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Great Truths About Life GREAT TRUTHS ABOUT LIFE, THAT LITTLE CHILDREN HAVE LEARNED: 1) No matter how hard you try, you can't baptize cats. 2) When your Mom is mad at your Dad, don't let her brush your hair. 3) If your sister hits you, don't hit her back. They always catch the second person. 4) Never ask your 3-year old brother to hold an egg. 5) You can't trust dogs to watch your food. 6) Don't sneeze when someone is cutting your hair. 7) Never hold a Dust-Buster and a cat at the same time. 8) You can't hide a piece of broccoli in a glass of milk. 9) Don't wear polka-dot underwear under white shorts. 10) The best place to be when you're sad is Grandpa's lap. GREAT TRUTHS ABOUT LIFE, THAT ADULTS HAVE LEARNED: 1) Raising teenagers is like nailing Jell-O to a tree. 2) Wrinkles don't hurt. 3) Families are like fudge, mostly sweet, with a few nuts. 4) Today's mighty oak is just yesterday's nut that held its ground. 5) Laughing is good exercise. It's like jogging on the inside. 6) Middle age is when you choose your cereal for the fiber, not the joy. GREAT TRUTHS ABOUT GROWING OLD: 1) Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional. 2) Forget the health food. I need all the preservatives I can get. 3) When you fall down, you wonder what else you can do while you're down there. 4) You're getting old when you get the same sensation from a rocking chair that you once got from a roller coaster. 5) It's frustrating when you know all the answers, but nobody bothers to ask you the questions. 6) Time may be a great healer, but it's a lousy beautician. 7) Wisdom comes with age, but sometimes age comes alone. THE FOUR STAGES OF LIFE: 1) You believe in Santa Claus. 2) You don't believe in Santa Claus. 3) You are Santa Claus. 4) You look like Santa Claus. SUCCESS: At age 04 success is . . . not peeing in your pants. At age 12 success is . . . having friends. At age 16 success is . . . having a drivers license. At age 20 success is . . . having sex. At age 35 success is . . . having money. At age 50 success is . . . having money. At age 60 success is . . . having sex. At age 70 success is . . . having a drivers license. At age 75 success is . . . having friends. At age 80 success is . . . not peeing in your pants. |
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College Essay __________________________________________________________________________ This is an actual essay written by a college applicant. The author, Hugh Gallagher, now attends NYU. --------------------------------------------------------------------- 3A. ESSAY: IN ORDER FOR THE ADMISSIONS STAFF OF OUR COLLEGE TO GET TO KNOW YOU, THE APPLICANT, BETTER, WE ASK THAT YOU ANSWER THE FOLLOWING QUESTION: ARE THERE ANY SIGNIFICANT EXPERIENCES YOU HAVE HAD, OR ACCOMPLISHMENTS YOU HAVE REALIZED, THAT HAVE HELPED TO DEFINE YOU 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 for 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. --------------------------------------------------------------------- -Rorke. -- The Jokemeister's free jokes (http://www.markfunk.com) |
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College Letter Home subject: Letter Home to Dad Dear Dad, $chool i$ really great. I am making lot$ of friend$ and $tudying very hard. With all my $tuff, I $imply can't think of anything I need, $o if you would like, you can ju$t $end me a card, a$ I would love to hear from you. Love, Your $on. The Reply: ---------- Dear Son, I kNOw that astroNOmy, ecoNOmics, and oceaNOgraphy are eNOugh to keep even an hoNOr student busy. Do NOt forget that the pursuit of kNOwledge is a NOble task, and you can never study eNOugh. Love, Dad -- The Jokemeister's free jokes (http://www.markfunk.com) |
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A Coed Writes Home EVERYTHING HAS A SILVER LINING... Dear Mom and Dad: It has been four months since I left for college. I have been remiss in writing and am very sorry for my thoughtlessness. I will bring you up to date now, but before you read on, please sit down. Don't read any further unless you are sitting down... ... OK? Good. I am getting along pretty well now. The skull fracture and the concussion I got from jumping out of the window of my dormitory when it caught fire, shortly after my arrival, are pretty well healed now. I only spent two weeks in the hospital and now I can see almost normally and only get three headaches a day. Fortunately, the fire in the dormitory and my jump were witnessed by an attendant at a nearby gas station, and he was able to call the Fire Department and the ambulance. He also visited me at the hospital, and since I had nowhere to live because of the burnt-out dorm, he was kind enough to invite me to share his apartment with him. It's really a basement room, but it is kind of cute. He is a very fine boy and we have fallen deeply in love and are planning to get married. We haven't set the exact date yet, but I'm sure it will be before I start to show. Yes, Mom and Dad, I am pregnant. I know how much you are looking forward to being grandparents, and I know you will give the baby the same love and devotion and tender care you gave me when I was a child. The reason for the delay in our marriage is that my boyfriend has some minor infection which prevents us from passing our premarital blood tests, and I carelessly caught it from him. This will soon clear up, thanks to my daily penicillin injections. I know you will welcome him into our family with open arms. He is kind, and although not well educated, he is ambitious. Also, he is of a different race and religion than ours, but I know, after all your years of teaching me tolerance, that you won't mind the fact that he is somewhat darker than we are. I am sure you will love him as I do. His family background is good, too; I am told that his father is an important gunbearer in his native African village. I guess that's it. Now that I have brought you up to date, I want you to know ... There was no dormitory fire, I did not have a skull fracture, I was not in the hospital, I am not pregnant, I am not engaged, I do not have syphilis and there is no man of another race in my life. However, I am getting a "D" in History and an "F" in Science, and I wanted you to see these marks in their proper perspective. Your loving daughter, Chelsea P.S. Stanford is great...I love it, though I miss you both terribly...and Socks, too! P.P.S. Dad, please give my best to Monica & the others. -- The Jokemeister's free jokes (http://www.markfunk.com) |
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Email Relationship Meeeting In Real Life Aborted Airport Mission by Andrew Hicks Let me tell you why I won't be going back to Lambert St. Louis Airport for a while. It was Sunday, January 4, 1998, one of those days that reminded me that, when it comes down to it, my life is a bad sitcom. The day started at 6:00. I don't usually get up that early for any reason, but this time I was going to meet Her. There's a 22-year-old woman I've been e-mailing almost daily for the past sixteen months. Yes, and feel free to laugh all you want, I've got a cyber buddy I've never met. I'm one of those cynical people who makes fun of weak individuals who actually care about people they've met over the computer, but somehow I've become one of those hypocrites. And I don't care. Even if I did originally meet Her in TV Chat in my Dick Assman days, She's still one of the three coolest people I've ever known. So why do I capitalize pronoun references to Her? Because I'm starting to think She doesn't exist, not just because She's so impossibly awesome, but because both times I've tried to meet Her at the airport, it's been an aborted mission. The first time was last June, in the heat of the student painter fiasco. Stress was on, so maybe that's why I screwed up something so simple as flight information. I wrote down the time She told me, but when I got to the airport, the board said the flight would arrive twenty minutes later. So my best friend and I went and rode the moving sidewalks for awhile and, by the time we got to the gate, found out the plane had arrived on time after all and She was nowhere to be seen. This time I resolved to resist the temptation of the moving sidewalks and make a beeline for the right gate. Of course, Her flight was getting there at 7:45 in the morning, which I know would significantly diminish my enjoyment of the moving sidewalks. I had planned to go by myself, but my best friend volunteered to come with me again, since he'd already walked a few miles looking for Her in June. Plus it's a deed that earns you ten bonus friend points. Everything seemed to work this time. We got to the airport on time, got a good parking space and went to the gate the board told me to go to. I got there at 7:42 and went to the desk to double check. I asked the woman behind the desk, who looked just like Mrs. Ockmonick from "ALF," if the flight had arrived yet. She told me, "It'll be here in a few minutes, sweetie," in that patronizing daddy- will-be-home-soon tone you always see mothers telling their children in old Westerns. So we sat and waited. The plane arrived promptly at 7:45 and people got off. A lot of people, in clusters of two, three and four, for about fifteen minutes. I waited patiently until no one else was coming. Then the three flight attendants moseyed out and I realized, "No, Andrew, even if it is a new year, even if your life has been on a steady incline the past few years, you still have bizarre streaks of comic bad luck no one else seems to experience." Slivers of doubt began to stab themselves into my brain as I went back up to Mrs. Ockmonick. That was the first time I thought that maybe I should have brought more information with me than flight airline, time and city it was coming from. I switched to Plan B, remembering She was going to set up a connecting flight to San Francisco. I got the time and gate number of the next two connecting flights and led my best friend back down the moving sidewalks to another huge terminal. Surprisingly, he didn't tear me the new exiting orifice I would have ripped him in a similar situation, but the early hour may have restricted his malice somewhat. It didn't matter, though; I was exercising enough self-loathing for two people. And when we got to Gate 45, home of the 8:45 San Francisco flight, I wasn't really expecting to see anyone fitting Her description. I was already waving the mental white flag of the disorganized guy who finally realizes what he's up against in a huge airport full of strangers. Searches at gates 45 and 51, where the second San Francisco flight was leaving, yielded nothing. That was it for me, I was ready to get the hell out of the airport for several months at least. We trudged our way to the car, me wondering how She slipped through my fingers again, why I didn't demand more information like flight number, gate number, seat number, description of outfit to be worn and number of people on the plane. It seems like missing Her twice in the face of such seemingly foolproof instructions can't be coincidence. I came to the conclusion that, either some cosmic force didn't want us to meet, some subconscious part of my mind is making sure I screw up or, my favored theory, She doesn't exist. She's part of some diabolical computer program written by Bill Gates in his spare time to mess with the heads of teenage boys everywhere and make them frustrate themselves in airports all over the country. I wouldn't be thinking about any of this two minutes later. A whole new crisis arose. As we pulled out of the airport parking lot, I pulled the parking lot claim ticket from my pocket and set it in the empty ashtray to have it ready. This because I also have bad luck with parking lot tickets -- the same night I lost $14 at the baseball game last summer, I lost my parking lot ticket and had a frustrated Aiesha standing there while I frantically searched my car. She finally threw her hands up in exasperation and yelled, "Just get out of here!" saving me some no doubt exorbitant fee. Since then, I've always stuck my claim tickets in my wallet with the logic that, this way, if I lose the ticket I'm going to have much bigger problems than pissing off some employee stationed at the exit. That day at the airport, though, it was firmly stuck in my ashtray until I looked down and saw about ninety percent of it had worked its way into a horizontal crack separating the ashtray from the inner mechanisms of the car. I couldn't do anything because I was driving and, besides, I was almost at the ticket booth. I figured I'd easily pull it out for her. When I got up to the booth and looked down into the ashtray, I saw nothing. No ticket. An R-rated exclamation shot through my mind. I looked up at the ticket woman for some sign of sympathy, to which her worn-down face replied gruffly, "You lose your ticket, it's 18 dollas!" I assessed the situation. I was a poor college boy who parked in an airport lot for less than an hour; I'd be damned if I was going to give Afeni the satisfaction of making me fork over a twenty for only two dollas change. So I threw the car into reverse and flew back about fifty feet to tear my car apart in search of that ticket. I looked around for any kind of miniature tweezer apparatus, now cursing myself for not carrying one of those tacky Swiss Army knives around for just this kind of emergency. I tried futilely to remove the ashtray to give me better access to the crack. My only option, it seemed, was to pull the entire storage unit / armrest up from its footing, but even in my adrenaline-charged airport anger, all I could manage was a slight ripping sound amid a flurry of naughty words most sailors would probably think twice about using. I was inches from just flipping Afeni the bird and plowing my '87 Grand Am through the wooden gate when the inner casing of the storage unit came up, revealing a stack of missing papers. In one split second, I saw my report card from second quarter tenth grade, a year- old insurance card and, yes, oh yes, the airport ticket. I threw the car into drive and squealed my tires up to my adversary's booth with great haste. "I've got it!" I announced in a triumphant tone of voice. Afeni begrudgingly took the ticket and ran it through her computer. "$2.25," she announced. Highway robbery for an hour's parking but still much more acceptable than "18 dollas!" I handed her the twenty and she counted out my change -- three quarters and seventeen one-dollar bills. She thought that, even though I'd thwarted her plan to bilk my butt out of that money, most of which she would undoubtedly pocket, she could at least make my life a little bit less convenient by having to carry around seventeen one-dollar bills. Wrong, sister. I wouldn't have given a damn if she gave me 1,775 pennies; I would have proudly displayed my trophy. Take that, Afeni. And there's a postscript to the story. Yes, I went to the wrong gate, but it turns out My cyberbuddy, my e-mail girl, Her flight was cancelled. She had to take a later flight into St. Louis. So it turns out this aborted airport meeting wasn't my fault. Still, in the back of my mind, I think Bill Gates was laughing his head off that day. From the Internet humor diary "A Fourth Year," housed in its entirety at the Andrew Hicks WWW Extravaganza homepage (http://students.missouri.edu/~ahicks). -- The Jokemeister's free jokes (http://www.markfunk.com) |
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Darwinism Explained(male-female Differences) All babies start out with the same number of raw cells which, over nine months, develop into a complete female baby. The problem occurs when cells are instructed by the little chromosomes to make a male baby instead. Because there are only so many cells to go around, the cells necessary to develop a male's reproductive organs have to come from cells already assigned elsewhere in the female. Recent tests have shown that these cells are removed from the communications center of the brain, migrate lower in the body and develop into male sexual organs. If you visualize a normal brain to be similar to a full deck of cards, this means that males are born a few cards short, so to speak. And some of their cards are in their shorts. This difference between the male and female brain manifests itself in various ways. Little girls will tend to play things like house or learn to read. Little boys, however, will tend to do things like placing a bucket over their heads and running into walls. Little girls will think about doing things before taking any action. Little boys will just punch or kick something and will look surprised if someone asks them why they just punched their little brother who was half asleep and looking the other way. This basic cognitive difference continues to grow until puberty, when the hormones kick into action and the trouble really begins. After puberty, not only the size of the male and female brains differ, but the center of thought also differs. Women think with their heads. Male thoughts often originate lower in their bodies where their ex- brain cells reside. Of course, the size of this problem varies from man to man. In some men only a small number of brain cells migrate and they are left with nearly full mental capacity but they tend to be rather dull, sexually speaking. Such men are known in medical terms as "Republicans." Other men suffer larger brain cell relocation. These men are medically referred to as "Democrats." A small number of men suffer massive brain cell migration to their groins. These men are usually referred to as ..... "Mr. President." -- The Jokemeister's free jokes (http://www.markfunk.com) |
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Dear Duke: Dear Duke, A Friendly Humor Advice Column For more advice check out http://www.dearduke.com Dear Duke, I work for NASA and have been researching ways to break the light barrier. Face it Duke, if we are ever going to get out of the solar system we will need to travel faster than light. After careful study of the laws of general relativity I'm totally stuck. I just can't seem to get by in the time space continuum any faster than light. Any bright ideas Duke? Unenlightened Dear Unenlightened, I understand your frustration. I wrestled with this problem for years before I solved it. The secret to warp drive ( as the Trekkies call it ) is what I call ATM drive. Ever notice when you're in line at an ATM how the person in front of you is slower than you are when you do your transaction. From a relativistic point of view you are slower than the person in line behind you. And he is slower than the person behind him. It's easy to see that the longer you extend the line the faster the people get at their transactions. At some point, someone will punch through the light barrier. Reaching this point doesn't take very long. You only need a few hundred people in line. Just harness this energy and you'll go far. If you have any doubt about this next time you watch the voyages of the Starship Enterprise take a careful look at the back end of the ship. You'll notice an ATM machine. Duke Dear Duke, I've always wanted to write in to an advice column, but have never had the guts. Now alas, in this age of cyber everything, when even writing for advice is as easy as clicking a button, i say, "why not?". So with my new found liberation, away I go, telling you how funny and creative your column is. I only have one problem Duke, I can't think of a problem. liberated, yet problemless Dear problemless, Thank you very much for the compliment. I must admit though, I have a hard time believing anyone can be problemless. But since you say so it must be true. If you look around in the world surely you can see that there are plenty of problems around. Perhaps you can take on some other problems. There are still plenty of people starving in Africa. The rain forests are being destroyed at an alarming rate. Industrial pollution is choking us all. Taking on any of these problems is sure to cause you much existential angst. To be isolated from worldly problems requires a profound lack of empathy. You must feel so ashamed to be happy and content. Come on, be miserable. Duke Reply from problemless, Wow, thanks Duke I feel worse already! Dear Duke: Once again I am plagued with a matter that has become my new enigma. And since you so wonderfully solved my other, guess what, you get this too. "Shopping carts" Why can't people put their shopping carts back where they go? Instead of leaving them sitting out in parking lot nowhere land as if they're little receptacles of steel and advertising waiting patiently for "only ^he^ knows" what to fall from the heavens. Is this a viral syndrome or, perhaps something even deeper? thanks, I just gotta know Dear I just gotta know, NO NO NO, Whatever you do don't mess with those carts out in the parking lots. You may be messing up with someone's experiment. Those metal grids that you call "Shopping carts" are really radio astronomy antennas in a phased array. They are mapping the radio universe. They could be listening to alien signals and moving one cart just a centimeter could tune them into Rush Limbaugh. I guess that wouldn't make much of a difference. You get the point. The next time you see one of those store employees taking a cart back in the store be sure to scream at them until they run in terror. I know they are only 16 and trying to get a few bucks to put gas in their car so they can take a date to the drive in but science is science. Hot times in the back seat will have to wait. Duke Dear Duke: A question has occurred with myself and a close friend who has found a particular area in the internet and had a couple "heated" moments. Now they are going through a guilt phase. Perhaps you could answer this. Would it be considered cheating when you "Cyber" with another on the internet? I say it is no different than your significant other quietly reading the latest edition of Victoria's Secret, Penthouse, or even hottest romance novel and finding that heated moment. Your wise thoughts? waiting with anticipation Dear waiting, I think we all know the great lengths the mind can go in constructing fantasy relationships. It's so much easier to stare longingly at the greener grass over the fence than to tend to your own garden. The internet has given us the ability to have virtual relationships with virtual people. In the Duke's opinion these relationships are indicative of an inability to have a real relationship or a symptom of discontent with your present relationships. But there are many reasons that virtual relationships are better than real relationships. 1) Computer viruses much less dangerous than HIV viruses. 2) As long as things are in hand your partner will never let you down. 3) No deposit, no return. 4) No snoring. 5) No dirty socks left lying around. 6) When the going gets tough you just click the disconnect button. 7) No honesty needed. 8) $19.95 flat monthly fee, unlimited use. As you point out, waiting with anticipation, the internet is not the only way to have fantasy relationships. Victoria's Secret or romance novels work fine also. The practice is as old as humankind. Duke Dear Duke, I've written a few good books in my time but lately I'm, having trouble coming up with new and original ideas. It seems that my creativity is spent. I still have that urge to write but my fingers remain dormant on the keyboard. Do you have any suggestion for revitalizing my creativity? Stifled Dear Stifled, I certainly understand your frustration. I've wrestled with writers block and dormant keyboards myself. I've received some comments that this column lacks creativity and original thought. Of course those comments were from people who lacked the capacity to type and chew gum at the same time. Why else would they have those "sticky keys". One convenient way to get around this problem is to pick up and study a copy of The 7 Habits of Highly Effective Idea Recycling for Fun and Profit. Another good one is Creativity is from Mars and Repeating It is from Venus. Yes, you too can cut out the pages from one of your old books, shuffle the pages and put a new cover on it. You may get an internal revulsion at what you've done but you'll get over it once those royalty checks start pouring in. Don't forget, those aliens from Independence Day are coming back. Once they found out their ship was destroyed they organized a counter offensive, and boy are they pissed off. The Duke predicts ID5 is coming. Duke Dear Duke, I'm engaged to be married to the woman of my dreams. I love her a lot. The problem is that she is pregnant and she is not sure if the baby is mine or this other guy she's going with. She's decided to marry me and I'm so happy about it. The other guy is upset but is out of the picture unless blood test prove the baby is his in which case he wants visitation rights. I want to raise the child as my own regardless of who the father is. What should I do Duke? In Love Dear In Love, I don't think the problem here is that he wants visitation rights. The problem is that somehow the three of you have managed to contribute to the gene pool. And you are threatening to further add to it. Perhaps you can contribute to society by learning a new skill, such as bomb defusing or nuclear waste cleanup. Or maybe prevent further damage by getting a vasectomy. Well, good luck with your sister. Duke Dear Duke, I've noticed this strange phenomena around my house lately. At time these little dust balls appear in the corners and crevices around my walls. If I leave them alone more appear over time. If I sweep them up more of them appear a few days later. No matter what I do they keep coming back. How can I get rid of these? Flustered Dear Flustered, You must notify the FBI, CIA, National Guard, Centers for Disease Control and the Men in Black immediately and have a wide perimeter quarantine placed around your house. This phenomena you are talking about is called spontaneous generation. The generation of life out of inanimate matter. I know you thought Louis Pasture disproved it but I know it's real and just a government conspiracy that keeps it secret. Unleashed around the globe this phenomena would result in our planet being overrun by dust balls. Of course the quarantined area will have to be incinerated. Just think of your sacrifice as a small price to pay to save the world. Containment procedures must be instituted immediately. If anyone out there has noted a similar phenomena in their homes let us know so sterilization procedures can begin. Duke Dear Duke, I have a question about animal behavior. When I come home from work my cat seems glad to see me but then rubs up against my leg and purrs. I see no useful purpose for this behavior. It seems to be some expression of affection but I'm not sure. Why does my cat do this? Purrrplexed Dear Purrrplexed, Watch out! Your cat is secretly disgusted with you for going to work and abondoning it and is trying to assassinate you. How do I know? Your cat is trying to build up an electrostatic charge on you which can electrocute you. Whenever my cat purrs and rubs up against me I grab em and rub an acrylic rod on him until I can paste him against the wall. The static charge holds him there long enough to remind him what it means to be a cat in a human world. Finally he falls and slinks away totally humbled by the experience. After that my cat won't dare to try to electrocute me for months. Duke Dear Duke, Sometimes when I'm driving I get stuck in an unexpected traffic jam. The cars just creep along and I get all upset. I finally get to an area where there is an accident. What confuses me is that the accident is cleared off to the side of the road but people still creep by the accident. The way I see it there is no obstruction in the road and we should be going normal speeds. What's going on here? Jammin Dan Dear Jammin Dan, I know what you mean. This problem occurs in all major metropolitan areas. There always seems to be an accident slowing me down when I'm late for my dates with Heather Locklear. The way I see it, if I have to wait in a traffic jam while pouring sweat and getting cramps in my fingers from gnashing the steering wheel while my ulcer doubles in size and Heather runs off with another man I'm going to get a damn good look at the accident when it's finally my turn. I guess everyone else feels the same way too. Duke Dear Duke, Why do Dear Abby and Ann Landers have such large followings, when they are sisters, and cannot even figure out how to get along with each other? Randy Dear Randy, It has to do with the psychology of advice column writers. Advice column writers are a strange breed no matter how you look at it. Letters to advice columns cannot possibly give adequate information about complicated issues and are biased towards the person who wrote the letter. To foist yourself up as someone who can give advice based on this takes a kind of an arrogance and stupidity. Now, have you ever seen two stupid arrogant people getting along? And don't forget that poor self esteem is the driver for arrogance. (insecure.dll) My advice to you - don't take my advice. But you ask why they have such followings. Let's face it. People like to be told what to do. When their personal lives fall apart they can say "Not responsible! Abby told me to do it." I call it the seduction of the dictatorship. Now people, I want each of you to send me 5 dollars. Then tell 5 of your friends to each send me 5 dollars. Then have them tell 5 of their friends to send me 5 dollars, etc, etc. I'm a New Age believer in pyramid power! Duke Dear Duke, I recently bought my first computer and because of my curiosity about all this stuff I hear about the internet I decided to subscribe to America on Line. I've found it very frustrating because half the time I try to log on the phone line is busy. At other times I will be on line chatting or something and it will say "Goodbye" and cut itself off. What do you suggest I do about these problems? Aholed Dear Aholed, First off, don't feel guilty about having America on Line. Many of us, when we first bought computers and didn't know any better, subscribed to AOL. Think of it as learning to crawl before you can walk. It's now time to move on. First thing you need to do is get a good novel. Next is get the 1 – 800 phone number for member services from AOL. It's somewhere in the membership services area. It's hard to find but is there. They don't like to give it out because, heaven forbid, you may need to talk to a human being. Next, call the 800 number. You will then have to navigate through a maze of menu options, loops and dead ends by listening to machines and punching in numbers. These are designed to shield the humans at the core of the AOL Fortress and to frustrate you into giving up. But don't be deterred. Eventually you will reach a point where you'll get a message that says "I'm sorry, all our customer service representatives are busy now. Please hold." At this point sit back in an easy chair, open your novel and start reading. When you get about to page 178 the human at the core of AOL will say "How may I help you?" at which point you cancel the damn service. Next, get yourself a real Internet Service Provider. I don't mean to sound biased here. I know that other ISPs have their problems too. And after months of exhaustive research on AOL I have come up with a socially redeeming value of theirs. When they send me AOL setup disks in the mail I slide the tab in the back to occlude the square hole and then I'm able to delete the AOL junk and use the disk for anything I want. Duke Dear Duke, On a lighter note I wouldn't mind knowing the Grand Unified Theory (GUT) of physics so I could claim I discovered it myself and become as omnipresent on PBS as Stephen Hawking. lost one Dear lost one, Wanting to know the Grand Unified Theory is a laudable goal. After all, the GUT is THEE holy grail of physics. I question your aspirations to be on PBS. Do you want to hob nob with Barney and Mr Rogers? Do you want to be forgotten in boring documentaries? Do you want Amylotrophic Lateral Sclerosis? But you asked for the theory and not my opinions. Fortunately I happen to have a copy of the theory that I wrote up a few years ago. In the beginning there was a singularity, of infinite density and temperature. You cannot know the laws of the singularity because you cannot walk the Planck. When the universe was about ten to the minus thirty six seconds old a period of rapid expansion occurred. This unfolded to become a great turtle. The ridges and bumps on its shell are the mountains and valleys of todays earth. It's a virtual turtle so no one can disprove this theory. There you have it. Please deposit tips in my holy grail. So take this to PBS. As your fame and fortune blossom be sure to remember that you heard it first from the Duke. -- The Jokemeister's free jokes (http://www.markfunk.com) |
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Dear Diary: Minnesota Winters Dear Diary: Aug. 12 - Moved into our new home in Minnesota. It is so beautiful here. The hills and river valleys are so picturesque. I have a beautiful old oak tree in my front yard. Can hardly wait to see the change in the seasons. This is truly God's Country. Oct. 14 - Minnesota is such a gorgeous place to live, one of the real special places on Earth. The leaves are turning a multitude of different colors. I love all of the shades of reds, oranges and yellows, they are so bright. I want to walk through all of the beautiful hills and spot some white tail deer. They are so graceful, certainly they must be the most peaceful creatures on Earth. This must be paradise. Nov. 11 - Deer season opens this week. I can't imagine why anyone would want to shoot these elegant animals. They are the very symbol of peace and tranquility here in Minnesota. I hope it snows soon. I love it here! Dec. 2 - It snowed last night. I woke to the usual wonderful sight: everything covered in a beautiful blanket of white. The oak tree is magnificent. It looks like a postcard. We went out and swept the snow from the steps and driveway. The air is so crisp, clean and refreshing. We had a snowball fight. I won, and the snowplow came down the street. He must have gotten too close to the driveway because we had to go out and shovel the end of the driveway again. What a beautiful place. Nature in harmony. I love it here! Dec. 12 - More snow last night. I love it! The plow did his cute little trick again. What a rascal. A winter wonderland. I love it here! Dec. 19 - More snow - couldn't get out of the driveway to get to work in time. I'm exhausted from all of the shoveling. And that snowplow! Dec. 21 - More of that white shit coming down. I've got blisters on my hands and a kink in my back. I think that the snowplow driver waits around the corner until I'm done shoveling the driveway. Asshole. Dec. 25 - White Christmas? More freakin' snow. If I ever get my hands on the sonofabitch who drives that snowplow, I swear I'll castrate him. And why don't they use more salt on these roads to melt this crap?? Dec. 28 - It hasn't stopped snowing since Christmas. I have been inside since then, except of course when that SOB "Snowplow Harry" comes by. Can't go anywhere, cars are buried up to the windows. Weather man says to expect another 10 inches. Do you have any idea how many shovelfuls 10 inches is?? Jan. 1 - Happy New Year? The way it's coming down it won't melt until the 4th of July! The snowplow got stuck down the road and the shit head actually had the balls to come and ask to borrow a shovel! I told him I'd broken 6 already this season. Jan. 4 - Finally got out of the house. We went to the store to get some food and a goddamn deer ran out in front of my car and I hit the bastard. It did $3,000 in damage to the car. Those beasts ought to be killed. The hunters should have a longer season if you ask me. Jan. 27 - Warmed up a little and rained today. The rain turned the snow into ice and the weight of it broke the main limb of the oak tree in the front yard and it went through the roof. I should have cut that old piece of shit into fireplace wood when I had the chance. May 23 - Took my car to the local garage. Would you believe the whole underside of the car is rusted away from all of that damn salt they dump on the road? Car looks like a bashed up, heap of rusted cow shit. May 10 - Sold the car, the house, and moved to Georgia. I can't imagine why anyone in their freakin' mind would ever want to live in the God forsaken State of Minnesota. -- The Jokemeister's free jokes (http://www.markfunk.com) |
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Dough Kills? WANTED FOR ATTEMPTED MURDER (really from the Associated Press) Linda Burnett, 23, was visiting her in-laws, and while there went to a nearby supermarket to pick up some groceries. Several people noticed her sitting in her car with the windows rolled up and with her eyes closed, with both hands behind the back of her head. One customer who had been at the store for a while became concerned and walked over to the car. He noticed that Linda's eyes were now open, and she looked very strange. He asked her if she was okay, and Linda replied that she'd been shot in the back of the head, and had been holding her brains in for over an hour. The man called the paramedics, who broke into the car because the doors were locked and Linda refused to remove her hands from her head. When they finally got in, they found that Linda had a wad of bread dough on the back of her head. A Pillsbury biscuit canister had exploded from the heat, making a loud noise that sounded like a gunshot, and the wad of dough hit her in the back of her head. When she reached back to find out what it was, she felt the dough and thought it was her brains. She initially passed out, but quickly recovered and tried to hold her brains in for over an hour until someone noticed and came to her aid. And, yes, Linda is blonde. -- The Jokemeister's free jokes (http://www.markfunk.com) |
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Einstein's Speech Einstein's Speech When Albert Einstein was making the rounds of the speaker's circuit, he usually found himself eagerly longing to get back to his laboratory work. One night as they were driving to yet another rubber-chicken dinner, Einstein mentioned to his chauffeur (a man who somewhat resembled Einstein in looks & manner) that he was tired of speechmaking. "I have and idea, boss," his chauffeur said. "I've heard you give this speech so many times. I'll bet I could give it for you." Einstein laughed loudly and said, "Why not? Let's do it!" When they arrive at the dinner, Einstein donned the chauffeur's cap and jacket and sat in the back of the room. The chauffeur gave a beautiful rendition of Einstein's speech and even answered a few questions expertly. Then a supremely pompous professor asked an extremely esoteric question about anti-matter formation, digressing here and there to let everyone in the audience know that he was nobody's fool. Without missing a beat, the chauffeur fixed the professor with a steely stare and said, "Sir, the answer to that question is so simple that I will let my chauffeur, who is sitting in the back, answer it for me." -- The Jokemeister's free jokes (http://www.markfunk.com) |
