From oracle-request Sat Jan 16 00:10:43 1993 Received: by moose.cs.indiana.edu (5.65c/9.4jsm) id AA26696; Sat, 16 Jan 1993 00:10:43 -0500 Date: Sat, 16 Jan 1993 00:10:43 -0500 From: To: oracle-list Subject: Usenet Oracularities #519 Reply-To: oracle-vote X-Face: "9e\S&XFxP?L)~?^jbHC!$jk5#O}v\n#nwz8'd$#(H,+B4n<^{GSCr,![PCrQOV1 nW{vh|Ev<)b!y?'?aysJ)3YJ_/sOl@a'lKaG,uk|Xh3mR+xa]XJ!$vqAjQe?.nst;0/"u?M2K~rC6k~ |)'uWrn%alJW'QwwJJ441kc,m.C!?:EP49(+ X-Planation: X-Face can be viewed with "faces". From the cs.indiana.edu ftp archive today. === 519 ================================================================== Title: Usenet Oracularities #519 Compiled-By: "Steve Kinzler" 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 1 514 29 votes 116ba 136d6 3c761 48971 a2953 3ac31 26c63 25d45 59a23 19973 514 3.0 mean 4.0 3.7 2.7 2.8 2.6 2.6 3.1 3.2 2.6 3.1 --- 519-01 --------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: Ken McGlothlen 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 --------------------------------------------------------------- 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 --------------------------------------------------------------- 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 --------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: David Bremner 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 --------------------------------------------------------------- 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 --------------------------------------------------------------- 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 --------------------------------------------------------------- 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 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 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 --------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: RICH MCGEE 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 --------------------------------------------------------------- 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 --------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: David Sewell 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