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Internet Oracularities #519

Goto:
519, 519-01, 519-02, 519-03, 519-04, 519-05, 519-06, 519-07, 519-08, 519-09, 519-10


Usenet Oracularities #519    (40 votes, 3.2 mean)
Compiled-By: "Steve Kinzler" <kinzler@cs.indiana.edu>
Date: Sat, 16 Jan 1993 00:10:43 -0500

To find out all about the Usenet Oracle, including how to participate,
send mail to oracle@cs.indiana.edu with the word "help" in the subject
line.

Let us know what you like!  Send your ratings of these 10 Oracularities
on an integer scale of 1 ("very poor") to 5 ("very good") with the
volume number to oracle-vote@cs.indiana.edu (probably just reply to this
message).  For example:
   519
   2 1 3 4 3   5 3 3 4 1

519   40 votes 2bfa2 35i86 39ea4 2455o 3aec1 4hc61 2a99a 18dc6 399e5 2969e
519   3.2 mean  3.0   3.2   3.1   4.1   3.0   2.6   3.4   3.4   3.2   3.6


519-01    (2bfa2 dist, 3.0 mean)
Selected-By: Ken McGlothlen <mcglk@cpac.washington.edu>

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

> Great Oracle, the mud of whose shoe soles I am not worthy to scrape,
> please tell me how Elvis is doing these days.

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} O' benighted supplicant, the Oracle bids you to sit and listen.
}
} Comfy?  Good.
}
} Elvis is dead.  His remains are decomposing nicely and for someone who
} has been dead for about 15-1/2 years, he looks good.   If you are
} enquiring as to his spirit essense, it is a more difficult question to
} answer since his non-corporeal form has always been tough to pin down.
} The Oracle has tracked him through at least three incarnations since
} his manifestation as the King of Rock n' Roll.
}
} He first returned as a harp seal, since he had misread the small print
} and though he fancied being dressed in white, thought "harp" meant he
} would finally learn to play the harmonica.  However, a fisherman by the
} name of Wally bashed in Seal-Elvis's head and his spirit had to start
} over.
}
} His second incarnation since his demise as Elvis the Pelvis was as a
} Ford Pinto, but he got rear-ended at an underpass and was declared
} totalled at the scene.  Ironically, the Buick that hit him was a former
} fan of the King, and lives today in perpetual guilt over the incident.
}
} His latest incarnation seems to be that of a feline.  He's a little
} tough to track down at the moment, but he has apparently moved recently
} from Little Rock, Arkansas to Washington D.C.    His exact whereabouts
} are a bit fuzzy.
}
} You owe the Oracle five pounds of kitty-litter.


519-02    (35i86 dist, 3.2 mean)
Selected-By: asbestos@nwu.edu (Michael A. Atkinson)

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

> Dear Oracle,
>         I've been having this recurring dream for some time now, and
> it's really starting to concern me.
>         When the dream starts I'm in the middle of a wedding.  My own
> wedding, to my darling Genevive.  I remember thinking how incredibly
> happy I'm supposed to be, but all I feel is an unexplainable dread
> that our marriage is in jeopardy before it's even begun.  I turn to
> look at Genevive -- she's smiling like an angel, and her eyes are full
> of an unquestioning confidence in me that I can't understand.  I
> squeeze her hand, and hold on to that smile.
>         The pastor is speaking.  "Does anyone know," he says, "any
> reason why this young man and this young woman should not be married?
> If so, speak now, or forever--" Slap slslap slababap!
>         To my consternation, his words are cut off by a chorus of
> slapping noises from the congregation.  I turn, and see Genevive's
> mother standing up, flushed with excitement.  A panel on the pew in
> front of her is flashing white, and below it is her signature scrawled
> in little light bulbs.  "Mrs. Kinnemer?" says the pastor.
>         "Because ninety-five percent of American weddings end in
> divorce within two years?!" she squeals.
>         BZZzzt.  The organist plays a dissonant chord.  The pastor
> shakes his head.  "I'm sorry, that's not the correct answer."
>         The maid of honor holds up a white cardboard sign that says
> "Awwww!"  The congregation reads responsively, "Awwww!"
>         "I'll repeat the question," says the pastor.  "Does anyone--"
> Slapap slap!
>         "Mr. Bajor?"
>         Dad?!
>         I turn to see my father leaning on the pew in front of him
> with a look of furious concentration on his face.  My mother is
> grasping his arm and whispering in his ear, but he doesn't appear to
> hear.
>         "Your answer, Mr. Bajor?"
>         My dad pauses for an agonizing moment, then opens his mouth,
> but is cut off by another BZzzZt from the organ.
>         "Awwww!" says the congregation.
>         My best man strikes the altar.  By some obscure rule, you don't
> have to wait for the question to be repeated after a time-out.  He was
> the only one who remembered this.  "Mr. Ceti?"
>         "Because she's too young!" he blurts out.
>         There is a moment of hushed silence.
>         "I'll have to ask the Judge on that one," says the pastor.
> He bows his head briefly.  The organ softly plays "Wachet Auf".
>         The pastor raises his head with a congratulatory smile.
> "Your answer is correct!"
>         The best man jumps in the air like he just bought a Toyota,
> then rushes over and hugs the maid of honor.  The congregation goes
> wild.  The organ sets in triumphantly on Tchaikovsky's "Wedding
> March".  I look around for Genevive, but somehow she's slipped out of
> my hand...!  Her stroller is there, but it's empty except for her
> well-chewed plastic yellow dog!  I look around desperately but can't
> see anything for the churning throng.  "Genevive!" I yell.  I start
> crawling under the pews.  "Genevive!"
>         That's when I wake up, crawling under my bedsheets and
> muttering "Genevive" in my empty apartment.
>
>         So what does it all mean, O wise Oracle?  By the way I'm not
> married, not even betrothed.

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Concerned Dreamer,
}       Der dream indicates und deep-seated psychosis involving two uf der
} primary vears of der American male.  Virst uf all, der television gamer
} zhow und zecondly der vears of emasculation.  Yah!  Der merging uf dese
} two vears -- intermingled mit der guilt veelings toward under-age
} wunderkinder -- combines to create der superego versus id crises vich
} vill in der end, lead to improper advancen toward under-age dachshunds
} und incarceration un der institution.  Ve zuggest der coldisher zhower
} und kippen der hands outziden der zheets at nacht.


519-03    (39ea4 dist, 3.1 mean)
Selected-By: nolan@helios.unl.edu (Harold the Foot)

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

> O great Oracle who is the master of all barbers, and hair stylists...
>
> Answer me this question:
>
> Why is it that as Men age, hair growth moves from the top of one's
> head to ones face, then towards one's ears and nose?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Gravity.


519-04    (2455o dist, 4.1 mean)
Selected-By: David Bremner <bremner@cs.sfu.ca>

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

> Sheesh - that wasn't nice of you!

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Scene:  The Oracle's luxurious penthouse apartment, high above the
} city.  In the darkened living room, Lisa and the Oracle sit on the
} overstuffed sofa, doing unusually--- um, they sit there "cuddling."
} Suddenly, a soft, muffled chime rings out, followed by a soft, muffled
} thump as Lisa's posterior hits the floor.
}
} "D*mn!" cries the Oracle, leaping to his feet.
}
} "Ooo, I love it when you swear in Asteric," purrs Lisa, clinging to his
} leg as he struggles over towards the bookshelf.
}
} "Let go, Babe.  This could be important.  It's a message on CryptoNet"
}
} "CryptoNet?  But Orrie, that's for spies and stuff.  You don't need
} spies. You're omniscient!"
}
} "I know."  Pulling on a fake copy of "The Prince," the Oracle trips a
} secret latch and the bookcase slides to one side, revealing an
} ultra-high-tech communications center, with more flashing lights than
} the main console of the Forbin Project.  "But spies are good for more
} than just finding out stuff."
}
} Lisa's brow furrows in disapproval.  "Orrie!  Are you playing 'World
} Domination' with Loki again?"
}
} The Oracle grins.  "I never stopped.  Just lost contact with my agents
} for a little while.  Ah, here we go."
}
} MESSAGE RECEIVED - SHEESH, THAT WASN'T NICE OF YOU.
}
} "Oh poo," says Lisa.  "That's no secret message.  That's just that guy
} complaining about the business with the walrus, the banana pudding, and
} the 9-volt battery."
}
} "Ah, to the ordinary layman, that's what it LOOKS like.  All my agents
} use my special Anagram Encryption Code for their messages.  Watch what
} happens when we re-arrange the letters."
}
} CALCULATING ANAGRAM...
} OUTPUT: AUTHENTICATE HE OF SHY SNOWS
}
} "Aha, my Middle Eastern Agent!"
}
} "He of shy snows?"
}
} "How often do you think it snows in the Sahara?"  Lisa pouts at this
} reply, as the muffled bell chimes again.
}
} MESSAGE RECEIVED:  SHEESH, THAT WASN'T NICE OF YOU.
} CALCULATING ANAGRAM...
} OUTPUT:  SHAH SHY OF A WEE CONSTITUENT.
}
} "Shah?"
}
} The Oracle clears his throat and seems to be fiddling with the
} controls.  "Well I said I hadn't heard from my agents in a while," he
} mumbles.
}
} "Yeah, but 20 years?"  Ignoring her, the Oracle taps out a quick reply.
}
} INPUT MESSAGE:  He was shy of a constituent, eh?
} ENCODING...
} OUTPUT:  SHEESH, THAT WASN'T NICE OF YOU.
}
} *ding*
} MESSAGE RECEIVED:  SHEESH, THAT WASN'T NICE OF YOU.
} CALCULATING ANAGRAM...
} OUTPUT:  ANESTHETIC FUSE SHOT ANYHOW.
}
} "Anesthetic..?"  The Oracle thinks for a moment, then slaps his head.
} "The ceramic goat!  The plot to kidnap Khomeini!  I WONDERED what went
} wrong."
}
} *ding*
} MESSAGE RECEIVED:  SHEESH, THAT WASN'T NICE OF YOU.
} CALCULATING ANAGRAM...
} OUTPUT:  ANESTHETIC WHOOSH, YET SNAFU.
}
} "D*mn!" he swears, more for Lisa's benefit that out of real
} displeasure.
}
} *ding*
} MESSAGE RECEIVED:  SHEESH, THAT WASN'T NICE OF YOU.
} CALCULATING ANAGRAM...
} OUTPUT:  HA HA! CONSTITUENT SHY OF EWES!
}
} The mighty Oracle rolls his eyes in disgust.  "An ungulophobe!  No
} wonder the plot failed!"
}
} *ding*
} MESSAGE RECEIVED:  SHEESH, THAT WASN'T NICE OF YOU.
} CALCULATING ANAGRAM...
} OUTPUT:  WHOA! SHY CONSTITUENT HAS FEE!
}
} "Fee?" says Lisa.  "You mean he's trying to bribe your agent?"
}
} "Don't worry, my agents are hand-picked men.  They can't be bought."
}
} *ding*
} MESSAGE RECEIVED:  SHEESH, THAT WASN'T NICE OF YOU.
} CALCULATING ANAGRAM...
} OUTPUT:  WHY EASE SHAH OF CONSTITUENT?
}
} "What!  D**n you!  Don't question my orders!"  Lisa winces:  Orrie
} almost NEVER swears in Double Asteric!
}
} "But Orrie, the shah has been gone for years.  What difference does it
} make?"
}
} The Oracle glowers.  "It's the principle of the thing.  I better send
} this guy some assistance."  He rapidly types a message and hits the
} SEND key.
}
} *ding*
} MESSAGE RECEIVED:  SHEESH, THAT WASN'T NICE OF YOU.
} CALCULATING ANAGRAM...
} OUTPUT:  THY ASSISTANCE? O WHEE.  HOT FUN.
}
} "Sarcasm?!?  He dares mock the Omnipotent Oracle?"
}
} "Maybe he's showing off.  Does he have any girls with him?"
}
} "Hmmm."  The Oracle dashes off a quick query.
}
} *ding*
} MESSAGE RECEIVED:  SHEESH, THAT WASN'T NICE OF YOU.
} CALCULATING ANAGRAM...
} OUTPUT:  CANTONESE HUSSY, FEW HOT THAI.
}
} The Oracle's irritation begins to develop into a full-blown wrath.
} "Outside his assigned jurisdiction, and he even dares imply he is more
} virile than I?" He bends over his keyboard.  "Um, Lisa, honey, would
} you go get me a cup of coffee?"
}
} "Sure!" chirps Lisa.  As soon as she is out of the room, he types
} furiously, recounting some of his favorite exploits.  Lisa hears the
} chime as she comes back with his coffee.
}
} *ding*
} MESSAGE RECEIVED:  SHEESH, THAT WASN'T NICE OF YOU.
} CALCULATING ANAGRAM...
} OUTPUT:  THEY SWOON (ETC), HUH? FANTASIES!
}
} The Oracle begins to glow, and the cup of coffee in his hand begins to
} boil.
}
} "Um, Orrie?"  Lisa nervously backs away from him.  With the stiff
} movements of barely controlled rage, he pecks out a final warning.
}
} *ding*
} MESSAGE RECEIVED:  SHEESH, THAT WASN'T NICE OF YOU.
} CALCULATING ANAGRAM...
} OUTPUT:  YEAH, WE CONSISTENT, HUH FATSO?
}
} The All-Powerful Oracle becomes ominously calm.  He flips a switch,
} types the letters TZO, then hits the SEND key, and waits for his
} renegade agent to decode the message.  After a few moments, another
} screen lights up.
}
} *beep*
} AUTOMATED STATUS REPORT:  SHEESH, THAT WASN'T NICE OF YOU.
} CALCULATING ANAGRAM...
} OUTPUT:  THY FOES NOW AUTHENTIC ASHES.
}
} With a diabolical smile, the satisfied Oracle pushes the button, and
} the ultra-high-tech communications console disappears behind the
} bookshelf.
}
} You owe the Oracle an unemployed KGB agent.


519-05    (3aec1 dist, 3.0 mean)
Selected-By: ewhac@ntg.com (Leo 'Bols Ewhac' Schwab)

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

> Oh most culinarily wise Oracle
>
> Give me the recipe for Hassenfeffer.

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Hasenpfeffer.  (You're welcome.)
}
} 1.  Catch one wabbit (hasen).  Use cawwots as bait.
}
} 2.  Dwown wabbit, skin and cwean.
}
} 3.  Chop wabbit into stew-size chunks and bwown.
}
} 4.  Chop up pfeffers, (wed, gween, bwack, chiwi) and thwee potatoes.
}
} 5.  In gawwon pot, add wabbit, watew, and veggies.
}
} 6.  Cook ovew high heat untiw weduced, add sawt and mowe watew.
}
} 7.  Sing "I was stwowwing thwough the pawk one day . . . ."
}
} Abwa-Cadabwa, Hasenpfeffer.
}
} You owe the Owacew fwee tickets to the Dawwas game.


519-06    (4hc61 dist, 2.6 mean)
Selected-By: ewhac@ntg.com (Leo 'Bols Ewhac' Schwab)

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

> Oh great Oracle, who would never mess up a minor II-V-I progression,
> please tell me:
>
> Why!?  Why O why did Dizzy have to die when guys like Kenny G are still
> around?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Yes, the Brahman of Bebop has sucked in his mighty cheeks and gone to
} his greater reward and become the Late Mr. Gillespie only to be
} replaced by the Knez of Annoying Insipidity, Kenny G.  [nee Gorlick]
}
} The Oracle can only speculate that there are now far too many elevators
} in the world and that the talents of Dizzy and his ilk weren't suited
} to be played in public places because the public, as we all know, would
} rather be narcoticized by sickly-sweet Malt-O-Meal melodies than
} inspired and uplifted by genius both emotive and intellectual.  Dizzy
} would take you on a trip that fit his name, a roller coaster ride of
} highs and lows and sudden turns, while Kenny G. and his wannabe
} brethren would give you a ride inspired only by soap operas.
}
} Why?  The whys don't matter.  Others will come.   One great man falls,
} and sooner or later someone picks up the banner and plays on.  Art
} never dies. The public rarely recognizes genius in his or her own time.
} Van Gogh. Renoir. Charlie "Yardbird" Parker.  Even Michaelangelo, Jimi
} Hendrix and Jim Morrison. None of them approached the recognition
} during their lifetime that they achieved after they left the living.
}
} However, the Oracle shares in your memory of Dizzy, and in your disdain
} for that Kenny fellow who is distinguished only by his lack of
} imagination.
}
} You owe the Oracle eight bars of improvisation.


519-07    (2a99a dist, 3.4 mean)
Selected-By: jgm@cs.brown.edu (Jonathan Monsarrat)

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

> SEVEN DRUNKEN QUESTIONS
> by Theodore Supplicant
> -----------------------
>
> As I mailed to Orrie on Monday night
> As drunk as drunk could be
> I saw a woodchuck chucking wood
> Where my old Chuck should be.
> Well I wrote to Orrie and said to him:
> Would you kindly tell to me
> How much wood that woodchuck there would chuck,
> If chucking it would be.
>
> Are you drunk, you drunk, you silly old fool
> Still you cannot see
> It would chuck as much wood as a woodchuck could chuck
> And don't ever ask this to me!
>
> Well, it's many-a days I travelled
> A hundred miles or more
> But a woodchuck which ain't chucking wood
> I never saw before.
>
> As I mailed to Orrie on Tuesday night
> As drunk as drunk could be
> I saw a chicken cross the road
> Where my old chick should be.
> I wrote to Orrie and said to him:
> Would you kindly tell to me
> Why does that chicken cross the road and
> where does *my* chick be?
>
> Are you drunk, you drunk, you silly old fool
> Still you cannot see
> That's the way to Old McDonald's farm
> Where a Hamburger it will be.
>
> Well, it's many-a days I travelled
> A hundred miles or more
> But how many roads a chick must walk down
> I never knew before.
>
> As I mailed to Orrie on Wednesday night
> As drunk as drunk could be
> I saw a young guy getting laid
> Behind an Apple-III
> So I wrote to Orrie and said to him:
> Would you kindly tell to me
> Why cannot I get laid right now
> And when then it shall be?
>
> Are you drunk, you drunk, you silly old fool
> Still you cannot see
> You're wearing a pocket protector
> Which is how a Nerd should be.
>
> Well, it's many-a days I travelled
> A hundred miles or more
> But a nerd without a BITNET address
> I never saw before.
>
> As I mailed to Orrie on Thursday Night
> As drunk as drunk could be
> I saw my boss stand in my door
> And he walked right up to me.
> So I wrote to Orrie and said to him:
> Would you kindly tell to me
> Why that man runs my company
> Which is what *my* job should be!
>
> Are you drunk, you drunk, you silly old fool
> Still you cannot see
> That you will lose your job right now
> and net access etc.!
>
> Well, it's many-a days I travelled
> A hundred miles or more
> But a boss for whom I had sympathy
> I never saw before.
>
> As I mailed to Orrie on Friday Night
> As drunk as drunk could be
> I wrote a piece of COBOL code
> When FORTRAN it should be.
> So I wrote to Orrie and said to him:
> Would you kindly tell to me
> Why I have to write it in COBOL
> and don't have a Compiler for C?
>
> Are you drunk, you drunk, you silly old fool
> Still you cannot see
> That's a VM system you've got
> And a horrible one, indeed.
>
> Well, it's many-a days I travelled
> A hundred miles or more
> But a VM which says "set def [-.scratch.head]"
> I never saw before.
>
> As I mailed to Orrie on Saturday Night
> As drunk as drunk could be
> A <ZOT!> was in my mailbox then
> When a decent answer it should be.
> So I wrote to Orrie and said to him:
> Would you kindly tell to me
> Why some incarnations do only write crap
> Instead of letting it be?!
>
> Are you drunk, you drunk, you silly old fool
> Still you cannot see
> That I was in bed with Lisa that time
> And then the incarnations run free.
>
> Well, it's many-a days I travelled
> A hundred miles or more
> But an incarnation with a clear head
> I never saw before.
>
> So when I mailed to Orrie on Sunday night
> As drunk as drunk could be
> I had an urge for Lisa
> And not for Julie and Mary.
> So I wrote to Orrie and said to him:
> Would you kindly tell to me
> How I can get Lisa in my bed
> With a jar of K-Y-Jelly?!
>
> Are you drunk, you drunk, you silly old fool
> Still you cannot see
> That only woodchucks are in for you
> And Lisa is for me!
>
> Well, it's many-a days I travelled
> A hundred miles or more
> But a response without no woodchuck-reference
> I never saw before.

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} After what seems like an eternity, the last jangling chords die down
} and the nasal voice grinds to a halt.  The universe seems poised,
} waiting. Beyond the spotlights, even the crickets have been stunned
} into silence, although one by one they restart their own chorus.  This,
} unfortunately, is the only applause that seems forthcoming.
}
} The lights go out, one by one.  It appears as if a great wind has swept
} through the auditorium, as every chair has been upended and litter
} continues to swirl in violent eddies.  Forgotten umbrellas, carkeys,
} and babies are seen scattered throughout the carnage.  A sound as of
} thousands of running feet can be heard in the distance.
}
} The air seems charged.  Definitely.  Rather too much for comfort.  With
} a speed belying his advanced years and an insight previously
} unrecognised, the singer whirls and pulls his power cord from the
} socket.  The wind blows harder, picking up the posters and flapping
} them.  An eerie <ZZZZZZZZZZZZO......> sound fills the air.
}
} Faithful to the last, the singer's elderly agent climbs onto the stage.
} "Well, Bob, you've been from folk to acoustic to electric to rock to
} christian and now it seems back again to f*ck, but this latest idea of
} sucking up to the Oracle just doesn't seem to have caught on with the
} punters.  Time to give it up I think."  He gestures towards the
} well-used cryogenics apparatus at the rear of the stage.
}
} "Can't understand it," mumbles the singer as he shambles back.  "I even
} learned a new chord for this one.  Makes four I know now.  Some folks
} just got no appreciation for talent."  He settles his aging bones and
} the frosted lid slides shut.  Liquid nitrogen hisses.  The last
} spotlight dies. Oddly, the world spins on.
}
} You owe the Oracle Benny Goodman's extended version of "Sing Sing
} Sing", Big Audio Dynamite II with a lit stick of it in each ear, and
} Kris Kross crucified.  Alternatively, donations to the Zimmerman
} Foundation for Tone Deaf Singers will be accepted.


519-08    (18dc6 dist, 3.4 mean)
Selected-By: RICH MCGEE <MCGEE@nic.CSU.net>

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

> Oh mighty Oracle,
>
> if Steve Kinzler were a musician - would he have an organ with
> a mind of his own?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Great.  Yet another in a long line of stupid FAQS about Dad.  I've
} already gotten:
}
} > if Steve Kinzler were a church, would he have an organ with a mind
} > of its own?
}
} > if Steve Kinzler were a gigolo, would he have an organ with a mind of
} > its own?
}
} > if Steve Kinzler were a sex-crazed weasel, would he have an orgy with
} > a mind of its own?
}
} > if Steve Kinzler were a folded square piece of paper, would he be an
} > origami with a mind of its own?
}
} > if Steve Kinzler were a mobster, would he have an organization with a
} > mind of its own?
}
} > if Steve Kinzler were a coordinate system, would he have an origin
} > with a mind of its own?
}
} > if Steve Kinzler were the United States, would he have an Oregon with
} > a mind of its own?
}
} > when Steve Kinzler has sex, does he have an orgasm with a mind of its
} > own?
}
} Strangely, no one has asked, "if Steve Kinzler wrote a program, would
} it be an Oracle with a mind of its own?"  To which, of course, the
} answer is Yes. But, I'm still just the Organ Grinder's Monkey.


519-09    (399e5 dist, 3.2 mean)
Selected-By: John.McCartney@EBay.Sun.COM ( The Lion of Symmetry )

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

> Great, great Oracle!  Wise, wise Oracle!
>
> I was rummaging through my great-grandmothers old recipe box, and I
> found the following gem.  Unfortunately, I don't speak German; could
> you translate, and tell me the result?
>
> "Autobahn Vismarck"
>
> Der geschrummelt dagenschult die bagenbagen unt der luftwaffe unt der
> schumm en mixen.  Das antwerpen unt der "Fruity Pebbles" un mixen too,
> unt shaken int die biggenboxxen.  Die jagdegeschwader unt die
> gladenvasen schosten tag! Largo unt dir
> drammengladdenscheinholdenfrausenheim unt die kafka mixen.  Unt
> biggenstoven die cooken and glazen.  Servenmuncheneaten!

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} A gem indeed.  After reading the recipe, I had to have my chef make it
} for me.   It was wonderful.  Clearly the best Autobahn Vismarck I have
} ever had.  I shall have the Catholic Church cannonize your great-
} grandmother.  A wonderful treat.
}
} A translation:
}
} "Roadkill Stew"  (Microwave version)
}
} Ingredients:
} 2 liters Jagermeister
} 1 box Fruity Pebbles (tm)
} 1 box Shake 'N' Bake
} 1 Cat
} 2 Possum
} 1 Snake
} 1 Nosehair
} 1 Glad Bag
} 2 Dramamine Tablets (Prevents getting the shits)
}
} Carefully measure 10 jiggers of Jagermeister.  Drink two.  Mince the
} cat and the possum.  Drink Jagermeister.  Saute lightly with nose hair
} and Fruity Pebbles.  Drink two more shots of Jagermeister.  Crush one
} Dramamine tablet and add powder to mixture.  Drink Jagermeister.  Add
} sliced snake bits to the stew.  Better have more Jagermeister.  Stir in
} remainder of Jagermeister thats in the bottle.  Add the Shake 'N' Bake.
} Mix well.  Take the remaining Dramamine tablet followed by the
} remaining Jagermeister.  Put entire mixture into the Glad Bag.
} Microwave on high for 10 seconds.  Rotate every odd second.
}
} The Roadkill Stew is done when the oozing bag seems to be alive with
} a pungent bubbling substance.  Allow to cool.
}
} Serve luke warm with glazed doughnuts.  Serves 4.
} ---
}
} Wonderful.  My chef spent hours hunting for the perfect roadkill to
} put in the stew.  This is essential.  Poor quality roadkill is a great
} way to ruin a good meal.  This nosehair was a special treat.  None of
} my old recipes included this exotic spice.  Send the recipe to Gormet
} Magazine.  A warning:  Failure to drink the Jaggermeister will make you
} very noxious.  Failure to eat the Dramamine, and you'll spent the whole
} evening on the crapper.
}
} Bon appetite!
}
} You owe the Oracle a stomach pump.


519-10    (2969e dist, 3.6 mean)
Selected-By: David Sewell <dsew@troi.cc.rochester.edu>

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

> THIS QUESTION LEFT BLANK INTENTIONALLY.

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} DO NOT REMOVE THIS ANSWER UNDER PENALTY OF LAW


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