Stay of Execution . . !

An attorney got home late one evening, after a very taxing day trying to get a stay of execution for a client, named Wright, who was due to be hanged for murder at midnight.   His last-minute plea for clemency to the governor had failed and he was feeling worn out and depressed.

As soon as he got through the door at home his wife started on at him about, "What time of night do you call this ?   Where have you been ?" . . . and on and on.

Too shattered to play his usual role in this familiar ritual, he went and poured himself a shot of whisky and headed off for a long hot soak in the bathtub . . . pursued by the predictable sarcastic remarks !

While he was in the bath the phone rang, which the wife answered and was told that her husband's client had been granted his stay of execution after all.  

Finally realizing what a day he must have had, she decided to go upstairs to give him the good news.   As she opened the bathroom door she was greeted by the sight of her husband's rear end as he was bent over naked drying his legs and feet.

"They're not hanging Wright tonight," she said.

He whirled around and screamed , "For crying out loud, Woman, don't you ever stop ?"

Fast . . and Faster . . !

In his book, "Sled Driver", SR-71 Blackbird pilot Brian Shul writes:

"I'll always remember a certain radio exchange that occurred one day as Walt (my back-seater) and I were screaming across Southern California 13 miles high.
We were monitoring various radio transmissions from other aircraft as we entered Los Angeles airspace.   Though they didn't really control us, they did monitor our movement across their scope.   I heard a Cessna ask for a readout of its ground speed.

"90 knots", Center replied.

Moments later, a Twin Beech required the same.

"120 knots",  Center answered.

We weren't the only ones proud of our ground speed that day as almost instantly an F-18 smugly transmitted, "Ah, Center . . . Dusty 52 requests ground speed readout."

There was a slight pause, then the response, "525 knots on the ground, Dusty 52."

Another silent pause.   As I was thinking to myself how ripe a situation this was, I heard a familiar click of a radio transmission coming from my back-seater.
It was at that precise moment I realized Walt and I had become a real crew, for we were both thinking in unison.

"Center . . . Aspen 20 . . . you got a ground speed readout for us ?"

There was a longer than normal pause . . . "Aspen 20,  I show 1,742 knots"   (That's about 2004.658 mph for those who don't know).   No further inquiries were heard on that frequency !

In another famous SR-71 story, Los Angeles Center reported receiving a request for clearance to FL 600 (60,000ft).

The incredulous controller, with some disdain in his voice, asked, "How do you plan to get up to 60,000 feet ?

The pilot,  (obviously a sled driver),  responded, "We don't plan to go up to it;   we plan to go down to it."   He was cleared !

Chapter of Accidents . . !

A couple in Sweetwater, Texas had a lot of potted plants, and during a recent cold spell, the wife was bringing a lot of them indoors to protect them from a possible freeze.   It turned out that a little green garden grass snake was hidden in one of the plants and when it had warmed up, it slithered out and the wife saw it go under the sofa.   She let out a very loud scream.

The husband who was taking a shower ran out into the living room naked to see what the problem was.   She told him there was a snake under the sofa.   He got down on the floor on his hands and knees to look for it.

About that time the family dog came and cold-nosed him on the leg.   He thought the snake had bitten him and he fainted.   His wife thought he had heart attack, so she called an ambulance

The attendants rushed in and loaded him on the stretcher and started carrying him out.   About that time the snake came out from under the sofa and the Emergency Medical Technician saw it and dropped his end of the stretcher.   That's when the man broke his leg and why he is in the hospital.

The wife still had the problem of the snake in the house, so she called on a neighbor man.   He volunteered to capture the snake.   He armed himself with rolled-up newspaper and began poking under the couch.   Soon he decided it was gone and told the woman, who sat down on the sofa in relief.   But in relaxing, her hand dangled in between the cushions, where she felt the snake wriggling around.   She screamed and fainted, the snake rushed back under the sofa, and the neighbor man, seeing her laying there passed out, tried to use CPR to revive her.

The neighbor's wife, who had just returned from shopping at the grocery store, saw her husband's mouth on the woman's mouth and slammed her husband in the back of the head with a bag of canned goods, knocking him out and cutting his scalp to a point where it needed stitches.   An ambulance was again called and it was determined that the injury required hospitalization.

The noise woke the woman from her dead faint and she saw her neighbor lying on the floor with his wife bending over him, so she assumed he had been bitten by the snake.   She went to the kitchen, brought back a small bottle of whiskey, and began pouring it down the man's throat.

By now the police had arrived.   They saw the unconscious man, smelled the whiskey, and assumed that a drunken fight had occurred.   They were about to arrest them all, when the two women tried to explain how it all happened over a little green snake.   They called an ambulance, which took away the neighbor and his sobbing wife.

Just then the little snake crawled out from under the couch.   One of the policemen drew his gun and fired at it.   He missed the snake and hit the leg of the end table that was on one side of the sofa.   The table fell over and the lamp on it shattered and as the bulb broke, it started a fire in the drapes.

The other policeman tried to beat out the flames and fell through the window into the yard on top of the family dog, who startled, jumped up and raced out into the street, where an oncoming car swerved to avoid it and smashed into the parked police car and set it on fire.

Meanwhile the burning drapes had spread to the walls and the entire house was blazing.   Neighbors had called the fire department and the arriving fire-truck had started raising his ladder as they were halfway down the street.   The rising ladder tore out the overhead wires and put out the electricity and disconnected the telephones in a ten-square city block area.

TIME PASSED
-----------

Both men were discharged from the hospital, the house was re-built, the police acquired a new car, and all was right with their world.

-----------

About a year later they were watching TV and the weatherman announced cold snap for that night.   The husband asked his wife if she thought they should bring in their plants for the night.

She shot him.

Temperature Taking . . . !

A big shot attorney had to spend a couple of days in the hospital. He was a royal pain in the butt to the nurses because he bossed them around just like he did his staff. None of the hospital staff wanted to have anything to do with him. The head nurse was the only one who could stand up to him.

She came into his room and announced, "I have to take your temperature."

After complaining for several minutes, he finally settled down, crossed his arms and opened his mouth.

"No, I'm sorry, the nurse stated, "but for this reading, I can't use an oral thermometer."

This started another round of complaining, but eventually he rolled over and bared his behind.   After feeling the nurse insert the thermometer, he heard her announce, "I have to get something.   Now you stay JUST LIKE THAT until I get back !"  She leaves the door to his room open on her way out !

He curses under his breath as he hears people walking past his door, laughing.   After a half hour, the man's doctor comes into the room.

"What's going on here ?" asked the doctor.

Angrily, the man answers, "What's the matter, Doc ? Haven't you ever seen someone having their temperature taken ?"

After a pause, the doctor confesses, "Not with a carnation !"

Men Do Remember Anniversaries . . !

A woman awakes during the night to find that her husband was not in their bed.

She puts on her robe and goes downstairs to look for him.   She finds him sitting at the kitchen table with a hot cup of coffee in front of him. He appears to be in deep thought, just staring at the wall. She watches as he wiped a tear from his eye and takes a sip of his coffee.

"What's the matter, dear ?" she whispers as she steps into the room . . . "Why are you down here at this time of night?"

The husband looks up from his coffee. He was silent for a moment, then he said "Do you remember 20 years ago when we were dating, and you were only
16 ?" he asks solemnly.

The wife is touched to tears with the thought that her husband should be so caring and sensitive.

"Yes I do," she replies.

The husband paused. It was plain to see that the words were not coming easily.

"Do you remember when your father caught us in the back seat of my car making love?"

"Yes, I remember," said the wife, lowering herself into a chair beside him.

The husband continued. "And do you remember when he shoved the shotgun in my face and said, 'Either you marry my daughter, or I'll send you to jail for 20 years ?'"

"I remember that too" she replied softly.

He wiped another tear from his cheek and said . . .

. . .   "I would have gotten out today !"

Stories With A Moral . . !

A teacher gave her 5th grade class an assignment. They were to have their parents tell them a story with a moral.   The next day the kids came to class, and one by one, told their stories.

Little Kathy raised her hand first and said, "We live on a farm and have hens that lay eggs for market. Once we were taking a basket of eggs to market on the front seat of the pick-up truck and we hit a big bump in the road.   The eggs went flying and broke all over everything."

"And what is the moral to that story ?"

"Don't put all your eggs in one basket."

"Very good," said the teacher.

Then little Tammy raised her hand and said, "We live on a farm, too, but we raise chickens for the meat market. We had a dozen eggs once, but when they hatched, we got only ten live chicks. The moral to that story is, "Don't count your chickens before they are hatched."

"OK - That was a fine example, Tammy.   "Johnny, I believe you had your hand up next."

"Yes Ma'am. My daddy told me that my Aunt Karen was a flight engineer in Desert Storm and her plane got hit. She had to bail out over enemy territory and all she had was a bottle of whiskey, a machine gun, and a machete. She drank the whiskey on the way down so it wouldn't break, and then she landed right in the middle of a hundred enemy soldiers. She killed seventy of them with the machine gun until she ran out of bullets, then she killed twenty more with the machete before the blade broke off. Then she killed the last ten with her bare hands."

"Good Heavens" said the horrified teacher. "What did your daddy tell you was the moral to that terrible story ?"

"Stay the hell away from Aunt Karen when she's been drinking."

Countin' Cows . . . !

A Texas cowboy was tending to his herd in a remote pasture when suddenly a brand-new BMW advanced out of a dust cloud towards him.
The driver, a young man in a Brioni suit, Gucci shoes, Ray Ban sunglasses and YSL tie, leaned out the window and asked the cowboy,
"If I tell you exactly how many cows and calves you have in your herd, will you give me a calf ?"

The cowboy looks at the man, obviously a yuppie, then looks at his peacefully grazing herd and calmly answers, "Sure, Why not ?"

The yuppie parks his car, whips out his Dell notebook computer, connects it to his AT&T cell phone, and surfs to a NASA page on the Internet, where he calls up a GPS satellite navigation system to get an exact fix on his location which he then feeds to another NASA satellite that scans the area in an ultra-high resolution
photo.   The young man then opens the digital photo in Adobe Photoshop and exports it to an image processing facility in Hamburg, Germany.   Within seconds, he receives an email on his Palm Pilot that the image has been processed and the data stored.   He then accesses a MS-SQL database through an ODBC connected Excel spreadsheet with hundreds of complex formulas.   He uploads all of this data via an email on his Blackberry and, after a few minutes, receives a response.

Finally, he prints out a full-color, 150-page report on his hi-tech, miniaturized HP LaserJet printer and finally turns to the cowboy and says,  "You have exactly 1586 cows and calves."

"That's right.   Well, I guess you can take one of my calves," says the cowboy.   He watches the young man select one of the animals and looks on amused as the young man stuffs it into the trunk of his car.   Then the cowboy says to the young man,   "Hey, if I can tell you exactly what your business is, will you give me back my calf ?"

The young man thinks about it for a second and then says, "Okay, why not ?"

"You're a consultant for the Government." says the cowboy.

"Wow ! That's correct," says the yuppie, "but how did you guess that ?"

"No guessing required." answered the cowboy,  "You showed up here even though nobody called you;   you want to get paid for an answer I already knew . . . to a question I never asked . . . and you don't know anything about my business . . . Now give me back my dog !"

The Darwin Awards . . . !

He didn't win, but this is probably my favorite . . . 1982 Honorable Mention

Larry Waters of Los Angeles is one of the few to contend for the Darwin Award and live to tell about his exploits.

Larry's boyhood dream was to fly.   When he graduated from high school, he joined the Air Force in hopes of becoming a pilot.   Unfortunately, poor eyesight disqualified him.   When he was finally discharged, he had to satisfy himself with watching jets fly over his backyard.

One day, Larry brightened up:   he decided he could and would fly.   He went to the local Army-Navy surplus store and purchased 45 weather balloons and several tanks of helium.   The weather balloons, when fully inflated, measured more than four feet across.    Back home, Larry securely strapped the balloons to his sturdy lawn chair.   He anchored the chair to the bumper of his jeep and inflated the balloons with the helium.   He climbed on for a test while it was still only a few feet above the ground.   Satisfied that it would work, Larry packed several sandwiches and a six-pack of Miller Lite, loaded his pellet gun . . . figuring he could pop a few balloons when it was time to descend . . . and went back to the floating lawn chair where he tied himself in along with his pellet gun and provisions.

Larry's plan was to lazily float up to a height of about 30 feet above his back yard after severing the anchor and in a few hours come back down.

Things didn't quite work out as planned for Larry.   When he cut the cord anchoring the lawn chair to his jeep, he didn't float lazily up to 30 or so feet.   Instead he streaked into the LA sky as if shot from a cannon.   He didn't level off at 30 feet, nor did he level off at 100 feet.   After climbing and climbing, he leveled off
at 11,000 feet.   At that height he couldn't risk shooting any of the balloons, lest he unbalance the load and really find himself in trouble.   So he stayed there, drifting, cold, and frightened, for more than 14 hours, when he found himself in the primary approach corridor of LAX.

A Pan Am pilot first spotted Larry.   He radioed the tower and described passing a guy in a lawn chair with a gun.   Radar confirmed the existence of an object floating 11,000 feet above the airport.   LAX emergency procedures swung into full alert and a helicopter was dispatched to investigate.

LAX is right on the ocean.   Night was falling and the offshore breeze began to blow.   It carried Larry out to sea.   Right on Larry's heels was the helicopter. Several miles out, the helicopter caught up with him.   Once the crew determined that Larry was not dangerous, they attempted to close in for a rescue but the draft
from the blades kept pushing him away whenever they neared.   Finally, the helicopter ascended to a position several hundred feet above Larry and lowered a rescue line.    Larry snagged the line, with which he was hauled back to shore . . . a difficult maneuver flawlessly executed by the helicopter crew.

As soon as Larry was deposited on earth, he was arrested by waiting members of the LAPD for violating LAX airspace.   As he was led away in handcuffs, a reporter dispatched to cover the daring rescue asked him why he had done it.

Larry stopped . . . turned . . . and replied nonchalantly,   "A man can't just sit around."

More Darwin Award Entries . . . !

According to police in Windsor, Ontario, Daniel Kolta, 27, and Randy Taylor, 33, died in a head-on collision, thus earning a tie in the game of chicken they were playing with their Snowmobiles.

In Detroit, a 41-year-old man got stuck and drowned in two feet of water after squeezing head first through an 18-inch-wide sewer grate to retrieve his car keys.

A 49-year-old San Francisco stockbroker, who "totally zoned when he ran," accidentally jogged off a 100-foot-high cliff on his daily run.

Buxton, NC:   A man died on a beach when an 8-foot-deep hole he had dug into the sand caved in as he sat inside it.   Beach-goers said Daniel Jones, 21, dug the hole for fun, or protection from the wind, and had been sitting in a beach chair at the bottom Thursday afternoon when it collapsed, burying him beneath 5 feet of
sand.   People on the beach, on the outer banks, used their hands and shovels, trying to claw their way to Jones, a resident of Woodbridge, VA, but could not reach him.   It took rescue workers using heavy equipment almost an hour to free him while about 200 people looked on.   Jones was pronounced dead at a hospital.

Santiago Alvarado, 24, was killed in Lompoc, CA, as he fell face-first through the ceiling of bicycle shop he was burglarizing.   Death was caused when the long flashlight he had placed in his mouth, (to keep his hands free), rammed into the base of his skull as he hit the floor.

According to police in Dahlonega, GA, ROTC cadet Nick Berrena, 20, was stabbed to death in January by fellow cadet Jeffrey Hoffman, 23, who was trying to prove that a knife could not penetrate the flak vest Berrena was wearing.

Sylvester Briddell, Jr., 26, was killed in Selbyville, Del, as he won a bet with friends who said he would not put a revolver loaded with four bullets into his mouth and pull the trigger.

HONORABLE MENTION:    In Guthrie, Okla, in October, Jason Heck tried to kill a millipede with a shot from his 22 caliber rifle, but the bullet ricocheted off a rock near the hole and hit pal Antonio Martinez in the head, fracturing his skull.

In Elyria, Ohio, in October, Martyn Eskins, attempting to clean out cobwebs in his basement, declined to use a broom in favor of a propane torch and caused a fire that burned the first and second floors of his house.

Paul Stiller, 47, was hospitalized in Andover Township, NJ, and his wife Bonnie was also injured, when a quarter-stick of dynamite blew up in their car.   While driving around at 2 AM, the bored couple lit the dynamite and tried to toss it out the window to see what would happen, but apparently failed to notice the window was closed.

RUNNER UP:    TACOMA, WA . . . Kerry Bingham had been drinking with several friends when one of them said they knew a person who had bungee-jumped from the Tacoma Narrows Bridge in the middle of traffic.    The conversation grew more heated and at least 10 men trooped along the walkway of the bridge at 4:30 am.   Upon arrival at the midpoint of the bridge they discovered that no one had brought a bungee rope.    Bingham, who had continued drinking, volunteered and pointed out that a coil of lineman's cable lay nearby.   One end of the cable was secured around Bingham's leg and the other end was tied to the bridge. His fall lasted 40 feet before the cable tightened and tore his foot off at the ankle.   He miraculously survived his fall into the icy river water and was rescued by two nearby fishermen.   "All I can say", said Bingham,  "is that God was watching out for me on that night.   There's just no other explanation for it."   Bingham's foot was never located.

AND THE WINNER:     Overzealous zookeeper Friedrich Riesfeldt (Paderborn, Germany) fed his constipated elephant, Stefan, 22 doses of animal laxative and more than a bushel of berries, figs and prunes before the plugged-up pachyderm finally let it fly, and suffocated the keeper under 200 pounds of poop ! Investigators say ill-fated Friedrich, 46, was attempting to give the ailing elephant an olive oil enema when the relieved beast unloaded on him.   "The sheer force of the elephant's unexpected defecation knocked Mr. Riesfeldt to the ground, where he struck his head on a rock and lay unconscious as the elephant continued to evacuate his bowels on top of him", said flabbergasted Paderborn police detective Erik Dern.   With no one there to help him, he lay under all that dung for at least an hour before a watchman came along.   During that time he suffocated.   It seems to be just one of those freak accidents where S_ _t Happens.

Donald D Hawkins - Early Candidate for 2005 Darwin Award . . . !
The following mind-boggling attempt at a robbery in Washington appeared to be the robber's first, (and last), due to his lack of a previous record of violence, and his terminally stupid choices:

1. His target was H&J Leather & Firearms. A gun shop specializing in handguns.
2. The shop was full of customers - firearms customers.
3. To enter the shop, the robber had to step around a marked police patrol car parked directly in front of the store.
4. A uniformed officer was standing at the counter, having coffee before work.   Upon seeing the officer, the would-be robber announced a hold-up, and fired a few wild shots from a .22 target pistol.   The officer and the clerk behind the counter promptly returned fire, the police officer with a 9mm Glock 17 . . . the clerk
with a .50 Desert Eagle, assisted by several customers who also drew their guns, several of whom also fired.

The robber was pronounced dead at the scene by Paramedics.   Crime scene investigators located 47 expended cartridge cases in the shop.   The subsequent autopsy revealed 23 gunshot wounds.   Ballistics identified rounds from 7 different weapons.   No one else was hurt in the exchange of fire.

Here we are in the middle of March and we already may have the 2005 winner of the Darwin Award.   This guy is going to be hard to beat !

Hopefully he never had a chance to procreate.

Mr. Hawkins . . !

Back in the mid-30’s, I had gone to bed one Wednesday evening when I heard a late-night visitor arrive for Mum and Dad. Hearing them chattering excitedly, and being a typical nosey brat, I crept out to the top of the stairs … sat and eavesdropped on the conversation.

It was my Dad’s Aunt Emma … she lived on a neighboring farm … kept house and cooked a few days a week for another farmer neighbour, Mr. Hawkins. The topic of the chatter ? Mr. Hawkins’ wedding celebration !

Now Mr. Hawkins was an odd fellow of some 70-plus years in age … a widower since his early 30’s. He was well-known in the village as a "Man of Regular Habits" … you could set your watch by this man …. everything done to an exact schedule, day in and day out, season by season. . From previous village gossip, I already knew that Mr. Hawkins had finally decided to get married again, and the date had been set.

Now Mr. Hawkins had been courting a "Spinster of this Parish", as they were then known, for some considerable time … local tradition in those days demanded at least a seven year period. The lady in question was old Rosie Perkins who lived in the thatched cottage over on High Street. The courting, as I recall, was generally limited to him driving from the farm to her cottage on a Sunday mid-morning in his pony and trap, and taking her to the village church for Morning Prayer. After Church the two would then take an hour or two’s drive around the country lanes of mid-Bedfordshire, before returning to Rosie’s cottage for high tea and chatter.

The time came when the two of them finally settled on the fact that matrimony wasn’t such a bad idea … and that maybe they should indulge.

However, a major stumbling block reared its’ ugly head ! When ???

With the rigorous schedule of daily activities set by Mr. Hawkins for himself and his farm workers there just didn’t seem to be any available time slot. Finally it had been decided that Walter, the farm foreman, would make the weekly trip to market in Bedford on the first Wednesday of the next month, and the farmhands would work a revised plan in the fields, leaving the day free for Mr. Hawkins and Rosie to get married … and so it came to pass … the Banns were read in Church and the day arrived !

From Emma’s chatter I heard that while Mr. Hawkins and Rosie were at the church, she was to busy herself at his farm preparing the traditional ‘wedding breakfast’ in readiness for the happy couples return.   Then following the meal, she would finish tidying up after them, and head home to Uncle Jack.   However the events of the afternoon and evening provided such a source of potential village gossip that she couldn’t resist dropping in on Mum and Dad to start it off !

One of the men had put the pony away in the stables on the couples' arrival at the farm, leaving them to head for the farmhouse and the sumptuous repast that Emma had prepared. They had chatted lightly during the meal, after which Emma had cleared the table and headed for the scullery to wash and tidy up. The couple having finished their meal, went and sat, Port glasses in hand, in the two old oak settles on either side of the fire roaring in the kitchen fireplace. Mr Hawkins began to brief Rosie on her new lifestyle.

It was while Emma was still working in the scullery that she overheard the following conversation …. !

"Now Mrs. Hawkins" … it was the custom in those days for a couple to address each other in the formal ‘Mr. and Mrs'. style … never using Christian names … " As you well know, I’m a man of ‘regular habits’ … I doubt as how I’ll ever change … it’ll probably take thee a while to get used to the daily routine here on the farm, so don’t hesitate to ask Emma all the little details. She’s agreed to stay on for a few weeks until you get settled in."

"Yes, Mr. Hawkins !"

"Now, you’ll find as ’ow I gets up each morning around a quarter of three, goes down and makes a cup of tea afore goin’ out to the shed to start the morning’ milkin’ ! You don‘t need to get up, so just stay there in bed and rest yo‘ pretty head !"

"Yes, Mr. Hawkins !"

"Now, if you’d like … I can bring you up a cup when I ’as mine … the late Mrs. Hawkins - God rest her Soul - allus used to enjoy that, she did !"

‘Yes, Mr. Hawkins !"

"Now, I’ll be back in from milkin’ at nine sharp. I’ll expect my breakfast to be on the table … two gammon rashers, one two minute egg, sunny side up, a slice of Howletts’ cottage loaf toasted medium brown, and the brown Toby mug full of that good Earl Grey tea, two lumps of sugar if you please, well stirred."

"Yes, Mr. Hawkins !"

"After breakfast I’ll be back out to make my rounds of the men make sure everything is going according to schedule … and then in again for dinner at twelve sharp, except on a Wednesday when I’ll allus be in Bedford market with the hoss and cart. Walter’ll be in charge here that day in case ’owt goes amiss !"

"Yes, Mr. Hawkins !"

"After dinner I take care of any correspondence from the ten o'clock post delivery afore heading out again for the afternoon milkin’ at two-thirty sharp … old Primula don’t like us’n to keep her herd awaitin’ !"

"Yes, Mr. Hawkins !"

"High Tea at six o’clock sharp … good hot Typhoo tea, NOT Earl Grey, with sliced cottage loaf, top piece only, fresh churned butter and some of Emma’s good strawberry jam. Now this‘ll change during haytime and harvest … you‘ll be expected to bring cheese sandwiches and tea in a bottle out to all of us men in the fields or stackyard where we‘ll be a workin‘ !"

"Yes, Mr. Hawkins !"

Item by item, he laid out the daily year-round schedule of life on his farm … who did what … when !

"After tea I’ll be in my study … won’t want to be disturbed while I do the Milk Marketing Board records. I generally sit there for a wee while listening to the BBC Symphony Orchestra evening programme afore coming out and heading up to bed at eight o’clock sharp. !"

"Yes, Mr. Hawkins !"

"Oh Yes ! There was one other thing, Mrs. Hawkins … the late Mrs. Hawkins and I - God rest her Soul - we’d ‘get together, so to speak‘, every Sunday and Thursday night !"

"Yes, Mr. Hawkins !"

"Now tonight … being a Wednesday … Good Night, Mrs. Hawkins !"

Calling Customer Support . . !

"Customer Support Desk, may I help you ?"
"Yes, well, I'm having trouble with your word processor software."
"What sort of trouble ?"
"Well, I was just typing along, and all of a sudden the words went away."
"Went away ?"
"They disappeared."
"Hmm. So what does your screen look like now ?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing ?"
"It's blank; it won't accept anything when I type."
"Are you still in the program, or did you get out ?"
"How do I tell?"
"Can you see the C: prompt on the screen ?"
"What's a C: prompt ?"
"Never mind. Can you move the cursor around on the screen ?"
"There isn't any cursor:  I told you, it won't accept anything I type."
"Does your monitor have a power indicator ?"
"What's a monitor ?"
"It's the thing with the screen on it that looks like a TV.   Does it have a little light that tells you when it's on ?"
"I don't know."
"Well, then look on the back of the monitor and find where the power cord goes into it.   Can you see that ?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Great. Follow the cord to the plug, and tell me if it's plugged into the wall."
".......Yes, it is."
"When you were behind the monitor, did you notice that there were two cables plugged into the back of it, not just one  ?"
"No."
"Well, there are. I need you to look back there again and find the other cable."
"....... Okay, here it is."
"Follow it for me, and tell me if it's plugged securely into the back of your computer."
"I can't reach."
"Uh huh. Well, can you see if it is?"
"No."
"Even if you maybe put your knee on something and lean way over ?"
"Oh, it's not because I don't have the right angle - it's because it's dark."
"Dark ?"
"Yes - the office light is off, and the only light I have is coming in from the window."
"Well, turn on the office light then."
"I can't."
"No? Why not ?"
"Because there's a power outage."
"A power outage ???   Aha !!!   Okay, we've got it licked now.   Do you still have the boxes and manuals and packing stuff your computer came in ?"
"Well, yes, I keep them in the closet."
"Good.   Go get them, and unplug your system and pack it up just like it was when you got it.   Then take it back to the store you bought it from."
"Really ?   Is it that bad ?"
"Oh, yes, I'm afraid it is."
"Well, all right then, I suppose.   What do I tell them?"
"Tell them you're too stupid to own a computer !!"

A couple from Michigan, who were both in marketing, decided to go to Florida to thaw out during one particularly icy winter.   They planned to stay at the very same hotel where they spent their honeymoon 20 years earlier.   Because of their hectic travel and work schedules, it was difficult to coordinate their flight schedules.

So, the husband left Detroit and flew to Miami on Thursday, with his wife flying down from Chicago the following day.

The husband checked into the hotel.   There was a computer in his room, so he decided to send an e-mail to his wife.   However, he accidentally left out one letter in her email address, and without realizing his error, he sent the e-mail.

Meanwhile . . . somewhere in Alabama, a widow had just returned home from her husband's funeral.   He was a minister of many years who was called home following a sudden heart attack.    The widow decided to check her e-mail, expecting messages from relatives and friends.   After reading the first message, she fainted.

The widow's son rushed into the room, found his mother on the floor, and saw the computer screen which read:

Sent:        Tue, 3/1/2004 5:45 PM
To:          My Loving Wife
Subject:    I've Arrived

I know you're surprised to hear from me.   They have computers here now and you are allowed to send e-mails to your loved ones.   I've just got all checked in and I see that everything has been prepared for your arrival tomorrow.   Looking forward to seeing you then !   Hope your journey is as uneventful as mine was.

P.S.   Sure is hot down here.

Smart Kid . . !

A first-grade teacher, Ms. Brooks, was having trouble with one of her students.

The teacher asked, "Harry, what's your problem ?"

Harry answered, "I'm too smart for the 1st grade.   My sister is in the 3rd grade and I'm smarter than she is !   I think I should be in the 3rd grade too !"

Ms. Brooks had had enough.   She took Harry to the principal's office.   While Harry waited in the outer office, the teacher explained to the principal what the situation was.   The principal told Ms. Brooks he would give the boy a test.   If he failed to answer any of his questions he was to go back to the 1st grade and behave.   She agreed.

Harry was brought in and the conditions were explained to him and he agreed to take the test.

Principal: "What is 3 x 3 ?"

Harry: "9"

Principal: "What is 6 x 6 ?"

Harry: "36"

And so it went with every question the principal thought a 3rd grader should know.

The principal looks at Ms. Brooks and tells her, "I think Harry can go to the 3rd grade."

Ms. Brooks says to the principal, "Let me ask him some questions."

The principal and Harry both agreed.   Ms. Brooks asks, "What does a cow have four of that I have only two of ?"

Harry, after a moment: "Legs"

Ms. Brooks: "What is in your pants that you have but I do not have ?"

The principal wondered why would she ask such a question !

Harry replied: "Pockets"

Ms. Brooks: "What does a dog do that a man steps into ?"

Harry: "Pants"

Ms. Brooks: What starts with a C, ends with a T, is hairy, oval, delicious and contains thin, whitish liquid ?"

Harry: "Coconut"

The principal sat forward with his mouth hanging open.

Ms. Brooks: "What goes in hard and pink then comes out soft and sticky ?"

The principal's eyes opened really wide and before he could stop the answer, Harry replied, "Bubble gum"

Ms. Brooks: "What does a man do standing up, a woman does sitting down and a dog does on three legs ?"

Harry: "Shake hands."

The principal was trembling.

Ms. Brooks: "What word starts with an 'F' and ends in 'K' that means a lot of heat and excitement ?"

Harry: "Firetruck."

The principal breathed a sigh of relief and told the teacher, "Put Harry in the fifth-grade . . . I got the last seven questions wrong

Fruitcake Recipe

1 cup water
1 cup sugar
4 large eggs
2 cups dried fruit
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup brown sugar
Lemon juice
Nuts
1 gallon whiskey

Sample the whiskey to check for quality.   Take a large bowl.   Check the whiskey again to be sure it is of the highest quality.
Pour one level Cup and drink.   Repeat.

Turn on the electric mixer;   beat 1 cup butter in a large, fluffy bowl.
Add 1 teaspoon sugar and beat again.
Make sure the whiskey is still OK.   Cry Another tup.

Turn off mixer.   Break 2 legs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit.
Mix on the turner.   If the fried druit gets stuck in the Beaterers, pry it loose with a drewscriver.
Sample the whiskey to check for Tonsisticicity.

Next, sift 2 cups of salt.  Or something. Who cares ?   Check the whiskey.
Now sift the lemon juice and strain your nuts.
Add one tablespoon of sugar . . . Or something - whatever you can find.   Grease the oven.

Turn the cake tin to 350 degrees.   Don't forget to beat off the turner.   Throw the bowl out of the window.

Check the whiskey again.   Go to bed.   Who likes fruitcake anyway ?

Sir Lance-A-Lot . . !

Many, many years ago, in a far-away country, lived a handsome Knight, Sir Lance-A-Lot, together with his beautiful bride, the fair Lady Pinky In-Botham. Now Sir Lance was a brave and courageous man, upright in mind and body, a mighty swordsman and gifted with the lance, as befitting one of his knightly rank.

It came to pass that the King of the Realm, Richard the Open-Heart, had heard from a travelling minstrel that some of his faithful subjects had been captured by Saracens in a far off land, and were being cruelly tortured or put to death.    So, being thoroughly miffed by this news, he dispatched Heralds to ride throughout his Realm, each to proclaim the onset of a massive Crusade to the land of the Saracens . . . there to put these heathens to the sword and rescue his beloved subjects.

Sir Lance . . . being a noble sort of character . . . immediately made it it known to his Lady that he would join the Kings' Crusade, and set about raising a small contingent of armed men from among the tenants on his vast Estates.   In the custom of the times, he arranged for the local village armourer to fashion a chastity belt for his beloved Lady.   This belt was a thing of beauty . . . delicately embellished with golden scroll work and masses of finely chased floral patterns, together with her Ladyships' name.   The lock was of the latest pattern, a type developed by his now-departed god-father, the famous Sir Yale Tumbler.

And so it came to pass, on the morning of his departure for the Crusade, he bid farewell to his bride, and carefully fitting the chastity belt to her exquisite body, locked it securely in place, promising, as he did so, to return within the year.

He and his band of armed swordsmen, along with his trusty Squire, Rochester, then rode forth on the way to Dover and the Chunnel Crossing.   They had gotten some 2-3 leagues from his castle when a thought struck him.    As I've said, he was a noble man in every respect.   Suppose . . . he thought . . . some evil fate should befall me on this Crusade . . . perchance a Saracen lance might pierce my armour . . . wounding me mortally !    What would then become of my fair lady ?    I must call a momentary halt to this excursion . . . travel across the next valley and visit with my good friend, Sir Takum Ifucan. 

So the knight went unto his friends' castle and, explaining the situation, gave him the keys to his castle, and to the chastity belt, to be used to free the fair lady Pinky in the evnt of his demise on the Crusade.   They shook hands, and parted.    Sir Lance and his men rode hard all that day, and with evening approaching, his Squire, Rochester, suggested that perhaps they should make camp for the night in the woods on the next rise.

"Excellent thought" said Sir Lance and the group started preparing their shelters, cooking food for the evening repast.   While this was proceeding apace, Squire Rochester had been scouting the horizon for signs that they were being followed . . . earlier he thought he had seen slight traces of a dust cloud in their rear as if a rider was hastening after them.    Yes . . . there it was again . . . this time through the lenses of his powerful Steiner glasses he could just make out the figure of another knight on horseback racing down the trail they had just traversed.

He immediately notified Sir Lance !   Ordering his men to take cover in a suitable defensive fashion in the woods, Sir Lance awaited the arrival of the stranger. Within the hour the mysterious rider was upon them . . . horse all covered in a lather of sweat from its' furious ride.   The rider dismounted and strode across to Sir Lance.    It was Sir Takum !

"Wasn't sure I'd be able to catch you in time, good friend" he panted . . . "You gave me the wrong key !"

 Kentucky Funeral . . !

I happened to be travelling through a small Eastern Kentucky community the other week . . . a quiet little spot down in Harlan County, not too far from Hazard.   It so happened that one of the town elders had passed away and his funeral happened to coincide with my visit.   Like so many of these small vestiges of civilisation in the area, the community layout was fairly typical . . . a main crossroads intersection at the centre of town with a couple of gas stations, a Baptist church and a pharmacy sitting on each of the four corners.   A mixed arrangement of old houses and small stores spread out from the intersection in four directions . . . two along the valley bottom, and the other two climbing steeply up the adjacent mountain sides.   Having just filled my gas tank, I strolled over to the pharmacy to see if I could rustle up a sandwich and soda before heading on to my destination in Tennessee.

As I reached the open door of the pharmacy, I noticed the presence of a hearse outside another little Pentecostal church high up on one of the two hillside roads.   As I watched, a funeral party came out of the front door and started to manhandle a casket, with body inside I presumed, down the steep rocky steps leading to the road below, and the waiting hearse.   Now this being the 21st Century, the casket was not being carried by the pallbearers . . . it was sitting on top of one of those hospital gurney-like folding trolleys that most funeral directors use these days.   Fine !   The pallbearers carefully manouevred the wheels over the rocky ledges of the stepped path until . . . one sneezed violently . . . the sound wafted down the valley to my ears.    The sudden sound caused a couple of the other pallbearers to stumble on the rocks . . . they slipped and fell . . . the gurney now escaped the clutches of the remaining pallbearer and, free of their grasp, took off on its' own down the steep and rocky path !

Bumpety . . . bumpety . . . bumpety !   Away it went, bouncing wildly, until it hit the hillside road below !   Careening over the rudimentary vestiges of a kerb, it glanced off the waiting hearse, turned abruptly and raced down the hill towards the intersection where I stood, swerving back and forth across the steep road as it came.   As it reached the intersection it veered cattywampus and came straight for where I stood.   Not wishing to end my life being hit by a runaway gurney and casket, I sidestepped smartly.   The gurney struck the kerb right where I had been standing and stopped dead !

Not so the casket . . . it came up on end and slid in this fashion right across the polished linoleum floor of the pharmacy . . . all the way to the back . . . then stubbing its' toes, so to speak, on a random floor display it came to an abrupt halt.   As it suddenly stopped, the lid of the casket, obviously not secured to withstand this sort of violent motion, popped off and the cadaver shot out, still bolt upright, against the Pharmacists' counter.

Now . . . the Pharmacist had been busy filling a prescription for a little old lady, seated nearby in the waiting area . . . his head was down, bent in earnest concentration on counting the pills on his little sorting plate.

Without an upward glance, he acknowledged the presence of the "newcomer" . . . "Can I help you, Sir ?"

The corpse replied "You got anything to stop this coffin ?"

The Mule . . !

Back in the mid-50's, when I first came to the States, I was in charge of the R&D operations of an Ohio aerospace company.   It so happened that I had on my staff, around two dozen mechanics, machinists and sheet metal-workers in the Model Shop that supported the Lab activities.   To a man, all of them had moved to Ohio from rural S.E. Kentucky after WW2 when the first tolerable "roads out" in the area were constructed.   Curiously, communication with the "outside world" having been limited for some 200 years, their dialect was that of my native East Anglia . . . a link to their emigrant ancestors.   It gave us an instant rapport !   Many were the old country tales, and songs, from both sides of the "Pond" that were exchanged.

A favourite of mine relates to two lads in the wild hill country of southern Kentucky.   Their father had recently passed away leaving them to inherit the sparsely fertile "vertical family farm" . . . a generalised description of the few acres of ground that clung to the steep hillside above their tiny community.  

Now, these two lads were hard working, ambitious and not too slow in the brainworks.   On the other hand, the "farm" consisted, as we said, of a few rocky steep fields . . . a ramshackle pole barn of the type we used to call a "hovel" back in Bedfordshire . . . and a slightly better cabin.    They had no livestock, although there was an old wooden one-bottom plough . . . one of the lads would steer it, and the other would be the harnessed "mule" !   In addition there was the usual miscellaneous collection of hand tools.

For the first few years they worked their buns off, scraping out a little arable patch here and there across the hillsides.   They bartered crops and tobacco for useable goods and an occasional dollar or two . . . bit by bit they crept ahead of the pack.    The day finally came when they decided they had enough put by to head into Hazard to the weekly farmers' market . . . their immediate goal was to buy a mule to make the ploughing less of a burden on their shoulders.

As luck would have it, a suitable animal was acquired, and they headed back to their spot in the hills.   Like any young kids, having just got a birthday gift, they couldn't wait to harness the mule up to the old wooden plough and try it out !    Being still early afternoon, they worked the mule and plough over every accessible patch of land they could churn up.   It was a revelation to them !

Evening. . . and darkness . . . now started to descend into the valley.   Suddenly the reality of having a mule to take care of . . . to feed and house . . . dawned on them.    Going back to the farm they figured that they could house the mule in the pole-barn for now until they could get around to building him a proper stall.    With that idea settled, they unhitched the plough, and one of them, the younger of the two brothers starts to lead the mule into the open front of the barn.    As the lad led the mule into the barn . . . it should be mentioned here that it was old, kind of ramshackle, with a sagging roof and front lintels . . . the mule, feeling the tips of his ears touch the afore-mentioned sagging lintels, stopped dead !   One could almost hear the screech of his hooves on the dirt and gravel yard, the stop was that sudden !

The young fellow turned the mule around and tried again . . . the gravel and dirt flew . . . the mule stopped dead the moment his tall ears touched that lintel !

Pause for discussion !    The two brothers stood and argued as to the best solution to the problem . . . the mule had to go in for the night . . . his ears were obviously too long !   Finally the elder brother sends the younger one to hunt up several long poles from the pile that their Dad had stored years before behind the cabin.    Meanwhile he went and got a pick and shovel and started digging around the foundations of a few of the poles supporting the front of the barn.

About this time, down the lane that passed by the front of the farm, came Tom, one of the old boys from the nearby village.   Now Tom, who most of the locals figured was about three bricks shy of a full load, stopped to watch, in the fading light, the frantic exertions of the two young men.

"Whatcherupto Boys ? he called out.

They paused in their efforts to explain the late evening activity.   The elder brother told Tom that, by digging down and loosening the barn uprights from the grip of the congealed clay and rock in which they were embedded, they would be able to use some of the poles, freshly acquired from behind the cabin, as a type of lever arrangement.   The one of them could swing on the lever pole . . . raise the whole front of the barn . . . and the other brother would then lead the mule in without any chance his ears would touch the lintel.

Now Tom starts to laugh . . . he laughed so hard he fell to the ground and started to roll around, writhing in pure hilarity.

"What's with him ?" asks the younger brother.

"Don't rightly know" says the elder.

Tom finally laughs himself to a standstill, gets up and says to the two puzzled brothers "Lads . . . you don't need to go to all that effort . . . with a little simple digging you could solve the problem easily.   All you need to do is to dig a small shallow trench out front of the barn sloping down to the entrance . . . then lead the mule into the trench and his ears will clear the lintel."

The elder brother turns to the younger and says . . . "Now I can see why the folk in the village say Tom ain't overly swift . . ."

**************************************************

" . . . I've only just got finished explaining to him that it's the mule's ears that are too long . . . not his legs !"

One Rocketman's Story

This story's been around for a couple of years on the internet, but it's funny enough to reproduce here, with slight editing to ensure political correctness. Thanks to Doug Neal for it.

About 2 weeks ago, I was looking around the Web for the BIGGEST skyrocket that I could get shipped to me via common freight carrier.   I located a fireworks importer in Wisconsin who had this mondo skyrocket ... biggest thing I had ever seen...called a SkyDragon.   These things are 48 inches tall and are mounted on a 1/2-inch wooden dowel.   Pure aerospace engineering.

I plopped down a bunch of money and had him send me two cases of these things.   They arrived at the freight dock a few days ago and I had to drive the van over to pick them up.   Two boxes each 2 feet by 2 feet by 4 feet in size containing 80 rockets each.   The 'Class 4 Explosives' sticker on the side of each box was a real bonus.   I am gonna have to save them for the scrapbook.

That night, me and the kiddos had a gen-u-ine rocket launch ceremony.   I placed one of these beauties in a liter-size glass bottle and the bottle fell over. Hmmmm- this thing was waaay too big.   I looked around the shop for a pipe to set it in, but realized that the only dirt I could drive the pipe into was in plain sight of my neighbor's house.   I knew he was a cool guy, but I didn't want him to call the cops.    You see, 'projectile-type' fireworks are totally illegal in this county.   I was surprised that the Buncombe County Sheriff Department wasn't waiting for me at the loading dock when I picked these things up.   Anyhow, I finally rigged a launch pad by prying up one of the driveway drain grates with a crowbar and sitting the stick into the deep pit.   Looked sorta like an ICBM silo with its hardened lid slid aside.

I asked which of my three kids wanted to light the fuse, but all took a few steps back and politely declined.   Scaredycats !   Kids just aren't made the same nowadays.   They fulfill their danger quotient by shooting bad guys in video games.   About as far from real danger as you can get, if you ask me.   I told the little weenies to stand back as I bent to light the device with a Bic lighter.

The lady at the fireworks importer promised me that these things would NOT make any noise.    I told her that they HAD to be relatively quiet so I could shoot them off in my neighborhood without causing 'undue alarm'.   She said I wouldn't have any problem.   I emphasized the particular legal problems I would have if there were any type of loud report at apogee.   I emphasized the fact that I lived right next to a National Park and that any type of firework that was discharged or assumed to be discharged on that property would get me sent before a FEDERAL judge right before I got sent to the COUNTY judge.   She again assured me I would have no problem.

She lied !

That rocket engine had a burn time about as long as any I had EVER seen, and the ascent echoed off the surrounding trees.   Diamond shock pattern extended from the back end. It kept going and going and going.   When it hit apogee at about 1000 feet, the rocket disintegrated into a huge shower of silent red sparks.   Pretty cool, I thought......until the shower of sparks burned out and suddenly transformed into a cloud of extremely bright and loud explosions. The kids scrambled into the back door, 'Three Stooges' style ... (i.e.: where all three try to get through the same closed door at once) ... and left me standing in the smoking haze waiting for the cops to arrive.   The dogs that live along our street were all barking their heads off at the apparition they had just witnessed in the night sky.

That ended the fireworks test for the night.

The next day, my oldest son Doug and I decided we were gonna neuter one of the rockets so it wouldn't make any noise.   I took him into the closet where I store the gardening tools and he saw these two huge cases of fireworks standing there.   The kid went nuts.   He wanted to open BOTH boxes so he could see what all 159 rockets looked like lined up next to each other.   This kid has promise.    I told him: "Since mom only thinks I have a few of these things lying around, maybe that wasn't such a good idea. "   He mulled that over for a few seconds, then gave me a real big smile in agreement.

We pulled one of the rockets out of the box and re-locked the closet door.

He and I both sat down on the driveway and proceeded to take it apart.   It was a standard issue big-@$$ Chinese skyrocket.   I bet they used these to kill people 500 years ago.   As I sat there taking layer after layer of paper off, his brain was filling with the details of construction.   Tissue, cardboard, plastic, fuses...etc.   Realizing that he was mentally storing the design for some future project sorta made me shudder.

Probably not too far from the facts, but I managed to do a bit of explaining to him from the standpoint of aerospace engineering regarding how the thing worked.   Doug is probably the only 4th grader in the U.S. who can now describe the principle of thrust using a control volume model.

The rocket was pretty simple.   It had a very large booster engine topped with a warhead that contained the red sparkly things that exploded.   Removing the warhead was as simple as giving a quick twist, and I assumed the neutered rocket would fly higher without the payload.   I was correct. Doug and I did a daylight 'stealth' test and were able to add about 50% to the altitude attained the previous night.   We decided to modify four more rockets and put them aside in the closet for easy access.   When this was done, Doug had a jar full of stuff that came out of the warheads including:   12 fuses about 3-inches long each, some paper, 4 plastic nosecones and a big handful of these little black balls about the size of 12-gauge buckshot that turned out to be the 'red sparkly popper things'.   It appeared that the outer layer was a simple gunpowder coating designed to quickly burn off as red shower of sparks.   I surmised that the inner core had some kind of magnesium thermite that gave off an intense white light and a loud bang.   Pretty cool if you ask me.   Lots of energy packed into one teeny little ball.

I didn't want to see the popper thingies go to waste, so I told Doug we were gonna put them in a hole in the ground and set them off.   He gave me another big smile.

It's amazing how kids think alike ... even when separated by 30 years.

As I was digging a shallow hole with my hand, Doug asked if it would be alright to put an army man next to these things so that "When they go off, it would look like he was getting shot with a machine gun".   Dang....exactly what I was thinking.   I agreed and he ran off to his room to dig something out of the mess.   He returned in about 3 seconds, out of breath and holding a cheap plastic imitation of Robert E. Lee on horseback and a Civil War cannon.   I pointed out that they didn't have true machine guns in the Civil War, but we would overlook this for the purpose of the demonstration.   He handed me the action figure and I placed it and the cannon next to a rather large pile of black beads from which a few of the fuses extended.
I figured that three inches of fuse would take 2 seconds to burn, so I had at least that amount of time to stand up and take a few steps back.   I neglected to recount the night before...when the warhead ignited IMMEDIATELY upon reaching apogee.   Tricky Chinese.   They had installed extremely fast-burning fuse in these things and that fact totally escaped me.

I squatted next to Robert Lee and gave a short eulogy.   Doug laughed.   I took the trusty Bic lighter and placed it next to the fuse.   One flick got the lighter going and THIS IMAGE IS ONE I WILL REMEMBER FOR A LONG TIME.   My hand holding a lighter next to a pile of explosives.

There is usually a short but noticeable mental pause that occurs immediately before something bad or really stupid happens.   It is where that little voice in your head says: "You dumb@$$."

The fuse burn time was in the 1/1000ths of a second range.   The pile of little popper thingy's immediately ignited into a tremendously brilliant ball of fire.
All I could think was ..."...th....th.....thermite..."   Unfortunately, when they are viewed at ground zero, these little popper thingies become REALLY BIG POPPER THINGIES and have a tendency to jump up to 15-feet in every direction from their point of ignition.   I instantaneously became engulfed in a ball of fire that sounded a lot like being in a half-done bag of Orville Redenbacher's popcorn.

It was all over about as fast as I could snap my fingers.

After the smoke cleared, Doug started laughing his butt off.   That meant I was still in one piece.   Doug does not laugh at dismembered limbs.   He said I jumped about 10-feet, an action that I do not remember.   I checked my clothes for burn marks, and found none.   Hash marks on the other hand, would have to wait for a more discrete, private moment.   Doug checked my back to make sure it was not on fire.   No combustion there.   The driveway was peppered with black holes where the concrete had been scarred from these things.

A close one.   Another REAL close one.   My mind ran the tapes again to re-hash what it had seen.   All I remembered was being inside something akin to a 30-foot diameter...flaming dandelion.   Whew !

We examined Ol' Robert E. at ground zero.

Instead of a machine-gun peppering, he got nuked.   He and the horse he rode in on ... and his cannon too.   One side was untouched, but the other side was arc-welded.   Real warfare.   Doug examined it real quiet-like and then started laughing again.
I assume he will remember the finer points of the lesson, as he grows older.   When I now speak of 'almost being burned beyond recognition' he will have a slightly better understanding of what I mean.   I hope that this vivid image tempers the knowledge he now has regarding rocket construction.

O well.   After all, if your dad isn't gonna teach you how to get your butt blown off, who will ?

Sharing . . . !

An elderly couple visit McDonalds. He orders one hamburger, one order of french fries and one drink.

The old man unwraps the plain hamburger and carefully cuts it in half. He places one half in front of his wife.   He then carefully counts out the french fries, dividing them into two piles and neatly placing one pile in front of his wife. He takes a sip of the drink, his wife takes a sip and then sets the cup down between them.    As he begins to eat his few bites of hamburger, the people around them keep looking over and whispering.   You could tell they were thinking,   "That poor old couple - all they can afford is one meal for the two of them."

As the man begins to eat his fries a young man comes to the table.   He politely offers to buy another meal for the old couple.   The old man says they are just fine ... They are used to sharing everything.

The surrounding people notice the little old lady hasn't eaten a bite. She sits there watching her husband eat and occasionally takes turns sipping the drink. Again the young man comes over and begs them to let him buy another meal for them.    This time the old woman says "No, thank you, we are used to sharing everything."

As the old man finishes and is wiping his face neatly with the napkin, the young man again comes over to the little old lady who has yet to eat a single bite of food and asks   "What is it you are waiting for ?"

She answers....

The TEETH !

The Toad . . !

A widow was feeling rather lonely and decided that the best thing for her would be to have a companion.   So, off she went to the pet shop.   She wasn't sure just what kind of pet she'd like, so she figured she'd just walk around until she found just the 'right one.'   She went past the adorable little puppies, past the playful kittens, past the preening birds, past the sleeping hamsters, past the whirling gerbils, and past the colorful fish.

Nothing really appealed to her and seemed to be just what she was looking for.   She decided to go around the store again.

On the way over to the puppies, she walked by a barrel.   At the bottom of the barrel was a rather nasty looking toad.   When she looked in, he WINKED at her !   Our poor widow just shook herself !   She couldn't believe it.   She rather quickly went back to the other pets on display.

Once again, she checked out those sweet little puppies, the darling kittens, the fluttering birds, the fuzzy hamsters, the sleek gerbils, and the darting fish. Nothing really, really did it for her.   She was starting to get discouraged.   So, she figured one last time around, just in case she missed something.

Going by the barrel again, she took another peek.   There was that nasty toad, and this time, he puckered up & threw her a kiss !    This was almost too much for the poor widow and she just about ran over to the other pets.   She tried hard to find just the right one to take home with her, but not one of those cute puppies or silky kittens or chirping birds or golden hamsters or skinny gerbils or fancy fish seemed right for her.   Totally discouraged by now, the widow decide to go home.

On the way out of the shop, she had to walk past the barrel again.   As she furtively peeked in, the toad just gave her the most beseeching look, and he had a little tear on the corner of his eye.   He even sniffed a bit.   This was too much for our widow, she started heading for the exit in a hurry.

All of a sudden it struck her that this poor toad was probably just as lonely as she was.   Not only that, but he was so ugly that no one would probably buy him, especially not with all the other nice pets available.

So up to the counter she marched, told the salesperson she'd take the toad, but requested that he be put in a sturdy box.   When she got to her car, she placed the box on the seat next to her and proceeded to drive home.   As she was driving along, she heard some scratching coming from the box.   She tried to ignore it for a bit, but then thought that the toad might need some air, so she opened the box a bit . . . (What could it hurt ?)

She would glance over at the toad from time to time, and he kept winking at her and throwing her kisses.

She finally thought, "Oh heck, what could it hurt ?" and she leaned over and KISSED him !

And POOF !    He turned into a HANDSOME PRINCE !!!

And do you know what our poor widow turned into ?

The first motel she came to !

Who's on First.....(with a new twist) . . . !

You have to be old enough to remember Abbott and Costello, and too old to REALLY understand computers, to fully appreciate this.   For those of us who sometimes get flustered by our computers, please read on . . . If Bud Abbott and Lou Costello were alive today, their infamous sketch, "Who's on First ?" might have turned out something like this:   Enjoy . . .

COSTELLO CALLS TO BUY A COMPUTER FROM ABBOTT

ABBOTT: Super Duper computer store.   Can I help you ?
COSTELLO: Thanks.   I'm setting up an office in my den and I'm thinking about buying a computer.
ABBOTT: Mac ?
COSTELLO: No, the name's Lou.
ABBOTT: Your computer ?
COSTELLO: I don't own a computer.   I want to buy one.
ABBOTT: Mac ?
COSTELLO: I told you, my name's Lou.
ABBOTT: What about Windows ?
COSTELLO: Why ? Will it get stuffy in here ?
ABBOTT: Do you want a computer with Windows ?
COSTELLO: I don't know.  What will I see when I look at the windows ?
ABBOTT: Wallpaper.
COSTELLO: Never mind the windows.   I need a computer and software.
ABBOTT: Software for Windows ?
COSTELLO: No.   On the computer !   I need something I can use to write proposals and track expenses and run my business.   What do you have ?
ABBOTT: Office.
COSTELLO: Yeah, for my office.   Can you recommend anything ?
ABBOTT: I just did.
COSTELLO: You just did what ?
ABBOTT: Recommend something.
COSTELLO: You recommended something ?
ABBOTT: Yes.
COSTELLO: For my office ?
ABBOTT: Yes.
COSTELLO: OK, what did you recommend for my office?
ABBOTT: Office.
COSTELLO: Yes, for my office !
ABBOTT: I recommend Office with Windows.
COSTELLO: I already have an office with windows !   OK, let's just say I'm sitting at my computer and I want to type a proposal.   What do I need ?
ABBOTT: Word.
COSTELLO: What word ?
ABBOTT: Word in Office.
COSTELLO: The only word in office is office.
ABBOTT: The Word in Office for Windows.
COSTELLO: Which word in office for windows ?
ABBOTT: The Word you get when you click the blue "W".
COSTELLO: I'm going to click your blue "w" if you don't start with some straight answers.   What about financial bookkeeping ? Y  ou have anything I can track my money with ?
ABBOTT: Money.
COSTELLO: That's right.   What do you have ?
ABBOTT: Money.
COSTELLO: I need money to track my money ?
ABBOTT: It comes bundled with your computer.
COSTELLO: What's bundled with my computer ?
ABBOTT: Money.
COSTELLO: Money comes with my computer ?
ABBOTT: Yes.   No extra charge.
COSTELLO: I get a bundle of money with my computer ?   How much ?
ABBOTT: One copy.
COSTELLO: Isn't it illegal to copy money ?
ABBOTT: Microsoft gave us a license to copy Money.
COSTELLO: They can give you a license to copy money ?
ABBOTT: Why not ?    THEY OWN IT !

(A few days later)

ABBOTT: Super Duper computer store.   Can I help you ?
COSTELLO: How do I turn my computer off ?
ABBOTT: Click on "START"

Tall Cotton ~ a Fairy Tale:

Many years ago in the Land of Cotton - ( sounds of strident Sousa marches in background ) - in the province of Boll, lived two boll weevils.   One, the titular head of the province, was rich and all-powerful.   He had sumptious quarters in the most desirable area of the Boll and lived on a grand scale.   He ruled his subjects in the fashion of a true, yet un-crowned monarch;    handing out largesse to all and sundry of the lower classes, paid for by the taxes of the other gentry of the province and a misguided "middle-class" insect population.

The other weevil came from the dregs of Boll society . . . born out of wedlock . . . orphaned at an early age . . . he grew up in the most miserable environment.  An environment that taught him to lie . . . to cheat . . . to steal, to keep himself alive, even to the extent of robbing his fellow under-privileged weevils for the scraps they scrounged from the Head Weevils' table.    Yet, learning from the teachings of the Head Weevil, he absorbed the techniques of obtaining the largesse . . . the welfare payments . . . the subsidised housing and food . . . the practices that gave an air of respectability to his activities.

Now it came to pass that both weevils died on the same day . . . yea, even at the same hour !

As the two of them approached the Pearly Gates, seeking admission, they were met by St. Peter who bore the news that the recall schedule had gotten fouled up and that they were only permitted to register one weevil for entry at that time !    Problem . . . which one ?    St. Peter gave each an opportunity to make their case for admission.

The Head Weevil, asserted his superiority as first man up, and launched into a lengthy review of the good works undertaken by himself during his tenure as head of the Boll.    How he'd made weekly tithes . . . donated food and clothing to itinerant weevils, etc, etc . . . obviously it should be he who got to enter the Pearly Gates.

The poor weevil, stammering and stuttering, allowed as how he had done very little along those lines.    For most of his life he had lied, cheated and stolen to make ends meet . . . to be perfectly honest he had nothing going for him.

St. Peter thought for a few moments and made his decision . . . he turned to the poor weevil and said "You can enter, my friend !"

The Head Weevil exploded with fury !    Why him and not me ?    I have done good in most respects, whereas he's nothing but a cheap crook !

St. Peter replies . . "It was a difficult decision to make, but in the end I had no choice other than to pick the 'Lesser of the Two Weevils' !"