Text 784, 333 rader
Skriven 2004-12-15 23:03:26 av Greg Sears (1:153/307)
Kommentar till en text av George Pope
Ärende: Re: Book
================
Funny on 12-Dec-2004 11:16
GS> She went historical thinking he was trying to cut his dick off.
-=[George Pope wrote IN a message to GREG SEARS]=-
GP> well, he WAS trying to cut the head off his cock! (or ONE of them!)
G-day George Pope, that as you read can get a joker in the chook shit!
Here's a two-for-one chicken chain. . .
ONE
A Christmas Carol
Christmas time is here, by golly!
Disapproval would be folly.
Deck the halls with hunks of holly;
Fill the cup and don't say "When."
Kill those turkeys, ducks, and chickens;
Mix the punch, draaaag out the Dickens.
Even though the prospect sickens,
Brother, here we go again!
On Christmas Day you can't get sore,
Your fellow man you must adore --
There's time to rob him all the more
The other three hundred and sixty-four!
Relations, sparing no expense'll
Send some useless old utensil,
Or a matching pen and pencil,
Just the thing I need! How nice.
It doesn't matter how sincere it
Is, nor how heart-felt the spirit;
Sentiment will not endear it.
What's important is THE PRICE!
Hark! The Herald Tribune sings,
Advertising wond'rous things.
God rest ye merry merchants,
May ye make the Yuletide pay!
Angels we have heard on high
Tell us to go out and BUY!
Sooo, let the raucous sleigh bells jingle.
Hail our dear old friend Kris Kringle,
Driving his reindeer across the sky...
Just don't stand underneath when they fly by!
Pps, Again, happy holidays...
> TWO
Philosophers and Food: A Gustatorial Dialectic
==============================================
by Dan Pryor <89DAP@Williams> & Kyle Berman <TCKB000@TCSVM>
Scenario: Dan and Kyle are discussing the implications of Wittgenstein's
little known addendum to his equally minor work "Poultry: Being and
Knowledge," and more importantly, where to go for lunch. Their renown
in the philosophical world is surpassed only by their appetites.
Dan: ...and moreover a piece of evidence that Nietzsche used to justify
his belief in the non-existence of God was the fact that one can rarely
find a quality taco counter outside certain towns in Southern
California.
Kyle: Your argument has merit, but I must disagree with you on the
latter point. If, as Nietzsche points out, God's existence is linked to
the availability of a good taco, then one should be able to extrapolate
from this that God's forgiveness of the People of Israel occurred not in
1948 with the founding of the Jewish State, but in the early seventies
contiguous with the widespread acceptance of the Taco Bell* chain, which
is obviously not true. It is a well documented fact that few Taco Bell*
patrons are divinely inspired.
Dan: Ah, you are falling into the fallacy of excessive generalization.
Nietzsche also emphasized the necessity of considering the opposite in a
duality. Here I would posit that the dichotomy is Mexican versus
Chinese food, equating the latter with the underworld...
Kyle: Are you saying then that this applies to all Chinese food, or
just the joint around the corner?
Dan: Well, mostly to the FINE RESTAURANT in that location. As I was
saying, however, Sartre once declared that "Hell is other people."
Paraphrasing this, I believe that one could more clearly state that
"Hell is Chinese food that has been left on a radiator for over a week,
particurally moo goo gai pan and sweet and sour chicken." Although the
heartburn I got after eating at Nietzsche's favorite taco counter,
Uber-tacos, wasn't all that pleasant, either.
Kyle: When one attempts to follow this argument to any sort of
conclusion, however, one can easily see that the logic of this so-called
"Taco-God" proposition is circular in nature, and thus unprovable and
worthless (as is Nietzsche following his periodic taco binges). One
must turn to another source to learn anything useful, for instance,
where should one have lunch, Cooter Brown's, Mama Rosa's, or one of
those cheesy Greek places on Decatur Street?
Dan: Ah, but when discussing the merit of Greek cuisine, one cannot
neglect Aristotle's famous treatise, Gustatoria. In this work can be
found his famous claim that all food is composed of the four essences,
baklava, ouzo, feta cheese, and olive oil, as well as lots of cheap red
wine, the quintessence.
Kyle: Aristotle was very primitive in this respect. This mixture would
unfortunately, although very obviously, turn out to be quite watery (not
unlike the food served at the Akroplis restaurant), thus necessitating
the crystalline hemispheres that he spoke of. These hemispheres were,
of course, the ancient Greek equivalent of modern Tupperware*. Now
Plato on the other hand, advocated the use of the tri-partite chef, the
"Short-Order-," the "Prep-," and the "Master-Chef..."
Dan: But did he not also specify that one of these "parts" must be
named Luigi, and another, Francois?
Kyle: Yes, but ONLY when the restaurant name appears in cursive Greek;
otherwise the trio may call themselves anything beginning with the Greek
letters Rho or Beta. Plato, in fact, first got his name for advocating
the use of flat communal plates. It was originally "Plate," later
changed to "Plato," after he introduced the extremely successful "Plate-
O-Goat" at his small suburban Athenian bistro.
Dan: Your argument does not, however, include Plato's notion of the
"Ideal Food." Unimaginable, this "Ideal Food" (which his friends
familiarly shortened to I.F.) would underlay everything cooked, at least
in the Pelopenesus and some of the shabbier areas of Crete. This, to
me, seems to parallel very closely the "Beef Wellington," although this
latter food was very difficult to find in the fancier Athenian
restaurants. The "Beef Wellington" is, even after numerous explanations
and a friend who choked on a serving of it, impossible for me to
visualize corporeally.
Kyle: I concur most heartily, and apologize for the oversight. Yet, I
feel as though I once had a more complete view of Plato's I.F. (although
his family has guarded the recipe closely for many centuries); his own
theories, however, state that the rigors of the flesh make one forget
such important matters. In my case I have had ample such rigors, mostly
Steak Tartar at Arnaud's, a fine establishment if I may say so, one that
is more than adequate for our noontime repast.
Dan: In his book "Le Etranger Gros," Camus wrote several lines which
are appropriate to the subject at hand: "Je veux manger. Donne moi
quelque chose a manger ou je te tuerai," which translates roughly as "
I want to eat. Give me something to eat or I will kill you."
Kyle: Of course, this was meant in a purely complimentary manner. Our
present predicament, then, can be summarized as "how shall we get to
some food" or let Mohammed go wherever he pleases. I have read in the
Qu'ran that he was particularly fond of pepperoni and onion pizza.
Shall we, then, make Godfather's our destination?
Dan: As Hobbes once said in a fit of despondency, "hmm, sounds good to
me."
Our erstwhile philosophers have departed, with great relish, and some
mustard on the side. They are later arrested for quoting Marx in a vain
attempt to avoid payment of the $9.35 check.
> OBJoke: for our Moderator and all-round friend/servant
The Amazing Adventures of Herbert
=================================
by Anonymous
Another Victory for Herbert
-------
O great Lore Masters of the West, let me tell thee of a fateful tale.
This tale begins many long years ago, when the trees were still young
and the Republicans still had control of the Senate. Once there was a
Golden Racquet ball, and whomsoever possessed this thing had great
powers over beast and man. This orb was kept in the great capital of
Gloob, and its master's name was Herbert. The people who dwelt in this
fair land were happy and did not wont for any material things. But
there also did exist a fearsome tribe that dwelt far to the East, in the
dark land of Shmuck. And the Shmucks did lust for the power of the
Racquet ball, and so did they contrive to take it away from the wise
hands of Herbert.
Unfortunately, it was known to the Shmucks that Herbert had left the
fair land of Gloob for a quest in the beer-laden town of Moscow. And
lo, during this time the Shmucks did scale the walls of the hallowed
place the held the Racquet ball, and they did overwhelm the guards of
the sacred order of the Racquet ball with a 3x5 glossy of Cal
Worthington, and they did make off with the booty.
And lo! The land of Gloob turned to desolate wasteland and the fat
cattle did wither and die. It was a desperate scene indeed when Herbert
returned with glory from Moscow. But when Herbert did discover that the
Golden Racquet ball was pilfered, an army was raised immediately, and
they did sail off towards the dark capitol of the Shmucks in the East.
Seven months, fifteen days, four hours, ten minutes and thirty-nine
seconds was their voyage until they did set foot on the soil of their
enemy. And when the ships were unloaded and the armies did armor
themselves, Herbert did cry with a loud voice: 'Attack the Shmucks, and
bringeth back the women and the Golden Racquet ball to me!' And so the
armies of the Gloobs did issue forth and they did lay siege on the
capital of the Shmucks, which has the foul name, K-Mart. But lo, the
Shmucks did have control of the Racquet ball, and the Gloobs were
slaughtered by the thousands on the battle plain.... and they did wage
war upon each other for nine years. And in the tenth year, Herbert did
have a strange dream, and upon awakening, the Gloobish captain did plot
to outwit the Shmucks.
Far away from the high towers of K-Mart did they labor to bring
Herbert's plan to reality. For weeks they did choppeth and saweth and
maketh a general uproar. And finally, the deed was done. In a mist
conjured up by Herbert's magician, the Gloobs wheeled their construction
up to the very front gates of K-Mart, and they did leave it there
unattended. And when the mist cleared, the Shmucks saw the great wonder,
and they did think it was a gift from the great maker of the Blue-light
Specials:
A great can of SPAM. The Shmucks did take the can within the
walls of their city, hoping for a feast in the morning, but during the
dead of night, the can of SPAM did open! And lo! Out came Herbert and
twenty other great Gloobish warriors! And they did slice throats and
cause a general disorder and wreak havoc. And so the Racquet ball was
reclaimed by Herbert, and once again did the Gloobs enjoy prosperity.
Here endeth the tale.
> OBJoke: for Mr. <+]::-{(} ("Cyberpope")
Karl Takes A Fall
=================
(or Why People Have Two Of Everything Except Brains)
by Q
PART ONE: Radish Head
Karl was a nice young man with a radish for a head. This often caused
a problem for Karl, especially since he liked to frequent bars... "Why,"
cried the poor man, "why did Yerxa leave me for Ed Asner?"; this he
would say over and over aloud, although he knew no Yerxa.
PART TWO: The Sabotage
The two terrorists swam through the Jell-o, each holding their knives
between their teeth. Gigi, the quiet one, looked to Marybelle to see
what he would do next... Marybelle, feeling Gigi's intense stare, turned
and cut her companion's head off. With a meaningful tone, he told the
corpse: "In Jell-o, No one can hear you scream..."
PART TWO (I Didn't like the last one, so I'm gonna do another):
Argentina
Light dawned on Karl and his guide, a frisky little ferret named
Phantasmagoric O'Malley. Both squinting into the sun, they squinted.
Phant had noticed that his companion had a radish head, but said
nothing, since Karl hadn't brought up his ferretness. "Looks like
rain," said Karl, and promptly vanished. Phantasmagoric squinted a
little more, then ate some acorns in an unconcerned way.
THE END: Hades
Hades, the Greek god of death and indoor plumbing, waved his hand
fiercely in front of his face. Karl stood meekly in front of him,
realizing that farting was not proper etiquette when in the presence of
a higher power, and he felt ashamed.
When the smell cleared, Hades looked down. "NO MORE FLATULENCE,
VEGGIEHEAD!" he sang out in a robust voice reminiscent of a cow in June.
"NOW- HOW'D YOU LIKE A JOB?". Karl looked up and squinted. "As what,
your Plutoness?".
"AS THE BOATMAN ON THE RIVER STYX!!!!", yelled the god, while staring
at a nearby cat. "KITTY! HERE KITTY!". The cat, who was named Roooooooo,
glanced at the Underlord and then calmly walked away.
"Ummmm..", began Karl. "Ummmmm...", continued Karl.
"Uhhhhhhhhhhh...umm... Uhhhhhhhhhhhh....", said Karl, who was on a
roll.
"Isn't Charon the boatman?".
Hades thought for a moment. "Ooops, my mistake!", he said, and waved
his hand, causing Karl to vanish once more. "SILLY POOFTA", he
bellowed, then went back to playing Othello.
PART FOUR (so I lied, and that wasn't the end): The Saloon
With a grimace, the old man zipped up his fly and jumped. When he hit
the sidewalk he tried to yell "Free Apples!", but he misjudged his
velocity and made the attempt much too late. His remains sprayed out-
wards, covering onlookers for hundreds of yards... none of them hit
Karl, though, because he isn't even in Part 4: The Saloon. One of
those onlookers was Trenton D'Retrograde, famous pop star and South
American dictator. Trenton felt the remains of the man hit him. "Osh
kosh, b'gosh!" he yelled, and went off in search of Margot Kidder.
PART SIX: Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick
Karl carefully examined the egg. Yes, he was in Idaho all right...
no doubt about it. With a characteristic shrug, he approached the girl.
"Hi Honey," he said with a grin. She looked at him, smiled, and belched
out the entire Greek alphabet. "But can you cook a damn fine casserole?"
Karl asked. "Are you kidding?", the girl replied. "I'm the best left
fielder on the island!" Noticing that she lived in the mud, Karl
wondered if she liked cheese as much as he did....
PROLOGUE: Crackers
Esmarillia stared at the baby. "It's got a tattoo!", she said to the
coat rack. The rack stood dead still, seemingly ignoring her. Esmarillia
glanced at the rack and frowned. "I said, It's got a tattoo." Still, the
rack stood there, arms outstretched, motionless. "It's of a blender,"
she said; still, no reaction whatsoever from the object. "Why do you
always ignore me???!?!?!", she screamed. "You never respond to a word I
say," she exclaimed, bursting into tears.
"Well maybe if you weren't such a silly bitch I'd pay attention to
you!" said the coat rack.
PART SEVEN: The Truth About Mabel
Karl thought. He thought some more. Then he turned on the dryer. With
some satisfaction, he noted that it worked...
PART EIGHT: Rubles or Dollars?
"Grendo moxie, haverstad nookums!", cried Comet, as he slid to the
floor; from his back protruded Marybelle's knife. The assassin stared
silently at the body, then bent down and removed two tickets to Blott's
Phantasmagoric Circus out of Comet's wetsuit pocket. With a grin, he
threw up in anticipation.
PROLOGUE: Happy!
The wedding was a joyous one; George McGovern was best man. Karl
gazed adoringly at his new bride, Rooooooooo the cat; then night fell,
and the world was at peace.
* *
### Merry Christmas ###
##### Happy New Year #####
= I C E-man =
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