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Best of Internet Oracularities #176-200

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176-200, 176-02, 193-09, 177-10, 192-01, 180-07


Best of Usenet Oracularities #176-200    (4.0 mean)
Compiled-By: Steve Kinzler <kinzler@cs.indiana.edu>
Date: Tue, 26 Mar 91 6:30:4 EST

Oracularities are the distilled wisdom and sagacity of the Usenet
Oracle, as incarnated as its numerous e-mail participants (only you know
who you are).  This collection has been compiled from the regular
Oracularities postings #176 through #200 and contains the Oracularities
rated by its readers as among the funniest.

To find out more about the Usenet Oracle, send mail to:
   oracle@iuvax.cs.indiana.edu    or    {ames,rutgers}!iuvax!oracle
with the word "help" in the subject line.

The regular Oracularities postings can be found in the Usenet newsgroup
alt.humor.oracle.


176-02    (00103 dist, 4.5 mean)
Selected-By: Steve Kinzler <kinzler@cs.indiana.edu>

The Usenet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> What has been done in america to help the iranian earthquake victims?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Americans have taken over the responsibility of burning their flag,
} which should free up about a dozen Iranians to help dig out the
} survivors.
}
} You owe the oracle a seismograph.


193-09    (01215 dist, 4.1 mean)
Selected-By: Steve Kinzler <kinzler@cs.indiana.edu>

The Usenet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> What is the difference between software and hard water?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Bugs drown in hard water, but live forever in software.


177-10    (21017 dist, 3.9 mean)
Selected-By: Steve Kinzler <kinzler@cs.indiana.edu>

The Usenet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> What is true stress?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} True stress is when you have invited the vicar over, and he's supposed
} to arrive in half an hour and the cook has cut the cucumbers too thick
} for cucumber sandwiches, only when she tries to cut them in half they
} come out too thin and look ever so sloppy, and Fifi is sitting on the
} settee in the parlor and scratching as if she has fleas and might just
} very well leave some of them on the settee and give them to the vicar if
} he should chance to sit upon the settee, only the butler is off
} polishing his shoes and the gardner is too grubby to even so much as
} look at the settee, much less touch it.
}
} And then you discover that your white gown is half an inch too short,
} and your blue gown is half an inch too long, and the only one remaining
} is the red one that looks as if you are some sort of loose woman, but
} you haven't any choice and the vicar is *sure* to inquire about it.
}
} And then the butler comes in and he must have polished the soles of his
} shoes, as they leave black footprints on the floor and on the oriental
} rug, and it's not to be endured.
}
} And then the cook announces that there are no currants for the scones,
} and should she make due with sultanas, or could the gardner be sent to
} town to get some currants if you don't mind having the scones a little
} late, and by the way there's only salted butter, no fresh, so maybe the
} gardner had better be sent to town for that even if it will take him
} longer, and by the way Fifi got into the cream cake and sat in it, and
} went hopping around the kitchen leaving little creamy footsteps, and so
} there won't be any cream cake for the vicar even though everyone knows
} that it's his favorite, and there's no helping it at all.
}
} And then Fifi comes into the parlor, still covered with cream, and sits
} on the blue chaise lounge and starts licking her hinder parts just as if
} she weren't absolutely ruining the rug and the lounge and her dear
} beloved mistress' party all at the same time, and the cook goes to pick
} the poor dear up, and she trips on the rug which you had lifted to see
} the extent of the damage, and she flounders wildly into the Ming vase to
} the right of the fireplace, and it falls over and smashes a crystal
} decanter of port into tiny shards, and a tiny chip breaks off of the
} mouth of the vase, and the cook has a black eye, and Fifi gives a little
} shriek and jumps up and runs across the room leaving more footprints of
} cream, and the cook is too upset to clean up the decanter before she
} goes and puts a slice of beefsteak on her eye, so the room shall smell
} of port when the vicar comes in.
}
} And the gardner has just changed his clothes, and he comes in to move
} the *settee* rather than the lounge, and when you finally tell him to
} move the *lounge* rather than the settee, and bring one or two of the
} chairs from the library, and he does, and then he sits on the settee and
} you notice that he's forgotten to change his jacket, and now the settee
} will smell faintly of perspiration as well as probably having fleas.
}
} But there's no helping it, for now the doorbell is ringing and you go to
} answer it and it's not the vicar, but three Denebian slime devils who
} have crash-landed their flying saucer in the back yard, and now they
} want to use the hyperspace radio and if they can't they'll just have to
} eat everyone in the household and then turn them into mindless slaves
} and sell them beyond the Dark Nebula, only it's the nineteenth century
} and you haven't got a hyperspace radio, but the butler comes out and
} engages the slime devils in a bit of an imbroglio.
}
} And then the vicar arrives, punctual as always, and finds your house in
} total disorder.  That's stress.
}
} The Oracle has stressed out.  You owe the Oracle a stress-pill.


192-01    (10224 dist, 3.9 mean)
Selected-By: Steve Kinzler <kinzler@cs.indiana.edu>

The Usenet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> How can I make her love me?  Any love-potions or implantable devices?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} The following eight-step plan will lead to her loving you and craving
} your body with a desparate passion, though not necessarily at the same
} time.
}
} 1. Wrap your body in a blue-green sheet, the feathers of a condor ("the
}    gigantic carrion-eating bird of love"), fifty carnations, a bastinet,
}    a red trash bag, and a tub of peanut butter (with marshmallows if
}    possible).
}
} 2. Approach her, speaking sweetly, and speaking with the most pleasant
}    of breath.  Kiss her hand when she is not expecting it.  Caper
}    extravagantly.  Show off your fine plumage.  Whisper sweet nothings
}    into her seven ears.  Ply her with delicacies, crawdads glazed with
}    honey and thyme (the crustacean of love).  Serve her small elegant
}    glasses of the finest liqueurs.  Bring her a whole roasted zucchini
}    bedecked with apples and custard, a soup of the finest mussels and
}    slippery-elm leaves.  Exquisite!
}
} 3. Declare for her your undying passion.  You should not be too specific
}    at this point.  Rather than saying "Oh, Emily, I want you to perform
}    Act #32 from the Kama Sutra, except with you in the trapeze rather
}    than astride the llama", you must say something more abstract and
}    ethereal: "Ah, Emily, behold!  The stars in the sky are like goldfish
}    (the spiny fish of love) tonight!  They experience such joy as they
}    swim around the heavens nibbling crunchlets of fish food scattered
}    unto them by the hand of the Goddess."  Indirection is the key here.
}
} 4. At this point9 she will get the idea of what you are after.  She will
}    pretend not to understand, as a way of avoiding the issue.
}
} 5. Suddenly, become cold and despairing.  Declaim "Alas, Emily!  Would
}    that I loved a spiny anteater instead of thee!  I cannot bear the
}    coldness, the despair!  Alas!  I am foredone and done for!  Doom is
}    my fate, and gloom is my mate, that I must endure without thee!  Woe,
}    woe is me!  Alas, alas! I must swiftly hie me away to far Paris,
}    where with expensive wines and garlic-drenched snails (the escargot
}    of love) I will strive mightily to forget thee!"   [Warning: do not
}    say this unless her name is actually Emily.]
}
} 6. Remove from your pocket a carefully-prepared plane ticket to Paris.
}    Wave it dauntingly in front of her face.  As if by accident, allow an
}    identical ticket (the famed "Coach class transportation of love") to
}    fall from your pocket in a most visible place on the floor.  Make
}    sure she sees it.
}
} 7. When she inquires about the provenance and teleology of this second
}    ticket, explain in lofty terms that it need not concern her:  it is a
}    matter of complete irrelevance to her life, and she must never think
}    of it again.   Especially, she must no longer think of sharing
}    "poulet de fou en moutarde" (the famed "chicken of love") on the
}    banks of the River Seine, not dream of climbing the spires of Notre
}    Dame de Paris, not even dream idly of the long lines at the Louvre.
}    Never once should she consider the possibility of drinking the fine
}    wines of Chateau sur la Piscine '45 after an evening dancing at the
}    bistro.  In a fit of rage, tear up the second ticket and set it
}    aflame.  Stomp out of the room.
}
} 8. At this point, she will decide to get a ticket to Paris herself.  Run
}    into her, as if by accident, at the Arc du Triomphe, where you have
}    been trapped for half an hour struggling with a parking ticket (the
}    famed Parisian "official tourist-hassle of love").  Allow her to help
}    you deal with it.  The rest is up to you.
}
} You owe the Oracle a year's supply of drugs.  I wanna get high on
} pennicilin.


180-07    (11114 dist, 3.8 mean)
Selected-By: Steve Kinzler <kinzler@cs.indiana.edu>

The Usenet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> Lisp is the language of god,
> Fortran is the language of the angels,
> Pascal is the language of satan,
> modula 2 is the language of the devils,
> french is the language of the living,
> german is the language of the dead,
> but what is the language of dogs?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} There's no English word for it, nor can I transliterate their language's
} name via a computer keyboard.  They communicate almost entirely by
} sniffing crotches, you see.  (Many people incorrectly believe them to
} communicate by barking, but this is clearly false--in fact, a number of
} breeds, including basenjis, never bark at all.  Barking is simply an
} extra form of communication, much like facial expressions in humans.)
}
} It would be almost impossible to describe their language's grammar or
} structure, since it is one of the most unstructured and freeform
} languages ever devised by intelligent creatures.  To give you a feel for
} what a dog's world is like, the following is an attempt to translate one
} of the works of the single greatest dog poet of all time, Husky, who
} lived in the Bronx and marked this poem on a fire hydrant in 1932:
}
}         Shit wow wow wag wag wag!
}         Meat human heat bitch fuck!
}         Warm pat scratch eat eat eat!
}         Kill flea!
}         Kill car!
}         Kill DUCK!
}
} Now, a dog, reading this poem, wouldn't see a string of words in any
} particular order; he'd sense all of it at once, and understand the poem
} not as a story, but as an observation of a single moment in time.  This
} particular poem is about a day when Husky was stuck inside, and gazed
} out the window at the other dogs, watching them play, and remembering a
} long-ago day in the park, when he'd taken (and rolled in) a particularly
} satisfying dump.
}
} I'm sorry I can't teach you more about the language, for it's a
} fascinating one.  But I hope I've given you a greater respect for the
} canine kingdom.
}
} You owe the Oracle a box of Bonz and a scratch behind the left ear.


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