From:	IN%"SEWALL@UCONNVM.bitnet"  "Murph Sewall" 10-AUG-1990 21:15:35.72
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Subj:	Henry Cate III strikes again :-)

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Date: Fri, 10 Aug 90 09:28:54 EST
From: Murph Sewall <SEWALL@UCONNVM.bitnet>
Subject: Henry Cate III strikes again :-)
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      Why shouldn't you take your kids to the symphony?
      Answer:  To much sax and violins.
 
----------------------------------------------------
 
From today's Hi & Lois newspaper cartoon strip:
 
  Clerk [to Hi]:  I'm afraid we're out of stock on that item, sir.
  Hi:  I found it on the rack.  I just want to buy it.
  Clerk:  Sorry, but we can't sell something the computer says we don't have...
 
----------------------------------------------------
 
Thought for the day: Magic Memos
 
(A Murphy's Law variant which seemed particularly applicable to my office:)
 
Vital papers will demonstrate their vitality by spontaneously moving from
where you left them to where you can't find them.
 
----------------------------------------------------
 
     Someone invented a dialog box on for the Macintosh that said:
 
               ------------------------------------------------------
               |     Sorry, the computer has crashed.               |
               |     To whom would you like to assign the blame?    |
               |                                                    |
               |     ------------            -------------          |
               |    |  Hardware  |          | Power Surge |         |
               |     ------------            -------------          |
               |     ------------            -------------          |
               |    |  Sunspots  |          | Cosmic Rays |         |
               |     ------------            -------------          |
               |                 --------------                     |
               |                | _Programmer_ |                    |
               |                 --------------                     |
               ------------------------------------------------------
 
       The 'programmer' button was dimmed so you couldn't click on it.....
 
----------------------------------------------------
 
               1989 Hunting Rules for Lawyers
 
i.e. The 1989 Attorney Season and Bag Limit regulations:
 
1. It is unlawful to shout "whiplash," "ambulance," or "free scotch" for
the purpose of trapping attorneys.
 
2. It shall be unlawful to hunt attorneys within 100 yards of BMW, SAAB,
or Mercedes dealerships. It also is unlawful to hunt attorneys within 200
yards of courtrooms, law libraries, health spas, ambulances or hospitals.
 
3. It shall be unlawful to use $100 bills, prostitutes or vehicle accidents
to attract attorneys.
 
4. It is unlawful to chase, herd, or harvest attorneys from a snow mobile,
helicopter or aircraft.
 
5. Killing attorneys with a vehicle is prohibited. If accidentally struck,
remove dead attorney to roadside and proceed to the nearest car wash.
 
6. Stuffed or mounted attorneys must have a state health department inspection
sticker.
 
7. It shall be illegal for a hunter to disguise himself as a reporter, drug
dealer, female legal clerk, accident victim, physician, bookie or tax
accountant for the purpose of hunting attorneys.
 
8. Taking attorneys with traps or deadfalls is permitted. The use of currency
as bait is prohibited.
 
9. Various bag limits are set for attorneys including:
Brown-nosed judge kissers............2
Back-stabbing divorce litigators.....4
Hairy-chinned civil libertarians.....7
Two-faced tort chasers ..............2
Yellow bellied sidewinders...........2
 
10. Note that honest attorneys are extinct.
 
----------------------------------------------------
 
News of the Weird:
 
The U.S. Attorney in Miami declined to prosecute a drug smuggling
case in which the Customs Service had confiscated a half ton of
marijuana because the office is overworked and won't touch cases
under the 2.5 ton minimum.
 
December figures from the International Monetary Fund reveal that
the U.S government's subsidy to the dairy industry in 1986 worked
out to $1,139 for every cow in the country.  (That is the greater
than the average annual income for half the world's population.)
 
An in-house IRS study revealed in February that the agency loses
two million tax returns and related documents annually.  One
employee said that when preparing for audits, he routinely requests
taxpayers' files from the state agencies because they are more
likely to have the documents.
 
A recent addition to the IRS employee manual makes clear that the
agency would continue to operate and to collect taxes immediately
after any national emergency -- "especially resulting from nuclear
attack."
 
Oregon state Sen. Glenn Otto sponsored a bill, approved by a Senate
committee, that would establish a retirement home for greyhound
dogs too old to continue racing at the Multonomah Kennel Club.
Said a supporter, "These dogs are very sensitive, and they've been
spoiled out there on the racetrack."
 
A brand new, glass encased directory, part of a multi-million
dollar renovation of the Indiana Statehouse in Indianapolis, was
unveiled in January with incorrect spellings of three of the five
members of the Indiana Supreme Court.
 
In Deridder, La., J. Douglas Crewsell, fifty-one, was sentenced to
twenty-five years in prison last January for three robberies, the
last of which he had botched after having failed to cut eye holes
in the plastic garbage bag he wore to a bank heist.  His getaway
was delayed as he flailed helplessly inside the bag.
 
Syracuse police arrested Gary R. Leonard, thirty-four, for bank
robbery in January after they had traced a car loan application
(for his wife) that he had left behind.
 
Robert Robinson was arrested for bank robbery in Mount Sterling,
Ky., in November when he tried to make an impromptu getaway.  He
had planned to take the loot out the back door to his car, making
several trips, but the door locked behind him on the first trip.
After pleading for several minutes with the employees (who were
lying face down on the floor as per Robinson's instructions) to let
him in, he turned and ran, but a passing photographer snapped his
picture.
 
----------------------------------------------------
 
"Driving Lessons"
by Bella English
 
  My friend Martha, who lives in a suburb west of Boston (and wants
to remain anonymous for reasons that will become obvious), has been
commuting into the city for 13 years, which makes her eligible for
either a Purple Heart or a lobotomy or both.
  Last week, she is traveling the Mass Pike when gridlock sets in.
Traffic grinds to a halt for 35 minutes.  Finally, Martha turns off
the ignition and begins doing isometrics.  Now, if you've ever seen
people doing isometrics, you know their contorted faces look as if
they're having a fit or have gone into labor.
  As Martha puts it: "You fake a smile and hold it for 10 seconds,
then you pucker up and hold it for 10 seconds."
  Gradually she becomes aware of the guy to the left of her, in a
Ford Escort, frantically working his car phone.  To her right, a man
in a Mercedes is gabbing on his phone.
  Martha notices the Escort fellow get out, stride over to the Mercedes
and pound on the windows.  Martha, naturally, rolls down her windows
to listen while continuing her isometrics.
  "The guy from the Escort is holering.  'Seven minutes you've been on
the phone!  I had a 9 o'clock meeting!'"
  All Martha can figure is that there are so many cellular phones in the
immediate area that the lines are jammed.  "The guy in the Mercedes is
still on the phone, but he has rolled down the window.  He finally says
'Go pound sand!' and rolls up his window."
  The man from the Escort, a dumpy sort in a navy blazer, starts to walk
away, muttering.  He doesn't get far.  His jacket is caught in the
Mercedes' window.  He bangs on the window again.
  Martha: "The guy in the Mercedes doesn't realize the suit is caught.  He
thinks the guy is just harassing him."
  Meanwhile, traffic starts to move.  Horns are beeping.  The man in the
navy blazer is screaming, "Put your bleepin' window down!"  His jacket has
ripped.  Finally, the man in the Mercedes gets the message and releases
his hapless hostage.
  Martha: "The Escort guy walks by my car with his jacket all crumpled,
the lining hanging down.  As he's walking by, I'm now in my grimacing phase.
He says to me, 'What's the matter, you wierd or something?'  _He_ had the
nerve to call _me_ wierd."
  Martha shudders at the sight of car phones.  "I have seen people crash
into the stanchions at tolls because they were talking on the phone and
trying to roll the window down," she says.  "Pretty soon, it will be
TVs in the cars."
  "I've seen people trying to steer with their elbows while holding the
phone in one hand and taking a message with the other," State Trooper Paul
Sullivan says.  But the worst case was the man driving along Route 3 with
his feet.
  "He had his shoes off, he was driving with his toes," Sullivan said.
This foot fetish cost the driver $100.
  Back to Martha.  Last year, she got a new car that is totally computerized.
Now, Martha is not only low tech, she's no tech.
  As she was driving home one day, a fuse blew and she could neither get
the electronic windows down nor the doors unlocked.  She was stuck.  At the
toll booth, she yelled that she couldn't pay, and why.  The clerk finally
waved her through.
  When she arrived home, the only thing to do was crawl out through the
sunroof.  Martha is a robust woman.  She took off her winter coat and shoes,
and to her neighbor's astonishment, squeezed through the roof.  Her white
blouse was ruined, her jacket was missing two buttons.  She had a $37.50
dry cleaning bill.  "Now, I always keep extra fuses in the glove compartment,"
she said.
  Before that, Martha had a beloved Audi.  Five times the radio was stolen,
and five times she replaced it.  Finally, she refused.  Some punk left a note
on the windshield: "Hey -----, when ya gonna replace the radio?"
  That did it.  Martha bought a Mercedes because, she was told, no one
messed with them since they were diesel.  She loved that car, except in freezing
weather when she had to plug the engine in during the night.  She used a cord
that ran out the basement window to the car's motor.
  "The next morning, as I'm driving out, my car feels like I'm pulling
something," she says.  That "something" turned out to be the basement window.
Martha had forgotten to unplug the car.
  Finally, there's the time she was eating a bag of Oreos while driving home.
She had gotten a quarter, a nickel and a dime out for the toll.  Instead, she
threw out a nickel, a dime - and an Oreo.  A state trooper pulled her over.
  "Lady," he said, "you just ran the exact change line."
  Martha, who sudddenly realized she had a quarter - and not an Oreo - in her
mouth, said: "Officer, you're not going to believe this..."  She was right.
He didn't.
 
----------------------------------------------------
 
    Did you see all of the animal rights activists protesting
    the wearing of fur in New York a couple of weeks ago? Did
    you notice how many of these people were wearing leather
    shoes?
 
    While it is true that the protesters are also screaming
    that the steel jaw traps are a form of cruelty to animals,
    shouldn't they be talking to the goverment and bitching at
    the trappers?  Let's hassle people that wear the furs!  Good
    idea!  In my opinion, these people are a bunch of jerks
    with an overdeveloped puppy fixation.  Somehow a mink has
    a greater proximity to some form of humanity than a cow,
    which makes them set for a good debate with a lot of Hindus.
    As the immortal group, the Suburbs, once chanted, "I like
    cows!  I like their little cow feet!  I like the way they
    chew their cud!"  But so it goes with the these dolts that
    chant relentlessly outside NYC furriers and spit in the
    faces of law abiding customers.  The animal rights
    activists seem to be following the trail made by women's
    rights and civil rights.  While I firmly believe in these,
    I wonder how high the goals of the animal rights activists
    are.  When will suffrage become an issue?  Will we some
    day have to wait at the polls behind a trail of "critters?"
    Will "Granny" from the Beverly Hillbillys go down in history
    as a sort of Adolf Hitler?  Will our next candidate wear a
    necklace of corn and dead fish to gain the majority vote?  I,
    for one, should hope not.  Somehow, intelligence isn't being
    taken into consideration in this great animal rights scam--A
    pig is a hell of a lot smarter than a fox...  It's
    companies like Warner Brothers showing stuttering pigs
    that give them a bad name.  If animal rights becomes a
    reality, I know that the first thing I will do is personally
    repay my neighbor for all of the things his "friend" Rover
    has done all over my lawn.  And where should it all stop?
    Should we have to issue a summons to a fly before swat it?
    Should we be more careful to see that our dogs receive
    good educations in the finest obedience schools?  Maybe we
    should use a more reasonable rationale, like the animal
    rights activists, and only grant rights to animals that
    fit descriptions such as "pretty", "cuddly", or "furry."
    In a final request, let me just once see one of these
    puppy fixated activists try to get "cuddly" with a wild
    sable... just once...
 
 
----------------------------------------------------
 
From: damartin@sage.LCS.MIT.EDU (David Martin)
 
 
           American Pie --- Hacker Style
 
    Long, long, time ago, I can still remember
    How UNIX used to make me smile...
    And I knew that with a login name
    That I could play those unix games
    And maybe hack some programs for a while.
    But February made me shiver
    With every program I'd deliver
    Bad news on the doorstep,
    I couldn't take one more spec...
    I can't remember getting smashed
    When I heard about the system crash
    And all the passwords got rehashed
    The Day That UNIX Died...
    And I was singing:
 
    Bye, bye, nroff, rogue and vi
    Gave my program to Phil Levy but Phil Levy was high,
    The boys on the board were sayin' "kill this, goodbye."
    Singin' this'll be the day that I die...
    This'll be the day that I die
 
    Did you write the new games shell
    And do you have faith in the manual?
    If b:dennie tells you so...
    Well, do you believe in UNIX C
    Can hacking save you memory
    And can you tell me why vi's so slow
    Well, I know that you're in love with C
    'Cause I saw your code on UNIX B
    You just kicked off your shoes
    Man, you cleaned up every kludge!
    I was a lonely young computer geek
    With a program due 'most every week
    But I guess that I was meant to freak
    The Day That UNIX Died
    And I was singin:
 
    (chorus)
 
    Well, for ten weeks we've been in this class
    The professor really is an ass.
    But that's not how it used to be...
    When Ira Pohl taught in CIS 12
    And user limits could go to hell
    And there was still space on UNIX C.
    And while the board was looking 'round
    The Chancellor brought the budget down
    The classes were adjourned
    Evaluations weren't returned
    And while Huffman read a book by Pohl
    The CIS board made some prof's heads roll
    And we wrote programs that weren't whole
    The Day That UNIX Died
    And we were singin'...
 
    (chorus)
 
    Helter skelter in the summer swelter
    I went in the lab to find some shelter
    Ninety degrees and risin' faaaaaasst!!!
    C stayed up for ten whole days
    The hackers really were amazed
    Wonderin' how long it all would last.
    Well, both the forums were really great
    Nobody got us all irate
    We had a stroke of luck
    The system did not duck
    'Cause the hackers kept their code real clean
    The UNDR-shell was really keen
    Do you recall what was the scene
    The Day That UNIX Died
    And we were singin...
 
    (chorus)
 
    Our programs were all in one place,
    UNIX had run out of space
    With no time left to start again...
    So, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick,
    Use every programming trick
    'Cause UNIX may soon crash again...
    And as I watched the system fill
    My login process would be killed.
    The system just went down
    Consternation up at Crown"!!!
    The hours went on into the night
    And all that we could do was rite
    I saw Dennie laughing with delight
        The Day That UNIX Died
    And he was singin'...
 
    (chorus)
 
    I met a girl who sang the blues
    And I asked her for some stat lab news
    But she just cursed and said "grow up"
    I went down through the stat lab door
    Where I'd learned of UNIX years before
    But the man there said that UNIX wasn't up
    And in the halls the students screamed,
    The majors cried and the hackers dreamed,
    But not a word was spoken
    The Vaxes all were broken
    And the three folks I admire most
    The Father, Frank, and a.g.'s ghost
    They caught the last train for the coast
    The Day That UNIX Died
    And they were singin...
 
    So bye, bye, nroff, rogue and vi
    Gave my program to Phil Levy but Phil Levy was high.
    The boys on the board were sayin' "kill this, goodbye"
    Singin' this'll be the day that I die...
 
 
 
              (with apologies to Don McLean)
