Friday humour - July 30, 1998
From Tony at Bluehaze:
And here we go with the first in the new series of Friday humour,
specifically directed to those who actually want it (!). So far,
by the way, 77 people have emailed and asked for inclusion.
The new arrangement is a great improvement, of course (I've often felt
somewhat guilty about sending some of this stuff to a rather nebulous
"all" at Clayton, plus all the ex-ports, and so on).
Okay, enough of that - the first contribution this week is from Greg
Short (forwarded on back around March). I did initially consider sending
it out a couple of weeks ago, but I finally chickened out (maybe just as
A priest decides to take a walk to the pier near his church. He looks
around and finally stops to watch a fisherman load his boat. The
fisherman notices, and asks the priest if he would like to join him for a
couple of hours. The priest agrees.
The fisherman asks if the priest has ever fished before, to which the
priest answers "No".
He baits the hook for him, and says, "Okay - give it a shot, Father".
After a few minutes, the priest hooks a big fish and struggles to get it
in the boat. The fisherman says "Whoa - just look at that fucker!"
Priest: "Uh, please sir, would you mind your language?"
Fisherman: (thinking quickly!) "I'm sorry Father, but that's what this
fish is called - a fucker!"
Priest: "Oh, I'm sorry - I didn't know".
After the trip, the priest brings the fish to the church and spots the
bishop. Priest: "Look at this big fucker!"
Bishop: "Please, mind your language, this is a house of God!"
Priest: "no, you don't understand - that's what this fish is called, and
I caught it. I caught this fucker!"
Bishop: "Hmm. You know I could clean this fucker and we could have it for
So the Bishop takes the fish and cleans it, and brings it to the head
Bishop: "Could you cook this fucker for dinner tonight?"
Head Mother: "My lord, what language!"
Bishop: "No, sister, that's what the fish is called - a fucker!
Father caught it, I cleaned it, and we'd like you to cook it."
Head Mother: "Hmm ... alright then, I'll cook that fucker tonight."
Well, the Pope stops by for dinner with the three of them, and they all
think the fish is great. He asks where they got it.
Priest: " I caught the fucker!"
Bishop: "And I cleaned the fucker!"
Head Mother: "And I cooked the fucker!"
The Pope stares at them for a minute with a steely gaze, but then lets
out a huge fart, takes off his hat, puts his feet up on the table, lights
up a joint, pours himself a large whisky, and says:
"You know - you cunts are alright!"
This one was forwarded on quite recently by Jenny over at the
Elevator factory (well, that's where she was until quite recently,
anyway), and her husband John (who works at CUB):
A TRUE STORY!
Having her hair done at a West Hampstead beauty parlour, a woman told a
cautionary tale about racial prejudice. The story deserves a wider
On a recent weekend in Atlantic City the woman related, she won a
bucketful of quarters at a slot machine. She took a break from the slot
for dinner with her husband in the hotel dining room. But she decided
that she'd first stash the quarters in her room.
"I'll be right back and we'll go to eat," she told her husband and she
carried the coin-laden bucket to the elevator bank.
As she was about to walk into an elevator she noticed two men already
aboard. Both were black. One of them was big. Very big.
An intimidating figure.
The woman froze. Her first thought was: 'These two are going to rob me.'
Her next thought was: 'Don't be a bigot, they look like perfectly nice
gentlemen, even if one of them is awfully black'.
But racial stereotypes are powerful, and fear immobilised her.
She stood and stared at the two men. She felt anxious, flustered,
ashamed. She hoped they didn't read her mind but knew they surely did;
her hesitation about joining them on the elevator was all too obvious.
Her face burned. She couldn't just stand there, so with a mighty effort
of will she picked up one foot and stepped forward and followed with the
other foot, into the elevator.
Avoiding eye contact, she turned around stiffly and faced the elevator
doors as they closed. A second passed, and then another second, and then
another. The elevator didn't move.
Panic consumed her. 'My goodness,' she thought, 'I'm trapped, and about
to be robbed!'
Her heart plummeted. Perspiration poured from every pore.
Then one of the men said, "Hit the floor!"
Instinct told her: Do what they tell you. The bucket of quarters flew
upwards as she threw out her arms and collapsed on the elevator carpet.
A shower of coins rained down on her. 'Take my money and spare me', she
More seconds passed. She heard one of the men say politely, "Ma'am, if
you'll just tell us what floor you're going to, we'll push the button".
The one who said it had a little trouble getting words out. He was
trying mightily to hold in a belly laugh. She lifted her head and looked
up at the two men. They reached down to help her up.
Confused, she struggled to her feet. "When I told my man here to hit the
floor," one of the men, the average sized one, told her, "I meant that
he should hit the elevator button for our floor. I didn't mean for you to
hit the floor, ma'am.
He spoke genially. He bit his lip. It was obvious he was having a hard
time not laughing. She thought: My goodness, what a spectacle I've made
of myself. She was too humiliated to speak. She wanted to blurt out an
apology, but words failed her. How do you apologise to two perfectly
respectable gentlemen for behaving as though they were robbing you? She
The 3 of them gathered up the strewn quarters and refilled her bucket.
When the elevator arrived at her floor they insisted on walking her to
her room. She seemed a little unsteady on her feet, and they were afraid
she might not make it down the corridor.
At her door they bid her good evening. As she slipped into her room she
could hear them laughing while they walked back to the elevator bank.
The woman brushed herself off. She pulled herself together and went
downstairs for dinner with her husband.
The next morning flowers were delivered to her room - a dozen roses.
Attached to each rose was a crisp one dollar bill.
The card said: "Thanks for the best laugh we've had in years."
It was signed: "Eddie Murphy and Bodyguard."
Now, an equally recent one from Julian Johnson:
More merriment and mirth from Vanessa. It's about horses but alas there's
A wise Story!
One day a horse and a chicken were playing in a field when the horse
slips and Falls into a mud pool, sinking fast. The horse yells to the
chicken to go and get help.
The chicken rushes off to the farm to get help but cant find anyone. So
he hot-wires the farmers Porsche, drives down to the mud pool, ties a
rope to the bumper, and throws the other end to his buddy the horse and
drags him out of the mud.
A couple of days later the chicken and the horse were playing in the
meadow when the chicken falls in the mud pool.
The chicken clucked for the horse to go and get the farmer but instead
the horse straddled the pool and told the chicken to grab his dick, he
then pulled his mate out of the mud. The moral of this story?
If you're hung like a horse, you don't need a Porsche to pull chicks.
And a really short one from David (Fifi) McCallum ...
A guy is walking past a big wooden fence at the insane asylum and he
hears all the residents inside chanting, "Thirteen! Thirteen! Thirteen!
Quite curious about this, he finds a hole in the fence, and looks in.
Someone inside pokes him in the eye. Then everyone inside the asylum
starts chanting: "Fourteen! Fourteen! Fourteen!
This next one's from Ian Madsen - another episode in our somewhat
irregular Microsoft bash:
Microsoft Corporation has taken another step toward dominating every
aspect of American life with the introduction of Contraceptive98, a suite
of applications designed for users who engage in sex.
Microsoft has been a pioneer in peer-to-peer connectivity and plug and
play. It believes these technologies will give it substantial leverage
in penetrating the copulation enhancement market.
The product addresses two important user concerns: the need for virus
protection and the need for a firewall to ensure the non-propagation of
The Contraceptive98 suite consists of three products: Condom98, DeFetus
1.0 (from Sementec), and AIDScan 2.1 (from Norton Utilities).
A free copy of Intercourse Explorer 4.0 is bundled in the package. The
suite also comes in two expanded versions. Contraceptive98 Professional
is the Client/Server edition, for professionals in the sexual services
sector. Contraceptive98 Small Business Edition is a package for
start-ups, aimed at the housewife and gigolo niches.
While Contraceptive98 does not address non-traditional copulatory
channels, future plug-ins are planned for next year. They will be known
as BackDoor, AuraLee, TitElation, and JerkOff.
Only one node in a peer-to-peer connection needs to install the package.
At installation, the Condom98 software checks for minimum hardware. If
the user meets the requirements, the product installs and is sufficiently
scalable to meet most requirements. After installation, operation
commences. One caution is that the user must have sufficient RAM to
complete the session. When the session is complete, a disconnect is
initiated, and the user gets the message, It is now safe to turn off your
Usability testers report that frequent failures were a major concern
during beta testing. General Protection Fault was the most serious error
encountered. Early versions had numerous bugs, but most of these have
been eliminated. The product needs to be installed each time its used.
Contraceptive98 is a robust product. Despite its drawbacks, it is a
reasonably good value for its $49.95 price tag, and is far superior to
its shareware version. Hopefully, future releases (of the software, that
is) will add missing functionality, such as Backout and Restore,
Uninterruptible Power Supply, and Onboard Camera. Microsoft CEO Bill
Gates is optimistic about Contraceptive98s potential. He recently said,
"Our contraceptive products will help users do to each other what we've
been doing to our customers for years."
And finally for this week - one from "that" list waaaaaay out west.
This is pretty long (so maybe get yourself a coffee first :-)
DILBERT EXPLAINS STAR TREK FALLACIES
Life Will Not Be Like Star Trek
There are so many Star Trek(tm) spin-offs that it is easy to fool
yourself into thinking that the Star Trek vision is an accurate vision of
the future. Sadly, Star Trek does not take into account the stupidity,
selfishness, and horniness of the average human being. Allow me to
describe some of the more obvious errors in the Star Trek vision.
On Star Trek, the doctors have handheld devices that instantly close any
openings in the skin. Imagine that sort of device in the hands of your
unscrupulous friends. They would sneak up behind you and seal your ass
shut as a practical joke. The devices would be sold in novelty stores
instead of medical outlets. All things considered, I'm happy that it's
not easy to close other people's orifices.
It would be great to be able to beam your molecules across space and then
reassemble them. The only problem is that you have to trust your
co-worker to operate the transporter.
These are the same people who won't add paper to the photocopier or make
a new pot of coffee after taking the last drop. I don't think they'll be
double-checking the transporter coordinates. They'll be accidentally
beaming people into walls, pets, and furniture. People will spend all
their time apologising for having inanimate objects protruding from parts
of their bodies.
'Pay no attention to the knickknacks; I got beamed into a hutch
If I could beam things from one place to another, I'd never leave the
house. I'd sit in a big comfy chair and just start beaming groceries,
stereo equipment, cheerleaders, and anything else I wanted right into my
I'm fairly certain I would abuse this power. If anybody came to arrest
me, I'd beam them into space. If I wanted some paintings for my walls,
I'd beam the contents of the Louvre over to my place, pick out the good
stuff, and beam the rest into my neighbour's garage.
If I were watching the news on television and didn't like what I heard, I
would beam the anchorman into my living room during the commercial break,
give him a vicious wedgie, and beam him back before anybody noticed.
I'd never worry about 'keeping up with the Joneses,' because as soon as
they got something nice, it would disappear right out of their hands. My
neighbours would have to use milk crates for furniture. And that's only
after I had all the milk crates I would ever need for the rest of my
There's only one thing that could keep me from spending all my time
wreaking havoc with the transporter: The Holodeck.
For those of you who only watched the 'old' Star Trek, the holodeck can
create simulated worlds that look and feel just like the real thing. The
characters on Star Trek use the holodeck for recreation during breaks
This is somewhat unrealistic. If I had a holodeck, I'd close the door and
never come out until I died of exhaustion. It would be hard to convince
me I should be anywhere but in the holodeck, getting my oil massage from
Cindy Crawford and her simulated twin sister.
Holodecks would be very addicting. If there weren't enough holodecks to
go around, I'd get the names of all the people who had reservations ahead
of me and beam them into concrete walls. I'd feel tense about it, but
that's exactly why I'd need a massage.
I'm afraid the holodeck will be society's last invention.
Sex with Aliens
According to Star Trek, there are many alien races populated with
creatures who would like to have sex with humans. This would open up a
lot of anatomical possibilities, but imagine the confusion.
It's hard enough to have sex with human beings, much less humanoids. One
wrong move and you're suddenly transported naked to the Gamma Quadrant to
stand trial for who-knows-what. This could only add to performance
anxiety. You would never be quite sure what moves would be sensual and
what moves would be a galactic-sized mistake.
Me Trying to Have Sex with an Alien
Me: May I touch that?
Alien: That is not an erogenous zone. It is a separate corporeal being
that has been attached to my body for six hundred years.
Me: It's cute. I wonder if it would let me have sex with it.
Alien: That's exactly what I said six hundred years ago.
The best part about having sex with aliens, according to the Star Trek
model, is that the alien always dies a tragic death soon afterward. I
don't have to tell you how many problems that would solve. Realistically,
the future won't be that convenient.
I would love to have a device that would stun people into unconsciousness
without killing them. I would use it ten times a day. If I got bad
service at the convenience store, I'd zap the clerk. If somebody with big
hair sat in front of me at the theatre - ZAP!
On Star Trek, there are no penalties for stunning people with phasers.
It happens all the time. All you have to do is claim you were possessed
by an alien entity. Apparently, that is viewed as a credible defence in
the Star Trek future. Imagine real criminals in a world where the 'alien
possession' defence is credible.
Criminal: Yes, officer, I did steal that vehicle, and I did kill the
occupants, but I was possessed by an evil alien entity.
Officer: Well, okay. Move along.
I wish I had a phaser right now. My neighbour's dog likes to stand under
my bedroom window on the other side of the fence and bark for hours at a
time. My neighbour has employed the bold defence that he believes it
might be another neighbour's dog, despite the fact that I am standing
there looking at him barking only twenty feet away.
In a situation like this, a phaser is really the best approach. I could
squeeze off a clean shot through the willow tree. A phaser doesn't make
much noise, so it wouldn't disturb anyone. Then the unhappy little dog
and I could both get some sleep. If the neighbour complained, I'd simply
explain that the phaser was fired by the other neighbour's dog, a known
troublemaker who is said to be invisible.
And if that doesn't work, a photon torpedo is clearly indicated.
Given the choice, I would rather be a cyborg instead of 100 percent
I like the thought of technology becoming part of my body. As a human, I
am constantly running to the toolbox in my garage to get a tool to deal
with some new household malfunction. If I were a cyborg, I might have an
electric drill on my arm, plus a metric socket set. That would save a lot
of trips. From what I've seen, the cyborg concept is a modular design, so
you can add whatever tools you think you'd use most.
I'd love to see crosshairs appear in my viewfinder every time I looked at
someone. It would make me feel menacing, and I'd like that. I'd program
myself so that anytime I saw a car salesman, a little message would
appear in my viewfinder that said 'Target Locked On.'
It would also be great to have my computer built into my skull. That way
I could surf the Net during useless periods of life, such as when people
talk to me. All I'd have to do is initiate a head-nodding subroutine
during boring conversations and I could amuse myself in my head all day
I think that if anyone could become a cyborg, there would be a huge rush
of people getting in line for the conversion. Kids would like it for the
look. Adults would like it for its utility. Cyborg technology has
something for everyone. So, unlike Star Trek, I can imagine everyone
wanting to be a cyborg.
The only downside I can see is that when the human part dies and you're
at the funeral, the cyborg part will try to claw its way out of the
casket and slay all the mourners. But that risk can be minimised by
saying you have an important business meeting, so you can't make it to
I wish I had an invisible force field. I'd use it all the time,
especially around people who spit when they talk or get too close to my
personal space. In fact, I'd probably need a shield quite a bit if I also
had a phaser to play with.
I wouldn't need a big shield system like the one they use to protect the
Enterprise, maybe just a belt-clip device for personal use. I could
insult dangerous people without fear of retribution. Whatever crumbs of
personality I now have would be completely unnecessary in the future. On
the plus side, it would make shopping much more fun.
Shopping with Shields Up
Me: Ring this up for me, you unpleasant cretin.
Saleswoman: I oughta slug you!
Me: Try it. My shields are up.
Me: There's nothing you can do to harm me.
Saleswoman: I guess you're right. Would you like to open a charge
account? Our interest rates are very reasonable.
Me: Nice try.
If people had long-range sensors, they would rarely use them to scan for
new signs of life. I think they would use them to avoid work. You could
run a continuous scan for your boss and then quickly transport yourself
out of the area when he came near. If your manager died in his office,
you would know minutes before the authorities discovered him, and that
means extra break time.
Vulcan Death Grip
Before all you Trekkies write to correct me, I know there is no such
thing as a Vulcan Death Grip even in Star Trek. But I wish there were.
That would have come in handy many times. It would be easy to make the
Vulcan Death Grip look like an accident.
'I was just straightening his collar and he collapsed.'
I think the only thing that keeps most people from randomly killing other
citizens is the bloody mess it makes and the high likelihood of getting
caught. With the Vulcan Death Grip, it would be clean and virtually
undetectable. Everybody would be killing people left and right. You
wouldn't be able to have a decent conversation at the office over the
sound of dead co-workers hitting the carpet. The most common sounds in
corporate America would be:
"I'm sorry I couldn't give you a bigger raise, but .,."
And that's why the future won't be like Star Trek.
Written by Scott Adams, published in "The Dilbert Future" by
HarperBusiness. Copyright United Media, 1997. Please keep this notice
with the text.
[End Fri humour]
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