Digest for Sunday, February 04, 1996

Topics of the day:

1. polar bear joke
2. Clintons 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 Mullens Hot Sheet - February 9, 1996
10. Stoopid Jokes part II

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Date:    Mon, 5 Feb 1996 13:05:59 +0000
From:    Edward Tanguay <Edward Tanguay@RZ.UNI-POTSDAM.DE>
Subject: polar bear joke <contains the "f" word>

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

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Date:    Mon, 5 Feb 1996 07:41:17 +0600
From:    Randall Woodman <randallw@ADSS.ESY.COM>
Subject: Clinton's Pig <off. to Clinton Fans>

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

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Date:    Mon, 5 Feb 1996 10:40:11 -0400
From:    James Bologna <JBOLOGNA@BENTLEY.EDU>
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."

<The servant thinks for a moment.>
"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.   <pause>  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."

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Date:    Mon, 5 Feb 1996 11:56:36 EST
From:    MR LYLE J KINNAMAN <FVKM43A@PRODIGY.COM>
Subject: Grand Canyon? <adult themes>

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

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Date:    Mon, 5 Feb 1996 14:42:01 -0600
From:    J.R. Brimmer III <jrbrimmer@IGCOM.NET>
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.

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Date:    Mon, 5 Feb 1996 16:41:04 EST
From:    Bo Peng <bpeng@LEHMAN.COM>
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...

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Date:    Mon, 5 Feb 1996 17:52:00 EST
From:    Matthew Gaunt <Matthew_Gaunt@VOS.STRATUS.COM>
Subject: What Cats Bring Home <some vulgar language>

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.

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Date:    Mon, 5 Feb 1996 20:17:52 -0500
From:    Chilton <bchilton@SUFFOLK.LIB.NY.US>
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!"

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Date:    Mon, 5 Feb 1996 20:48:05 EST
From:    William Robinson <bill@TDR.COM>
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.

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Date:    Wed, 24 Jan 1996 15:10:03 SYD
From:    Chris McLaren <cmclaren@ENERGY.COM.AU>
Subject: Stoopid Jokes part II <A Bit Crude>

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]

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