NNNNNNf`ўpРш NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNхххюOчNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNхххыеееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееК’чяя@`Ђ   А а ря`Ђ Аа! #@%`'ря) +А-а/1 3@5`7Ђ9 ;А=а?A яOE`GЂI KАMаOQ S@U`WЂY [А]ря_a c@e`gЂi kАmаoqряs@u`wЂy {А}аЃ ѓ@…`яЏ‰ ‹АЌаЏ ‘ “@ •` —Ђ яЇ ›А ќа џ Ў Ј@ Ґ` §Ђ ©  «А ­а Ї ±ряі@ µ` ·Ђ №  »А Ѕа ї Б Г@ Е` ЗЂ Й  ЛА НряП С У@ Х` ЧЂ Щ  ЫА Эа Яб г@ерязЂй лАнапс у@х`чЂщ ыАэая!Aсясячяя@`Ђ   А а ря`Ђ Аа! #@%`'ря) +А-а/1 3@5`7Ђ9 ;А=а?A яOE`GЂI KАMаOQ S@U`WЂY [А]ря_a c@e`gЂi kАmаoqряs@u`wЂy {А}аЃ ѓ@…`яЏ‰ ‹АЌаЏ ‘ “@ •` —Ђ яЇ ›А ќа џ Ў Ј@ Ґ` §Ђ ©  «А ­а Ї ±ряі@ µ` ·Ђ №  »А Ѕа ї Б Г@ Е` ЗЂ Й  ЛА НряП С У@ Х` ЧЂ Щ  ЫА Эа Яб г@ерязЂй лАнапс у@х`чЂщ ыАэая!AсясяNUTWORKS10 гt ­GNUTWORKS11 t „NNUTWORKS12 1t (ЈiNUTWORKS13 rt C$jNUTWORKS14  t ^ХMNUTWORKS15 Еt r/QNUTWORKS16 мt ‡•DNUTWORKS17 t ™щaNUTWORKS18 4t І‚oNUTWORKS19 bt ОВ]NUTWORKS20 t жЯ~LEES DITnt }------------------------------------------------------------------------ ***** ***** Tenth ***** *** Collector's Issue *** ** *** *** Edition! Anniversary *** ** *** *** *** ******* Issue!!! *** ** *** *** *** ******* *** ***** *** *** *** *** ***** ***** ****** ** ****** ****** ****** **** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** **** *** ***** *** ****** *** **** *** *** *** ** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***** *** ****** ****** *** *** *** *** *** ** *** **** **** ****** *** **** *** **** Electronic Humor Magazine. Issue010, (Volume II, Number 6) March, 1986. NutWorks is published semi-pseudo-monthly by Brent C.J. Britton and Leonard M. Friedman ------------------------------------------------------------------------ There is no such thing as reality... ...it's all virtual. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NutWorks News ============= 1) Brand-spanking new NutWorks Info files are now available on CSNEWS at MAINE and xxxxx at xxxxxx, but if you're reading this, (and we know you are) then you probably don't need/care to see anything in the INFO file. 2) NutWorks is now available on TCSSERVE at TCSVM using the SENDME command. Yup, we're spreading like the plague. 3) (Outdated text deleted.) 4) (Outdated text deleted.) Eds. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Nuts & Bolts ============== That's right folks, it's time again for... THE ALL-TIME LIST OF SUPERLATIVES!!! This month's topic...Sillyness -------------------------------------------- Sillyest song title.........."Da Doo Ron Ron Ron, Da Doo Ron Ron" Sillyest animal noise........Gobble (But "Moo" runs a close second.) Sillyest pizza topping.......Anchovies Sillyest women's undergarment................The Girdle Sillyest euphamism for fecal matter................"poo-poo" Sillyest Politician..........Claude Pepper Sillyest Ronco product.......The "In-the-Shell Egg Scrambler" Sillyest sexual toy..........Jello (all flavors) Sillyest Philospher..........Heideggar Sillyest food................Yogurt Sillyest non-food............Tofu Sillyest name for a cartoon character...........Elmer Fudd Sillyest nationality.........Canadian French. No, make that ALL French. Sillyest college major.......Physical Education (Runner up: Philosophy) Sillyest puctuation mark.....The Squigely Bracket Sillyest Airline.............People's Express Sillyest country name........Djibuti, Africa (pron'ced DEE-JEE-BOO'-TEE) Sillyest name for a Rock band.................Jethro Tull Sillyest pair of assholes....Grant/Rudman Sillyest phrase.............."Now then..." (Think about it.) Sillyest musical instrument..The Tuba Sillyest American actor......Ronald Reagan Sillyest American president..Ronald Reagan Sillyest name for a computer company............WANG Sillyest American city.......Tuscaloosa Sillyest bodily function.....The Fart Sillyest name for a brand of Coffee..............Choc Full O' Nuts Sillyest Sport...............Crocodile Wrestling Sillyest name for a university..................Hofstra Sillyest T.V. game show......Press Your Luck ("Big bucks, no whammies!") Sillyest game show host......Wink Martindale Sillyest word in the English language............Booger Sillyest holiday.............Groundhog Day Sillyest name for a programming language........LISP Sillyest reason to form a computer network............Because It's There bcjb. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ And it came to pass that the ART majors were required by their college to partake of the computer class, so that they would acquire an education of well-roundedness. And the Dean saw that it was good. Struggled they, to fathom the computer. Much documentation did they read. Came they to the final exam. "Define the following:" was the only instruction. Did they their best. Here be their answers: CPU: "This is the central processing unit usually --- pictured above the memory on the diagram located almost 30 times in my notes." BIT: "Binary Digit. Represents either or something but --- nothing in between." "Most machines have 8 bits." B Disk: "The B disk is were (sic) all of our assignments ------ are." "This disk on someone else's virtual machine of which we can only read the material from." SCRIPT: "A device which by adding control words, you can ------ make an assignment neater." "SCRIPT is a format. You string everything together to make nice neat margins so you leave .fo on." OP SYS: "An operating system is a giant program which is ------ always running in the computer and it runs the computer." VM: "The virtual machine is physically 'real', but in -- terms of the large really 'real' computer my 'machine' is only the virtual terminal upon which I work." HEX: "Hexadecimal notation is a spurious character --- appearing often in the form of a period in a line of input in your file." BASIC: "To calculate the total employee you must add one ----- to each employee." COMMANDS: "We have to type asterusis in our console file." -------- "COPY (a variable in a PLC program) is a location where the translated alphabits are stored." "The command Print fn ft sends the file to my virtuous reader." "The command L * SCRIPT (Date means the names of file on A disk go to screen, using SCRIPT to format on a certain day." RESUME: "I have extreme competence in dealing with the ------ public." GENERAL: "The computer can help elliviate spelling errors." ------- And great was the professor in his mirth. bcjb. (and a jovial professor) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ This is the little subscription leaflet that you never see in normal magazines because it always falls out onto the floor, and lands in the dog dish. Notice how ours stays *in* the magazine! Just another fine example of the superior quality of NutWorks magazine! Of the following, which box would you be more likely to check: +--+ YES! I would LOVE to receive issues of NutWorks magazine at NO | | charge! This IS an amazing deal that I'd have to be positively +--+ CRAZY to turn down! I will be anxiously awaiting the arrival of each new issue, so please RUSH NutWorks to me as soon as possible! +--+ NO! I am a complete moron, and a poop-head. I'm not interested | | in your stupid magazine, and if I see it, I'll purge it. Don't +--+ ever send me anything. I hate you. Bleah! Pthooey. If you checked the "YES" box, why don't you send a mail file to the editorial staff and let us know? If you checked the "NO" box, you are a mindless jerk and deserve to be nailed to a tree by your eyelids. bcjb & Scott J. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Question of the month: ===================== "So, if this Khadaffy guy is such a hot shot, why is he only a Colonel?" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ GENESIS ======= In the beginning, IBM created the hardware and the software. And the software was without form, and zeroes were upon the face of the disks. And the sysgen moved upon the face of the drum. And IBM said, "Let there be system," and it was "genned". And IBM saw the system, and it was buggy. And IBM divided the light from the dark, and called the light OS, and the dark HASP. And the cold start and the warm start were the first crash. And IBM said, "Let there be a supervisor in the midst of core, and let it divide the regions from the regions." And IBM called the supervisor MVT. And the cold start, and the warm start were the second crash. And IBM said, "Let the programs in the machine be gathered into one area," and it was so. And it called the area LINKLIB, and the rest EXTRALIB, and IBM saw that it was good. And IBM said, "Let the supervisor bring forth (CLG) initiators, and the initiators running programs, and the programs yielding output, each to it's own dataset," and IBM saw that it was good. And the cold start, and the warm start were the third crash. And IBM said, "Let there be lights on the console to divide the wait's from loops, and let them be for the operators and for the programmers. And IBM made five great lights: the system light to rule the CPU, the wait light to command the operators -- He made the PSW also. And the cold start, and the warm start were the fourth crash. And IBM said, "Let the disk bring forth abundantly the utilities that hath bugs, and appendages may fly above the system in supervisor state." And IBM created the great compilers, and every subroutine that runneth and IBM saw that it was good. And the cold start and the warm start were the fifth crash. And IBM said, "Let the core bring forth the linkage editor after it's kind, for object modules and load modules," and it was so. And IBM said, "Let us make users in our own image and let them have dominion over the readers and over the printers and over the disks and over all of the system, and over every bug in HASP that lurketh beneath the nucleus." And IBM created the user in His own image, and IBM blessed them, and said, "Be fruitful and multiply and add and subtract and divide, and fill the queues." And IBM said, "Behold, I have given you every procedure bearing JCL which is on the face of the PROCLIB. And IBM saw that it was good. And the cold start and the warm start were the sixth crash. Thus the hardware and the software were finished, and all the troubles with them. And on the seventh day IBM unbundled the work that it had made, and rested from producing. And IBM sanctified the unbundling and blessed it -- because on it, IBM rested and created a larger profit. anon. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Shaggy Dogs =========== (The "answers" to these shaggy dog stories are at the bottom of this article.) ----------- I. Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle, was innocently leaping from tree to tree one fine day, when a band of crazed cannibals ambushed and killed him. They devoured him almost immediately, except for the lining of his stomach which they stretched over a hollow log to make a bongo drum, and gave it to the son of the chief cannibal. The boy was delighted with his new drum and played it constantly for weeks. Until one day, he came crying to his father the chief. "Daddy," he whimpered, "my bongo drum rotted away." "Son," replied the chief, "you can't play 'Tarzan's Tripe Forever.'" ----------- II. And then there was the story of the guy who played the harp for the local orchestra. After a particularly boring day at orchestra practice, he and some friends decided to stop in at Sam's Disco for a quick dance and perhaps a drink or two. Not wanting to leave his valuable harp in the car where it could easily get stolen, he brought it into Sam's with him. Well, the "quick drink" soon turned into several rounds, and our harp player soon began to stagger and yell and cause such a commotion that Sam had to throw him out of the disco and send him home. He awoke the next morning, his head pounding, and slowly began to dress for orchestra practice. As he was about to leave, he discovered that his harp, his pride and joy, was missing. "Oh no!" he gasped. And with a deep sigh, he began to sing, "I left my harrrrrrp... in Sam's damn discooooooo..." ----------- III. Long time ago, there lived great Indian warrior named Shortcake. Shortcake in love with Squaw who lived on other side of great river. Many moons, him sit on bank of great river, watching Squaw who sit on other side. Many times, him decide to swim across great river, but him coward. Him build boat and paddle. But boat sink, and him die. Squaw jump in water and drag out body of Shortcake. And then, 'Squaw bury Shortcake.' ----------- IV. Roy Rodgers was so delighted with his new pair of cowboy boots that he walked into town to show them off. But on the way into town, a cougar jumped out from behind a bush and attacked him. Roy tried his best to escape from the cougar, but his new boots weren't broken in yet and their stiffness made it hard for him to run. Regret- fully, he pulled them off and ran away without them. The cougar was overjoyed at this, and it tore the discarded boots to shreds. Roy, now very angry at the loss of his prize boots, went home, took out his shotgun, and went looking for that cougar. When he returned, the dead cougar slung over his shoulder, his wife met him at the door. When she saw the cougar, she said, "Pardon me Roy, is that the cat who chewed your new shoes?" ----------- V. When the first team of explorers landed on Planet X, they found that the inhabitants were nothing more than little balls of fur with arms and legs. The explorers called the creatures "Furries" and soon found that the Furries were very adept at manufacturing things. Whenever the explorers needed anything, they just had to go look, and most assuredly there was a Furry somewhere who produced it. But the Furries all looked alike, so, to make it easy for the explorers, each of the Furries wore his particular product on the top of his head. The Furry who sold radios had a radio on top; the one who made dishes had a dish on top; and so forth. One day, one of the explorers, a diabetic, ran frantically into the explorers' headquarters. "My needle broke!" he cried, "How will I ever be able to take my insulin!?" The others, unconcerned, sang to him: "If you need those drugs in a hurry, It's okay, no sweat, don't worry, Just go see that cute little 'Furry with the Syringe on top...' ----------- Answers: I.........'Stars and Stripes Forever' II........'I Left My Heart in San Francisco' III.......'Strawberry Shortcake' IV........'Pardon me boy, is that the Chattanooga Choo-Choo?' V.........'The Surrey With the Fringe On Top' bcjb. (Among others) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ And now, a news flash from the world of Heavy Metal Rock. ==================================== Dateline Hollywood: In a brief news conference today at Ripgore Recording Studios, it was announced that yet another benefit concert will be held in April to aid the starving masses in Etheopia. This time, the contributing groups will all be Heavy Metal bands. But what will make this concert different is, instead of performing one after the other, the participating bands will all play on the same stage simultaneously. Furthermore, all the bands will each be performing different songs, again, simultaneously. The reason for this unprece- dented schedule was not given, but one of the participating artists said that it would be a "stimulating experience." The concert, dubbed "Twisted-Helical-Iron-Scorpion-Rat's-AC/DC- Maiden-Sister's-Leopard-Kiss--Aid", was tentatively scheduled to be held in Omaha, Nebraska, but due to the local zoning laws forbidding any noise exceeding 250,000 decibels, the location was changed to The Sea of Copernicus, the Moon. The concert will NOT be broadcast via satellite, as it will easily be heard at every point in the known universe. Other "Aid" events to watch for... Roller-Derby Queens benefit Derby...........RollAid Secret Service benefit supper...............Presidential Aid American Medical Association luncheon.......First Aid The Wall Street Charity bonds...............Financial Aid American Cinemas benefit movies.............Visual Aid Fisherman's Union benefit Fish Fry..........MermAid bcjb. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Appendix ======== We're sorry, but this issue of NutWorks has had its appendix removed. Damn! How can we ever wear our new French bikini with this ugly scar!? ----X----X----X----X----X---- <---- ugly scar bcjb. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ еееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееее------------------------------------------------------------------------ ***** ***** ***** *** *** ** *** *** *** ** *** *** *** ******* *** ** *** *** *** ******* *** ***** *** *** *** *** ***** ***** ****** ** ****** ****** ****** **** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** **** *** ***** *** ****** *** **** *** *** *** ** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***** *** ****** ****** *** *** *** *** *** ** *** **** **** ****** *** **** *** **** Electronic Humor Magazine. Issue011, (Volume II, Number 7) April, 1986. NutWorks is published semi-pseudo-monthly by Brent C.J. Britton and Leonard M. Friedman ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Some say: "Knowledge without common sense is folly." We say: "Knowledge without folly is BORING." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NutWorks News ============= 1) SPECIAL TO SUBSCRIBERS: There have been a small number of requests that NutWorks be sent via DISK DUMP or SENDFILE, instead of as a MAIL file. Unfortunately, because of the size of the subscription list, and the size of the magazine itself, we must continue to use MAIL. This alleviates much network traffic by only sending one file to each node, instead of one file per person. (If you didn't know this, ask your systems personnel about how the Columbia VM Mailer works.) 2) (Outdated text deleted.) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ *** NutWorks News Extra *** ============================ (Netcon Info) (Outdated text deleted) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ From the Bridge =============== Captains Log: Stardate: 860414 Commander Spock Reporting: Well having now worked in the computer field a bit more and also having lived a bit longer I have made a few conclusions about life. 1) Murphy was right on the mark. Murphy states that: a) If anything can possibly go wrong it will, at the worst possible moment. b) Nothing is as easy as it looks. c) Nothing is fool proof, because fools are so damn ingenious. (He says alot more, but that is all I can rememeber...) 2) Murphy was an optimist. 3) It's true, Life's a bitch and then you die. 4) If there are n possible bugs in a program the one that will cause the most damage is the one that will go wrong. 5) If you correct the n possible bugs in your program the n+1 bug is bound to appear. 6) I now understand why computer programers hate keypunch operators. 7) There is a cause and affect relationship between operators forgetting to do backups and system crashes. 8) People somehow know when you are at 300 baud. Why else is it then and only then that they choose to bombard you with messages. 9) People know when you are at 300 baud and trying to edit something. (see above) And now a few stories, with some morals about life: If You Are Unhappy ================== Once upon a time... There was a non-conforming sparrow who decided not to fly south for the winter. However, soon the weather turned so cold that he reluctantly started to fly south. In a short time ice began to form on his wings and he fell to earth in a barnyard, almost frozen. A cow happened by and crapped on the sparrow. The sparrow thought that it was the end, But the manure warmed him and defrosted his wings. Warm and happy, able to breath, the sparrow began to sing. Just then a large cat came by and hearing the chirping, investigated the sounds. The cat cleared away the manure, found the chirping bird, and promptly ate him. *** The Moral of The Story *** 1) Everyone who shits on you is not neccessarily your enemy. 2) Everyone who gets you out of the shit, is not neccessarily your friend. 3) And, if your warm and happy in a pile of shit, keep you mouth shut. Leonard M. Friedman ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Nuts & Bolts ============== by Brent C.J. Britton Ok folks, so I misspelled a word... you don't have to bite my head off! Just for good measure, though, the "silliest pair of assholes" entry in last months column should have read "Gramm/Rudman" and not "Grant/Rudman", (which is rather humorous in itself if you consider all the "grants" that are disappearing due to the efforts of Mr. "Gramm"). A friend of mine was sitting in class recently, doing his best to wholly ignore the lecture, and he came up with the following thoughts on life in general. I hope you like them: I was Just Thinking... =================== By Arthur Hannaford College professors, on the whole, are the worst dressed group of people in the world. No one, no matter how strangely they may be built, could ever be comfortable in any seat designed for classroom use. Hippis should join us in the 80's... then I changed my mind, leave them in the 60's. Those people who sit in a lecture hall and nod their heads in agree- ment as if they were talking individually with the instructor have no idea how stupid they look. Polyester is never sexy or attractive. Young males who can't grow a mustache shouldn't try. Restaurants with paper placemats are not places I'd want to take someone I was trying to impress. Hack-sack is a weird game that no one seems to be able to play well. No one is more creative than a student who is making up an excuse for missing an exam. Blue is a nice color, orange is not. There should be a class in personal hygiene for college freshmen. The statement "Heavy Metal Music sucks" is inaccurate; Heavy Metal is not music. Left-handed people look funny when they write. Matching shoes and belts, especially in white, was a great idea... it makes geeks easier to spot. I don't like Freshmen. They have bad attitudes. I, of course, was never a Freshman. Synchronized swimming is a silly sport. I don't like station wagons. They tend to imply that the owner is a mother of six. It would be funny if someone parked a Corvair in Ralph Nader's gar- age. Bathroom poetry wouldn't be funny if you weren't sitting on the toilet with your pants down while reading it. People who refer to the terminal on which they are working as "my computer" shouldn't be told the difference. ah & bcjb ------------------------------------------------------------------------ How To Make A Board =================== by Dave Barry Most of what I know about carpentry, which is almost nothing, I learned in shop. I took shop during the Eisenhower administration, when boys took shop and girls took home economics--a code name for "cooking". Schools are not allowed to separate boys and girls like that any more. They're also not allowed to put students' heads in vises and tighten them, which is what our shop teacher, Mr. Schmidt, did to Ronnie Miller in the fifth grade when Ronnie used a chisel when he should have used a screwdriver. (Mr. Schmidt had strong feelings about how to use tools properly.) I guess he shouldn't have put Ronnie's head in the vise, but it (Ronnie's head) was no great prize to begin with, and you can bet Ronnie never confused chisels and screwdrivers in later life. Assuming he made it to later life. Under Mr. Schmidt's guidance, we hammered out hundreds of the ugliest and most useless objects the human mind can conceive of. Our first major project was a little bookshelf that you could also use as a stool. The idea was that someday you'd be looking for a book, when all of a sudden you'd urgently need a stool, so you'd just dump the books on the floor and there you'd be. At least I assume that was the thinking behind the bookshelf-stool. Mr. Schmidt designed it, and we students sure know better than to ask any questions. I regret today that I didn't take more shop in high school, because while I have never once used anything I know about the cosine and the tangent, I have used my shop skills to make many useful objects for my home. For example, I recently made a board. I use my board in many ways. I stand on it when I have to get socks out of the dryer and water has been sitting in our basement around the dryer for a few days, and has developed a pretty healthy layer of scum on top (plus heaven-only-knows-what new and predatory forms of life under- neath). I also use my board to squash spiders. (All spiders are deadly kill- ers. Don't believe any of the stuff you read in "National Geographic".) If you'd like to make a board, you'll need: Materials: A board, paint. Tools: A chisel, a handgun. Get your board at a lumberyard, but be prepared. Lumberyards reek of lunacy. They use a system of measurement that dates back to Colonial times, when people had brains the size of M&Ms. When they tell you a board is a "two-by-four", they mean it is NOT two inches by four inches. Likewise, a "one-by-six" is NOT one inch by six inches. So if you know what size board you want, tell the lumberperson you want some other size. If you don't know what size you want, tell him it's for squashing spi- ders. He'll know what you need. You should paint your board so people will know it's a home carpentry project, as opposed to a mere board. I suggest you use a darkish color, something along the lines of spider guts. Use your chisel to open the paint can. Have your gun ready in case Mr. Schmidt is lurking around. Once you've finished your board, you can move on to a more advanced project, such as a harpsichord. But if you're really going to get into home carpentry, you should have a home workshop. You will find that your workshop is very useful as a place to store lawn sprinklers and objects you intend to fix sometime before you die. My wife and I have worked out out a simple eight-step procedure for deciding which objects to store in my home workshop: 1. My wife tells me an object is broken. For instance, she may say, "The lamp on my bedside table doesn't work." 2. I wait several months, in case my wife is mistaken. 3. My wife notifies me she is not mistaken. "Remember the lamp on my bedside table?" she says. "Yes?" I say. "Still broken," she says. 4. I conduct a preliminary investigation. In the case of the lamp, I flick the switch and note that the lamp doesn't go on. "You're right," I tell my wife. "That lamp doesn't work." 5. I wait 6 to 19 months, hoping that God will fix the lamp, or the Russians will attack us and the entire world will be a glowing heap of radioactive slag and nobody will care about the lamp anymore. 6. My wife then alerts me that the lamp still doesn't work. "The lamp still doesn't work," she says, sometimes late at night. 7. I try to repair the lamp on the spot. Usually, I look for a likely trouble spot and whack it with a blunt instrument. This often works on lamps. It rarely works on microwave ovens. 8. If the on-the-spot repair doesn't work, I say: "I'll have to take this lamp down to the home workshop." This is my way of telling my wife that she should get another lamp if she has any short-term plans, say, to do any reading in bed. If you follow this procedure, after a few years you will have a great many broken objects in your home workshop. In the interim, however, it will look barren. This is why you need tools. To give your shop an attractive, nonbarren appearance, you should get several thousand dollars worth of tools and hang them from pegboards in a graceful display. Basically, there are four different kinds of tools: Tools You Can Hit Yourself With (hammers, axes). Tools You Can Cut Yourself With (saws, knives, hoes, axes). Tools You Can Stab Yourself With (screwdrivers, chisels). Tools That, If Dropped Just Right, Can Penetrate Your Foot (awls). I have a radial arm saw, which is like any other saw except that it has a blade that spins at several billion revolutions per second and therefore can sever your average arm in a trice. When I operate my rad- ial arm saw, I use a safety procedure that was developed by X-ray machine technicians: I leave the room. I turn off all the power in the house, leave a piece of wood near the saw, scurry to a safe distance, and turn the power back on. That is how I made my board. Once you get the hang of using your tools, you'll make all kinds of projects. Here are some other ones I've made: A length of rope. Wood with nails in it. Sawdust. If you'd like plans for any of these projects, just drop some money in an envelope and send it to me and I'll keep it. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ And now, another silly excuse from Joe_User for why he has been working on the same programming assignment for twelve weeks running: Student: (to consultant) "I don't know what I'm doing. I never listen to the teacher during class. I just take notes." Mark Woodruff & bcjb. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Used Car ============ By Richard Lawson (STERMAN @ CITROMEO) ( This is reputed to be a true story ) It seems there was a man looking for a used car. Perusing the want ads, he came across this item: Two-year-old Corvette. Good condition. Low mileage. $75 Unable to believe the price, and believing the price to be a typo, he called the number in the ad. A woman answered and assured him that the price was correct as printed -- $75. The man got her address and rushed to her home. Arriving at the address, the prospective buyer knocked at the door, which was answered by a middle-aged woman. She took him into the garage and showed him the merchandise. As advertised, it was a two-year-old Corvette, in good condition and with low mileage. The man again asked the price and was again quoted $75. Incredulous, but no fool, he wrote a check. When the registration had been signed over to him, the new owner of the Corvette said to the seller: "Lady, why did you sell me that car for such a low price? You could easily have gotten thousands of dollars for it!" He received this explanation: "This is my husband's car. Last month he left me and ran off with his secretary. Last week he wrote me a letter asking me to sell his Corvette and send him the money." Thus the deal was completed to the satisfaction of both parties. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Q: How many IBM types does it take to change a light bulb? A: 100. Ten to do it, and 90 to write document number GC7500439-0001, Multitasking Incandescent Source System Facility, of which 10% of the pages state only "This page intentionally left blank", and 20% of the definitions are of the form ".of 4;A:...... consists of sequences of non-blank characters separated by blanks". lmf ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Mathematics Glossary ==================== Rainer Koch (UNI011 @ DBNRHRZ1) Any student who ever sat or slept trough a mathematics course knows that certain words and phrases occur very frequently. This glossary might eliminate some confusion. When the instructor says He really means ------------------------ --------------- trivial The student might be able to do it in three hours or so. simple An "A" student can do it in a week or so. easy This topic would make a good master's thesis. clear The instructor can do it (he thinks). obvious The instructor is sure it is in his notes somewhere. certainly The instructor saw one of his instructors do it, but has completely forgotten how it was done. left as an exercise The instructor lost his notes. for the student is well known The instructor heard that someone once did it. can be shown The instructor thinks it might be true, but has no idea how to prove it. the diligent student It is an unsolved problem - can show probably harder than Fermat's Last Theorem. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Shaggy Dogs =========== Last month, (NutWorks Issue010), we printed a few "shaggy dog" stories. To our utter joy, several people have sent in more shaggy dogs for us to print. We received so many in fact, that we couldn't possibly shove them all into one issue. It is a known fact in the world of medi- cine that exposure to too many shaggy dog stories in one sitting can cause excess groaning, (which can lead to sore throats), and can overwork the "jovial-major" muscles. So, what we'll do is this: You keep on sending us your favorite shaggy dog stories, and we will print ONLY ONE PER MONTH, so they don't get tiresome, and to save you from the medical expense of alleviating the above mentioned malignancies. Here is this month's Shaggy Dog... bcjb. There once was a hunter that travelled to deep Africa. He hired a local guide to show him the way through Africa to a legendary lake where, supposedly, there were dolphins that lived forever. After the first day, the hunter found a myna bird which perched itself on his shoulder for the rest of the trip. On the 5th day, the guide pointed out a dead lion in the path and indicated that the hunter should pass around the dead lion. The hunter didn't heed the guide's warnings and stepped right over the lion, whereupon he was arrested by the National Police. The reason: "Transporting a myna across staid lions for immortal porpoises." (Contributed by Henry Nussbacher) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееее------------------------------------------------------------------------ Spring ***** ***** Spring '86 ***** *** '86 Final *** ** *** *** Final Issue ! *** ** *** *** *** ******* Issue ! *** ** *** *** *** ******* *** ***** *** *** *** *** ***** ***** ****** ** ****** ****** ****** **** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** **** *** ***** *** ****** *** **** *** *** *** ** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***** *** ****** ****** *** *** *** *** *** ** *** **** **** ****** *** **** *** **** Electronic Humor Magazine. Issue012, (Volume II, Number 8) May, 1986. NutWorks is published semi-pseudo-monthly by Brent C.J. Britton and Leonard M. Friedman ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "You're never too old to rock 'n' roll, if you're too young to die..." - Ian Anderson ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NutWorks News ============= 1) As mentioned previously, this will be the last issue of NutWorks until next fall (although if you look during the summer, you might be able to find a special summer issue on the servers). The NutWorks staff would like to take this opportunity to wish our readers a happy and healthy summer. We hope to here from you all again next fall. 2) (Outdated text deleted.) 3) NOTICE: Please DO NOT SEND MAIL OR NOTE requests for information ABOUT NUTWORKS TO ANY FILE SERVER, including CSNEWS@MAINE, FORUM@TAMCBA, or TCSSERVE@TCSVM. NutWorks is made available on these file servers by the permission of their respective owners/operators. Back issues of NutWorks, and the current NutWorks information file, can be retrieved from the servers with the command: SENDME NUTWORKS Requests for addition of your name to the NutWorks subscription list should be sent (via MAIL) to BRENT@MAINE and to not to any file server. Thanks. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ From the Bridge =============== Captains Log: Stardate: 860519 Commander Spock Reporting: Q: "Why did Captain Kirk pee on the ceiling in his cabin ?" A: "Because he wanted to go where no man had gone before..." Q: "What is the similarity between the Enterprise and toilet paper ?" A: "They both revolve around Uranus (your anus) and wipe out Klingons (cling ons)." Q: "How many Romulans does it take to screw in a light bulb?" A: "151, one to screw the light-bulb in, and 150 to self-destruct the ship out of disgrace." Q: How many Vulcans does it take to change a light bulb? A: "Approximately 1.00000000000000000000000" Q: How many members of the U.S.S. Enterprise does it take to change a light bulb? A: 7. Scotty will report to Captain Kirk that the light bulb in the Engineering Section is burnt out, to which Kirk will send Bones to pronounce the bulb dead. Scotty, after checking around, notices that they have no more new light bulbs, and complains that he can't see in the dark to tend to his engines. Kirk must make an emergency stop at the next uncharted planet, Alpha Regula IV, to procure a light bulb from the natives. Kirk, Spock, Bones, Sulu, and 3 red shirt security officers beam down. The 3 security officers are promptly killed by the natives, and the rest of the landing party is captured. Meanwhile, back in orbit, Scotty notices a Klingon ship approaching and must warp out of orbit to escape detection. Bones cures the native king who is suffering from the flu, and as a reward the landing party is set free and given all of the light bulbs they can carry. Scotty cripples the Klingon ship and warps back to the planet just in time to beam up Kirk et. al. The new bulb is inserted, and the Enterprise continues with its five year mission. lmf ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Nuts & Bolts ============== by Brent C.J. Britton Is that Leonard guy a nutcake or what, huh? Well friends, as they say in Chernobyl, "Another school season, another 8000 megaRems peeling at my skin until my bones stick out." Or, perhaps they don't say that. I don't know. Current events is Lenny's department. There seems to be a recent furor lately (by certain folk who are inclined to ponder such things) as to what the letters IBM stand for. All joking aside, IBM refers to the method by which IBM software doc- umentation is written. You see, there is a common example used in statistics classes regarding the idea that if several chimpanzees were made to sit for an infinite time pounding haphazardly at the keyboard of a typewriter, they would eventually produce all the great works of Shakespeare; given an infinite time, they'd have to. At IBM, all documentation is produced by a group of chimpanzees pounding haphaz- ardly at typewriters, only they don't have an infinite time in which to produce the stuff, so sometimes the end result comes out in less- than-intelligible form. They have, however, trained the monkeys to type "This page intentionally left blank" in record time. Oh, yeah, so anyhow, IBM stands for "I Been hip'Motized." But I guess that's another story. By the way, we *all* know that "This page intentionally left blank" is recursively incorrect, (i.e. actually WRITING "This page intentionally left blank" on an otherwise blank page results in the page being no longer blank, etc.). I suppose, technically, it should read: "This page intentionally left ALMOST blank, if you don't count this sentence." But what I'm wondering is why on Earth they bother to inform the reader that the near-blankness of the page is NOT an error on IBM's part, but is, in fact, a wholly decided upon event. The fact that they DO tell us that they meant for the page to be blank--thereby violating the purity of the page's blankness--implies, to me at least, they they have a REASON for leaving the page blank. But then, if the page was left blank for a reason--I mean if the page were destined to have some ultimate value as a result of it's blankness--I suppose they wouldn't be inclined to spoil the virgin blankness of the page by printing "This page intentionally left blank" right smack in the middle, thereby rend- ering the page useless, if, in fact, its usefulness is measured by it's being blank, (which it isn't), due to the words which state that it is, and, in fact, was meant to be. This is called a paradox (quack quack). Clearly, the statement "This page intentionally left blank", can never be literally correct if it appears on "this page" at all. (It can be compared to the act of saying the words: "I'm not talking.") Perhaps IBM should write "This page intentionally left blank" on ANOTHER page and draw an arrow to the REAL blank page. Or perhaps they could index all the intentionally blank pages in the front of the manual. Oh well, I'm going to the beach. Have a fun summer. And so it goes... bcjb ------------------------------------------------------------------------ What is the new Russian national anthem ??? "You Light Up My Life." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ THE THEORY OF DARK SUCKERS ==========/ ?============= as presented by Paul Holmgren with additions and corrections by Holly Stowe For years it was believed that light wes emitted from an electric bulb; recent information has proven otherwise - dark is sucked into the bulb - therefore, the bulb is a dark sucker. There are many types and sizes of dark suckers. The largest manufacturers of dark suckers are General Electric and Sylvania. Some modern dark suckers utilize solid power to operate properly. Solid power units can be purchased from Eveready, Exide, and Duracell. The dark sucker theory proves the existance of dark suckers as well as proving that dark is heaver than light. Some examples are as follows: Electric bulbs: There is less dark near the electric bulb than at a distance of 100 feet when it is operating; therefore, it is sucking dark and can be classified as a dark sucker. The larger the dark sucker, the greater the distance it can suck dark. The larger the dark sucker the greater its capacity of dark. The dark sucking capabilities are evident when the dark sucker has reached its capacity and will no longer suck dark. At that point you may notice the dark area on the inside portion of the dark sucker. The larger the dark sucker, the larger the area of dark found within. This type of dark sucker can be made directional by placing a shield around a portion of the unit or behind it. This will prevent dark from entering the dark sucker from that side thereby extending the range of the dark sucker on the unprotected/unshielded side. Candles - primitive dark suckers: There is more dark 30 feet from a lit candle then there is at a distance of 3 feet. Proof of it's dark sucking capabilities is relatively simple. Examine a new unused candle, notice that the center core is not dark. Ignite the center core. Allow the center core to burn for about 5 minutes. Notice the lack of dark around the candle. Extinguish the candle flame. Notice that the center core of the candle is now dark. The center core is a dark sucker protected by a soft insulator to extend it's life expectancy and maintain rigidity to verify that this primitive dark sucker is operating properly. Ignite the center core and allow it to burn for a minimum of 2 minutes. Pass a clean pencil over the top of the flame, left to right, approximately 3 inches above the center core. Notice that there is no dark on the pencil. Pass the pencil over the center core now about 1/2 inch. Notice that the pencil now has a dark area. The pencil blocked the path of the dark being sucked to the core of the dark sucker. This type dark sucker is very primitive and does not suck dark any great distance nor does it have a large capacity. Dark sucker solid power units may be purchased locally at a variety of outlets. Size does not determine the life expectancy of the dark sucker solid power unit. These solid power units work with many modern dark suckers, and absorb dark from the dark sucker. The absorbed dark is converted to solid power within the unit. An example of the conversion of dark into solid power in the automobile of today. Notice an auto in use during dark hours. Two (possibly four) large dark suckers are located on the front. On the rear there are two (or 3) smaller dark suckers with red filters. You may also notice several dark suckers with yellow filters. These filters are required to remove a percentage of red and yellow from total dark so as to energize the solid power unit. The solid power unit permits the auto to be utilized during hours of no dark by the dark it has absorbed. The number of dark suckers varies with the age of the automobile. Newer automobile solid power units require a greater percentage of red filtered dark. Older units generally require more non-filtered dark. The solid power unit of the automobile has a dark interior. This can be proved by cutting the solid power unit in half. Dark is heavier than light. Dark always settles to the bottom of a lake and/or river. Submerge just below the surface of a lake and you will notice an absence of dark. Lower yourself to 15 feet below the surface and you will notice a degree of darkness even on a sunny, bright day. Lower yourself to 50 feet (or more) below the surface and you are in total dark. Ergo, the dark has settled to the bottom; therefore, dark is heavier than light. Modern technology has allowed us to utilize the dark that has settled to the bottom of large rivers through the creation of turbines which push the dark downriver to the ocean, which has a larger holding capacity for dark and is a common safe storage location. As the dark is passed through the turbine, a percentage of solid power is removed and transmitted to various short term storage plants for many usages. Prior to turbines, it was much more difficult to move the dark from rivers to storage areas such as deep lakes or the ocean. The Indians would paddle their canoes very little and not very deeply if they were going in the direction of flow of dark so as not to slow it down. However, if they were traveling opposite the natural flow of dark, they would dig their paddles very deep and rapidly to assist the flow of dark to its ocean storage place. Dark is faster than light. If you would open a drawer very slowly, you will notice that the light goes into the drawer. (You can see this happen.) You cannot see the dark leave the drawer. Continue to open the drawer and light will continue to enter the drawer; however, you will not see any dark leave the drawer. Therefore, dark is faster than light. Go into a closet, close the door, and turn off the dark sucker. Have a friend open the door about 1 inch. Your friend will not see any dark leave the closet, nor will you. Have your friend open the door until half the closet is dark and half is light. Since 2 objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time, and you do not feel any change in pressure, by compressing the dark, it is logical to assume that dark is faster than light. One last proof. What is a by-product of movement of dark? Heat. What is a by- product of dark suckers? Heat, again. Therefore a dark sucker generates heat during its operation, sucking dark from the surrounding area. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ How many Russians does it take to screw in a light bulb ? "None. They *are* light bulbs." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ What I Like About The Telephone =============================== By Dave Barry What I like best about the telephone is that it keeps you in touch with people, particularly people who want to sell you magazine subscriptions in the middle of the night. These people have been abducted by large publishing companies and placed in barbed-wire enclosures surrounded by armed men with attack dogs. Caller: Hello, Mr. Barry? Me: No this is Adolf Hitler. Caller: Of course. My mistake. The reason I'm calling you at 11:30 at night, Mr. Hitler, is that I'm conducting a marketing survey, and... Me: Are you selling magazine subscriptions? Caller: Magazine subscriptions? Me? Selling them? Ha Ha. No. Certainly not. Not at all. No, this is just a plain old marketing survey. (Sound of dogs barking.) Me: Well, what do you want to know? Caller: Well, I just want to ask you some questions about you household, such as how many people live there, and what their ages are and whether any of them might be interested in subscribing to Redbook? Me: I don't want to subscribe to anything, you lying piece of slime. Caller: How about Time? Sports Illustrated? American Beet Farmer? Me: I'm going to hang up. Caller: No! (The dogs get louder) Please! You can have my daughter! Me: (Click.) The first telephone systems were primitive "party lines" where everybody could hear what everybody else was talking about. This was very confusing: Bertha: Emma? I'm calling to tell you I seen you boy Norbert shootin' his musket at our goat again, and if you don't... Clem: This ain't Emma. This is Clem Johnson, and I got to reach Doc Henderson, because my wife Nell is all rigid and foaming at the mouth, and if she don't snap out of it soon the roast is going to burn. Emma: Norbert don't even own a musket. All he got is a bow and arrow, and he couldn't hit a steam locomotive from six feet, what with his bad hand, which he got when your boy Percy bit it, and which is festerin' pretty bad. Doc Henderson: You better let me take a look at it. Bertha: The goat? Oh, he ain't hurt that bad, Doc. He's skittery on account of the musket fire. Clem: Now she's startin' to roll her eyes around. Looks like two hard-boiled eggs. Caller: Hi I'm conducting a marketing survey is Mr. Hitler at home? Clem: No, but I'll take a year's worth of American Beet Farmer. The party line system led to a lot of unnecessary confusion and death, so the phone company devised a system whereby you can talk to only one person at a time, although not necessarily the person you want. In fact, if you call any large company, you will Never get to talk to the person you're calling. Large companies employ people who are paid, on a commission basis, solely to put calls on hold. These people are trained by the airline reservations clerks. The only exception is department stores, where all calls are immediately routed to whichever clerk has the most people waiting. But we should never complain about our telephone system. It is the most sophisticated system in the world, yet it is the easiest to use. Fore example, my 20-month-old son, who cannot perform a simple act like eating a banana without getting most of it in his hair, is perfectly capable of direct-dialing Okinawa, and probably has. In another year, he'll be able to order magazine subscriptions. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ What was the initial reaction of Gorbachev to the accident at Chernobyl? "I said Bud Light." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ SHELL OIL COMPANY P.O. Box 150 Tulsa, Oklahoma 74102 Dear Sir: I have been a regular customer of the Shell Oil Company for several years now, and spend approximately $40.00 per month on Shell products. Until recently, I have been completely satisfied with the quality of Shell products and with the service of Shell employees. Included in my most recent statement from your department was a bill for $12.00 for a tire which I purchased at the Lowell I. Reels Shell Station in McAdenville, North Carolina. I stopped at this station for gasoline and to have a timing malfunction corrected. The gasoline cost $5.15; eight new plugs cost $9.36; labor on the points cost $2.50. All well and good. Earlier in the day I had had a flat tire, which the attendant at the Lowell I. Reels station informed me that he was unable to fix. He suggested that I purchase a tire from him in order that I have a spare for the remainder of my journey to Atlanta. I told him that I preferred to buy tires from my home station in Atlanta, but he continued to stress the risk of driving without a spare. My reluctance to trade with an unknown dealer, even a Shell dealer, did not discourage him and finally, as I was leaving, he said that, out of concern for my safety (my spare was not new) and because I had made a substantial expenditure at his station, he would make me a special deal. He produced the tire ("Hits a good one. Still has the tits on it. See them tits. Hits a twenty dollar tar.") which I purchased for twelve dollars and which he installed on the front left side for sixty-five cents. Fifty miles further down the highway I had a blowout. Not a puncture which brought a slow, flapping flat, nor a polite ladyfinger - firecracker rubberbubble rupture (pop), but a howitzer blowout, which reared the hood of the car up into my face, a blowout, sir, which tore a flap of rubber from this "tire" large enough to make soles for BOTH sandals of a medium sized hippie. In a twinkling, then, I was driving down Interstate 85 at sixty miles per hour on three tires and one rim with rubber clinging to it in desperate shreds and patches, an instrument, that bent, revolving, steel-then-rubber-then-steel rim, whose sound can be approximated by the simultaneous placing of a handful of gravel and a young chick into a Waring Blender. The word "careen" does no justice whatever to the movement that the car performed. According to the highway patrolman's report, the driver in the adjoining lane, the left lane -- who, incidentally, was attempting to pass at the time --, ejaculated adrenaline all over the ceiling of his car. My own passengers were fused into a featureless quiver in the key of 'G' in the back seat of my car. The rim was bent; the tits were gone; and you can fuck yourself with a cream cheese dildo if you entertain for one moment the delusion that I intend to pay the twelve dollars. Sincerely yours, Timothy B. Tieslau Contributed by David Salzman ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Boss ======== For those who have trouble with authority: Once upon a time . . . The different body parts started an argument over who should be the boss of the body. The heart said, "I pump all of the blood, so I should be the boss." The legs said, "We move the body everywhere, so we should be the boss." The lungs said, "We supply the oxygen, so we should be the boss." The eyes joined in, "We see everything; we should be the boss." The brain chimed, "I control all of those functions, I should be the boss." And finally the rectum said, "I should be the boss!" All of the other body parts broke out in hysterical laughter and said, "Why would we ever choose you as the boss?" The rectum did not respond and just closed up. About three days later, The heart was having trouble pumping, the legs were very wobbly, the lungs could hardly move, the eyes were blurry and the brain was cloudy. Hence, they all decided to let the rectum be the boss. The moral of the story: You don't have to be a brain to be a boss, just an asshole. James L. Levesque ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Gossip ====== By Michael Morey You know, here in the trailer court, we have this couple living next door, and when Ted doesn't have anything to do, he argues with his wife. Ted and his wife don't get along too good at all. The other day, Ted took his wife to the doctor. After the doctor examined her, he came out and said, "Ted, I just don't like the way your wife looks at all." Ted said, "Well doc, to tell you the truth, I ain't exactly crazy about the way she looks either, but she sure is good with the kids." Yeah, Ted's wife, she ain't too good looking. I don't want to say she's ugly, but every time they get a little low on spending money, Ted rents her out to cure the hiccups. Ted says she has kind of an early-american look about her; he says she looks just like a buffalo. Ted's wife talks a lot too, he figures she speaks up to 140 words a minute, with gusts up to 180. Only time she stops is when her mother starts. Old Ted, yeah, he always gets in the last word, even if its "Yes, dear." Yup, Ted's wife, she has a double chin on her... The way she talks, too much work for just one. Ted walked up to me the other day, said "Boy, my wooden leg pained me somethin' awful last night." I said, "Oh, come on, Ted, you know your wooden leg can't pain you." He said "when my wife picks it up and hits me over the head with it, it sure does." Poor old Ted, he stays in trouble at home. Last week he came up to me with a big black eye. I asked him "What in the world happened to you? I thought your wife was visiting her mother." He said "that's the problem...so did I!" I remember the time he had a fight with his mother-in-law....she said "If I was your wife, I'd put poison in your coffee." Ted said, "by golly, I'll tell you what, if you were my wife, I'd drink the dang stuff!" One night last summer, he was sitting on their porch with a bottle of whiskey. After she hollered at him a while, she took the bottle and took a big swallow and said "This stuff tastes awful! I don't see how you can drink this stuff!" Ted said "and all this time you thought I was sitting out here having a good time." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ And now for something completely normal: This issue's Shaggy Dog... A man one day went on a journey in the heart of Africa. In africa the mythical Foo bird lives. It has long been rumored that if a Foo bird were to crap on you, that it was bad luck to wipe it off. The man and his party were walking through the jungle one day when all of a sudden the man felt something land on his head. He had been crapped on by a bird. The man was about to wipe it away, when a native guard ran over and warned him that it was the Foo bird who had crapped on him. Knowing of the ancient superstition the man tried to calm the guide and took his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped off his head. Less then a minute later he dropped dead. *** The Moral of The Story *** If the Foo shits, wear it... LMF ------------------------------------------------------------------------ еееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееее------------------------------------------------------------------------ ***** ***** ***** *** *** *** ** *** *** *** ** *** *** *** ******* *** ** *** *** *** ******* *** ***** *** *** *** *** ***** ***** ****** ** ****** ****** ****** **** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** **** *** ***** *** ****** *** **** *** *** *** ** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***** *** ****** ****** *** *** *** *** *** ** *** **** **** ****** *** **** *** **** Electronic Humor Magazine. Issue013, (Volume III, Number 1). October, 1986. NutWorks is published semi-monthly-ish by Brent C.J. Britton and Leonard M. Friedman ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Strange, but not a stranger" -- David Byrne "Yes, we're gonna have a wing-ding." -- Donald Fagen ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WNUT presents... (various brassy chords and a few sparse timpanis thrown in for effect) ...the greatest thing to happen to journalism since "Real People"... NutWorks News ------------- With anchors, Vince Peters and Phyllis Frigid! All the sports action with Billy Snott! And weather girl Boopsie McBigones! And now, News Director Vince Peters: Vince: Good evening Nutty News watchers! We're coming to you as we do every month, live, from within the pages of NutWorks Electronic Humor Magazine! Phyllis...? Phyllis: Thanks, Vince. Well, it's been a long summer... Vince: Never long enough, right Phyllis? Phyllis: Oh Vince, you are just *such* a card! A-hee-hee-hee-ahem... Anyway, we here at WNUT NutWorks News are just *so* glad to be back. Vince...? Vince: Yes we are Phyllis. But now, on with the news. Back issues of NutWorks can be retrieved from CSNEWS@MAINE.BITNET and TCSSERVE@TCSVM.BITNET by any user who has the time and inclination to send an interactive message. For more details, send either server the msg: SENDME NUTWORKS INFO The publishers welcome requests for information in the form of electronic mail files. Phyllis...? Phyllis: Thanks Vince. You know folks, the first issue of NutWorks was written in January of 1985 to alleviate the boredom of an otherwise dreary winter. It was mailed to three or four of the author's friends, and it gave them something to do instead of their homework, or their *real* work, or whatever it was they were supposed to be doing. Well today, NutWorks is helping more people become lethargic and non-productive than ever! NutWorks is mailed directly each month to over 300 subscribers on four networks! Oooo... doesn't that just give you the warm fuzzies? Vince...? Vince: Thanks Phyllis. We'll be right back after this message from our sponsor. Sponsor: Ronco presents: The Monty Python Collection! Do these words mean anything to you? "Hello, I'd like to buy an argument..." Or how about, "Warning: Larks Vomit!" Or, "Call the Church Police!" Or, "Rule 7: NO POOFTAHS!" Or, "And it came to pass that Saint Victor was taken from this place to another place..." Still clueless? To find out which Monty Python sketches these passages are from, order the Monty Python Collection today! You get 27 songs and sketches! Send no money now. Just send mail to Clarinet@Yalevmx.BITNET requesting your OWN copy of the Monty Python Collection. That's Clarinet@Yalevmx. Our operators are standing by. Order yours TODAY! (We're Beatrice) And now, back to NutWorks News. Phyllis: And here with the all the latest in sports action, Billy Snott. Billy...? Billy: Zzzzz... Zzzzz... Oooohhh... do that some more baby... Ohh.. Phyllis: Billy...? Billy: Ungh..snore.. slurp.. MMmmmmmmmmm ... that's soooooo niiiiiice... Phyllis: Vince? Vince: BILLY! WAKE UP! Billy: Oh Gawd! It's your husband, Phyllis! Quick! Get up! I'll hide the whipped cream, you hide the vice-grips! Phyllis? Phyllis!? Vince: Phyllis!?!?! Phyllis: Billy...? Billy: Boopsie...? Boopsie: Vince...? Vince: That's the news! We'll see you next month! (more brass and timpanis...) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Nuts & Bolts ============== by Brent C.J. Britton Aren't computers grand? Think about it. We make them do the most tedious, boring, mean, nasty ugly things, and they obey without question. Of course, if we don't correctly tell them what it is we want them to do, they won't always comply. They do whatever we SAY, but if we don't SAY what we WANT, we get frustrated and say things like "Why won't this thing work?" I guess that's what school is all about. We hang around this fairly neat place for a few years learning how to tell the computer what we WANT it to do. If we tell it right, we get an A. Then, we go out and become employed by a person who wants us to tell HIS computer what HE wants it to do. If we do THAT right, we get a Porsche. I know a person who is getting paid to do just that. Oh, I don't know him personally, mind you. But he knows me. And I'm damn sure that his boss's computer knows me. The wonderful thing about computers is that they perform the same tasks repetitively within a small period of time, and the computer belonging to the Publishers Clearinghouse Sweep- stakes people is certainly no exception. And it's looping... You see, during the past few months, the computer at the Publishers Clearinghouse has sent no less than TEN letters to me, really. And all of them contain forty or fifty personal references to me, in the form of what their computer *thinks* my name is. For the record, my name is Brent Cabot James Britton, almost always written by me as Brent C.J. Britton. Well some slick, young Joey Cobol down at the old Publishers Clearinghouse must've forgotten that *some* people aren't happy with merely *one* middle name. Fooled ya', smartass! The letters I get from their computer keep refering to this guy named Brent Cj Britton. ("j" is in lower case for you folks reading this on a C64 from your bathtub.) It's full of "You, Brent Cj Britton could be the lucky..." and "...the Brent Cj Britton bank account..." and "...a check in the name of Brent Cj Britton..." Don't they know that "Cj" doesn't even spell any- thing!? It's an insult. I'd probably just throw all the letters away if each one didn't scream the all too familiar claim that I "may already have won" eleventy-zillion dollars payable to me each year until I rot. What a bargain! And all I have to do is tear this off, paste the gold seal here, maybe save a few bucks on a subscription to "My Saviour" or "Barbie" magazine by tearing the stamps out of the middle of the three-foot by eight-foot sheet, stick those there, slap on a postage stamp, and lay the whole thing on Fred the mailman next time he comes 'round my front steps. It's a good thing they give me a generous amount of time to do all this. Of course, if I'm a big enough procrastinator, and I miss the deadline -- puppies become dogs sooner than that -- then I can only try for one-half my would-be winnings. Like, I'm going to say, "Gee, I could wait a month and go for the five million... hmm... oh, what the hell, you only live once right? I'm gonna be wild and crazy and go for it ALL by sending in my sweepstakes TODAY!" Then I might end up like last years winners, Floydd and Irma Freen of Scarsdale Minnesota! Gee... I could be... a millionairre... bcJb ------------------------------------------------------------------------ From the Bridge =============== Captains Log: Stardate: 861016 Commander Spock Reporting: Greetings and Hallucinations: As you may or may not have noticed, this the first issue for the Fall '86 term is a bit later than we would have liked it to be. Many of you have noticed that we were late because I have received lots of mail from you asking me if the greatest invention since toilet paper would be continuing on its nutty way this semester. For the answer to these and many other fascinating questions tune in tommorow. Same Nut Time. Same Nut station. Sorry, someone was talking about Batman comics while I was writing this. I am very happy to annouce that the magazine that you all have know to and goof off with will be around for this semester. One little problem I would like to adress is that currently we are short of contributions for future issues. We kind of feel like Nuts without a squirel. For those of you who may not know, NutWorks is more than just articles that Brent and I have written or dug up. NutWorks was conceived as being a magazine where all the Nuts on the net could share with the other Nuts on the net their nutty Works, hence the name NutWorks To share your very own nutty works with other nuts please send an original article in a plain brown wrapper (to sneak it past the liaisons) to either me or BRENT @ MAINE. HURRY AND SEND YOU ARTICLE TODAY !!! We reserve the right not to include any articles deemed in bad taste and will not return any unused articles. Some reflections on computer people: Computer people are morbid: Computer people work on TERMINALS. Computer people EXECUTE jobs. Computer people TERMINATE jobs. Computer People KILL jobs. Computer people get POST MORTEM (after death) DUMPS. Computer people never relax and let things take time: Computer people RUN jobs. Computer people HALT jobs. Computer people STOP jobs. lmf ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Debuggers song ================== (written by Ben (The Happy Hacker) Horowitz.) (TIGQC049 at CUNYVM) To be sung to the tune of "Ghostbusters" When VM goes crash! And your program's gone Who you gonna call... DEBUGGERS! When you're out of funds And no one's in Temp-1 Who you gonna call... DEBUGGERS! I ain't afraid of no bug I ain't afraid of no bug When your listing says "INCORRECT SYNTAX" Who you gonna call... DEBUGGERS! When you print it local But it goes to the VAX Who you gonna call... DEBUGGERS! I ain't afraid of no bug I ain't afraid of no bug Who you gonna call... DEBUGGERS! Put fingers on keys Type "BUG" To call... DEBUGGERS! I ain't afraid of no bug I hear it likes hackers I ain't afraid of no bug YEAH,YEAH,YEAH,YEAH! Who you gonna call... DEBUGGERS! You have bugs brother Freakin' bugs baby You better call... DEBUGGERS! OOOOOWWWWWW! Let me tell you something DEBUGGING MAKES ME FEEL GOOD I ain't afraid of no bug I ain't afraid of no bug Don't debug alone, oh no You better call... DEBUGGERS! When it comes through VM Unless you want to see it again I think you better call... DEBUGGERS! OOOOOWWWWW! Who you gonna call... DEBUGGERS! Who you gonna call... DEBUGGERS! LOUDER... DEBUGGERS! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The plate. ========= In the U.S. it is possible to buy a 7-character "personalized" license plate describing the car or the owner. To apply, one must list 3 choices in order of preference. If one's first choice has already been assigned to another driver, one gets one's second choice, etc. These facts and a computer system made the following possible: Mr. X wanted a new plate. He got the form and filled in his first two preferences. If these two possibilities had already been assigned to someone else, Mr. X didn't want a personalized plate at all, so for his third choice he wrote "NOPLATE". He got "NOPLATE" as his new personalized plate. At first he got mad, but he mounted it on his car anyway. Within a week he had received offers for over 100 dollars for this ingenius plate, and he began to grow partial to it. In fact, he liked it. His feelings changed by the end of the month, however, because by then Mr. X had recieved nearly a hundred parking tickets. Why? Well, any time a police officer spots a car missing a licence plate, he or she will write "NOPLATE" on the ticket/citation. The computer matched every single one of these with... Mr. X. The computer program couldn't be changed, but the ways of the parking guards could. So don't *EVER* order the custom plate: "NONE". (It would make you Mr. X the second) Niels Kristian Jensen & bcjb ------------------------------------------------------------------------ (This just dropped onto my desk from a wormhole in from the Space-Time-Spam Continuum -- Ed.) Cray-7 User's Guide July 30, 1996 =================== Congratulations on your purchase of the fabulous new Cray-7 computer. With proper care your new computer can give you many years of useful work and play. Just follow these simple guide- lines and all will be well. 1. The new tachyonics-based CPU can be dangerous to unshielded organisms. Always remember to keep clear of the tachyon chamber when the power is on. Tachyon radiation can be hazardous to your age. 2. As with all sensitive equipment, keep water and moisture out of the CPU and peripheral equipment. 3. Whenever the CPU is in compute mode, stay at least seven feet outside the shield walls. When computing, the CPU uses computrons at a rate hithertofore unknown to Man. This causes a "computron vacuum" in the immediate vicinity. Thus the CPU may suck up the informational content of your DNA should you stray too close. 4. Due to the local up-grade of the speed of light around the Cray-7's Virtually Infinite Associative Memory (VIAM), it is imperative that the computer be kept in a dark room. Strong light will crash the system, and can do irreparable harm to the hardware. 5. Never put on the High-speed Analog Bionic Interface (HSABI) until the system has completed its automatic check-out sequence. When the Omniscience option is present, this can cause a positive Zen feedback, resulting in total psyche burnout. It should be avoided, except for an advanced soul under guidance. 6. And above all, never, never feed the Cray-7 after midnight. Author: Brian Utterback Submitter: Roger Murray ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Red Tape ======== Dear Senator Goldblatt, My friend Toivo Macki, over in Kingston County, received a $1,000 check from the Government for not raising hogs. I am now contemplating going into the lucrative "Not Raising Hogs" business next year. What I want to know is --in your opinion-- what is the best kind of farm not to raise hogs on? And what are the best kind of hogs not to raise? I would prefer not to raise Razorbacks, but if that is not a good breed not to raise, I will just as gladly not raise any Durocs or Berkshires. The hardest work in this business is going to be in keeping an inventory on just how many hogs I haven't raised. My friend Toivo is very joyful about the future of this business. He has been raising hogs for more than 62 years and the most he ever made was $400 in 1918, until this year, when he got a check for $1000 for Not Raising Hogs. If I can get $1,000 for not raising 50 hogs, then will I also get $2,000 for not raising 100 hogs, etc? I plan to operate on a small scale at first, holding myself down to about 4,000 hogs, which means I will have $80,000 for not raising hogs. Then maybe I can afford food, a house, or maybe even a boat! Now another thing, these hogs that I will Not Raise will Not Eat 100,000 bushels of corn. So, can I be paid for not raising 100,000 bushels of corn to Not Feed the hogs i am Not Going to Raise? I want to get started as soon as possible, as this seems to be a good time of the year for Not Raising Hogs. Very Truly Yours, John Brown P.S. Can I raise 10 or 12 hogs on the side while I am in the Not Raising Hogs business, just enough to get a few sides of bacon to eat? Larry McPhillips ---------------------------------------------------------------------- (The following appeared in the September 1986 issue of "SIGPLAN Notices" (Volume 21, number 9) -- bcjb.) Selecting a Programming Language Made Easy ========================================== Daniel Solomon & David Rosenblueth Department of Computer Science, University of Waterloo Waterloo, Ontario, Canada N2L 3G1 With such a large selection of programming languages, it can be difficult to choose one for a particular project. Reading the manuals to evaluate the languages is a time-consuming process. On the other hand, most people already have a fairly good idea of how various automobiles compare. So in order to assist those trying to choose a language, we have prepared a chart that matches programming languages with comparable automobiles: Assembler - A Formula I race car. Very fast, but difficult to drive and expensive to maintain. FORTRAN II - A Model T Ford. Once it was king of the road. FORTRAN IV - A Model A Ford. FORTRAN 77 - A six-cylinder Ford Fairlane with standard transmission and no seat belts. COBOL - A delivery van. It's bulky and ugly, but it does the work. BASIC - A second-hand Rambler with a rebuilt engine and patched upholstry. Your dad bought it for you to learn to drive. You'll ditch the car as soon as you can afford a new one. PL/I - A Cadillac convertible with automatic transmission, a two- tone paint job, white-wall tires, chrome exhaust pipes, and fuzzy dice hanging in the windshield C - A black Firebird, the all-macho car. Comes with optional seat belts (lint) and optional fuzz buster (escape to assembler). ALGOL 60 - An Austin Mini. Boy, that's a small car. Pascal - A Volkswagon Beetle. It's small but sturdy. Was once popular with intellectuals. Modula II - A Volkswagon Rabbit with a trailer hitch. ALGOL 68 - An Astin Martin. An impressive car, but not just anyone can drive it. LISP - An electric car. It's simple but slow. Seat belts are not available. PROLOG/LUCID - Prototype concept-cars. Maple/MACSYMA - All-terrain vehicles. FORTH - A go-cart. LOGO - A kiddie's replica of a Rolls Royce. Comes with a real engine and a working horn. APL - A double-decker bus. Its takes rows and columns of passengers to the same place all at the same time. But, it drives only in reverse gear, and is instrumented in Greek. Ada - An army-green Mercedes-Benz staff car. Power steering, power brakes and automatic transmission are all standard. No other colors or options are available. If it's good enough for the generals, it's good enough for you. Manufacturing delays due to difficulties reading the design specification are starting to clear up. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- And now some help with commonly used... COMPUTER LINGO ============== (by A4422DAE at AWIUNI11) 6502 The year you will pay off your computer... BASIC A programming language used to generate errors. CPU C3PO's mother CRASH Normal termination of a program CASSETTE DRIVE Used as paper weight after buying a floppy disk drive. EPROM Acronym for "Exit Program, Read Owners Manual". DIM ARRAY Stupid storage GOSUB Very fast U-Boat GIGO "Garbage in, Garbage out", Normal result of computer programs INPUT Statement that refuses all entries KEYBOARD Random arrangement of letters LED Long Expected Defect MAGAZINE PROGRAM Typesetters error trap NULL STRING Normal result of a seven hour sort. PROGRAMMER Knows the location of the on/off switch RESET Another way to terminate a four hour sort RS232 R2D2's father SUBROUTINE Section of a program that cannot be accessed TERMINAL Mental state of most programmers WAIT WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT TO DO ??????????? ---------------------------------------------------------------------- George Takes up Golf ==================== My wife said to me, "George, it's about time you learned to play golf. You know, that's the game where you chase a ball all over the county when you're too old to chase women." So I went to see Jones and asked him if he could teach me how to play. He said, "Sure, you've got balls haven't you?" I said, "Yes, but sometimes on cold mornings they're kinda' hard to find". "Bring them to the club house tomorrow," he said, "and we'll tee off." "What's 'tee off"?" I asked. He said, "It's a golf term, and we have to 'tee off' in front of the club house." "Not for me, you can 'tee off' there if you want to, but I'll 'tee off' behind the barn somewhere." "No no," he said, "a tee is a little thing about the size of your little finger." I said, "Yes, I've got one of those". "Well," he said, "you stick it in the ground and stick your ball on top of it". I asked, "Do you play golf sitting down? I always thought you stood up and walked around." "You do!" he said. "You're standing up when you put your ball on the tee". Well folks, I thought that was stretching things a little bit too far, and I said so. He said, "You've got a bag haven't you?" "Sure!" I said. He asked, "Can't you open the bag and take one out?" I said, "I suppose I could, but damned if I was going to!" He asked if I didn't have a zipper on my bag, but I told him, "No, I had the old fashioned type". Then he asked me if I knew how to hold my club. Well, I told him that after fifty years I should have *some* sort of an idea! He said, "You take your club in both hands". (Folks, I knew right then and there that he didn't know what he was talking about.) Then he said, "You swing it over your shoulder!" "No no, that's not me," I said, "that's my brother you're talking about". He asked me, "How do you hold your club?" I said, "In two fingers." He said that wasn't right and got behind me, and told me to bend over and he would show me how. He couldn't catch me there because I didn't put four years in the Navy for nothing! He said, "You hit the ball with your club, and it will soar and soar". I said I could well imagine! Then he said, "And when you're on the green..." "What's a green?" I asked. "That's where the hole is," he said. "Sure you're not color blind?" I asked. "No!" he said. "Then you take your putter..." "What's a putter?" I asked. He said that was the smallest club made. "Well then," I said, "that's what I've got, a putter!" "...and with it," he said, "you put your ball in the hole". "You mean the putter." I corrected. He said, "The ball! The hole isn't big enough for the putter. Then after you make the first hole you go on to the next seventeen." He wasn't talking to me. After two holes I'm shot to hell. "You mean", he said, "you can't make eighteen holes in one day?" "Hell no," I says, "it takes me eighteen days to make *one* hole! Besides, how do I know when I'm at the eighteenth hole?" He said, "The flag will say so." That would be just my luck, so I said to HELL with golf. Dave Crowley ---------------------------------------------------------------------- An old lady is rocking away the last of her days on her front porch, reflecting on her long life, when all of a sudden a fairy god mother appears in front of her and informs her that she can have any three wishes she wants. "Well," says the old lady, "I guess I would like to be really rich." *** POOF *** her rocking chair turned to solid gold. "And, gee, I guess I wouldn't mind being a young beautiful princess." *** POOF *** she turns into a young beautiful woman. "Your third wish?", asked the fairy godmother. Just then the old woman's cat walks across the porch in front of them "Can you change him into a handsome prince?", she asks. *** POOF *** there before her stands a young man more handsome than she she had ever imagined possible. With a smile that makes her kness weak, he then saunters across the porch and whispers in her ear, "Aren't you sorry you had me neutered?" lmf ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Issue 013, (Volume III, Number 2). October, 1986. ееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееее------------------------------------------------------------------------ ***** ***** ***** *** *** *** ** *** *** *** ** *** *** *** ******* *** ** *** *** *** ******* *** ***** *** *** *** *** ***** ***** ****** ** ****** ****** ****** **** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** **** *** ***** *** ****** *** **** *** *** *** ** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***** *** ****** ****** *** *** *** *** *** ** *** **** **** ****** *** **** *** **** Electronic Humor Magazine. Issue014, (Volume III, Number 2). December, 1986 NutWorks is published semi-monthly-ish by Brent C.J. Britton, We attempt to procure or produce original humorous articles for publication. We apologize if any articles appearing herein are not credited to the original author(s). Really, we do... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "I'd like to solve the puzzle, Pat." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NewsWorks ========= In what he called "my worst surge of procrastination since I put off changing my underwear for 3 years as a child," the editor of NutWorks magazine said today that he halted publication of the electronic humor magazine for the entire month of November because, "it seemed like a pretty good thing to do at the time, what with all the snow and rain and final exams coming up you know, I just didn't feel much like coming in to the office all month so I pretty much didn't..." The NutWorks editor said that he enjoyed his sabattical so much that he figured more folks should try it sometime, so he has advised President Reagan to officially declare the month of November a legal holiday. When asked for comment, the President had this to say: "Well..." In response to allegations that he spent the month of November entrenched deeply in the American sale of Arms to Iran, the NutWorks editor said, "Ummm... upon the advice of counsel, I respectfully drink a fifth..." And now a word from our sponsor. ------------ Music: There's no slowin' down at the Silver Bullet toni-ight... Actor1: Gee, this is a pretty neat tavern. Actor2: Yep... Actor1: Are we supposed to be trying to sell Coors Light Beer? Actor2: Indirectly. Actor1: Whatd'ya' mean? Actor2: We're supposed to say funny things and show a lot of happy people so people will think that drinking Coors will make them popular and attractive. Actor1: Oh. I see. Actor2: We're also trying to make people associate us with another renowned drinking establishment. Norm: Hello everybody... Everybody: NORM! Norm: Oops, wrong bar... Actor2: See? Actor1: I get it! Music: There's no slowin' down at the Silver Bullet toni-ight! ------------ And now, back to the news. Announcing the NutWorks Call for Song Parodies! Got a little of "Weird Al" in you? The staff of NutWorks plans to dedicate a future issue solely to the publication of song parodies. If have written a song parody, and would like to have it published in the special Song Parody Issue, send it to BRENT@MAINE.BITNET as soon as possible. We request that each submission contain some hint as to which song it is a parody of, preferably in the form: "Sung to the tune of..." The special Song Parody Issue will only be published if enough original song parodies are received by February 1, 1987. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Nuts & Bolts ============== by Brent C.J. Britton Well folks, it's that time of the Terran rotation again. And don't act like you weren't expecting it! You there, in the back. Yes you! Stop pretending to study for those final exams and get with it! It's time again! It's time to go into the attic and get the tree out from under the summer clothes. It's time to sit down for a few hours with a pair of pliers and a cigarette lighter trying to untangle your seven strings of blinking, multi-colored lights. It's time to open that sacred box of decorations only find that the cat has shredded the tinsel, squashed the bulbs, and pooped on the garland. Dammit, it's time to spike the nog! That's right friends, Christmas is upon us. Yes, I said Christmas. Right here in River City. With a capital "C" and that doesn't rhyme with "X" but that spells "Xmas" too. And friends, it's time again for each and every one of us to postpone our pressing engagements in favor of getting some of that festive yuletide cheer hammered squarely down our throats. Why? It's tradition. In fact, it's been a tradition since about the year n A.D., where "n" is a very small positive integer. You see, roughly two thousand years ago, it is said, a child was given birth by a virgin. (An event in itself worthy of yearly celebra- tion, in my humble opinion.) So rare was a Divine conception in those days that The Birth was attended by several leading dignitaries who brought gifts for the child and his mother. "Hark," said they, for the Herald Angels were singing. Anyhow, the child grew up to become a big supporter of peace on Earth and goodwill toward men, and for this He was crucified by some people who just didn't have their shit together at all. It is in honor of this man that we celebrate Christmas. (Note: The above story has been somewhat abbreviated, for the sake of space. For the complete details, see the second half of the large, black book normally found in the top drawer of the night stand in most hotel rooms.) It is certainly no suprise, (considering the natural human tendency to completely miss the point of anything more meaningful than a Certz commercial), that Christmas, being a birthday party of massive propor- tions, is commonly referred to as "The Holiday Gift Buying Season." To many people, the "meaning of Christmas" is closely tied to the act of trading enormous sums of cash in exchange for retail goods. These items are then wrapped and bound in multicolored paper, ribbons and bows, (preferably by a member of that elite group of people who posseses the dexterity to "do the ends"), and then handed over as gifts to friends and family. The gift recipients, in turn, mutilate said wrapping, brief- ly admire said item, and then trade it back to the retailer in exchange for the abovementioned cash. It's a bookkeeper's nightmare. But, it's a child's dream! After all, Christmas *is* for the child- ren, right? Little Johnny wants a set of Ultra-Destructo-Man toy weapons which can be set on "stun," "kill," or "liquify" and with which he can shred the table-cloth, for example, or decapitate the dog. Little Susie wants a doll which she can cause to urinate on demand, she hopes, upon Little Johnny. If either of these toys aren't found under the tree on Christmas morning, the children will only stop long enough to wish a pox on Mommy and Daddy before running away. So friends, let's deck the halls with gobs of holly, toss another Kingsford Quik-Lite Yule Log into the fireplace, kill an evergreen or two, devour a Canadian water fowl, lift our glasses high in celebration of Christmas, and be mirthful in the knowledge that the broken bones sustained in last year's Race for the Cabbage Patch Dolls are nearly healed. Merry Christmas. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi, I'm Sam Kennyson and when I'm not doing my stand up comedy routine, I like to read NutWorks Humor Magazine. It's The BEST THING THAT'S HAPPENED TO ME SINCE MY FIFTH DIVORCE!!! AAUUGHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUGHHHH!! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 'Twas the Night Before Implementation ==================================== Submitted by Wildebeest <33000003@UNFVM> 'Twas the night before implementation and all through the house, Not a program was working not even a browse. The programmers hung by their tubes of despair, with hope that a miracle would soon be there. The users were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of inquires danced in their heads. When out of the machine room there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter. And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a super programmer, (with a six-pack of beer). His resume glowed with experience so rare, he turned out great code with a bit-pusher's flair. More rapid than eagles, his programs they came, and he cursed and muttered and called them by name. On update! on add! on inquiry! on delete! on batch jobs! on closing! on functions complete! His eyes were glazed over, fingers nimble and lean, from weekends and nights in front of the screen. A wink of his eye, and a twitch of his head, soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, turning spec's into code; then turned with a jerk; And laying his finger upon the "ENTER" key, the system came up and worked perfectly. The updates updated, the deletes, they deleted; the inquiries inquired, and closings completed. He tested each whistle, and tested each bell with nary an abend, and all had gone well. The system was finished, the tests were concluded. the user's last changes were even included. And the user exclaimed with a snarl and a taunt, "It's just what I asked for, but not what I want!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Dear Dr. Diag: ============= Note: Dr. Diag will attempt to answer questions on any subject, if he can. If he can't, he'll make you feel stupid for asking. Send your questions to "Dr. Diag" c/o Brent@Maine.BITNET. >Dear Dr. Diag, > I have a lot of trouble understanding the principle of Recursion. >My final exam is next week! Can you help me? > Signed, Shallow. Dear Shallow, Recursion is best explained by the following anecdote: A theoretical mathemetician is suprised one day to find his desk on fire. He runs to the extinguisher and douses the flames. The next day he looks up from his book to see that his wastepaper basket is on fire. Quickly he takes the basket and empties it onto his desk which begins to burn. Having thus reduced the problem to one he has already solved, he goes back to his reading. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Owner's Manual ================== CONGRATULATIONS ON BUYING YOUR NEW PULENBERE FRASHNED READ THIS FIRST! Congratulations! You have purchased an extremely fine device that would give you thousands of years of trouble-free service, except that you will undoubtly destroy it via some typical bonehead consumer maneuver. Which is why we ask you to PLEASE FOR GOD'S SAKE READ THIS OWNER'S MANUAL CAREFULLY BEFORE YOU UNPACK THE DEVICE. YOU ALREADY UNPACKED IT, DIDN'T YOU? YOU UNPACKED IT AND PLUGGED IT IN AND TURNED IT ON AND FIDDLED WITH THE KNOBS, AND NOW YOUR CHILD, THE SAME CHILD WHO ONCE SHOVED A POLISH SAUSAGE INTO YOUR VIDEOCASSETTE RECORDER AND SET IT ON "FAST FORWARD", THIS CHILD ALSO IS FIDDLING WITH THE KNOBS, RIGHT? WE MIGHT AS WELL JUST BREAK THESE DEVICES RIGHT AT THE FACTORY BEFORE WE SHIP THEM OUT, YOU KNOW THAT? We're sorry. We just get a little crazy sometimes because we're always getting back "defective" merchandise where it turns out that the consumer inadvertently bathed the device in acid for six days. So, in writing these instructions, we naturally tend to assume that your skull is filled with dead insects, but we mean nothing by it. OK? Now let's talk about: 1. UNPACKING THE DEVICE. The device is encased in foam to protect it from the Shipping People, who like nothing more than to jab spears into outgoing boxes. PLEASE INSPECT THE CONTENTS CAREFULLY FOR GASHES OR IDA MAE BARKER'S ENGAGEMENT RING, WHICH SHE LOST LAST WEEK, AND SHE THINKS MAYBE IT WAS WHILE SHE WAS PACKING DEVICES. Ida Mae really wants that ring back, because it is her only proof of engagement, and her fiancee, Stuart, is now seriously considering backing out on the whole thing inasmuch as he had consumed most of a bottle of Jim Beam in Quality Control when he decided to pop the question. You see, it is not without irony that Ida Mae's last name is "Barker", if you get our drift. WARNING: DO NOT EVER AS LONG AS YOU LIVE THROW AWAY THE BOX OR ANY OF THE PIECES OF STYROFOAM, EVEN THE LITTLE ONES SHAPED LIKE PEANUTS. If you attempt to return the device to the store, and you are missing one single peanut, the store personnel will laugh in the chilling manner exhibited by Joseph Stalin just after he enslaved Eastern Europe. Besides the device, the box should contain: * Eight little rectangular snippets of paper that say "WARNING" * A little plastic packet containing four 5/17 inch pilfer grommets and two club-ended 6/93 inch boxcar prawns. YOU WILL NEED TO SUPPLY: a matrix wrench and 60,000 feet of tram cable. IF ANYTHING IS DAMAGED OR MISSING: You IMMEDIATELY should turn to your spouse and say "Margaret, you know why this country can't make a car that can get all the way through the drive-through at Burger King without a major transmission overhaul? Because nobody cares, that's why." WARNING: This is assuming your spouse's name is Margaret. 2. PLUGGING IN THE DEVICE: The plug on this device represents the latest thinking of the electrical industry's Plug Mutation Group, which, in a continuing effort to prevent consumers from causing hazardous electrical current to flow through their appliances, developed the Three-Pronged Plug, then the Plug Where One Prong is Bigger Than the Other. Your device is equipped with the revolutionary new Plug Whose Prongs Consist of Six Small Religious Figurines Made of Chocolate. DO NOT TRY TO PLUG IT IN! Lay it gently on the floor near an outlet, but out of direct sunlight, and clean it weekly with a damp handkerchief. WARNING: WHEN YOU ARE LAYING THE PLUG ON THE FLOOR, DO NOT HOLD A SHARP OBJECT IN YOUR OTHER HAND AND TRIP OVER THE CORD AND POKE YOUR EYE OUT, AS THIS COULD VOID THE WARRANTY. 3. OPERATION OF THE DEVICE. WARNING: WE MANUFACTURE ONLY THE ATTRACTIVE DESIGNER CASE. THE ACTUAL WORKING CENTRAL PARTS OF THE DEVICE ARE MANUFACTURED IN JAPAN. THE INSTRUCTIONS WERE TRANSLATED BY MRS. SHIRLEY PELTWATER OF ACCOUNTS RECEIVABLE, WHO HAS NEVER ACTUALLY BEEN TO JAPAN BUT DOES HAVE MOST OF "SHOGUN" ON TAPE. INSTRUCTIONS: For results that can be the finest, it is our advising that NEVER to hold these buttons two times!! Except the battery. Next taking the earth section may cause a large occurrence! However. If this is not a trouble, such rotation is a very maintainance action, as a kindly small virepoint from Drawing B. 4. WARRANTY: Be it hereby known that this device, together with but not excluding all those certain parts thereunto, shall be warrantied against all defects, failures and malfunctions as shall occur between now and Thursday afternoon shortly before 2, during which time the Manufacturer will, at no charge to the Owner, send the device to our Service People, who will emerge from their caves and engage in rituals designed to cleanse it of evil spirits. This warranty does not cover the attractive designer case. WARNING: IT MAY BE A VIOLATION OF SOME LAW THAT MRS. SHIRLEY PELTWATER HAS "SHOGUN" ON TAPE. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Bad Day ======= From Howie Kaye Background: User is having problems with unlabeled tape, consultant calls operator to mount tape... Consultant: Hello, this is the consultant. There are two tapes waiting to be mounted on the DEC20 machine. Could you mount them? Operator: No dis is nod dee consultan. You have to call down- Consultant: No, this is the consultant, can you mount the tapes... Operator: (still speaking) No dis is nod dee consultan. You have to call uh... Consultant: No- wait, *I* am the consultant. You are an Operator. there are two tapes to be mounted on- Operator: Ohhhhh *you* are de consultan (revelation). Wha do you want? Consultant: There are two tapes to be mounted on CU20A. Operator: Tapes on CU20A... ok. (click) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Argument ============ A doctor, an architect, and a computer scientist were arguing about whose profession was the oldest. In the course of their arguments, they got all the way back to the Garden of Eden, whereupon the doctor said, "The medical profession is clearly the oldest, because Eve was made from Adam's rib, as the story goes, and that was a simply incredible surgical feat." The architect did not agree. He said, "But if you look at the Garden itself, in the beginning there was chaos and void, and out of that, the Garden and the world were created. So God must have been an architect." The computer scientist, who had listened to all of this said, "Yes, but where do you think the chaos came from?" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ A very popular attraction at the traveling circus was Great Zambini The Firewalker, who strolled barefoot across a pile of burning wood to the wonderment of paying circus-goers. Some of the local boys who got in to see Great Zambini, being woodsmen, immediately recognized him to be a fraud because he was walking across pine branches. And any woods- man worth his salt knows that pine branches don't burn very hot, they just smoke a lot, so it would be entirely possible for Zambini to make it across a pile of burning pine branches with no pain whatsoever. Well, these fellows didn't like the idea of Zambini getting away with such fraudulence, so, in the wee hours of the night, they sneeked into the circus and doused the Zambini's pines with gasoline. The next day, when Great Zambini did his morning show, he made it about half way over the pile of burning wood when the gas ignited. "Yowee!" screamed Great Zambini as his feet began to fry, and he jumped from the pines to safe ground. "Umm... Ladies and Gentlemen," he said, stomping his feet to get the last of the flames out, "I'm afraid I won't be able to continue my performance this morning. You see, these are not my pines! In fact, 'These are pines that fry men's soles.'" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Issue014, (Volume III, Number 2). December, 1986 еееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееее------------------------------------------------------------------------ ***** ***** ***** *** *** *** ** *** *** *** ** *** *** *** ******* *** ** *** *** *** ******* *** ***** *** *** *** *** ***** ***** ****** ** ****** ****** ****** **** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** **** *** ***** *** ****** *** **** *** *** *** ** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***** *** ****** ****** *** *** *** *** *** ** *** **** **** ****** *** **** *** **** Electronic Humor Magazine. Issue015, (Volume IV, Number 1). January, 1987. NutWorks is published semi-monthly-ish by Brent C.J. Britton, ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Kinky" is when you use a feather; "perverted" is when you use the whole chicken. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Contents ======== NewsWorks ...................... Points of Interest Nuts & Bolts ................... Commentary The King of Beers .............. Joke Compaq ......................... Advertisement How to Know When You're Growing Older ........... Advice Nature's Kitchen ............... Announcement Mr. Smith ...................... Shaggy Dog ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NewsWorks ========= Good evening Mr. and Mrs. America and all the ships at sea, partic- ularly a certain speedboat off the coast of Florida: DON'T LAND AT KEY WEST! REPEAT: DON'T HIT KEY WEST! THEY'RE ONTO US! THEY'RE... (thud) (We apologize for the previous news announcement. We return you now to our regularly scheduled news program.) A hardy "Hi folks!" to the latest subscribers to this journal. We hope you enjoy it! If you do, tell two friends about it, and they'll tell two friends, and so on, and so on, and we'll just have to have a massive party to celebrate! OK? Great! BYOx (where "x" is a member of a finite set of intoxicating and/or obscene elements.) Just a reminder that back issues of NutWorks are available almost anywhere. When in doubt, however, you can retrieve back issues from TCSSERVE@TCSVM.BITNET by sending it the following message: SENDme NUTWORKS ISSUExxx At any given time, the six most recent back issues of NutWorks can also be retrieved from CSNEWS@MAINE.BITNET by sending it this message: SENDme NUTWORKS ISSUExxx FROM EMAGS If you can't send messages, or are just plain lazy or something, you can request back issues of NutWorks by sending a MAIL file to the NutWorks editor and, if he is having a reasonably stress-free day, he will ship the back issues out to you as fast as his little fingers can carry him. The NutWorks staff would like to remind readers that the deadline for submitting your song parodies (for the Special Song Parody Issue) is February 1, 1987. Here's an small example of a song parody: Social Quarantine ----------------- Sung to the tune of: Yellow Submarine In the town where I was born, Lived a man who had V.D. And he gave it to the girls, And the girls gave it to me... We all live in a social quarantine, ...social quarantine, ...social quarantine. As always, we are eager to receive *any* original, humorous articles on any topic. All contributions may be sent to the editor. Thanks, The NutWorks Staff ______________________ _#____________________ <---------- Recent photograph of the ______________________ NutWorks staff on vacation ______________________ in the key of G. ______________________ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Nuts & Bolts ============== by Brent C.J. Britton Vacations from school are nice because they allow people to escape the day-to-day drudgery of having to fabricate excuses for not going to class. I always look forward to school vacations because they give me time to do things which I have been meaning to do all semester, but didn't, because I was spending too much time Not Going to Class. During this past vacation, for example, I confirmed my sneaking suspicion that I do, in fact, own a television set. I found it right where I recall leaving it last summer: just across the living room from the sofa and the remote control. The remote control is a wholly remarkable device which, if used regularly, can cause the average fit, active human being to turn into a lazy, smelly lump of immovable jelly. The advantage of having a remote control is that you can use it to quickly change the station when an advertisement comes on. Before the remote control was invented, the only way people could avoid watching advertisements was to get up and go to the bathroom. This was especially inconvenient before indoor plumbing was developed because then people had to get up and go to the outhouse. Sometimes I try to see how many things in my living room I can point my remote control at and still make the television work. I've found that mirrors do this nicely. My face doesn't. I hope that pointing the remote control at my face and pressing the buttons doesn't give me cancer. I am finally convinced that television news people think that the American public has Hellman's Real Mayonnaise for brains. During my stay in front of the television set last week, the one big news item I kept hearing about, over and over again, was the simply fascinating story of Ronald Reagan's enlarged prostate gland. (It seems that, whereas former President Carter would retreat to Camp David when he felt like getting away from the White House, Reagan prefers to go to the hospital to have some part of his body removed.) I'm sure it's newsworthy when Ronald Reagan undergoes some sort of surgery -- I mean, he IS the President of United States and all -- but I, for one, and damn sick of being made to view diagrams of the inside of his body. Some of the news programs I saw even had small teams of urologists standing by to explain what sort of punishment they give to someone who has an enlarged prostate and what sort of pointy objects get inserted into his body. Don't believe what anyone tells you about doctors; they are all sadistic maniacs who like to hurt sick people by poking them with pointy objects. The news people also mentioned that, seeing how the President was in the neighborhood, he was going to visit the Presidential Proctologist to have his colon checked for something called polyps. (I don't know just what a polyp is, but it seems that the President doesn't want any on his colon.) The news people were pleased as punch about this because they got to display more disgusting diagrams of the interior of the Presidential Posterior. And the team of medical people were right there to tell us in great detail what the Presidential Proctologist would be doing inside the Oval Orifice. To him, I suppose a colon by any other name smells the same, but talk about having your finger on the pulse of the nation!! It seems that while Reagan was being admitted to the hospital to have all these horrible things done to his person, he allegedly made several urological jokes. No one on the news actually said what a "urological joke" is mind you, but I can just hear the President saying "Well, Doc, when I bend over, how about humming a few bars of 'Hail to the Cheeks'?" Oh Well, it's about time to start Not Going to Class again. I leave you with this ancient salutation, in the !Tung dialect: "Wikky wikky ratyak, sapdew fizwot, HOY salrot, klakkacheez." Translation: "May you never get polyps on your colon from pointing the remote control at your face and pressing the buttons." bcjb ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The King of Beers ================= The Budweiser marketing executives held their annual planning session with their advertising agency. The ad agency gave them a new and FABULOUS plan. Irving Schlock, the ad agency account executive, suggested that Budweiser offer the Pope $1 Million per year if he will send out an edict changing the Lord's Prayer line from "Give us this day our daily bread" to "Give us this day our daily Bud." The Bud executives thought this was fantastic and shipped off a staff representative to Rome to make the offer. The representative only got to see a bishop, who ordered him thrown out amid cries of "Sacrilege!!" He returned to the President of Budweiser, who told him to up the offer to $1 million per month. This time the Budweiser man got in to see a Cardinal, told him about the proposed change from "Give us this day our daily bread" to "Give us this day our daily Bud." The Cardinal, enraged, also had him thrown out, saying, "The Lord's Prayer is NOT for sale, commercialistic swine!" Back to the Budweiser President he went. This time the president said that he had certain connections and would make some calls in advance, guaranteeing the rep would see the Pope himself, not just some flunkies. Also, said the president, "Offer the Pope $1 million a week. "This is so big we can't miss it. It'll blow Miller out of the water!" Back in the Vatican, the Budweiser Rep enters a room filled with the church hierarchy, begins to give his presentation -- cries of "out" begin, when the Pope comes in. He asks that the Rep be heard in a respectful manner, but first wants to leave for a moment. The Pope goes down the hallway to his business manager's office. Entering, he says "Guido, get out the Lord's Prayer file." "Sure, your Holiness, what do you need to know?" "How long before our deal expires with Pepperidge Farm?" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ (Taken from an actual Compaq ad in a British magazine.) Compaq Wishes To Apologize For This Advertisement. In particular, we wish to apologize for the headline. We suggest you skip it and go straight to the rest of the ad, after which you should simply FILL IN AND POST THE COUPON. If you haven't got time to read the ad, SIMPLY FILL IN AND POST THE COUPON. On your way to POST THE COUPON you may pass a COMPAQ dealer in which case simply GO IN AND BUY A COMPAQ. This will save you the price of a stamp. HOW TO PROVE THAT COMPAQ RUNS 30% FASTER THAN IBM. Buy two greyhounds, name one COMPAQ and the other IBM. Feed COMPAQ on lean steak and IBM on old socks stuffed with rabbit droppings. After a month, enter both in the 3.30 at Hackney and you will notice that Compaq runs at least 30% faster than IBM. Of course, this test is totally unfair and one-sided, but gives the same result as racing the computers in your office. PROTECT YOURSELF AGAINST NASTY ACCIDENTS. (Picture of statue w/o arms or legs is shown at left.) This is what happens to computer operators who lose all the data on an important disk. Protect yourself with a built-in tape back-up safety system. Too bad if you own an IBM or some other make, only COMPAQ computers have them. SIN IN STYLE -- SOFTWEAR WORLD. Sorry. Wrong. Terribly sorry. Sorry to disappoint those of you who were hoping for something titillating, but this whole section is in fact the result of a silly spelling mistake. Instead of softwear, please read software. Then reach for any IBM catalogue, in which you will find listed thousands of programs you can run on COMPAQ computers. So sorry. WHAT PERCENTAGE OF IBM SOFTWARE WILL RUN ON A COMPAQ? By sheer coincidence, this is the same percentage of waiters in Indian restaurants who hail from the small Bangladeshi town of Sylhet. Nearly 100%. For further details and first-class lamb dhansak, ring 01-836 9787. BYTES OF RAM. The compaq deskpro 286 offers 8.2 megabytes of RAM. IBM's PC AT can only manage a 3 megabyte nibble. Cheez, even our carry-away Portable does 2.6 megabytes. THE COMPAQ DUAL_MODE MONITOR. At last, a monitor lizard that can display both high resolution text and high resolution graphics on one screen. IBM's (and all their spawn) need separate iguanas for text and graphics. More details from our sales reptiles. Contact them on 01-940 8860. SIMPLE ANT MATHS: LESSON 1. Let one ant equal one byte of information. COMPAQ's built-in mass storage can hold 70,000,000 of the little blighters, (30,000,000 more than IBM can). Now calculate how many ants are needed to fill the great pyramid of Giza. FILL IN THIS COUPON NOW. ______________________________________________________________________ | | | TO: COMPAQ Computer Ltd., Freepost, Richmond, Surrey, TW91BR. | | I understand that COMPAQ computers run IBM software 30% faster, are | | more powerful with more storage, a unique tape backup system and dual| | mode monitor, but frankly I can't believe COMPAQ's are this good, | | otherwise why isn't everyone using them except come to think of it | | COMPAQ is already No. 2 in the States but then the Yanks are a funny | | bunch I mean they eat raw steak for breakfast and they've all got | | absurd names like Chuck and Waldo of course everyone's always | | knocking America but where would we be without the Harvey Wallbanger | | so rush me more details of your marvelous computers. | | | | Name _______________________________________________________________ | | Company_____________________________________________________________ | | Inside Leg_________________ Favourite Singer_______________________ | | Address_____________________________________________________________ | | | | AMAZING FREE OFFER. We'll give you a COMPAQ DESKPRO 286 ABSOLUTELY | | FREE when you give us 3,694.99 pounds. | | | | ( ) tick here for FREE death watch beetle. | |______________________________________________________________________| ------------------------------------------------------------------------ How to Know When You're Growing Older ===================================== - Everything hurts and what doesn't hurt, doesn't work. - The gleam in your eyes is from the sun hitting your bifocals. - You feel like the night before, and you haven't been anywhere. - Your little black book only contains names ending in M.D. - You get winded playing chess. - Your children begin to look middle-aged. - You begin to outlive enthusiasm. - Your mind makes contracts your body can't meet. - A dripping faucet causes an uncontrollable bladder urge. - You know all the answers but nobody asks you the questions. - You look forward to a dull evening. - You walk with your head held high trying to get used to your bifocals. - Your favourite part of the newspaper is "25 Years Ago Today". - You turn out the light for economic reasons rather than for romantic. - You sit in a rocking chair and can't get it going. - Your knees buckle and your belt won't. - You regret all those mistakes resisting temptation. - After painting the town red, you have to take a long rest before applying a second coat. - Dialing long distance wears you out. - You're no longer startled to be addressed as "ol' timer". - The best part of the day is over when the alarm clock goes off. - You sink your teeth into a steak and they stay there. - The little gray haired lady you help across the street is your wife. - You burn the midnight oil after 9 P.M. - Your back goes out more than you do. - You get too much room in the house and not enough in the medicine cabinet. - You get your exercise acting as a pall bearer for your friends who exercise. Frans J. Ward ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Nature's Kitchen Presents: ========================= From the people who brought you blood, sweat and earwax, AND the people who have produced such delectable delights as "Cream of Spinach" we proudly present... Campbell's Primordial Soup! -------------------------- That's right, Campbell's Soup inc. has merged with Mother Nature ltd. to bring you this primal mixture of complex organic compounds (including stringey strands of RNA), which is sure to please even the most highly evolved palettes. This tasty dish can be eaten alone, or can easily act as the basic building block for more complex culinary creations, such as Protazoan Pottage, Fishy Bisque, Baked Amoeba, and Self-replicating Succotash. Campbell's Primordial Soup, (the first in our nutritious new line of Mankindhandlers) is ALL NATURAL with no additives or preservatives, and each can contains a full day's supply of vitamins and amino acids. An evolutionary soup for an evolving species. Also try Campbell's CHUNKY Primordial Soup! So chunky, you'll be tempted to use your hands, but use a fork, before it gets up and walks away. Ken Vincent & bcjb ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Yellow sign spotted in the rear window of a hearse: . / \ / Dead \ . guy on . \ board / \ / . ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Shaggy Dog Story ================ One Thursday evening Mr. Smith was sitting in his favourite armchair, drinking a beer, and watching football, when he had this sudden urge to pass wind. This he duly did... '...phurpppHONDA!' 'Weird' thought Mr. Smith, but thought nothing of it, until 5 minutes later, when... '...phurpppHONDA!' At this he got worried. He rushed to the local hospital, and managed to get an appointment with an intestinal specialist. "What seems to be the problem Mr. Smith?" asked the doctor. "Well, whenever I pass wind, it seems to make a noise like a motorbike" replied Mr Smith. "Could you possibly show me?' asked the doctor. Mr Smith duly obliged '...phurpppHONDA!' "Bend over please Mr Smith, I'd like to examine you... (muffled) ah yes, I see your problem," said the doctor "you have an abcess on your backside. That would explain the strange noise." Mr. Smith was lost for words. "How," he asked "could an abcess on my ass make a noise like that!?" "Simple," replied the doctor... "abcess makes the fart go HONDA!" Submitted by Matt Brunton (MATT @ UKACRL) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Issue015, (Volume IV, Number 1). January, 1987 RECEIVE> RECEIVE> type *.issue016 еееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееее ***** ***** Special ***** *** *** Song Parody *** ** *** *** Issue!! *** ** *** *** *** ******* *** ** *** *** *** ******* *** ***** *** *** *** *** ***** ***** ****** ** ****** ****** ****** **** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** **** *** ***** *** ****** *** **** *** *** *** ** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***** *** ****** ****** *** *** *** *** *** ** *** **** **** ****** *** **** *** **** Electronic Humor Magazine. Issue016, (Volume IV, Number 2). February, 1987. NutWorks is published semi-monthly-ish by Brent C.J. Britton, ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Ods my Bodkins. A beanstalk. And all the way up to the sky, too." -- Daffy Duck as "Jack" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Contents ======== Nuts & Bolts ................... Commentary A Better Model ................. Parody Don't Have a Conniption ........ Parody Water .......................... Parody Into the Tube .................. Parody Friend of the System ........... Parody Don't Call from Home ........... Parody Put Another Password In ........ Parody The Disks of Unix .............. Parody A Better Model ................. Parody ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Nuts & Bolts ============== by Brent C.J. Britton My sincere apologies to those of you who have been patiently await- ing the arrival of this, the Special Song Parody Issue of NutWorks. I am so deeply entrenched in the quagmire of mid-semester classwork that I have little time to sit and put issues of NutWorks together. It has been at least 3 days since I have read anything humorous, and now, I've gained weight, my face broke out, I'm nauseous, I'm constipated, my feet swelled, my gums are bleeding, my sinuses are clogged, I have heartburn, I'm cranky, and I have gas. The next issue of NutWorks will be out in the first or second week of March, depending solely on the whim of 4 or 5 college professors who seem to think that Florida isn't a good place for me to spend spring break. Enough of these idle complaints. Don't let the size of this issue scare you. As they say in the more relaxed installations, "Don't sweat it, it's only ones and zeros." bcjb ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Don't Have a Conniption ======================= by Brent C.J. Britton Sung to the tune of "Walk Like an Egyptian" by the Bangles All the system ops in this place, They monitor me, just for fun. If I logon here, (ohwayoh) They force me off 'fore my profile runs. 'Cause I have a reputation For doing things which I shouldn't be, Like running CHATS, (ohwayoh) And bootlegging Lotus-123. So you see, when they yell at me, I say, (wayohwayoh, wayohwayoh) "Don't have a conniption..." Found how to change all my privs; I didn't know that I broke a rule. I forced the op, (ohwayoh) I dropped the link, then I purged the spool. All the sys ops, so sick of me, They don't let my databases run. I broke CP, (ohwayoh) They had a big fat connip-tion. When they NOLOG my account, I say (wayohwayoh, wayohwayoh) "Don't have a conniption..." They've hated me since I stored Inside the real PSW. We crashed hard you know, (ohwayoh) I guess I forgot a bit or two. If you want to find software cops, They're hanging out in the software shops. They kick your pants, (ohwayoh) And give the boot to your VMBLOCK. I ran my Turing Machine; Another one was assembl'in. And it crunched all night, (ohwayoh) The system op had connip'tions. To software cops in the software shops, I say (wayohwayoh, wayohwayoh) "Don't have a conniption..." "Don't have a conniption." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Water ===== By Ken Hayes <@WSUVM1> Sung to the tune of "Lola" by The Kinks We rafted down the Salmon in Idaho, We shot the rapids and then we got splashed by the waaater. Wa wa wa wa waaaater... We rafted still further with our beers in our hands, Then we fell in and we got real wet 'cause of the waaaater. Wa wa wa wa waaaater, wa wa wa wa waaater... Chorus: waaaater, wa wa wa wa waaaater, wa wa wa wa waaaater. waaaater, wa wa wa wa waaaater, wa wa wa wa waaaater. Well I'm not dumb but I can't understand, How it rolls like a woman and sprays like a man. Oh, the waaater, wa wa wa wa waaater... (chorus) Well we drank our wine, and partied all night. We'd never ever seen this river's might. We got kinda smashed and then we turned in, Knowing that tomorrow we'd be there again. Well I'm not the world's most scarable guy, But I sure got scared when I fell into, yes, the waaater. wa wa wa wa waaaater, wa wa wa wa waaater. (chorus) (repeat chorus until people are about ready to lynch you) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Into the Tube ============= by Mike Portuesi Sung to the tune of "Into The Groove" by Madonna And you can hack, For computation. Come on, It's waiting... Chorus: Stare into the tube, Boy, you've got to prove Your subroutine. RS-232, And full duplex too, With no parity. Hacking can be such a revelation, When you can find your missing declaration. It might be running if the code is right; I hope to fix a major bug tonight. Only when I'm hacking can I feel this free. At night I buy some Coke, And hack till after three. I'm tired of all those GOTO's by themselves. Tonight, I want to write with IF-THEN-ELSE! (chorus) You've got to type NEW in a special way, Or else it won't clear Out your first array. Don't try to run it with your memory size. I've got an error on the hard disk drive. Only when I'm hacking, Can I feel this free. At night I buy some Coke, And hack till after three. I'm tired of all those GOTO's by themselves. Tonight, I want to write with IF-THEN-ELSE! (chorus) Live out your fantasy, Written in C. Just let those macros Set you free. Touch my BREAK key, In real time. Now I'm not on line. (chorus) Only when I'm hacking, Can I feel this free. At night I buy some Coke, And hack till after three. I'm tired of all those GOTO's by themselves. Tonight, I want to write with IF-THEN-ELSE! Live out your fantasy, Written in C. Just let those macros Set you free. Touch my BREAK key, In real time. Now I'm not on line, Now I'm not on line, Now I'm not on line, Now I'm not on line (nasal, like Madonna) Now I'm not on line. (repeat chorus - fade out) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Friend of the System ==================== By Larry Stone Submitted by Jeff Brandenburg Sung to the tune of "Friend of the Devil" by Jerry Garcia & Robert Hunter I logged on to the Ed-VAX, left a trail of coffee grounds. Didn't get to sleep that night 'til the morning came around. Chorus: Said I'll run my program but it will take some time; A friend of the System is a friend of mine. If I get done before daylight, I just might write some code tonight. Ran into the System, baby, and it tried to blow me off. Spent the evening learning Pascal but still all it does is scoff! (chorus) I tried to run the editor, but the System caught me there; It took my FORTRAN program and it vanished in the air! (chorus) Got two reasons why I stay awake each night and day; The first one's name I can't pronounce, but he is my TA. The second one's my college Dean, 'cause I'm about to fail! She says if I don't pass C.S. I won't be long at Yale. Got a program in T-Lisp, baby, and one in FORTRAN IV. The first one has a hundred bugs but the other one has more! (chorus) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Don't Call From Home ==================== by Jonathon Luning Sung to the Tune of "The Man's Too Strong" by Dire Straits I'm just an ageing hacker-boy And in the days I used to play And I've called the tune To many a system's ruin. Now they say I am a real criminal And I'm hiding away. Just one more terminal session. I have simplified robbery With my PCs. I have called in the money And it's now overseas. I have re-written bank accounts With thousands on my books; Made up identities Without changing my looks. And I can still hear the touch-tones And the clicks on the phone. Don't call too long. Don't call from home. Well I've cracked IBM And I've cracked NSA And I've cracked every network In the whole USA. I have called out on Sprint And from any payphone; Billed to people I never have known. And I can still hear the touch-tones And the clicks on the phone. Don't call too long. Don't call from home. Well the sun comes in my office And they all did hear him say "You're really too much for us, You're worth more than we can pay. You may still hear from Burroughs But I ask you now today: Won't you please work with us At the good old CIA?" Now I run all surveillance From LA to Kremlin's dome. Don't call too long. Don't call from home. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Put Another Password In ======================= by Chesire Catalyst Submitted by Holly Lee Stowe Sung to the tune of "Put Another Nickel In" Put another password in, Bomb it out and try again. Try to get past logging in, We're hacking, hacking, hacking. Try his first wife's maiden name. This is more than just a game. It's real fun, but just the same, It's hacking, hacking, hacking. Sys-call, let's try sys-call. Remember, that great bug from version 3, Of R S X, It's here! Whoopie! Put another sys-call in, Run those passwords out and then, Dial back up, we're logging in. It's hacking, hacking, hacking! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Disks of UNIX ================= Submitted by Malcolm Dickinson Sung to the Tune of "Sounds of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel Hello comix my old friend. I've come to program you again. because a student softly creeping, guessed my password while I was sleeping. And the programs with just remnants in my brain, don't remain, upon the disks... of UNIX. In flick'ring lights I type along. Load my program, what was wrong? Letters haloed by my squinting, at the program that I was lint-ing. For my eyes were blurred by the flash of the cathode beam, term'nal screen, and all the C... on UNIX. And in the fuzzy light I saw 10,000 hackers, maybe more: Hackers staring without blinking, hackers typing without thinking. Hackers writing code that programs never shared. (No one dared, disturb the disks... of UNIX.) "Fools," said I, "you do not know. Kludges make the d.u. grow. Comment functions that I might read them. Update man-files 'cause I might need them." But my words like unread printout fell, (Oh well...) An echo, On the disks... of UNIX. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ A Better Model ============== by Steven Levine at Apollo Computer Submitted by "Spam" Sung to the tune of "A Modern Major-General" by Gilbert and Sullivan I've built a better model than the one at Data General For data bases vegetable, animal, and mineral My OS handles CPUs with multiplexed duality; My PL/1 compiler shows impressive functionality. My storage system's better than magnetic core polarity, You never have to bother checking out a bit for parity; There isn't any reason to install non-static floor matting; My disk drive has capacity for variable formatting. Chorus: His disk drive has capacity for variable formatting, His disk drive has capacity for variable formatting, His disk drive has capacity for variable format-formatting. I feel compelled to mention what I know to be a gloating point: There's lots of room in memory for variables floating-point, Which shows for input vegetable, animal, and mineral I've built a better model than the one at Data General. Cho: Which shows for input vegetable, animal, and mineral He's built a better model than the one at Data General. The IBM new home computer's nothing more than germinal; At Prime they still have trouble with an interactive terminal; While Tandy's done a lousy job with operations Boolean, At Wang the byte capacity's too small to fit a coolie in. Intel's mid-year finances are something of the trouble sort; The Timex Sinclar crashes when you implement a bubble sort. All DEC investors soon will find they haven't spent their money well; And need I even mention Nixdorf, Univac, or Honeywell? Cho: And need he even mention Nixdorf, Univac, or Honeywell? And need he even mention Nixdorf, Univac, or Honeywell? And need he even mention Nixdorf, Univac, or Honey-Honeywell? By striving to eliminate all source code that's repetitive I've brought my benchmark standings to results that are competitive. In short, for input vegetable, animal, and mineral I've built a better model than the one at Data General. Cho: In short for input vegetable, animal, and mineral He's built a better model than the one at Data General. In fact when I've a floppy of a maximum diameter, When I can call a subroutine of infinite parameter, When I can point to registers and keep their current map around, And when I can prevent the need for mystifying wraparound, When I can update record blocks with minimum of suffering, And when I can afford to use a hundred K for buffering, When I've performed a matrix sort and tested the addition rate, You'll marvel at the speed of my asynchronous transmission rate. Cho: You'll marvel at the speed of his asynchronous transmission rate, You'll marvel at the speed of his asynchronous transmission rate, You'll marvel at the speed of his asynchronous transmission-mission rate. Though all my better programs that self-reference recursively Have only been obtained through expert spying, done subversively, But still for input vegetable, animal, and mineral, I've built a better model than the one at Data General. Cho: But still for input vegetable, animal, and mineral, He's built a better model than the one at Data General. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Issue016, (Volume IV, Number 2). February, 1987. еееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееее------------------------------------------------------------------------ @@@ @@@@ @@@ @@@@ @@@ @@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@@@ @@ @ @@ @@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@ @@@@ @@ @@@ @@@ @@@@ @@@@ @@ @@@ @@ @@@ @@@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ Electronic Humor Magazine. Issue017, (Volume IV, Number 3). April, 1987. NutWorks is published semi-monthly-ish by Brent C.J. Britton, ------------------------------------------------------------------------ To be is to do. -- I. Kant To do is to be. -- A. Sartre Yabba-Dabba-Doo! -- F. Flinstone ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Contents ======== NewsWorks ...................... Points of Interest Nuts & Bolts ................... Commentary How to Catch a White Elephant ............. Nature Before IBM ..................... Story Excuses ........................ Real Life The Book of George ............. Essay Dear Dr. Diag .................. Advice Three Dates .................... Story Bennie ......................... Shaggy Dog ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NewsWorks ========= - The TCSSERVE file server at TCSVM.BITNET has been terminated in favor of the Revised List Processor, ListServ@TCSVM.BITNET. Back issues of NutWorks are being stored on ListServ. They can be retrieved by sending ListServ the command: GET NUTWORKS ISSUExxx where "xxx" is a 3-digit issue number. Commands can be sent to ListServe via interactive message, or from within MAIL, PUNCH, DISK DUMP, and NETDATA format files. As always, the six most recent back issues of NutWorks will be stored on CSNEWS@MAINE.BITNET, and can be retrieved with the message: SENDME NUTWORKS ISSUExxx FROM EMAGS - The NutWorks subscription list is also now being maintained by ListServ@TCSVM. To subscribe to NutWorks, send this command to ListServ: SUBscribe NUTWORKS your_full_name People who were subscribed to NutWorks as of April 1, 1987 have already been added to the NutWorks subscription list on ListServ, and so those people need not re-subscribe. To delete yourself from the subscription list, send this command to ListServ: UNSubscribe NUTWORKS Thus, subscription/deletion requests, or requests for back issues should no longer be sent to Brent@Maine. - The song parody entitled "The Disks of Unix" which appeared in in Issue016 (Volume IV, Number 2) was written by Marianne Wolf. We neglected to credit Ms. Wolf in the text. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Nuts & Bolts ============== by Brent C.J. Britton If you will indulge me, I must take on a tone of moderate serious- ness for just a moment. To wit, NutWorks magazine needs writers. Each month, NutWorks contains at least one or two items which are, well, not quite original. Sometimes, in fact, we print things which are downright vintage humor. We don't *like* to print things which are older than Moses' toes, but sometimes, we just *have* to. In short, if you write humorous commentaries, essays, jokes, etc., and would like to share your work, let us hear from you! Now then, to relax that vulgar seriousness, I just gotta tell you that I like computers a whole lot. They make my life easier. I like the fact that there's a computer overseeing the internals of my micro- wave oven, my stereo, and my television, because there's less chance that I can hurt myself with any of these devices. I sleep easier at night knowing that when I get up in the morning I won't press the wrong buttons on my mircowave oven and cause it to explode or something; the computer inside, like all intelligent, self-preserving beings, will prevent me from doing so. But, friends, there are just some places where computers don't belong. I took my car in for a tune-up at the local garage. I won't mention the name of the company, but they sell tires and have a blimp. Now where I come from, a tune-up consists of new spark plugs, points, perhaps a new rotor cap, air and gas filters, and a timing adjustment. So I was a bit suprised when I saw... The Interrogator. The Interrogator was a large box roughly the size of a IBM 4341 CPU sitting on end. It was wheeled close to my car. From my vantage point in the lobby of the station I could feel my car -- a small Honda Prelude -- shiver with fear. Several mechanics spent many minutes inserting the tentacle-like appendages of The Interrogator into every orifice of my cowering Honda. Under the hood, up the tailpipe! My poor car. Until then, it had been a tailpipe virgin, and I still don't think it has gotten over the trauma of that tune-up to this day. Once all the tentacles were firmly inserted, The Interrogator was fired up. With a voice eerily reminiscent of Darth Vader, it said, yes I mean SAID: "Start the engine." The mechanics obeyed. For the next 15 minutes the computer inside The Interrogator examined my car. The mechanics stood close by, having coffee. In the lobby, I paced nervously. Finally, to my relief, the tentacles were removed. The Interrogator produced a written report of everything it thought was wrong with my car, and the mechanics sprang into action fixing all those things. As The Interrogator was being wheeled away, I heard it say in that evil, deep voice: "We shall meet again, young Honda." The entire situation was quite disconcerting for me and my car, so we're going to steer clear of Darth Vader and the blimp people from now on. But without computers, you probably wouldn't be reading this, so I guess I still like them quite a bit. I just hope my microwave oven isn't really a stormtrooper in disguise... bcjb ------------------------------------------------------------------------ How to Catch a White Elephant ============================= Submitted By Niels Kristian Jensen Go to an place where there are white elephants. Bring with you a muffin (with raisins). Climb a tree. When the white elephant is close, drop the muffin (with raisins) in front of it. The white elephant will be happy, and eat the muffin (with raisins). White elephants like muffins (with raisins). Repeat this procedure for five days in a row. After the fifth day, the white elephant will be used to its daily muffin (with rasins). The sixth day you climb the tree, bring with you a muffin without rasins. Drop the muffin as usual. When the white elephant finds out that the muffin lacks rasins, it will darken in anger. And then you catch it the same way as an ordinary grey elephant. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Before IBM ========== by Adept Before IBM, The Head Programmer created the heavens (the area above your computer) and the earth (the area below your computer). The earth was a mass without order... sort of like a Pascal program. Then, The Head Programmer (hereafter referred to as THP) said, 'Let there be IBM.' And, IBM, as an infant company, appeared. And THP was pleased with it, and gave IBM great powers. THP let IBM grow for a time, and then other companies began to appear. Together, they created the first computer market. All of these events happened in the first decade. And THP said, 'Let IBM separate to form the mainframe division above and the microcomputer division below.' So THP made the mainframe divi- sion, separating the company to form another division. These events occurred in the second decade. Then THP said, 'Let the microcomputer division be infiltrated, so that IBM cannot be accused of being a monopoly.' And so, it happened. Then THP called the IBM micro a PC, and called the others' micros "compatibles". And he said, 'Let the earth burst forth with every sort of microcomputer and 'compatible', and allow those computers to be copied, so that the market is open'. And so it was, and THP was pleased. This all occurred in the third decade. Then THP said, 'Let there be operating systems with the computers to give life to the computer and to identify the Mainframe division and the Micro division. They will allow the users to use the computer, and the version number shall mark the days and the years. And so it was. For THP made two systems, the VM system, and DOS, to be used by the divisions, the larger one, VM, to preside over the Mainframe divi- sion, and the smaller one, the DOS, to preside over the Micro division. And THP gave them to IBM, to provide life to the computer, and to pre- side over the Mainframe and Micro divisions, and to divide the two divisions. And THP was pleased. This all happened in the fourth decade. Then THP said, 'Let the earth teem with applications programs, and all other types of programs, of every kind.' So THP created great programming languages, and every sort of applications programs, and every kind of game. And THP looked upon them with pleasure, and gave each a copyright. 'Multiply and stock the earth,' he told them, and to the games he said, 'Let your types grow. Be known throughout the the world!' That ended the fifth decade. Then THP said, 'Let the world bring forth every kind of peripheral, monitors and disk drives, printers, and all types of add-ons.' And so it was. THP made all sorts of printers and disk drives and mouses. And THP was pleased with what he had done. Then THP said, 'Let us make a programmer - someone like ourselves, to be the master of all computers upon the earth and in the skies and in the seas.' So THP instructed a man to be a programmer. Like THP did THP instruct the man. Male and Female, did he instruct alike. And THP graduated them and told them, 'Multiply and produce code, and subdue all computers; you are the masters of all the software and all the peripherals. And see! I have given you the IBM computers through- out the world, and all the compatibles.' Then THP looked over all that he had made, and it was superb in every aspect. This ended the sixth decade. Now at last, IBM was a thriving company, and with all the programs and programmers it would need. So in the seventh decade, THP halted all work that he had been doing, and THP called this a system crash, and decreed that all computers would experience this. Thus endeth the seventh decade. Later, man learned to hack, but that's another story.... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Excuses ======= Submitted by (The following are actual notes written to school teachers by emphatic parents. There are no typos.) 1). "My son is under the doctor's care and should not take P.E. today. Please execute him." 2). "Please excuse Mary for being absent. She was sick and I had her shot." 3). "Please excuse Fred for being. It was his father's fault." 4). "Please ackuse Fred being absent on Jan. 28, 29, 30, 31, 32 and 33." 5. "Mary could not come to school today because she was bothered by very close veins." 6). "Mary was absent from school yesterday as she was having a gangover." 7). "Please excuse Mary from Jim yesterday. She was administrating." 8). "Please excuse Fred for being absent. He had a cold and could not breed well." 9). "Please excuse Mary. She has been sick and under the doctor." 10). "Please excuse Mary from being absent yesterday. She was in bed with gramps." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Book of George ================== copyright 1985 by Edward Murphy This whole thing is extremely weird. I mean, how many people could actually live the life that I do and stay completely and utterly sane? Answer: NOBODY! I guess that you could say that I am about as loony as they come. Really. At least that's what I tell myself. But the strange thing is that myself agrees with me. Of course, his opinion was never very good, even when I was in that twinkie mining accident on Regulus-5 (a nonchalant little star system on the outer edge of the Milky Way, but I digress.) Looking back on the nineteen years, six months, and some odd days that I, as a piece of primordial plasma, have existed, I see the one sole purpose of my meager exis- tence. To own a chicken ranch outside of Salt Lake City, Utah, and, as a side business, to rent U-haul trailers to passing motorists. This is the end of Part I of my multifaceted expose into the life and times of an aesthetic wacko. ---------- It's sort of funny the way things happen. One minute you're floating on air, the next you're hit by a glob of chocolate pudding and sent hurtling on a collision course with destiny. That's the way I feel about certain things. Life is basically an avocado, no, wait, actually it's more like a kiwi fruit, you know, sort of oblong, with a furry outside and all green, and mushy inside. OK, OK, so maybe it's not the best analogy in the world, but for a guy who's popped his gourd, I think it shows a certain amount of talent. You know (that is "sabes" in Spanish), I've been thinking. Is existence temporal? Does "I THINK THEREFORE I AM" imply "I THOUGHT THEREFORE I HAVE BEEN" or "I WILL THINK THEREFORE I WILL BE"? Maybe the former, but probably not the latter, although I don't know. Look! It's a brick! Here ends Part II of a journey through the imaginative paths of a gaggle-snorp grandmaster. ---------- I tried Reality once, but was lucky enough to find out that it was highly addictive in time. After that little nasty incident, it has been one cascading, highly imaginative adventure after the other. As I spiral into the deep catacombs of man's destiny and get closer to the meaning of it all I realize that we are all only dreaming of an unat- tainable Utopia. Wow! Now you tell me that isn't the most incredibly profound thing that you've read in quite a while. Go ahead tell me. I'll wait while you do. *WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT* *WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT* *WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT* Thank you. My lifetime can be compared to a Styrofoam box. Well, actually, it can't really be compared to a Styrofoam box as they are two absolutely completely different concepts altogether. Thusly does Part III take us along the never ending look at man's destiny where grapefruit is concerned. ---------- You ever wonder what it would be like to be a rock? Just sitting there, all day, watching people go by and being stepped on (even though stepping on a rock probably doesn't hurt the rock physically, the psychological turmoil must be tremendous.) Can you see a rock, a chunk of ole' Mom Earth, on a psychiatrist's couch with a list of neu- rosis longer than my arm? And I think that I need not even get into the erosion complex. But, these ideas are for better men than I to consider, and rightly so because right now I am trying to get through school so that I can become one of those better men who haven't any- thing better to do than think of strange and sundry items with which to perplex the bipedal, sentient creatures that we have all come to call Mom, Dad, Uncle Eugene, or what have you. A guru once told me, "Your life is a peanut, sometimes boiled, sometimes crunchy, sometimes salty, sometimes low sodium, but it is still just a peanut". And to my dying day I will always think that the guru was a bit wacky. Ending thus does Part IV of this incredibly frood trip into that ameba shaped substance know as creativity. ---------- I spy with my little eye something that begins with the letter "C". It is a kind of difficult to play when I'm inside here and you're out- side there. I bet that you often wonder just what it's like to be a story. It's true that I was created simply through the mental pro- cesses of a creature more or less like yourself, but the spark of the creation that inspired me has left and I have taken on a new persona. There is of course one thing wrong. No matter how many times you read me, I'll always say the same thing. It is a bummer, and it puts the pressure on you to get something different out of me each time. Hey! I just had a great idea. Look around you and write down what you see and think about it. Then when you read me again try and be somewhere different. Wow, I think that is a novel idea in writing (pun very much intended.) Every different situation will produce a new set of ideas. This is wonderful. I am sure that every God-fearing American will sleep better tonight knowing that one of the problems of the uni- verse has gone wherever problems of the universe go when they have been put to rest. Part V of this expedition, that could very well be called the Book of George, ends here. Or here. Or maybe here...(ad infinitum) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Dear Dr. Diag: ============= Note: Dr. Diag will attempt to answer questions on any subject, if he can. If he can't, he'll make you feel stupid for asking. Send your questions to "Dr. Diag" c/o Brent@Maine.BITNET. > Dear Dr. Diag, > I've heard rumors of an Order (N ** 1/2) sorting algorithm. > Is there any validity to this claim, and if so, how is it > done? > Sincerely, 'Mr. Get It Done Yesterday' Dear Mr. Yesterday, For our non-computer users' sakes, a sorting algorithm is a device which, when applied to "n" things, sorts them alphabetically, or numerically, or by hair color or inseam length. The "order" of a par- ticluar sorting algorithm is a measure of its speed. For instance, an order n-to-the-power-of-2 algorithm takes n*n iterations to put n things in sorted order. I think a brief history of sorting algorithms is in... um... order. I'll start at the beginning. Cavemen weren't too concerned about sorting things. They kept them- selves busy inventing fire, and the wheel, and sex in the missionary position, and just generally evolving the hell out of the dinosaurs, and so they had plenty of things to occupy their time without worrying about sorting algorithms. Things went along smoothly like this for many millions of years, (well maybe it was more like thousands of years... it was a few decades anyway), until one day the computer was invented. This paved the way for the development of a few really sharp sorting algorithms. Let's examine a few. Bubble Sort - Very silly. The only people who use Bubble sorts are first-year Pascal programmers who don't know better. Unfortunately, programmers who leave college after the first year go away thinking the bubble sort is a pretty neat idea. Litigation is pending between the Gold Seal Company Inc., (makers of Mister Bubble bath soap), and the Assocation of Computing Machines for theft of trademark. Selection Sort - Used by the Selective Service during wartime to determine which strapping young college students will become combat soldiers, and which redneck tobacco chewers will become generals. Insertion Sort - Involves the insertion of an object into a place where it fits easily. Most normal college students use this algorithm daily. Radix Sort - This sort belongs to Ray Dick. It is Ray Dick's sort. QuikSort - Supposedly the "best" of the sorts, but not even the mighty Quiksort runs on the order of n**1/2. No my friend, there is no sorting algorithm which runs on the order of n**1/2. It is as illusive as Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, or an 'A' in Economics. But if you see it in the sun, it is true. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Three Dates =========== by DACEE@UNO.BITNET There was this old neighbor of mine -- no names are mentioned to protect the innocent -- who had three daughters. Well, this one Saturday night they all just happened to have dates. My neighbor, their father, like any other Saturday night was in the living room watching the LSU football game on the big screen tele- vision. As expected, around 9:30 one of the dates showed up, so the old man got up and went to answer the door for his daughters, (you know how women are always late.) So the old man answered the door and the young man outside politely introduced himself: "Hello, my name is Eddie. I am here to pick up Debbie. We're going out to eat sphagetti. Is she ready?" Well the old man said, "Yeah, she's ready." "Cute," he said to himself. Five or six minutes later the second date showed up. The man had to answer the door once again. The second date introduced himself to the father saying: "Hello, my name is Joe. I am here to pick up Flo. We are going to the show. Can she go?" "Yeah, she can go!" the old man replied. "What, are they all gonna rhyme tonight?" he said to himself. Finally, 15 minutes later the last date showed up, and for the last time the old man got up and answered the door. The date, like all the others, introduced himself saying: "Hello, my name is Chuck... Chuck died quickly. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The First Fantastic Flop of Sir Galliwag M.D. (Doctor of the Multiverse) ============================================= by (beef) Chow (mein), Rob Woiccak (TNETG1FN@CLVM) One day while I, the great Doctor Sir Galliwag, was out romping in the multiverse, I stopped to visit the home of my good friend: the Sheikh Ali-Wa Benn. Much to my distress, I found the palace in a ruckess. I soon learned from the palace chamberlain, Deskial Hmabi, that the Sheikh had disappeared. At this, I began an investigation to determine the Sheikh's whereabouts. The chamberlain gave me Benn's agenda for the day. First a breakfast and then a shave. Following that was a luncheon where he had failed to appear. Suddenly, I had an idea! I ran to the vestibule where I had seen a new pot that confirmed my notion. Calling Deskial into the room, I proceeded to find the Shiekh in the large vase. Flabbergasted, he asked "How...what...?" "Simple," I replied, "a Bennie shaved is a Bennie urned." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Issue017, (Volume IV, Number 3). April, 1987. еееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееее ------------------------------------------------------------------------- @@@ @@@@ @@@ @@@@ @@@ @@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@@@ @@ @ @@ @@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@ @@@@ @@ @@@ @@@ @@@@ @@@@ @@ @@@ @@ @@@ @@@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ Electronic Humor Magazine. Issue018, (Volume IV, Number 4). May, 1987. NutWorks is published semi-monthly-ish by Brent C.J. Britton, ------------------------------------------------------------------------ If there is no God, who pops up the next Kleenex? -- Art Hoppe ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Contents ======== NewsWorks ...................... Points of Interest Nuts & Bolts ................... Commentary The Final Prayer ............... Religion Filthy ......................... Limerick Dear Dr. Diag .................. Advice Law as it Should Be ............ Story Fear No Man .................... Advertisement Two Priests .................... Joke Frog Finance ................... Shaggy Dog ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NewsWorks ========= Hello, I'm Jeraldo Revera filling in for the regular NutWorks News crew, who are out on assignment. Actually, I think they're just out someplace having a party to which I am not invited. They do this a lot. But I don't care. Rest assured that I'm getting paid a disgusting sum of money for doing this. I mean, they're not really professional journalists or anything. They spend most of their time sitting around drinking coffee and playing "Pin the tail on Vanna White," a game in- volving a blindfold, a fallic-shaped IBM card, and a recent issue of Playboy magazine. I just know they're having a party. Probably at the beach too. With those coeds from the Speech Communications department who I bet are at least partially naked at this point. I hate them. They tell me they're off on an "important assignment of global proportions" when I know damn well the only "globes" involved belong to some drunken floozies with miniscule, if any, tan lines. HERE I SIT DOING THE NEWS ALL ALONE WHEN THEY'RE OUT ON SOME SECLUDED BEACH GANG-FONDLING SOME GIRL'S HUGE... ahem... sorry. I'm very sorry. The only news this month is this stupid reminder that the end of the spring semester is upon us -- like you haven't noticed, sheez -- and so those of you with NON-PERMANENT user-IDs should be sure to delete yourselves from the NutWorks mailing list by sending the command: UNSUBSCRIBE NUTWORKS to LISTSERV@TCSVM via message or mail. Please make sure you delete your- selves because if you don't, I'll have to. "Delete the user-IDs Jeraldo" they'll say. "Get us some more Mt. Dew Jeraldo! Get Connie Chung on the phone Jeraldo! Jeraldo, why haven't you deleted those user-IDs yet!?" The only other news this month is that this stupid old magazine will probably publish on time, every month, this summer, which I'm sure just thrills all you perverts out there who read this trash. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ What do Gary Hart and an Oriental man have in common? - - - They both like to eat Rice. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Nuts & Bolts ============== by Brent C.J. Britton My girlfriend and I are planning to move into a new apartment this month which means we're spending a lot of time sorting through our possesions in an attempt to distinguish the good stuff from the garbage. Unfortunately, her idea of what is garbage and what isn't differs from mine in that I am violently opposed to throwing away anything that I own on the grounds that I may want or need it someday even if it is broken or, in fact, completely useless. For instance, she located the locking base clamp to my desk lamp -- one of those spring-loaded, swiveling-arm lamps; every college student in the world has one -- and asked me, hopefully, if she could throw it away because the actual lamp part seemed to be missing. I said that we should hang onto it just in case the lamp turned up, although I knew darned well that the poor lamp met an untimely demise two years ago in a diabolical experiment conducted by myself and my dorm roommate, Hal. The idea was, see, to develop a Beer Extraction Device which, at the tug of a chord (such as the belt from Hal's bathrobe), would cause a bot- tle of beer to be dropped from the refrigerator into the Catapult Unit -- remember, the lamp was spring loaded -- which would then fling the beer across the room to the general vicinity of the couch and into the waiting hands of a thirsty college student such as Hal or myself. During the trial runs, however, several beers and a can of picante sauce were inadvertently capulted straight out of our open, third floor win- dow. This angered Hal to the point of tossing the Beer Extraction Device out the window as well, and thus ended the life of my desk lamp. So you can see how the locking base clamp has great sentimental value to me, and I'm glad she let me keep it. With clothes, I'm not so lucky. What happens is, first, she'll find a pair of my pants she's never seen before and she'll bring them to me. "Did you know you had these?" she'll say, realizing that she is dealing with someone who often forgets his own mother's birthday. "Yes," I'll say, "those are the pants I wore to my high school graduation. They go with my blue suit." And then I'll make an effort to look intensely preoccupied. "Do they fit?" "I dunno..." "Try them on." Now, just so you know, I have about five pairs of pants that I wear on a regular basis, four of which are made of denim. (And while we're on the subject, take my advice: never wear button-fly jeans if you think you're going to be in a situation where you have to go to the bathroom in a hurry, if you get my drift.) I have some other pants which I only wear to nice restaurants, for example, and funerals, but mostly I just wear jeans. My girlfriend knows this and will therefore consider these high school pants to be good candidates for her Salvation Army box. After some lengthly discussion we'll arrive at the the truth of the matter which is that, given a choice between having a root canal or being seen with me in public while I was wearing these pants, she'd choose the root canal. So, scratch one pair of perfectly good pants. I guess I really can't blame her for wanting to throw out things like my high school pants, because she does most of the packing. Now before you start calling me a worthless scum for not helping her pack, I should remind you that she's a woman and as such, *loves* to do the packing. Women are, you know, strange like that. My idea of a packing consists of scrunching my socks up into little balls, and then making jump shots into the suitcase with them from various points around the room. So she does the packing. And while she's busy doing that, I go find the box marked "salvation army" and I hide it on her. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Two women at lunch: "Have you and your husband ever had mutual orgasm?" "No, I think it's State Farm." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Final Prayer ================ Submitted by David N. Blank And it came to pass, that early in the morning of the last day of the semester, there arose a multitude smiting their books and wailing; and there was much weeping and gnashing of teeth; for the day of judgement was at hand and they were sore afraid. For they had done those things which they ought not have done, and they had left undone those things which they should have done... and there was no help for it. And there were many abiding in the dorms who had kept watch over their books all night, but naught availeth. But some there were who arose smilingly, for they had prepared for themselves the way, and made straight the path of knowledge. And these wise ones are called the curve-loosers. And the multitude arose and ate a hearty breakfast. And they came unto the appointed place, and their hearts were heavy with- in them. And they came to pass, but some passed out. And some of them repented their riotous living, and bemoaned their fate. But they had not a prayer. And at the last hour, there arose among them one known as the professor, he of the diabolical smile, who passed papers among them, and went upon his way. Many and varied were the questions asked by the professor, but still more varied were the answers which were given, for some of his teachings had fallen fertile minds, others had fallen among the semi- fertile, while still others had fallen flat. And some there wrote for one hour, others wrote for two, but some turned away sorrowful. And of these, many offered up a little bull, as a sacrifice, in hope of pacify- ing the professor, for these were the ones who had not a prayer. And when they had finished, they gathered up their belongings, and went quietly away, each in his own direction, and each one vowing to himself in this manner: "I shall not pass this way again." But it is a long road that hath no turning. Here endeth the lesson. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Filthy ====== This limerick is **SO**FILTHY** that it would offend you, so most of the *really filthy* words have been replaced with "di-dah." Di-dah-di di-dah-di di-dah, Di-dah-di di-dah-di di-dah; Di-dah-di di-dah. Di-dah-di di-dah? Di-dah-di di-dah-di di-fuck. Thank you. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Dear Dr. Diag: ============= Note: Dr. Diag will attempt to answer questions on any subject, if he can. If he can't, he'll make you feel stupid for asking. Send your questions to "Dr. Diag" c/o Brent@Maine.BITNET. >Dear Dr. Diag, > This question has nothing at all whatsoever to do with computers, >which is why I am asking you. You know all those advertisements and >such that say "Void where prohibited?" I just want to know where >these places are. Can you give me some examples of these places and >why things are void in these areas? > >Sincerely, Brigadier Arthur St. John (Mrs.) Dear Brigadier, Actually, my friend, your question has *everything* to do with computers because the phrase "void where prohibited" was actually written by a computer! Long long ago when marketing and advertising were still in their infancy, a young advertising firm was hired to represent the Ace Sexual Toy company. The firm realized that the Ace products could be harmfull if used by some sexually inexperienced person who just wasn't prepared for the "ultimate sexual thrill" as their adds stressed would be provided. And so, to protect themselves and the Ace Sexual Toy company against lawsuits filed by people, (or the surviving members of their families, or their pets) who sustained injury while using the toys, they chose to print the phrase "Avoid if Inhibited" on each pack- age. However, the packages were printed by a computer-automated system and so the new phrase had to be entered on a word processor and then uploaded to the main printing computer. Due to line noise between the word processor and the main computer, and a stupid secretary who made many typing mistakes and tried to delete them by using "White-Out" on her terminal screen, the phrase was mis-transcribed as, you guessed it, "Floydd is an Arachnid." The line noise was eventually ironed out when the Ace company changed its image to become a top chain of hardware stores and the phrase was changed to "Void where Prohibited." They did keep one of their original Sexual Toy slogans: "Ace is the Place with the Helpful Hardware Man." -------------------- >Dear Dr. Diag: > Recently I found a keypunch in our computing center's dumpster. >I took it home and plugged it in and everything seemed to be in working >order. I was wondering if there were some way I could use this as a >terminal? I mainly use the mainframe for graphics applications... > >Sincerely, 'Underfunded Computer Science Student' Dear Underfun, You should not attempt to use a discarded keypunch as a terminal because: a) keypunches do not have knobs for "brightness" or "contrast", (bad for your eyes); b) the sound of the key-click on a keypunch is roughly approximated by the Army Drum Corps' rendition of "Flight of the Bumblebee", (bad for your ears); c) a keypunch is very heavy and would probably kill you if it fell on you while you weren't looking, (bad for your sex life). Also, after crawling around in a dumpster, you'd be wise to have yourself examined for lice, maggots, ants, worms, crabs, walruses, small children, and other parasites. -------------------- >Dear Dr. Diag: > I've just finished reading your answer to the N**1/2 sort algorithm >question in Issue 17 of Nutworks. Your reply was sadly in error, >but understandably so, as recent developments here at the Institute >of Bizarre Machinations, Computer Seance Department, have not yet >been published. > After years of dilligent research by Institute faculty, we have >devised sorting algorithms with efficiencies of N**1/2, N**1/N, and >yes, even N**1/-N**N/N/N/N/N !!! Let me provide you with a few >examples: > >The Whoops Sort - wherein some number of items are accidentally > lost. Obviously, the efficiency of this sort is inversely > proportional to the number of items misplaced. > >The Deletion Sort - The key field of each item is scanned in > sequential order, and if it is out of sequence, the item is > deleted, relieving us of the necessity for writing an insertion > routine. > >Drop Sort, Shuffle Sort - particularly useful for sorting records > stored offline on media such as cards, floppy disks, twelve platter > removable disk packs, etc. > >The Static Sort - wherein the existing sequence of items to be > sorted is deemed to be "good enough"; one of the greatest > achievements in Artificial Intelligence to date. > >So, Dr. Diag, in closing, I admonish you: NEVER say "NEVER"! > > Dr. Fred "Bob" Pfeiffererer > Chairman, > Department of Computer Seances > Institute of Bizarre Machinations > Anytown, USA > (Bruce Bettis ) Dear Dr. Fred "Bob", As one Doctor to another, in the age old tradition of the free and generous exchange of information and knowledge, just let me say this: EAT MY SHORTS YOU WETHEAD!! IF THERE'S ONE THING I CAN'T STAND IT'S SOME DORK RESEARCHER TRYING TO TELL EVERYONE HOW WRONG WE ARE! GET A REAL JOB HUH!? CHRIST! -------------------- >Dear Dr. Diag: > How many micros does it take to make a mini? Then, how many minis >does it take to make a main? >Computerly yours, Mr. Add'em Up Dear Mr. Adam, Given that the average mainframe occupies a volume of three cubic meters, the average volume of a mini is one cubic meter and the average volume of a micro (including monitor) is 25 liters, then we arrive at the result of: 27 minis = 1 main 40 micros = 1 mini 1080 micros = 1 main Bear in mind that these numbers would be bigger if you crunched the computers up with something like a sledgehammer or a large rock. bcjb & smth ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Law as it Should Be =================== Submitted by Bill Myers One evening after attending the theater, two gentlemen were walking down the Avenue when just ahead of them walked a beautiful woman. One of the men turned to the other and remarked, "I'd give $50.00 to spend the night with that woman." To their surprise the young lady overheard the remark and turned around. She said, "I'll take you up on that." She had a neat appearance and a pleasant voice, so after bidding his companion goodnight the man accompanied the lady to her apartment, where they immediately went to bed. The following morning he presented her with $25.00 as he prepared to leave. She demanded the rest of the money stating, "If you don't give me the other $25.00 I'll sue you." He laughed saying, "I'd like to see you get it on those grounds." The next day he was surprised when he received a summons ordering him to court as a defendant in a lawsuit. He hurried to his lawyer and ex- plained the details of the case. His lawyer said, "She can't get judge- ment on such grounds, but it will be interesting to see how her case is presented." After the usual preliminaries, the lady's lawyer addressed the court as follows: "Your honor, my client, this lady, is the owner of a piece of property, a garden spot surrounded by a profuse growth of shrubbery, which property she agreed to rent to the defendant for a specified length of time, for the sum of $50.00. The defendant took possesion of the pro- perty, used it extensively for the purpose for which it was rented, but upon evacuating the premises he paid only $25.00, one half of the amount agreed upon. "The rent was not expensive, since this was restricted property, and was not available to all, and we ask judgement be granted against the defendant to assure payment of the balance." The defendant's lawyer was impressed and amused at the way his opponent had presented the case. His defense therefore was some what altered from the way he had originally planned to present the case. "Your honor," he said, "My client agrees that the young lady has a fine piece of property, that he did rent such property from her for a time and derived a degree of pleasure from this transaction. However, my client found a well on the property, around which he placed his own stones, sunk a shaft, and erected a pump, all labor being performed personally by him. We therefore claim the improvements on the property were sufficient to offset the unpaid amount and that the plaintiff was adequately compensated for the rental of said property. We therefore ask that judgement not be granted." The young lady's lawyer came back with this: "Your honor, my client agrees that the defendant did find a well on her property and that he did make improvements such as my opponent has described. However, had the defendant not known the well existed, he would have never rented the property. Also, upon evacuating the premises, the defendant removed his stones, pulled out the shaft and took the pump with him. In doing so he not only dragged his equipment through the shrubbery, but left a hole much larger than it was prior to his occupancy, making it easily accessible to little children. We therefore ask that judgement be granted." SHE GOT IT!! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ FEAR NO MAN =========== By: Evil Dondi I'll make you a MASTER of LLAP-Goch, ...the Secret Welsh ART of SELF DEFENCE that requires NO INTELLIGENCE, STRENGTH or PHYSICAL courage. The FANTASTIC SECRETS of the SECRET world-famous method of SELF DEFENCE, kept secret for centuries because of their DEADLY POWER to MAIM, KILL, SMASH, BATTER, FRACTURE, CRUSH, DISMEMBER, CRACK, DISEMBOWEL, CRIPPLE, SNAP and HARM are now revealed to YOU in the English Language by a LLAP-GOCH master AT HIS OWN RISK, PROVIDED you promise to MAIM, CRUSH, DISEMBOWEL and so on ONLY in SELF DEFENCE. (This is just to cover ourselves, as you will understand.) WHY "At his own risk?" BECAUSE if his fellow masters of LLAP-GOCH DISCOVER his IDENTITY, they will PUNISH HIM SEVERELY for revealing the DEADLY secrets he had promised to keep SECRET, without giving them a piece of the ACTION, and also BECAUSE of the TERRIBLE risk of PUNISHMENT he runs under the Trades Description Act. WHAT is LLAP-GOCH? IT is THE most DEADLY form OF SECRET self-DEFENCE that HAS ever been widely advertised and available to EVERYONE. WHY ALL the CAPITALS? Because THE most likely kind OF person TO answer THIS sort OF advertise- ment HAS less trouble under-STANDING words if they ARE written in BIG letters. WHAT is LLAP-GOCH again? It is an ANCIENT Welsh ART based on a BRILLIANTLY simple I-D-E-A, which is a SECRET. The best form of DEFENCE is ATTACK (Clausewitz) and the most VITAL element of ATTACK is SURPRISE (Oscar HAMMERstein). Therefore, the BEST way to protect yourself AGAINST any ASSAILANT is to ATTACK him before he attacks YOU... Or BETTER... BEFORE the THOUGHT of doing so has EVEN OCCURRED TO HIM!!! SO YOU MAY BE ABLE TO RENDER YOUR ASSAILANT UNCONSCIOUS BEFORE he is EVEN aware of your very existence! No longer need you feel WEAK, helpless, INDECISIVE, NOT fascinating and ASHAMED of your genital dimensions. No more need you be out-manoeuvred in political debate!! GOOD BYE HUMILIATION, wisecracking bullies, Karate experts, boxing champions, sarcastic vicars, traffic wardens; entire panzer divisions will melt to pulp as you master every situation without INADEQUACY. PROTECT YOUR LOVED ONES. You will no longer look pitiful and spotty to your GIRL FRIENDS when you leave some unsuspecting passer- by looking like four tins of cat food! They will admire your MASTERY and DECISIVENESS and LACK OF INADEQUACY and will almost certainly let you put your HAND inside their BLOUSE out of sheer ADMIRATION. And after seeing more of your expert disabling they'll almost definately go to bed with you, although obviously we can't ABSOLUTELY guarantee this, still it's extremely likely and would make learning LLAP-GOCH really worthwhile al- though legally we can't PROMISE anything. Why WELSH Art? LLAP-GOCH was developed in Wales because for the average Welshman, the best prospects of achieving a reasonable standard of living lie with the acquisition of the most efficient techniques of armed robbery. HOW do I learn? No, you mean "How do YOU Learn." I know already. HOW do You Learn? You receive ABSOLUTELY FREE your own special personal LLAP-GOCH Picture Book with hundreds of PHOTOGRAPHS and just a very few plain, clear and simple, easy to understand words. Only a FOUR-SECOND WORK-OUT Each Day! And you will be ready to HARM people! * DEVELOP UP TO 38" BICEPS * GROW UP TO 12" TALLER * LOSE UP TO 40" OF FAT IN YOUR FIRST WORK-OUT! * PROLONG YOUR LIFE BY UP TO 1,000 YEARS * GO TO BED WITH UP TO ANY LUDICROUS NUMBER OF GIRLS YOU CARE TO THINK OF PROVIDING YOU REALIZE THIS STATEMENT IS QUITE MEANINGLESS AS THE PHRASE "UP TO" CLEARLY INCLUDES THE NUMBER "NOUGHT." WHAT Does it Cost? This, like LLAP-GOCH, is a SECRET but you will find out sooner or later, don't worry. MAIL DARING HAIR-RAISING MONEY-SAVING HALF-PRICE NO-RISK FREE-TRIAL COUPON NOW! ---------------------- O.K. Hounourable Master, I accept your daring, hair-raising, mind- boggling, blood-curdling, no-risk, half-price, free-trial offer to reveal the secrets of LLAP-GOCH in a plain wrapper at once. Yes Master, I never again want to be 'Weak In The Knees' and 'Chicken Out' and 'Wet My Pants' when insulted and attacked. I agree never to abuse the principles of LLAP-GOCH or consult a lawyer. I am over 4. I have an extra Y chromo- some. Bill me later. I understand that if I am not completely satisfied I have been had. NAME _________________ AGE __ ADDRESS _____________ CITY _______________ STATE ____________ ZIP _______ Please also enroll me under your special Car Insurance Scheme. I under- stand that I do not have to sign anything to make this completely binding to me. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Two Priests =========== Submitted by Holly Lee Stowe Two priests were killed in an automobile accident. Upon arriving at the pearly gates they are informed that the computer is down and that they will have to go back to earth for a week. They can go back as anything they like and, with the computer down, nothing will count against them. The first priest tells St. Peter that he had always dreamt of being an eagle soaring over the Rocky Mountains. "Go", says St. Peter, "you are an eagle." The second priest first reconfirms the fact that whatever he does will not go into his record and then says, "Well, I've always wanted to be a stud." "Go," says St. Peter, "you are a stud." A week passes and Gabriel comes to St. Peter to say that the system is back up and it is time to fetch the two priests. "Well," says St. Peter, "the first guy is easy to find. He's flying over the Rockies somewhere near the Colorado-Wyoming border. The other guy's going to be a lot harder to find: he's on a snow tire somewhere in Minnesota." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Frog Finance ============ Submitted by Richard Ward A short while ago in a not so distant county there lived a frog in a a pond. The frog owned half the pond, but the other half was open for public recreation. Now, many people used that half of the pond, and the ripples and waves they created really irritated the frog. Finally, fed up, he decided to refinance his half and buy the other half, thus se- curing for himself a ripple free future. So the frog went to the bank, and talked to the Loan Officer, John Caddyshack. The frog explained the situation, and asked about refinanc- ing. Caddyshack was sympathetic, and asked for collateral. The frog thought and thought, and finally reached into his pocket and pulled out an object. "That's interesting," said Caddyshack, "but what is it?" "I don't know," said the frog, "but it has been in the family for years." Caddyshack took the matter to the local VP, explained the situation and showed the object. The VP took one look at the thing and exclaimed: "Knick-knack, Caddyshack! Give the frog a loan!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееее ------------------------------------------------------------------------- @@@ @@@@ @@@ @@@@ @@@ @@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@@@ @@ @ @@ @@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@ @@@@ @@ @@@ @@@ @@@@ @@@@ @@ @@@ @@ @@@ @@@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ Electronic Humor Magazine. Issue019, (Volume V, Number 1). July, 1987. NutWorks is published semi-monthly-ish by Brent C.J. Britton, ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Standard Disclaimer =================== From: Marc Kriguer (Origin: Dave's Fido, Gardner, MA) This product is meant for educational purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Void where prohibited. Some assembly required. List each check separately by bank number. Batteries not included. Contents may settle during shipment. Use only as directed. No other warranty expressed or implied. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Postage will be paid by addressee. Subject to CAB approval. This is not an offer to sell securities. Apply only to affected area. May be too intense for some viewers. Do not stamp. Use other side for additional listings. For recreational use only. Do not disturb. All models over 18 years of age. If condition persists, consult your physician. No user-serviceable parts inside. Freshest if eaten before date on carton. Subject to change without notice. Times approximate. Simulated picture. No postage necessary if mailed in the United States. Breaking seal constitutes acceptance of agreement. For off-road use only. As seen on TV. One size fits all. Many suitcases look alike. Contains a substantial amount of non-tobacco ingredients. Colors may, in time, fade. We have sent the forms which seem to be right for you. Slippery when wet. For office use only. Not affiliated with the American Red Cross. Drop in any mailbox. Edited for television. Keep cool; process promptly. Post office will not deliver without postage. List was current at time of printing. Return to sender, no forwarding order on file, unable to forward. Not responsible for direct, indirect, incidental or consequential damages resulting from any defect, error or failure to perform. At participating locations only. Not the Beatles. Penalty for private use. See label for sequence. Substantial penalty for early withdrawal. Do not write below this line. Falling rock. Lost ticket pays maximum rate. Your cancelled check is your receipt. Add toner. Place stamp here. Avoid contact with skin. Sanitized for your protection. Be sure each item is properly endorsed. Sign here without admitting guilt. Slightly higher west of the Mississippi. Employees and their families are not eligible. Beware of dog. Contestants have been briefed on some questions before the show. Limited time offer, call now to insure prompt delivery. You must be present to win. No passes accepted for this engagement. No purchase necessary. Processed at location stamped in code at top of carton. Shading within a garment may occur. Use only in well-ventilated area. Keep away from fire or flame. Replace with same type. Approved for veterans. Booths for two or more. Check here if tax deductible. Some equipment shown is optional. Price does not include taxes. No Canadian coins. Not recommended for children. Prerecorded for this time zone. Reproduction strictly prohibited. No solicitors. No alcohol, dogs, or horses. No anchovies unless otherwise specified. Restaurant package, not for resale. List at least two alternate dates. First pull up, then pull down. Call toll free before digging. Driver does not carry cash. Some of the trademarks mentioned in this product appear for identification purposes only. Record additional transactions on back of previous stub. Decision of judges is final. This supersedes all previous notices. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Contents ======== NewsWorks ...................... Points of Interest Nuts & Bolts ................... Commentary Clone of My Own ................ Song This Is the Title of This Story, Which Is Also Found Several Times in the Story Itself ............ Story Noah and the Ark ............... Joke ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NewsWorks ========= (If news = none Then news <-- good.) It's NutWorks Humor, the magazine that has been called many things but never "A Dylan-esque tune with a driving beat" and this is the first issue of Summer, 1987. (Another thing NutWorks has never been called is "on schedule.") Seeing how it's that laid-back time of year when people everywhere toss all thoughts of an honest day's work to the wind, the NutWorks staff feels no guilt in informing our readers that we have basically been on vacation since mid-May, and so are taking this opportunity to publish some of the readers' contributions that have been sitting around taking up valuable disk space for the past two and a half years. Enjoy! Oh, and if you're ever at the Carlisle Hotel in Montego Bay, say hi to Sherry for us, ok? Thanks. Le Staff de NutWorks ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Nuts & Bolts ============== by Brent C.J. Britton Living smack in the middle of a place like Maine means that you have to drive a fairly good distance to get anywhere that doesn't look like a Jack Daniel's ad. You know the ones where there's a black and white picture of some old redneck with no teeth to speak of, wearing overalls and a baseball cap with the visor flipped up, and he's sitting on the back of a '68 Ford flatbed pickup truck whittling toothpicks out of a two-by-six pine plank? I have to drive a long way to escape that sort of thing up here. One of things I've noticed while driving across this great land of ours is this: The people who make road signs have Q-tips Cotton Swabs(tm) for brains. I'm not talking about your average, humdrum road sign like "STOP" or "YIELD" to which the average, intelligent American driver pays little or no attention in the first place. No. I'm talking about the kind of road signs that make you wonder if the guys down at the DOT are running with a full frame of resident pages, if you get my proverbial drift. These are some of my favorites: LOW-FLYING AIRCRAFT Tell me, does the placement of this sign on the highway imply some action on my part as a motorist? I mean, just how "low-flying" are these aircraft? What am I supposed to do if I see one? Duck? Should I assume that the aircraft has the right of way? This sign is about as valuable as its cousin: WATCH FOR FALLING ROCKS (little picture of an avalanche) "Well officer the reason I rear-ended the school bus was because I had my eyes peeled on that mountainside so I could swerve to avoid any boulders that happened to come loose as I drove past..." ROAD UNDER CONSTRUCTION PASS AT YOUR OWN RISK What this sign means is, if, as you are driving through the con- struction area past the ten or twelve road workers who are standing around in small groups with their hands in their pockets discussing whether or not the color of the steam-roller conforms to their union contract, and one of them flicks a cigarette butt your way which ignites your gas tank and your car explodes, you cannot hold them liable for damages. NO TRUCKS LEFT LANE No verb this sentence. BLASTING AREA. TURN OFF TWO-WAY RADIOS. I wonder how many crazed pyromaniacs drive around with a carload of walkie-talkies looking for these babies, hmm? MEN IN TREES Don't worry guys, evolution is your friend. LAST SANITARY FACILITIES FOR 30 MILES "Gee, I guess we'll have to use the unsanitary ones..." HAVE YOU CHECKED YOUR TIRES LATELY? This is on the Maine turnpike just after you come over "The Bridge" from New Hampshire. It serves as a reminder to tourists that it could snow at any minute without warning. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Clone of My Own =============== by Randall Garrett Sung to the tune of "Home on the Range" Oh, give me a clone Of my own flesh and bone With the Y chromosome changed to X. And when she is grown, My very own clone, We'll be of the opposite sex. Chorus: Clone, clone of my own, With the Y chromosome changed to X. And when we're alone, Since her mind is my own, She'll be thinking of nothing but sex. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ This Is the Title of This Story, Which Is Also Found Several Times in the Story Itself ======================================= by David Moser Submitted by David N. Blank This is the first sentence of this story. This is the second sentence. This is the title of this story, which is also found several times in the story itself. This sentence is questioning the intrinsic value of the first two sentences. This sentence is to inform you, in case you haven't already realized it, that this is a self-referential story, that is, a story containing sentences that refer to their own structure and function. This is a sentence that provides an ending to the first paragraph. This is the first sentence of a new paragraph in a self- referential story. This sentence is introducing you to the protagonist of the story, a young boy named Billy. This sentence is telling you that Billy is blond and blue-eyed and American and twelve years old and strangling his mother. This sentence comments on the awkward nature of the self-referential narrative form while recognizing the strange and playful detachment it affords the writer. As if illustrat- ing the point made by the last sentence, this sentence reminds us, with no trace of facetiousness, that children are a precious gift from God and that the world is a better place when graced by the unique joys and delights they bring to it. This sentence describes Billy's mother's bulging eyes and protruding tongue and makes reference to the unpleasant choking and gagging noises she's making. This sentence makes the observation that these are uncertain and difficult times, and that relationships, even seemingly deep-rooted and permanent ones, do have a tendency to break down. Introduces, in this paragraph, the device of sentence fragments. A sentence fragment. Another. Good device. Will be used more later. This is actually the last sentence of the story but has been placed here by mistake. This is the title of this story, which is also found several times in the story itself. As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself in his bed transformed into a gigantic insect. This sentence informs you that the preceding sentence is from another story entirely (a much better one, it must be noted) and has no place at all in this particular narrative. Despite claims of the preceding sentence, this sentence feels compelled to inform you that the story you are reading is in actuality "The Metamorphosis" by Franz Kafka, and that the sentence referred to by the preceding sentence is the ONLY sentence which does indeed belong in this story. This sentence overrides the preceding sentence by informing the reader (poor, confused wretch) that this piece of literature is actually the Declaration of Independence, but that the author, in a show of extreme negligence (if not malicious sabotage), has so far failed to include even ONE SINGLE SENTENCE from that stirring document, although he has condescended to use a small sentence FRAGMENT, namely, "When in the course of human events", embedded in quotation marks near the end of a sentence. Showing a keen awareness of the boredom and downright hostility of the average reader with regard to the pointless conceptual games indulged in by the preceding sentences, THIS sentence returns us at last to the scenario of the story by asking the question, "Why is Billy strangling his mother?" This sentence attempts to shed some light on the question posed by the preceding sentence but fails. THIS sentence, however, succeeds, in that it suggests a possible incestuous relationship between Billy and his mother and alludes to the concomitant Freudian complications any astute reader will immediately envision. Incest. The unspeakable taboo. The universal prohibition. Incest. And notice the sentence fragments? Good literary device. Will be used more later. This is the first sentence in a new paragraph. This is the last sentence in a new paragraph. This sentence can serve as either the beginning of the paragraph or end, depending on its placement. This is the title of this story, which is also found several times in the story itself. This sentence raises a serious objection to the entire class of self-referential sentences that merely comment on their own function or placement within the story E.G., the preceding four sentences), on the grounds that they are monotonously predictable, unforgivably self-indulgent, and merely serve to distract the reader from the real subject of this story, which at this point seems to concern strangulation and incest and who knows what other delightful topics. The purpose of this sentence is to point out that the preceding sentence, while not itself a member of the class of self-referential sentences it objects to, nevertheless ALSO serves merely to distract the reader from the real subject of this story, which actually concerns Gregor Samsa's inexplicable transformation into a gigantic insect (despite the vociferous counterclaims of other well meaning although misinformed sentences). This sentence can serve as either the beginning of the paragraph or end, depending on its placement. This is the title of this story, which is also found several times in the story itself. This is ALMOST the title of the story, which is found only once in the story itself. This sentence regretfully states that up to this point the self-referential mode of narrative has had a paralyzing effect on the actual progress of the story itself -- that is, these sentences have been so concerned with analyzing themselves and their role in the story that they have failed by and large to perform their function as communicators of events and ideas that one hopes coalesce into a plot, character development, etc. -- in short, the very RAISONS D'ETRE of any respectable, hardworking sentence in the midst of a piece of compelling prose fiction. This sentence in addition points out the obvious analogy between the plight of these agonizingly self-aware sentences and similarly afflicted human beings, and it points out the analogous paralyzing effects wrought by excessive and tortured self-examination. The purpose of this sentence (which can also serve as a paragraph) is to speculate that if the Declaration of Independence had been worded and structured as lackadaisically and incoherently as this story has been so far, there's no telling what kind of warped libertine society we'd be living in now or to what depths of decadence the inhabitants of this country might have sunk, even to the point of deranged and debased writers constructing irritatingly cumbersome and needlessly prolix sentences that sometimes possess the questionable if not downright undesirable quality of referring to themselves and they sometimes even become run-on sentences or exhibit other signs of inexcusably sloppy grammar like unneeded superfluous redundancies that almost certainly would have insidious effects on the lifestyle and morals of our impressionable youth, leading them to commit incest or even murder and maybe THAT'S why Billy is strangling his mother, because of sentences JUST LIKE THIS ONE, which have no discernible goals or perspicuous purpose and just end up anywhere, even in mid Bizarre. A sentence fragment. Another fragment. Twelve years old. This is a sentence that. Fragmented. And strangling his mother. Sorry, sorry. Bizarre. This. More fragments. This is it. Fragments. The title of this story, which. Blond. Sorry, sorry. Fragment after fragment. Harder. This is a sentence that. Fragments. Damn good device. The purpose of this sentence is threefold: (1) to apologize for the unfortunate and inexplicable lapse exhibited by the preceding paragraph; (2) to assure you, the reader, that it will not happen again; and (3) to reiterate the point that these are uncertain and difficult times and that aspects of language, even seemingly stable and deeply rooted ones such as syntax and meaning, do break down. This sentence adds nothing substantial to the sentiments of the preceding sentence but merely provides a concluding sentence to this paragraph, which otherwise might not have one. This sentence, in a sudden and courageous burst of altruism, tries to abandon the self-referential mode but fails. This sentence tries again, but the attempt is doomed from the start. This sentence, in a last-ditch attempt to infuse some iota of story line into this paralyzed prose piece, quickly alludes to Billy's frantic cover-up attempts, followed by a lyrical, touching, and beautifully written passage wherein Billy is reconciled with his father (thus resolving the sublimnal Freudian conflicts obvious to any astute reader) and a final exciting police chase scene during which Billy is accidentally shot and killed by a panicky rookie policeman who is coincidentally named Billy. This sentence, although basically in complete sympathy with the laudable efforts of the preceding action-packed sentence, reminds the reader that such allusions to a story that doesn't, in fact, yet exist are no substitute for the real thing and therefore will not get the author (indolent goof-off that he is) off the proverbial hook. Paragraph. Paragraph. Paragraph. Paragraph. Paragraph. Paragraph. Paragraph. Paragraph. Paragraph. Paragraph. PARAGRAPH. Paragraph. Paragraph. Paragraph. The purpose. Of this paragraph. Is to apologize. For its gratuitous use. Of. Sentence fragments. Sorry. The purpose of this sentence is to apologize for the pointless and silly adolescent games indulged in by the preceding two paragraphs, and to express regret on the part of us, the more mature sentences, that the entire tone of this story is such that it can't seem to communicate a simple, albeit sordid, scenario. This sentence wishes to apologize for all the needless apologies found in this story (this one included), which, although placed here ostensibly for the benefit of the more vexed readers, merely delay in a maddeningly recursive way the continuation of the by-now nearly forgotten story line. This sentence is bursting at the punctuation marks with news of the dire import of self-reference as applied to sentences, a practice that could prove to be a veritable Pandora's box of potential havoc, for if a sentence can refer or allude to itself, why not a lowly subordinate clause, perhaps THIS VERY CLAUSE Or this sentence fragment? Or three words? Two words? ONE? Perhaps it is appropriate that this sentence gently and with no trace of condescension reminds us that these are indeed difficult and uncertain times and that in general people just aren't nice enough to each other, and perhaps we, whether sentient human beings or sentient sentences, should just TRY HARDER. I mean, there IS such a thing as free will, there HAS to be, and this sentence is proof of it! Neither this sentence nor you, the reader, is completely helpless in the face of all the pitiless forces at work in the universe. We should stand our ground, face facts, take Mother Nature by the throat and just TRY HARDER. By the throat. Harder. Harder, harder. Sorry. This is the title of this story, which is also found several times in the story itself. This is the last sentence of the story. This is the last sentence of the story. This is the last sentence of the story. This is. Sorry. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Noah and the Ark ================ Submission by Paul Charette When the Ark had come to rest on Mt. Ararat, Noah said to the animals, "Go then forth, all ye creatures, and multiply." All the animals went forth, except for two snakes. Noah said to the snakes, "Did I not command you in the name of the Lord to go forth and multiply? Why then have you not obeyed?" The snakes replied, "Behold, we are adders, and cannot multiply." (Pause for substantial quantities of groaning at such an old chestnut.) Then Noah sent forth his sons from the Ark, bidding them to seek and hew a mighty tree. The sons of Noah returned, bearing with them the trunk of a great tree. Then did Noah bid his sons to strike the tree into pieces, and make therefrom a great table of wood. Noah then said unto the snakes, "Behold where my sons have made for you a table of logs, wherewith you now can multiply, being adders!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Three Morons ============ by John Squires CUJTS@ECNCDC There were five morons standing in an alley shooting heroin. They were all sharing the same needle. After a while, they were seen by a passer-by who started yelling: "What are you guys doing!? Haven't you heard about the AIDS epidemic?" One of the morons replied, "Not to worry... we are all wearing condoms!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Issue019, (Volume V, Number 1). July, 1987. ееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееее------------------------------------------------------------------------- @@@ @@@@ @@@ @@@@ @@@ @@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@@@ @@ @ @@ @@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@ @@@@ @@ @@@ @@@ @@@@ @@@@ @@ @@@ @@ @@@ @@@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ Electronic Humor Magazine. Issue020, (Volume V, Number 2). October, 1987. NutWorks is published semi-monthly-ish by Brent C.J. Britton, ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Know what we hate most? Rhetorical questions. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Contents ======== NewsWorks ...................... Points of Interest Nuts & Bolts ................... Commentary On Computers ................... Essay D-Ned .......................... Story Metabolic Fascism .............. Health Tips All-Purpose Joke ............... Joke ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NewsWorks ========= Good evening and welcome to NutWorks, the humor magazine that has been called "offensive", "sexist", "sophomoric" and many other words beginning with "o" or "s" (but not both), by people who are certainly loads more qualified to judge than we are. This is the first gala issue of the season, containing a more or less random sampling of the sort of material NutWorks is infamous for wasting your precious time with. So, without further ado, we'll just say thanks for reading: "Thanks for reading." We hope you consider it time well wasted. We'd like to thank "JRP" and his gang from across the pond for the massive amount of material they have sent to us over the summer. We will be printing bits and pieces of it here and there in forthcoming issues. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Nuts & Bolts ============== by Brent C.J. Britton Instead of boring you with another one of my silly commentaries, I'd like to devote this month's Nuts & Bolts to something I think is pretty darn neat... Hazards of Deafness =================== Excerpted from the book, "HAZARDS OF DEAFNESS" by Roy K. Holcomb (@1977 Joyce Media, Inc) Distributed by Scott Allen Steinbrink <11SSTEINBRIN @ GALLUA> (Before you send flames, please note that both the author and the submitter are deaf.) "You" refers to a deaf person. -- You buy a car with the world's best radio and never use it until you trade your car in. -- A pebble gets into your hubcap and you go 800 miles before someone brings it to your attention -- You stop for gas. The serviceman asks if you want to fill her up? He then asks if you want him to check your oil? Yes, again. Your water? Yes. Then he says something which you don't quite "catch" but assume that it is tires this time and answer in the affirmative, again. However, the last question may be something to do with your liking the blizzard or wanting to buy his filling station. -- In the hospital you can't call your loved ones, but neither can the bill collectors call you. -- You can't phone friends to wish them a happy birthday or invite them to a poker party. But then, neither can anyone phone you while you're in the bathtub. -- You are introduced to a stranger. You do not "catch" the name after several repetitions. You try to alibi your way out of the embarras- sing situation by saying that people's names are often difficult to speechread unless they are easy ones like Smith, Brown, Reed or Jones. Then the stranger's name turns out to be Smith, Brown, Reed or Jones. -- You are stopped by a policeman. When you reach for your pad, he reaches for his gun - he can't take a chance. If you talk, your deaf speech may make him think you are a dangerous character. So, you could be in trouble either way. The best thing to do, it seems, is to act both deaf and dumb and not say or do anything. -- You judge a person to be very nice by his appearance and manners, never knowing that his voice labels him as a big phoney. -- You are enjoying yourself with some deaf friends and some hearing guy gives you a note inquiring, "Can you read and write?" Of course, you write back to him that you can neither read nor write. -- Announcements of special sales are made over a public system in a store. You save yourself a fortune by not hearing the announcements. -- At the movies you laugh aloud when others cry and cry when others laugh, because you don't see things the same as other people hear them in the movies. -- Birds sing their song of Spring. You know that Spring is here, too, not from the song of the birds but from their mess on your car wind- shield. -- When walking down on the sidewalk someone attempts to pass you on the right, then on the left, and then on the right again. Each time the person tries to pass you, you unconsciously move in that direction and lock him not hearing the person behind you, let alone knowing his intentions and your football coach told you that you were a poor blocker. -- Your barber gets a "mouth rest" while cutting your hair as he doesn't have to chatter. However, you lose out on the latest barber news and jokes. -- In the kitchen you don't dare ask your wife something when she has the butcher knife in her hand and she might answer in sign language and you might be minus one head. -- You let a friend out of your car. Your car door slams on her coat. You start up; your friends runs for dear life, hollering all the time. You finally glance to the right and wonder what in the world a 60-year lady is doing racing your car on foot before you realize what has happened. -- At a meeting you try to "sh" people and make more noise with your "sh" than the people who are making the noise. -- You pay a thousand dollars to take a tour through Europe. You get nothing from your guides, except for watching the petite French one, the pretty German lassie, and oh, yes, the Dutch girl you couldn't take your eyes off for more than two minutes at a time. -- Breaking your arm becomes a type of laryngitis. -- Someone tells you that you are a very good lipreader and you reply, "What did you say? -- You always get up early on Saturday mornings to cut your lawn. You never know how happy your neighbors are when your lawn mower breaks down. -- You go to a restaurant with your gang. Since you have good speech, you do all of the ordering and talking with the waitress. After eating, who do you think gets the check every time? -- You can't tap a watermelon to see if it is ripe and ready to eat. -- You sign some dirty words. Your parents get angry. You laugh and say it will not do any good to wash your mouth with soap as you signed the dirty words. Your parents then wash your hands with soap. -- Dial-a-Prayer Dial-a-Friend Dial-for-Help All of those are out of reach for you except your Dial Soap. -- You go to a dark, public toilet. You push the door open to go to a stool. A guy in there hollers. You keep going. The guy keeps holler- ing. You keep going. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Q: How many Monty Python fans does it take to change a lightbulb? A: Eleven. One to say that it is an ex-bulb and it is no more. Another to claim that it's resting. One to put a paper bag on his head at the mention of the word lightbulb. Another to say that he didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition. Three to burst in and say that their main weapons are fear, surprise and ruthless electricity. Another to have his head nailed to the lightbulb. Finally, one to do a silly walk, one to say "And now for something completely different...", and one to change the bulb. -- jrp et al ------------------------------------------------------------------------ On Computers ============ by: Michael Moscovitch, Rob Milette and Eugene Gershtein WARNING: Parts of the following text deal with microcomputers. (You know, those small boxes your kids leave lying around in the driveway so you can back over them with the car). None of this is virtual, in fact its almost real. Many people are fascinated by computers. This is only natural since they offer a release from the repetitive manual labour required for some tasks such as filing and sorting. All good things, however can be taken too far. Before we try to utilize a computer for a certain task we must first decide if it is worth the effort. Will the computer be more effi- cient than our present scheme? For example, a common selling point of home computers is recipe filing. Now just imagine how stupid this really is. First of all, you need to have the machine nearby so you place it on the kitchen counter. At this point, it is extremely important that you are careful to avoid spilling things like coffee, chicken soup, or tomato juice inside the computer. These foods are not necessary for it, and might even cause some damage if you are lucky. If you are not lucky then you will be the first person to cook chicken soup on a hot cathode ray tube. Do not even put cereal in the serial interface, unless you have a very strong vacuum cleaner. So now that you have gotten your computer back after paying the $384.57 repair bill because you used it to defrost a chicken, you can start using it for recipe filing. First of all you must remember to put the disks in the drives and the bread in the toaster, not the other way around. This will avoid burning all your data and formatting your breakfast. Another thing to remember is never touch the computer with sticky hands. You'll understand this when you have to walk around with a RETURN key stuck to your hand. Unfortunatly, we can't tell you any more about recipe filing because we accidentally used the wordprocessor on a milkshake and the food processor on this column. Needless to say, the computer did not survive and this is whats left of the column. Not very pleasant is it? Next time we will show you how to get choclate siroup out of a keyboard. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Q: How many theoretical computer scientists does it take to change a lightbulb? A: One, who fetches eleven Monty Python fans, thereby reducing the problem to an earlier joke. -- jrp et al ------------------------------------------------------------------------ D-Ned ===== by Andy Zaslow This is not copyrighted (c) 1984 by D. Griffith. If you really want to use it for commercial purposes, go ahead. Keep in mind(s), however, that everyone else in this world has the right to make as many copies of this document as they see fit. "meln torp prot nabble, nabble zot nab" - Richard Terrill, D. Griffith "bork" - Roland Bevan Once upon a time, there was a potato. This potato was however not a potato but a pink and green striped flea named Ned. Unfortunately, Ned was color-blind and unable to smell that he was pink and green (or green and pink depending how you looked at him, but it did not matter when he looked at him because he was color-blind or so he thought and we thought because it said so above). He jumped off a cliff (with a velocity, v and acceleration, a). Because Ned (or Joe as his enemies called him) took Physics I and he (or she) was unable to calculate his velocity upon impact, he survived even though the C compiler will not arrive until next week. So, it was just as well that he did know what the SWITCHe statement did because Moon Jockey Chung could not even be understood by Sam (also known as Ned or Joe or Sam or Ned or Joe or Sylvia or Bob or the cold little crumpled little piece of white little small piece of paper on the old large wooden dirty floor while MJC explains the C lan- guage). Suddenly!!! ( <-- not a real sentence) An oncoming train hit Ned (or...) and due to his background in physics and materials Ned (or...) destroyed the train with its poorly calculated momentum and was sentenced to life in prison for N years as N -> oo (infinity, that is) and there he stays whoever he really is. Part II (oo years later) Ned, who happened to be dead, was walking around his cell for he (or she) was a one celled organism and became entangled in his DNA and in the process split one of his genes into one piece two thirds as long as the original, one pi/4 as long as the original, one sqr(e/3.2) as long as the original, and one 0/1342 as long as the original. This would have created quite remarkable affects but as we said, Ned was dead. A few days or weeks or years or bergs (a unit of measurement named after Chris Berg) later it was still oo years later and Ned was released from prison. Ned was excited and frolicked through fields of flowers because he went and stored that in location 505, realizing at the same time that he did not know whether the location was expressed in decimal, hex, octal or any other integer base K, where K>5. This matter did not trouble Joe long for he looked up and saw the JMS (Jump to Subroutine) on the screen and his mind(s) or lack thereof was totally filled with the question "Why is the letter M used in the JMS statement?" He may have realized that it was the "M" from the word Jump, but his parser was unable to decode the question because he used double quotes around the 'M' and not single quotes. His brain then hung and he walked around aimlessly until he tripped over a cold boot and found himself vaca- tioning in Africa. Not having any ROM he had to wait many years while hundreds of monkeys randomly keyed in code until power-up was achieved. Joe lived happily for many years until a slave ship picked him up and brought him to America. He was not sold however because the code that Fred monkey keyed in had a minor flaw which caused Ned to play movie tape of a princess asking for help from Obie Wan, but the message was preempted by a homework assignment "Homework Assignment #1 Due 20 Sept 1984 2.7 and 2.10." In the confusion Odie (not Obie) was called and he flipped many pointy objects and he then blew up the world, but Ned sur- vived because he was not there because the supreme being got tired of writing. Part III (the next day in Intro to Micro) When the supreme being finally started to write again Ned was in an empty void, for the world had been blown up. Sam did not explode in the vacuum due to his impossibly strong pink and green outer shell. As he was near death he said, "Let there be light." The supreme being, who can even hear in a vacuum replied by saying "You lose, bill." However, since the supreme being was not used to his supreme power had made a mistake. Because there was no Bill (an old reference to Bill Casino, a real loser) to lose and since all things that the supreme being says must occur by some process which even he (or she or...) does not necessarily know, an anti-Bill (Note: Bill, when preceded by You lose is in lower case) was created (or not created depending on your universe). Seeing the problem, the supreme supreme being also known as The Twos Complement Which Goes All The Way to 255 (0FF in hex) complemented Bill's bits, which happened to produce the bit representation of the world in the year 1971 some time in the beginning of May. Sam (who from now on may be called Greg, or jim for short) was quite relieved and was so joyful that he added 973 and the twos-complement of 654 to get the result of 346. Being his supreme self, the supreme supreme supreme being saw a major flaw in the world. This was that there were two Jims in the world (or Jim or Ned or...), so he destroyed the Sam who had just learned of twos-complements. That was ok (pronounced as it is spelled, with one syllable) though, because the wise supreme supreme supreme being knew that by Sylvia existing for the short time that he (or she) did he changed the course of some air molecules which would eventually be used in the machinery that Odie would use to blow up the world. In fact this change would cause a malfunction in the detonator apparatus, to which Odie would reply, "Skippy eatee bow wow snarf" or something to this effect. The net effect of this chapter is that the world really was not blown up and that the H (1) bit in the accumulator (known as the half- carry) was set. ---------- 1. This is a carry over (pardon the pun (haha)) from the 4 bit computer. Part IV (the CAOS begins) Ned, who knew nothing of the world's destruction or any of the events leading to the recreation of the world was still having problems with the code keyed in by Fred (an allusion to D. Griffith) the monkey But, suddenly before much happened the supreme being became interested in something other that the world, and the world stopped for a while. Intermission (lights, music plays, smoking in the lobby only, please) Spuddy Soap --- The Soap with Spud And here we are in a supermarket with some famous athlete who claims to use Spuddy Soap. JOCK - Excuse me sir or miss... Yes, you in the pink and green. NED - Uhh, me? JOCK - Yes you! Do you use Spuddy...uh...Soup..uh, no...Soap? NED - Well, I can't speak English but I... zap ZZzzing!... Help me Obie Wan Kenobi; you're my only hope...Help me Obie Wan Kenobi...You're my only...Zzlard..Zing pop! JOCK - Well, uh there (scratches his balls) you have it. Spuddy Soap - the Spuddiest Soap around... Are we done y Now for something really funny! Knock, knock. Who's there? Who's there!?! Damn deaf people with their white canes. (opening door) Wow!! It's a baby with a note. (acci- dently sticking the baby with the pin which held the note, the baby deflates spewing blood and other wonderful things all over the place. Oh, Shit! (A green and pink or pink and green Ned or Jor or... walks around the corner). You called? Who are YOU! Yes I am. (Note: The answer makes sense as he can be called by just about any name and "Who are YOU!" is good enough and therefore passes as a boolean TRUE.) (A total solar eclipse occurs and when the light returns something happens which the supreme being has not thought of yet... but since he is in CAOS a transistor drives by but does not make it much further because its inputs were low. Shocked, Ned barely jumps out of the way of the transistor in time (much less space) and asks for a picanic basket, eh Booboo? Realizing that he is not a bear Ned rides off into the sunset while converting AND-OR expressions into NAND expressions. Going a little faster than he wanted, Ned, moving faster than the angular velocity of the earth's rotation finds himself in mid-morning the same day. All of a sudden, Ned felt quite strange as his colors changed. The end of this part of the story I guess since it is almost time for lunch and my arm and mind(s) are getting weak while the construction of the CII is still being built and people walk by outside the lecture hall and the prof continues to talk as someone sneezes and other people talk and rumple papers and close paper binders while I stop writing. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Three women are discussing how their husbands make love. The first says, "My husband is a footbal player. He is really powerful and energetic in bed, and this is a real turn on for me." The second says, "My husband is a musician, and when we make love it's as if he were playing me. He al- ways knows exactly what I want and gives it to me without my asking." The third says, "Well, my husband is a sales representative for IBM. When we make love all he does is sit on the edge of the bed and tell me how good it's going to be when I finally get it." -- Richard Solensky ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Metabolic Fascism ================= (or Amanda, We're Outta Chock Full O' Nuts Again.) by Basil Hosmer Submitted by Dave Boyes Every programmer has some experience with bodily abuse. Sooner or later, all of us do things to ourselves we wouldn't admit to Mom. Most of the time we say we're provoked by circumstances: whether it's the representative from your client's company -- a not pleasant man who looks a lot like Herman Munster, breathing heavily on your neck -- or some towering, unstoppable endorphin rush that threatens to rip your medulla out of its socket if you don't code up that monstro algorithm RIGHT NOW and forget about your wedding. We generally attribute our protracted binges to some external force. This attitude bespeaks a hideous wrong-headedness among programmers. We seem to get some masochistic pleasure out of responding to pressure by sitting in front of our machines until our fingernails are too long to type. Our eyes get varicose veins. We run fingers through our hair until we get split ends. We drool. Why? Because, the deluded among us would answer, we have to. Some specter is chaining us to our chairs, making strangers of our families, removing us from the throb of humanity. It's not a pretty job, we sigh nobly, but someone has to do it. This is, as my sister used to say, pompous fudge- cakes. We do it because we like it. In view of this, I submit a philosophy of life which has served me well for the past couple of years. I call it Metabolic Fascism. There are several basic tenets to this philosophy, but one provides the foundation for the rest: You Are At War With Your Body. Picture a table. A lobbyist for your brain sits on one side, a lobbyist for your body on the other. They are pushing their respective interests as you go through your life. In a democratic regime, one might overhear something like this during a normal day: BODY: Nothing like a good, hearty breakfast to kick-start the day. BRAIN: Yeah...I feel some serious creativity coming on. It's gonna be a banner day for original thought. Can we arrange a little rush from a relevant gland to start things off? BODY: Why, sure. (Drains a mug of java...) There we go. BRAIN: Thanks. (Some eight hours later.) BODY: Okay, it's about time to wind things down. BRAIN: But... BODY: C'mon, it'll be better in the morning if we quit now. BRAIN: Aw, okay. (After some interval, sleep, then repeat cycle.) Now, this has its obvious advantages. Brain and body maintain a working camaraderie, the cycle of ups and downs is never too extreme or debili- tating, and the productivity of the two working in tandem is fairly consistent and predictable. On the other hand, come the day when Herman Munster is breathing down your neck, you might HAVE to trash that comfy little system for some- thing a little more, well, authoritarian. My solution is simple: metabolic fascism. Not when you have to crank it out, but ALL the time. To wit: BODY: Not coffee AGAIN. BRAIN: You don't want it, throw it up. But don't bother me. Have some dessert. BODY: Lucky Strikes a la carte. Delectable. My lungs look like Fire- stones. BRAIN: Listen. I'm on the verge of a universe-tilting breakthrough. I don't need your sniveling. BODY: Are we gonna get some sleep this week? BRAIN: Yeah, yeah. (Some 14 hours later.) BODY: Look, man, I'm gonna die here. I wanna go to bed. BRAIN: SILENCE! (Rains vicious blows upon the Body Lobbyist until he sinks beneath the table, a simpering lump of protoplasm.) Philistine. (Some 10 hours later, the Body Lobbyist has risen from beneath the table, wearing full body armor and a catcher's mask.) BODY: Sleep. Now. (The Brain lobbyist produces a dreadnought Louisville Slugger, festooned with nails, and clubs the Body Lobbyist senseless.) BRAIN: Where was I? (Some eight hours later, the Body Lobbyist rises and leaves the room. The Brain Lobbyist, deep in some amphetamine-induced trance, fails to notice. Several minutes later the Body Lobbyist re-enters, carrying a bazooka. He liberally distributes the Brain Lobbyist about the room.) BODY: Sleep. Now. (Perhaps 20 hours later, another Brain Lobbyist enters the room. Repeat cycle.) There are tradeoffs to this methodology, sure. But the advantages are overwhelming. First, it's more honest. After all, the first time a deadline or a good idea rolls around, you're gonna shaft your body anyway, right? Why not accustom yourself to those inevitable caffeine fests BEFORE they descend on your unsuspecting, pampered physiognomy? Second, there is no better way to accumulate a comprehensive, detailed knowledge of one's body than by abusing it regularly. Whereas most humans can only recognize vague, ambiguous bodily states and apply almost meaningless words like "good," "bad," "tired" and "rested" to the way they feel, a metabolic fascist becomes sensitive to the most subtle changes in his system. He learns to check his pulse by noting the fre- quency of the shaking in his hands. He learns to check his blood pressure by gauging the accuracy with whichhe hits the reboot switch. To a metabolic fascist, the body is a finely-tuned machine operating somewhere past the ragged edge. One pays much more attention to an engine about to explode than to one that is idling, and a metabolic fas- cist knows his body to adegree of detail that, among other humans, only long-distance runners and new mothers achieve. (Not to mention the fact that this mode of living produces a certain manic lookabout the eyes that is useful for everything from terrifying muggers to staring down that fossilized waitress who never, EVER, takes back a cheeseburger because it's too well- done.) The peripheral benefits are legion. When was the last time you really wondered what day it was? A genuine scratch-your-head-and-call-up- Sidekick kind of puzzlement? When was the last time you were truly surprised that the sun decided to rise? When was the last time you stared, entranced, as the sort routine you just wrote turned into little green soldiers that danced across your screen? To the metabolic fascist, life once more becomes that fascinating, unpredictable thing most humans never see after they graduate from diapers. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ A high ranking manager responded to a subordinates request for a pay raise by saying: "Because of the fluctuational predisposition of your position's productive capacity as juxtaposed to government standards, it would be monetarily injudicious to advocate an increment." The subordinate listened carefully and said, "I don't get it." The manager responded, "That's right." -- John 'Goblin' Gavin ------------------------------------------------------------------------ All-Purpose Joke ================ Submitted by Alan B. Clegg These three strings go into a bar and order a martini. One string notices a horse with a sign that says "Make me laugh, make me cry, win a $1000" on it. Meanwhile, a bell starts ringing in the clock tower over- head, and suddenly there is a loud thud as a body falls to the street in front of the bar. "I'm a Frayed Knot!" screams one enraged string at the bartender, and then disappears. Kant leaves via the back door. The other string stands in front of the horse and pulls down his pants. It isn't clear at this point why the horse is wearing pants. The Inspector walks in the front door and says to no one in particular, "I can't remember his name, but his face rings a bell." Several dozen customers instinctively stab their F keys. The remaining string gulps down the rest of his martini and says "And at these prices, you're not likely to see many more!" At the table in the back, the Doctor looks intently at his patient and says "And if you don't quit jerking off, your elbow's never going to get any better!" "You think your thore," the patient screams back, "I can't even thit!" There's a loud thud as another body hits the pavement in front of the bar, and a Purdue freshman runs in the door and says "And now his broth- er's a dead ringer, too!" The door to the bathroom opens and a young boy in a vaguely Medieval costume wanders out. "Do you know where some Yellow Fingers are?" he asks. Suddenly, there is a loud crash outside and a bleeding man comes stum- bling into the bar. "Was that a penguin I just ran over, or a nun with sunglasses?" he asks. "I think not," says the bartender, and disappears. A yokel gets up from a corner booth and asks the bartender (who has mys- teriously reappeared), "Bartender, where is the library at?" The bartender looks askance at the hick and replies "We don't serve people from Purdue, *ASSHOLE*!" and hits him over the head with a bat, killing him instantly. Immediately, several people scream out "I'm a dead ringer for my brother!" (Fortunately, at this point the election results came in and Ferdinand Marcos won 512 to 2.) An Indian walks into the bar and asks the bartender for a Q-tip. "Wax problem?" the solicitious bartender asks. "No, buffalo come," replies the red man. The bartender notices a man scrawling grafitti on the wall and levels him with both barrels of a sawed-off shotgun. The first part of the grafitti reads: >>>Electricians do it for the halibut. >>I have a haddock. >Cod, I hate this. The bar explodes into spontaneous applause. A prison convict stands on his chair, clears his throat and says "57!". The room is dead silent. The silence is broken by screams from the man trying to remove his appendix with the scalpel he found underneath his chair. There are several examples of Universes scattered about the floor beside him. A disgruntled reader gets up and leaves via the front door... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Issue020, (Volume V, Number 2). October, 1987. еееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееееее ******************************************************************** Deze diskette is samengesteld door de Atari Computerclub Nederland. Postbus 5011, 2000 CA Haarlem. Onze bibliotheek van public domain programma's omvat op dit moment al zo'n zeventig diskettes. Daarop vindt u programma's op elk gebied, van tekstverwerker en database tot de leukste spelletjes, de fraaiste tekenprogramma's en de handigste utilities. U vindt in het tijdschrift "ST" ( Onafhankelijk tijdschrift van en voor gebruikers van Atari ST computers) een overzicht en een bespreking van de inhoud van de public-domain diskettes. Dit tijdschrift bevat tevens een bestelkaart zodat U vlot over de software kan beschikken. ***** Deze public domain disk is geproduceerd en gedistribueerd door: Stichting ST afd. Software Bakkersteeg 9A 2311 RH LEIDEN Ondanks onze controle komt het af en toe voor dat een diskje niet goed is gecopieerd. Mocht U dit overkomen, aarzel dan niet en stuur de defecte disk aan ons terug. U krijgt dan direct een vervangende disk toegestuurd. ***** Teneinde het voor ons mogelijk te maken om productie fouten op te sporen en vervolgens in de toekomst te vermijden, zijn alle disks, geproduceerd door de Stichting ST, voorzien van een groen productie nummer. ******************************************************************** 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