Goto:

626, 626-01, 626-02, 626-03, 626-04, 626-05, 626-06, 626-07, 626-08, 626-09, 626-10

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

> O musical Oracle, who knows the Dorian mode from the Phrygian mode, > and who can count 7/8 rhythm against 5/4 to a background of > squared-off waltz music being played by a fluegelhorn quintet, I sit > here in the duck-call section of the East St. Louis Sympathy Orchestra > (no one else would accept my talents), and abase myself before you: > >>"QHAANK!!"<< (that was duckish for "I'm worthless") and ask you the > following question ... > > I would like to advance to a different instrument, perhaps one that > plays more than one note.  (Drums won't do.)  I had thought of taking > up the Majestic Bellophone, but nobody seems to teach it.  The piano > requires too many fingers, and the clarinet is too complicated.  What > instrument should I play?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Choosing the right instrument is never easy. } It's a question of pulling strings.

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

> Dear Oracle, > > You are never tired nor poor nor hungry; > Your huddled mass always breathes free. > > It's boring standing here all day holding up this torch. > And it's been lonely -- until recently. > > Was I ever surprised when Jolly snuck up behind me (from New Jersey; > you'd turn your back on it, too, if you had to stand here) and > goosed me! > > I was a bit offended at first; I'm an old-fashioned girl, after all. > But then I realized that was just Jolly's way of doing things. > He's so exuberant! Tres charmant! And so green! > > The other night when nobody was watching, I sneaked off to join him > in his Valley. While I was there, I found this email, so I know that > it is You whom I must thank: > > | The Usenet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. > | Your question was: > > | > #     #                                                       ### > | > #     #   ####         #    #   ####         #    #   ####    ### > | > #     #  #    #        #    #  #    #        #    #  #    #   ### > | > #######  #    #        ######  #    #        ######  #    #    # > | > #     #  #    #        #    #  #    #        #    #  #    # > | > #     #  #    #        #    #  #    #        #    #  #    #   ### > | > #     #   ####         #    #   ####         #    #   ####    ### > > | > Hey Orrie! > | > How is weather up on mountain yours? > | > Down here in valley of Jolly, not so jolly. > > | > Need woman! Jolly is lonely. > | > Need big woman! Giant like Jolly! > | > Green one like Jolly is good, but Jolly is big, not bigot! > > | > You tell Jolly how to find woman, I give you lots of succotash. > | > You lie in it with Lisa, warm and gooey! > > | And in response, thus spake the Oracle: > > | } Well, Jolly, you are RATHER large. > | } To find such a large woman, the only one I could think of is > | } the Statue of Liberty -- and she's green, too. > > So, thank you, dear Oracle, merci beaucoup merci mille fois! > Merci a vous que j'ai trouve' l'amour! > La plume de ma tante e' sur la table! > > But now I have a problem, and I need your help! > > Earlier tonight, I went off with Jolly again and we went > skinny-dipping in the Gulf of Mexico. The water is warm, and it is a > convenient size for us. What fun it was! But -- > > When I got out, I discovered somebody had stolen my robe! > > Oh, Oracle, it's almost dawn! What shall I do? > >                           Mlle. Liberte'

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Now you are "Liberty" as well as "liberte' [de vos vetements]." Such is } the price one pays for promiscuity. } } The Twin Towers should suffice to protect you from the icy stares of } New Amsterdamers and Jerseyites (although most of them, jaded as they } are, wouldn't look twice at a tall, green, nude woman towering over } them). } } Consider this a lesson learned. Next time you return from a date with } Jolly, I don't want to smell Tequila on your breath.

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

> Why does water feel wet?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} It is amazing to me the number of people walking this planet who } somehow managed to survive without any brain at all.  I thought that at } least a modicum of higher-order function was necessary to survive in } this world. Indeed, I was under the impression it took at least basic } English comprehension to use a computer even for such simple and } understandable task as sending e-mail to the Oracle. } } I'm sorry, dear Supplicant, but the answer to your question is: } } ZZZZZZZZZZZZ     OOOOOOOOOOOO    TTTTTTTTTTT     !!  !! }           Z      O          O         T          !!  !! }         Z        O          O         T          !!  !! }       Z          O          O         T          !!  !! }     Z            O          O         T          !!  !! }   Z              O          O         T } ZZZZZZZZZZZZ     OOOOOOOOOOOO         T          !!  !! } } Hmm, perhaps I got a bit carried away.  That was probably more of a Zot } than necessary. } } Well, for those of you who are left, I supposed I'd better answer the } question so I don't have to zot more people....my electricity bill was } very high last month. } } When two or more objects, whether they be solid, liquid, or even } sometimes gaseous, interact, there is sometimes an accompanying } sensation due to the difference in composition between the two.  Nerve } endings pick up this sensation and interpret it in a certain way.  Back } when words were being invented, someone gave the name "wet" to the } liquid-solid interaction, and to the accompanying feeling.  Since water } is a liquid, and you are a solid, you experience this interation, and } so "feel wet". } } You owe the Oracle basic books on linguistics, chemistry, and physics.

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

> If you're really the Oracle... > > ...what number am I thinking of?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} You're not thinking of a number at all, you pervert.

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

> Oracle, > >      Why do so many people hate Barney?  I mean, he LOVES you!

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Yes, but saccharine is bad for you.  Just ask the Surgeon General. } } You owe the Oracle a rifle so he can put in some target practice } on the purple monster.

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

> O Beauteaus Oracle, whose nose hair is the fullest and shiniest in the > world, and whose armpits smell better than the finest Limburger cheese, > please enlighten your humble supplicant on the following subject: > > Why is it that women are expected to spend half an hour in front of the > mirror every morning, primping their hair and applying expensive > cosmetics to their faces, whereas men get off scot-free with a damp > comb through their hair and maybe a little deodorant? > > This seems a bit skewed.

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Compensation for the car factor.  Women can drive Yugos for all men } care, but men need a powerful, expensive automobile.  This is a mating } display-- much like a male peacock's feathers, or a buck's antlers. } } In the wild, such ostentatious displays demonstrate to the female that } the male is so successful, he can afford to *waste* metabolic energy; } in Western society, cool cars demonstrate that the male is so } successful, he can afford to *waste* money. } } You will note that after marriage, women become less careful about } their makeup and men start driving station wagons.  (Until the male } "midlife crisis," when they flip out and buy another muscle car.) } } You owe the Oracle fifty metric tons of eye shadow and a Panzer.  I'm } bisexual, you see.

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

> Philosophy or Economics?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} I am, therefore I pay taxes.

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

> If object-oriented extensions to C result in C++, then what would > object-oriented extensions to COBOL create?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} The Apocalypse.  Don't you people keep Bibles around the house? } Revelations 14, verses 7 through 11, clearly state: } } 014:007 Saying with a loud voice, Fear God, and give glory to him; for }         the hour of his judgment is come: and worship him that made }         ones, and zeros, and the disks, and the fountains of coffee. } } 014:008 And there followed another angel, saying, IBM is fallen, is }         fallen, that great city, because she made all nations drink }         of the wine of her object oriented extensions to Satan's }         tongue. } } 014:009 And the third angel followed them, saying with a loud voice, }         If any man worship the beast and his image, and receive his }         mark in his forehead, or in his hand, } } 014:010 The same shall drink of the wine of the wrath of God, which is }         poured out without mixture into the promotional mug of his }         indignation; and he shall be tormented with flowcharts and }         tight ties in the presence of the holy angels, and in the }         presence of the Lamb: } } 014:011 And the unclear specifications of their torment ascendeth up }         for ever and ever: and they have no reliable hardware support }         day nor night, who worship the beast and his image, and }         whosoever receiveth the mark of his name. } } You owe the Oracle a Gutenberg Torah.

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

> A funny thing happened at work today. I walked into my office, which I > share with several other people, after lunch today, and couldn't help > noticing that every object in the room had been removed.  No furniture, > no bookshelves, no books, no papers.  All gone.  While I am tracking > down the appropriate people to determine what happened, I thought you > could shed some light on this mystery.  So tell me, All-Knowing Oracle, > just where the hell is my stuff? > > - A bemused, if not somewhat irate, supplicant

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Ah, supplicant, you did not need to contact me at all, as you have just } answered your own question.  "Where the hell is my stuff?" you ask, } and, in fact, that is precisely where it is.  You see, at sixteen } minutes past noon today, when you were at lunch, griping to your } co-workers about how bad your working conditions are, a freak wormhole } opened up in intradimensional space and a big bunch of possibility } energy swarmed through the very room in which you were sitting. } } Needless to say, supplicant, everything would have been fine if you } hadn't chosen that exact moment to say "... to hell with it all!". } } I'm afraid you're going to have to get some new stuff. } } You owe the Oracle an apology for including him in your concept of } "all", and a tall glass of ice water, as it's getting very hot here at } your desk.

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

> Doubt thou the stars are fire; > Doubt that the sun doth move; > Doubt truth to be a liar; > But never doubt I laud. > O dear Oracle, I am ill at these numbers; > I have not art to reckon my grovels: but that > I laud thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu. > Thine evermore most dear sage, whilst > this Unix machine is to him. > > The centre of my question circles > The anatomy of the two-backed beast. > Do those backs in concert line > Or in opposition, yea: > To 69, or not to 69--that is my question: > Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer > The sprains and contortions of original fornication, > Or to take mouth against the genitalia, > Of each opposing end?  To lick: to suck; > Oh, more!  And by a suck to say we end > the heartache and the thousand natural shocks > that flesh is heir to.  'tis a consummation > devoutly to be wished.  To lick, to suck; > to suck! perchance to come:--aye, there's the rub; > for in that new postion who knows where come may go > When we have shuffled off to mutual coitus, > Must give us pause: there's the respect > that make chastity of such long life: > For who would bear these whips and chains of mine, > The masochists thong, the prudish man's costumery, > The spankings of despicable love, the lewd's delay, > The impotence of officers, and the sperms > that patient merit of the unworthy takes, > when he himself might his quietus make > with a bare body?  Who would fart-holes bare, > To grunt and sweat under a weary wife, > But that the dread of something on your breath, > The heated lover's scent to which freshness > No mouthwash returns, puzzles the will > And makes us rather bear those ills we have > Than fly to others that we know not of? > Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; > And thus the native hue of resolution > Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, > And enterprises of great pith and moment > With this regard their currents turn awry, > And lose the name of action.--Soft you now! > The fair Oracle. --Nymph, in thy oracularities > Be all my sins remember'd.

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

}             I am Sir Oracle, } And when I ope my lips let no dog bark! } Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace } Have no delight to pass away the time. } Time's glory is to calm contending kings, } To umask falsehood, and bring truth to light. } } Being a slave, what should you do but tend } Upon the hours of your partner's desire? } You have no precious time at all to spend, } Nor services to do, till you're required. }             Down, thou climbing sorrow! } Thy element's below.