From oracle-request Thu Oct 6 17:22:29 1994 Received: by moose.cs.indiana.edu (5.65c/9.4jsm) id AA19962; Thu, 6 Oct 1994 17:22:29 -0500 Date: Thu, 6 Oct 1994 17:22:29 -0500 From: To: oracle-list Subject: Usenet Oracularities #681 Reply-To: oracle-vote X-Face: #uz~Ma5G?lX"lQv,9/$d0hEy7pk]l$U^|3Otd8>?b"!\/AE_F0Lm!['3"[}DQFw9 qxsx)mp$|3:}1pa:lK6H"H8TH+;E(w1r09e:3vpnx4zyC.v?+v%088"=)bs-,Q[: c2NWk',v>VQ^Hhf_zG5Okg;[vkGO%8`7T*XW0SepJNfCbVa",Dmvk-C/K|-uX*!e uK1Yc!-``R-$q(;"a@3 sgw_x[EK!Z)HJ~yxbd+mg{krWs0NA!1h/aXR X-Planation: X-Face can be viewed with cs.indiana.edu:/pub/faces. === 681 ================================================================== Title: Usenet Oracularities #681 Compiled-By: "Steve Kinzler" Date: Thu, 6 Oct 1994 17:22:29 -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: 681 2 1 3 4 3 5 3 3 4 1 676 67 votes 5gble apn90 5msb1 39yg5 1cqr1 6dog8 2fima jfib4 5lsc1 2ffjg 676 3.0 mean 3.3 2.5 2.7 3.2 3.2 3.1 3.3 2.5 2.7 3.5 --- 681-01 --------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: m-atkinson@nwu.edu (Michael A. Atkinson) The Usenet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > why oh ^&*)&*()&(*_@# > ^&@#)@#_+!#$!!#*_(!$_^$#$)!&#!)#*_!# HJVJ )(#!&#^ > @^#@^A)!@#^@*(_@#^)Q@$_Q@#*$_Q@#+ #*@U > @#*$&)QQ^@#%$Q@&*#Q(@$&*_Q@ > > ^@#$*&Q@^Q @&^)@ *@&$)&@$!@_& And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } About a cord a day. --- 681-02 --------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: buck@integ.micrognosis.com (Jesse Buckley) The Usenet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > Oh Oracle most cool and froody, with eyes in the back of your head, > tell me: > > What is the best way to cheat on the Turing test? And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } Dear Supplicant, } } The Turing test was designed with an intelligent computer in mind. If a } test person, sitting behind a terminal, has a discussion with either a } machine or a human being, and cannot decide whether he is talking to } one or the other, then -according to Turing- the computer can be } considered intelligent. } Since his idea was first introduced, millions of man hours have been } put into making the computer more and more intelligent. We've seen } Neural Nets, Fuzzy Logic, Expert Systems, and the Guess the Animal } game, and nothing so far has succeeded in making a computer any more } intelligent than your pet dog. What a waste of research, human [sic] } intelligence and money! Fooling the test person is of course done, not } by making the machine more intelligent, but by making the human being } more stupid! } So, in answer to your question: have all the human conversationists } undergo a frontal lobotomy, give them a quart of Johnny Walker's, and } put them behind that console! The chances of their being more coherent } than any computer are zilch. Test persons will be utterly confused and } will probably judge most computers as "most intelligent". } It might, by the way, become clear to you by now why neurology and } computer sciences have become so closely acquainted. Neural nets are } just a cover-up for organized massive brain surgery, the only way to } "raise" computers to the human intelligence level. } } You owe the Oracle a.. dada! goo!.. Oracle want rattle! --- 681-03 --------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: dsew@packrat.aml.arizona.edu (David Sewell) The Usenet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > Most sacred Oracle, I bow in your presence with the following ?: > > If urine is 'Number One' and feces is 'Number Two,' what > is 'Number Three?' And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } This question. --- 681-04 --------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: Jonathan "Dr. Who" Monsarrat The Usenet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > Will computers ever "think"? And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } bad command or file name --- 681-05 --------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: jgm@cs.brown.edu (Jonathan "Dr. Who" Monsarrat) The Usenet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > Oh most wise oracle, whose wisdom is from beyond the stars, please tell > me > > Why am I so tired? And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } Allow the Oracle to introduce you to something called sleep. This } wonderful technique mysteriously erases fatigue. It's very simple: } } 1. Turn off the computer. Contrary to popular belief, a computer } has no feelings and will not format your hard disk in a fit } of pique at being ignored. } } 2. Lie down on a horizontal surface. The surface of choice is } a padded surface known as a bed. Have someone point one out } to you. If you cannot find a bed, you might try a sofa, a } park bench, or someone's front lawn. If you are a college } student, you may be able to sleep while sitting in class. } } 3. Turn off the lights if possible. There are some sleep experts } who claim that you should do this before #2, but if you are an } amateur, you run the risk of stubbing a toe on your way to your } horizontal surface of choice. Please note the college students } are not allowed to turn the classroom lights off. The teacher } will do it just before he starts showing slides. } } 4. Close your eyes. Some people can sleep with their eyes open, } but as a beginner you should master the basics first. } } 5. Wake up. This step is critically important as failure to do so } can result in the "Rip Van Winkle" effect or even death. No one } said sleep was risk free. You might want to have a friend sit in } in case something goes wrong. } } If the first four steps don't produce sleep, reread the Oracle's reply. } That ought to put your lights out. } } You owe the Oracle a blankie and a nightlight to keep the monsters } away. --- 681-06 --------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: jgm@cs.brown.edu (Jonathan "Dr. Who" Monsarrat) The Usenet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > Oh allmighty allknowing allencompassing all... - well you get the > picture - Oracle, please grant this humble supplicant a boon, and tell > me the answer to this question: > > Why is it so dark in here, and where am I?? And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } It is *always* dark in there, as you have probably deduced for } yourself by now. This is because of the radiation seals and } rock casings, not to mention the 35,000,000 tons of } pre-stressed concrete which was used to ensure that the thirty } thousand years required for the radioactive waste to cool off } can pass without incident. How many times did Joe the foreman } tell you off about sleeping on the job? And did you listen? } } But do not panic, help is here in the shape of your friend the } Usenet Oracle and Lassie the Wonderdog. Yes, things may seem } bleak but there's always hope. } } Now then, Lassie has started barking and pawing the ground } eightfive feet above your head (this isn't going to help much, } since there is nobody else within a hundred miles of this } place except for a few military bods, who traditionally ignore } things like dogs pawing at the ground suggestively, cats } staring intently at a mysterious box under the table, or even } little Chirp the Wonderhamster who could suggestively spin his } little wheel, faster and faster until finally little Johnny } would realise why, dash off to the treehouse and save the } twins from a watery death, all thanks to Chirp.) } } No, I don't think Lassie has really scoped the problem too } well so we'll carry on without canine assistance for now, eh? } Right then, how do we get you out of this geographical quarry, } sorry *quandry* which has, after all been constructed with a } definate and pretty serious attempt at staying intact for } thirty thousand years. } } The solution is obvious, and staring us right in the face! } } All you need to do is send a message to the Usenet Oracle, } along the lines of "grovel, grovel, and how do I get out of an } underground radiation disposal facility." } } If you are in luck, the omniscient Oracle will tell you. } Chances are though, that the reply will be along the lines of } "wait 30 thousand years" unless you grovel properly. } } You owe the Oracle a pyramid. --- 681-07 --------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: jgm@cs.brown.edu (Jonathan "Dr. Who" Monsarrat) The Usenet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > Oh great and wonderous Oracle.. I have a question for you. I've been > thinking about this long and hard, but I've been quite unable to come > to a good conclusion. You see, there's this spoon I've been wanting to > take out to dinner, you know for a nice date or something, but I can't > decide where to take her. Some nice little soup and salad place, or a > fine gourmet french restraunt, what? Help, I really feel that I MUST > impress this spoon if I'm to have a chance. What would you suggest? And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } It depends on whether or not you're interested in more than just a } quick fork. } } You owe the Oracle an archive of postings to alt.utensils.spork. --- 681-08 --------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: m-atkinson@nwu.edu (Michael A. Atkinson) The Usenet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > Oh wise and wonderful Oracle whose amazing brain can deduct anything, > including the molecular composition of Spam(tm); > > Please tell me why I put up with this stupid job. And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } Because you've been programmed for it since birth. As part of } our vast consumerist society, you've been subconsciously } instructed, all your life, that you must hold down a "respectable" } job in order to be "productive". It really makes you sound } like you're supposed to be a machine, mindlessly going to } work each day, so that you can "function" as a member of society } and be as "productive" as possible. If you find that your } job numbs your mind, well, that's the way it was intended. } If you've actually noticed this then there's still hope for } you. If you stay in such employment while realizing its } negative mind-crushing effect on you, then you are an agent } of your own destruction. Get out, while you still can. } } BTW, how'd you know about my Spam deduction? You're right, } I put it down on my tax form as a medical expense. } } You owe the Oracle a signed video copy of "Brazil". --- 681-09 --------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: m-atkinson@nwu.edu (Michael A. Atkinson) The Usenet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > If everything is a piece of cake, where's my icing? And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } In order to put your inquiry into proper perspective, considering } the state of affairs of the world today, we must take into account the } "cakeistensialist" theory of philosophy. The mediocre philosopher } DesHorses, who, slightly before Descartes, proposed the famous theory } that "I think, therefore the universe is a large pastry." } Later philosophers, such as Kantoo and Kannot, elaborated on this } theory, noting that "while tarts are indeed yummy, life, as we know it, } is a piece of cake." } Modern science has,surprisingly enough, proven useful in } determining more about cakeistensialism. Famous physicist Pritchard } Heyman theorized that while the underlying fabric of the cake is full } of little holes, the stuff that keeps it all together is known as the } "icing." Used to anchor those small packets of energy, or "candle," } icing is both tasty AND important to our very existence. } Often, however, the power inherent in the icing fades in areas, } growing in others. The intensity of icing is referred to as its } "thickness," and indeed, the "thicker" the "icing," the more noticeable } it is. In those few areas where the icing has sunk almost below notice, } we find gaps in the pattern of cosmic glue. Here, some immortal being } has deemed it neccessary to place "Roses," or "letters," or } occasionally even something that looks like "strings." Through some } mysterious process, these Roses keep the cake together. } It has been determined by Indian mystics that each time we hope, } or dream, or pout, or mourn, we scrape a little of the layer of icing } away. Sooner or later, everyone runs out of icing, and its time for the } placement of a new rose. During the brief time the rose is in place, } the icing regenerates. While having more roses would certainly help, } nobody truly gets more than one rose. } } So hey, if you're scraping on thin icing, nobody promised you a rose } garden. } } You owe the oracle a big birthday cake. --- 681-10 --------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: Jonathan "Dr. Who" Monsarrat The Usenet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > Wise one, who washes his laundry in my drinking water, > > To what degree was Wal-mart responsible for Cleopatra's overtaking > of the Tibetan margarine industry prior to the Seven Years War, and > how did this affect canary breeding habits on the Galapagos Islands? > Please make reference to the stain of raspberry pie on Napoleon's > tunic during the battle of Waterloo. And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } O Oracle bold and beautiful, } here is my humble account of the events which occurred in my } search for the answer of the question you asked me. Your question was : } "To what degree was Wal-mart responsible for Cleopatra's overtaking } of the Tibetan margarine industry prior to the Seven Years War, and } how did this affect canary breeding habits on the Galapagos Islands? } Please make reference to the stain of raspberry pie on Napoleon's } tunic during the battle of Waterloo." } } Well, this being a factual question, instead of one requiring } abstract thought, my first response was none at all, there could be no } possible way that Wal-Mart had a part to play in Cleopatra's } non-existent takeover of the Tibetan margarine industry, and therefore } had no effect on Galapagos canaries, so which raspberry on Napoleon's } tunic was a mere circumstance. But, being the inquisitive soul I am, I } decided to travel back in time to ask Cleopatra whether she had been } involved in margarine at all in her life. Luckily, a physics lecturer } at my university, Doctor Doom, had just constructed a time machine, and } he needed someone to test it for him. I was only too willing to oblige, } thinking that if I were to perish in the course of the experiment, or } be turned into a gibbering idiot, it would all be in the name of } science, which was a consoling thought. After checking my life } insurance to ensure that it included disappearance due to time travel } in its coverage, I toyed with myself of making myself the beneficiary, } disappearing and returning some fifty years in the future to claim my } life insurance plus interest. But servants of the Oracle must not be } swayed by petty financial gain. Besides, I could get last week's } lottery numbers... } Arriving in Ancient Egypt, my relatively strange appearance and } general foreign-ness meant that I was given an audience with Queen } Cleopatra, particularly when I said that I was an emissary for King } Boff of the far-off land of Yertleburbia, and I had many precious gifts } for her. Of course, the fact that I materialised in the throne room, } before the High Priests could stop me, was another factor to be taken } into account. Nevertheless, the Queen was intrigued by my question. } 'What is margarine? I have never heard of such a beast.' } 'No, your Majesty. Margarine is not a wild animal to be tamed. } Rather it is something that you spread on bread to make it taste less } like bread.' I said, taking a tub of margarine I had bought from the } nearest Wal-Mart (12,000 miles away from where I live) from my pocket } and proferring it to her. } 'Oh!' said the Queen, dipping her finger in the tub. 'It is } some kind of ointment! It will keep my skin clear and young.' } 'No, no, your Majesty,' I patronised. 'it is merely a butter } substitute, but since you have not heard of it before...' The Queen } licked her finger and mmmmed in surprise. } 'This...this is much better than butter. It's so much easier to } spread as well. I must have some...an inexhaustible supply. At once!' } 'Well...' I said. The High Priests, who seemed to have been } chosen for their broadness of shoulders, rather than for any } characteristics of devoutness, circled me with curved knives. } 'Oh...oh dear...from what little I know, the only margarine in } the world today is in the far-off land of Tibet. They have no butter } there, for the only creature hardy enough to live in the mountain nation } is the yak, and as the milk of the yak is pink, not one Tibetan has been } brave enough to taste its butter. Even only the strongest stomached of } kings have been able to drink down a full pint of yak's milk, it is how } they show qualities of leadership.' } 'Well, you must go to this land of Tibet, with ten thousand } soldiers, and my best generals, and you must bring the secret of } margarine back with you!' declared Cleopatra. } 'Oh...' was all I could manage to say. } } Unable to escape my captors, I discovered to my dismay that the } time machine took several weeks to recharge itself from the sun's rays, } even in as hot a place as Egypt, and by the time several weeks were up, } I was bound hand and foot and gagged and leading an army towards Tibet, } with the device confiscated. After many months, we arrived at out } destination, and the Egyptian soldiers began to lay waste to the } peaceful monasteries and set villages afire in their endless quest for } the secret of margarine. Eventually I hatched a cunning plan to escape } my captors, but that involved reaching my time machine, strapped to the } belt of General George, the commander of the Egyptian forces. Luckily, } while travelling through some perilous mountain pass, I heard a great } roaring sound, and General George's horse fled in panic. Unfortunately, } I was tied to it at the time, but the swift trip downhill meant that I } was soon free of my bonds, most of my skin and my consciousness. Even } worse than that, when I awoke, there was snoring across from me was a } great white shaggy beast, a full ten feet tall and shoulders which } would have needed ironing boards to make them look any bigger. Could } this be the legendary Abominable Snowman of Tibet? He couldn't be very } hungry, not after eating General George, whose cuirass lay snapped. But } still, I was stranded here in the Himalayan mountains, and could either } choose to be devoured by this beast, or to rejoin my captors. But ahead } lay a third alternative - I could be crushed into the ground the the } approching rumbling of yak-mounted Tibetan Auxiliary Corps, yelling } great war whoops and shaking pointy sticks at the hapless Egyptians. I } looked around for a fourth, more pleasing alternative. The time } machine. It lay, slightly broken, in the paws of the Abominable } Snowman. If I could just reach it, I could...damn... } } 'Hhhrruuugh?' said the Abominable Snowman, waking from his } slumber. Sun and sea and sand were all new to it, I could tell. So were } canaries, they twittered around him apprehensively. Perhaps he would } eat me to take his mind off things. Unless it's a she..., then she } would eat me...oh dear. From the dials on the time machine, it appeared } that the Abominable Snowman and I had landed about three million years } in the past, on what would become the Galapagos islands. I tries to } look as menacing as I could, holding the time machine and threatening } the Abominable Snowman with it's use again. The Abominable Snowman } looked puzzled, more canaries flocked overhead, circling it. Then one } landed. And another. And another, until the Abominable Snowman had } become a canary coated piece of fur. It looked very puzzled indeed, but } it didn't seem to mind too much. I couldn't see what attracted the } canaries to the Snowman, but it couldn't have been the pungent aroma it } was giving off. Unless birds liked that sort of thing...oh well...it } seemed to be helping with their mating rituals, that was for certain. } Having satisfied the second of my tasks, I set about trying to find a } way of making passing reference to Napoleon and a certain raspbery-pie } stained tunic. Awarding myself extra chocolate rations to aid my } constructive thought capabilities, I decided to return to 1994 to get } some. } } Whoops. Evidently the time machine wasn't functioning correctly } yet. I decided to fix it with some gum later, and looked at my } surroundings. I seemed to be in a battle or sorts. I strode over to a } man in a strange hat so he could tell me more. It wasn't really cold, } but he kept his hand well inside his coat for some reason. His other } hand was busy feeding raspberry pie to his face. Then it struck me, the } man over there was in fact Napoleon! It also looked like his side were } winning - this was impossible, the French couldn't win the Battle of } Waterloo, it didn't happen! } 'Hey!' I cried. 'Napoleon! Just what do you think you're doing? } You're supposed to lose this battle and get captured by the English!' } Napoleon was completely taken aback by this outburst, so } surprised in fact that he dropped his piece of raspberry pie, which } smeared his tunic. Looking down, he realised that he had damaged his } lucky tunic, the one he always wore into battle, and promptly fainted. } The English, seeing Napoleon fall down, with a red patch on his tunic, } took heart that the Frenchman was dead, and decided to kill a few more. } In the panic, I managed to fix the time machine and return to the } present. } So, that is how Wal-Mart helped Cleopatra take over the Tibetan } margarine industry, which in turn allowed a mobile canary singles bar } in the Galapagos island, and how those circumstances led to Napoleon } smearing raspberry pie down his tunic and losing Waterloo, and how I } lived happily ever after. } } Yours anonymously,