An Odd Day Golfing

Caleb Dillon and I played golf today.

It sounds normal enough just saying it like that but believe me, this day was peculiar… very peculiar.

It started off well as we were able to get reduced-priced tee times from an online source which made me extremely happy as we were able get in for less than half the normal fees.  This reduced price included both a cart AND a bucket of range balls… not too shabby by anyone’s standards.  I did have some trepidation over bringing only a printed confirmation sheet into a pro shop that I had not even called to confirm my reservation but my fears were soon relieved when the young man behind the counter eagerly snatched the sheet, tucked it under the desk, handed me a bucket of balls and told me I was ready to go.

My head swirling, I made my way to the range and hit a few balls while waiting for Caleb to show.  I swatted my share and then lounged around the cart biding my time until suddenly, like a bolt of lightening on a clear day, I heard a shout and there was Caleb, bag on shoulder, ready for battle.

He quickly loaded his clubs on the cart and proceeded to the mat to get in some swings before our rapidly approaching tee time.  I also grabbed a few clubs and hurried down the range to some abandoned range balls I had been eyeing.  I had hit several when behind me I heard a very loud swish, a grunt and a muffled scream.  I turned and saw Caleb holding his neck with both a puzzled and pained expression on his face and seeing me looking, he said, “I… I think I just hurt myself.”

I laughed uproariously at his little joke but sobered quickly when I found that he was serious.  Apparently he had taken an aggressive swing, missed the ball completely and given himself severe whiplash.  He was hurt badly enough to make him think he might have to visit the urgent care but being the strong, determined man that he is, he decided to push on and attempt to play anyway.

We approached the first tee, waited while a bearded goon and a toothy-grinned goof teed off and then followed suite.  We smote smartly and away we went.

The first hole was uneventful but the second was a beauty, well… before the putting anyway.  All modesty being set aside momentarily allow me to say that while I performed passably on the drive my second shot, a 150 yard 7-iron shot from the fairway was nearly miraculous.  It landed mere yards in front of the green, gave a pretty little bounce and rolled neatly up past the fringe.  I WAS ON IN TWO!

I plan on eventually writing a book called “From Birdie to Bogie” and wrote the first chapter on that hole.  I beautifully 3-putted, grimaced, and moved on.

My irons were in rare form and almost weren’t terrible.  In fact, I hit the fourth green (a 3-par) on my first shot which I believe I had only done once before and it could have easily be blamed on the wind then.  My driving, however, was fair at best and was only exciting and worthy of note when I connected well and true on hole five and only divine providence saved the lives of the goon and goof in front of me.  My ball landed just behind them and rolled past their quivering and no doubt, livid forms amongst the strangled cries of “OH NO!” and “FORE” which rang out from both mine and Caleb’s throats.

The seventh hole was my crowning glory.  In fact, it is perhaps the only thing I did worth crowing about.  On this hole, a longish 5-par, my drive was quite nice landing nicely out into the fairway but my second shot, if I may be so bold, was fabulous.  I flailed mightily and connected squarely.  My ball flew straight and true and ended up about FIVE FEET FROM THE GREEN!

I chipped within six feet of the flag and nailed my first putt FOR A BIRDIE! Yes, a birdie.  Unbelievable.

I finished the front nine with a (for me) sparkling 46! My hopes were high.  Could I possible replicate that performance on the back nine and post a 92?  Doubtful.

We hurried to the tenth tee and found to our consternation that the twosome in front of us were just now making their way onto the tee box.  Apparently they had stopped for refreshment which put us uncomfortably on their heels.

While we were waiting, a cart pulled up behind ours but oddly enough it did not contain any of the  group behind us, rather it held two unassuming young men named Garret and John who had apparently either skipped holes to be there or were just playing the back nine.  We gave casual greetings and were about to tee off when they uttered some chilling words… “Do you mind if we join you?”

Now if you have golfed for any length of time you have probably grown to hate these words.  They are terrifying, fear-inducing words.  “Why?” the uninitiated might ask.  Allow me to clue you in.

It is VERY rare to have someone join your group at random who plays at the same skill level as yourself.  They are typically either MUCH better than you or MUCH worse than you (this latter possibility rarely presents itself to me).  Either way it throws you off your game, it makes you press, it makes you a wreck.  It did all of these things to us.

It would have been bad enough had the people joining us been normal, but contrary to our initial impression they were FAR from normal.  I soon dubbed Garret, “Garret the Foul” as the adjective so perfectly suited both his golfing and his limited vocabulary.  The first time he teed off, he hit the ball sideways, a screaming shot that nearly cut the feet out from under me despite that fact that I was nowhere near the target area… I was almost behind him.  The ball ended up in the parking lot.

He did this two more times with the only difference being that I was hiding behind a tree.  He finally was instructed by John who had to yell to break through the unbroken stream of profanity to just pick up his ball and drop it next to his.  Garret agree albeit grudgingly.

In the first two holes that we played with him, Garret the Foul lost seven balls, cursing the while and constantly remonstrating that he never normally played badly and typically birdies every other hole.  (The last part he didn’t actually say but was very clearly implied.)

John’s peculiarity did not make itself known until the next hole.  The occasion was his topping a ball, something which might cause a typical golfer to grit his teeth in frustration or even emit a slight grunt of disapproval… not so John.  From his inner being emitted a growl which turned into a yell and then a scream.  He raised his club high above his head while howling and then hurled his club skyward.  This demonstration caused Caleb and myself to raise an eyebrow.

The next hole was even more dramatic after John attempted to chip over a sand trap and landed squarely in it.  This caused great emotion in John.  He repeatedly beat the offending sand with his pitching wedge while attempting to mimic the familiar refrains of Garret, namely the four-letter ones.  This prompted Caleb to name him “John the Criminally Insane”.

Later on, having missed a putt, he hurled the ball which had treated him so duplicitously into the unknown while he screamed “I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!”.  

Needless to say, our games faltered.  It is difficult to concentrate on one’s swing when in the background there are sounds of trees being chopped by 3-woods or an endless stream of epithets ever-increasing in volume and violence.

By the fifteenth hole Caleb could take no more.  Between his twisted neck and the troubled twosome he elected that discretion was indeed the better part of valor.  I took him to his car and upon returning to the course did NOT attempt to rejoin my group.  Instead, I elected to replay the fifteenth hole and continue thereafter solo.

I quickly bogied and sat a discreet distance behind the guys on sixteen that were teeing off.  These two fellows happened to be the ones who we formerly behind us when we were with the terrible two.  From a distance I had watched them and had been greatly impressed by their abilities.  Every time I had glanced at a green behind me which I had recently triple-bogied, it contained a ball, usually gently nestled near the hole.  They seldom missed, were always hitting the ball incredible distances off the tee and seemed to spend the majority of their time waiting for us to get out of their way.  It was unnerving.

While I sat waiting, they waved at me and casually asked if I would like to play with them.  I replied with a definite no, assuring them that I had witnessed their play and was nowhere near their class.  Undeterred they unthinkingly waived off my refusal and said, “We’re just waiting on these bozos ahead of us like we have been all day.  You won’t slow us down any.”  Little did they know that they were about to play with one of the bozos they had been so frustrated with earlier in the day. The group in front of us was Garret and John who had just partnered up with a new set of victims… the bearded goon and the toothy-grinned goof referred to at the beginning of this narrative.

With much anxiety I approached the tee, war club in hand.  My anxiety increased ten-fold as I glanced at the color of the tee.  They were playing from the intimidating BLUE tees and were STILL hitting much farther into the fairway than I ever have from white.  Having seen both of them hit their shots approaching three-hundred yards I knew that even my best efforts would look silly.  I, however, gave them a glimpse of my worst.

My knees knocking, I slowly drew back and struck the ball very, very hard… straight into the trunk of a tree standing far to the left and a mere 30 feet away.  The only thing that preserved the life of the gentlemen I was with was the absorbency of the tree’s bark. The sound created could almost be felt as well as heard.

To add insult to injury, and this is NOT foolish jesting, the ball bounced back toward us along the cart path and gracefully landed in a nearby trash can.  This really did happen.  A trash can.  It didn’t help when I heard behind me (because I refused to look around at their no-doubt grinning faces) a dry voice say, “perfect shot… made it right in.”  Dave, the more rotund of the two, then plucked out the offending sphere and tossed it back to me.

My next shot wasn’t much better as by then I was a complete frazzled mess scarcely able to stay erect let alone execute a perfect swing.

Dave and Bill (Bill was the more sarcastic, taller of the two) were mere dots on the horizon standing where their balls had landed as I looked toward the green.  It took me two more shots before I reached them.

It was on the eighteenth hole that I realized that Bill was a jerk.  Until then he had treated me well, much like a father treats a retarded son and even on this hole he was polite… to me.  It was to the people behind him who were of another race than he that he spoke of in rather impolite terminology.  Speaking rather braggadociously, he kept remarking that there was no way they could possibly reach him as he had hit it so tremendously long… unfortunately, there was no contradicting him as he was correct in his assessment.

I watched this man hit the fringe of the eighteenth green in two shots, 520 yards from the blue tees.  Utterly astonished, I heard him remark to his partner that if he could just par this hole he would have an easy sixty-nine.  As I was scratching down my own 98, I regarded him with awe but without amusement.  The fact that I had played the last three holes from the blue tees didn’t help me ego any.

My one claim to fame while playing with these monsters was the fact that on the last hole I actually out-drove Dave and was within 10 yards of Bill’s.  And if you will, please humor me while I do some math.  The 18^th hole is 524 yards long.  The blue stake is 200 yards from the green.  So if you were to hit it to the blue stake, assuming that all of the givens are correct then you would have hit the ball 324 yards, right?  Well… I actually hit the ball with 10 yards of that blue stake. REALLY!  I even took a picture of it to give me credibility (as if the picture actually means something).  The rest of the hole was painful and will not be related here.

And thusly ended another fabulous but rather odd day of golf.  The whiplash, the violence, the chagrin… all these helped make this day memorable.  My love-hate relationship with golf continues.  On this outing, I loved the first nine holes and hated the last.  Next time, no doubt, it will change.  Will I ever prevail?  Will I ever be able to mock those behind me secure in the knowledge that whoever they may be their skills could never match mine?  Perhaps… but not in the foreseeable future.

How To Determine If You Are A Worthless Dirtbag

1. Pat-check yourself.  If you are found to be carrying a blue ball-point pen, continue to step two. (This also applies if you have carried said item on your person in the past, say on Monday, April 28^th, 2008).
2. Retrace your steps.  If you have been in or around north Rialto in the past, say on Monday, April 28^th, 2008, continue to step three.
3. If you know how to graffiti or are knowledgeable about “tagging” of any kind, continue to step four.
4. If you know exactly where my house is located continue to step five (it’s the one with the cruddy-looking boat in the driveway… you can’t miss it).
5. If on a day in the past, say Monday, April 28^th, you stepped past the cruddy-looking boat up to my door located in north Rialto and took your blue ball-point pen in hand and practiced YOUR TAGGING SKILLS ON MY DOORJAM, CONGRATULATIONS, YOU ARE A WORTHLESS DIRTBAG!

If the previous qualifications do not pertain to you, thank you for being human. If you would like to ingratiate yourself with me please shoot all dirtbags on sight (the term dirtbags no longer being ambiguous).

P.S. What kind of loser tags with a ball-point pen anyway? What happened to good old-fashioned spray paint?

How to Disable the Modem Speaker

Hardware Solution
Open the modem with a screwdriver or can opener. Cut one wire going to the loudspeaker. Reassemble modem with remaining screws or duct tape (whichever is more convenient).

Software Solution 
Read the printed manual and select several pages of technobabble to sacrifice. Rip out these pages and shove into the modem speaker. Wrap with duct tape.

Hacker Solution
Find ice pick. Stab speaker until dead. Note: This may void your warranty.

MSDOS/Windoze Solution
It's a feature, not a bug. The noise is there for your own good. We know what's good for you. This feature will be fixed in the next release.

Apple/Macintosh Solution
If it should be fixed, we will fix it. You don't need to how or why. Now just relax, that's good, now all together, "oooohhhhmmm, oooohhhhmmm"

Kid's Solution
Position modem with speaker facing upward. Pour pancake syrup into speaker. This will greatly reduce the high frequency response of the speaker thus attenuating the sound.

Environmental Group Solution
Call the modem manufacturer and demand that they supply you with a modem that defaults with the speaker turned off. If they refuse, sue them for noise pollution.

Dealer Solution
What you need is the new Fire-Belcher 2000 whiz bang modem with the built in speaker phone and voice command recognition. Just yell at the modem and the speaker will turn off.

'nuther Way o' Sayin' it

Scintillate, scintillate asteroid minific
Translation: Twinkle, twinkle little star

Members of an avian species of identical plumage congregate ensemble
Translation: Birds of a feather flock together

Surveillance should precede saltation
Translation: Look before you leap

Pulchritude possesses solely cutaneous profundity
Translation: Beauty is only skin deep

It is fruitless to become lachrymose over precipitously departed lacteal fluid
Translation: Don't cry over spilled milk

Freedom from encrustation of grime is contiguous to rectitude
Translation: Cleanliness is next to godliness

The stylus is more potent than the claymore
Translation: The pen is mightier than the sword

It is fruitless to attempt to indoctrinate a superannuated canine with innovative maneuvers
Translation: You can't teach an old dog new tricks

The temperature of the aqueous content of an unremittingly ogled saucepan does not reach 212 degrees Fahrenheit
Translation: A watched pot does not boil

All articles that coruscate with resplendence are not truly auriferous
Translation: All that glitters is not gold

Where there are visible vapors having provenance in ignited carbonaceous materials, there is conflagration
Translation: Where there's smoke there's fire

A plethora of individuals with expertise in culinary techniques vitiate the potable concoction produced by steeping certain comestibles
Translation: Too many cooks spoil the broth

Eleemosynary deeds have their incipience intramurally
Translation: Charity begins at home

Male cadavers are incapable of yielding any testimony
Translation: Dead men tell no tales

Individuals who make their abode in vitreous edifices would be advised to refrain from catapulting petrous projectiles
Translation: People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones

Working With Dave

By: Phillip W. Booker

Employment of any variety no longer holds for me the trepidation that it once had. I used to have apprehensions as to what manner of coworkers or boss I would be inflicted with but I now feel "bulletproof". I have been through a veritable holocaust of employment and have lived to tell about it. I am no longer afraid. I can hold my head high and with confidence.

The first clue as to what was in store for me should have been the manner in which I received my interview. Pressured by family and my upcoming nuptials (yes, I was engaged to be married and did not have a job or even the prospect of one, but that is another story for another day) I did what every red-blooded unemployed American male does… I called every local business in the yellow pages which however vaugely would allow me to follow my chosen career path. Since I hoped to work with computers in some way, I began at the A's in that section and began working my way down (this is, incidentally, why I named my current business Advanced Computer Services). Eventually, I came to Riverside Community Computing, dialed and gave my much rehearsed spiel. I was nonplused when shortly into my dialogue I was rudely cut off and told that, yes they were hiring and that if I ever expected to begin work that I needed to come in for an interview. Little did I know that RCC was ALWAYS hiring as there was always someone quitting or being fired.

I made my unsuspecting way to Riverside and entered. I was met by two things which were equally bewildering. The first, the store itself, was at once amazing and bizarre. It was liberally bestrewn with antiquated computer equipment, manufacture's banners and stickers and a hodgepodge of wholly unidentifiable objects. The second thing that caught my eye was the man behind the counter. He was very, very tall… five foot eighteen inches as he repeatedly pointed out, had very long bright red hair and a flaming mustache which he stroked when angry (seldom was the said appendage without attention). His name was David Schoffenhagen and his personality far surpassed his name in peculiarity. I soon found out that he was certified genius and was one semester away from getting his PHD in physics when he quit because he was bored.

I attempted to introduce myself but was rebuffed. He very pointedly ignored me for ten minutes (the exact amount of time that I was early) and then the interview began. Did I mention that interviews no longer scare me?

He first questioned me about Ohms law and when I stammered that I really didn't know much about politics, he turned bright red and began to harangue the state of computer technicians that thought they could fix computers without familiarity with such rudimentary knowledge. The interview went downhill from there.

Naturally I thought that my chances of being hired were poor at best and could only wonder at the quality of technicians that he must currently employ. Therefore I was greatly surprised when at the end of the longest twenty minutes of my life he asked if I could start the following Monday. I falteringly agreed though with much trepidation.

Thus began my character and grace-building. For the next three years I was put through a fire and brimstones of firewire and backplanes, a torment of technology and an chaos of customer relations (or the lack thereof). I suffered things which when remembered still cause the well of self pity to burble.

I am going to try to relate some of what occurred but will doubtless fall short of communicating the true horror of it all. You quite simply "had to be there" as my younger brother was soon to be. Seeing is truly believing.

Dave had a fondness for the English language or at least a fondness for correcting the English of other and had little or no patience for people who did not respond properly to questioning. He would ask something like, "Where is the hard drive we are recovering data from?" I would respond, "I don't know." This would prompt a cold, hard stare and then he would quietly state, "Nevertheless I asked." I would then scurry about looking desperately for the said item. Or he would say, "Where is the hard drive we are recovering data from?" and I would say, "I haven't seen it." Another cold stare and then, "Let me rephrase my question. Have you seen the hard drive?" and my soul would shrivel just a little more. He also had a very strong attachment to the word "just". If you were to say, "I am just going to lunch." He would say, "Do you mean "just" as in liberty and justice for all or are you misusing ANOTHER word?"  (I never did quite understand his meaning, but neither did I question it). Another peculiarity was whenever I over exaggerated (seldom to be sure) such as to say, "None of these computers are ever going to be picked up." He would say that I was making a globalizing generalization from an existential instantiation. Apparently that is a very bad thing.

He was quite proud of the fact that he had a VERY high employee turn over rate. In the three years I worked there (I believe I set a record for endurance) there were over sixty employees. This is astonishing but even more so when you realize that this was only a six man company at its peak. The novel ways in which the employees would quit was interesting too. Like the man, Ron Knotts, who in the middle of being berated for some dastardly deed, supposedly got a phone call that his house was burning down and left never to be seen again. Or the one-day-wonders, such as Meredith or Mike who came in, worked a full day and vanished as if they had never been. Or the two young men, Brandon and Paul who quit several times but kept being persuaded to return by Dave (Dave once remarked to me that he was hiring them back solely for the pleasure of firing them).

What I found to be truly admirable was Dave’s unflagging efforts to be rude to every one. He was not a respecter of persons in this one regard; he was just as rude to customers as he was to his employees. I remember many a time a timid consumer approaching him with the ridiculous idea of asking him a question or worse yet, a price (he seldom priced anything but was annoyed when asked). They would stammer out something like, "Do you think it is a good idea for me to get a computer?" The stare would commence and after a pregnant pause he would say, "That is the stupidest question I have heard today... Phillip! Can you come and answer a stupid question?" Seldom was it that the customer stayed around long enough for me to talk to them. Once they stormed out, Dave would remark somewhat self-righteously, "I refuse to have a stupid customer" and would go to his office to sulk. On the infrequent occasion that I was feeling brave enough to beard the lion in his den, I would go into his office and try to subtly address the idea that stupid customers have money to spend also and might even be prone to spend more freely than intelligent ones and that… at this point I was usually interrupted and wished I had never bothered.

He rarely defended his employees, in fact, he occasionally went on the offensive against them on the behalf of a customer (less for the customer's sake than for his own pleasure). A customer once dropped off a computer to be worked on and as we were very busy, we were not able to complete it by the agreed on date. The customer called, Dave answered and transferred the call to me. As I picked up the extension, Dave came over and glared menacingly at me. I told the customer that we were not quite done with his computer yet, which was true enough under the circumstances and though Dave was a consummate liar and deceiver in his own right he immediately snatched the phone from me and told the customer that I was a liar. "He is lying to you," he said, "he has not even started on it and doesn't intend to today. In fact, it probably won't be finished for several days". It was at this point I believe, that I fainted dead away. Another time, contrarily, a Russian lady from the university was screaming at me in a torrid mixture of languages and being very vindictive when Dave (apparently upset that someone else would be rude in his store) strode up behind me and I found myself between two gladiators joined in what soon became one of the most lively spectacles I have ever had the displeasure of witnessing.

Dave could be so rude on the phone that when I would go on service calls it was rare that I wasn't asked who the jerk was answering the phone. When I told them it was the owner of the company, they would usually swallow hard and say that if it wasn't for his employees they would be using someone else.

I once overheard a conversation that went like this. Dave: "Hello." Customer, "Hello." A long long long pause and finally the customer said, "I believe this is where you are supposed to say something." Dave offended, hung up.

Dave may have been the weirdest person working at RCC but he was definitely not alone in his eccentricity. There was Tim Popejoy, a middle-aged thief who rarely left the bathroom, Henry, the very aged man was stammered a lot, worked hard and was fired because of his race, Nathan the bulbous-nosed drunk and pervert, Chad the argumentative and punctually challenged, the aforementioned Ron of the burning home, etc. etc.

Midway through my second year the incredible happened. Dave became romantically involved (yes, he was forty-five and single). The woman he met was not overly pretty, overly ugly, overly nice or overly rude, just sort of bland we thought, until the day she stopped taking her mood-suppressant drugs. The first thing that tipped me off that something wasn't quite right was when she stormed into the service area in the back of the shop and found a customer's computer blocking her path. Without a loss of stride she reared back, kicked the computer frighteningly hard, watched it flip over and land with a sickening crunch on another computer and proceeded to her desk. Afterward Dave tried to explain to us that it really wasn’t her but her lack of medication that had brought on the attack. This was but the first of many such incidents.

The store was located beneath apartments occupied by UCR students so occasionally we would hear loud music or partying. We took this in stride but Michele, the girlfriend, did not. I clearly remember watching her stand on a table with a very large screwdriver and beat the ceiling vigorously in an attempt to get the music turned down. I even more clearly remember the very, oh so very hideous threat she issued me when I quit. I still shudder at the thought.

Dave picked his employees not for talent, personality or ability but seemingly by their capacity for being picked on and strangely enough, their religious diversity. Dave was a former 7th Day Adventist, I was, of course, an Apostolic, Paul a Seik, Chad a denominational Christian, and Aaron and Ed were Mormons and we were all working in close proximity at the same period of time. As you can imagine, many a lively conversation was sparked by one remark or another and Dave would gladly weigh in. He once overheard a religious argument we were having and stormed to the back to announce with much glee, "Did you know that the word Trinity isn't even in the Bible?" He knew this would throw us all in a tailspin and was upset when I agreed with him. Another time, when my coworkers were making me uncomfortable about not having a TV or watching movies, he sidled up and said that he also had no television, never had, never would and then proceeded to lie about the fact that he had hired me only because he knew I was pure. Of course, he also later said that he only hired me because of the way I was dressed and later still only because of the way I talked. Anyway, he finished the argument by saying that anyone who watched TV was probably less intelligent because of it... which to me seemed to settle things nicely.

When invited to church he would always say that he didn't like snakes and nothing I ever said was able to convince him that we did not routinely fondle rattlers. He started reading the holy book of Seikdom and thus armed began to make the very staunch Paul very nearly into a raving lunatic. He had found to his delight that a Seik must have his turban, his sword, his special underwear and his holy book with him at all times. Paul had the turban but not the other trappings and Dave would tell him that he was a fake because he didn't go about strapped. When Paul would get offended Dave would quote another passage which said that a Seik offended must kill the offending party. He would then smile and wait. At these times the other technicians and I would find common spiritual ground and pray fervently for the strengthening of Paul's religious convictions, to no avail.

I would go home daily and try to tell my skeptical family just how troubled my job really was and soon even my dad began asking upon seeing me, "What did Dave do today?" As there were no properly descriptive words I would always end each story with the phrase “you just had to be there". Finally someone was. Larry, my younger brother, was looking for a job and since Dave was ALWAYS hiring and since I am slightly sadistic, I told him to “Come right in, the water’s fine.” Based on my glowing reference, Dave hired him.

I didn't realize until later what a mistake this was, as Larry soon made it his goal to see just how much he could annoy Dave. Dave carried a clipboard around on which he was always making notations and Larry, whenever he found it lying around would draw little pictures that were carefully labeled. He would draw a stick figure cow with the word cow and an arrow pointing to it, or a stick figure palm tree labeled palm tree or a stick figure ocean with the same. Since Larry only worked half day he rarely got to see the results of his torment, but I, of course, did. Dave would pick up the clipboard glance at it, glance away, glance back, curse and sit down. He would stare at the picture, shake his head sorrowfully and say, "I hate that boy."

Dave soon became so angry with Larry that he told him that he was too stupid to work on customer's computers. As Dave had already told him that he was too stupid to build new computers, that didn't really leave a whole lot of options. So Larry worked with computers another way... he played solitaire. A lot. One day as Larry was playing solitaire, Dave on his way to the restroom saw what he was doing. He stopped and politely asked, "Am I paying you to play solitaire?" Larry looked up, smiled and said, "Right now you are" and went directly back to his game. Dave glared about beseechingly and then furiously tromped off.  Ten minutes later, Dave came back and saw Larry in the same game of solitaire. I don't remember if Larry said, "You're still paying me to play solitaire" or not but the results where still very satisfactory. Dave somehow deflated and went to his office.

Dave would also write complex mathematical equations on the whiteboard and sermonize about our collective lack of mathematical insight. He would then leave them on the board as a testament to our ignorance and since no one had ever worked out one correctly, this gave him great enjoyment. Larry, however, disrupted this joy in his life one morning by sauntering up to the board and quickly working out the answer. Upon his return, Dave glanced around and asked who had done it. When Larry was pointed out, he stared open mouthed and then muttered, "Ok, so he's not as dumb as he looks." He was always telling me that he hired Larry just so he could fire him but once again Larry quit on his own for a real job and stripped this pleasure away also.

I remember working on the computer owned by the gay man, Lou and when upon his exit I expressed how disgusted I was, Dave became delighted. Thereafter I was continually told that Lou was on line one or two or three when it was really my wife. I remember being called into the office with Chad and being told that Dave was tired of us lying on our time sheets. When I heatedly protested later he told me that he was only referring to Chad but that he didn't want Chad to feel bad by being talked to alone (somehow I was dubious). I remember when he rented a U-Haul to haul over 300 broken laser printers which he had purchased from a man in Long Beach. I remember when he bought the marvelous marble machine on E-Bay for $5,000.00 (it was six feet tall, eight feet square and had 600 ping-pong sized marbles that all rolled simultaneously). I remember when he invested in domain names such as www. wethepeopleoftheunitedstates .com or the first sixty numbers of the golden ratio. I remember the little pewter man, the exploding power supply, Dave’s hatred of the man next door, the sub-station owner’s computer and hammer experience, and the Chinese man trying to speak to Pinky, the voice recognition computer. More memories flood me than I can relate, like the Comdex booth raiding, the bonus check bribe, the two ton computer acquisition, the three-fingered technician which Dave called Tyrannosaurus, and on and on and on.

One more thing that I can't help but remember was Dave crying when running after me in the parking lot to tell me how sorry he was that my wife, Katie had just had a miscarriage. Or him handing me a very nice watch that he had purchased for me just because he liked me. Or him trying to tell me in his awkward way just how much he enjoyed my working for him and how much he didn't want me to quit when I finally decided to strike out on my own.

I learned more about computers and much more about life in the three years that I worked for Dave than I ever would have dreamed possible.  He was the most interesting man I have ever met and no matter where life takes me I will never forget Dave Schoffenhagen.

Why Engineers Don't Write Cookbooks

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chocolate Chip Cookies:

Ingredients:

1.)  532.35 cm3 gluten

2.)  4.9 cm3 NaHCO3

3.)  4.9 cm3 refined halite

4.) 236.6 cm3 partially hydrogenated tallow triglyceride

5.) 177.45 cm3 crystalline C12H22O11

6.) 177.45 cm3 unrefined C12H22O11

7.)  4.9 cm3 methyl ether of protocatechuic aldehyde

8.)  Two calcium carbonate-encapsulated avian albumen-coated protein

9.)  473.2 cm3 theobroma cacao

10.) 236.6 cm3 de-encapsulated legume meats (sieve size #10)

To a 2-L jacketed round reactor vessel (reactor #1) with an overall heat

transfer coefficient of about 100 Btu/F-ft2-hr, add ingredients one, two

and three with constant agitation.  In a second 2-L reactor vessel with

a radial flow inpeller operating at 100 rpm, add ingredients four, five,

six and seven until the mixture is homogenous.  To reactor #2, add

ingredient eight, followed by three equal volumes of the homogenous

mixture in reactor #1.  Additionally, add ingredient nine and ten

slowly, with constant agitation.  Care must be taken at this point in

the reaction to control any temperature rise that may be the result of

an exothermic reaction.

Using a screw extrude attached to a #4 nodulizer, place the mixture

piece-meal on a 316SS sheet (300 x 600 mm).  Heat in a 460K oven for a

period of time that is in agreement with Frank & Johnston's first order

rate expression (see JACOS, 21, 55), or until golden brown.  Once the

reaction is complete, place the sheet on a 25C heat-transfer table,

allowing the product to come to equilibrium.

We predict . . .

·         By the time Phillip is twenty, Kenny G. will declare bankruptcy, claiming he was run out of business by Phillip’s sax rendition of “Does Jesus Ever Cross Your Heart.”

·         At the age of thirty, Phillip will sue his father for his contracting carpal tunnel syndrome due to the tremendous amount of time spent producing fliers for the Western District Home Missions Department.

·         At age forty, due to the carpal tunnel syndrome, Phillip will lose his original job but will be retrained and finally hired to test Gilette™ razor blades.  (It is interesting to note that Noralco™ is also vying for his endorsement.

·         At age 50, Phillip’s father will counter-sue Phillip, claiming mental anguish over missing shoes and ties.

·         At age sixty, Hearst Corp. and Rupert Murdoch file anti-trust suits against the Occidental publishing empire which under Phil’s tutelage has reached interplanetary proportions.  Prosecuting attorney Steve Arnold states confidentally, “Finally, we’ve got them!”

·         At age 70, Phillip’s 1988 Chrysler 5^th Avenue finally gets its slightly overdue paint job.  Auto body worker Luis Pacheco says, “It will be done sometime next month.”

·         After retiring from his Occidental empire at the age of 80, he decides to raise miniature rare Arctic snow bunnies which he sells to wealthy blue-haired old ladies.  His sales motto is his father’s frequently repeated statement, “There’s a sucker born every minute.”

·         At age 90, he is arrested for beating his brother, Larry Andrew.  When asked why, he responded, “He wouldn’t learn his Bible Quizzing Verses!”

·         At the cryptic age of 100, the Ohio S.W.A.T. team storms the Golden Buckeye Retirement Community Home for Retired Eccentrics in an effort to apprehend a computer hacker who through the computerized shopping network ordered 12,000 miniature electronic denture cleaners.  Says the Denture Cleaner spokesperson, “Well, I figured they must have pretty bad teeth to require that many of those things.”

·         At the tender age of 110, Phillip writes a biographical expose of his enigmatic quizzing years entitled My Life On the Chain Gang.

·         At the age of 120, Phillip writes his will, leaving $25 dollars to his now aged father to purchase ties, and $3,000,000 dollars to the Allan Hancock College computer lab in an attempt to salve a guilty conscience.  He also leaves fifty cents to LCS to purchase bathroom passes.

ODD MUSINGS

• If someone with multiple personalities threatens to kill himself, is it considered a hostage situation?
• Is there another word for synonym?
• Isn't it a bit unnerving that doctors call what they do "practice"?
• When sign makers go on strike, is anything written on their signs?
• When you open a bag of cotton balls, is the top one meant to be thrown away?
• Where do forest rangers go to "get away from it all"?
• Why isn't there mouse-flavored cat food?
• What do you do when you see an endangered animal eating an endangered plant?
• If a parsley farmer is sued, can they garnish his wages?
• Would a fly without wings be called a walk?
• Why do they lock gas station bathrooms? Are they afraid someone will clean them?
• If a stealth bomber crashes in a forest, will it make a sound?
• If a turtle doesn't have a shell, is he homeless or naked?
• Why don't sheep shrink when it rains?
• Can vegetarians eat animal crackers?
• If the police arrest a mime, do they tell him he has the right to remain silent?
• Why do they put Braille on the drive-through bank machines?
• How do they get the deer to cross at that yellow road sign?
• Why do they sterilize the needles for lethal injections?
• Why did kamikaze pilots wear helmets?
• Is it true that cannibals don't eat clowns because they taste funny?
• What was the best thing around before sliced bread?

Voltaire, In Love

By: Jay P.

My friend, Voltaire,

Refuses to eat,

Is constantly moaning about,

Sighing in a heart-string plucking manner.

I draw the logical conclusion

That he is suffering from bad gas pains,

But he says he is in love.

(MORAL: French philosophers should not fall in love with bean burritoes.)

• If the funeral procession is at night, do folks drive with their lights off?

• Then there was the undertaker who signed all his letters with "Eventually yours."

• Even if you're certain that you are included in the will, it's considered tacky to drive a U-Haul van to the funeral home.

• A female snake charmer was wooed by an undertaker and accepted his offer of marriage. They received many gifts at the wedding but their favorite was a set of towels embroidered with the words:

"Hiss and hearse"

·         This woman goes into a funeral home to make arrangements for her husband's funeral. She tells the undertaker that she wants her husband to be buried in a dark blue suit. He asks, "Wouldn't it just be easier to bury him in the black suit that he's wearing?"

"No," she insists as she hands him a check to buy one. "It must be blue."

When she comes back for the wake, she sees her husband in the coffin and he is wearing a beautiful blue suit. She tells the director how much she loves the suit and asks how much it cost.

He says, "Actually, it didn't cost anything. The funniest thing happened. As soon as you left, another corpse was brought in, this one wearing a blue suit. I noticed that they were about the same size, and asked the other widow if she would mind if her husband were buried in a black suit. She said that was fine with her... So I switched the heads."

• How do undertakers speak?

Gravely

• Why did the undertaker chop all his corpses into little bits?
  Because he liked them to rest in pieces.

• Doctor: It's bad news, I'm afraid. You've only got five minutes to live.
  Patient: But doctor, isn't there anything you can do for me?
  Doctor, after some thought: Well, I could boil you an egg.

As I begin this narrative, I am struck with the immensity of the obstacle before me.  I am in awe.  One man alone cannot think himself capable of discerning the many thoroughfares of this multi-channeled logarithm.  Time alone will tell.

As I write this (to quote the words of some famous fellow) I hold a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other.  This sundry weaponry scarcely hinders my flow of soul.  My nimble fingers skim lightly across the keyboard in a lightning display of phalange agility, reminiscent to that of jackrabbits flitting amongst the bushes and grasses of the plains.

In my many humble years of service to my country, I flatter myself to say that I have been the sole instigator of many a noble deed.  From initiating bread lines to fixing sprinklers I have selflessly given myself to promoting good and rejecting evil.  “For the good of all” has become my motto.

Ten Fun Things to do in an Elevator

1.       Grimace painfully while smacking your forehead and muttering, “Shut up, all of you, just shut up!”

2.       Whistle the first seven notes of “It’s a Small World” incessantly.

3.       Crack open your briefcase or purse, and while peering inside, ask, “Got enough air in there”

4.       Stand silent and motionless in the corner, facing the wall, without getting off.

5.       Greet everyone getting on the elevator with a warm handshake and ask them to call you Admiral.

6.       Stare, grinning, at another passenger for a while, and then announce: “I’ve got new socks on.”

7.       Stare at another passenger for a while, then say, “You’re one of them” and move to the far corner of the elevator.

8.       Wear a puppet on your hand and talk to the passengers “through” it.

9.       When the elevator is silent, look around and ask “Is that your beeper?”

10.    Listen to the elevator walls with a stethoscope.

the answer

a poem by j p

flying in the sky

i spy

a purple elephant

eating

peanut butter and jelly

sandwiches which are green

green sandwiches

you may ask why

in middle earth

would an elephant

be eating green

sandwiches

(which are green)

the answer

simple hemorrhoids

(not to mention mangoes)

Smile, World!

By: Larry Booker

Stars still shine and the moon’s yet full.

Smile, World.

The heaven is blue and cloudlessly clear,

The sun is high with her rays of cheer.

Smile, World.

The air is fresh and smelling sweet,

The eagles soar and the sparrows tweet.

The grass is green and soft to feet.

I’d continue this poem, but I’m feeling beat,

Smile, World.

Chess

By: Larry Booker

“Chess,” he said,

“I hate that sport.”

We quickly educated him

With sticks and stones

And broken bones,

And words that never hurt him.

Alas, Alack!

By: Larry Booker

Do you realize,

That in five billion years,

The sun will engulf the earth,

And life on earth will be extinct,

Did you know,

That the ozone is disappearing,

The seas are rising,

The ice caps are melting?

The Water Closet

Contributed by an unrevealed benefactor

This story was recently rediscovered in my wife’s junk from Mormon seminary class in the ninth grade.  It is a rare example of how something can be funny without putting anyone down.  Leave it to the Mormons ...

It seems that a little old English lady was looking for some rooms in Switzerland.  She asked the local village schoolmaster to help her.  A place that suited her was finally found, and the lady returned to London for her luggage. She remembered then that she had not noticed a bathroom, or as she called it, a “water closet.” She wrote to the school master. He was puzzled by the initials “W.C.”, never dreaming, of course, that she was asking about a bathroom. He finally asked the help of the parish priest, who decided that W.C. stood for the Wesleyan Church. This was the reply:

"Dear Madam, The W.C. is situated nine miles from the house in the center of a beautiful grove of trees.  It is capable of holding 350 people at a time, and is open on Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday each week. A large number of folks attend during the summer months, so it is suggested that you go early, although there is plenty of  standing room.  Some folks like to take their 1unch and make a day of it, especially on Thursdays when there is organ accompaniment.  The acoustics are very good and everyone can hear the slightest sound.  It may be of interest to you to know that my daughter was married in W.C., and it was there that she met her husband.  We hope you will be there in time for our bazaar to be held very soon.  The proceeds will go towards the purchase of plush seats, which the folks agree are a long-felt need, as the present seats all have holes in them.  My wife is rather delicate, therefore she can not attend regularly.  It has been six months since the time she last went.  Naturally, it pains her very much not to be able to go more often.  I shall close now with the desire to accommodate you in every way possible, and I will be happy to save you a seat down front or near the door, whichever you prefer. --Schoolmaster"

The Sadness of Sorumbad

By: Larry Booker

In the sleepy little village of Sorumbad, an ox bellowed.  Its bellow, not of pain but of frustration, awakened a little street urchin by the name of Gorom.  He sprang to his feet, alarmed that perhaps a police officer or even one of the dreaded Zurichans[1] had discovered him.  When he looked around and saw that he was alone—with the exception of the bellowing ox—he was relieved and decided to find another place to rest.  He walked down an alley and noticed an unusual sign attached to a dirty door. 

“ADVENTUROUS PERSON NEEDED

NO PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE REQUIRED

MUST BE EXPENDABLE!”

Intrigued by this enigmatic advertisement, he knocked on the door.  It opened within seconds, displaying a clean, comfortable sitting room furnished with various foreign knick-knacks.  The man that opened the door was tall and dark-haired wearing an unusual-looking uniform with the strange initials SFI[2] on his breast pocket.

“I’ve been expecting you, Gorum,” the man said, “You have not disappointed me!”

He pulled his Kill-O-Zap blaster pistol and calmly shot Gorom in the head.

There was great sadness in the town of Sorumbad in the week that followed.

The End

Resume

Contributed By: An undisclosed source

This is an actual essay written by a college applicant to NYU.  The author was accepted and is now attending NYU.

 3A.  IN ORDER FOR THE ADMISSIONS STAFF OF OUR COLLEGE TO GET TOKNOW YOU, THE APPLICANT, BETTER, WE ASK THAT YOU ANSWER THEFOLLOWING QUESTION: ARE THERE ANY SIGNIFICANT EXPERIENCES YOU HAVE HAD, OR ACCOMPLISHMENTS YOU HAVE REALIZED, THAT HAVE HELPED TO DEFINEYOU AS A PERSON?

I am a dynamic figure, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice.  I have been known to remodel train stations on my lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat retention.  I translate ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees, I write award-winning operas, I manage time efficiently.

Occasionally, I tread water for three days in a row.  I woo women with my sensuous and godlike trombone playing, I can pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed, and I cook Thirty-Minute Brownies in twenty minutes.  I am an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Peru.

Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, I once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from a horde of ferocious army ants.  I play bluegrass cello, I was scouted by the Mets, I am the subject of numerous documentaries.  When I'm bored, I build large suspension bridges in my yard.  I enjoy urban hang gliding.  On Wednesdays, after school, I repair electrical appliances free of charge.

I am an abstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless bookie.  Critics worldwide swoon over my original line of corduroy evening wear.  I don't perspire.  I am a private citizen, yet I receive fan mail.  I have been caller number nine and have won the weekend passes. Last summer I toured New Jersey with a traveling centrifugal-force demonstration.  I bat 400.

My deft floral arrangements have earned me fame in international botany circles.  Children trust me.

I can hurl tennis rackets at small moving objects with deadly accuracy.  I once read Paradise Lost, Moby Dick, and David Copperfield in one day and still had time to refurbish an entire dining room that evening.  I know the exact location of every food item in the supermarket.  I have performed several covert operations with the CIA.  I sleep once a week; when I do sleep, I sleep in a chair.  While on vacation in Canada, I successfully negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery.  The laws of physics do not apply to me.

I balance, I weave, I dodge, I frolic, and my bills are all paid. on weekends, to let off steam, I participate in full-contact origami.  Years ago I discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it down.  I have made extraordinary four course meals using only a mouli and a toaster oven.

I breed prizewinning clams.  I have won bullfights in San Juan, cliff-diving competitions in Sri Lanka, and spelling bees at the Kremlin.

I have played Hamlet, I have performed open-heart surgery, and I have spoken with Elvis.

But I have not yet gone to college.

Reasons to Avoid Aging

Intro:

                There are many reasons why it would be a good idea for every person to avoid growing old.  In this speech I am going to talk about these reasons and I will try to persuade everyone here to not participate in the process of aging.  I think this is a subject relevant to us all.

Body:

I.        The effects of aging on the body

A.      The skin

1.       Loses thickness and elasticity

2.       Bruises more easily as blood vessels near the surface become weaker

B.      Brain/Nervous System

1.       After the age of 35, 100,000 brain cells/day die

2.       Becomes slower to respond to stimulation (slower reflexes)

C.      Heart

1.       Pumps less efficiently

D.      Lungs

1.       Become less efficient as elasticity decreases

E.       Muscles

1.       Lose bulk and strength

2.       By age of 80, 50% of muscle tissue replaced by other body tissue

F.       Liver

1.       Filter toxins from blood less efficiently

G.      Joints

1.       Lose mobility and deteriorate

H.      Senses

1.       Become less sharp from loss of nerve cells

II.      The effects of aging on the mind

A.      Psychological stress

1.       Feelings of inferiority, nostalgia

Conclusion:

For all these reasons, I think that it is very clear that growing old is a bad idea

Recently, my parents along with some friends who were vacationing from Texas, toured Hearst Castle in San Simeon, California, the fabulously opulent home of the late media mogul and multimillionaire, William Randolph Hearst.  Before beginning the tour, the tour guide inquired if there were any Texans in the group.  He was pleased to hear that my parent’s friends were from the Lone Star State.  “I know how Texans feel about Texas,” he joked, “I’m sorry that you’re forced to see how a poor California boy lived.”  Everyone laughed appreciatively. 

The group then began to make its way through the castle.  Passing through the rooms, they saw the elegant tapestries, the beautiful artwork, antiques, and architecture.  Finally, they came to the climax of the castle’s splendors, the Olympic-sized, marble pool, surrounded by ornate Grecian statues.  As everyone oohed and aahed, the guide smilingly said, “I’m sure every backyard in Texas sports one of these.”  One of the Texans stared for a long moment into the waters of the pool, then looking up he asked, “Does . . . does it flush?”

 Long Live the Railroad

 By: Larry Booker

Long live the railroad,

Spice-carrying sullivans.

Travelling through this pilgrim land.

Long may they travel,

Over hillsides and homes.

Alas, they do not,

Because of their rails.

Destroy the rails,

Then they shall be free!

Trick Quiz Answered Wonderfully

>1. Is there a 4th of July in England? Yes or No?

From my observations, just being in England would not cause a certain day of the month to suddenly become non-existent. Therefore, if you are in England, France, Spain, or Pfkakia there would still be a 4th of July as well as an 18th of August. If you are asking if the holiday is celebrated while a person is in England, then yes. A holiday in America wouldn't stop occurring just because one person decided it would be a good idea to visit Europe. Lastly, if you are asking if the holiday 4th of July (Independence Day) is celebrated in England, I find that highly unlikely. Since Independence Day is the celebration of the independence of the United States from Great Britain, I doubt that the British think it a cause for celebration. I am sure that they have some day during the year, it may even fall on the 4th of July for all I know, in which they shoot off fireworks and jump around screaming but I don't think they call it Independence Day. That would be a trifle rude for them to celebrate getting rid of America don't you think?

>2. How many birthdays does the average man have?

I am not sure whether or not this is a trick question but I will try answer it as if it were not. The last I had heard was that the average life span of male Americans is 75. Assuming that the man in the question has had only one birthday a year, lives in America, is average, and didn't die before he had his 75th birthday then he would have 75 birthdays. Of course, this cannot accurately represent the average world-wide man since the average life-span in Ethiopia is something around 40. Other third-world countries have it even lower.  If we are referring to actual "birthdays" though, a man or woman only ACTUALLY has one and the rest are mere celebrations of the first one.  You take your pick.

>3. Some months have 31 days. How many have 28?

Looking swiftly through my calendar, I observe that, surprisingly, every month has 28 days! Even the months with 31 days in them have at least 28. This is absolutely amazing and brings up many unanswered questions such as, does every month have 16 days? 12? I also noticed that February has only 28, is this significant?

>4. How many outs are in an inning?

This question is very vague. It could refer to anything from boxing to Pkakian bullrush stomping. Since the American national pastime is baseball and hopefully the person that wrote this quiz is American, I am going to assume that the innings referred to are the nine innings usually played in baseball/softball/teeball etc. In these games, each team is allowed three outs before the side is retired and the other side takes its place. The new team is also allowed three outs which added together makes a grand total of six outs per inning.

>5. Is it legal for a man in California to marry his widow's sister?

Knowing California and its liberality like I do, I am assuming that, yes, it is legal for a man to marry his widow's sister. I cannot imagine the kind of woman it would take, though, to marry a decomposed, rotting corpse, but I am sure that it is legal enough. If the man was only a few days dead I am sure that they could be happily married for about a week and then the legality of divorce would come up. One would definitely have to check the law books on that one.

>6. Take the number 30, divide it by 1/2, and then add 10. What do you get?

When you are asking this question, do you mean divide 30 IN 1/2 or BY 1/2? I will do it both ways so that it will be answered correctly one way or the other. If you were to divide 30 BY 1/2 and add 10 you would get 70. If you were to divide 30 IN 1/2 and add 10 you would get 25. It would be easier to understand if the author had written "Take the number 30, divide it by .5, and then add 10. What do you get?"

>7. There are 3 apples and you take 2 away. How many apples are you left with?

Nasty, nasty, nasty. Whose apples are we stealing anyway? If they were my apples and I took two away somewhere, I hope that no cruel person would doubt the ownership of the one I left. So, if they were my apples and I took two, they would all three be mine. If they were, say, Jake's three apples, and I took two, then I would only be left with two, although knowing myself like I do I would have taken all of them and not left Jake any.

>8. A doctor gives you 3 pills and tells you to take one every half hour.  How long will the pills last?

This is a rather strange question and to get to the meat of it, we have to ask some questions in return.  Are we referring to how long the pills last in a composed state outside of our bodies?  If not, I have no idea.  I am sure that it depends on what kind of pill it is.  Advil probably lasts longer than aspirin and some pills leave a lasting trace of themselves in us.  Therefore the pills (if composed of the right substance) would last indefinitely.  Next, we need to ask if this is me taking the pills or someone with strict discipline.   If it were me, I would come home, plop the bottle on the sink and leave them for several weeks.  Someone else might come home, take a pill, check their watch frequently, in a half hour take another one,  and in another half hour the third.  This kind of weird person is rough on pills and theirs would only last one measly hour.  Therefore, until you get in touch with this quiz writer, I am afraid that I can't answer this question.

>9. A farmer has 17 sheep. All but 9 of them die. How many sheep are left?

Let me see… if a farmer has seventeen sheep and all but nine die, how many are left?  Seventeen minus nine is eight so therefore the farmer has nine alive sheep left.  I suppose, however, that if he froze the dead sheep he could still retain his entire flock and then the answer would remain seventeen.  I find this to be another unanswerable question.

>10. How many animals of each sex did Moses bring with him on the ark?

Dude… this is a rough one.  I will do my best to answer it though.  Let’s see… giraffes, elephants, bears, mountain lions, lions, tigers, toads, boars, gorillas, zebra, chimps, sloths, opossums, dogs, cats, various rodents, various birds, cows, coyotes, wolves, uh, koalas, um, uh, help, I am running out of animals!!!!!  Anyway, if the animals that I named are the only animals that he took then I have to find out whether or not they are clean or unclean animals.  I haven't the patience required to look up all the animals that there are and then add them together so I concede defeat on this question too.  I will make a guess though, about 1,234 female and 1,193 male.  Maybe I am close.  It could be that the twisted mind of the author is asking how many sexes were on the ark.  There were only two unless I need to brush up on my biology.  So the answer could be only 1 animal of each sex except for the clean animals.  What a stupid question.  I am assuming that the author of this question is an atheist or someone equally bereft of Biblical knowledge as I don't remember the Ark of the Covenant being able to house that many animals.  Perhaps he is confused with Noah the saviour of the ancient world.

>11. A butcher in the market is 5'10" tall. What does he weigh?

Am I supposed to assume that all five foot, ten inch butcher weigh the same?  If I was five-foot, ten-inches tall and a butcher I would probably weigh around 165.  Therefore the butcher in the question weighs 165.  I, unfortunately, have no idea EXACTLY what he weighs since they tend to deal with several kinds of meat.  It could by mutton, beef, pork, or even fish for all I know.  This is yet another unanswerable question.

>12. How many 2 cent stamps are there in a dozen?

As I have never heard of a two cent stamp I am assuming that this is another one of those unanswerable questions.  If you were to ask how many THIRTY-TWO cent stamps there are in a dozen then the answer would probably be a dozen.  Although if it is a baker's dozen or not I can’t tell you.

>13. What was the President's name in 1960?

Assuming that Bill is at least 38 years old and was alive in 1960 then his name was something I don't remember.  I know that he changed his name to Bill Clinton but can't remember when he did it or what it was before.  It might have been Clanton Serlo but I doubt it. I haven't even a clue why he changed it unless it was to cover up yet another one of his scandals.  As you can tell I am not too interested in Bill Clinton.

Message

“Hello, and welcome to the Psychiatric Hotline.

If you are obsessive, compulsive, please press 1 repeatedly now.

If you are codependent, please ask someone to help toy press 2.

If you have multiple personalities, please press 3, 4, 5, and 6 now.

If you are paranoid, you don’t need to press a number. We know who you are and what you want. Just stay on the line so we can trace this call.

If you are schizophrenic, please listen carefully and a little voice will tell you which number to press.

If you are manic depressive, it doesn’t matter which number you press, no one will answer anyway.

Have a well-adjusted day!”

Unfinished Poem

By: Phillip Booker

My life is but a tattered mast,

A blowin’ in the wind,

Tossed one way and then another,

I know not where or when.

A gale strikes me one side,

And a gust takes away my wind,

The School Desk

By: Phillip Booker

The desk was there, that much was true,

Although one couldn't see it.

So covered with papers and littered books

That one had to guess at it's appearance.

Hordes of people young and old,

Came to see the sight

But not a person dared to do anything but look.

Finally after several weeks,

And looking long and hard,

A brave soul stepped forward and began to move the trash.

He moved a book that was laying on top

And then an oozing something on the bottom.

He grabbed a hand-full of sticky slime,

And threw it at the floor.

After a long and arduous struggle,

He finally had made the desk visible.

The desk which all had wanted to see.

It lay there quietly, but then something squirmed,

And all the watchers jumped back,

But the brave soul smashed it with his shoe,

And the crowd continued to look on.

The desk looked as though it had been attacked,

By fourteen "Flying Tigers."

It's walls were desecrated,

It's floor strewn with debris.

The cork was peeling,

And pencil marks graffited the scraped surfaces.

The smell that emitted from it's surface can not be described,

Though it thoroughly permeated the atmosphere.

A thoroughly disgusting drawing of some insane thing,

Lay upon a heap of wholly unused moldy schoolbooks.

Suddenly a resounding shriek broke through the silence,

And all of the crowd spied a hand,

That had worked it way through to the top

The brave man with a tremble in his step moved forward,

And grasped it with both his hands,

He pulled and tugged and struggled,

Until something broke loose,

And small, untidy, mild-looking person

Abruptly broke through the crust.

He stepped out and bowed and then said with a frown,

"How dare you disturb the sanctity

Of my humble study chambers?"

The people stared dumbly and then with not a word being said,

The man grabbed the books, slime and mold,

And threw them with a flourish back onto the desk.

Then with a graceful leap,

He landed amidst the heap and sank

Gratefully into the muck and ooze.

Soon he was gone, gone back to his home.

We all stepped away reverently and went home,

Never to disturb that office again.

Father to Son

By: Phillip Booker (unfortunately)

"My  son, my son," the gentle father said,

"Never let it be told me by another,

That you were less than wise.

For my trembly heart could not take it,

And I t'would crumple inside."

Sabastian, the son, was so touched,

That verily he did sob.

He turned into his room and ran,

Not stopping with his window.

(For he had not been wise.)

Thanksgiving

By: Phillip Booker

Giving is so lovely,

Gicing is so kind,

Giving gets you out of trouble,

When you’re in a bind.

Giving is so wonderful,

Giving is so grand,

So give me, give me, give me, give me,

Give me all you can.

School

By: Phillip Booker

School to me is very black.

It's full of sorrow and a great lack,

Of anything good or right,

Pure, virtuous or polite.

It is to me, monstrously bland,

It is a curse upon the land.

 It is a plague that sweeps the shores,

With violent teachers and the kids it bores.

It rousts me out of sleep each day,

And sends me and my brother on our way,

To the horrid chambers which we so dread,

When we'd rather be in bed.

But I and all others guess,

That all in all, it's for the best,

So though I hate it all the day,

I guess I'll go anyway.

The End

People

By: Phillip Booker

People, people everywhere,

But not one can I abide,

For they are not as smart as I,

Nor not half as wise.

They think they are so mighty.

That they are big and grand,

While I look on in disgust,

As they play into my hand.

The sneaky little peons,

With their ideas large and vast,

I try to suppress a chortle,

And struggle not to laugh.

But as I gaze upon them,

My vision it grows weak.

My straining eyes cannot now see,

The people in the street.

For, alas, ‘tis all a dream

And not a reality.

And now I might eat my pride

And with those people be.

The End

Graduation

I thought that I would write a neat little essay or some other literary gem for this edition of the Occidental Gazette, but upon further thought I realized that this was impossible due the immense stress caused by my oncoming graduation. In honor of this tragic occurrence, I will bless the souls of all readers with a lovely bit of prose about graduation (incidentally, I really am not paranoid about graduating, I merely act like it to curry sympathy.)

Graduation comes but once in a life,

With it there comes such turmoil and strife,

That one is left philosophizing, how could this happen to me?

Where can I go? Where do I turn?

Why doth my soul within me burn?

To be left like a poodle bereft of its pedigree.

Why should I be so suddenly shoved,

Out into a world where I shan’t be loved,

Merely to sate the wanton pleasures of a sadistic human race?

Why must they refuse to see?

Conform I to them, or them to me?

Must I follow the way and maintain the dreadful, awful, hectic pace?

I believe that I must break this trend,

To their insidious plots I will not bend,

I will not let them constrain me and harness me to the millstone of life.

Though my stomach be gaunt, my cheeks so hollow,

Like an innocent sheep I will not follow,

Them into a hideous existence and so dumbly take the knife.

I shall instead sit back and eat some cake,

Of peeled ripe grapes I will partake,

And let the world pass me by with it loneliness and decay,

So good-bye, shalom, and au revoir,

Sayonara, and aloha,

I’m graduating, ha, ha, ha, I’ll sleep my life away!

The Christmas Tree

I gazed upon the Christmas tree,

It stood tall and proud,

Its branches spread out magestically,

O'er the massing crowds.

The gentle snow fell softly,

'Pon its massive top,

And dribbled through its branches

On the sidewalk it did stop.

Suddenly, a mischievous lad,

 Stepped up and kicked the tree,

And it did sway and bend and lean,

And then it fell on me.

Philosophy of Life

By: Larry Booker

When I was not yet fourteen,

I made up my mind to say,

To all my friends and acquaintances,

Who might ask me why my way,

Is to be aloof from other's ways,

Acting only like myself,

I will say thus to he, “I would rather be,

My own, than gain power and pelf.

“I shall never be a pawn to man,

Nor be enslaved to another's will,

My life shall I live in liberty,

And ever shall I eat my fill,

Else this land would be crowded,

With violence, strife, and greed,

‘Never, never give up the ship!’

For 'tis a great and noble creed.”

This and more shall I say to he,

With violent outrage,

“Should I let down my principles,

And be shut into a cage?

Living only to eat and drink,

Never again to be free,

Nor ever more to smell the shore,

Of blessed liberty?

“I rather think not,” I shall huffily say,

“I would rather be tinted yellow,

Doomed to walk my whole life long,

Under stares from my wondering fellows,

I will not have my creativity stifled,

Nor actions censured by,

A person who might think himself,

To be a better judge than I."

Fruit or Hue?

By: Joel Booker

Peradventure, all oranges were blue

Deary me, what on earth would you do?

The fruit’s name would you change,

Or maybe exchange

All colors, so orange could be blue?

This question you need to pursue:

Is an orange more the fruit or the hue?

While you make up your mind,

I think I’ll go find

A banana--Yes, this yellow’ll do.

The Green Machine

By: Jay P.

The green machine,

Created by a mad scientist

Of the first degree,

Who sat and thought

Green thoughts

(Although the world was grey.)

So,

He made the green machine,

To turn thought into

Reality

(Grey to green, you see.)

A green machine

I’ve also made

Although mine

Is pizza.

Snobbish Rodents

By: Jay P.

Gophers,

The snobbiest of

Creatures,

Digging the earth,

Read Jonathan Swift,

And pretend to like it!

 “Near Death Experience”

By: Jay P.

                In my long and eventful life, Death has been very near me many times. Allow me to relate one of these times.

                …So, this one summer, my family and I decided to go on a fishing trip floating the Madd (I mean Klamath) river. On one of the days, IO took some pills to help my sinuses (they were hurting, my sinuses, I mean). They were the kind of pills that make you sleepy. So???? My dad, my uncle, and I were floating along in our heavy aluminum ???????? river boat. My two brothers were in another boat (a rubber raft). I was asleep in the front of the boat. We started going through a small rapid. Somehow, our boat got broadside and hit a small rock. I was jolted awake by the horrid feeling of our boat flipping over. I was wearing blue jeans, long-sleeved shirt, and no life-jacket. As the boat went over on top of me, fear stabbed through me. I was trapped under water, under the boat! My head broke water and I looked around. I was still under the boast,. Quickly I backed out from under the boat and began trying to get to my brothers raft,. Somehow, the ????????? from the front of the boat became entangled about my legs, and I (nearly) panicked. Thankfully, the rope washed away, and I was safe.

                When I next looked around, I saw that my uncle and my father had somehow righted the boat. My uncle was bailing wildly with an ice chest. We “pulled over” to the side of the river and began gathering up our spilt gear ( at least as much as we could find.) It later developed that we had lost several hundred dollars worth of gear altogether.

                I was so thankful to be alive that I went behind some handy bushed and wept for joy and thankfulness. God was very merciful to me and my family.

                Since all our gear (including food and sleeping bags) was wet, we decided to end out trip that day. We floated down the river about 11 miles to where we had left our vehicle. We loaded up our gear, and went to Oregon, where we visited relatives before returning home.

                This is just one of my near death experiences. For more thrilling installments, contacts Jason Peter Skarda.

My Story

By: Phillip Booker

                Why,  hello there, I must have missed your coming in. I am Mr. Wyman, and you are? Oh, don’t bother answering that, it doesn’t matter who you are, just as long as you like to listen. Why don't you just sit yourself down and let me relate to you my story exactly how it happened these twenty years ago. I have been forever troubling myself over whether or not I was in the right, so how about you expressing your opinions when I am through.

                It happened like this. One day ...

*          *          *

                ...some friends and I were gathered around a table discussing some very important matters (or so they seemed to us at the time.) Our voices were raised in argument, and one of the men was hammering the table with his fist. We argued on and on, until I finally became weary with the matter and decided to seek temporary respite. I sat for a while and merely listened. The same man was still pounding the table and though it bothered me slightly, I wasn't planning on taking any reciprocating actions. On and on and on they went, with the ignoramus banging all the while. Finally, unable to take it any longer, I said, "Sir, can you please stop that dreadful pounding, it is making my head pulsate abominably."

                The man whirled on me and yelled angrily, "Quiet, you snail, I'll hit on this here table any time I want to." Saying this, he immediately turned back around and went on with his arguing and pounding.

    I held my temper in check for a great while (or sixty seconds) and then I quiet simply snapped. I said, "Sir, Stop that awful racket or I shall be forced to take puissant measures."

                "You'll do what?!" said the man turning slowly around, his anger evident in his voice.

                "I said I shall take to forceful measures if you do not decease in that wretched noise-making."

                "Why you little..." He came at me as fast as his fat little legs could carry him, which wasn't much even at peak acceleration. His dilatory approach gave me plenty of time to whip out my 9mm and shoot him betw...

*          *          *

                ...een the eyes.

                And that is my story. Do you think that I was justified in my action? Please voice your opinion.

                Oh yes, and incidentally, I had to fight my way to an exit, and in the process five more men were disposed of, but please don't let this hamper your judgment.

                And by the way, could you please stop that infernal tapping?

Modern Conversation

(A short sketch w/moral)

By: Jay P.

1^st Girl - Like, whoa, I was like going, you know, to uh, the store, and there was, like, this BIG dog, and it was like totally  scary, you know?

2^nd Girl - So like, what did you, like, do?

Boy (Interrupting) - Pardon me, but could you please attempt to keep your conversation within the bounds of intelligible English? If you keep saying “like” and/or “whoa” I shall go mad.

1^st & 2^nd Girl Together - Like, whoa, weasel, get off your high horse. Like get WITH IT, dude.

Boy (Going Mad) - AAAAUUUGGGHHH! (plucks insanely at hair, runs offstage.)

Marvin and the Beast

By: Phillip Booker

            Once upon a time, in a land far, far away (have you ever wondered why the lands in fairy tales are always so distant?), there lived a very genial, very ugly troll (also, why are the trolls invariably homely?). There also lived in this land, a marvelously lovely and ravishing princess (why, may I add, are the princess’ constantly lovely?) who’s parents wanted her to be wed to a very snobbish fop of a man named Snood (why are the parentsgnerally Kings and Queens always trying to get rid of their daughters to pompous fellows?) By a strange quirk of fate, however, the princess hated Snood and instead was infatuated with the ugly and genial troll (why are princess’ emotions consistently so twisted?). The troll, contrary to popular belief, was actually an extremely erudite and scholarly individual, whose manners were so impeccable that even Snood (the arrogant fiance of the princess) would have been impressed had he spoken with him. Snood being the cowardly and pusillanimous individual he was, however, had never even tried to strike up conversation with the troll, whose name was, by the way, Marvin.

            With this intriquing setting, let us glance down upon one day in the kingdom of Scittledom (which is the name of this fabulous fairy land.)

            One day Marvin, the troll, was walking merrily down a country road gazingly enchantedly at the birds, the trees, and the insects, being one with the world of nature, when, to his surprise, he met a horribly aggitated and unimaginably frightened Snood.

            “Hello,” said Marvin in his usually jovial way, giving Snood a hearty slap on the back which sent the lout sprawling.

            “Why… I… you, he, they… uh, hello,” stammered Snood.

            “Well, far be it from me to judge such a magnificent individual as yourself, but you seem to be, well, a trifle frightened of something, although I cannot fathom the source of your anxiety.”

            “Yes,” said Snood his confidence returning slightly, “I was frightened. Your ponderous gait shook the ground so, that I could not help but stand aghast at your magnificent homeliness and dubious intelligence,” Snood retorted, not making the slightest bit of sense.

            Marvin ignored the insults and ate him on the spot, and thus ended a extraordinary saga in the world of fairy tale.

Louis L'amour Foible #1

In The Proving Trail, young Kearney McRaven, while running away from Felix Yant, finds himself at a lonely outpost store somewhere in the middle of the desert.  He greets the man running the establishment and then explains his predicament.  The owner gravely shakes his head and then asks if our hero has been to that part of the country before.  Kearney answers in the affirmative and is then asked if the man following him has been there before.  Kearney replies, "no" and the man proclaims that Yant will die because he doesn't understand the land.  The owner then asks yet again if Kearney has been to that part of the country.  Kearney then answers, and I quote:

"I came across with my pa, I was a youngster the first time, standing about as high as the sight on a Winchester."

                He nodded slowly, "With a tall man?  A gentleman?"

                "He was my father," I said gently, "and he was always a gentleman, and always a man."

                Now I don't want to wound your intelligence by pointing out the obvious facts, but I will anyway.  Kearney has coincidentally come the same way about twenty years previously with his father to the same lonely outpost which is owned by the same man.  By the preceding dialogue we know that they have no recollection of each other but when Kearney says that he came that way once with his pa when he was as tall as the sight on a Winchester, the owner has a sudden inspiration of memory.  He immediately remembers twenty years back to a couple of travelers, remembers that they are a man and boy AND that the man was both tall and a gentleman.  When Kearney is then asked if his father met this rather vague description he agrees at once, expressing no shock or even surprise that this man on the lonely outpost store should have such a sterling memory.

                One or more of the following facts would have to be true to have this story make sense:

1.                   The lonely outpost has had no more than 2 customers in its lengthy existence.

2.                   Kearney's father was thirteen feet tall and had kingly grace.

3.                   The boyish height equal to that of the sight on a Winchester is memorable one.

4.                   Everyone coming to the lonely outpost store is a completely brutish lout so that the memory of one gentleman stands out.

5.                   Everyone coming to the lonely outpost store is a tall gentleman so that the owner can afford to be vague with descriptions.

                The dialogue included above can be found on pages 59 and 60 of The Proving Trial by Louis L'amour, a Bantam book.

All Alliteration

(Almost)

By: The Constable of Colloraries (J.B.)

Behold,

Bungling Beast(.)

Give Ear,

Giant Gargantuan(.)

Hearken,

Humongous Hulk(.)

Lo, Lumbering Lummox(.)

OR

Forsooth,

(I’ll) Flatten (Your) Face(!)

Surely

(I’ll) Scarify (Your) Skin(!)

Truly,

(I’ll) Truncate (Your) Tentacles(!)

Verily,

(I’ll) Ventilate (Your) Ventricles(!)

Creative Ways to Use Leftovers

By: Jay P.

            Leftovers (as defined by the handy-dandy Jason dictionary™) are vaguely organic, toxic life forms that reside chiefly in old margarine tubs in the refrigerator. (Leftovers are rather like penguins in the fact that they need cool, damp places in which to live.)

            There are many ways to utilize these creatures. I shall enumerate some of them below.

1.     In the absence of a dog, you can use them to protect your home for burglars and unwelcome in-laws. Let me assure you, dear reader, that few things are more frightening than being attacked by two-week old tapioca. No burglar in his right mind would attempt to rob a house with a sign on the front door that said something like “Warning: house protected by putrid eggplant casserole.”

2.     Leftovers can also be used to fill potholes in roads, provided they aren’t the acidic type that would merely enlarge the hole. One of the best leftovers to use for this task is leftover oatmeal cookie dough. Just drop it in the hole, smooth it out, and presto! The hole is filled. A word of warning, however. Cookie dough sets faster than Redi-mix™, so you got to be quick.

3.     Leftovers (refried beans) can also be used as a beauty aid. Allow me to explain. You’ve heard of mud packs haven’t you? Well, refried beans can be used in much the same manner. (A word of warning: never use the beans with peppers mixed with them.)

4.     Leftovers of the macaroni variety can be used as a whistle, or they can be strung on a strand of spaghetti to make an interesting necklace that all of your friends will admire. Macaroni can also be used (in the absence of spare veins) in bypass heart surgery.

            I hope you found these suggestions enlightening. Just remember, never under any circumstances eat leftovers! Now, onto the fridge.

The Vile Ocean

By: Larry Booker

The water is fine,

If a bit chilly,

The dunes are impressive,

If a bit hilly.

If not excessive,

I can even abide,

The ravaging currents,

That compose the tide.

In fact there is only,

One thing I can’t stand,

Of the things on the beach,

I most hate the sand.

Ode to Summer

By: Larry Booker

Summer is here,

Refreshing the earth,

Baking the ground,

Refueling her hearth,

Sunshine abounds,

Cheerfulness rings,

I swing in my hammock,

While all heaven sings.

“Poetry? But it doesn’t even rhyme!”

Have you ever said something like this?  Do you seek to become a more poetically-enlightened person?  Well, if you answered yes to both these questions, I have a treat in store for you:  The Larry Booker Satisfaction-Guaranteed-Or-Your-Money-Back Modern Poetry Appreciation Kit.

This kit is for use by non-enlightened people who sincerely want to understand why most great modern poetry doesn’t rhyme or even follow general grammatical conventions.  Let me give you a preview of my workbook:

“Put simply.  Poetry is Art (not just art, but Art), and, as such, makes no sense to the inartistic.  To achieve an understanding of poetry, one must be appreciative of Art whenever Art is encountered, e.g.., an Artistic person might see a beautiful natural sculpture of the futility of individualism while an inartistic person might only see a shattered, weather-beaten boulder.”

“To train a mind to be sensitive to the Artistic side of life, one must expose it to truly great Art.  Some works that bear studying are the expressive works of the oppressed street dwellers.  (Some insensitive people call these works of Art “vandalism” or “graffiti” but true Artists recognize it as the soul baring of a tragic victim of society.”

“Modern poetry is distinguished from earlier poetry by one important quality, vagueness.  The less a poem is understood, the greater the esteem in which it is held by modern critics.”

“Now that you’ve finished the course, when you want to impress someone with your newly acquired knowledge, simply ask them what they think a certain poem means.  When they give you some inane answer about the beauty of nature, tell them that it is obvious to you that it demonstrates the author’s disregard for tyrannical authority, or that it expresses the desire for peace among the splintered peoples of earth.  The weirder your answer is, the greater respect the person will have for you.”

Now that you have seen what my program will teach you,  feel free to order several packets for your friends.  The introductory price of $49.99 will last only till June so order yours today!  Thank you!

And now, one of my favorite poems:

Alone

Anonymous

The cheers, the roars,

Of the riotous crowd

Washed over the young man,

Huddled in a lump,

Upon the bench.

A Vague Poem

The sordid stream,

Of life’s melancholia,

Tends to make one,

Devoid of affections.

Yet I know that I,

Will be still spared,

If but I can,

Sing songs of joyous weather.

Deconstruction of Jack and the Beanstalk

                Stunned, she forced her eyes to refocus on the objects in her son’s hand.  Her eyes had not deceived her, she still saw them.  Three insignificant-looking beans.  Just three beans.  Ah, but the thousand and one emotions they caused to rage in her breast.  They resurrected old thoughts, old feelings -- thoughts and feeling concerning past mistakes that she had assumed were successfully buried in the deep crevices of her psyche.  Yet here they were, haunting her a decade and a half later. 

                She knew the result of  the beans being planted, something she never wanted her son Jack to experience.  Startling revelations might result.  The turbulence of her mental state continued to mount, eventually forcing her overburdened mind to shift into neutral.  Her body took control. She saw her hand reach down and snatch the hateful beans.  The other hand came up and slapped the innocent face of her son - her boy who she loved.  She saw the hurt look in his eyes, watched him walk quickly from the room his face still bearing the imprint of her hand.  Still in a daze, she went to the open window and flung the beans into the night.  The beans disposed of, she shakily reached for a nearby chair collapsing weakly into its steadying embrace.  Her body relinquished control back to the mind.  The heavy, iron doors to her past began to open; with a groan of protest as though unused to movement, they swung wide.  As the flood of memories gushed out, her mind, as though it had a will of its own, began remembering.  Remembering a painful past.

                Her thoughts drifted back to that day so long ago when she too had returned home empty-handed save for some beans.  She recollected her careful planting of the beans and the thrill of waking the next morning to see a huge stalk rising up into the blue sky and disappearing in a cloud.  Scrambling up the strong vines she had made her way to the top.  There in the cloud she  met him for the first time.  He was a giant-- huge and ugly with masses of course hair covering a large, slovenly body, and a stench emanating from his cavernous mouth.

                Yet somehow she was drawn to him.  Maybe it was her overly romantic nature coupled with the many stories of romance and adventure she constantly read that motivated her.  Whatever the reason she resolved to tame the giant.  She would marry him and make him become what she wanted him to be.  She viewed him as a conquest, a challenge, as something to be conquered.

                She recalled telling her parents how she would marry the giant and the change him.  Vividly, she remembered her parents stunned silence, their mutual looks of incredulity, and then their desperate cajoling.  She remembered having one dialogue in particular with her father:

                “That may happen in your idiotic romance novels and fairy tales, but this is real life. Get in touch with the real world, girl.  If you don’t listen to us you will regret it for the rest of your life.”        Then her feeble answer, “It’ll work.  You’ll see.  I can make him into something different.” 

                Finally, inevitably, her parents seemed to give up. The disputes between her and them grew less and less frequent.  Apparently she had her mind made up and intended to live by her decision.

                Time ground relentlessly by and the day came when her and the giant were married.  In time they had a son whom she named Jack.  The first few weeks of living with the giant were not so bad; she could still live on the romantic dreams of gullible youth.  But  disillusionment soon came as she realized that her nasty giant was a nasty giant to stay. With a sickening jolt came the understanding that not all of the bones she carried away nightly from her hubbies’ table were those of animals.  Suddenly she knew: he was not going to change  into the Prince Charming of her books.  She had been wrong, dead wrong, and now she had to face her mistake.

                Like so many others she addressed her problem by running away from it.  She took her baby and left her Prince Charming to his castle in the sky.

                Compelling her thoughts to return to the present, she silently wondered, “Can I ever rid myself of this past mistake?  Or am I stuck with the memory of it forever?  Not fifteen years, not being shoved into a distant cranny of my mind has discouraged it from returning to torment me.”  Tired of thinking and remembering, she shuffled to her room and fell into a troubled sleep.

                 The next morning she awoke to find a huge beanstalk in her front yard.  It was a complete deja vu, except for the fact that this time the accompanying thrill was not pleasant.  Apparently the beans she thought she had gotten rid of had sprouted during the night.  With a heart sick with dread she went to the room of her son.  He was gone, up the beanstalk as she had done so many years before. 

                                All that day she worried about her boy.  Yet just as the sun was going down, looking high up in the beanstalk she saw Jack coming home.  A few minutes later he was safely in her embrace.  Excitedly, he began to recount adventures about an ugly giant who had tried to eat him and to show her treasures he had stolen from the giant.  Then he said, “Mom, you won’t believe this.  This giant I’m talking about, he had a picture that looked just like you on the wall of his castle.  Isn’t that strange?”  

                Her joy at having her son safely home quickly faded.    

                “Yes, son.” She slowly replied.

                Though she often pleaded with him to never again return to the castle Jack could not resist the temptation of climbing the alluring beanstalk.  The days that followed were marked by Jack’s trips up and down the beanstalk, by his stories about how he again and again escaped from and exploited the stupid giant, and by her constant worry both for his safety and over whether he would discover the story behind the picture in the castle.

                “How ironic,” she often mused, “the son stealing from the father and the father trying to eat the son.”

                              One day the climax came.  While waiting for Jack to return home she heard the high-pitched scream of a young boy followed by a deep, throaty noise that more closely resembled a growl than a yell.  Staring up into the tangled vegetation of the beanstalk, high up she saw Jack scrambling down the vine closely followed by a figure easily familiar to her by its size.  It was the giant -- her mistake.  It was the first time in almost fifteen years that she laid her eyes upon him.  He still had not changed.  Even at a long distance she could see that.  His matted hair hung in filthy clumps and his fiercely ugly face was just as repulsive as when she had first seen it. 

                Suddenly, Jack was on the ground beside her, white-faced and breathing hard.  Before she could even begin to react Jack grabbed up an ax from the wood pile and with three quick chops neatly severed the beanstalk.  With a harsh scream ending in a dull thud, the giant -- the embodiment of the error of her youth -- met his end. 

                And so ended her mistake.  Or maybe not.  Our mistakes have a way of showing up years later as though they do not want  us to forget them.  As Jack’s mother stood over the gaping hole looking down at nothing, she desperately hoped it was over.  The years of hurting, the years of wondering if she could ever forget -- she prayed that they were behind her to stay.  But somehow deep in her heart she knew they were not.  They never are.

Vladimeer Reshclovosky's Theory

of Dynamic Equilibrium

By: Joel Booker 

                The inconclusive evidence presented in Thupert Mendeleov's Pseudo-scientific Hypothesis of  Quadratic Quantum Mechanics has been the cause of intense bafflement and severe choler for any competent scientist dealing with the question of the molarity of solution.  The primary causation for this universal discombobulation of our most brilliant scientific minds lies in the unhappy circumstance that the exhaustive compilations of Vladimeer Reshclovosky, next to Albert Eistein probably the most logical thinking physicist ever, are all but unknown.  His premier composition is an incredibly comprehensive tomb of almost onomatopoeic scope.  Many seemingly oxymoronic assertions proffered as evidence by Mendeleov are reconciled by Reshclovosky's practically unread Thesis of Dynamic Equilibrium. 

                Dynamic equilibrium, a condition I have endeavored to portray through my model of the "potential energy powered sphere", is a situation rarely achieved and then maintained only for very short intervals.  It is only through applying Vladimeer Reshclovosky's prescriptive solutions that I was able to maintain this dynamic equilibrium myself.

                Reshclovosky's law of dynamic equilibrium, composed of two main principles, is the catalystic supposition that will soon radically deviate the entire course of science.  These two principles are stated below.

                1.  The force of acetic energy upon an object (i.e. the "potential energy powered         sphere") composed of substances of greater density than C-14 under ordinary           temperature and pressure (250 C and 760 torr) is equivalent to the mass of that                      same object divided by its volume.  Again, at ordinary temperature and                                   pressure.  Represented by formula 1.1.

                2.  The nuclear stability of all atoms with a nucleus of at least 14 nuclei in a                 cathode tube is inversely proportional to the velocity at which the synchronic           accelerator incendiates the gaseous surroundings. This of course at ordinary        temperature and pressure.  Represented by formula 1.2.  

                It is this second principle that will challenge science.  Boldly and aggressively, it attacks the fundamentals of modern-day science.  The attack is directed at the across-the- board assumption that the synchronic accelerator catylyzes either an endothermic reaction (a reaction in which heat is absorbed) or an exothermic reaction ( a reaction in which heat is released).  Reshclovosky's Thesis of Dynamic Equilibrium states that this assumption is entirely false.  Formerly it was believed that a reaction had to be either endothermic and

exothermic.  This, states Reshclovosky, is simply not true.

                An end-of-reaction condition discovered by Reshclovosky known as equothermic is what occurs due to the synchronic accelerator.  The equothermic reaction is a reaction in which energy is neither absorbed or released.  Since there is no energy change, or one of infinitesimal measure, it stands to reason that the stability or dynamic equilibrium will be definitely increased.  I have utilized this equothermic reactive attribute in the "potential energy powered sphere" of my project.  Due to the equothermic characteristic in my steel ball it has a pronounced stability in its travels down the track.

                Reshclovosky has definitely introduced some galvanizing principles which are bound to rewrite the textbooks but yet another time.

                I thank you for being interested enough to read my entire report and I hope that you were not at any time bored.

Einstein as in Art Form

By: Jay P.

                Albert Einstein the great physicist, theoretical scientist, and eccentric, is considered by many to have been the greatest mind in science since Isaac Newton. The mere mention of his name brings to mind such concepts as the theory of relativity, time warps, and the atom bomb. If one were asked to describe him, words like “brilliant”, “learned”, and “weird” would immediately spring to mind. Traditionally history records Einstein as a brilliant scientist, and pretty much leaves it at that. There are individuals, however, who feels Einstein was much more than just a brain trust, and was, in fact, an art form.

                One of the chief proponents of this ah, unusual line of thought is the Polish-American poet-author-artist Jase Scada. Scada was enough of a gentleman to grant me a private audience in his home upon my request. What follows is a transcript of our interview.

I: “...Thank you for granting me audience Mr. Scada. Shall we proceed directly into the interview?”

S: “Yes, that would be fine with me.”

I: “I’ll start by asking you a few questions about your background. Can you talk a bit about your education?”

S: “Well, there’s really not much to tell. I began attending the Lighthouse Academy for especially mentally gifted individuals when I was only four years old. Since it offered education through grades K -12, I attended it until I graduated from high school in 1995. Since I am quite intelligent, I never felt the need to attend college.”

I: “Can you tell me when it was that you first became interested in that purest of human pursuits, Art?”

S: “I remember the occasion quite well. It was while I was standing in the Louvre Museum, in Paris. I was gazing at a particularly incomprehensible painting by Monet. The painting appeared to be representing a green skull perked atop a large pile of daffodils. Since I was unused to fine art at the time, my first thought was, ‘How idiotic!’ However, after I had considered it for a while, I began to see some appealing points in the painting, such as the bright, cheery colors, the delicate brush strokes, and the fact that is was valued at around $400,000. I remember thinking ‘I would really like to be an artist!’”

I: “Why do you consider Einstein to be an art form?”

S: “Because he has a very paintable mustache. Also, his hair lends itself to a certain freedom of the brush which I find refreshing.”

I: “Do you think that... oops! There goes my beeper! I gotta run, in closing, do you have any advise for budding artists?”

S: “ Yes. Try to cultivate a vague, supercilious attitude. Never bathe, brush your teeth, or comb or cut your hair. Dress in ill-fitting, heliotrope clothing. Most importantly, remember the price tag.”

End of interview.

I Like Christmas

By: Jay P.

I like Christmas.

The cheerful carols

The friendly feeling,

The things I can get away with.

I like Christmas.

The crisp, cold air,

The warm snapping

Of a blazing fire

The feverish, overmastering greed

When I see presents.

I like Christmas.

Gimme some cocoa!

Christmas Cat

By: Jay P.

The cat got caught

In the Christmas lights.

Lit from end to end

He dashed

Up and down and throughout

The house.

We fed the cat poison.

We found the affect

Nice indeed.

Henceforth,

We shall keep him clad

In Christmas lights.

We shall always put our presents

Under the Christmas cat.

We shall sing,

O Christmas cat, O Christmas cat....

We shall,

By means of hammer and nail,

Firmly attach a silver star

To his brow.

(Rudolph, eat yer heart out!)

Happiness is not Orangeade

By: Jay P.

I am happy

Although,

I have no

pitchers filled with

Orangeade

To call my own.

My fount of joy

Thankfully

Springs from another source;

My ability at chess.

(Tis’ indeed a very well-spring

of pleasant feeling.)

Reason (Without rhyme)

By: Jay P.

“All the time,

A poem must rhyme”

(Such was my erstwhile fancy)

‘Till I read a tome,

(‘Twas leather-bound)

By that creature Ezra Pound.

Pollock Pride

(an open lette)

By: Jay P.

Fellow Polish Americans:

                The time has come for us to rise and shamelessly exploit our ethnicity for personal gain. (“What on earth are you talking about, Jay?!”) Allow me to explain. If you’ve followed the news at all over the past few years, I’m sure you’ve noticed that there is a growing trend toward multi-culturalism. One of the spin-offs of multi-culturalism is affirmative action. Affirmative is a policy by which certain minorities obtain jobs which they are not qualified for, using the color of their skin, how their ancestors were treated, or some other completely irrelevant fact as means of securing positions.

                (“But... but, Jay, most Polish-Americans are white, and have been treated quite well through the ages. How are we to get a peace of the affirmative action, multi-cultural pie?”)

                If you will just shut up a minute, I’ll explain! It’s quite easy actually. Think of all the mean, nasty, harsh, cutting, racist Pollock jokes you have heard over the years. Now, all we have to do, is convince people that these jokes have demoralized us to the point that if we don’t start getting special treatment, we are going to form a ghetto. In this ghetto we will sell drugs, shoot and stab one another, and live debauched life-styles until we get what we want. (I.e. special jobs, government subsidies, etc..) If people still refuse to hearken, we will periodically burn down our neighborhoods, stab our wives, and march on Washington. Hopefully, by then people will understand that we deserve special treatment in society. Of course, we are to special to actually go out and refuse to hearken, we will periodically burn down our neighborhoods, stab our wives, and march on Washington. Hopefully, by then people will understand that we deserve special treatment in society.  Of course, we are to special to actually go out and work now, so we’ll just sit at home, have babies, and collect welfare.

                In closing, Polish-Americans, I just wanted to let you know that I and my “Nation of Poland” bodyguards will be visiting your neighborhood sometime in the near future. Have your wallets and checkbooks ready, because the “cause” costs a lot to run. (I need a new house...)

Frozen Chunks of Wildlife

By: Jay P.

Slip our feet,

On icy stones,

Down we fall,

Breaking bones,

Dazed we feel

Round about us,

Ice, more ice!

It doth surround us!

We are the venison,

The hamburger,

Entities filled with cold, dim thoughts,

How tight your fridgidaire doth hold us!

(Thank you T.S. Eliot)

Indecisive

(maybe)

By: Jay P.

Perhaps,

And then again,

No way!

(His mind was not made up!)

Should I go,

Or should I stay?

(His “brains” were temps’t tos’t!)

Cooking Blues

By: Jay P.

The girls today, they cannot cook,

(The microwave has ruined ‘em!)

And so I sit and read my book,

And I will never marry ‘em!

(Unless they cook,

Like Suzy M.)

Advice to Bachelors

By: Jay P.

Trouble is beauty,

Beauty death;

Allow elaboration.

A man o’ war wi’ multi-hue,

(Green and orange, and deep-sea blue)

Wi’ sleep and venom tipped deals

Stings, and paralyzes meals.