-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Please, sir," pleaded the stranger, "Would you be so kind as to help a poor unfortunate fellow who is hungry and can't find work? .....All I have in the world is this gun." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- There was a guy telling his friend that he and his wife had a serious argument the night before. "But it ended," he said, "when she came crawling to me on her hands and knees." "What did she say?" asked the friend. The husband replied, "She said, 'Come out from under that bed, you coward!'" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- About 2 weeks ago, I was looking around the Web for the BIGGEST sky rocket that I could get shipped to me via common freight carrier. I located a fireworks importer in Wisconsin who had this mondo sky rocket -- biggest thing I had ever seen -- called a SkyDragon. These things are 48 inches tall and are mounted on a 1/2-inch wooden dowel. Pure aerospace engineering. I plopped down a bunch of money and had him send me two cases of these things. They arrived at the freight dock a few days ago and I had to drive the van over to pick them up. Two boxes each 2 feet by 2 feet by 4 feet in size containing 80 rockets each. The 'Class 4 Explosives' sticker on the side of each box was a real bonus. I am gonna have to save them for the scrapbook. That night, me and the kiddos had a gen-u-ine rocket launch ceremony. I placed one of these beauties in a liter-size glass bottle and the bottle fell over. Hmmmm-- this thing was waaay too big. I looked around the shop for a pipe to set it in, but realized that the only dirt I could drive the pipe into was in plain sight of my neighbor's house. I knew he was a cool guy, but I didn't want him to call the cops. You see -- 'projectile-type' fireworks are totally illegal in this county. I was surprised that the Buncombe County Sheriff Department wasn't waiting for me at the loading dock when I picked these things up. Anyhow, I finally rigged a launch pad by prying up one of the driveway drain grates with a crowbar and sitting the stick into the deep pit. Looked sorta like an ICBM silo with its hardened lid slid aside. I asked which of my three kids wanted to light the fuse, but all took a few steps back and politely declined. Chicken-shits. Kids just aren't made the same nowadays. They fulfill their danger quotient by shooting bad guys in video games. About as far from real danger as you can get, if you ask me. I told the little weenies to stand back as I bent to light the device with a Bic lighter. The lady at the fireworks importer promised me that these things would NOT make any noise. I told her that they HAD to be relatively quiet so I could shoot them off in my neighborhood without causing "undue alarm". She said I wouldn't have any problem. I emphasized the particular legal problems I would have if there were any type of loud report at apogee. I emphasized the fact that I lived right next to a National Park and that any type of firework that was discharged or assumed to be discharged on that property would get me sent before a FEDERAL judge right before I got sent to the COUNTY judge. She again assured me I would have no problem. That lying bitch. That rocket engine had a burn time about as long as any I had EVER seen, and the ascent echoed off the surrounding trees. Diamond shock pattern extended from the back end. It kept going and going and going. When it hit apogee at about 1000 feet, the rocket disintegrated into a huge shower of silent red sparks. Pretty cool, I thought ... until the shower of sparks burned out and suddenly transformed into a cloud of EXTREMELY bright and loud explosions. The kids scrambled into the back door "Three Stooges" style (ie: where all three try to get through the same closed door at once) and left me standing in the smoking haze waiting for the cops to arrive. The dogs that live along our street were all barking their heads off at the apparition they had just witnessed in the night sky. That ended the fireworks test for the night. The next day, my oldest son Doug and I decided we were gonna "neuter" one of the rockets so it wouldn't make any noise. I took him into the closet where I store the gardening tools and he saw these two huge cases of fireworks standing there. The kid went nuts. He wanted to open BOTH boxes so he could see what all 159 rockets looked like lined up next to each other. This kid has promise. I told him: "Since mom only thinks I have a few of these things lying around, maybe that wasn't such a good idea." He mulled that over for a few seconds, then gave me a real big smile in agreement. We pulled one of the rockets out of the box and re-locked the closet door. He and I both sat down on the driveway and proceeded to take it apart. It was a standard issue big-ass Chinese sky rocket. I bet they used these to kill people 500 years ago. As I sat there taking layer after layer of paper off, his brain was filling with the details of construction. Tissue, cardboard, plastic, fuses...etc. Realizing that he was mentally storing the design for some future project sorta made me shudder. All I was thinking was the fact that this thing was probably put together by a political prisoner in a hellhole somewhere who is probably gonna get "executed" so they can sell his internal organs on the transplant market. Probably not too far from the facts, but I managed to do a bit of explaining to him from the standpoint of aerospace engineering regarding how the thing worked. Doug is probably the only 4th grader in the U.S. who can now describe the principle of thrust using a control volume model. The rocket was pretty simple. It had a very large booster engine topped with a warhead that contained the red sparkly things that exploded. Removing the warhead was as simple as giving a quick twist, and I assumed the neutered rocket would fly higher without the payload. I was correct. Doug and I did a daylight "stealth" test and were able to add about 50% to the altitude attained the previous night. We decided to modify four more rockets and put them aside in the closet for easy access. When this was done, Doug had a jar full of stuff that came out of the warheads including: 12 fuses about 3-inches long each, some paper, 4 plastic nosecones and a big handful of these little black balls about the size of 12-gauge buckshot that turned out to be the 'red sparkly popper things'. It appeared that the outer layer was a simple gunpowder coating designed to quickly burn off as red shower of sparks. I surmised that the inner core had some kind of magnesium thermite that gave off an intense white light and a loud bang. Pretty cool if you ask me. Lots of energy packed into one teeny little ball. I didn't want to see the popper thingies go to waste, so I told Doug we were gonna put them in a hole in the ground and set them off. He gave me another big smile. It's amazing how kids think alike... even when separated by 30 years. As I was digging a shallow hole with my hand, Doug asked if it would be alright to put an army man next to these things so that "When they go off, it would look like he was getting shot with a machine gun". Dang.... exactly what I was thinking. I agreed and he ran off to his room to dig something out of the mess. He returned in about 3 seconds, out of breath and holding a cheap plastic imitation of Robert E. Lee on horseback and a Civil War cannon. I pointed out that they didn't have true machine guns in the Civil War, but we would overlook this for the purpose of the demonstration. He handed me the action figure and I placed it and the cannon next to a rather large pile of black beads from which a few of the fuses extended. I figured that three inches of fuse would take 2 seconds to burn, so I had at least that amount of time to stand up and take a few steps back. I neglected to recount the night before... when the warhead ignited IMMEDIATELY upon reaching apogee. Tricky Chinese. They had installed extremely fast-burning fuse in these things and that fact totally escaped me. I squatted next to Robert Lee and gave a short eulogy. Doug laughed. I took the trusty Bic lighter and placed it next to the fuse. One flick got the lighter going and THIS IMAGE IS ONE I WILL REMEMBER FOR A LONG TIME. My hand holding a lighter next to a pile of explosives. There is usually a short but noticeable mental pause that occurs immediately before something bad or really stupid happens. It is where that little voice in your head says: "You dumbass." The fuse burn time was in the 1/1000ths of a second range. The pile of little popper thingy's immediately ignited into a tremendously brilliant ball of fire. All I could think was "...th...th....thermite..." Unfortunately, when they are viewed at ground level, these little popper thingies become REALLY BIG POPPER THINGIES and have a tendency to jump up to 15-feet in every direction from their point of ignition. I instantaneously became engulfed in a ball of fire that sounded a lot like being in a half-done bag of Orville Reddenbacher's popcorn. It was all over about as fast as I could snap my fingers. After the smoke cleared, Doug started laughing his butt off. That meant I was still in one piece. Doug does not laugh at dismembered limbs. He said I jumped about 10-feet, an action that I do not remember. I checked my clothes for burn marks, and found none. He checked my back to make sure it was not on fire. No combustion there. The driveway was peppered with black holes where the concrete had been scarred from these things. A close one. Another REAL close one. My mind ran the tapes again to re-hash what it had seen. All I remembered was being inside something akin to a 30-foot diameter flaming dandelion. Whew. We examined Ol' Robert E. at ground-zero. Instead of a machine-gun peppering, he got nuked. He and the horse he rode in on... and his cannon too. One side was untouched, but the other side was arc-welded. Real warfare. Doug examined it real quiet-like and then started laughing again. I assume he will remember the finer points of the lesson as he grows older. When I now speak of "almost being burned beyond recognition" he will have a slightly better understanding of what I mean. I hope that this vivid image tempers the knowledge he now has regarding rocket construction. Oh well. After all, if your dad isn't gonna teach you how to get your ass blown off, who will? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- European Men Are So Much More Romantic Than American Men .....By Alyssa Lerner Junior, Boston University I just got back from a semester abroad in Europe, and let me tell you, it truly was the most magical, amazing experience of my entire life. The French countryside was like something out of a storybook, the Roman ruins were magnificent, and the men, well, European men are by far the most romantic in the world. You American men all think you're so suave and sophisticated. Well, think again! European men make you look like the immature, inexperienced little children you are. They really know how to make a woman feel special over there. Unlike the so-called men here in the States, European men know how to treat a woman right. For one thing, European men aren't afraid to come up and talk to you. And they know how to start slow, with a nice cup of Italian espresso or a long walk on some historic street. They know the places you can't find in any tourist guide. They know the whole history of the cities in which they live--who the fountains are named after, who the statues are. I remember one unforgettable night in Athens, I sat and listened to a Greek sailor for hours as he told me about the countless men who fought over Helen back in ancient times. Afterward, he told me he loved his homeland even more now that he'd seen it through my eyes. I ask you, would an American man ever say something as deep and beautiful as that? European men know the most romantic little cafes and bistros and trattorias, candlelit places where you can be alone and drink the most fantastic wine. They tell you what's on the menu and what you should try. (If it wasn't for a certain young man in Milan, I never would have discovered fusilli a spinaci et scampi.) And the whole time, they're looking deep into your eyes, like you're the only woman on the entire planet. What woman could resist a man like that? Then, after a moonlit stroll along the waterfront and a kiss in the doorway of their artist's loft, you find yourself unable to--well, I'll leave the rest to your imagination. I'll never forget my magical semester abroad. One thing's for sure--I'm ruined for American men forever! American Women Studying In Europe Are Unbelievably Easy ......By Giovanni Di Salvi I'm a 25-year-old carpenter living in Rome, and I don't mind telling you that I get all the action I can handle. I'm not all that handsome or well-dressed, and I'm certainly not rich. In fact, my Italian countrywomen could take me or leave me. But that's just fine, because Rome gets loads of tourist traffic, and American co-eds traveling through Europe are without a doubt the easiest lays in the world. Being European gives me a hell of an advantage. I'm not sure why, but there's something about the accent that opens a lot of doors. All you have to do is go up to them, act a little shy and say, "Would you like to go with me, Signorina, for a cafe?" I actually have to thicken up my accent a little, but they never, ever catch on. After a cheap coffee, which to them always tastes better than anything they've ever had, because they're in Europe, it's time to walk them. Now, all they know about Rome is what they've read in Let's Go, so you can pretty much just make up a whole bunch of shit. It's fun to see how much they'll swallow: As long as I refer to Italy as "my homeland" and other Italians as "my people," they'll believe pretty much anything. I don't know who most of the local statues are, so I tell the muffins they're all great artists and poets and lovers. Once, just for the hell of it, I told a psychology major from the University of Maryland that a public staircase was part of the Spanish Steps, which she'd never even heard of. Another time, I told this blonde from Michigan State that the public library was the Parthenon, and she cooed like I'd just given her a diamond. For dinner, I usually take them to some cheap little hole in the wall, someplace deserted where not even the cops eat. American girls think candlelight means "romance," not "deteriorating public utilities," so they just poke their nipples through their J. Crew sweaters and never notice that there's no electricity. Just as well, because Roman restaurants aren't exactly the cleanest. After a bunch of fast-talk about the menu, I get them the special, which is usually some anonymous pasta with spinach and day-old shrimp, and whatever cheap, generic, Pope's-blood chianti's at the bottom of the list. By this time, they're usually standing in a slippery little puddle. Going in for the kill, I walk them past one of Rome's famous 2,000-year-old open cesspools. Then, as we open the door to my shitty efficiency, I kiss them on the eyelids so they don't see the roaches, making sure the first thing they see is the strategically positioned artist's easel I bought at some church sale. That's usually all they need to see and, like clockwork, they fall backwards on my bed with their Birkenstocks in the air. I mean, they're hardly Italian women, but we have a saying here in Europe: Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Two friends, a blonde and a brunette, are walking down the street and pass a flower shop where the brunette happens to see her boyfriend buying flowers. She sighs and says, "Oh, crap, my boyfriend is buying me flowers again...for no reason." The blonde looks quizzically at her and says, "What's the big deal, don't you like getting flowers?" The brunette says, "Oh sure... but he always has expectations after getting me flowers, and I just don't feel like spending the next three days on my back with my legs in the air." The blonde says, ....."Don't you have a vase?" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- If you are reading this, I am already dead. Ever since Mr. Wonka left me the Chocolate Factory my life has been a living hell. I had woken on several occasions to what I am sure were the Oompa Loompas stroking my young body. Within two weeks of taking control of the factory my Grandfather became addicted to Fizzy Lifting drinks, culminating in a tragic fan accident. I am sure the Oompa Loompas ate the remains. The Ghosts of the dead children haunt my every waking moment, and pursue me through these twisted halls in my nightmares. Veruca screams, burning from the harsh flames of the furnace. Augustus Gloop gurgles chocolate from his bloated features as he struggles to call my name. The gum-chewing girl bursts on a regular basis, showering me with blueberry scented entrails. I think Mike TV still lives in the walls like a mouse, stealing my things and keeping me awake with his tiny footsteps. My other grandparents died long ago, and I shudder to think of their final fate at the hands of those tiny orange-skinned monsters. My mother long ago went insane, teeth rotting from candy. She is locked in the cellar, though I feel her fetid breath washing over me from time to time and hear her shrieking laughter... "golden ticket... golden ticket." The pressures of all this have broken me, compounded with the trials of a ten year old trying to run a factory populated with imps, with ledgers all cut in half and unreadable. As I take my life, leaping from the wonkavator (freedom, sweet freedom), I damn thee Wonka. Where ever your soul may rest, I damn thee. Farewell. Charlie. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- There was a little fellow named Junior who hung out at the local grocery store. The manager didn't know what Junior's problem was, but the boys liked to tease him. The boys said he was two bricks short of a load, or two pickles shy of a barrel. To prove it, sometimes the boys offered Junior his choice between a nickel and a dime. He always took the nickel, they said, because it was bigger. One day after Junior grabbed the nickel, the store manager got him off to one side and said, "Junior, those boys are making fun of you. They think you don't know the dime is worth more than the nickel. Are you grabbing the nickel because it's bigger, or what?" Junior said, "No sir, you see if I took the dime, they'd quit doing it!" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "The Scottish Parliament, adjourned on the 25th of March 1707 is hereby reconvened." - Winnie Ewing MSP, at the opening of the new Scottish Parliament in Edinburgh, 12th May, 1999 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "You should not encounter any difficulty in using Ambrosia products in the the next millennium, unless of course your power company is not Y2K-ready, and you have no electrical power for your computer. A Y2K-induced food shortage could also cause widespread looting and rioting, and bandits might raid your house and take everything of value. If you're trapped in one of those non Y2K-ready elevators, you might starve, and be unable to use our products. Hopefully, none of this bad luck will befall you, and you'll be able to compute in peace." - From the Ambrosia Software Y2K disclosure statement http://www.ambrosiasw.com/PRs/Y2K.html Ambrosia, in addition to being Y2K ready, has just begun a unique marketing initiative. They've announced that if any of their upcoming products ship with bugs in them, their Marketing Director Jason Whong will eat real bugs in front of a live audience at the New York Macworld Expo in 2000. Some people expressed the opinion that perhaps the Marketing Director was not the one who deserved to be punished if buggy software gets shipped. He replied: > I think that someone should be responsible for bugs. The thing is, > we can't make the programmers eat bugs, because programmers are > pretty high up on the totem pole, and we don't want to alienate > them. And I can't ask my boss, Andrew, to eat the bugs, because he > is my boss. > > That's why I am making the wager. > > Shipping a product without bugs is a goal that I think we can > achieve. We have done that before with some of our games. Shipping > every product between now and next July without bugs is going to be > the challenge. > > I wonder what Apple was thinking when it said "Yum."? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE JERRY SPRINGER SHOW Crowd: Jer-ry! Jer-ry! Jer-ry! Jerry: Today's guests are here because they can't agree on fundamental philosophical principles. I'd like to welcome Todd to the show. Todd enters from backstage. Jerry: Hello, Todd. Todd: Hi, Jerry. Jerry: (reading from card) So, Todd, you're here to tell your girlfriend something. What is it? Todd: Well, Jerry, my girlfriend Ursula and I have been going out for three years now. We did everything together. We were really inseparable. But then she discovered post-Marxist political and literary theory, and it's been nothing but fighting ever since. Jerry: Why is that? Todd: You see, Jerry, I'm a traditional Cartesian rationalist. I believe that the individual self, the "I" or ego is the foundation of all metaphysics. She, on the other hand, believes that the contemporary self is a socially constructed, multi-faceted subjectivity reflecting the political and economic realities of late capitalist consumerist discourse. Crowd: Ooooohhhh! Todd: I know! I know! Is that infantile, or what? Jerry: So what do you want to tell her today? Todd: I want to tell her that unless she ditches the post-modernism, we're through. I just can't go on having a relationship with a woman who doesn't believe I exist. Jerry: Well, you're going to get your chance. Here's Ursula! Ursula storms onstage and charges up to Todd. Ursula: Patriarchal colonizer! She slaps him viciously. Todd leaps up, but the security guys pull them apart before things can go any further. Ursula: Don't listen to him! Logic is a male hysteria! Rationality equals oppression and the silencing of marginalized voices! Todd: The classical methodology of rational dialectic is our only road to truth! Don't try to deny it! Ursula: You and your dialectic! That's how it's been through our whole relationship, Jerry. Mindless repetition of the post-Enlightenment meta-narrative. "You have to start with radical doubt, Ursula." "Post-structuralism is just classical sceptical thought re-cast in the language of semiotics, Ursula." Crowd: Booo! Booo! Jerry: Well, Ursula, come on. Don't you agree that the roots of contemporary neo-Leftism simply have to be sought in Enlightenment political philosophy? Ursula: History is the discourse of powerful centrally located voices marginalizing and de-scribing the sub-altern! Todd: See what I have to put up with? Do you know what it's like living with someone who sees sex as a metaphoric demonstration of the anti-feminist violence implicit in the discourse of the dominant power structure? It's terrible. She just lies there and thinks of Andrea Dworkin. That's why we never do it any more. Crowd: Wooooo! Ursula: You liar! Why don't you tell them how you haven't been able to get it up for the past three months because you couldn't decide if your penis truly had essential Being, or was simply a manifestation of Mind? Todd: Wait a minute! Wait a minute! Ursula: It's true! Jerry: Well, I don't think we're going to solve this one right away. Our next guests are Louis and Tina. And Tina has a little confession to make! Louis and Tina come onstage. Todd and Ursula continue bickering in the background. Jerry: Tina, you are... (reads cards) ... an existentialist, is that right? Tina: That's right, Jerry. And Louis is, too. Jerry: And what did you want to tell Louis today? Tina: Jerry, today I want to tell him... Jerry: Talk to Louis. Talk to him. Crowd hushes. Tina: Louis... I've loved you for a long time... Louis: I love you, too, Tina. Tina: Louis, you know I agree with you that existence precedes essence, but...well, I just want to tell you I've been reading Nietzsche lately, and I don't think I can agree with your egalitarian politics. Crowd: Wooooo! Woooooo! Louis: (shocked and disbelieving) Tina, this is crazy. You know that Sartre clarified all this way back in the 40's. Tina: But he didn't take into account Nietzsche's radical critique of democratic morality, Louis. I'm sorry. I can't ignore the contradiction any longer! Louis: You got these ideas from Victor, didn't you? Didn't you? Tina: Don't you bring up Victor! I only turned to him when I saw you were seeing that dominatrix! I needed a real man! An Uber-man! Louis: (sobbing) I couldn't help it. It was my burden of freedom. It was too much! Jerry: We've got someone here who might have something to add. Bring out... Victor! Victor enters. He walks up to Louis and sticks a finger in his face. Victor: Louis, you're a classic post-Christian intellectual. Weak to the core! Louis: (through tears) You can kiss my Marxist ass, Reactionary Boy! Victor: Herd animal! Louis: Lackey! Louis throws a chair at Victor; they lock horns and wrestle. The crowd goes wild. After a long struggle, the security guys pry them apart. Jerry: Okay, okay. It's time for questions from the audience. Go ahead, sir. Audience member: Okay, this is for Tina. Tina, I just wanna know how you can call yourself an existentialist, and still agree with Nietzsche's doctrine of the Ubermensch. Doesn't that imply a belief in intrinsic essences that is in direct contradiction with with the fundamental principles of existentialism? Tina: No! No! It doesn't. We can be equal in potential, without being equal in eventual personal quality. It's a question of Becoming, not Being. Audience member: That's just disguised essentialism! You're no existentialist! Tina: I am so! Audience member: You're no existentialist! Tina: I am so an existentialist, bitch! Ursula stands and interjects. Ursula: What does it [bleep] matter? Existentialism is just a cover for late capitalist anti-feminism! Look at how Sartre treated Simone de Beauvoir! Women in the crowd cheer and stomp. Tina: [Bleep] you! Fat-ass Foucaultian ho! Ursula: You only wish you were smart enough to understand Foucault, bitch! Tina: You the bitch! Ursula: No, you the bitch! Tina: Whatever! Whatever! Jerry: We'll be right back with a final thought! Stay with us! Commercial break for debt-consolidation loans, ITT Technical Institute, and Psychic Alliance Hotline. Jerry: Hi! Welcome back. I just want to thank all our guests for being here,and say that I hope you're able to work through your differences and find happiness, if indeed happiness can be extracted from the dismal miasma of warring primal hormonal impulses we call human relationship. (turns to the camera) Well, we all think philosophy is just fun and games. Semiotics, deconstruction, Lacanian post-Freudian psychoanalysis, it all seems like good, clean fun. But when the heart gets involved, all our painfully acquired metaphysical insights go right out the window, and we're reduced to battling it out like rutting chimpanzees. It's not pretty. If you're in a relationship, and differences over the fundamental principles of your respective subjectivities are making things difficult, maybe it's time to move on. Find someone new, someone who will accept you and the way your laughably limited human intelligence chooses to codify and rationalize the chaos of existence. After all, in the absence of a clear, unquestionable revelation from God, that's all we're all doing anyway. So remember: take care of yourselves--and each other. Announcer: Be sure to tune in next time, when KKK strippers battle it out with transvestite omnisexual porn stars! Tomorrow on Springer. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I think animal testing is a terrible idea; they get all nervous and give the wrong answers. -- A Bit of Fry and Laurie A Freudian slip is when you say one thing but mean your mother. The hypothalamus is one of the most important parts of the brain, involved in many kinds of motivation, among other functions. The hypothalamus controls the "Four F's": 1. fighting; 2. fleeing; 3. feeding; and 4. mating. -- Psychology professor in neuropsychology intro course What is a committee? A group of the unwilling, picked from the unfit, to do the unnecessary. -- Richard Harkness Slogan of 105.9, the classic rock radio station in Chicago: "Of all the radio stations in Chicago... we're one of them." Madness takes its toll. Please have exact change. Karate is a form of martial arts in which people who have had years and years of training can, using only their hands and feet, make some of the worst movies in the history of the world. -- Dave Barry I am not a vegetarian because I love animals; I am a vegetarian because I hate plants. -- A. Whitney Brown A great many people think they are thinking when they are merely rearranging their prejudices. -- William James There's so much comedy on television. Does that cause comedy in the streets? -- Dick Cavett, mocking the TV-violence debate If a woman has to choose between catching a fly ball and saving an infant's life, she will choose to save the infant's life without even considering if there are men on base. -- Dave Barry I am sick unto death of obscure English towns that exist seemingly for the sole accommodation of these so-called limerick writers and even sicker of their residents, all of whom suffer from physical deformities and spend their time dismembering relatives at fancy dress balls. -- Editor of the Limerick Times (Limerick, Ireland) When cryptography is outlawed, bayl bhgynjf jvyyz unir cevinpl. Chinese Relativity Axiom: No matter how great your triumphs or how tragic your defeats, approximately one billion Chinese couldn't care less. 668: The Neighbor of the Beast Some mornings, it's just not worth chewing through the leather straps. -- Emo Phillips Writing about music is like dancing about architecture. Experience is that marvelous thing that enables you to recognize a mistake when you make it again. -- F. P. Jones As your attorney, it is my duty to inform you that it is not important that you understand what I'm doing or why you're paying me so much money. What's important is that you continue to do so. -- Hunter S. Thompson's Samoan Attorney When I told the people of Northern Ireland that I was an atheist, woman in the audience stood up and said, "Yes, but is it the God of the Catholics, or the God of the Protestants in whom you don't believe?" -- Quentin Crisp May the forces of evil become confused on the way to your house. -- George Carlin Sorry, but my karma just ran over your dogma. Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable. -- John F. Kennedy Life may have no meaning. Or even worse, it may have a meaning of which I disapprove. -- Ashleigh Brilliant My opinions may have changed, but what hasn't changed is the fact that I am right. Drawing on my fine command of language, I said nothing. Oscar Wilde Once at a social gathering, Gladstone said to Disraeli: "I predict, Sir, that you will die either by hanging or of some vile disease". Disraeli replied: "That all depends, sir, upon whether I embrace your principles or your mistress." For three days after death, hair and fingernails continue to grow but phone calls taper off. -- Johnny Carson A slipping gear could let your M-203 grenade launcher fire when you least expect it. That would make you quite unpopular in whatever is left of your unit. -- Army Magazine of Preventative Maintenance People think it must be fun to be a super genius, but they don't realize how hard it is to put up with all the idiots in the world. On one occasion a student burst into his office saying: "Professor Stigler, I don't believe I deserve this F you've given me." To which Stigler replied: "I agree, but unfortunately it is the lowest grade the University will allow me to award." Don't worry about temptation, as you grow older, it starts avoiding you. "Sir, if we do happen to step on a mine, what do we do?" ..."Normal procedure, Lieutenant, is to jump 200 feet in the air, and scatter oneself out over a wide area." I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me. -- Hunter S. Thompson Sacred cows make the best hamburger. "Time's fun when you're having flies." -- Kermit the Frog I don't believe in a risk free society where the thrills of life are sacrificed for the safety of existence. - Author Unknown