#16762
01/25/2001 3:01 AM
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Joined: Mar 2000
Posts: 11,613
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This one is from Geoff.
How about shaggy dog stories that include a REALLY bad pun? Here's one to start us off:
Atilla the Hun was among history's meanest men. He is reputed to have killed the first person he saw upon awakening, just out of sheer meanness. Needless to say, his attendants were thinning out rapidly, so they took council how to awaken Atilla in safety.
Upon pillaging a town, they discovered the town drunk in a wine vat unharmed. They thought that he might be a person whom they could use to awaken the boss - at least once. They told him that they would supply him with the finest wine they had in exchange for his awakening Atilla each day.
The next day the drunk staggered into Atilla's tent, shook him, and WHACK! out the drunk flew, slamming against a wagon, as Atilla bellowed his usual morning curses. The drunk staggered to his feet, unscathed by the blow.
The drunk withstood day after day, year after year of this ordeal, and became famous throughout the world as the
Souse of the Rising Hun.
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#16763
01/25/2001 12:40 PM
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Joined: Jul 2000
Posts: 3,467
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Jackie:
The others on this board may come to curse your name. I have a very large collection of shaggy dog stories, and you've just given me "license" to post some of my favorites. Here's an old faithful to start us off. It's a bit PUC, but the story doesn't work without it.
TEd
Dust devils swirled around Laughing Cloud as she waddled proudly down the row of tepees, her hands crossed contemplatively above her swelling abdomen. It's time, she thought to herself. My new son will one day be war chief of this tribe. She soon reached the large tepee where Cold Hands Shaking, the famous Cheyenne medicine man, delivered babies on a regular basis.
"It is time," she declared to Cold Hands Shaking, gasping as another contraction gripped her.
The medicine man moved his hands over her belly, poking and prodding gently. He nodded and smiled reassuringly. "I think you will have twins. Good fortune for the tribe. It will mean good hunting for many years. Come, let us make you comfortable. It's going to be a busy day, there are two others who will deliver this day."
Inside the delivery tepee, there were three large screened off areas. Cold Hands Shaking led Laughing Cloud to the largest of the three and bade her to lie down on the large tanned hide which dominated the space.
Racked though she was with pain, Laughing Cloud immediately noticed the strange text ure of the hide on which she was lying. "What manner of animal is this?" she asked.
"Do you remember when the Wild West Show was traveling across the prairies three summers ago? One of their strange animals died, and Buffalo Bill gave me the hide. It is called hippopotamus. I wish I had hides like it for the other areas, but there I have only buffalo and elk hides. Excuse me, I have to check on the others."
Later that morning Snow Comes Again delivered a 6-pound baby boy. At noon Elk Calf also had a 6-pound baby boy. And late in the evening Laughing Cloud had twin 6-pound baby boys. Which proves once again that the sons of the squaws of the other two hides is equal to those of the squaw of the hippopotamus.
TEd
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#16764
01/25/2001 1:54 PM
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Joined: Mar 2000
Posts: 11,613
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others on this board may come to curse your nameAh well, just call me hippopotamus-hide.  Ted, you are the very one I was most hoping would put some good ones here! Um--do I want to know what PUC means?
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#16765
01/25/2001 4:03 PM
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Joined: Apr 2000
Posts: 10,542
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speaking of twins...
a young mother gave her twin sons up for adoption when they were babies. one of them went to a Spanish family which named the boy Juan; the other went to an Egyptian family and they named him Amal. when Juan was 18 years old, he searched out his birth mother and sent her a picture of himself. she excitedly said to her husband that she would also like to have a picture of Amal. her husband replied, "But they're twins, if you've seen Juan, you've seen Amal".
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#16766
01/25/2001 4:20 PM
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Joined: Jan 2001
Posts: 13,858
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I can't remember (if I ever knew) how "shaggy dog" came to be name of this genre. Please, someone, take pity on my ignorance.
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#16767
01/25/2001 5:20 PM
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Joined: Dec 2000
Posts: 544
addict
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addict
Joined: Dec 2000
Posts: 544 |
Which proves once again that the sons of the squaws of the other two hides is equal to those of the squaw of the hippopotamus.
This is one of my absolute favorites. Thank you, TEd, for rendering it electronically, so I may inflict it on others..
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#16768
01/25/2001 5:50 PM
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Joined: Jul 2000
Posts: 3,467
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I think I meant PIC. Politically InCorrect, not Politically UnCorrect.
TEd
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#16769
01/25/2001 6:00 PM
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Joined: Apr 2000
Posts: 10,542
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according to M-W, a shaggy-dog story is ""a long-drawn-out circumstantial story concerning an inconsequential happening that impresses the teller as humorous but the hearer as boring and pointless; also: a similar humorous story whose humor lies in the pointlessness or irrelevance of the punch line".
just for the sake of the semantic wars, here is a "true" shaggy-dog story (no pun)...
an Irishman comes into a bar and orders three beers. he slowly drinks them one after another, then he orders another three beers and slowly drinks them.
after repeating this for several evenings, somebody finally asks why he orders three beers at a time, as the last one must be quite flat when he gets around to it.
"It's for my two brothers who left for America. We agreed to always drink a couple of beers for each of us as long as we were all alive."
but, the night comes when he orders only two beers, and the entire bar falls silent while he drinks them. when he orders another two beers, the bartender expresses his sympathy for the dead brother.
"What? Dead brother? Oh, you misundertand... No, no, my two brothers are alive and quite well, I assure you. It's just that I've given up beer for Lent."
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#16771
01/25/2001 6:26 PM
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Joined: Jul 2000
Posts: 3,467
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> according to M-W, a shaggy-dog story is ""a long-drawn-out circumstantial story concerning an inconsequential happening that impresses the teller as humorous but the hearer as boring and pointless; also: a similar humorous story whose humor lies in the pointlessness or irrelevance of the punch line"
Technically quite correct, of course, but incomplete, I feel. Bennett Cerf (my personal hero) published a great many shaggy dog stories (his words) in Bennett Cerf's Bumper Crop, published of course, by Random, his very own publishing company. He included the types of stories that Jackie and I related above as shaggy dog stories. By the way, do you know why it was called Random House? Because they would decide what to publish by plucking manuscripts at random from the slush pile of submitted mss.
Anyway, your story of the Irishman reminds me that few people (other than myself of course) know what happened to the poor fellow. On a trip to the interior regions of South America, he was captured by a tribe of fierce cannibals. They did not, though, immediately immerse him up to his neck in boiling water. Instead, they kept him penned up, and on the night of the full moon they would nick a vein in his arm and drink of his rich Hibernian blood. Patty tired of this after several months, and on the night of the next full moon he roared at them, "Kill me and eat me if you will, but you've gotta stop sticking me for the drinks."
TEd
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#16772
01/25/2001 6:30 PM
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Joined: Dec 2000
Posts: 13,803
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from the 40s and early 50s there was a talking dog who told shaggy dog stories.
It was by Crockett Johnson, author of Harold and the Purple Crayon. It was very adult without being the least ribald.
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#16773
01/25/2001 6:48 PM
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Joined: Dec 2000
Posts: 544
addict
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addict
Joined: Dec 2000
Posts: 544 |
Crockett Johnson, author of Harold and the Purple Crayon
who coined one of my favorite phrases from all of children's literature: "Then Harold remembered what the government likes to do in the desert. It likes to shoot off rockets." From Harold's Trip to the Sky
Also wrote, after Harold had a picnic, at which "There was only pie, but there were all nine kinds of pie that Harold liked best" and couldn't eat all the pies, that he drew up a "hungry moose and a deserving porcupine to finish them off."
Great stuff, for my childish mind.
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#16774
01/26/2001 2:35 PM
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Joined: Jul 2000
Posts: 3,467
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Yes, your honor, I killed Duane Montenegro. Yes, cold
blood. Uh huh, with malice aforethought. And yes, I believe
there were extenuating circumstances.
Well, sir, as you know, I am off the Professor Harold Hill.
Who was that? Damned if I know. We set down on planet about 17
standardays ago, just barely making it down with a failing mass
attenuator. And no money to buy a new one. So here we are on
McGillicutty's Reek, no money, 100 hungry adolescent boys, and a
dead mass attenuator.
The boys? Oh, I thought you knew. We are a traveling boys
choir. Professor Harold Hill's Boys' Choir, Inc., to be exact.
We adopt space waifs and teach them trades. The choir part is
just to raise money for it. So here we are stuck on the Reek,
and I have 100 hungry kids yapping at my heels, "Maude, Maude,
what's for lunch, what's for dinner?" Broke my heart, I'll tell
you, judge.
Get on with it? OK, but all of this really is necessary for
my defense. Anyway, I had finally scraped together a little
money for food for the kids, and was on my way to the market when
Duane stopped me in the hall outside the purser's office. "Oh,
Maude, what luck. I was looking for you. Shh. Look in my of-
fice."
One peek, your worshipfulness. One peek. That's all I
needed. Do you know what a Foy is? No? They're about the rar-
est of the sentient species at least on this arm of the galaxy.
Big purple monsters, normally, and the only totally hypoallergen-
ic DNA in known space.
What's that mean for us? Well, couple that with the fact
that they have twelve hearts, six large and six small, and you
get a heart donor capability for every species. In this guy's
case, though, he was turning green, which meant his minor hearts
had failed. In short, he was dying, probably only had a few
hours to live. "OK, Duane," I asked, "What's he doing in your
office? He's dying, you know."
"Well, he came to help us, Maude. He knows he's dying, and
like all Foys, he wants to be buried on Sordid Beacon. But their
fleet is headed inbound on the other arm. If we don't help
they'll have to freeze his body and keep it here on the Reek for
about 40 stanyears. He wants us to rendezvous with the fleet so
they can take his body back."
"So how does that help us?"
"Oh, it helps us in spades. He's going to donate his six
large hearts for transplant purposes if we agree to take the rest
of him back home. And each heart is worth about 3 million galac-
tic credits."
Yes, your honor, three million each. That would be enough
for a complete overhaul of the Harold Hill from radome to back
door. We'd be able to operate the boys' choir forever with that
kind of capital. When I finally got my own heart under control,
I asked "Duane, are you sure? That sounds extremely generous of
a Foy we don't even know.
And that's when I killed him. His dying words were "I'm
sure. Just before I left the office looking for you, he said
'Give my big hearts to Maude, Duane. Dismember me for Harold's
Choir. Tell all the Foys on Sordid Beacon's Fleet that I will
soon be there.'"
Not guilty? Justifiable homicide? Thank you, your honor.
TEd
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#16775
01/26/2001 3:11 PM
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Joined: Dec 2000
Posts: 13,803
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Grrrooooooaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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#16776
01/26/2001 4:03 PM
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Joined: Dec 2000
Posts: 130
member
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member
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Posts: 130 |
I'll see your extended groan and raise you an oof!
Please tell us that wasn't from memory, Ted!
Better than "It's a knicknack, Paddywhack, give that frog a loan!" anyday!
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#16777
01/26/2001 4:11 PM
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Joined: Jan 2001
Posts: 771
old hand
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old hand
Joined: Jan 2001
Posts: 771 |
In reply to:
Better than "It's a knicknack, Paddywhack, give that frog a loan!" anyday!
But I can't tell you how many 9-year-old boys I've endeared myself to through use of that as an icebreaker!
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#16778
01/26/2001 4:56 PM
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Joined: Apr 2000
Posts: 10,542
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we can see here the "shaggy-dog" evolving into the "feghoot"!
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#16779
01/26/2001 5:26 PM
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Joined: Dec 2000
Posts: 13,803
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Through Time and Space!
Ah, the good old days. Is Our Friend Ferdinand still published?
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#16780
01/26/2001 5:47 PM
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Joined: Jul 2000
Posts: 3,467
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I give up, ts. what's a feghoot?
TEd
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#16781
01/26/2001 5:49 PM
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Joined: Jul 2000
Posts: 3,467
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>Please tell us that wasn't from memory, Ted.
Well of course. The memory right here on my hard drive (the one on my computer!) But I can assure you I can tell it live just as well as I can recall it from memory.
TEd
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#16782
01/26/2001 6:03 PM
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Joined: Apr 2000
Posts: 10,542
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>I give up, ts. what's a feghoot? why teD, you don't mean to say, after all this time and money, you still don't google? [posting this link will, unfortunately, severely undermine this thread, but you brought this down on us teD!] http://www.awpi.com/Combs/Shaggy/
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#16783
01/27/2001 1:49 PM
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Joined: Jan 2001
Posts: 1,773
Pooh-Bah
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Pooh-Bah
Joined: Jan 2001
Posts: 1,773 |
TEd: You are right about the justifiable homicide part. 
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#16784
01/27/2001 5:34 PM
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Joined: Dec 2000
Posts: 2,661
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Louie Lobster died recently and went to sea world heaven.
Louie was completely sin free, and Poseidon, so suprised by this gave him a free day alive and in the flesh to experience any form of sin he wished. Louie thought for a moment, and said that he always wanted to go "dirty dancing". So Poseidon put him on the noon sub to Atlantic City, gave him 10,000 bucks and small hand held harp, and said "If you get in trouble, just strum the harp and you will be back by my side, safe and sound!
The sub hatch opened to the docks of a hotel and discotheque called "The Clam Bake" where Louie proceeded to have the time of his "life". After drinking and gambling for a few hours, he asked the waitress to get the owner, for he had a special request. Shortly thereafter, the waitress came back with the owner who said to Louie "I'm Sam Clam, the owner here what can I do for you?" Louie told him he was in town for one night, and that he would like the company of a lady who could "dirty dance" (as he slipped him a thousand dollar bill). Sam immediately got on the phone with his buddies and they found the best dancer in town for Louie.
Louie Lobster fulfilled his dream of being the hottest thing on the dance floor that night. He woke up the next morning with a huge hangover and at 11:55am. "Yipes!" He shouted, and he jumped up immediately, ran out the door, down the hallway, down the stairs, through the lobby out the front doors down to the docks where the sub to sea world heaven was waiting. He dove in just as the hatch was closing. Louie stood up and brushed himself off, and as he was rubbing his aching head he thought to himself in shame "Opps, I left my harp in Sam Clam's disco".
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#16785
01/27/2001 6:35 PM
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Joined: Nov 2000
Posts: 3,439
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Sam and Jane were a very nice couple, liked by their friends and business associates. Their one disappointment in life was that they could not have children so they both immersed themselves in work and became very wealthy and successful.
When they came to retire they discovered that although they were very happy with each other and still in love, something was lacking in their lives.
They discussed the situation with friends who suggested they get a pet to enrich their days.
Sam and Jane were quite taken with the idea. However they had spent so much time apart at their work they were rather looking forward to travel and a that putting a pet in a boarding kennels for extended periods would not be fair to the pet.
That seemed to end that and sadly Sam and Jane decided to go on without a pet. Then, one day Sam was passing a Pet Shop owned by a man he knew so, on a whim, he stopped in to talk to his pal Jim.
After the usual catch-up chat, Sam told Jim about his and Jane's decision about a pet.
Jim looked thoughtful and said, "I may have the solution.Come to the back room with me. Sam followed Jim into the back room and there, on a shelf, was a small furry creature about the size and shape of a soccer ball humming happily to itself.
"This may be the solution," Jim said. "This creature is unique. It is happy alone or with people. It doesn't eat or drink. It is affectionate and cuddly and a great companion. It is in fact an un-named species and so rare that we call it a "Rarey. I know you and Jane would give it a good home so you can have it if you want it. There is just one thing ... you must keep it inside and not tell anyone about it because they are so rare someone might steal it or put it in a lab to study it or something horrible like that."
Sam agreed with the condition of secrecy and patted the Rarey and was rewarded with a soft gurgle of delight from the creature.
Sam was delighted and, after a price was agreed upon, took the Rarey home to Jane who was thrilled with the new addition to their lives -- even though she had to keep it secret -- and named it Puffy.
Things went along swimmingly and Sam and Jane decided to go on a trip. When they got home all was well with Puffy except for one thing. Puffy was now quite a bit larger and no longer fit on the chair that Sam and Jane had set aside for it. The solution was to let Puffy live on the King Size bed in the guest room and that worked wonderfully well ... for awhile. Sam and Jane had grown to love Puffy who would cuddle with them, sing when they were happy and croon consolingly when things went wrong ... so when they discovered that Puffy was getting too big for the King Size bed they knocked out a wall and doubled the size of the room. Puffy was fine again. Sam and Jane were delighted and all went well for a time until they went on another trip.
When they came home they discovered that Puffy was now too big for the room!
Jane said, "We have to do something, dear. It's not fair to keep Puffy all cooped up. Go talk to Jim at the Pet Shop and see if he has any suggestions."
"Good idea," said Sam and off he went.
After telling Jim how much he and Jane loved Puffy the Rarey and how the creature had enriched thier lives, Sam explained the size problem to Jim.
"Aha," Jim said, "Puffy should be set free to return to his home." He went on to explain that Rarys were great swimmers and if put into the ocean they would unerringly return to the small island that is their home. After much discussion as to how to accomplish this Sam went home and told Jane. She was very upset about losing Puffy and cried until Puffy's crooning soothed her.
SAm, Jane and Jim spent some time thinking of where Puffy could safely be put into the sea and -- when Jim assured them a small drop would not hurt Puffy -- it was finally decided the top of a small hill that dropped directly into a deep bay was the spot where Puffy could be sent off to find his way home.
Sam arranged to rent a huge flatbed truck and a winch then, covering Puffy with canvas, and in the dark of the night to avoid prying eyes, he and Jim loaded Puffy onto the truck and with Jane between them in the truck cab they drove all night, hour after grinding hour, until they finally reached the hill by the sea.
There, they said their farewells and gently pushed Puffy into the sea. All three, tears in their eyes, held their breath until they heard Puffy singing and saw Puffy swimming into the early sunrise. They watched until Puffy disappeared and thanked Jim for his help and for all the years of happiness that Puffy had brought them.
Sam and Jane never got another pet. When they spoke of Puffy they remembered all the good times but, SAm said, it had been a tough decision to let Puffy go and the trip to the sea was difficult.
"Yes, indeed dear," Jane said, It's a long way to tip a rarey."
wow
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#16786
01/28/2001 9:49 AM
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Joined: Mar 2000
Posts: 163
member
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member
Joined: Mar 2000
Posts: 163 |
I think it must be the masochist inside me who keeps me reading story after story on this thread even knowing that I will not understand half of the punch lines.
Maybe I’m traumatized by a clever editor who decided it was a good idea translating and including one of those stories on a compilation of Asimov’s short stories I read being a teen, and not knowing a word of English by this time.
The story, as I recall, was about Sloan who had an alien pet, a sluggish creature named Teddy. He made a bet on his pet winning a race against a quicker one. Everyone on the spaceship was shocked with Sloan being so confident on his pet.
When the race started, as everyone expected, Teddy advanced at only a few inches per minute while the other one was running like a hare. Then, when everything seemed lost, Teddy using a unknown until this moment ability, teletransported itself to the finish line winning the race.
After that Sloan uttered the final phrase which ended the story:
“Todo el mundo sabe que el Teddy de Sloan gana la carrera”.
No translator or editor note explaining it. Only years after I figured out that the original end might has been something like:
“Everyone knows Sloan’s Teddy wins the race”.
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#16787
01/28/2001 8:07 PM
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Joined: Jan 2001
Posts: 13,858
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Dear Ann: I just got around to reading about Tipperary. Putting the punch line into yellow drove me nuts, as I simply could not read it, as part of my trouble with macular degeration makes it hard for me to distinguish close shades of color. But I finally found the "Selecting" it which gives reverse video, brought it out clearly, so I was spared the intense anguish of reading long buildup only to be denied punch line. Bill Hunt
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#16788
01/29/2001 12:10 AM
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Joined: Nov 2000
Posts: 3,439
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Carpal Tunnel
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Dear wwh, Sorry about that ... I should have remembered my own early troubles with yellow. In case there are others out there who are new to the Board -- You can "see" yellow by highlighting it ! And if the newcomers are really young -- the punch line is a play on an old song from World War ONE ... "It's A Long Way To Tipperary." (Ask your Granddaddy to sing it for you!) wow
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#16789
02/01/2001 3:59 PM
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Joined: Jul 2000
Posts: 3,467
Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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No one's posted here in several days. Here's something to get some interest back in one of my favorite areas of English:
Being a college graduate today is not easy. Ask me. Hell, don't ask me. I'm still gonna tell you. Fresh out of Harvard, cum laude, Bachelors in Business Administration, and female on top of that. The world was my oyster, right. Wrong. Dead wrong. You know how you're told "Don't give up your day job"? Someone should have told me not to give up my night job. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. And what makes it worse is my first name! Dorah, believe it or not. But call me Dolly.
After six months of resume rewriting, sidewalk shuffling, inane interviews with insipidly lisping personnel types, I finally hit bottom--a headhunting service. No, that's not true, it was really a personnel agency, a la Snelling and Snelling. One where I might have to pay someone a fee to get a damned job. Ugh.
But the first student loan payments were coming due, and a woman does what a woman gotta do, so, dressed in my one good suit, charcoal grey, cream colored blouse, high-necked, accesorized with a very discrete pearl necklace, limited make up, several copies of my resume and transcripts, and I guess a bad attitude, I was ready for my initial interview.
"Ms. Dorah Bishop?" The first thing I noticed was there was nothing to notice. This guy would have made a perfect secret agent. He was grey through and through, so average he almost wasn't there, if you know what I mean. "I am Greg Entwhistle. Before we get started, may I say you have a very impressive resume. I am certain we will have no trouble finding you a suitable position, most likely one with the fee paid by the employer, though I cannot promise that. But first we will start with some standardized tests."
"Tests?" I replied, "What kind of tests? I'm looking for an entry level management job, not a clerical position."
"Of course, Ms. Bishop," he replied smoothly. "We take great pride in the success of our operation. This is not a clerical test, but a proprietary examination that maximizes our opportunity to place you in a job that you will be happy with, which is the most important aspect of any position, don't you agree?"
I nodded politely. Two hours later I was finished with a bizarre battery of tests, some of them like the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Interview, some of them what appeared to be weird questions randomly generated and answered directly into the computer, some eye hand coordination tests, a real mishmosh. A waste of my time, I thought, this is going nowhere. And did that turn out to be wrong.
The next morning I presented myself at Entwhistle's office for the verdict, which was how I was coming to look at it. "Well, Ms. Bishop, the results of your tests were indeed interesting. Oddly enough, you are perfectly matched to only one job,and that job has been our oldest unfilled position for some time now. Between you and myself, I am going to earn a very healthy bonus if you accept the position. But please do not let that influence your decision."
Immediately all the bells and whistles started ringing, gonging, screaming, and sirening. If the job was that hard to fill, there was something desperately wrong. Noncommittal time, Dumb Dorah, I told myself. With a smile on my face and dirge in my heart, I asked, "What can you tell me about this job, Mr. Entwhistle? I am particularly interested in why it has been open so long. Not to mention what has been the resulting damage to the organization of not having the position filled?"
"Well, the job is, according to our computer, tailor-made for you. The correlation between the job itself and your skills, knowledge, abilities, and proclivities scores an amazingly high 90 per cent. I personally have never had a client with that kind of a match, and it probably is a record for this agency. The job has been open for quite some period of time because the employer is very precise in his expectations of a successful candidate. And while this is something we do not normally do, in your case we have forwarded our package to the employer, and the job is yours if you choose to take it."
Interestingly enough, Entwhistle had not told me anything about the job itself, so I pursued my inquiry. "Mr. Entwhistle, this is all very nice, but I still do not know what this job really is."
"Oh, it is medical research. An African corporation has a contract to supply monkey fur for research. Not, pelts, just the fur itself. They have a breeding farm where they raise these monkeys and then shear them every so often. They've altered the monkeys genetically, and they have very long fur, perfect for whatever the research is, and the contract is very long term, so there is plenty of job security."
"Uh, Mr. Entwhistle, this is fascinating as all getout, but what would I be doing?"
"Well, of course, isn't it obvious? Running the monkey farm. You do have a degree in business administration and this is a business."
"You have GOT to be kidding. I don't know the first thing about monkeys."
"That's no problem, the company has good technicians, but they need a good manager. And they believe you are a good manager."
"I thought for a moment. "That's fair enough, and flattering too. OK, I'll at least go take a look. Can you give me directions?"
"Yes, stop downstairs in the post office and get a passport application."
"WHAT?"
"Well, of course, dear Ms. Bishop. The job is located near Timbuktu, in the country of Mali, in east Africa."
"I guess that tears that, then," I responded after finally digesting this amazing exchange. "What's the next job I'm qualified for?"
"Actually, there are none. This is it. Oh, did I mention how much it pays?" I shook my head, then sat in stunned silence at the price this unknown company was willing to pay to get me onto a monkey farm in Mali. Sounded almost like a joke. The odd thing about this is that it really was not the money that decided me. Not sure what was, but it was not the money, though the thought of paying off all my college loans (which were considerable) in 18 months was a bit compelling.
Three months later I was the head honcho in charge of this farm that breeds monkeys for their fur. I wondered what the Harvard Alumni Association would say, but to tell the truth I found it very interesting, rewarding (besides financially) work that taught me a whole hell of a lot about business administration that I never learned in college.
Then came disaster. The pharmaceutical company threatened to terminate our contract due to an unacceptable level of dirt in the monkeys. So we had to start bathing them every day. Ugh, what a nasty chore that was, monkeys being disagreeable creatures without a lot of thought to cleanliness. In fact, I think they prefer being dirty.
So dirty, in fact, that they would stain a stainless steel sink in a matter of two months, leading to contamination, leading to our having to replace the expensive sinks so often that the expense was cutting into our bottom line. Ever seen the quality of dirt that will stain stainless steel? You do NOT want to, trust me.
A year passed, with profits shrinking monthly, and with no solution (soap or any other kind) in sight. I could see my job slipping away with the dwindling profits, and it was only the chance to see my American boyfriend that convinced me to take a few days off and go into Timbuktu, where I checked into the Timbuktu Hilton. Bob was due in the next morning, so I filled the bathtub up with hot water and soaked my weary (and not-too-clean) body. When the water cooled I pulled the plug and was rewarded with a gurgle of water into the drain. Then EUREKA. I realized there was no bathtub ring. The tub was pristine white, not a mark, not a blemish, not a drip stain, nothing. Unlike Socrates I was able to restrain myself from running naked through the streets. Instead, suitably dried and dressed, I learned from the hotel manager that all the tubs were made of this special wood, grown only in the forests of Mali, and guaranteed to stay clean. No hidden clauses. They stayed clean.
So I arranged to have one of these tubs installed beside each monkey pen. Thus it was that I became known in history as the arranger of "The Unbrownable Mali Sink, by the Hairy Simian Corral."
TEd
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#16790
02/01/2001 4:15 PM
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Posts: 11,613
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Ted, that must be the longest post in the Hx of AWADtalk to date--and I'm glad I read it! Thank you. This thread is well worth continuing, in my opinion.
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#16791
02/01/2001 4:17 PM
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teD, that was absolutely the wor... no, that would only encourage you.
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#16792
02/03/2001 2:46 PM
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>teD, that was absolutely the wor... no, that would only encourage you.
Ah, ts, I AM incorrigible.
TEd
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#16793
02/03/2001 6:18 PM
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this news item brings us full circle, back to Attila the Hun:
PRILEP, Yugoslavia (AP) - Outside a small Macedonian village close to the border between Greece and strife-torn Yugoslavia, a lone Catholic nun keeps a quiet watch over a silent convent. She is the last caretaker of the site of significant historical developments spanning more than 2,000 years. When Sister Maria Cyrilla of the Order of the Perpetual Watch dies, the convent of St. Elias will be closed by the Eastern Orthodox Patriarch of Macedonia.
However, that isn't likely to happen soon as Sister Maria, 53, enjoys excellent health. By her own estimate, she walks 10 miles daily about the grounds of the convent, which once served as a base for the army of Attila the Hun. In more ancient times, a Greek temple to Eros, the god of love, occupied the hilltop site.
Historians say that Attila took over the old temple in 439 A.D. and used it as a base for his marauding army. The Huns are believed to have first collected and then destroyed a large gathering of Greek legal writs at the site. It is believed that Attila wanted to study the Greek legal system and had the writs and other documents brought to the temple. Scholars differ on why he had the valuable documents destroyed - either because he was barely literate and couldn't read them, or because they provided evidence of democratic government that did not square with his own notion of rule by an all-powerful tyrant.
When the Greek church took over the site in the 15th Century and the convent was built, church leaders ordered the pagan statue of Eros destroyed, so another ancient Greek treasure was lost. Today, there is only the lone sister, watching over the old Hun base, amidst the strife of war torn Yugoslavia, and when she goes, that will be it.
Thus, that's how it ends, with No Huns, no writs, no Eros, and nun left on base.
---30--- [apologies to non-baseball (or cricket) fanatics]
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#16794
02/03/2001 6:25 PM
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Dear Ted,
I did not mean to throw down the gauntlet with my really long story. But since you picked it up and charged so brilliantly into the list I surrender the laurel wreath.
wow
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#16795
02/05/2001 3:54 AM
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Posts: 11,613
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[apologies to non-baseball (or cricket) fanatics]
Apologies not necessary, tsuwm and wow. I think we can
acknowledge Ted as the master of this realm, so the rest of us can just know we are operating on a lower plane.
Once upon a time, there was a young boy named Jack. Jack was a gullible lad. He got this trait from his mother, who could be described as gullectible. They lived in a cottage rather far from the nearest village. She sent him to town one day, to trade her record collection for as much food as he could get. Both of them hated this, because they just loved music, especially the early rock and roll songs. Many an evening, they'd put on a record, and just get down! But it had been a hot, dry summer, and their garden was doing very poorly.
Well, this was another hot, miserable day. Jack had the load of records on his back, and it wasn't long till he was
sweaty and thirsty. Lo and behold, he came upon a peddler,
who particularly loved the Motown sound. After looking through the record collection, he offered Jack some magic beans in trade. Jack, knowing he could get home and get a cool drink of water without the trouble of walking all the way to the village, accepted.
Of course, his mother was not pleased. Jack explained that the peddler assured him that the beans would grow clear up to the sky, where lots of treasure was kept by a giant.
There'd be plenty of money to replace the record collection, he assured his mother, and to add an irrigation system, too. Since she really didn't have a choice, she allowed Jack to plant the beans. To his credit, he tended the plants faithfully, and sure enough one of them grew so
tall they couldn't make out the top of it--it just disappeared into a haze of clouds.
They walked around the base of the plant, wondering whether to try the ascent. At length they decided Jack would give it a go. His mother went back in, to pack a bag with equipage for dealing with a giant. Jack came running in and said, "Mother, you don't need to pack that kind of a bag for me. There's no giant up there; Gladys Knight and the Pips are up there." His mother, knowing his gullibility, of course doubted this, so she asked how he
came by this knowledge. He replied, "I put my ear right up
against the stalk, and I heard it through the Great Vine".
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#16796
02/06/2001 12:50 AM
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Posts: 819
old hand
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old hand
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Gladys Knight and the Pips are up there.
Oh, silly me, I thought Jack was looking for some, er, uh, naughty stuff from Glad it's night and the Pimps.
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#16797
02/06/2001 12:24 PM
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the rest of us can just know we are operating on a lower planeThis is lower as in the Antipodean view of the universe's topography is it, Jackie? Otherwise I remain convinced that daggy stog shorries are humour's equivalent of Instant Fast Food in a packet - "just add humour"
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#16798
02/06/2001 12:53 PM
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Posts: 11,613
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I remain convinced that daggy stog shorries are humour's equivalent of Instant Fast Food in a packet - "just add humour" It wouldn't be fair for me to enter into a battle of wits with an opponent who is unarmed. (Thunch of banks to whoever posted that insult!  )
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#16799
02/06/2001 1:26 PM
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an opponent who is unarmedUnarmed combat works OK for the SAS, Green Berets,... [insert-vicious-thugs-of-choice-emoticon-(with-thanks-to-anna-wink)] So you wanna fight? They'll hear you scream in the State Capital
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#16800
02/06/2001 3:38 PM
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Unarmed combat
C? c? Oh, I see--For a minute there, mav, I thought you
said you were going to fight with an unarmed wombat.
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#16801
02/07/2001 3:37 AM
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Posts: 819
old hand
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I thought you said you were going to fight with an unarmed wombat.
Is wombat a contraction/combination of woman and dingbat?
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