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Electronic Humor Magazine.
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Issue017, (Volume IV, Number 3). April, 1987.
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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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To be is to do.
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-- I. Kant
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To do is to be.
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-- A. Sartre
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Yabba-Dabba-Doo!
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-- F. Flinstone
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Contents
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========
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NewsWorks ...................... Points of Interest
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Nuts & Bolts ................... Commentary
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How to Catch
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a White Elephant ............. Nature
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Before IBM ..................... Story
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Excuses ........................ Real Life
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The Book of George ............. Essay
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Dear Dr. Diag .................. Advice
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Three Dates .................... Story
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Bennie ......................... Shaggy Dog
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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NewsWorks
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=========
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- The TCSSERVE file server at TCSVM.BITNET has been terminated in
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favor of the Revised List Processor, ListServ@TCSVM.BITNET. Back
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issues of NutWorks are being stored on ListServ. They can be
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retrieved by sending ListServ the command:
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GET NUTWORKS ISSUExxx
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where "xxx" is a 3-digit issue number. Commands can be sent to
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ListServe via interactive message, or from within MAIL, PUNCH, DISK
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DUMP, and NETDATA format files.
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As always, the six most recent back issues of NutWorks will be
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stored on CSNEWS@MAINE.BITNET, and can be retrieved with the
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message: SENDME NUTWORKS ISSUExxx FROM EMAGS
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- The NutWorks subscription list is also now being maintained by
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ListServ@TCSVM. To subscribe to NutWorks, send this command to
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ListServ:
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SUBscribe NUTWORKS your_full_name
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People who were subscribed to NutWorks as of April 1, 1987 have
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already been added to the NutWorks subscription list on ListServ,
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and so those people need not re-subscribe. To delete yourself
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from the subscription list, send this command to ListServ:
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UNSubscribe NUTWORKS
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Thus, subscription/deletion requests, or requests for back issues
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should no longer be sent to Brent@Maine.
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- The song parody entitled "The Disks of Unix" which appeared in
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in Issue016 (Volume IV, Number 2) was written by Marianne Wolf.
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We neglected to credit Ms. Wolf in the text.
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Nuts & Bolts
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==============
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by Brent C.J. Britton
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If you will indulge me, I must take on a tone of moderate serious-
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ness for just a moment. To wit, NutWorks magazine needs writers. Each
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month, NutWorks contains at least one or two items which are, well, not
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quite original. Sometimes, in fact, we print things which are downright
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vintage humor. We don't *like* to print things which are older than
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Moses' toes, but sometimes, we just *have* to.
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In short, if you write humorous commentaries, essays, jokes, etc.,
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and would like to share your work, let us hear from you!
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Now then, to relax that vulgar seriousness, I just gotta tell you
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that I like computers a whole lot. They make my life easier. I like
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the fact that there's a computer overseeing the internals of my micro-
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wave oven, my stereo, and my television, because there's less chance that
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I can hurt myself with any of these devices. I sleep easier at night
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knowing that when I get up in the morning I won't press the wrong buttons
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on my mircowave oven and cause it to explode or something; the computer
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inside, like all intelligent, self-preserving beings, will prevent me
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from doing so. But, friends, there are just some places where computers
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don't belong.
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I took my car in for a tune-up at the local garage. I won't mention
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the name of the company, but they sell tires and have a blimp. Now
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where I come from, a tune-up consists of new spark plugs, points,
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perhaps a new rotor cap, air and gas filters, and a timing adjustment.
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So I was a bit suprised when I saw... The Interrogator.
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The Interrogator was a large box roughly the size of a IBM 4341 CPU
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sitting on end. It was wheeled close to my car. From my vantage point
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in the lobby of the station I could feel my car -- a small Honda Prelude
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-- shiver with fear. Several mechanics spent many minutes inserting
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the tentacle-like appendages of The Interrogator into every orifice of
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my cowering Honda. Under the hood, up the tailpipe! My poor car.
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Until then, it had been a tailpipe virgin, and I still don't think it
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has gotten over the trauma of that tune-up to this day.
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Once all the tentacles were firmly inserted, The Interrogator was
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fired up. With a voice eerily reminiscent of Darth Vader, it said, yes
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I mean SAID: "Start the engine." The mechanics obeyed.
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For the next 15 minutes the computer inside The Interrogator examined
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my car. The mechanics stood close by, having coffee. In the lobby,
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I paced nervously.
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Finally, to my relief, the tentacles were removed. The Interrogator
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produced a written report of everything it thought was wrong with my
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car, and the mechanics sprang into action fixing all those things. As
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The Interrogator was being wheeled away, I heard it say in that evil,
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deep voice: "We shall meet again, young Honda."
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The entire situation was quite disconcerting for me and my car, so
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we're going to steer clear of Darth Vader and the blimp people from now
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on.
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But without computers, you probably wouldn't be reading this, so
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I guess I still like them quite a bit. I just hope my microwave oven
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isn't really a stormtrooper in disguise...
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bcjb
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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How to Catch a White Elephant
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=============================
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Submitted By Niels Kristian Jensen
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<C838216 AT NEUVM1>
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Go to an place where there are white elephants. Bring with you a
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muffin (with raisins). Climb a tree. When the white elephant is close,
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drop the muffin (with raisins) in front of it. The white elephant will
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be happy, and eat the muffin (with raisins). White elephants like
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muffins (with raisins). Repeat this procedure for five days in a row.
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After the fifth day, the white elephant will be used to its daily muffin
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(with rasins). The sixth day you climb the tree, bring with you a muffin
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without rasins. Drop the muffin as usual. When the white elephant finds
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out that the muffin lacks rasins, it will darken in anger.
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And then you catch it the same way as an ordinary grey elephant.
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Before IBM
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==========
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by Adept
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Before IBM, The Head Programmer created the heavens (the area above
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your computer) and the earth (the area below your computer). The earth
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was a mass without order... sort of like a Pascal program.
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Then, The Head Programmer (hereafter referred to as THP) said, 'Let
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there be IBM.' And, IBM, as an infant company, appeared. And THP was
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pleased with it, and gave IBM great powers. THP let IBM grow for a
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time, and then other companies began to appear. Together, they created
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the first computer market. All of these events happened in the first
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decade.
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And THP said, 'Let IBM separate to form the mainframe division above
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and the microcomputer division below.' So THP made the mainframe divi-
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sion, separating the company to form another division. These events
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occurred in the second decade.
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Then THP said, 'Let the microcomputer division be infiltrated, so
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that IBM cannot be accused of being a monopoly.' And so, it happened.
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Then THP called the IBM micro a PC, and called the others' micros
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"compatibles". And he said, 'Let the earth burst forth with every
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sort of microcomputer and 'compatible', and allow those computers to
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be copied, so that the market is open'. And so it was, and THP was
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pleased. This all occurred in the third decade.
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Then THP said, 'Let there be operating systems with the computers
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to give life to the computer and to identify the Mainframe division
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and the Micro division. They will allow the users to use the computer,
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and the version number shall mark the days and the years. And so it
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was. For THP made two systems, the VM system, and DOS, to be used by
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the divisions, the larger one, VM, to preside over the Mainframe divi-
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sion, and the smaller one, the DOS, to preside over the Micro division.
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And THP gave them to IBM, to provide life to the computer, and to pre-
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side over the Mainframe and Micro divisions, and to divide the two
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divisions. And THP was pleased. This all happened in the fourth decade.
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Then THP said, 'Let the earth teem with applications programs, and
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all other types of programs, of every kind.' So THP created great
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programming languages, and every sort of applications programs, and
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every kind of game. And THP looked upon them with pleasure, and gave
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each a copyright. 'Multiply and stock the earth,' he told them, and
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to the games he said, 'Let your types grow. Be known throughout the
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the world!' That ended the fifth decade.
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Then THP said, 'Let the world bring forth every kind of peripheral,
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monitors and disk drives, printers, and all types of add-ons.' And so
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it was. THP made all sorts of printers and disk drives and mouses.
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And THP was pleased with what he had done.
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Then THP said, 'Let us make a programmer - someone like ourselves,
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to be the master of all computers upon the earth and in the skies and
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in the seas.'
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So THP instructed a man to be a programmer.
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Like THP did THP instruct the man.
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Male and Female, did he instruct alike.
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And THP graduated them and told them, 'Multiply and produce code, and
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subdue all computers; you are the masters of all the software and all
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the peripherals. And see! I have given you the IBM computers through-
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out the world, and all the compatibles.' Then THP looked over all that
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he had made, and it was superb in every aspect. This ended the sixth
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decade.
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Now at last, IBM was a thriving company, and with all the programs
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and programmers it would need. So in the seventh decade, THP halted
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all work that he had been doing, and THP called this a system crash,
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and decreed that all computers would experience this. Thus endeth
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the seventh decade.
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Later, man learned to hack, but that's another story....
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Excuses
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=======
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Submitted by <NSK2899@TAMSIGMA>
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(The following are actual notes written to school teachers by
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emphatic parents. There are no typos.)
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1). "My son is under the doctor's care and should not take P.E. today.
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Please execute him."
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2). "Please excuse Mary for being absent.
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She was sick and I had her shot."
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3). "Please excuse Fred for being. It was his father's fault."
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4). "Please ackuse Fred being absent on Jan. 28, 29, 30, 31, 32 and 33."
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5. "Mary could not come to school today because she was bothered by
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very close veins."
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6). "Mary was absent from school yesterday as she was having a gangover."
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7). "Please excuse Mary from Jim yesterday. She was administrating."
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8). "Please excuse Fred for being absent. He had a cold and could not
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breed well."
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9). "Please excuse Mary. She has been sick and under the doctor."
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10). "Please excuse Mary from being absent yesterday. She was in bed
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with gramps."
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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The Book of George
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==================
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copyright 1985 by Edward Murphy
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This whole thing is extremely weird. I mean, how many people could
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actually live the life that I do and stay completely and utterly
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sane? Answer: NOBODY! I guess that you could say that I am about as
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loony as they come. Really. At least that's what I tell myself. But
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the strange thing is that myself agrees with me. Of course, his
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opinion was never very good, even when I was in that twinkie mining
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accident on Regulus-5 (a nonchalant little star system on the outer
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edge of the Milky Way, but I digress.) Looking back on the nineteen
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years, six months, and some odd days that I, as a piece of primordial
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plasma, have existed, I see the one sole purpose of my meager exis-
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tence. To own a chicken ranch outside of Salt Lake City, Utah, and, as
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a side business, to rent U-haul trailers to passing motorists.
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This is the end of Part I of my multifaceted expose into
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the life and times of an aesthetic wacko.
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----------
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It's sort of funny the way things happen. One minute you're
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floating on air, the next you're hit by a glob of chocolate pudding and
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sent hurtling on a collision course with destiny. That's the way I
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feel about certain things. Life is basically an avocado, no, wait,
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actually it's more like a kiwi fruit, you know, sort of oblong, with a
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furry outside and all green, and mushy inside. OK, OK, so maybe it's
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not the best analogy in the world, but for a guy who's popped his
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gourd, I think it shows a certain amount of talent. You know (that is
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"sabes" in Spanish), I've been thinking. Is existence temporal? Does
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"I THINK THEREFORE I AM" imply "I THOUGHT THEREFORE I HAVE BEEN" or "I
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WILL THINK THEREFORE I WILL BE"? Maybe the former, but probably not
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the latter, although I don't know.
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Look! It's a brick!
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Here ends Part II of a journey through the
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imaginative paths of a gaggle-snorp grandmaster.
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----------
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I tried Reality once, but was lucky enough to find out that it was
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highly addictive in time. After that little nasty incident, it has
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been one cascading, highly imaginative adventure after the other. As I
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spiral into the deep catacombs of man's destiny and get closer to the
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meaning of it all I realize that we are all only dreaming of an unat-
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tainable Utopia. Wow! Now you tell me that isn't the most incredibly
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profound thing that you've read in quite a while. Go ahead tell me.
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I'll wait while you do. *WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*
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*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*
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*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT*WAIT* Thank you. My lifetime can be compared to a
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Styrofoam box. Well, actually, it can't really be compared to a
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Styrofoam box as they are two absolutely completely different concepts
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altogether.
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Thusly does Part III take us along the never ending look at
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man's destiny where grapefruit is concerned.
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----------
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You ever wonder what it would be like to be a rock? Just sitting
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there, all day, watching people go by and being stepped on (even
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though stepping on a rock probably doesn't hurt the rock physically,
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the psychological turmoil must be tremendous.) Can you see a rock, a
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chunk of ole' Mom Earth, on a psychiatrist's couch with a list of neu-
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rosis longer than my arm? And I think that I need not even get into
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the erosion complex. But, these ideas are for better men than I to
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consider, and rightly so because right now I am trying to get through
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school so that I can become one of those better men who haven't any-
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thing better to do than think of strange and sundry items with which
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to perplex the bipedal, sentient creatures that we have all come to
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call Mom, Dad, Uncle Eugene, or what have you. A guru once told me,
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"Your life is a peanut, sometimes boiled, sometimes crunchy, sometimes
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salty, sometimes low sodium, but it is still just a peanut". And to my
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dying day I will always think that the guru was a bit wacky.
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Ending thus does Part IV of this incredibly frood trip into
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that ameba shaped substance know as creativity.
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----------
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I spy with my little eye something that begins with the letter "C".
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It is a kind of difficult to play when I'm inside here and you're out-
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side there. I bet that you often wonder just what it's like to be a
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story. It's true that I was created simply through the mental pro-
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cesses of a creature more or less like yourself, but the spark of the
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creation that inspired me has left and I have taken on a new persona.
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There is of course one thing wrong. No matter how many times you read
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me, I'll always say the same thing. It is a bummer, and it puts the
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pressure on you to get something different out of me each time. Hey!
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I just had a great idea. Look around you and write down what you see
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and think about it. Then when you read me again try and be somewhere
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different. Wow, I think that is a novel idea in writing (pun very
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much intended.) Every different situation will produce a new set of
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ideas. This is wonderful. I am sure that every God-fearing American
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will sleep better tonight knowing that one of the problems of the uni-
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verse has gone wherever problems of the universe go when they have
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been put to rest.
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Part V of this expedition, that could very well be called the Book
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of George, ends here. Or here. Or maybe here...(ad infinitum)
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Dear Dr. Diag:
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=============
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Note: Dr. Diag will attempt to answer questions on any subject, if he
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can. If he can't, he'll make you feel stupid for asking. Send
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your questions to "Dr. Diag" c/o Brent@Maine.BITNET.
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> Dear Dr. Diag,
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> I've heard rumors of an Order (N ** 1/2) sorting algorithm.
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> Is there any validity to this claim, and if so, how is it
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> done?
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> Sincerely, 'Mr. Get It Done Yesterday'
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Dear Mr. Yesterday,
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For our non-computer users' sakes, a sorting algorithm is a device
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which, when applied to "n" things, sorts them alphabetically, or
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numerically, or by hair color or inseam length. The "order" of a par-
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ticluar sorting algorithm is a measure of its speed. For instance,
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an order n-to-the-power-of-2 algorithm takes n*n iterations to put n
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things in sorted order.
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I think a brief history of sorting algorithms is in... um... order.
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I'll start at the beginning.
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Cavemen weren't too concerned about sorting things. They kept them-
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selves busy inventing fire, and the wheel, and sex in the missionary
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position, and just generally evolving the hell out of the dinosaurs, and
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so they had plenty of things to occupy their time without worrying about
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sorting algorithms.
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Things went along smoothly like this for many millions of years,
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(well maybe it was more like thousands of years... it was a few decades
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anyway), until one day the computer was invented. This paved the way
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for the development of a few really sharp sorting algorithms. Let's
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examine a few.
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Bubble Sort - Very silly. The only people who use Bubble sorts
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are first-year Pascal programmers who don't know
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better. Unfortunately, programmers who leave college
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after the first year go away thinking the bubble sort
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is a pretty neat idea. Litigation is pending between
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the Gold Seal Company Inc., (makers of Mister Bubble
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bath soap), and the Assocation of Computing Machines
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for theft of trademark.
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Selection Sort - Used by the Selective Service during wartime to
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determine which strapping young college students
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will become combat soldiers, and which redneck
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tobacco chewers will become generals.
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Insertion Sort - Involves the insertion of an object into a place
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where it fits easily. Most normal college students
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use this algorithm daily.
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Radix Sort - This sort belongs to Ray Dick. It is Ray Dick's sort.
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QuikSort - Supposedly the "best" of the sorts, but not even the
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mighty Quiksort runs on the order of n**1/2.
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No my friend, there is no sorting algorithm which runs on the order
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of n**1/2. It is as illusive as Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, or an 'A'
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in Economics. But if you see it in the sun, it is true.
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Three Dates
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===========
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by DACEE@UNO.BITNET
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There was this old neighbor of mine -- no names are mentioned to
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protect the innocent -- who had three daughters.
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Well, this one Saturday night they all just happened to have dates.
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My neighbor, their father, like any other Saturday night was in the
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living room watching the LSU football game on the big screen tele-
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vision. As expected, around 9:30 one of the dates showed up, so
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the old man got up and went to answer the door for his daughters,
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(you know how women are always late.) So the old man answered the
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door and the young man outside politely introduced himself:
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"Hello, my name is Eddie.
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I am here to pick up Debbie.
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We're going out to eat sphagetti.
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Is she ready?"
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Well the old man said, "Yeah, she's ready."
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"Cute," he said to himself.
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Five or six minutes later the second date showed up. The man had to
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answer the door once again. The second date introduced himself to
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the father saying:
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"Hello, my name is Joe.
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I am here to pick up Flo.
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We are going to the show.
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Can she go?"
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"Yeah, she can go!" the old man replied.
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"What, are they all gonna rhyme tonight?" he said to himself.
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Finally, 15 minutes later the last date showed up, and for the last
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time the old man got up and answered the door. The date, like all
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the others, introduced himself saying:
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"Hello, my name is Chuck...
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Chuck died quickly.
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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The First Fantastic Flop of Sir Galliwag M.D.
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(Doctor of the Multiverse)
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=============================================
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by (beef) Chow (mein), Rob Woiccak (TNETG1FN@CLVM)
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One day while I, the great Doctor Sir Galliwag, was out romping in
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the multiverse, I stopped to visit the home of my good friend: the
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Sheikh Ali-Wa Benn. Much to my distress, I found the palace in a
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ruckess. I soon learned from the palace chamberlain, Deskial Hmabi,
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|
that the Sheikh had disappeared. At this, I began an investigation to
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|
determine the Sheikh's whereabouts. The chamberlain gave me Benn's
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agenda for the day. First a breakfast and then a shave. Following that
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|
was a luncheon where he had failed to appear. Suddenly, I had an idea!
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I ran to the vestibule where I had seen a new pot that confirmed my
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|
notion. Calling Deskial into the room, I proceeded to find the Shiekh
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|
in the large vase. Flabbergasted, he asked "How...what...?"
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"Simple," I replied, "a Bennie shaved is a Bennie urned."
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Issue017, (Volume IV, Number 3). April, 1987.
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