HUMOR Digest - 10 Dec 1998 to 11 Dec 1998
There are 11 messages totalling 649 lines in this issue.
 
Topics of the day:
 
  1. The Working Girl
  2. Santa Claus
  3. Santa Updates
  4. Roger <adult>
  5. Email vs letters
  6. what's it to ya?
  7. Lamentations on the Level of Public Discourse
  8. Humor: A Networkologist's Christmas
  9. Media Joke
 10. The Two Loves (Pun)
 11. PJs <clean>
 
-------------------------------------------------------------------
 
Date:    Thu, 10 Dec 1998 03:29:49 -0500
From:    Jim Moore Jr <jimjr@QIS.NET>
Subject: The Working Girl
 
* When a draft memo was passed around for comments at State
  Highway, the text was usually triple spaced to allow the
  reviewer a place to comment.  Once a temp asked me if I
  wanted the photocopies triple spaced too.
                           - - - - -
 
* Before the State Highway got computers, my secretary used to
  order correction fluid by the six pack.  After the advent of
  the PC, we had to replace the backspace & delete keys on her
  keyboard monthly.
                           - - - - -
 
*   The maid was scheduled to stay a year, but had asked her
  agency to be transferred to another family after two months.
    The woman of the house was irate: "How can you do this to
  us ?" she stormed. "I've treated you like one of the family."
    The maid replied, "Ohhh... So you admit it !!!"
                           - - - - -
 
* Let's face it -- some TV personalities are hired strictly
  for appearance -- "fluff" on the set in other words. Even
  though the station's ratings were at an all time high, the
  brass still complained about the centerfold-type weather
  girl; seems she couldn't even get yesterday's weather right.
                           - - - - -
 
*   Two salesgirls met for a drink after a long boring day at
  work.  With the competition from the discount stores, their
  expensive apparel just wasn't selling.
    Taking a sip from her drink, the one girl said, "I made a
  lot of friends for the store today."
    The other nodded knowingly, and replied, "Yeah.  I didn't
  sell a damn thing either."
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Indexed UGA Humor Digests 1997-1998:
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------------------------------
 
Date:    Thu, 10 Dec 1998 07:02:08 -0500
From:    Terry Galan <galante@MCMAIL.CIS.MCMASTER.CA>
Subject: Santa Claus
 
1) No known species of reindeer can fly. But there are 300,000
   species of living organisms yet to be classified, and while most
   of these are insects and germs, this does not completely rule
   out flying reindeer, which only Santa has ever seen.
 
2) There are 2 billion children in the world (persons under 18).
   But since Santa doesn't (appear to) handle Muslim, Hindu, Jewish
   or Buddhist children, that reduces the workload by 85% of the
   total, leaving 378 million according to the Population Reference
   Bureau. At an average (census) rate of 3.5 children per
   household, that's 91.8 million homes. One presumes there is at
   least one good child per house.
 
3) Santa has 31 hours of Christmas to work with, thanks to the
   different time zones and the rotation of the earth, assuming he
   travels east to west (which seems logical). This works out to
   822.6 visits per second.  This is to say that for each Christian
   household with good children, Santa has 1/1000 th of a second to
   park, hop out of the sleigh, jump down the chimney, fill the
   stocking, distribute the remaining presents under the tree, eat
   whatever snacks have been left, get back up the chimney, get
   back into the sleigh and move on to the next house. Let's assume
   that each of these 91.8 million stops are evenly distributed
   around the earth (which, of course, we know to be false but for
   the purposes of our calculations we will accept), we are now
   talking about 0.78 miles per household, a total trip of 75.5
   million miles, not counting stops to do what most of us do at
   least once every 31 hours, plus feeding, etc. That means that
   Santa's sleigh is moving at 650 miles per second, 3000 times the
   speed of sound. For purposes of comparison, the fastest man-made
   vehicle on earth, the Ulysses space probe, moves at a poky 27.4
   miles per second, a conventional reindeer can run, at tops 25-30
   miles per hour.
 
4) The payload on the sleigh adds another interesting element.
   Assuming each child gets nothing more then a medium sized LEGO
   set (2 lbs), the sleigh is carrying 321,300 tons, not counting
   Santa, who is invariably described as overweight. On land,
   conventional reindeer can pull no more than 300 pounds. Even
   granting the "flying reindeer" can pull TEN TIMES that normal
   amount, we cannot do the job with eight, or even nine, we need
   214,200 reindeer. This increased the payload, not even counting
   the weight of the sleigh, to 353,430 tons. Again for the sake
   of comparison, this is four times the weight of the HMS Queen
   Elizabeth.
 
5) 353,000 tons traveling at 650 miles per second creates enormous
   air resistance. This will heat the reindeer up in the same
   fashion as spacecrafts reentering the earth's atmosphere. The
   lead pair will absorb 14.3 QUINTILLION joules of energy per
   second, each. In short, they will burst into flames almost
   instantaneously, exposing the reindeer behind them and creating
   a deafening sonic boom in their wake. The entire reindeer team
   will be vaporized within 4.26 thousandths of a second. Santa
   meanwhile, will be subject to centrifugal forces of 17,500.06
   times greater than gravity. A 250 lb. Santa (which seems
   ludicrously slim) would be pinned to the back of the sleigh by a
   4,315,015 pound force. In conclusion, if Santa ever DID deliver
   presents on Christmas eve, he's now dead.
 
------------------------------
 
Date:    Thu, 10 Dec 1998 08:16:30 -0500
From:    Bill Stebbins <bs16@CORNELL.EDU>
Subject: Santa Updates
 
Consider the following:
 
1. You never actually see Santa, only his "assistants".
2. Santa keeps his job until he decides to retire.
3. Santa doesn't really do the work; he directs a bunch of
   helpers to do all his work for him, but he's the one who
   everybody credits with the work.
4. Santa doesn't work anywhere near a 40 hour week.
5. Santa travels a lot.

Yup, Santa is obviously a senior faculty member with tenure!

          -Thanks to Mr. Funny Bone
          ********************************
 
Re: "Christmas Card From Santa" I posted (Digest - 12/6 to 12/7)
    According to DeFrancesR, the piece was written over 15 years
    ago by Jan Clark and/or her sorority sisters.  The original
    version was:
 
I write this letter to tell you
High taxes have taken away
The things I really cherish
My workshop, my reindeer, my sleigh.
 
I'm forced to ride a donkey
Who's old and crippled and slow.
So, if I don't see you at Christmas time,
I'm out on my ass in the snow.
 
 
http://www.people.cornell.edu/pages/bs16
http://members.xoom.com/bs16/
 
------------------------------
 
Date:    Thu, 10 Dec 1998 11:00:28 -0500
From:    Paul Benoit <pbenoit@SPEEDLINETECH.COM>
Subject: Roger <adult>
 
     [Personal message removed for Archival Purposes]  
        ------------------------------------------
 
Roger was a hard-working guy whose evenings were spent
playing volleyball and bowling. For his birthday, his wife took
him to a strip club. The bouncer at the door said, "Hi, Roger,
good to see ya again."
 
The wife asked, "Have you been here before?"
 
Roger said, "Oh no, he's on my bowling team!"
 
A waitress came to their table and said, "Hey Roger, the usual?"
 
The wife said, "Are you sure you've never been here before?"
 
"No, no, hon," Roger protested. "I know her from volleyball!"
 
A stripper came over, threw her arms around him and said, "Another
lap dance tonight, Roger?"
 
The wife leaped to her feet and stormed out.
 
Roger followed, saw her getting into a cab and leaped inside before
she could slam the door. Furious, she let him have it with both
barrels.
 
When she paused for breath, the taxi driver said, "Boy, you picked
up a real bitch tonight, Roger!"
 
------------------------------
 
Date:    Thu, 10 Dec 1998 13:12:35 -0500
From:    "Harter, Douglas" <Harter.Douglas@DEP.STATE.PA.US>
Subject: Email vs letters
 
(Because of the length prior permission was obtained from Larry)
 
Yesterday, I helped my mother-in-law get set up on email for the
first time.  She got frustrated from time to time.  Upon
reflection, I decided that frustration was perfectly
understandable.  Imagine trying to learn to write a
letter for the first time...
                         -----------
 
Me: Ok, to write a letter, the first thing you need is a piece of
    paper and a pen.
Tarzan:  What are those?
Me: Paper is flat stuff that is made from tree pulp, sort of like
    a very small blackboard.  Pens are sticks that write, sort of
    like chalk but smaller and in darker colors.
Tarzan: Is this paper?
Me: Ah, yes, that is paper, but you don't want to write a letter
    on that, that's my paycheck.
Tarzan: Why can't I use this?
Me: Well, that's a representation of money that I... uh, never
    mind.  Just don't write on that.  Look, here's a piece of
    paper that you can write on.
Tarzan: What about a pen?
Me: Pens are like little sticks.  Do you see anything on this desk
    that looks like a little stick?  Uh, no, that's a ruler.
    Rulers are for measuring things.  Uh, no, that's a toothpick,
    it's for cleaning teeth, I don't know why it's on my desk.
    Look, here's a pen.
Tarzan: That doesn't look like a little stick!  It's grey.  Little
        sticks are brown.
Me: I meant "little stick" metaphorically.  Just use this.  Uh, you
    have to take the cap off first.  Ok, now write "Dear Mom" on
    the paper. Wait, you want to rotate the paper so that the short
    side is at the top and the long side comes towards you.
Tarzan: Why?
Me: Well, that's just how it's done.  I suppose you could do it the
    other way, but it would look a little funny.  Ok, now write
    "Dear Mom" on the -- oh, no, at the top.  Well, never mind, we
    can just throw this one away and start over.  That's right,
    "Dear Mom" at the top.  Then the rest of the letter.
Tarzan: Ok, I've finished the letter!  Can we go hunting now?
Me: Well, you aren't really done.  I mean, you are done with the
    letter, but now you have to send it.  You need to put the
    letter in an envelope next.  An envelope is a piece of paper
    that is all folded up to hide and protect the letter.  Uh, no,
    put my paycheck down, we don't want to fold it into an
    envelope.
Tarzan: Wouldn't that work?
Me: Well, yeah, it would *work*, but it isn't the best way to do
    it, and besides, I want to keep my paycheck.  Look, just put
    your letter into this envelope here.
Tarzan: It won't fit.
Me: Yeah, you have to fold it first.  Um, it will work better if
    you fold it into thirds.  No, the other way.  There you go, now
    put it in the envelope. Good.  Now seal the envelope by licking
    the paper here and folding it over.
Tarzan: You *must* be joking!
Me: No, really, that's how you seal the envelope.  Look, if you
    don't want to lick it, you could get a little sponge and dish
    of water and use the sponge to wet the envelope flap.
Tarzan: I'll just go dunk it in the creek then.
Me: NO!  Sorry, I didn't mean to yell.  Look, I'll show you, *I*
    will lick it for you.  See?  Easy.
Tarzan: Ok, now can we go hunting?
Me: No, not yet, we still need to address the mail so that the
    postman knows who should get the envelope.  So on the envelope,
    write "Lady Greystoke" - nonono over here.  Well, never mind,
    we can get a new envelope for it.  I'll take it out of the old
    one for you.  Ok, here's a new envelope for you, see if you can
    put it in - that's good - and seal it.
Tarzan: I cut my tongue!
Me: Ooops.  It does take a little getting used to.  Ok, now write
    "Lady Greystoke" right here.  Good!  Ok, now we need to look up
    her address in the address book.  This is my address book, and
    you'll have to make your own address book and fill it in with
    addresses.
Tarzan: How will I know what people's addresses are?
Me: You'll just ask them for their address.
Tarzan: How can I ask them if I can't write to them?
Me: You have to ask them some other way, like when you see them in
    person. Tarzan: Why can't I just get a big book with
    everybody's address in it?
Me: Well, there are five billion people in the world, so it would
    be an awfully big book, plus people move all the time, plus
    some people wouldn't want their address in the book.  Look,
    trust me, it works.  You'll get people's addresses.  Ok, so
    underneath her name, write her address.  Uh, you put the street
    address on its own line, then the city and state and ZIP code.
Tarzan: What's a ZIP code?
Me: Don't worry about it, just do it.
Tarzan: Hmmpf. It would be a lot easier if I could just put "Mom".
        Ok, it's addressed.  NOW can we go hunting?
Me: Hold your horses. You need to put your return address in the
    upper left-hand corner of the envelope.
Tarzan: What's my return address?
Me: It's how people can contact you.  Your landlord should have
    given you a piece of paper with your address on it.  Yeah, that
    looks right, now copy that to the upper left corner.  Upper
    LEFT corner.  Good.  Ack!  My desk! Put the cap back on!
Tarzan: Huh?
Me: It's very important that you put the cap back on the pen so
    that the ink from the pen doesn't get all over everything.  Ok,
    now we have to put a stamp on the envelope, which is a way of
    paying for the delivery.  You need a 32-cent stamp.  Never mind
    why.  You need to put it in the upper right hand corner, no,
    right-side up - so the 32 is right-side up.  No, it won't
    stay by itself, you have to lick it.
Tarzan: I'm not licking anything else, I cut my tongue last time.
Me: Oh, all right.  I'll lick it for you this time.  Tomorrow you
    can go buy a different kind of stamps that you don't have to
    lick.
Tarzan: How many different types of stamps are there?
Me: Well, there's stamps you lick and self-adhesive stamps, and
    different denominations of stamps, oh, and there are stamps
    from other countries but you can't use them.
Tarzan: Why not?
Me: Because our government doesn't recognize those stamps.  And we
    can't use our stamps in other countries.
Tarzan: So do I have to use two different stamps if I send
        something to another country?
Me: No, there's an agreement with other countries that they will
    deliver mail with our stamps if they come from outside the
    country.
Tarzan: So why can't we use other countries' stamps inside our
        country?
Me: They just won't, leave it be.
Tarzan: Ok, I'm going hunting now.
Me: Just a minute, just a minute!  How do you think the letter is
    going to get to your mother?  Did you think it was just going
    to magically leap from the desk and get to her?  We need to
    take it somewhere that the Post Office can find it.
Tarzan: How about under my pillow?
Me: Don't be smart with me, young man.  We need to take it and
    either put it in the mailbox or take it down to the post
    office.
Tarzan: Isn't the mailbox where mail comes *in*?
Me: Yes, but the postman will take it out of the mailbox and take
    it down to the post office if it is already there.
Tarzan: Does that mean that if I don't take my incoming mail out of
        my mailbox by the time the mailman comes again, he'll take
        all my mail away?
Me: No, it doesn't work like that.  Look, it just works, ok?  Just
    go put it in the mailbox, I'm tired of arguing with you.  Then
    go play in the jungle or whatever, just leave me alone.
Tarzan: *Sigh*  Letter-writing is *hard*!
 
          -Thanks to Ducky Sherwood
 
------------------------------
 
Date:    Thu, 10 Dec 1998 13:46:32 -0500
From:    rlb <rlb@DORUK.COM.TR>
Subject: what's it to ya?
 
          Handel's Hallelujah Chorus:
          THE "WHAT'S IT TO YA" CHORUS
 
WHAT'S IT TO YA?
WHAT'S IT TO YA?
WHAT'S IT TO YA?
WHAT'S IT TO YA?
WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE?
 
WHAT'S IT TO YA?
WHAT'S IT TO YA?
WHAT'S IT TO YA?
WHAT'S IT TO YA?
WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE?
 
WHY DON'T YOU GO ABOUT YOUR OWN BUSINESS?
WHAT'S IT TO YA?
WHAT'S IT TO YA?
WHY MUST YOU BOTHER ME WHEN I'M THINKING?
WHAT'S IT TO YA?
WHAT'S IT TO YA?
 
(Triple fugue on the above.)
 
WHAT'S IT TO YA?
IT'S NONE OF YOUR CONCERN.
SO JUST BUZZ OFF.
IT'S NONE OF YOUR CONCERN.
SO JUST BUZZ OFF.
 
SO JUST BUZZ OFF.
 
AND WE SHALL COMPLAIN FOR EVER AND EVER.
AND WE SHALL COMPLAIN FOR EVER AND EVER.
AND WE SHALL COMPLAIN FOR EVER AND EVER.
AND WE SHALL COMPLAIN FOR EVER AND EVER.
 
GET OUT OF HERE AND SHUT THE DOOR!
 
AND WE SHALL COMPLAIN FOR EVER AND EVER.
 
FOR EVER AND EVER
WHAT'S IT TO YA? WHAT'S IT TO YA?
FOR EVER AND EVER
 
WHAT'S IT TO YA?
 
 
Copyrights apply as may be applicable.
Twisted Tunes' <http://www.twistedtunes.com/>
<http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Ithaca/5309/>
 
------------------------------
 
Date:    Thu, 10 Dec 1998 15:01:38 -0500
From:    Jim Mica <jmica@ITHACA.EDU>
Subject: Lamentations on the Level of Public Discourse
 
"We're all so concerned about out physical fitness in this country,
we ought to be more concerned about our metaphysical fitness.
               -Lili Tomlin
               --------------------
 
A pro-Clinton spokesman played part of the President's deposition
before the Judge in the infamous Paula Jones case this morning for
the Impeachment Committee.  The tape showed poor Bill wearing his
reading glasses and trying to figure out the page-long "definition
of sex" that one of Jones' Lawyers intended to use in questionning
him.  Bill's lawyer disputed the definition with Paula's Lawyer.
 
The interchange went on for a good five minutes.  Finally the Judge
in the case said that she couldn't figure out what the definition
which the Jones' Lawyer wished to use meant.
               --------------------
 
So imagine a fox doing foxy things in a field and then a bunch of
hunters opening fire on him.  The hunters fire from all directions
and the fox runs in all directions to avoid its own extermination.
 
After several minutes of this the hunters decide to impeach the fox
for craftily avoiding their guns. Note that the hunters are totally
unconcerned about the foxy things that the fox was doing when they
opened fire, they are just outraged that the fox has dodged and
weaved to avoid their guns instead of standing up like a man and
getting blasted.
 
------------------------------
 
Date:    Thu, 10 Dec 1998 16:05:03 -0800
From:    Randall Woodman <rwoodman@HOME.COM>
Subject: Humor: A Networkologist's Christmas
 
"'Tis the night before Christmas," I thought with a frown.
I was stuck at the office. The network was down.
The routers were hung in the closet. All crashed.
Their tables had holes in their data. All trashed.
 
Remote distribution, it seems, just for fun,
Had erased DLLs Windows needed to run
On 84 desktops way down in accounting.
I sat stunned at my desk, my blood pressure mounting.
 
When all of a sudden there arose such a clatter,
I saw that a server had something the matter.
There was smoke coming out of the main hard disk drive.
"No problem," I thought. "I'm set up with RAID 5."
 
But I found out the system I thought was unstoppable
Had disk drives that turned out completely unswappable!
"No problem," I thought. "I've tape backup to thank."
And then I discovered my backups were blank.
 
The UPS burped, and its lights all went out.
I started to scream! I started to shout!
But nobody heard as I vented my rage.
My gurus were all on vacation those days.
 
And nobody's tech support answered the phone.
I was nose deep in trouble, completely alone.
When out at reception, I heard a soft knock.
As the hands just touched midnight on my desktop clock.
 
"What's your problem?" he asked.
"Never mind, friend, I know.
I checked out your network five hours ago.
I did some proactive analysis, so
 
I knew that this time bomb was going to blow."
Who was this guy? Who did he think he was?
He was dressed in red coveralls, white beard, black gloves.
His eyes had the twinkle of technical genius.
 
His smile cut down personal distance between us.
He spread out his tools, and went straight to his work.
"Whoever configured this network's a jerk,"
He said with a :-) as he quickly rebooted,
 
Uploaded some software, and smoothly rerouted
The LAN to a WAN that he quickly supplied
With bandwidth at least 20 gigabits wide
That went via wireless, I think, LEO,
 
To tech support elves waiting at the North Pole.
"Now bridging, now routing, now Ethernet hubs!"
He chanted as each piece of hardware he rubbed.
"Cheer up, my good friend! Lose that mindset so tragic!
 
Technology often looks just like some magic
To people who don't understand what we do.
Now a switch, emulation, now middleware glue!
Look at the protocols, check one or two,
 
Debug a bit, test a bit, presto! We're through!"
My data was back! Every system checked out!
Tears of joy wet my face as I wandered about.
"How can I thank you? You must be Saint Nick!"
 
He said, "Really, my friend, it's not such a great trick,
If you don't give up hope, focus on what you're doing,
And read all your issues of NETWORK COMPUTING."
And I heard him exclaim, as his reindeer were coursing,
"Merry Christmas to all! And consider outsourcing!"
 
          -Sent by: Jeff Kane
 
------------------------------
 
Date:    Thu, 10 Dec 1998 19:15:53 EST
From:    Sue Sevin <SueS7@AOL.COM>
Subject: Media Joke
 
	How the Media Would Handle the End of the World
 
USA Today:  WE'RE DEAD.
 
Wall Street Journal:  Dow Jones Plummets as World Ends.
 
National Enquirer:  O.J. and Nicole, Together Again.
 
Inc. Magazine:  10 Ways You Can Profit From the Apocalypse.
 
Rolling Stone:  The Grateful Dead Reunion Tour.
 
Sports Illustrated:  Game Over.
 
Playboy:  Girls of the Apocalypse.
 
Lady's Home Journal:  Lose 10 Pounds by Judgment Day with Our New
                      "Armageddon" Diet!
 
TV Guide:  Death and Damnation:  Nielson Ratings Soar!
 
Discover Magazine:  How will the extinction of all life as we know
                    it affect the way we view the cosmos?
 
Microsoft Systems Journal:  Netscape Loses Market Share.
 
Microsoft's Web Site:  If you don't experience the rapture,
                       DOWNLOAD software patch RAPT777.EXE.
 
America OnLine:  System temporarily down.  Try calling back in 15
                 minutes.
 
------------------------------
 
Date:    Thu, 10 Dec 1998 19:20:29 -0800
From:    Stan Kegel <kegel@FEA.NET>
Subject: The Two Loves (Pun)
 
A young man was in love with two women and could not decide which
of them to marry. Finally he went to a marriage counselor. When
asked to describe his two loves, he noted that one was a great poet
and the other made delicious pancakes.
 
"Oh" said the counselor, "I see what the problem is. You can't
decide whether to marry for batter or verse."
 
          -From: Barbara Azan
 
------------------------------
 
Date:    Fri, 11 Dec 1998 11:22:51 -0500
From:    Chalapathi Rao Poduri <chaps@TC4HQ.CMCLTD.COM>
Subject: PJs <clean>
 
Husband: U know, wife, our son got his brain from me.
Wife: I think he did, I've still got mine with me!
 
Manager: Sorry,but i can't give u a job. I don't need much help.
Job Applicant: That's all right. In fact I'm just the right person
               in this case. You see, I won't be of much help
               anyway!!
 
Teacher: Desmond, your composition on "My Dog" is exactly the
         same as your brother's. Did u copy his?
Desmond: No, teacher, it's the same dog!
 
Diner: Waiter,look at this chicken, nothing but skin and bones.
Waiter: What else do u want, feathers?
Diner: I can't eat such a rotten chicken.Call the manager!
Waiter: It's no use. He won't eat it either.
Diner: You'll drive me to my grave!
Waiter: Well, you don't expect to walk there, do you?
 
Man: Officer! There's a bomb in my garden!
Officer: Don't worry. If no one claims it within three days, you
         can keep it.
 
Ken: These ice-cream are too expensive!
John: Stop complaining and pay with a smile.
Ken: I wish I could but the man insists on cash!
 
Father: Your teacher says she finds it impossible to teach you
        anything!
Son: That's why I say she's no good!
 
New prisoner comes to prison cell.
Convicts: What has happened with you that you are here?
Prisoner: I have broken a window on my job place.
Convicts: It's unbelievable! Where did you work?
Prisoner: On a submarine.
 
------------------------------
 
End of HUMOR Digest - 10 Dec 1998 to 11 Dec 1998
************************************************
 
