot of questions today, but I'll answer this
last one for me. Well now... we can also add viruses to other
hardware with electronic components. One man was given a virus
which caused his washing machine to tear all his shirt buttons
off, to re-knit his socks so that no two matched, and to make his
pullovers look like doormats. He ended up with a job as a
University Lecturer, of course. Later in fact his vacuum cleaner
was caused to blow dirt and slime all over him, after which his
promotion to Professor was assured.
Another popular virus is one which causes televisions to burst
into flames as soon as any Australian Soap comes on. Or you can
get one for your neighbours' lawnmower which makes it run out of
control and write rude words all over his lawn. Yet another one
causes all messages on the Ansa-phone to be erased and replaced
by bogus but urgent-sounding messages, e.g. "Come home at once,
your baby sister's been eaten by an aardvark," "Yes, I will marry
you," and "HELP! HELP! I'm being murdered! Aaaagghhh!"
Finally, under some circumstances you can design your own virus.
Tell us who the victim is, what hardware they have, whether they
are to be killed, driven mad, annoyed, confused, ... whatever.
Then leave it to us, and we'll design a virus uniquely tailored
to your needs!
------------------------------
Date: 1 Jun 91 23:30:04 GMT
From: JRP1@phoenix.cambridge.ac.uk (Jonathan R. Partington)
Subject: Wishing well letter
Newsgroups: rec.humor.funny
Grasmere Town Council,
Cumbria,
England.
Dear Sirs,
Last month my wife and I visited your village, and were struck by
a tourist attraction labelled "Ye Olde Wishing Well". We decided
to make use of this facility, so I put in 1p and made a wish; my
wife put in 2p and did similarly.
To my great surprise, my wife did not vanish instantly in a puff
of blue smoke. It is also clear from the way she looked at me,
and said, "Don't you feel at all sick?" that her wish wasn't
granted either.
We naturally assumed that the wishes would therefore take some
time to deliver, and waited the usual 28 days. However nothing
seems to have happened, and I am therefore writing to ask for a
refund, as it is clear that your wishing well is faulty. No doubt
the engineers are already making repairs to it, and if so I must
request that my wish be fulfilled as soon as possible.
It is of course possible that the wishing-well has a minimum
fixed charge, but this was not evident from the sign, and so my
lawyers tell me that you have no case. I await your response.
Yours sincerely,
Herbert J. Globsquirtle
------------------------------
Date: Mon, 3 Jun 91 17:53:50 -0700
From: rutgers!devnet.la.locus.com!armand
Subject: yucks submission (pretty gross)
To: spaf
This is from Mark Johnson [at MIPS]. resent without permission.
>Subject: how to change your perspective on calamari...
I love calamari myself, but apparently opinions differ...
WARNING: the following material could be considered tasteless or disgusting
[It is both, which means it may inspire or amuse some of you.
However, if you are feeling temporarily faint of heart, read
no further. --spaf]
This story is not an Urban Legend or an Old Wives' Tale or a Lie. It
actually happened, it is true, and the people involved are still alive
to verify it. (** more at end of article).
Offensive material follows .......
DINNER AT BENIHANA'S
A stockbroker in Dallas was supposed to pick up two clients at
the airport. They were coming to Dallas to finish the last details
of an upcoming major deal, and if the terms were acceptable, to
sign the papers on the spot. The broker was nervous because this was
a big important deal and he didn't want to blow it. So he stopped
in a bar on the corner and had a couple of martinis to calm his
nerves before going to the airport.
Then the broker went to DFW to pick up the clients. Unfortunately
their flight was delayed for an hour, so he walked over to the
Admiral's Club (American Airlines' preferred customer lounge) and
had a couple more martinis while waiting for the plane.
The plane lands, the two clients get off, and they are visibly
shaken. "It was a hell of a rough flight," they said, "let's get
a drink Right Now before we go to dinner." So the broker eased
them the 50 yards over to the Admiral's Club where they had two
martinis. By now everybody is calmed down and they can go to
dinn-dinn. The broker suggests they go to Benihana's Japanese
Steak House and the clients agree. Broker drives them over in
his Lincoln.
They arrive and are told there would be a "brief wait" before
they can be seated. "No problem, we'll be in the bar," the
merry band replies to the hostess. And while waiting to be
taken to the table (table is really a large grill shared with 9
other customers and served by an acrobatic performing chef),
they have two more martinis. By now the broker is really looped
as he has quaffed down 8 martinis in 2 and 1/2 hours.
They go over to the table and are seated. The chef arrives and
expertly chops up lots of stuff, whizzes it onto the grill
with a flourish, and slides it onto plates for Appetizer.
"Boy this is GOOD," the broker says, "what is it?"
"Fried squid" says the Benihana chef.
Whereupon the broker becomes instantly and thoroughly disgusted,
makes a terrible grimace and throws up ONTO THE HOT BENIHANA GRILL.
The fluids (and solids) in the vomit begin to sizzle as they dance
on the grill, sending up a great cloud of horribly sickening odor
that quickly permeates the whole restaurant. Imagine the sensory
overload of seeing, hearing, and smelling this awful mess when all
you really wanted to do was have a relaxed meal.
The management had no choice but to evacuate THE WHOLE RESTAURANT
and give complimentary meal certificates to the patrons.
******************************************************************************
******************************************************************************
Postscripts:
1. The most frequently asked question is "But did he get the deal?". The
answer is No.
2. The really yucky part of this story is that the stockbroker eventually
joined Alcoholics Anonymous, and as part of the therapy, AA asks you
to tell your story. SO HE TOLD IT, ABOUT HIMSELF!! Imagine being
the guy *after* this guy; it would be hard to top.
3. I will never eat at Benihana's ever again. Bleah.
--
-- Mark Johnson
MIPS Computer Systems, 930 E. Arques M/S 2-02, Sunnyvale, CA 94086
(408) 524-8308 mark@mips.com {or ...!decwrl!mips!mark}
Anybody for Japanese food?
Rex
------------------------------
Date: Tue, 4 Jun 91 13:25:24 -0700
From: brian@UCSD.EDU (Brian Kantor)
To: spaf
>From news Tue Jun 4 11:50:47 1991
>Received: by ucsd.edu; id AA09167
> sendmail 5.64/UCSD-2.1-sun
> Tue, 4 Jun 91 11:50:45 -0700 for brian
>From: news (News System)
>Message-Id: <9106041850.AA09167@ucsd.edu>
>Date: 4 Jun 91 18:50:44 GMT
>To: usenet
>Subject: Create newsgroup alt.destroy.the.earth
>Responding-System: ucsd.Edu
>Status: R
>
>usc!wuarchive!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!toasty!bluemom!blue1!teller requested that a new newsgroup called 'alt.destroy.the.earth' be created.
>It was approved by root@bluemom.llnl.gov (Genius Tender)
>
>You can accomplish this by creating the newgroup yourself
>In other words, by executing the command:
>/usr/lib/news/inews -C alt.destroy.the.earth
>
>
>usc!wuarchive!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!toasty!bluemom!blue1!teller says:
>really deal vith this screwed up planet. Here at Lawrence Livermore and
>our sister labratories at Los Alamos, we're really cooking up Solutions!
>
> Gigaton or Bust! More Tritium, Igor! Keep them reactors going!
>
> Edward Teller
> 'Big Daddy'
> teller@blue1.llnl.gov
>
------------------------------
From: DECWRL::"jo@odi.com" "Jonathan Ostrowsky"
To: closet::t_parmenter
Ed writes a column, "My America", for the Weekly World News. Here's
his hard-hitting piece from the April 9 issue; the first paragraph
alone is the best piece of work I've seen in ages.
========
EGGHEADS BLOW $12 MILLION TRYING TO TALK TO EXTRATERRESTRIALS
... and taxpayers are footing the bill
I'm madder than E.T. with a bag of melted Reese's Pieces that our
free-spending Congress is paying 12 million bucks of heard-earned tax
money on a project to contact space aliens! Let's face it! Why the
hell are we spending big bucks looking for space aliens when they land
here all the time for free?
All the eggheads at NASA"s Ames Research Center in California have to
do is look out the window on a clear night and they'd see more UFOs
than you could shake a stick at!
But nooooooooooo!
Dr. Jill Tarter is the scientific queenpin behind this stupid Search
for Extraterrestrial Intelligence project that gets under way in
October and is expected to cost a whopping $100 million over the next
10 years.
But what makes me so pig-biting mad is why aim all these high-tech
electronic listening devices at stars where only dimwit aliens live?
That's right, folks. Stupid aliens. If they were smart, they would
have already contacted US, wouldn't they? Or buzzed us in one of
those UFOs people see all the time.
The bottom line is that smart aliens are already here and the only
ones we'll contact by radio waves are so dumb they'll never answer us
anyway.
In fact, even if we did make contact with these half-cockroach,
half-fish civilizations, what the hell are we going to learn from 'em
-- how to live under rocks? Why the hell don't WE get smart and try
to learn everything we can about the space creatures who are already
here, for Pete's sake?
Those are the light-bulb heads we have to worry about. I've said it
before and I'll say it again, the only good space alien is a dead
space alien.
If these suckers are so damn friendly, why th hell haven't they gone
public?
Most of 'em are evil and want to colonize the Earth and make humans
into slaves, that's why.
So I've got a better idea about how to spend 12 million bucks of our
tax money -- let's spend it on alien traps. We could bait 'em with
whatever these bug-eyed reptiles ear and end this alien threat to
Earth once and for all!
------------------------------
Date: Fri, 31 May 91 14:24 EDT
From: rutgers!pdn.paradyne.com!reggie (George Leach)
To: spaf
>Date: Sat, 25 May 91 11:26:05 -0700
>From: bostic@okeeffe.Berkeley.EDU (Keith Bostic)
>Subject: The invitation is in the mail
>To: /dev/null@okeeffe.Berkeley.EDU
>In New York City, Mayor David Dinkins's City Hall ceremony to
>honor the Super Bowl champion Giants had to be canceled after
>it was discovered that no one had invited the team.
They were out of practice :-) Back in January of 1987,
when the Giants won Super Bowl XXI, then mayor of New York Ed Koch
refused to hold a parade for them in the city and was quoted as saying
"Let them have a parade in Moonachie". The Giants play in East Rutherford,
NJ (next to Moonachie), not in NYC.
------------------------------
End of Yucks Digest
------------------------------