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Electronic Humor Magazine.
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Issue026, (Volume VII, Number II). July, 1989
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NutWorks is published semi-monthly-ish by
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Brent C.J. Britton, <brent@maine.bitnet>
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Life: n. a fatal, sexually transmitted disease
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-- someone's sig.
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Contents
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========
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NewsWorks ...................... Points of Interest
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How I Proved the
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Riemann Hypothesis ........... Mathematica
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Lutefisk ....................... Nutrition
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Zero Hero ...................... Advert
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Hamsterology ................... Hamsterology
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Klassik Korner ................. Poetry
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The AI Notebook ................ Report
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Quantum Mechanics
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in the Bath .................. Educational
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Sam's Sham ..................... Joke
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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NewsWorks
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=========
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In all likelihood, this will be the final issue of NutWorks ever
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to be plopped unceremoniously into the mail queues of the two and a half
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thousand or so readers who have put up with it for the last several
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years. There are two reasons for this. First, at the end of the summer
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I will be moving to Cambridge, Massachusetts to begin graduate studies at
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a certain institute of technology, and in doing so I expect to incur
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severe constraints on my leisure time (busier than a one-armed paper
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hanger, you might say (apologies to any O-APH's out there)). As it is,
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this issue is the first I've been able to produce in six months, and even
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though I can scarcely imagine my track record being much worse, attending
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MIT probably wouldn't do much to improve it.
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Second, the importance of edited "magazines" such as this is dim-
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inishing rapidly as more people are gaining access to bulletin boards and
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discussion lists where the communication between readers and writers is
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more conversational. Certainly, there are arguments on both sides, but
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ultimately, I think, the "magazine" format is becoming obsolete as the
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world beats a path, as it were, to a better mousetrap.
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My heartfelt thanks to all the folks who over the years have taken
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the time to contribute articles, administer local NutWorks redistribution
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servers, or send the occasional kind word.
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Back issues, including this one, will continue to be stored on
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listserv@tcsvm.bitnet, but, of course, the subscription list will be
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terminated. I strongly encourage those with material to submit for
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publication in NutWorks to mail them instead to Brad Templeton
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<funny@looking.on.ca>, who moderates the news group rec.humor.funny.
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Peace,
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bcjb
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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How I proved the Riemann Hypothesis
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===================================
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by Jonathan R. Partington <jrp1@phoenix.cambridge.ac.uk>
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The trouble with this modern age is that every few weeks someone goes and
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solves a problem that's been baffling Mathmos for centuries. Sometimes
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it's the Four Colour Problem, sometimes it's Fermat's Last Theorem, some-
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times it's "Why are the Graph Theory books all miscatalogued?" You know
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how it is -- in households the length and breadth of the country, the
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following conversation takes place over breakfast:
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"Well, I've been telling them it would happen for years, but they
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wouldn't believe me... 'It was claimed yesterday that four colours suf-
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fice to colour any map on the plane. Mrs. Thatcher has promised to
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reduce this to three by 1995. In the House of Commons, Mr. Dennis
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Skinner was suspended for saying "Poo-poo."'"
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"Yes, dear. Did they explain how the theorem is proved?"
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"Yes... 'The intimate secrets of Appel and Haken revealed -- Sexy under-
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wear in four colours to be won - see pages 6,7,8,9.' I think the Times
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has gone downhill a bit recently."
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Time was running out and I had to decide quickly: if I wanted to make my
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name, should I prove Goldbach's conjecture, or the Riemann hypothesis?
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After some thought I decided: I'd have serious attempt at cracking the
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Riemann hypothesis, and then, if it came out by lunchtime, I'd do Gold-
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bach over tea.
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The Riemann hypothesis was first formulated when Riemann wrote in the
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margin of a textbook he was reading: "All the nontrivial zeroes of the
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zeta function lie on the line Re s = 1/2. I have found a truly marvellous
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proof of this fact, but I'm certainly not going to write it in the margin
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-- I'll send it to the Cambridge Philosophical Society instead. Anyway,
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the book's due to go back to the library tomorrow." Riemann always
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claimed that his proof was lost in the post, and could never remember the
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details.
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Of course there's not much money in unsolved problems -- after all, I
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could have been earning three times as much if I had been bad at maths,
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and done something to benefit mankind instead, such as buying shares and
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selling them at a profit -- but there's always the spin-offs: Riemann
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hypothesis tee-shirts, Zeta-function soap powder ("Gets to the points
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that other brands cannot reach"). Maybe, even, an appearance on a chat
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show, though I might be able to avoid that. So I got out the pencil and
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paper, scratched my head, stared out of the window, and waited for inspi-
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ration.
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At first things seemed to be going badly -- a good ten minutes passed,
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and I was beginning to think that the Goldbach conjecture looked a bit
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easier. I had even got to the stage of wondering whether there might be
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zeroes which didn't lie on the critical line, and had cautiously looked
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behind the filing cabinet in case there were any there.
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Then there came to me a brilliantly simple idea, so ingenious that a
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child of ten could understand it, but so wide-reaching that the whole of
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mathematics would be instantly revolutionised.
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(To be continued)
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Lutefisk
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========
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by Mr. H. Nareid
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Editor's note: This is Mr. Nareid's second response to Eric Iverson's
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"The Lutheran Party" which appeared in Issue025.
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Mr. Nareid's first response was written in Norwegian.
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I have to apologize for my lateness in supplying a translation of my note
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on the (alleged) nutritional value of lutefisk. One of the main reasons
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for this is of course my shock at discovering that a magazine catering
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specifically for those teetering on the edge of insanity does not have
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anyone on its staff capable of understanding Norwegian. Norwegian is a
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language that is customized for lunatic brinkmanship.
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On the (alleged) nutritional value of lutefisk:
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As all enlightened Norwegians (there's not many, unfortunately) now know,
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lutefisk *is* actually a toxic waste substance which has been devoured by
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unsuspecting innocent Lutherans (ignore the contradiction, please) for
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centuries. Since our revered (I actually managed to keep sarcasm out of
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that adjective -- not easy) prime minister Dr. Med Gro Harlem Brundtland
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is trying to achieve international fame through environmental activism,
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it is particularly embarrasing that thousands of Lutherans at home and
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abroad (particularly in the Seattle area) are tricked into believing that
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a vile toxic waste substance (lutefisk) is fit for human consumption.
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I would like to advise the North American Lutheran Party to remove any
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reference to lutefisk from its political platform (not that it will make
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any difference to its political support).
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Sincerely,
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Mr. H. Nareid
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Zero Hero
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=========
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by the Ukranian Bog Wibble (MG102)
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To his friends Albert Zilch was an ordinary kind of digit -- an all round
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typical numeral whose features added up to nothing. But unbeknown to
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them all, Albert lead a secret existence. For when he so desired he
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could change his entire personality and become... SUPER ZERO!!!
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>>> WHAT'S THAT DIGIT FLYING THROUGH THE SKY???
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>>> IS IT A NINE? IS IT A SIX?
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NO!!! IT'S... SUPER ZERO!!!
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Yes! Super Zero! Able to multiply numbers by 10 by simply sticking
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himself on the end of them! Able to subtly add himself to things without
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anyone noticing! Capable of causing immense hassle to his enemies by
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making them perform divisions with him as divisor!
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****** AT YOUR LOCAL CINEMA NOW!!!! ******
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Coming up next week: Oneder Woman -- demonstrating that the fairer sex
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can also provide their share of useful numbers! "The most attractive
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piece of unity I've ever seen." -- The Times.
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Hamsterology
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============
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by Russell L. McRat
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Notice from the department of Scientific Hamsterology:
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Science has long pondered mysteries of the universe, such as the extent
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and nature of the cosmos, perpetual motion machines, the origins of man-
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kind, how to file taxes, and exactly WHY DO HAMSTERS HAVE CHEEK POUCHES?
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Fortunately, the latter has finally been solved.
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Many psuedointellectual scientists (as they like to call themselves) ina-
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curately concluded that cheek pouches served a need for transporting food
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through the hamsters desert homelands in Syria. These pouches are,
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infact, vestiges of an all-purpose survival apparatii which god, in his
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infinite wisdom, endowed them with.
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There are many purposes for these of which I will explain just a few.
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Few people actually know that hamsters originally swam to America in an
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effort to avoid political and economic oppression. The pouches served in
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a two-fold capacity. Firstly, the rodent could fill its pouches with air
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to stay afloat while sleeping, and secondarily it could store air when
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diving. This feature was named and later mispronounced as SCUBA (origi-
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nally it was SCUPAH -- Small Collapsible Underwater Pouches of Air on
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Hamsters). Upon arriving in the New World they used their pouches to
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smuggle contraband through customs. They have also been known to stuff
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entire families into their mouths to save on bus fare.
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For a brief time, evolution produced green hamsters. These were unique
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in that they could crawl into their own pouches, effectivly disguising
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themselves as tennis balls. Natural selection discovered the error soon
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after the North American Tennis Finals, after which the few surviving
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green hamsters were too sore to reproduce.
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Yet another use includes enlarging their cheeks for purposes of resonance
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which allows them to yodel, an activity they perform when they believe
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that no one is around.
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A final use for the cheeks I will explain is for attacking prey. Ham-
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sters, not usually considered predators, once traveled in packs not
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unlike those of wolves. They first, not unlike wolves, encircle the
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victim. Then, very much unlike wolves, they puff out their cheeks making
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very unusual faces at their prey. This causes laughter, hysteria, shock,
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and ultimately cardiac arrest. The victim is then roasted for all to
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enjoy.
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Klassik Korner
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==============
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Today's selection:
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Excerpt from MOTS D'HEURES: GOUSSES, RAMES
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The d'Antin Manuscript
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1
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Chacun Gille
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2
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Houer ne taupe de hile
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_ 3
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Tot-fait, j'appelle au boiteur
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_ 4 5
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Chaque fele dans un broc, est-ce crosne?
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, _ 6
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Un Gille qu'aime tant berline a fetard.
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1. Gille is a stock character in medieval plays, usually a fool or
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country bumpkin.
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2. While hoeing he uncovers a mole and part of a seed.
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3. "Quickly finished, I call to the limping man that"
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4. Every pitcher has a crack in it. If a philosophy or moral is
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intended, it is very obscure.
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5. "Is it Chinese cabbage?" It is to be assumed that he refers to the
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seed he found.
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6. At any rate he loves a life of pleasure and a carriage.
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submitted by Eric Huret <EAH1@LEHIGH.bitnet>
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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The AI Notebook
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===============
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by Jonathan R. Partington <jrp1@phoenix.cambridge.ac.uk>
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More triumphs in Artificial Intelligence
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by Charles Cabbage
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It is a while since I explained how I managed to give sentience to a can
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of beans and later created "Artificial Wisdom". My most recent project
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has been to design an "Intelligent Terminal" -- some form of microcom-
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puter, or PC, which can not only be used as a terminal to our IBM
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mainframe, but is able to perform useful functions in its own right.
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It is very important to get the level of intelligence just right: in my
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first attempt, I designed a terminal so clever that it caught religion,
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and would refuse to transmit data to the mainframe on the grounds that it
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was too busy praying for my soul. I don't know if it ever discovered
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God's E-MAIL address, because the whole computer centre was later struck
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by lightning and we had this terrible plague of frogs -- Heaven knows
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what message it was trying to send on my behalf.
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I then decided to reduce the genius level a bit, but my Mark II terminal
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turned out to be too stupid. "Transmit data to mainframe, Igor" I would
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tell it, to which it would reply "Uh, what data, Master?" which was a bit
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infuriating after three hours of typing. Apparently its "mind" had been
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wandering and it had been dreaming romantic dreams about the drinks
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machine nearby.
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Evidently I was on the wrong tack. However, while I was washing my socks
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the next day, inspiration struck. Obtaining access to a washing machine,
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I poured three cans of alphabet soup into the top of it, wired it up, and
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pressed the "Wash at 300 baud" button. I sat down in front of the large
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screen and waited. Before my eyes the alphabet soup formed the words
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"WAITING FOR TERMINAL INPUT". But there was the problem -- although the
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terminal had 5 function keys (labelled with mysterious runes such as
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"Slow Spin" and "Rinse Hold") there were no typewriter keys. I would
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therefore have to provide voice input, in the same way as a broken car
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will often run better if shouted at.
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Bravely I opened the lid and shouted in "Log me on to the IBM, edit my
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paper to change every occurrence of the words 'Hilbert Space' into
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'Martha the whistling Tapeworm', correct Theorem 3, print it out, and
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send it to the Bulletin of the London Mathematical Society." The screen
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displayed the words "NO PAPER", so I threw in some old newspapers, three
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odd socks and some soap powder, and waited. Within a few seconds, the
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door burst open and alphabet soup and shredded newspaper flew out into my
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face. However, the socks had disappeared!
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A week later I received an unexpected letter from the London Mathematical
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Society, thanking me for sending them my socks but regretting that owing
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to pressures of space they were unable to publish them. This I account a
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partial success, though clearly more development is necessary.
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Donations to help me continue my researches should be sent to:
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Charles Cabbage,
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Third Washing machine from the right,
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Scrubbosox laundrette,
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Cambridge
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Humanities student to consultant: "My printout is not as dark as it was
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last time... does that mean I didn't
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save it hard enough?"
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Overheard by: John Baschab <JBASCHA1@UA1VM.bitnet>
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Quantum Mechanics in the Bath
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=============================
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Submitted by phydesbonnet@vax1.ucg.ie
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Well hi again kids and welcome to this week's show. Today we'll learn
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how to make a k-meson just like little Johnny did last week even though
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his mommy said he wasn't to be fiddling with asymptotically free parti-
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cles while she was out, but it's ok this week because mummy's here to
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mind us. Now before you start get a scissors, some coloured paper, two
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empty toilet rolls, a tube of glue and of course a high voltage particle
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accelerator. You can get one in your local international nuclear
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|
research institute by holding your mommy, and if you like, your govern-
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ment as well, to ransom just like we showed you in the fourth episode.
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We know a little song about that, don't we?
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(to the tune of Pop goes the Weasel, in A# minor)
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Hold a grenade to your mommy's head
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Phone up the government
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Pull the pin and make the threat
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"Give us a particle accelerator
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Or Pop goes my Mommy"
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I'm not a nuclear terrorist
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I'm really a nice child
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Just because I watch too much Rambo
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I wanna kill lotsa gooks
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Waorrrg kill kill kill tankew
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Fusion, fission it's such fun
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Note the alliteration
|
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|
So if you want some particles
|
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Pop goes your Mommy
|
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Are you ready now children? Take the toilet roll and cut it up into
|
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little strips like so and show it your mommy. She'll be so impressed
|
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|
she'll give you a banana and you can make LSD like we showed you in epi-
|
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|
sode 12. Give it to your Dad (don't forget to charge him now!). Ask him
|
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|
would he please drive his car at high speed into the back of the '56 Mus-
|
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|
|
tang into the trunk of which you put the particle accelerator (this is
|
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|
|
important!) and after sticking a large bullseye of red crepe paper on the
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back (get your mommy to help you cut this out and always remember scis-
|
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|
sors are DANGEROUS), stand well back. Applaud at the shower of lethal
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|
|
alpha-Daddy-particles. Notice their short half-life and watch out for
|
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|
|
the quarks. Collect Daddy in the second toilet roll (bet you thought we
|
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|
|
forgot about that) and present him to Mommy. Collect the life insurance
|
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|
we showed you how to apply for in episode 13.
|
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|
Wasn't that fun!? Nice flash, eh?
|
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|
||
|
|
Tune in next week for another exciting episode of "Quantum Mechanics in
|
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|
|
the Bath" when we'll explore the wonders of genetic engineering. So
|
||
|
|
don't forget to get your little brother, a bottle of household carcino-
|
||
|
|
gens, a large box of generic scalpels (available in the frozen food
|
||
|
|
department of your local store) and a large bullfrog.
|
||
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|
||
|
|
Nathan Quinlan (ah begorrah)
|
||
|
|
Kieran Coughlan (Top o' the mornin)
|
||
|
|
Chris Hardin (Pet Floridan)
|
||
|
|
Deirdre Thornton (token anti-sexist gesture)
|
||
|
|
And here's a mention for Joe Desbonnet,
|
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|
|
without whom this would not be possible.
|
||
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|
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|
|
Footnote:
|
||
|
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|
||
|
|
If any of you smartasses point out that the average particle accelerator
|
||
|
|
is several miles across and thus does not fit in the trunk of a '56 Mus-
|
||
|
|
tang then you're the one who's losing out because it's FUNNY!
|
||
|
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|
||
|
|
All financial gestures of appreciation and non-perishable canned goods to
|
||
|
|
any or all the above-mentioned at U.C.G. (that's University College
|
||
|
|
Galway to those of you not in the know, that is those of you from places
|
||
|
|
other than Galway, Ireland). No twinkies please as they tend to repro-
|
||
|
|
duce on long journeys.
|
||
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|
||
|
|
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Sam's Sham
|
||
|
|
==========
|
||
|
|
Submitted by Michael J. Irvin <IRVINMJ@WSUVM1.bitnet>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
There was a man who fell in love with a beautiful young lady and asked
|
||
|
|
her to marry him. She says "Be serious Sam. You're fat, you're ugly and
|
||
|
|
your wardrobe is atrocious." So Sam loses 80 lbs, gets a facelift, and a
|
||
|
|
hair transplant, joins one of those health clubs and gets tanned and fit.
|
||
|
|
Then he buys an all new up-to-date wardrobe. Now he goes back to the
|
||
|
|
girl and says "Now whaddaya think?" She says "What a hunk!" and agrees
|
||
|
|
to a date. He arrives at her door with a limo. She comes out looking
|
||
|
|
radiant, her eyes aglow with the promise of a never-to-be- forgotten eve-
|
||
|
|
ning. Sam has never been happier in his life.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
As they walk to the limo lightning strikes him. With his dying words he
|
||
|
|
says "Why now God? Why now, on the happiest day of my life?" God looks
|
||
|
|
down and says "Oh. Sorry Sam, didn't recognize you..."
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
||
|
|
Issue026, (Volume VII, Number II). July, 1989
|