HUMOR Digest - 4 Feb 1996 to 5 Feb 1996 There are 10 messages totalling 564 lines in this issue. Topics of the day: 1. polar bear joke 2. Clinton's Pig 3. "Nothing Happened while I was away?!?!?"... 4. Grand Canyon? 5. Bill Gates Dies (poss. off. to software companies) 6. Pinky & The Brain (Off to Bill Gates) 7. What Cats Bring Home 8. Forbes joke (off. to the easily offended) 9. Jim Mullen's Hot Sheet - February 9, 1996 10. Stoopid Jokes part II ------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Mon, 5 Feb 1996 13:05:59 +0000 From: Edward Tanguay <"Edward Tanguay"@RZ.UNI-POTSDAM.DE> Subject: polar bear joke A baby polar bear went up to his mother and asked, "Mom, am I a real polar bear?" She said, "Why of course you're a real polar bear!" "But am I a REAL polar bear?" "Of COURSE you are a real polar bear! I mean, I'm a real polar bear and your father is a real polar bear. Of course you're a real polar bear! If you don't believe me, go ask your father!" Baby polar bear goes to his father and asks, "Dad, am I a real polar bear?" He says "Why sure you're a real polar bear!" "But am I a REAL polar bear!" "Of COURSE you're a real polar bear! I mean, your mother is a real polar bear and I'm a real polar bear. And her mother was a real polar bear and her father was a real polar bear. And my mother was a real polar bear and my father was a real polar bear! My son, why do you ask?" "Because I'm fucking cold!" http://ourworld.compuserve.com:80/homepages/tanguay/edmain.htm ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 5 Feb 1996 07:41:17 +0600 From: Randall Woodman Subject: Clinton's Pig President Clinton flies into Andrews AFB. The color guard is present, as well as the commanding General. The General is standing at attention while President Clinton is descending the stairs. He notices that President Clinton has a pig tucked under his arm. The general, not knowing quite what to say, simply blurts out, "Nice pig, sir." President Clinton responded by saying, "You bet it is. It is a hand-fed, corn-fed, pure-bred Razorback from Arkansas. I got it for Hillary." Again the General was a bit tongue-tied, but without flinching responded, "Nice trade, sir." --from hutchins@rdxsunhost.aud.alcatel.com ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 5 Feb 1996 10:40:11 -0400 From: James Bologna Subject: "Nothing Happened while I was away?!?!?"... A gentleman is returning home after a lengthy trip, and is met by his servant at the station. This is the conversation that they have on their way to his home: "So, has anything happened while I've been away?" "No, sir, I can't think of anything at all worth mentioning." "Come now, I've been away for weeks. Surely something must have happened in all that time." "Well, sir, come to think of it, your dog died." "My *dog* died? How awful! Still, he was getting on in years, and I suppose it had to happen some time. How did he die?" "The vet said it was probably from eating the rotten meat." "The rotten meat? Since when do we leave rotten meat lieing around for the dog to eat?" "Well, it was the horses, sir. They'd been rotting for some time after the barn burned down." "Good heavens. How in the world did the barn burn down?" "It must have been some embers that blew over from the house, sir." "The *house*? The house burnt down too? How did the house burn down?" "Well, sir, we think someone must have knocked over a candle." "Oh... Wait a moment - we don't use candles anymore to light the house! What were the candles doing there?" "They were there for the wake, sir." "The wake?!? Whose wake?" "Your mother's, sir. She passed away quite suddenly." "Oh my Lord. Mother is dead. The house is gone, along with the stable. Even my dog is dead. What did Mother die of?" "It must have been the shock, sir." "The shock ???" "Yes, sir, the shock. When your wife ran off with the handyman the day after you left, sir. But aside from all that, it's been fairly quiet while you've been away, sir." ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 5 Feb 1996 11:56:36 EST From: MR LYLE J KINNAMAN Subject: Grand Canyon? A husband and wife had been married for quite a few years when she decided it would be a good time to go on a second honeymoon. Her husband said, "OK, but this time I'll sit on the side of the bed and say MY, how big it is!" --Lyle's Joke Boutique ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 5 Feb 1996 14:42:01 -0600 From: "J.R. Brimmer III" Subject: Bill Gates Dies (poss. off. to software companies) Bill Gates dies in a car accident. He finds himself in purgatory, being sized up by St. Peter. "Well, Bill, I'm really confused on this call; I'm not sure where to send you. After all, you helped society enormously by putting a computer in almost every home in America, yet you also created that ghastly Windows `95. I'm going to do something I've never done before. In your case; I'm going to let you decide whether you want to go to Heaven or Hell." Bill replied, "Well, what's the difference between the two?" St. Peter: "I'm willing to let you visit both places briefly, if it will help your decision." Bill: "Fine, but where should I go first?" St. Peter: "I'll leave that up to you." "Okay then," said Bill, "Let's try Hell first." So Bill went to Hell. It was a beautiful, clean sandy beach with clear waters and lots of bikini-clad women running around, playing in the water, laughing, and frolicking about. The sun was shining; the temperature was perfect. Bill was very pleased. "This is great!" he told St. Peter. "If this is Hell, I REALLY want to see Heaven!" "Fine," said St. Peter, and off they went. Heaven was a place high in the clouds, with angels drifting about, playing harps and singing. It was nice, but not as enticing as Hell. Bill thought for a minute, and rendered his decision. "Hmmm. I think I'd prefer Hell," he told St. Peter. "Fine," retorted St. Peter, "as you desire." So Bill Gates went to Hell. Two weeks later, St. Peter decided to check on the late billionaire to see how he was doing in Hell. When he got there, he found Bill, shackled to a wall, screaming amongst hot flames in dark caves, being burned and tortured by demons. "How's everything going?" he asked Bill. Bill responded, his voice filled with anguish & disappointment, "This is awful! This is nothing like the Hell I visited two weeks ago! I can't believe this is happening! What happened to the other place, with the beautiful beaches, the scantily-clad women playing in the water?" "That was a demo," replied St. Peter. -from Heroika K Muljadi (found on the in-house E-Mail at Intuit) - - - - - - - - - - Bill Gates should limit his salary to the number of bytes addressable by the latest version of MS-DOS, and be taxed based on the number of bytes of RAM needed by the latest version of MS-Windows. ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 5 Feb 1996 16:41:04 EST From: Bo Peng Subject: Pinky & The Brain (Off to Bill Gates) Pinky & The Brain episode on Microsoft (In case you're unfortunate enough not to have watched the cartoon may God have mercey on you, alas --- here's a quick intro: Pinky and the Brain are two mice in Acme Labs. Pinky comes from Britain, with a British accent. Brain is turned into a supergenius in an experiment. Every night, they sneak out to implement Brain's new plan of conquering the world.) Snowball used to be Brain's playmate when they were little. He's also turned into a supergenius, only with an evilish inclination (as if Brain is a saint). In this episode, Brain and Snowball are on a row for conquering the world. Suddenly Acme Labs is trashed and moved. Snowball is behind it, of course. Pinky and Brain hop on the truck. It goes in Micromouse (or Micro-something). Pinky: "What is this place?" Brain: "The biggest comptuer company in the world, run by the world's biggest geek... Snowball must've controled him, Bill Grates" Pinky: "...Snowball for Windows?" They see Snowball scurrying across the floor and disappearing behind a door. They follow him, open the door and... there's Bill Grates! Bill, who's a mechanic suit controlled by Snowball sitting inside, goes to the board room and announces that he's just purchased 51% of all municiple bonds in the world. Now he has the controlling share on the whole world. Then Snowball tries to get Pinky, just to piss off Brain. He promises Pinky that he'll value Pinky's brilliant ideas, treat him well, etc. He offers Pinky the title of "Vice Dictator". But Pinky won't betray his old friend. Then Snowball offers him his own amuzement park. That's too much temptation for poor Pinky. Now Pinky is the Vice Dictator and Brain is alone. He's so pissed off that he starts to grow long beard. He wanders on the streets, and gets surrounded by street cats: "Go ahead, take me. End it all." He walks into a cat's mouth. Then he gets spitted out. Realizing how good it is to be alive, he now adjusts his goal to saving his world. He finds his good 'ol mechanic suit and goes out to fight Bill Grates. Snowball, who controls Bill, takes out a floppy disk labeled "Karate V2.0" and sticks in and Bill does a bunch of serious punches and kicks... ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 5 Feb 1996 17:52:00 EST From: Matthew Gaunt Subject: What Cats Bring Home I have "owned" cats for the bulk of my life - as a child, and then subsequently as a husband, and there must be only one overriding impression of their fluffy little species: Cats are obscenely violent little animals. Your idea of gentle harmless fun may be a game of Monopoly, or perhaps Nintendo. Or maybe even nude 'Twister' with your local firemen and their hose greasing machine. But your fluffy buddy is plotting other things while he purrs in your ear. He is banking on a night of singing, outdoor sex, killing things after toying with them for half an hour, then coming home and nudging you away from the fire. Even Josef Mengele didn't have the arrogance to come home from his butchery and lie on the oriental rug with his legs in the air. Anyone who has had a cat that has access to the Outside, will have suffered from what I am about to describe. Coming downstairs in the morning to find your living room looking like the bloody climax to a Martin Scorcese movie where one Italian has said to another "Your mamma - she smella like a dog log". There is very little else worse than greedily tucking into your bowl of cornflakes, then spotting mouse entrails smeared up your collection of horse brasses, half an ear on your TV remote, and a rat's ballbag on the pouffe. I have woken up to find all manner of God's creatures in my house following my installation of a cat flap (see previous post). Mice, bats, shrews, small birds, frogs, toads and a very pugnacious squirrel have all shat in terror on my Berber carpet. But it was the magpie that caused the most spectacular incident. And it chose to happen on one of the worst possible days of the month. My wife wasn't in the best of moods that morning. She was suffering from one of the deeper switchbacks in the bizarre rollercoaster of woman's lunar cycle. It was one of those few days in the month when she could have terrified even the mighty Ghengis Khan into picking up his underpants and putting them in the dirty washing basket. I had already been threatened with having my plums seen to with a cheese grater for the grievous offence of starting a new tube of toothpaste whilst there was still some left in the old one. After I had painstakingly explained that the other toothpaste caused my tongue to swell up - making every word I said sound like "Wob" - I was answered with "You're a bastard and so are all your friends". It's worth digressing for a moment to consider this phenomenon. It is only just for that short window in the month that Man can participate in dialogues like: "What's the matter?" "NOTHING." "Oh, what is it,darling?" "Nothing. It's just that boo hoo sob sob sob" "Hey - don't cry...come here" "FUCK OFF. Leave me alone" "Tell me what's the matter,please" "You don't understand. You never understand - just GET OUT and leave me alone." "Ok, ok, I'll go for a beer with Anthony. Can you pass me the 'pho-" "You would as well, wouldn't you, you bastard? My mother was right..." Following that would be the long conversation to the mother, who would inevitably come round and look at me over the top of her glasses, obviously thinking "I know what you do to my daughter. Her father did it to me once. There was a funny smell and a lot of washing." The first I heard of the magpie incident was when I was in the shower. Being a British shower, it was dribbling a woeful trickle of tepid water slower than an infected nostril, and I had to wriggle about a bit to get the flow to cover my body. I was currently concentrating on warming my back, having budgeted for my nipples temporarily turning into hat pegs, and my once proud set of parts shrivelling to those of an aging bulldog. I heard a noise from downstairs. "Matthew! Matthew!" Thinking it was only that another bottle of my home-brew had exploded because of cheerfully over-confident sugar usage, I didn't rush. "Matthew! Help!" Now that sounded urgent. I recognised that voice. It was the voice normally reserved for a muffled "Oh God I swear I put toilet paper on that shopping list and this magazine hurts." I turned off the shower, and put on my bath robe. As I ran downstairs, I was surprised to see my two cats come hurtling into the hallway, terror written across their faces. My wife's voice was coming from the kitchen, so I opened the door and went in. Oh dear, oh dear. The kitchen looked like it had played host to an energetic Rolling Stones party where each member of the band had brought along their pet Tasmanian Devil. The room was destroyed. Upturned plant pots, bin on its side, pans everywhere and a stack of clean, ironed washing strewn over the floor making friends with the plant pot compost. And standing on the fridge-freezer, head cockily on one side, was the most impressive magpie that has ever lived. Magpie is, by his very nature, an arrogant bird, and this fellow was no exception. From the vicious curve of his beak to the jaunty angle of his black & white tail feathers, this chap meant business. All of a sudden I understood the whole situation. Working as a pair, the cats had thought they'd have him. Temporarily stunned by a double furry onslaught, the bird had allowed himself to be dragged into the kitchen via the cat flap. But then he'd woken up with a headache, in a bad mood and bursting to go to the toilet. (If he'd had a proud but useless erection as well, then I would have accepted that human males share 90% of bird DNA) And so the fight had begun. The cats really had no chance. The damn thing looked like a nasty from a "Sinbad" movie. The only difference being that Ray Harryhausen never had the guts to animate the things that this monster did. Unless I'm mistaken, the line "Unsheath your sabre, Jason - he's shitting on the microwave" was not in any "Sinbad" film. Now, I had a problem. How could I tackle him? It was 8am, I was tired, and the last thing I wanted was a magpie having an energetic squawk in my bathrobe. I decided to go into the front room for a moment to think about it. My wife was already there. But magpie had been there before her. I looked at the state of the room, and was horrified when I saw the disruption on the table. "Look at the sofa" my wife sobbed, pointing at spots of magpie lime. "Never mind the fucking sofa", I shouted, pointing at the table, "I was a cockhair away from finishing that jigsaw" "Those stains on that fabric will never come out even with those banned cleaning chemicals I had to buy for your athletic support" "Two thousand pieces and all I needed was that postman's foot". We looked at each other decided to take our anger out on the magpie instead. I strode manfully into the kitchen, and opened the back door. Then I picked up the mop and swung it at the bird. "Get...out...you...black & white BUGGER!" This seemed to have the desired effect. He didn't like that at all. He gave me a look that said "I've had your cats, matey, and you're next". A very violent two minutes followed with a lot of flapping and swearing. Whilst this was going on, my wife, normally a quiet demure woman, donned one solitary boot so she could hoof our bemused tabby around the hall. At last I got the bird near the back door. I was a wreck. My hair had been flapped up so much I looked like a chicken. I was unshaven, my bathrobe was hanging open, I had a violent gleam in my eye, and a mop. The bird saw he was beaten. With a defiant squawk and a flap, he swooped out of the back door. Riding the victory I chased him out, whooping and shouting "Get off my property you feathery fucker oh shit no sorry not you oh it's dangling out isn't it?" Mormons choose ridiculous times to call. ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 5 Feb 1996 20:17:52 -0500 From: Chilton Subject: Forbes joke (off. to the easily offended) Have you heard that Steve Forbes has just completed his first book? Its called, "I upped my income, Up Yours!" ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 5 Feb 1996 20:48:05 EST From: William Robinson Subject: Jim Mullen's Hot Sheet - February 9, 1996 Entertainment Weekly, February 9, 1996 What the country is talking about this week 1. {Gulliver's Travels} Ted Danson brought a classic to TV. It makes you want to read the {Cliffs Notes} again. 2. {V-Chip} Networks say it's a First Amendment issue. They want to protect a 10-year-old's right to see sex and violence. 3. {Black Sheep} Ne'er-do-well Chris Farley tries to help his brother win an election. Does Roger Clinton get royalties? 4. {Before They Were Stars} Videos of celebs before they became famous. You thought {Seinfeld} was about nothing. 5. {The Juror} Alec Baldwin forces Demi Moore to vote not guilty. At least he's cheaper than Johnny Cochran. 6. {Heather Locklear} Her {Melrose Place} costar Jack Wagner complained she reeks of garlic. So, she turned you down, huh? 7. {Wierd Weather} People say it has nothing to do with global warming. We've sent a helicopter to rescue them. 8. {John DuPont} No one was surprised that the multimillionare snapped. But they liked his flat-tax idea. 9. {Garth Brooks} He wanted to give his Artist of the Year award to Hootie & the Blowfish. Only if it comes with the hat. 10. {ER} Ted Turner spent over $100 million on the syndication rights. For that your can almost go to a real emergency room. 11. {{Primary Colors}} Everyone wants to know who wrote the book about the '92 campaign. It's so catty it must be Socks. 12. {French Nuclear Testing} What's the fuss? It's not like they injured an animal while making a movie or something. 13. {{Cats}} It's the longest-running show on Broadway. Actually, it ties with a three-card-monte game down on 42nd Street. 14. {{Cybill}} Her old costar Bruce Willis might do a walk-on. Isn't that what she wanted him to do on {Moonlighting}? 15. {{White Squall}} Problem teens on a sinking ship. What ever happened to grounding? --Copyright 1996 Entertainment Weekly, Inc. ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 24 Jan 1996 15:10:03 SYD From: Chris McLaren Subject: Stoopid Jokes part II Two cows are standing in the paddock feeding on grass and one says: "Mooooooooooooooooooooooo !" and then the other one goes "Orh shit, I was going to say that " - - - - - - - - - - Q. Why is a duck ? A. Because the higher it flies the much. - - - - - - - - - - Person 1 : Ask me if I am an orange. Person 2 : Are you an orange? Person 1 : Nope. - - - - - - - - - - Q. What is the difference between fat and cholestoral ? A. You don't wake up in the morning with half a cholestoral. - - - - - - - - - - Q. Why did the magpie? A. Because one leg is both the same. - - - - - - - - - - Q. What has two legs and bleeds ? A. Half a dog. - - - - - - - - - - [Attachment removed for Archival Purposes] ------------------------------ End of HUMOR Digest - 4 Feb 1996 to 5 Feb 1996 **********************************************