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Today is Friday, March 2, the 61st day of 2007. There are 304 to go. The Sun is at 11-12 Pisces The moon is waxing.
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"War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things: the decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feelings which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse. A man who has nothing for which he is willing to fight: nothing he cares about more than his own personal safety: is a miserable creature who has no chance of being free, unless made and kept so by the exertions and blood of better men than himself." 

- John Stuart Mill
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More Actual Statements found on Insurance Claims Forms............ 

Coming home I drove into the wrong house and collided with a tree I didn't have. 

The other car collided with mine without giving me warning of its intention. 

I thought my window was down, but I found it was up when I put my head through it. 

I collided with a stationary truck coming the other way. 

A pedestrian hit me and went under my car. 

The guy was all over the road. I had to swerve several times before I hit him. 

I pulled away from the side of the road, glanced at my mother in law and headed over the embankment. 

In an attempt to kill a fly, I drove into a telephone pole. 

I had been shopping for a plant all day and was on my way home. As I reached an inter-section a hedge sprang up, obscuring my vision and I did not see the other car. 

I had been driving for 40 years when I fell asleep at the wheel and had an accident. 

I was on the way to the doctor with rear end trouble when my universal joint gave way causing me to have an accident and damage my big end. 

As I approached the intersection a sign appeared in a place where no stop sign had ever appeared before. I was unable to stop in time to avoid the accident. 

To avoid hitting the bumper of the car in front I struck a pedestrian. 

My car was legally parked as it backed into another vehicle. 

An invisible car came out of nowhere, struck my car and vanished. 

I told the police that I was not injured, but on removing my hat I found that I had a fractured skull. 

I was sure the old fellow would never make it to the other side of the road when I struck him. 

The pedestrian had no idea which direction to run. So I ran over him. 

I saw a slow moving, sad faced old gentleman as he bounced off the roof of my car. 

The indirect cause of the accident was a little guy in a small car with a big mouth. 

I was thrown from my car as it left the road. I was later found in a ditch by some stray cows. 

The telephone pole was approaching. I was attempting to swerve out the way when I struck the front end. 

The accident was caused by me waving to the man I hit last week. 

I knocked over a man, he admitted it was his fault as he'd been knocked over before.
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Everybody who knows me knows that the Tolkein trilogy "The Lord oof the Rings" is my very favorite. So now that "Vista" is out .... 

Recently one of my friends, a computer wizard, paid me a visit. As we were talking I mentioned that I had recently installed Windows 98 on my PC, I told him how happy I was with this operating system and showed him the Windows 98 CD. Too my surprise he threw it into my micro-wave oven and turned on the oven. Instantly I got very upset, because the CD had become precious to me, but he said: 'Do not worry, it is unharmed.' After a few minutes he took the CD out, gave it to me and said: 'Take a close look at it.' To my surprise the CD was quite cold to hold and it seemed to be heavier than before. At first I could not see anything, but on the inner edge of the central hole I saw a inscription, an inscription finer than anything I have ever seen before. The inscription shone piercingly bright, and yet remote, as if out of a great depth: 

12413AEB2ED4FA5E6F7D78E78BEDE8209450920F923A40EE10E510CC98D444AA08E1324 

'I cannot understand the fiery letters,' I said. 'No but I can,' he said. 'The letters are Hex, of an ancient mode, but the language is that of Microsoft, which I shall not utter here. But in common English this is what it says:'

       One OS to rule them all, One OS to find them,
       One OS to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
       In the land of Redmond, where Microsoft lies.


Three OS's for the BSD's under the Berkeley,
Seven for the Microsofts in their boards of intel,
Nine for Unix Servers doomed to die,
One for the Great Linus on his wired throne
In the Land of The Net where the Hackers lie.
One OS to rule them all.
One OS to find them,
One OS to bring them all,
and in the darkness bind them,
in the Land of The Net, where the Hackers lie.

(With apologies to J.R.R.T)


SUBJ: Microsoft vs. Hell

The top ten reasons Eternal Damnation is better
than Windows Software Development ...

Eternal Damnation                     Windows Development
-----------------------------         ------------------------------

                              - 10 -
It never ends.                        You think you're almost done,
                                               but you never really finish.

                              - 9 -
You burn forever, but are not         Each update introduces new
consumed.                                      and improved tortures, which
                                                         slowly consume you.

                              - 8 -
Your fate is in the hands of          Your fate is in the hands of
Satan, Prince of Darkness.         Gates, Prince of Incompatibility.

                              - 7 -
Satan gives you something you         Gates makes you buy Vista.
want in return for being damned.

                              - 6 -
It is avoidable; an attractive,        Resistance is futile. All the
widely-marketed alternative is    alternatives are damned or
available.                                        doomed.

                              - 5 -
It is free.                            You pay, and pay, and pay just
to stay in the game.

                              - 4 -
Satan was once an angel.              Gates started by writing a BASIC
                                                           interpreter.

                              - 3 -
Hell has no Windows.                  Microsoft does.

                              - 2 -
You only pass the Gates of Hell       The Gates of Microsoft keeps
one time.                                            popping up everywhere you look.

                          AND NUMBER ONE:
Satan genuinely believes in the       Gates just does it for the money.
triumph of Evil.

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New Words to an old Dylan Song

How many roads must a man drive down
Before he admits he is lost
Why when a man becomes married is he
unable to find his own socks.

How many times will it take 'til he knows
he has seen the three stooges enough

The answer my friend, I cannot comprehend
The answer, I cannot comprehend

How many shows can a man surf through
before the remote burns out
Why does he think that an intimate gift
is a Dustbuster Plus for the house

How many sounds can a man's body make
before he sleeps on the couch

The answer my friend, is take two aspirin
The answer is take two aspirin

Why when we go for a romantic drive
do we wind up at Builder's Square again
How many nights will he leave the seat up
so I land on cold porcelain

How men really feel is mystery to me
and probably a mystery to them

The answer girlfriend is driving me to gin
The answer is driving me to gin.
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Dimwit breaks into police surveillance van

I am a police constable with the Niagara Regional Police. Back in April, 1995, I was asked to help out with a surveillance project at a local birdwatching conservation park. We had a problem with purses, cameras and other values being stolen from parked vehicles at the park, and we wanted to put an end to it.

Here was the setup: We had an old Ford Tempo parked in the lot with a purse on the floor as "bait". We then parked a nondescript surveillance van nearby from which we observed the Tempo. The van had a fairly heavy tint on the windows, and we had a great view of the wholelot. My partner and I sat in the back of the van that Sunday morning and began the surveillance around 9:30 AM. We were well-supplied with food and drinks for what we figured would be a long day.

Shortly after 10:00 AM, an old Pontiac Parisienne pulled into the lot and parked beside the surveillance van. Two males got out. The passenger walked towards the birdwatching area and stopped. The driver got out and put on a pair of gloves. He completely ignored the "bait" vehicle, and tried to look into the back of the surveillance van. He was only inches from me, but apparently couldn't see me looking back at him. He then tried the side door, which opened for him. He already had a foot into the van when he noticed the two guys with guns in the back.

He said: "Hi Guys, What's Up?"

When I got over my surprise, I told him: "You're busted, that's what's up."

I then arrested the male with the help of my partner. After turning the loser over to a uniform car, and sending his passenger on his way, my partner and I had a good laugh about this poor guy who broke into the surveillance van.
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The most common item in ANY (not just UNIX) tech. support person's time report. Off-color, maybe, but true nevertheless......

rtfm(l)             UNIX Programmer's Manual              rtfm(l)

NAME rtfm - read the fucking manual

SYNOPSIS rtfm

OPTIONS None, you have to read the manual for an answer.

DESCRIPTION Used when lazy people ask stupid questions. Normally cried out in vain.

FILES /dev/null

ENVIRONMENT Any.

SEE ALSO man(1)

DIAGNOSTICS Is an diagnostic. Since you are reading this you are get- ting the idea.

BUGS Ha!
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Mr and Mrs OldPerfesser were celebrating their anniversary. At the party everybody wanted to know how they managed to stay married so long in this day and age. The old perfesser responded "When we were first married, we came to an agreement. I would make all the major decisions, and my wife would make all the minor ones. And in all these years of marriage, we have never needed to make a major decision."
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PHONEY PHOBIAS

Flosstrophobia:  fear of getting something stuck between your teeth.
--Jim Johnstone

Aibohphobia:  fear of palindromes.  --Debbie Warwick

Typochrondria:  fear of spelling errors.  --Lissette Asensio

Yo-phobia:  fear of rap music.  --Joanna Gonzales

Hackrophobia:  fear of taxis.  --Phyllis Jean Porter
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From Poor Innocent Guy Mark of luthercare.org:

Women Truisms

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst, for they are sticking to their diets.

Life is an endless struggle full of frustrations and challenges, but eventually you find a hairstylist you like.

Perhaps you know why women over fifty don't have babies: They would put them down somewhere and forget where they left them.

One of the life's mysteries is how a two pound box of candy can make a woman gain five pounds.

I finally got my head together, and my body fell apart.

The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing in the right place, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment.

Time may be a great healer, but it's also a lousy beautician.

Brain cells come and brain cells go, but fat cells live forever.

Life not only begins at forty, it begins to show.

Just when I was getting used to yesterday, along came today.

If at first you don't succeed, see if the loser gets anything.

You don't stop laughing because you grow old; you grow old because you stop laughing.

I had to give up jogging for my health. My thighs kept rubbing together and setting my pantyhose on fire.

Amazing! You just hang something in your closet for a while, and it shrinks two sizes.

It is bad to suppress laughter; it goes back down and spreads to your hips.

Age is important only if you're cheese or wine.

The only time a woman wishes she were a year older is when she is expecting a baby.

Freedom of the press means no-iron clothes.
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From Diana...

MURPHY'S LAWS OF COMPUTING

For every action, there is an equal and opposite malfunction.

To err is human... to blame your computer for your mistakes is even more human; in fact it is downright natural.

He who laughs last probably made a back-up.

If at first you don't succeed, blame your computer.

A complex system that does not work is invariably found to have evolved from a simpler system that worked just fine.

The number one cause of computer problems is computer solutions.

A computer program will always do what you tell it to do, but rarely what you want it to do.

When computing, whatever happens, behave as though you meant it to happen.

When you get to the point where you really understand your computer, it's probably obsolete.

The first place to look for information is in the section of the manual where you least expect to find it.

When the going gets tough, upgrade.

When you need to send an email quick, that's when the modem won't connect!

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A psychotherapist, starting from scratch, was having such success in his business that he could now afford to have a proper shop banner advertising his wares. So he told a kid to paint the sign board for him & put it above his shop entrance.

But, instead of his business building up, it began to slacken. He had especially noticed the ladies shying away from his shop after reading the sign board. So he decided to check it out himself. Then he began to understand why!

The boy found a small wooden board so he had to split the word in three places.

The sign read:

Psycho the rapist.
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Spotted as a bumper sticker on the back of a car parked at Cub Foods:

" This Veteran Buys American"

It was on a brown Nissan minivan. Nissan is based in Japan.

Taken verbatim from the Bill Flick column in the Daily Pantagraph, Bloomington-Normal, Illinois
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A repeat, from Terry Tingle......us 64 year-old wheelchair Generals agree...

WE'LL FIGHT TO THE LAST 50-YEAR-OLD!

By:  Jeff Ackerman

A couple of weeks ago I indicated that if I could, I'd enlist today and help my country track down those responsible for killing thousands of innocent people in New York City and Washington, D.C.  But I'm 50 now and the Armed Forces says I'm too old to track Down terrorists.  You can't be older than 35 to join the Army.

They've got the whole thing backwards.  Instead of sending 18-year-olds off to the fight, they ought to take us old guys.  You shouldn't be able to join until you're at least 35-years-old.  For starters:

Researchers say 18-year-olds think about sex every 10-seconds.  Old guys think about sex every 15-seconds, leaving us more than 28,000 additional seconds per day to concentrate on the enemy.

Young guys haven't lived long enough to be cranky and grumpy.  A cranky and grumpy soldier is a dangerous soldier.  If we can't kill the enemy we'll complain them into submission or surrender.  "My back hurts!" "I'm hungry!" "Where's the remote control?"

An 18-year-old hasn't had a legal bottle of beer yet, and you shouldn't go to war until you're at least old enough to legally drink beer.  An average old guy, on the other hand, has probably consumed at least 126,000 gallons of beer by the time he's 35, and a jaunt through the desert heat with a backpack on and an M-60 over your shoulder would do wonders for a beer belly.

An 18-year-old doesn't like to get up before 10 a.m.  Old guys get up early just to show we can and to steal the neighbors newspaper.

If old guys got captured we couldn't spill the beans because we'd probably forget where we put them.  In fact, name, rank and serial number would be a real brain teaser.

If it wasn't for the age barrier, I'd pretty much be able to get into the Army without a hitch.

According to the Army Internet site, I'd need to pass an entrance exam [officially called an ASVAB], but the simple questions I saw weren't exactly headache material.  For example:

A magnet will attract:

(a) water
(b) a flower © a cloth rag
(d) a nail

I took a wild stab at it and guessed, "nail," knowing they'd probably stick me in some desk job with Army Intelligence after Boot Camp.

If 12 workers are needed to run 4 machines, how many workers are needed to run 20 machines?

(a) 16
(b) 18 © 3
(d) 60

Well, let's see now.....three workers per machine times 20 machines....err....60?

Finally, they wanted to know if I had command of the English language, just in case I had to describe an enemy camp from memory.

Now you know where the first questions come from for the "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire" game show. Boot Camp would actually be easier for old guys. We' re used to getting screamed and yelled at, and we actually like soft food. We've also developed a deep appreciation for guns and rifles.  We like them almost better than naps.  The Army could lighten up on the obstacle course, however.  I've been to the desert and didn't see a single 20-foot wall with a rope hanging over the side.  I can hear the Drill Sergeant now. "Get down and give me.....er.....one!"

And the running part seems to be a hell of a waste of good energy.  I've never seen anyone outrun a bullet.  I'm reminded of the story of the young bull and the old bull standing on a hill looking down at the cows. "Let's run down there and make love to one of those cows," says the young bull. "How about we WALK down there and make love to ALL those cows," replies the old bull.

Patience is something most 18-year-olds simply do not have.  For good reason too.  An 18-year-old has the whole world ahead of him.  He's still learning to shave.  To actually carry on a conversation.  To learn that a pierced tongue catches food particles.  And that a 200-watt speaker in the back seat of a Honda Accord can rupture an eardrum.  All great reasons to keep our sons at home to learn a little more about life before sending them off to a possible death.

Let us old guys track down those dirty, rotten, filthy, cowards who attacked our country three weeks ago today.  The last thing they'd want to see right now would be a couple of million old guys with attitudes!

Submitted, YNCS Don Harribine, USN(Ret)
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A lady, thrice married, goes into the church to see her pastor about performing a wedding for her.  They talk and she told him she would be wearing a white wedding dress.  The minister, a bit taken back questioned why she should be wearing a white dress when she had been married three times.  She explained:  "The first time, we were at the altar and he had a stroke just before we repeated the marriage vows.   The second one had a heart attack just as we were getting on the plane to fly to our honeymoon retreat.  And the third one was a politician who sat on the end of the bed for four years and talked about how good it was going to be."
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A farmer's wife was at her lawyer's getting advice about a divorce. "He makes excessive sexual demands on me, Mr. Jones." "How do you mean?" "Well, Mr. Jones," says the farmer's wife, "this morning I was looking at the chickens, when he crept up behind me and had me from behind!" "Chickens? Mrs. Smith, I didn't know you kept chickens." "We don't, Mr. Jones, we were at the Safeway supermarket!"
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There was once a COBOL programmer in the mid to late 1990s.  For the sake of this story, we'll call him Goovoo. After years of being taken for granted and treated as a technological dinosaur by all the UNIX programmers and Client/Server programmers and website developers, Goovoo was finally getting some respect.  He'd become a private consultant specializing in Year 2000 conversions.  He was working short-term assignments for prestige companies, travelling all over the world on different assignments, and making more money than he'd ever dreamed of.  He was working 70 and 80 and even 90 hour weeks, but it was worth it.  Soon he could retire.

Several years of this relentless, mind-numbing work had taken its toll on Goovoo.  He had problems sleeping and began having anxiety dreams about the Year 2000. It had reached a point where even the thought of the year 2000 made him nearly violent.  He must have suffered some sort of breakdown, because all he could think about was how he could avoid the year 2000 and all that came with it.

Goovoo decided to contact a company that specialized in cryogenics.  He made a deal to have himself frozen until March 15th, 2000.  This was a very expensive process and totally automated.  He was thrilled.  The next thing he would know is he'd wake up in the year 2000; after the New Year celebrations and computer debacles; after the leap day.  Nothing else to worry about except getting on with his life.

He was put into his cryogenic receptacle, the technicians set the revive date, he was given injections to slow his heartbeat to a bare minimum, and that was that.

The next thing that Goovoo saw was an enormous and very modern room filled with excited people.  They were all shouting "I can't believe it!" and "It's a miracle" and "He's alive!".  There were cameras (unlike any he'd ever seen) and equipment that looked like it came out of a science fiction movie.

Someone who was obviously a spokesperson for the group stepped forward.

Goovoo couldn't contain his enthusiasm. "It is over?" he asked.  "Is 2000 already here?  Are all the millennial parties and promotions and crises all over and done with?"

The spokesman explained that 2000 had gone, but that there had been a problem with the programming of the timer on Goovoo's cryogenic receptacle -- it hadn't been year 2000 compliant, and it was now March 15th of 2099, not 2000.  But the spokesman told Goovoo that he shouldn't get excited as someone important wanted to speak to him.

Suddenly a wall-sized projection screen displayed the image of a man that looked very much like Bill Gates.  This man was Prime Minister of Earth.

He told Goovoo not to be upset.  That this was a wonderful time to be alive. That there was world peace and no more starvation.  That the space program had been reinstated and there were colonies on the moon and on Mars. That technology had advanced to such a degree that everyone had virtual reality interfaces which allowed them to contact anyone else on the planet, or to watch any entertainment, or to hear any music recorded anywhere.

"That sounds terrific," said Goovoo.  "But I don't understand, why is everybody so interested in me?"

"Well," said the Prime Minister. "2100 is just around the corner, and it says in your files that you know COBOL".

(In case you're curious, COBOL stands for COmmon Business Oriented Language and it was invented by one of my personal heroes, the first woman to achieve flag rank in the US Navy, the late Rear Admiral Grace Murray Hopper. She also co-developed the comuter itself (the ENIAC) So the father of the modern computer was a mother.)
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HIGH-FLYING PILOTS, FOUL WEATHER TOP OFF DAY AT THE BEACH by P.S. Wall

"Topless beaches?" Sweetie says.

"Totally topless," the guy assures him, as he fishes the cherry out of his pina colada and plops it in his mouth.

Sweetie and I are on the island paradise of Barbados.  Barbados is where the British troops stayed when they invaded Grenada.  All I can say is, the British sure know how to throw a war.

"The whole beach?" Sweetie asks.

"For as far as the eye can see," the guy says, waving his little paper umbrella across the horizon like Mary Poppins.

They call Barbados the air-conditioned island because a constant 10 mph breeze blows across your cocoa-buttered body like a GE fan.  For the next four days, Hurricane Andrew couldn't blow me out of my beach chair.  My only concern is, how much do you tip a porter for bringing you a bedpan?

"Totally topless?" Sweetie says.

"Some of them wear sunglasses," the guy says.

And the next thing I know, Sweetie is pushing me onto a plane the size of a hummingbird bound for the French Island of Martinique.

As a rule, I try not to board airplanes where, prior to takeoff, the pilots are crouched under the wing sharing a funny little cigarette.

"Sweetie," I say, nose pressed against the airplane window, "are they doing what I think they're doing?"

"Totally topless," Sweetie says, his pupils shaped into silhouettes of nude women, like you see on the mud flaps of an 18-wheeler.

When our pilots finally stumble onto the plane, they're one toke over the line and suffering from a severe case of the munchies.  Other than almost mowing down a couple of ground crew guys, takeoff went much smoother than I anticipated.  But then one would expect pilots who wear Grateful Dead T-shirts to be adept at getting high.  It's the coming down part that makes you worry.

It's supposed to be around a one-hour hop from Barbados to Martinique. After two hours in the air, Cheech and Chong start flying in a circle and stretching their necks to scan the horizon.

"What are they doing?" I whisper.

"They can't find the island," Sweetie says, suddenly fully alert and leaning forward in his seat.  About this time, Cheech taps on the fuel gauge.

I've never been a whiz at geography, but since we're flying due east into the Atlantic -- and there's no sign of Africa -- I reason we're about to meet our maker.

"Sweetie," I say, taking his hand, "I just want you to know that I love you more than life, and I wouldn't change a thing."

Cupping his hand over mine, Sweetie stares me in the eyes and says, "Our bloodsucking relatives are going to blow every last dime of our money."

On that note, Sweetie and I start tearing the plane apart looking for anything and everything that will float.  We almost have the cushions torn out of the seats when Chong jumps up and points out the window.

"Voila!!!  Martinique!!!" he cries.

While I'm down on my hands and knees French-kissing the runway, Sweetie flags down an airport security guard.

"Oui?" the guard asks, running up to us.

"Ou est le topless beach?" Sweetie demands.  The guard points with his umbrella and Sweetie takes off.

Glistening with oil -- and totally topless -- French women stretch for as far as the eye can see.  It's like looking at a griddle full of sunny-side up eggs at the International House of Pancakes.

No sooner do Sweetie's toes touch sand than a bolt of lightning streaks across the sky.  And before you can say "greased lightning," the entire beach packs up and is gone.

Rain beating down on us like a typhoon, Sweetie and I stare at the empty beach.

"Sweetie," I say, "would it help if I took my shirt off and ran around a little?"

"Not totally," Sweetie says, "but it wouldn't hurt."
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Two drunks on a London underground train. The train stops at a station. "Ish thish Wembley?" says one. "No it'sh Thurshdy." says the other. "Sho am I.  Let'sh get off and find a pub."
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An Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman were standing looking at a prize cow in a field. The Englishman says "Look at that fine English cow." The Irishman disagreed, saying "No, it's an Irish cow." The Scotsman thought for a moment and then clinched the argument. "No, it's a Scottish cow - it's got bagpipes underneath."
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An Englishman, roused by a Scot's scorn of his race, protested that he was born an Englishman and hoped to die an Englishman. "Mon," scoffed the Scot, "hiv ye nae ambeetion?"
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According to inside contacts, the Japanese banking crisis shows no signs of ameliorating.  If anything, it's getting worse.

Following last week's news that Origami Bank had folded, we are hearing that Sumo Bank has gone belly up and Bonsai Bank plans to cut back some of its branches.  Karaoke Bank is up for sale and is (you guessed it!) going for a song.

Meanwhile, shares in Kamikaze Bank have nose-dived and 500 back-office staff at Karate Bank got the chop.  Analysts report that there is something fishy going on at Sushi Bank and staff there fear they may get a raw deal.

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"A word to the wise ain't necessary. It's the stupid ones who need the advice." - Bill Cosby

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OK, move along, that's all there is, move along please ....

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Housekeeping:

While I write some of what appears in my newsletters, mostly it is stuff that's merely passed on, often without attribution. If at all possible, attribution is given, and any copyright notice, if copyrighted material is used at all,  is ALWAYS included. Written permission(s) (email-I can't handwrite) are sought where practicable. If you see anything at all that shouldn't be there, should be differently attributed, or is objectionable in any way, please let me know by simply writing to me . In no event is any income derived, and so the following notice is included:

*COPYRIGHT NOTICE** In accordance with Title 17 U. S. C. Section 107, any copyrighted work in this message is distributed under fair use without profit or payment..
[Ref. Fair Use ]

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"Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding it whether it exists or not, diagnosing it incorrectly, and applying the wrong remedy."
- Ernest Benn

Home is where the grab bars are.