2/dec/1996 - Marriage in Heaven
There was a young couple, very much in love, who the night before they were to be married, were both tragically killed in an automobile accident. They found themselves at the pearly gates of Heaven being escorted in by St. Peter. After a couple of weeks in Heaven, the prospective groom took St. Peter aside and said, "St. Peter, my fiance and I are very happy to be in Heaven but we miss very much the opportunity to have celebrated our wedding vows. Is it possible for people in Heaven to get married?"
St. Peter looked at him and said, "I'm sorry, I've never heard of anyone in Heaven wanting to get married. I'm afraid you'll have to talk to the Lord God Almighty about that. I can get you an appointment for two weeks from Wednesday."
Come the appointed day, the couple were escorted by the guardian angels into the presence of the Lord God Almighty, where they repeat the request. The Lord looked at them solemnly and said, "I tell you what, wait five years and if you still want to get married, come back and we will talk about it again."
Well five years went by, and the couple still very much wanting to get married, came back. Again the Lord God Almighty said, "Please you must wait another five years and then I will consider your request."
Finally, they come before the Lord God Almighty the third time, ten years after their first request, and ask the Lord again. This time the Lord answered, "Yes, you may marry. This Saturday at 2:00 p.m., we will have a beautiful ceremony in the main chapel. The reception will be on me!"
The wedding went beautifully, all the guests thought the bride was beautiful. Moses brought some flowers from the Nile River Delta and Ghandi came wearing his finest hand-woven sari. But, you guessed it, the couple was married but a few weeks when they realized they had made a horrible mistake, they just couldn't stay married to one another.
So they made another appointment to see the Lord God Almighty, this time to ask if they could get a divorce in Heaven. When the Lord heard their request, he looked at them and said, "Look, it took us ten years to find a priest up here in Heaven; do you have any idea how long it'll take to find a lawyer?"
Subject: I've passed the bar, and I'm on a mission from God.
A quick narrative. I always wanted a hopped up muscle car when I was younger. I couldn't afford one. Now I can, and I have one. It is a '70 Mustang, and her name is Bessie. Bessie is the prototypical juvenile, male-caveman, scratch your crotch and drink cheap beer car. Chromed engine, dual exhaust, 250 horsepower, big tires, tra la la la.
I'm driving Bessie on Beach Boulevard behind an ancient guy in a beat up truck. He decides to turn in front of me without a blinker. I accelerate to swerve and avoid him, and this assh*le, overaerobicized woman jumps in front of my car with her hand up.
Meet Ethel, the neighborhood busybody/nuisance. She proceeds to yell in my window, "Hey, slow down you %$&#@ idiot." I'm a well-bred, mellow guy by nature, so I ignore this. As I drive away, she yells, "assh*le" at me again. Twice? *&%$# that. I turn around and drive up next to her.
"Do you have a problem?" I ask.
"Yeah, why are you driving like an idiot?"
"I was driving like an idiot? How, exactly?"
"You were speeding. I watched you."
"You were? I see. How did you measure my speed?" (Ever the interrogator, I am.)
"I heard you."
"So, you measured my speed by ear?"
"I can hear."
"How fast did you HEAR me going?"
"Look," she says, "I don't have to take this. Here comes a cop. I'll wave him down."
THE POLICE? This woman is a trip. She waves him down, and proceeds to tell him that she observed me speeding.
"What happened?" he asks. I told him the story, and told him that I accelerated to an indicated 33 mph (the speed limit is 35) to avoid a collision.
"Are those mufflers legal?" Ethel asks.
She's pushing it. I reply, "I have a C.A.R.B. exemption for them." I give the paperwork to the cop.
She tries to find another thing to screw me with. She says "What about those big tires? They CAN'T be legal. " I began feeling little overheated gears in the back of my head start to turn.
"These tires were available on the 1970 Boss 429, " I told the cop, " Which makes them street legal as a replacement."
Ethel gets angry. She whines, "So you're not going to give out any tickets to this assh*le?"
The cop says, "No, I am not."
I've about had it. So I say, "Sir, this woman told you that she left the street at the corner, and then she met up with my car here. According to Title 39, pedestrians have to cross the street at a right angle. This woman admitted she crossed at a 45-degree angle, which is a ticketable offense."
"What?" The cop looks confused.
"Also, she told you that she walked in front of my car to stop me. A citizen can't detain someone without probable cause, under Terry v. Ohio (My new favorite case). Since she couldn't measure my speed, she had no probable cause to detain me. That is an indictable offense."
The cop says, "But, I didn't see any of this."
"But," I said, "I did, and, as an officer of the Court, I can demand her arrest. I'll agree to dismiss the Illegal Detention charge, but I want her cited for not crossing at a right angle and Hazardous Conduct on a Public Street."
The cop called his Lieutenant, and after the cop told the story, he authorized the summonses.
She went home with $215.00 worth of traffic tickets, and they are worth a total of four points against her license, as well as the appropriate insurance surcharge!
Of course, if she demands a trial I won't prosecute. But the look on her face as she walked away was more than enough satisfaction for me.
Yeah, I've passed the bar, and I'm on a mission from God.
First, Babylon 5 has been renewed for it's 4th season.
But until we start seeing the final episodes for end of the 3rd season, here are a few ideas for the series to take.....
JK
>From this week's Zocalo newsletter:
In an attempt to improve ratings for the final five episodes this season, Babylon 5 will attempt to bring in some major guest stars by doing a bunch of crossover-episodes with other popular programs.
Coming up:
"Babylon 50210," Just as Sheridan and Delenn have a moment alone, Dylan returns and tries to win Delenn back. Also, Ivanova has a secret admirer whose fascination is turning dangerous, and Garibaldi is locked in the Peach Pit after hours with Kelly.
"Murder, She Babcommed," Despite Garibaldi's warnings that if she appears, murder will follow, Jessica Fletcher visits Babylon 5. Sure enough, someone is murdered. Guest starring Dick Van Dyke, William Windom and Charo.
"With a Little Help From His Friends," Marcus tries to get up the nerve to ask Ivanova out, but on advice from Joey and Chandler, accidently asks out Phoebe, making Monica jealous. Also, Sheridan and Delenn double date with Ross and Rachel.
"In Space, No One Can Hear You D'oh," Shadow ships are closing in, but Sheridan can't activate the defense grid because Homer has taken it apart looking for a donut that fell behind it. Also, Bart and Lisa call Londo's quarters, asking for Meyer Stu Tight [say it quickly].
"Babfeld," Begins a new direction for the fourth season as Sheridan, Ivanova, Garibaldi and G'Kar move to New York where Sheridan begins working as a stand up comic. In this episode, G'Kar declares a blood oath on Newman when Newman accuses him of not being "Master of his domain."
The B5 Files - Strange happenings on the station bring two Earthforce Investigators to look into things. Reports of strange shadow creatures, telekinetics, Technomages, alien presences on the planet, and temporal anomalies keep them busy, but nobody will give them any straight answers. One of the investigators is finally able to prove that alien abductions really do happen. Morden takes up cigarette smoking.
Babylon 5: Above and Beyond - Alpha Squadron is sent on a mission to destroy a Shadow outpost on an outlying world. The team spends equal time shooting Shadows and dealing with their inner angst. Evidence comes out that Earthforce may be working with the Shadows. After the mission, they all retire to Earheart's to get tanked.
Nowhere Narn - a Narn merchant has his friends, career, and life "erased" by a mysterious dark organization after he gets a data crystal showing a Breen outpost getting destroyed. He wanders from place to place on the station trying to find some remnant of his former life while tracking down the group that did this to him. Everyone he talks to is part of the conspiracy. He soon finds it's all a telepathic plot, and he's really a surgically altered Centauri.
Outworlder - Maclenn, a Minbari, reveals that he's immortal, and has lived over 400 years. A Drazi pops up, who Maclenn recognizes as another immortal. The two have a swordfight in the central corridor. The Minbari wins, killing the Drazi and causing a power surge that blows out half of the docking bays. Nobody traces it back to Maclenn. Kosh watches everything intently, but doesn't interfere or say anything.
Babylon Leap - Sheridan gets caught in a scientific experiment, and finds himself in the body of Valen 1000 years ago. Draal appears and explains what happened. Sheridan has to figure out the right things to do and say without royally screwing up history, or he'll never get home. Draal is unclear on what specifically has to be done, but helps out as best he can.
Pinky and the Vorlon - Kosh gets an assistant at last! Unfortunately, it's an anthropomorphic cat with the intelligence of a speed bump. "Zoinkers, Kosh, what are we gonna do tonight?" "The same thing we do every night. Figure out how to fight the Shadows." Kosh's schemes are so convoluted and indecipherable, though, that they never work.
Central Gardens West - Ivanova moves into an upscale apartment block in Green Sector next to the Gardens, and gets involved in sordid relationships, scandals, and other trouble. Nobody cares.
"Jerry Garcia?"
The jolly old elf laughed. "No Son, it's me, Santa Claus."
I sat up in my futon. "You're real. You're really here."
"Yes."
He looked around my apartment. "You don't have a tree."
"I... I kinda figured I didn't have the room. Besides, I haven't
really been in the Christmas spirit this year."
"I can see the bit about the room. If you were an animal, PETA
would be crusading for your release. But, pray do tell, why haven't you
been in the Christmas spirit?
" "I don't know. Probably in part because it's my first Christmas
away from my family and most of my friends in Houston."
"Houston? Uh oh, what's your name, Son?"
"Jim Porter."
"Porter." Santa checked his list. "Oh shit."
"What's the matter?"
"Your present is in Houston. At the Timmons Lane address."
"Ah. Great. So what were you bringing here?"
"An inflatable woman for a Mr. David Rhodes."
"Previous tenant. I still get some of his junk mail."
"Is it so difficult to take a few minutes and fill out one of
those little cards at the post office?"
"I filled out two of them! One for Jim and one for James."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Look, my night will go a lot more smoothly
if we just pretend you were sound asleep when I got here. And pretend you
had a tree. Where should I put this?"
"I'm getting the inflatable woman?"
Santa grunted. "But I wanted-"
"A Pentium 133. I know. But look at it this way... A computer
is so impersonal, so cold. And besides, you've already got a nice looking
computer over there."
"That old 486 DX-4 100 MHz clunker."
"But I'm giving you a much greater gift... the gift of companionship.
I'm giving you a friend!"
"An inflatable friend."
"Meanwhile, thanks to your Christmas wish, someone on Timmons
Lane will have a whole new educational opportunity!"
"They were probably hoping for a crack pipe."
Santa sighed. "All right. I don't usually do this, but since things
kinda got botched up, I'll make the exception. I've got some magical powers,
you may have heard about them, finger upside the nose, that sorta thing.
Minor miracles. I usually prefer to use them for the greater good of all
mankind... in fact, this year I was going to make a star shine brilliantly
over Bosnia, to provide a unifying symbol of peace to touch the hearts
of Serbs, Croats and Muslims alike. But if it will make you feel better,
I'll use that one to give life to your inflatable woman."
"You mean"
"That's right. Your very own love slave."
"Oh God. Let me think about this."
"Think fast. I've got a lot of homes yet to visit. You have any
snacks?"
"Uh... there's summer sausage and Killian's Red in the fridge.
Oh God, this is deep."
The light from the refrigerator illuminated the front of the apartment.
Santa called out from the kitchen. "You realize you'll need to keep
more food in the house. She's going to have to eat. And she'll probably
need clothing... eventually. Ho ho."
"Santa," I said. He emerged, sausage in one hand, beer in
the other.
"Santa, I appreciate the offer, but I think it would probably
be better if you just go ahead and unite Bosnia."
He chuckled, and bit off a hunk of sausage. "Jim," he said
with his mouth full, a twinkle in his eye which I could see even from my
bed, "I'm proud of you. You're doing the right thing." He swallowed.
"And I'll bet you've even regained some of that elusive Christmas
spirit in the process."
"Hey, you know, I think you're right!" I sat up. "Christmas
isn't about sex at all, is it? And being with family and friends isn't
what's important. What's really important is that we don't make waves when
those in power screw up. If nobody made waves, why, what a wonderful and
peaceful world it would be!"
Santa threw a box at me. "Asshole." He laid his middle finger
aside his nose and gave with a nod.
10. You wake up at 3 a.m. to go to the bathroom and stop and check your e-mail on the way back to bed.
9. You get a tattoo that reads "This body best viewed with Netscape Navigator 1.1 or higher."
8. You name your children Eudora, Mozilla and Dotcom.
7. You turn off your modem and get this awful empty feeling, like you just pulled the plug on a loved one.
6. You spend half of the plane trip with your laptop on your lap...and your child in the overhead compartment.
5. You decide to stay in college for an additional year or two, just for the free Internet access.
4. You laugh at people with 2400-baud modems.
3. You start using smileys in your snail mail.
2. The last girl you picked up was a JPEG.
1. Your hard drive crashes. You haven't logged in for two hours. You start to twitch. You pick up the phone and manually dial your ISP's access number. You try to hum to communicate with the modem. You succeed.
A bunch of Indians capture a cowboy and bring him back to their village to meet the chief. The chief says to the cowboy, "You going to die. But we sorry for you, so give you one wish a day for three days. On sundown of third day, you die. What is first wish?"
The cowboy says, "I want to see my horse." The Indians get his horse. The cowboy grabs the horse's ear and whispers something, then slaps the horse on the ass. The horse takes off.
Two hours later, the horse comes back with a naked blonde. She jumps off the horse and goes into the teepee with the cowboy. The Indians look at each other, figuring, "Typical white man - can only think of one thing."
The second day, the chief says, "What your wish today?"
The cowboy says, "I want to see my horse again." The Indians bring him his horse. The cowboy leans over to the horse and whispers something in its ear, then slaps it on the ass.
Two hours later, the horse comes back with a naked redhead. She gets off and goes in the teepee with the cowboy. The Indians shake their heads, figuring, "Typical white man - going to die tomorrow and can only think of one thing."
The last day comes, and the chief says, "This your last wish, white man. What you want?"
The cowboy says, "I want to see my horse again." The Indians bring him his horse. The cowboy grabs the horse by both ears, twists them hard and yells, "Read my lips! POSSE, damn it! P-O-S-S-E!"
This week, a million fraternity brothers rushed to join NASA. The reason: scientists have discovered beer in space.
Well, not beer exactly. But they did find alcohol: ethyl alcohol, to be precise, the active ingredient in all major alcoholic drinks (antifreeze Jell-O shots, quite obviously, are exempted from this category). Three British scientists, Drs. Tom Millar, Geoffrey MacDonald and Rolf Habing, discovered this interstellar Everclear floating in a gas cloud in the contellation of Aquila (sign of the Eagle, the mascot of Anheuser-Busch! Hmmmmm).
Millar and his compatriots have estimated the size of this gas cloud at approximately 1,000 times the diameter of our own solar system; there's enough alcohol out there, they say, to make 400 trillion trillion pints of beer. These guys are British, mind you; if you were to translate this in terms of American beer (which the British, with some justification, regard as fermented club soda), the amount of potential brewski just about doubles.
In human terms: remember that double-keg party you threw at the end of your Junior year in college (the second Junior year)? Imagine throwing that same party, every eight hours, for the next 30 billion years. You'd STILL have beer left over. And boy, would YOUR bathroom be a mess! Simply put, no one could ever drink 400 trillion trillion pints of beer, except maybe those Cleveland Brown fans.
The sheer volume of all this alcohol begs the question of how it managed to get out there in the first place. Despite the simplifying effect it has on the human brain, ethyl alcohol is a reasonably complex molecule: two carbon atoms, five hydrogen atoms, and a hydroxyl radical, all cavorting together in beery camaraderie. It's not a compund that is going to spontaneously arise out of the cold depths of space. It can lead to speculation: What is this cloud?
1. It's God's beer. After all, He worked for six days creating the universe, and on the seventh day, He rested. And after you've had a hard week at the office, don't YOU grab a beer? Since man is made in God's image, it could be that this cloud is the remaining evidence of the first, best Miller Time.
2. It's Purgatory ("400 trillion trillion bottles of beer on the wall, 400 trillion trillion bottles of beer! Take one down, pass it around, three hundred ninety-nine septillion, nine hundred ninety-nine sextillion, nine hundred ninety-nine quintillion, nine hundred ninety-nine quadrillion, nine hundred ninety-nine trillion, nine hundred ninety-nine billion, nine hundred ninety-nine million, nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred ninety-nine, bottles of beer on the wall!")
3. Proof of an undeniably highly advanced but chronically dipsomaniac alien society. This particular theory is shaky, however: it's reasonable to assume that if the aliens were going to construct a nebula of alcohol, they'd also have large clouds of Beer Nuts and pretzels nearby for snacking. Advanced spectral analysis has yet to locate them.
The truth of the matter, however, is far more prosaic. In the middle of this gas cloud is a young and no doubt quite inebriated star. As the star heats up and contracts, sucking the dust and gas of the cloud into a smaller area, complex molecules form as a result of greater interaction between the elements. Ethyl alcohol forms on small motes of dust in the cloud, and then, as the motes angle in closer towards the star and heat up, the alcohol is released from the motes in gaseous form. And there you have it: an alcohol cloud. Or, as Dave Bowman might say, "My God! It's full of booze!"
Enough with the science lesson, you say. Just tell me how to GET there! Sorry, Chuckles. You can't get there from here. The gas cloud (which, by the way, has the utterly romantic name of "G34.3") is 10,000 light years away: 58 quadrillion miles. Even if you hijacked the shuttle and headed out with thrusters on full, by the time you got there, the guy in Purgatory would be done with his tune. You'd have had time to work up a powerful thirst, but you'd also be, in a word, dead.
No, the Space Beer Cloud will have to wait for the far future, when men can leap through the universe at warp speed. One can only imagine what they will do when they get there:
Captain Kirk: My....GOD! Sulu! What....is....THAT?
Sulu: It's a free floating cloud of alcohol, sir.
Kirk: And we've just run out of Romulan Ale! Could it be a trap, Bones?
Bones: Damn it, Jim! I'm a doctor, not a distiller of fine spirits!
Kirk: We need that booze! But if we fly through that cloud, we'll be too drunk to drive!
Spock: May I remind you, Jim, that I am a Vulcan. We are a race of designated drivers.
Kirk: Well, all righty, then. Spock, drive us through! Bones and I will be out on the hull. With our mouths... open!
To boldly drink what no man has drunk before.
When Charlie Beavers broke into a plasma center one Saturday night in Pensacola, Florida, he didn't get much--primarily because he didn't get too far.
Now, to a normal, rational mind, breaking into a plasma center might not make much sense. But to Charlie, it seemed like a good idea at the time. So after checking out the building, Charlie removed the top from an air vent on the roof and entered feet first. 'Great,' he thought, 'I'll just slide down this air vent, steal everything in sight, and make a clean getaway.'
His master plan was going flawlessly until the shaft did a nine-foot vertical drop, causing him to lose him grip. Charlie shot down the duct at a high rate of speed. The experience must have seemed like a ride at the fair--but the ride came to a sudden and painful stop.
Charlie's air shaft ended approximately three feet above a cross beam that separated two offices. And Charlie reached terminal velocity at about the same time he reached the cross beam. With a force hard enough to break through two ceilings (one leg on each side of the beam), he came to a crushing halt.
Charlie's legs were now in separate rooms. His arms were weged tightly inside the shaft, straight up over his head. He was snugly straddling a cross beam.
Charlie spent a long weekend waiting for help. It arrived two days later, in the form of the police responding to a "breaking and entering" call. But then the police had to wait for the fire department to come and extricate Charlie from his predicament. As the luckless burglar was led hobbling away, Officer Pete Bell noticed that "part of his anatomy was swollen up to grapefruit size. And being from Florida, we know our grapefruits."
Beavers was arrested and charged with breaking and entering. Most officers on the scene agreed that Charlie had served his sentence long before the police ever arrived.
Oh, did we mention that it rained all weekend, right down the shaft and onto Charlie's face?
The Mattel Toy Company, in conjunction with Paramount Studios, announces the newest release in the "Barbie" line, "Borg Barbie." Created as an offshoot of the Classic Trek Barbie and Ken line, Borg Barbie features the fun of Barbie and the excitement of the fabulously successful Star Trek (tm) films and television programs.
Borg Barbie comes complete with Borg suit and SHE TALKS!!! Watch your children marvel as Borg Barbie says phrases like "Assimilation is Hard," "Let's accessorize our implants," "Your shopping malls WILL service the Borg," and "Let's absorb some cultures!" Recognizing the long-time deficiency in the Ken product, Mattel is releasing its new "Assimilated Ken," with a complete line of attachments and accessories. Assimilated Ken comes "fully functional and versed in multiple techniques" to give your kids hours of enjoyment.
The Borg Barbie line includes the new shuttlecraft that converts into a Borg Cube. The Borg Cube configuration features slots to insert Barbie, Ken, and the new "Modified Midge" and "Cyber Skippy" dolls. Join all four to create an invincible Barbie Collective that says, "We are the Barbie of Borg. Resistance is Futile. You WILL buy accessories for US."
Joke heard around the Pentagon lately goes like this:
One reason the Services have trouble operating jointly is that they don't speak the same language. For example, if you told Navy personnel to "secure a building," they would turn off the lights and lock the doors. Army personnel would occupy the building so no one could enter. Marines would assault the building, capture it, and defend it with suppressive fire and close combat. The Air Force, on the other hand, would take out a three-year lease with an option to buy.
Santa Claus, like all pilots, gets regular visits from the Federal Aviation Administration, and it was shortly before Christmas when the FAA examiner arrived.
In preparation, Santa had the elves wash the sled and bathe all the reindeer. Santa got his logbook out and made sure all his paperwork was in order.
The examiner walked slowly around the sled. He checked the reindeer harnesses, the landing gear, and Rudolf's nose. He painstakingly reviewed Santa's weight and balance calculations for the sled's enormous payload.
Finally, they were ready for the checkride. Santa got in, fastened his seatbelt and shoulder harness and checked the compass. Then the examiner hopped in, carrying to Santa's surprise, a shotgun.
"What's that for?" asked Santa incredulously.
The examiner winked and said, "I'm not supposed to tell you this, but you're gonna lose an engine on takeoff."
Life in Prison -vs- A Full-Time Job - A Comparison
In prison they spend the majority of their time in a 8' x 10'cell. At work, I spend most of my time in a 6' x 8' cube.
In prison they get three meals a day. At work I only get a break for one meal, and I have to pay for the meal.
In prison you get time off for good behavior. At work I get rewarded for good behavior with more work.
At work many people must wear an ID badge at all times. In prison they provide you with clothing with the ID conveniently sewn onto the clothes.
At work there is a dress standard but I must buy my own clothes. In prison there is a dress standard, but they supply the clothes.
At work I must carry around a security card and unlock and open all the doors myself. In prison a guard locks and unlocks all the doors for me.
In prison they can watch TV and play games. At work I can get fired for watching TV and playing games.
In prison they will pay my way through school to learn a new career and give me time to do it. At work they will pay for my education but I must do it on my own time.
In prison they have exercise rooms that they allow you to use almost whenever you want. At work we have an exercise room that you can use but it must be on your time.
In prison I can fall asleep on the job and no serious consequences comes from my actions. At work if I fall asleep on the job I get put on the next layoff list.
In prison they ball-and-chain you when you go somewhere. At work you are just ball-and-chained.
In prison you have full medical coverage with no deductibles. At work, you get partial coverage and pay all the deductibles.
In prison all expenses are paid by the taxpayer, with no work on their part. At work, you get to pay all the expenses to go to work, and then deduct the taxes from your salary to pay for the prisoners.
Pranksters try to lighten up rat race
By John Flinn
San Francisco Examiner, Sunday, January 2, 1994
A clown with a briefcase? Hey, no problem. If he wants to ride a Muni bus, who's even going to notice? This is San Francisco, after all.
But then, two stops later, a second clown boards the 38-Geary. Next stop, two more clowns. They've all got briefcases. Soon the bus is half full of clowns. They're reading the paper, gazing out the window, checking their watches. They don't seem to know each other.
Waiting at the next corner is another clown, briefcase in hand. By now the Muni driver is thoroughly rattled. He veers past the bus stop without even slowing down.
Glancing nervously in his rearview mirror at his red-nosed passengers, he yells: "I'm tired of messing with you goddamn clowns!"
Score another one for the Cacophony Society, an underground network of merry pranksters, street thespians and guerrilla performers dedicated to throwing a monkey wrench into the grinding machinery of everyday life.
A loosely knit group of about 600 pranksters, Cacophony prides itself on having no leaders, no bylaws, and no organization. It is steadfastly nonpolitical, nonreligious and, according to its newsletter, "often nonsensical."
Old-timers are still chuckling over a classic ... prank from the late 1970's. Slipping into the elevator at the posh Sir Francis Drake Hotel, they stripped off their clothes and donned shower caps, back scrubbers and suds. When hotel guests tried to use the elevator they found themselves unwittingly barging in on this group taking a "shower."
Every few years, taking advantage of a massive underground bunker beneath a closed factory complex in the East Bay, the group stages an event they call "the Atomic Cafe."
Members dress in Mad Max or Blade Runner garb for a "post-apocalypse, end-of-the-world" party, complete with a live band and an A-bomb pinata. They are greeted at the entrance by a man who is naked and glowing green, and dine on that bomb shelter staple, Spam.
"All this is patently illegal," said member Harry Haller, 43. "But we have a strong belief that we don't damage anything or leave a mess or take anything. We always leave the place as clean as we found it, so no one could ever tell we were there."
While many pranks involve trespassing and other infractions, they say no member has ever been arrested during a Cacophony event. Still, police generally are not amused - although they stop short of calling the group a menace to society.
The authorities who know them best are the Golden Gate Bridge police, who are called out each year to break up the group's annual formal dinner party, held next to the span's north tower.
"They're not a serious problem, but they're nonetheless a problem," said Sgt. Daniel Brown. "They're blocking the sidewalk and disrupting traffic. If someone was involved in an accident, they'd be held liable."
It's not the Cacophony's fault that the public sometimes misses the joke. Such was the case in 1991 when the group organized a protest of the movie "Fantasia."
One set of protesters, calling itself Sensitive Parents Against Scary Movies - or SPASM - decried the film for being frightening to small children. "Calorically challenged" people blasted the use of dancing hippos. And the Bay Area Drought Relief Assistance Program - BAD RAP - criticized Mickey Mouse for wasting water during his sorcerer's apprentice scene.
Time magazine took it seriously. It cited the protest in an essay about America becoming a nation of whiners and complainers. Examiner columnist Rob Morse also got taken in, calling the protesters a "fringe pressure group."
In 1990, for the MacWorld Expo, the group created a fictional company, Rosebud Technology, complete with business cards, T-shirts, product literature and press releases. At a press conference, they unveiled a modem that could supposedly transmit data faster than the speed of light. It got a brief mention in the publication Micro Times.
One of the group's most popular events is a tour, in formal wear, through the sewers of Oakland. Members wear tuxedos or formal gowns above the waist - and hip waders below - to slosh through the stinky underground catacombs.
The route is well planned, but sometimes things go awry. Once, finding a key passage blocked, the group got lost, wandered through the system for quite some time and eventually emerged from a storm drain in a vacant lot in East Oakland.
Neighborhood residents watched in amazement as 40 elegantly dressed people climbed out of the hole, eyes blinking in the bright sunshine. Someone got the idea that this was a Ku Klux Klan gathering and phoned the police.
The two Oakland officers who arrived had no idea what to make of the situation. Jaws agape, they stared in silence for several moments before one nudged the other and told him to get back in the patrol car.
"Forget this, Joe," the cop said, shaking his head. "Just forget this."
The Cacophony Society's phone number is (415) 665-0351.