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#16762 01/25/01 03:01 AM
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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.





#16763 01/25/01 12:40 PM
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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
#16764 01/25/01 01:54 PM
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others on this board may come to curse your name

Ah 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?


#16765 01/25/01 04:03 PM
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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".



#16766 01/25/01 04:20 PM
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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.


#16767 01/25/01 05:20 PM
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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..


#16768 01/25/01 05:50 PM
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I think I meant PIC. Politically InCorrect, not Politically UnCorrect.



TEd
#16769 01/25/01 06:00 PM
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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."



#16770 01/25/01 06:19 PM
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...as to the origin of the term, here's our friend Michael Quinion's take:

http://www.quinion.com/words/qa/qa-sha1.htm


#16771 01/25/01 06:26 PM
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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
#16772 01/25/01 06:30 PM
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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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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.


#16774 01/26/01 02:35 PM
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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
#16775 01/26/01 03:11 PM
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Grrrooooooaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


#16776 01/26/01 04:03 PM
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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!


#16777 01/26/01 04:11 PM
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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!


#16778 01/26/01 04:56 PM
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we can see here the "shaggy-dog" evolving into the "feghoot"!


#16779 01/26/01 05:26 PM
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Through Time and Space!

Ah, the good old days. Is Our Friend Ferdinand still published?


#16780 01/26/01 05:47 PM
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I give up, ts. what's a feghoot?



TEd
#16781 01/26/01 05:49 PM
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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
#16782 01/26/01 06:03 PM
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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/


#16783 01/27/01 01:49 PM
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TEd: You are right about the justifiable homicide part.


#16784 01/27/01 05:34 PM
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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".


#16785 01/27/01 06:35 PM
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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





#16786 01/28/01 09:49 AM
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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”.



#16787 01/28/01 08:07 PM
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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


#16788 01/29/01 12:10 AM
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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


#16789 02/01/01 03:59 PM
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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
#16790 02/01/01 04:15 PM
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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.


#16791 02/01/01 04:17 PM
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teD, that was absolutely the wor... no, that would only encourage you.


#16792 02/03/01 02:46 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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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]


#16794 02/03/01 06:25 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


#16795 02/05/01 03:54 AM
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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".



#16796 02/06/01 12:50 AM
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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.


#16797 02/06/01 12:24 PM
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the rest of us can just know we are operating on a lower plane

This 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"


#16798 02/06/01 12:53 PM
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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!)




#16799 02/06/01 01:26 PM
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an opponent who is unarmed

Unarmed 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


#16800 02/06/01 03:38 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.



#16801 02/07/01 03:37 AM
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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?


#16802 02/07/01 04:04 AM
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Geoff - As most wars go, you were just one contradiction away from one...


#16803 02/07/01 04:13 AM
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I'd like to share with you an excerpt from "British Veterinary News" which I stumbled across recently:

"Few English vets know about the key role played by one of our number in a sorry tale of Australian marsupial research some 40 years ago. My interest, sparked by an off-hand comment at a BVA dinner, led me to the archives of the Australian Veterinary Association and several retired veterinary surgeons in that country. The story, as I have pieced it together, goes as follows:

In February 1960, a bright young English veterinary science graduate began work in Sydney, under an exchange programme between British and Australian veterinary communities. For some years, Australian wildlife specialists had been concerned that numbers of Western Red Kangaroos were on the decline, and one theory held that it was linked to an unexplained but steady and measurable decline in the size of the females' pouches, resulting in increased mortality of joeys, possibly through suffocation.

At that time the drug thalidomide, after promising laboratory and clinical trial results, had recently been approved for human use. The young vet suggested to his Aussie colleagues that they try thalidomide on the pregnant kangaroos. The initial results were spectacularly promising. The drug appeared to have the effect of relaxing the abdominal muscles, expanding pouch size by as much as 35%, which resulted not only in more full-term successful rearing of joeys, but also in increased multiple births. The only side effect appeared to be that the fur of the the treated does and their offspring turned a darker richer shade of red. After limited lab and zoo-based trials, a programme of mass treatment in the wild was undertaken.

Unfortunately, about two years after the start of the programme, a worrying and statistically significant increase of limb deformities in the joeys concerned was noted, and the programme was immediately terminated. The devastated young vet returned home in shame, and immediately abandoned veterinary science as a career, training instead to become a University lecturer.

I tracked him down at his Lancaster home, where I was granted an interview, provided that I identify him only by his curious nickname "The Rhubarb Commando". Although the ageing ex-vet insists that he has had a long and rewarding career as a history academic, it is clear that he still harbours some bitterness for what he sees as his unfair treatment by the veterinary community in general. He did add, however, sniffling and wiping tears from his eyes, that he regrets the suffering that he caused the affected animals of the red kangaroo population."

The title of the article was:

Rheumy Rhuby rues roomy ruby roos.


#16804 02/07/01 10:11 AM
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>Rheumy Rhuby rues roomy ruby roos

I hope he's not hopping mad at being discovered


#16805 02/07/01 01:30 PM
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Oh, Marty, Oh, Marty!! That was hysterically funny!
Oh, you are wonderful! Why haven't you revealed more than
hints of this talent before?

"Hopping mad"...I love this place!

Musick--alas, too little, too late.
Now, Geoff--C'mere a minute, my dear--I'd like a word with you.


#16806 02/07/01 03:19 PM
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Marty:

That wasn't good, it was downright GREAT. It's just too bad that it needs such a limited (and captive) audience.

Ted

Here's one I wrote a few years ago.

God, how I loved that little flower shop. Of course it's closed now. The owner's in St. Elizabeth's. Probably won't get out until sometime after Hinkley does. You remember him, the guy who shot Reagan. President Reagan. Back about twenty five years or so ago. Yeah, most people try to forget.

But I wish you could have seen that little place in its prime. The only flower shop in DC with a revolving door. Like they have in fancy hotels. but it was what was just inside the door that always caught my fancy. George had this great big room about twenty feet square, kind of a lobby I guess you'd have called it. And that room was just full of statues. All of em sheep. George had a thing for sheep.

Now, I have to tell you this right up front. I wasn't there for the sanity hearing. I've read the transcripts, even though they're sealed to protect the public. But I think the public has a right to know. I'll probably go to jail for contempt of court. But I've only got a few months left, so maybe they'll be lenient on me.

Here goes. George's best friend is a guy named Sam, who travels a lot, and hardly ever got back to Washington. But one day, the revolving door dumped Sam into George's lobby, where he was greeted as a long lost brother. "God, Sam, it's good to see you. Want some coffee?"

"Love some, George. Then we can sit in the conversation nook here and catch up." No sooner had they settled in than Sam took a look around. "Interesting room, George. Love the statuary. Particularly that one over in the corner. The alabaster one."

George's eyes lit up. "Yes, that's my favorite of the whole lot, isn't she a beauty? A Merino. I had her specially commissioned a few years ago."

Sam sat for a moment, puzzlement evident on his face. Finally, he spoke, "Gee, George, if she's so special why do you have her hidden in the corner like that behind a potted palm? If I owned that statue I'd have it all by itself with a spotlight on it and special flowers around it. It truly deserves that kind of treatment."

George smiled ruefully. "That's what I thought. But it didn't work. I had her over there opposite the doorway when I first got her. But I had to hide her. It was either that or go bankrupt."

"Huh? Bankrupt? What the hell you talking about, George?"

"Sam, I don't expect you to believe this. But I'll tell you anyway. When I had the Merino over there by herself instead of hidden in the corner the customers stayed away in droves. They'd come in one side of the revolving door, see the statue as the door turned, and keep right on going out the other side. Business was off about 93 percent. Nothing but phone orders. And those were dwindling as word got around."

"Word? What word? George, this doesn't make any sense at all."

"Tell me. I couldn't figure out what it was, so I began calling my best customers and asking them point blank what was wrong. Every one of them told me that the setup in the lobby, with that one statue by itself, gave the whole entryway an aura of perversity. And before you ask, I haven't the slightest idea why. It just did. I pushed her back in the corner there, sent out letters to all my customers, and things are finally turning around a little. Most of them are starting to come back. But, damn it Sam, I do not understand it to this day."

Sam thought for a minute. "Well, George, I guess it proves what Smokey Bear always said. Lonely ewes can pervert florist foyers."

And to this day George drools onto his straight jacket.




TEd
#16807 02/07/01 04:15 PM
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Lonely ewes can pervert florist foyers

Now, Ted, that ain't necessarily so! Don't forget Sparky
the Fire Dog.

Psst--d'you reckon we ought to cue the young folk and the
outlanders whence came this pun?


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I leap to follow up on Jackie's suggestion.
The quotation is from a motto : "Only you can prevent forest fires."
Many years ago, LIFE magazine's last page always had The Picture Of The Week and one week it was a photo of a singed baby bear cub that had been rescued from a forest fire in New Mexico. He was named Smokey. The photo caused quite a national stir and the little bear became famous and was adopted as a mascot by the Fire Service. Since most forest fires are started by careless disposal of matches or by campfires that are not put out properly the slogan was adopted and "spoken" by Smokey. The real Smokey was at the National Zoo in Washington D.C. where he lived a good life until his death. However Smokey is still the Forest Service representative in public service announcements.
More info than you ever wanted to know about Smokey is available at www.smokeybearestore.com
Aloha, wow

#16809 02/07/01 09:41 PM
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cue the young folk

No need, we understand quite fully. Smokey is still being used.


#16810 02/08/01 01:10 AM
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Geoff - As most wars go, you were just one contra-diction away from one...

Pray tell, what does this have to do with the way the rebels in Nicaragua speak?


#16811 02/08/01 03:09 AM
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Denial is not just a river... the contr(a)ction came from your comb(o)(in)nation ... don't Miss quote or forget the placement of the WOMB-AT an a-lass... for you must speak more often and sooner (as warned) to avoid being accused of singing a nickel raga...


#16812 02/08/01 11:22 AM
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Psst--d'you reckon we ought to cue the young folk and the outlanders whence came this pun?

Jazz has spoken for the young, so I think I can say the same for the "outlanders", having all the qualifications of outlandishness. Smokey bear is not unknown over here, although he hasn't received much prominence lately, so maybe the set that includes young AND outlander would miss the point.
It was good to see the full story, though - thank you wow!




#16813 02/08/01 12:07 PM
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I feel it is time I added an histerical aspect to this thread, histery being my bag.
So, I will tell you a tale of the Norsemen and their impact on civilization. Many of you will know that the Vikings travelled to the Mediterrannean, via the rivers of what is now Russia. And there they found in use a type of boat, known as a caique, which is still in use round there to this day. They are fine looking, practical vessels, well suited to their task of carrying freight, passengers or fishermen. One Norseman, Eric the Unlikely, was so impressed that he purchased one, with the intention of introducing its use into the Norwegian Fjords.
Now, the quickest way to Norway from the Med. is via the Atlantic, the English Channel and the North Sea (to use their modern names, thereby hiding my ignorance of what they were called at the time by pretending to pander to my readers' lack of knowledge of this period) And this is the route that Eric set out on, late in September in the year ninehundred and blank. It is fine in the Mediterranean at that season, and he did well. When he reached the Atlantic, however, he encountered contrary gales that delayed him by blowing him almost to Madeira. (He didn't know that, or he might have overwintered in that delightful isle - but it hadn't beeen discovered yet, so he couldn't do that without altering history) By the time he reached the North Sea, it was early November, and the weather had turned very cold indeed. Added to which, the winds were contrary - as they usually are when you are in a hurry. There is probably a law of nature to describe this phenomenon
Eric began to run short of food, and to get very cold indeed. He was afraid of hypothermia - or would have been, had the term been thought of by then. So he built a big fire on the deck, in the place where he usually did the cookiong. This was a great comfort, and he felt much better, even to the point where he was no longer so worried about his hunger. The firs began to die down, so he piled on the remains of his fuel, hoping that the wind would change and blow him home swiftly.
It did no such thing, of course!
He ran out of fuel, so he used his wooden shield. Still the wind did not blow the right way. He used all of his luggage and all of the things he'd bought in the souvenir shops along the Mediterranean,
Still the wind blew contrary-wise.
He pulled down the sails and burnt them (they were blowing him away from Norway, anyway, he reasoned)
Then he pulled up the seats and burnt them.
At last - he pulled the off sides of the boat as fuel and the inevitable happened. Waves came over the sides and swamped the boat, not only quenching the fire, but sinking the vessel.

Which just goes to show that you can't have your caique and heat it.


#16814 02/08/01 08:53 PM
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So, I will tell you a tale of the Norsemen and their impact on civilization. Many of you will know that the Vikings travelled to
the Mediterrannean, via the rivers of what is now Russia.


This passage is now known as the Varangian Highway. The people who plied it were indeed Nordic folk, of a tribe called the Russ, whence Russia. Like your Eric, there was another Eric who pioneered this route, but died in his hasty first trip through unfamiliar teritory, going down in history as, of course, Eric the Dead. Sven the Foolish tried it next, and also died. Then Lars the Lost tried it and, well, you can guess what happened. Eventually some of decendants succeeded, and settled many cities along the route, but not before spawning the saying, Fools, Russ kin, where wise men fear to tread.


#16815 02/09/01 01:48 AM
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In a battle of wits, some are pacifists by neccessity...


#16816 02/09/01 02:45 AM
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In a battle of wits, some are pacifists by neccessity...

Are you nit-picking about my wit, or just calling me a nit-wit?


#16817 02/09/01 02:52 AM
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Which just goes to show that you can't have your caique and heat it.

I heard another version, wherein he was travelling with his wife, Edith. He had to toss Edith overboard to keep the caique from sinking, so he couldn't have his caique and Edith too. Maybe I heard wrong, though.


#16818 02/09/01 12:01 PM
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so he couldn't have his caique and Edith too

There is yet another version, which I am certain is apocryphal, that Eric was carrrying a Papal Bull (or edict) back to Scandinavia and was attacked by pagan pirates who confiscated the ship so that the Bull should not be delivered. Maybe you heard the same version, Geoff, but delivered by a Castillian.

This may also be the origin of Bullship



#16819 02/09/01 02:01 PM
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Maybe you heard the same version, Geoff, but delivered by a Castillian.

In the version I heard, the haughty Illian wasn't cast, but merely dropped on his head. This formerly aragon womanizer eventually recovered enough to go into a pub where he met a friend from Pisa who inquired, "How-a com-a you arrive inna da barsalona, whenna you likea da women?

This may also be the origin of Bullship

Oh, RC, I am cowed by your grasp of nautical lore!


#16820 02/09/01 02:40 PM
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I have no one to blame but myself for the fact that I, knowing better, read additions to this thread.

Thank you all for revealing to me an aspect of myself of which I was formerly unaware. I might as well start reading the S&M ads.


#16821 02/09/01 03:17 PM
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Oh, RC, I am cowed by your grasp of nautical lore

But as you get to know me better, you'll find this awe will not last for heiffer

And, I guess that ian wasn't Ill before he was cast on to his bonce.


#16822 02/09/01 04:21 PM
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you'll find this awe will not last for heiffer

Yes it will, since i know that, I'll love you , i'll love you, i'll love you till the cows come home..
(then i'll go back to loving the cows)


#16823 02/09/01 04:26 PM
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this awe will not last for heiffer

A full helping, and certainly mooving! And despair not, Sparteye - RC obviously is staggering under the load of a parcel (there is no more charitable explanation


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"How-a com-a you arrive inna da barsalona, whenna you likea da women?

Geoff, it took me a second reading to get this one! Two points, my friend.

Have your cake and edict, too...

Rhuby, come on now, stop it, you guys and Sparteye (she said feeling smug that she correctly discerned Sparteye's gender without being told)--you-all're givin' me a
tummy-ache from making me laugh so hard. S&M ads! Ohhh...



#16825 02/09/01 06:28 PM
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(she said feeling smug that she correctly discerned Sparteye's gender without being told)

Hey, now, Jackie! I saw "Sparteye", and I immediately thought "Hawkeye" from M*A*S*H! You can't blame me for having been raised in the sitcom generation!

Upon further reflection, it's kind of a cross between Hawkeye and Spartacus. Now do you understand my confusion?


#16826 02/10/01 04:40 AM
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Regarding the Shaggy Sheep Story heading, I'm wondering if I'm the only one here who appreciated Jazzoctopus' name for his character in his "Let's Write a Story" thread? Gunther Nilpferd= Gunther No horse. He saddled his sheep, as a consequence. Ursala Ovisrender= Ursala tearer apart of sheep. His story didn't develop allegorically, as these names suggested it should have. Might we have another go at it?


#16827 02/10/01 04:20 PM
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I'm wondering if I'm the only one here who appreciated Jazzoctopus' name for his character in his "Let's Write a Story" thread? Gunther Nilpferd= Gunther No horse.

Hmmm. . . was I supposed to notice that? The only creativity I was intending to use in his name was Nilpferd, which is Hippopotamus in German.


#16828 02/10/01 04:50 PM
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The only creativity I was intending to use in his name was Nilpferd, which is
Hippopotamus in German.


I ignored the "nile-horse" of the literal German and saw "nil," as in none, and horse. Oh, well, silly me! Of course, a hippo riging a sheep does conjure quite a mental image!


#16829 02/12/01 12:35 PM
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"Perish the thought that I should go into a subject that's already long in the tooth...", she started her post. Fiberbabe had grown to really enjoy posting to the board, and while it may have been a subject discussed previously, she truly wanted to hear the opinions of her educated & thoughtful new community.

Unfortunately, the subject on which she posted had been discussed and discussed and discussed until everyone was positively nauseated by it. Some collective unconscious took over the larger group and they all shunned her. No one would post a response to her new thread, and flame emails came to her private message box by the score.

That did not dissuade her, however; she returned to the thread at least once a day to edit and recraft her thoughts on the topic. She tended the unfollowed thread like a garden, with a devotion that rivalled the mother/child bond.

And it was due to this that she became known on the board as the Owner of a Lonely YART.


#16830 02/12/01 12:46 PM
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Thanks, Fiberbabe, fo giving me this. It sounds so much more likely than the version to which I have heretofore clung, which concerned (to cut a very long story to its minimalist extremes) an Outer Mongolian with unattractive personal habits allied to extreme halitosis, who became the Owner of a Lonely Yurt.



#16831 02/12/01 04:29 PM
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This one lacks the majesty of many of the other contributions, but given its link (in the non-URL sense) to another thread, I felt I had to share it:

It is well known that Mahatma Gandhi walked barefoot everywhere, to the point that his feet became quite thick and hard. He also was quite a spiritual person, frequently engaged in prayer, meditation and inner seeking. In addition, even when he was not on a hunger strike, he did not eat much and became quite thin and frail. Furthermore, he paid little mind to what little he did eat and, due to this haphazard diet, he wound up with very bad breath.

Thus, he came to be a super calloused fragile mystic plagued with halitosis.


#16832 02/12/01 06:11 PM
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super calloused fragile mystic

Hah! Thanks, Hyla - with that, you made this thread almost worthwhile!


#16833 02/12/01 10:00 PM
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Does anoyne recall the nameless fellow who took over for Quasimodo after his death? He had no arms, so the priest at Notre Dame didn't think he could do the job. They gave him a try, however, and he did marvellously - striking the bells with his face!

After many years of faithful service, the unfortunate man with no name and no arms slipped and fell from the belfry, falling to his death. As the crowd gathered around, someone inquired as to his name. Nobody knew, but one fellow said that his face had a fimiliar ring.

After him a beautiful young woman applied for the job. This seemed blasphemous to the priest, but, upon orders from the Cardinal, he allowed her to demonstrate her skills. She exceeded even her famed predecessor. So good was she that the townspeople and the clergy became convinced that she was a sorceress. The priest sent for the inquisitor, and he examined her. Upon finding no demonic affiliations, he declared her gifts to be God-given. He used the words, later stolen by a second-rate Englishman, "Therefore send not to ask for whom the Belle tolls."


#16834 02/13/01 12:39 AM
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Dear Geoff,
Obviously, you have joined the right Board ... where else would your talents be so groaningly appreciated.
wow


#16835 02/13/01 03:23 AM
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I heard it something like this:

Does anyone recall the nameless fellow who took over for quasimodo after his death? He had no arms, so the priest at Notre Dame didn't think he could do the job. They gave him a try, however, and he did marvellously - striking the bells with his face!

After many years of faithful service, the unfortunate man with no name and no arms slipped and fell from the belfry, falling to his death. As the crowd gathered around, someone inquired as to his name.
One of the onlookers replied: "I don't know, but his face sure rings a bell."

Desperate for a replacement bell-ringer, the priest asked the dead man's twin brother to take over. He also did a tremendous job, until with remarkable coincidence, he too fell from the belfry. Again a crowd gathered and somebody inquired as to his name. "I don't know," replied the same onlooker, "but he's a dead ringer for his brother."



#16836 02/13/01 03:26 AM
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Geoff, I loved your Notre Dame story! :-))
A real bell-ringer. Took a toll on my diaphragm muscles.
The belle rang it so well, let's clapper.

Do you know what the priest said when he got hungry for a
chocolate snack cake? He thought maybe she was, too, so he
asked her, "Would you like a Ding-Dong, belle?"


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"I don't know," replied the same onlooker, "but he's a dead ringer for his brother."

Actually, Marty, that's the version I heard, but I couldn't remember it, so I threw out what I could.
Thanks for chiming in!


#16838 02/13/01 03:45 AM
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Do you know what the priest said when he got hungry for a
chocolate snack cake? He thought maybe she was, too, so he
asked her, "Would you like a Ding-Dong, belle?"

And:
let's clapper.

I heard that the priest was having impure thoughts, and was plying her with sweets, thereafter giving her a disease, so that she died of the clap. I could be wrong, though.


#16839 03/08/01 09:22 PM
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A guy in Organic Chem lab took me in completely with a shaggy dog joke. He had mentioned that he had spent the summer in Europe. He said he had been in Budapest, where some friends talked him into going to see a spiritualist who was famous about being able to tell people things about their deceased loved one, even to get messages from them.
Having nothing better to do at the moment, he went by himself. The door of the spiritualist's appartment was very elaborately decorated with mysterious symbols. He could smell incense burning, and weird music in the background. He rang the doorbell, and waited a long time. When the doorbell was not answered, he noticed a very large gong, with a hammer hanging beside it. He picked up the hammer, and because he was annoyed, struck it violently. Almost immediated the door was opened by a very small wizend wizard, who just stood there grinning at him without saying a word.
"So, I smashed him in the mouth as hard as I could!"
I bit. "What in hell did you hit him for?"
"My mother told me always strike a happy medium."


#16840 03/12/01 11:06 PM
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The shaggy dog killer am I.


#16841 03/13/01 08:47 PM
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#16842 03/13/01 09:44 PM
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THE MORAL: If you're hung like a horse, you don't need a BMW to pick up chicks.

DAMN!! Why can't I get the question, "is he?" out of my head?!



#16843 03/13/01 10:03 PM
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THE MORAL: If you're hung like a horse, you don't need a BMW to pick up chicks.

When I was working at McLean Hospital, a very high priced laughing academy, there was a patient there who was a scion of one of the oldest blue-blooded clans. When the lady psychiatrist taking his history in a filled lecture hall asked him how many girls he had had intercourse with, he answered "About two thousand." She exclaimed "I meant different girls, not times!" He answered " I meant dfferent girls." He had a very expensive convertible, and would wait outside shoe factories as the girls came out, and offer them rides. He had no trouble finding girls who were "game" when they looked at the car, and his handsome face. But he never asked the same girl twice, and there were a lot of shoe factories back then. But his alcoholism prevented him from setting record Wilt Chamberlain could not beat. So you don't have to be hung like a horse if you've got a Mercedes.


#16844 03/14/01 01:46 AM
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THE MORAL: If you're hung like a horse, you don't need a BMW to pick up chicks.

Some years ago I was lamenting to the "stud" in my bicycle club about my lack of connubial connection, whereupon he, who had a new woman every week, made the following suggestion to me: "Buy a new, ultra high tech, $2,000 bike, buy the latest yuppie lycra outfit, and, to enhance your sex appeal, put a medium sized potato in your shorts." I complied with his suggestion, much to the chagrin of my bank account, and set out to try my luck. The bike chics I encountered, rather than being friendly, only pointed and laughed. Upon my return from my ride I told the Club Stud of my dismal failure. He looked me over, then suggested, "Put the potato in front."


#16845 03/14/01 02:41 AM
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Dear Geoff: Wasn't it uncomfortable, riding with three gonads? Two regular, one prosthesis?


#16846 03/14/01 08:51 PM
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"Put the potato in front."

Oh, Geoff, oh Geoff! Your tail-telling is in arrears...
[high-'tailing' it back into the gutter emoticon]




#16847 03/15/01 03:32 PM
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I have been reading all of your stories over the past two days, and I must admit that I've thoroughly enjoyed them. Here's one I heard a while ago...

There was a British expedition exploring the depths of Africa in the late 19th century. The plan was for the group to start in South Africa and slowly make its way up the continent, cataloging various species of animals and taking notes on all of the tribes encountered. Towards the beginning of the trip, the group encountered a very generous tribe and camped for a few weeks with them. When the time came to travel on, the chief gave the group many gifts, including his grand mahogany throne. The group continued into the interior of the Dark Continent and, after a while, encountered a savage tribe of cannibals. In order to spare themselves, the members of the expedition granted the chief of the cannibals all of their acquired gifts, including the throne. The chief was completely enthralled with the chair, and decided to have it kept in his own private hut. Not having much floor-space, the chair was hoisted up to the primitive attic of the small hut. Over night, the weak woven grass floor of the attic gave way and the chair toppled to the ground, crushing the chief as he slept. The moral of the story is, "People who live in grass houses shouldn't stow thrones."


#16848 03/15/01 03:58 PM
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Dear nathanw5: A moral to remember. And please let us have an encore or two. Bill Hunt


#16849 03/15/01 04:07 PM
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Dear Geoff: " Some years ago I was lamenting to the "stud" in my bicycle club about my lack of connubial connection..."

And to whom was the other half of the "connubialconnection"complaining ?


#16850 03/16/01 01:40 AM
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The group continued into the interior of the Dark Continent and, after a while, encountered a savage tribe of cannibals.

Of course, Nathan, not all cannibals are from the Dark Continent. There is an obscure reference in the Hollinshead Chronicles, if memory serves, about Fitzgerald the Scot, who was a cannibal. When he defeated someone in battle, he would roast the foe and consume him. On one occasion he bested the Earl of Gatsby and his champion, an unnamed knight. Upon devouring them he exclamed, "Tender is the knight, and the Gatsby's great!"


#16851 03/16/01 04:43 AM
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"Tender is the knight, and the Gatsby's great!"

ahhh, but you failed to mention how delectable his three comrades tasted...


#16852 03/16/01 02:56 PM
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ahhh, but you failed to mention how delectable his three comrades tasted...

Ahhh, b96, since you've obviously read this obscure footnote to ancient English history, why don't you tell us? It is, after all, a story into which we can sink our teeth. Well, so much for biting remarks... However, my mother, a prudish English teacher, would take umbrage to my suggesting that you do this, since she always told me never to end a sentence with a proposition


#16853 03/17/01 01:29 PM
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This hairy hound thread started with a story I sent privately to Jackie. Now here's one she sent to me privately. It's not original, but it, awful enough to print:

A man is dining in a fancy restaurant and there is a gorgeous redhead
sitting at the next table. He has been checking her out since he sat down,
but lacks the nerve to talk with her.Suddenly she sneezes and her
glass eye comes flying out of its socket towards the man. He reflexively reaches
out, grabs it out of the air, and hands it back.
"Oh my, I am so sorry," the woman says as she pops her eye back in
place. "Let me buy your dinner to make it up to you."
They enjoy a wonderful dinner together, and afterwards the woman invites
him to the theater followed by drinks. After paying for everything, she
asks him if he would like to come to her place for a nightcap ...and stay
for breakfast the next morning. She cooks a gourmet meal with all the trimmings,
makes mad, passionate love to him, and prepares a sumptuous breakfast the
next morning.
The guy is amazed! Everything had been incredible!
"You know," he said, "you are the perfect woman. Are you this nice to every guy you meet?"
"No," she replies.........
"You just happened to catch my eye."




#16854 03/19/01 06:39 PM
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I used this as the toast at my cousin's wedding reception... apparently I sold it pretty well, because for the remainder of the evening, guests were approaching my cousin trying to appear casual in assessing which of her eyes was fake.


#16855 03/19/01 07:27 PM
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And hoping for a chance to catch it?


#16856 03/19/01 08:04 PM
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>And hoping for a chance to catch it?

That would have provided an interesting variant on the tossing of the bridal bouquet...



#16857 03/20/01 10:51 AM
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This dog is so long in the tooth it looks like a walrus.

Try over here now: http://wordsmith.org/board/showflat.pl?Cat=&Board=wordplay&Number=21555


#16858 04/02/01 01:39 PM
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Over many years BBC radio had a literary quiz game called "My Word" in which two teams of two were posed questions. The regular team captains were Frank Muir and Dennis Norden. One of the regular questions involved each team being given a quotation at the start of the show, and the guest team member having to give the correct source, while Frank and Dennis would provide a shaggy dog story ending up with the quote. I have the utmost admiration for their skill, because the audience knew the punch line all the way through and yet the stories were so constructed as to hide the pun. Here are two examples (both I think from Frank who was the master). These are a lot shorter than the originals (which I shall now have to track down in the BBC publications, having been reminded of them).

Two Romans competed against each others at growing flowers. One of the Roman's gave strict instructions to the slaves that the roses be tended carefully, but while he was away, a lazy slave did not water the line of plants allocated to him and they shrivelled up in the sun. Realising he would get into terrible trouble, he sneaked over to the neighbouring villa that night and stole a complete line of roses which he planted in place of the dead ones, not realising that the dead ones were white and the replacements red. The next day when the Roman came to view the display, he saw line upon line of perfect roses, all white apart from a single line of red, and was heard to remark "Our roses arose. Is a row Cicero's?"

Frank was concerned about his neighbour who had a splinter in her bottom, which she got while watching the play which his kids put on his garden. They had formed the seating from planks which they had balanced in rows of increasing height; the first row balanced on bricks, the second on orange boxes, the third on oil drums. Unfortunately the planks had been left out in the garden over the winter, raising the grain, so that when the neighbour shuffled along to make room for someone, she pierced herself on the splinter. It was explained to Frank and his children that this all could have been avoided if they had stored the planks in a dry place over the winter. So if you have tiers, prepare to shed them now!

Rod


#16859 04/02/01 08:25 PM
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There was a man who entered a local paper's pun contest. He sent in ten different puns, in the hope that at least one of the puns would win.

Unfortunately, no pun in ten did.




The idiot also known as Capfka ...
#16860 04/02/01 08:55 PM
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My aunt bought 25,000 tickets in the Florida lottery in the hopes of winning enough money for a geo-positioning-device to install in her desktop computer.

She didn't hit once.


#16861 04/03/01 11:58 AM
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An article in the UK Times (?) this weekend bemoaned the new Sports Editor on the Sun tabloid newspaper having banned puns from the Sun's sports headlines. One example of their previous art (and it can be googled) was when Caledonians (unexpectedly) beat Celtic by a large margin in teh Scottish soccer league. The headline was: "Super Cally go ballistic, Celtic are atrocious". And they want to ban it?

Rod


#16862 04/03/01 01:53 PM
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the new Sports Editor on the Sun tabloid newspaper having banned puns

Tight ass!
wow


#16863 04/03/01 03:33 PM
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"the new Sports Editor on the Sun tabloid newspaper having banned puns"

Or maybe vice versa, panned buns from being in the hot seat?




#16864 04/05/01 05:19 AM
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Rodward: the new Sports Editor on the Sun tabloid newspaper having banned puns

wow: Tight ass!

I don't think page 3 is within the Sports Editor's remit .

Bingley


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#16865 04/05/01 08:50 AM
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My view of The Sun.

1. Evil empire - it belonga Rupert Murdoch.

2. Worst rabble-rouser in the UK, hiding behind freedom of the press laws.

3. Grudgingly concede an occasional felicity with the language, uncluding the creation of some surprising 'classics' (however politically objectionable they may be). Just two front page headlines as examples:

a. Gotcha!: when the British forces sank the Belgrano during the Falklands War

b. (Against snap of Labour party leader, prior to general election) If this man wins will the last person to leave England please turn out the lights: after the Conservative party won the election (fourth in a row?), the paper crowed: It woz the Sun wot won it

I didn't google, so I may have misquoted some bits.

cheer

the sunshine warrior


#16866 04/16/01 02:02 PM
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The Lone Ranger and Tonto walked into a bar and sat down to drink a beer. After a few minutes, a big tall cowboy walked in and said "Who owns the big white horse outside?"

The Lone Ranger stood up, hitched his gun belt, and said, "I do...Why?"

The cowboy looked at the Lone Ranger and said, "I just thought you'd like to know that your horse is about dead out there!"

The Lone Ranger and Tonto rushed outside, and sure enough Silver was ready to die from heat exhaustion. The Lone Ranger got the horse some water and soon Silver was starting to feel a little better.

The Lone Ranger turned to Tonto and said, "Tonto, I want you to run around Silver and see if you can create enough of a breeze to make him start to feel better. Tonto said, "Sure, Kemosabe" and took off running circles
around Silver.

Not able to do anything else but wait, the Lone Ranger returned to the bar to finish his drink. A few minutes later, another cowboy struts into the bar and asks, "Who owns that big white horse outside?"

The Lone Ranger stands again, and exclaims, "I do, what's wrong with him this time?"

The cowboy looks him in the eye and says, "Nothing, but you left your Injun runnin"


#16867 04/17/01 07:59 PM
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here's one I discovered whilst searching for the usage of endochronic...

(This is a one of those alternate universe tales) Now Josie/backwards was much the same as the Josie we know and love, but with a few significant differences. While Josie is a timecop, Josie/backwards is a time-criminal (or a daybreaker as they call them over there). And often, in order to avoid being caught by her world's timecops, she slips across the bridge to our universe. Normally she'd merely stay out of sight, but she's such a humor lover that she was irresistably drawn to Callahan's on a Punday Night. The Patrons pride themselves on being a pretty observant bunch, but they didn't catch on to Josie -- until the winning pun of the night was offered. Doc Webster told such a stinker that Josie/backwards forgot herself, and the fact is that while the time cop Josie groans at great/awful puns, the outlaw Josie wails.


#16868 04/18/01 07:21 AM
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, the outlaw Josie wails.

[groan emoticon]

I can go one similar. And this one's true. Someone I know name her child Cody William. And wondered when I just about collapsed from laughter when she told me ...



The idiot also known as Capfka ...
#16869 04/18/01 07:22 AM
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, the outlaw Josie wails.

[groan emoticon]

I can go one similar. And this one's true. Someone I know name her child Cody William. And wondered when I just about collapsed from laughter when she told me ...



The idiot also known as Capfka ...
#16870 12/02/06 01:00 AM
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One of my most favorite Shaggy Dogs,

The Story of Penny

Penny was a hard working, conscientious girl, who lived on her own. Her dream in life was to go on an ocean cruise around the world. So she scrimped, and she saved, and she saved, and she scrimped until finally, one day,she had enough money to go on her ocean cruise.

One night, after they had been at sea for a week, Penny was walking back to her cabin when the heel on her left shoe broke throwing her off balance. If that wasn't enough, the ship chose that moment to heave to the left. As a result, Penny was thrown overboard.

A hue and a cry were immediately raised and after about five minutes they found Penny. Hauling her aboard, the ship's crew realized that it was too late. Poor Penny's body was saved but she had drowned.

Normally, they would have performed a burial at sea, but Penny was a very conscientious girl, and had written a will. In it, she specified that she wished for her body to be cremated, and kept in a jar on her parent's fireplace mantle.

Her wishes were fulfilled, which just goes to show you that a Penny saved is a Penny urned.


Rev. Alimae
#16871 12/02/06 02:36 PM
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The world was suddenly PennyLess?
This story belongs OVER HERE


"I am certain there is too much certainty in the world" -Michael Crichton
#16872 12/02/06 02:43 PM
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Quote:

The world was suddenly PennyLess?
This story belongs OVER HERE




May I inquire as to, in your own oppinion, what makes my Shaggy Dog story more appropriate in your above mentioned forum and not here where I placed it to begin with?

Yes, it is a pun on words, but it is a Shaggy Dog Story none the less. So please help me understand.


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#16873 12/02/06 02:52 PM
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First, it struck me as an excellent example of a pun.
Fortunately, the very nature of the Internet (and web pages, and forums, et cetera) makes it a simple matter, with "links", for it to appear in both places!


"I am certain there is too much certainty in the world" -Michael Crichton
#16874 12/02/06 03:08 PM
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Point made and agreed.


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#16875 12/02/06 06:30 PM
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Might the punchline for the abovementioned Shaggy Dog story be:

"a Penny saved is a Penny urned"?

--- and the pun in my name is intentional.

#16876 12/02/06 06:36 PM
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If you happen to look you will see that the punchline is there, you just have to highlight it to read it. Welcome to AWAD.


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#16877 12/02/06 08:23 PM
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I stand sat upon . Thanks!

#16878 12/03/06 05:05 PM
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Quote:

I stand sat upon . Thanks!



And I am often found sitting, stood-up.

Welcome to the community.


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Pennyless, could you by any chance be descendant from good Ser Illifer The Pennyless?

This then could be your story.

William the Conquerer, who was crowned King of what could be called South-England in 1066 , was the son of the Duke of Normandy, Robert I, 'The Illustrious' and the not so dumb blonde Herleve also called Arlette, a tanner's daugther.
Though not legitimite, Robert secured him for his succession which came to need soon enough. Robert died on his way back from Jerusalem (crusade nr. X) and the 7 year old William became Duke of Normandy. Some attempts to replace him were made but with the backing of king Henri I of France he stayed in the saddle. He became a good fighter and a lot of that was done right then and there.

At Hastings , where a battle was fought over the claim on the South-England throne, William was for some moments thougth slain and his army was retreating.
" Take a good look at me ! ! I'm still alive by the grace of God and I will prove here and now that I will be victorious! "
On saying that he pushed back his helmet and showed his face to his troops who at the sight of the ardent, determened face took new courage, surrounded their persuers non of whom survived.

But that's not the point.

It may have been with the grace of God but the fact is that it was a young brave squire who saved him from the fatal blow.

After all the figting was done and won, William rewarded the squire by knighting him. No keep, castle or land came with the knighthood as Willam was always in want of funds to do his conquering. The the new Knight called himself : Ser Illifer The Pennyless. ( Illifer beeing the rhoticized form of illustrious and Pennyless needs no further comment.)

He was an excellent storyteller , which helped him through hazardous battle situations by distracting his enemy with the "Wait a minute" tric ( mostly fatal to his adversery by a fatal swordblow from his fellow fighters in the midst of the tale.) With his captivating stories he always had the better of the pretty girls because his stories put them off their guard. And his famous saving King William got him to sit at any great Lord's table. (incl. servant whenches and sneaky ladies ).
Bards and storytellers were wildly populair in those days.

The countless liltte Pennylesses and lads that issued from these numerous happy encounters he could not legitimate because of his chronic lack of money and his wayfarer's life.
But those were the days before all the great moralists had said their say and nobody really held it against him. His offspring inherited his talents (most of the time)and they made their life just like he did, poor but always populair and well provided for.
Some took his name , some didn't . But anyway , the world must be crowded with his far descendants and some still carry the name. Like you f.i. Many of them crossed the big ocean through the ages and some, I'm afraid crossed the Channel.
All of them no doubt will sit at a hospitable, generous table for Christmas, all over the world.

The daughters BTW from the Pennyless 's lineage have the same talents and are extremely pretty and always marry wealthy husbands.

Alimae HP, I really liked your story , but it took me long to get the pun, because I did not know the saying. The others made clear that it was A penny saved is a penny urned (earned?) It was a pun well hidden to me.

Last edited by BranShea; 12/13/06 10:14 PM.
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Quote:


The daughters BTW from the Pennyless 's lineage have the same talents and are extremely pretty and always marry wealthy husbands.





What a sweet legacy! Not entirely true, but life is long...

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Hey, BranShea! You just can't rattle a good story like that.... me hanging on every word... racking my feeble brain to discover the hidden and, as I anticipated, inevitable pending punchline ...!!! That's akin to our resident punster TEd telling us a true story!

It leaves a hole in the universe.

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This was a punnyless pennyless story of the first category.:

" 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;"

Punnyless but...

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... But Musick, this might not yet be the dull, happy but harmless end of it. I did not want to get into details about the rather hard and trying times the Pennyless's offspring had to deal with in the cruel period of the Reformation and Contra-reformation.( they managed but only just so)
It's Christmas time and no old religion quarrels should be shoveled up (for the time being).
But in the dreary January days maybe that episode will be revived
at lance point .

(BTW. when I compare my punless story to the latest Bond -film my story was not even that much worse.
In my not so modest but honest opinion that movie is not a flop but a fraud.

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[quote...the latest Bond -film my story was not even that much worse.
In my not so modest but honest opinion that movie is not a flop but a fraud.



The original Casino Royale (with Orson Welles and Woody Allen) stands as a classic.

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I believe that one may be good. Here you name two actors. I'll keep an eye out for that one.

#16886 01/27/07 06:33 PM
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Episode II/ episode I / page 12

On his death bed, Ser Illifer the Pennyless, first of his name , legitimized his eldest son.
After all he was as vain as any man and wanted his name to last. The rest of the lot all just stayed lucky bastards.
That was the start of the tradition. The Pennyless' rule nr. 1 : inheriting nothing but a name.

Five Centuries have passed.

The year is 1574: England is stable under the reign of Elisabeth I . The World has changed!
Posh composers and slicky actors now hold the favors at Court and the bards and story- tellers must step down to inns and marketplaces. Bawdy songs, meagre meals, sparse coin.
So, the great- great -great-great- grandson of Illifer-first of his name decides to move to the continent.

The continent is in a stressful state.
After Martin Luther has nailed his 95 theorems (1517) to the Chapel door at Wittenberg Castle to ban Puppets and Popes and purify the faith to the bare bone, Huldrych Zwingli , a Swiss priest has his head taken off after he falls in the battle of Kappel. This gadget was sent to Pope Gregor XIII as a pleasant surprise.(1533).
He was pleased.
The third and most fanatic reformer, John Calvin , was killing all the wordly fun with his fundamental decrees. French nobility had already been in civil war for three years .

1574.
Illifer Penn is aware of these troubles but hangs on to the common notion:' It's an ill wind that blows nobody no good."
He crosses the Channel getting free fare for fair play.The wind is blowing just from the rigth angle ; he does not have to move one finger.
The lute plays by itself ...............

He couldn't have arrived at a better moment as he sets foot ashore. Or so it seems.

To cement a fragile peace between Catholics and Protestants a wedding is planned.
Cathérine de Medici's daughter Marguérite de Valois (cath. )is to be married to the protestant Prince Henry of Navarre .
Marriage means spending so Illifer hurries to get to the action. (Paris) A Marriage Galore!! He offers his talents, plays a few tunes, gets the job, asks to be paid in advance ("These are troulbled times, Sire!") and when he steps into the banquet hall, his purse is filled with golden ducats. (That proved to have been good thinking). The food is excellent and he gives his best on the most courteous repertoire till everyone is deaf drunk. Then he retires to a little service room to rest. A servant girl named Mimi Louise just happens to be there for the same reason. There are some language problems , but for the rest they go along fine. They keep the door well shut.

The walls of the Louvre Castle are thick and ban all sound from the outside. Fine conditions for a good night's rest.

Great and horrified is the surprise in the early morning when they step outside and see the massacre that has taken place.As the killings are still going on they step back to hide a little longer. All over Paris 20.000 protestants have been killed in that night :St .Bartholomew's night, also referred to as the Bloody Wedding. The low and brutal murder schemed by Cathérine de Medici and her son Charles IX.

When things are clear Illifer considers it high time to leave.
For once this Illifer has in mind not to abandon his little Mimi-Louise and proposes to take her with him on his way north to the Lowlands where he wiil find a ship to take him back to England.
But she knew better.
Up there the revolt against the Habsburg House and the Iron Duke of Alba is at it's big burning summit. Famine, pestilence and killings. How can you warn someone when you don't speak the language?
All she can do is ask his name . "Jean Illifer" he answers at their inevitable farewell. "Aaaah ! Jean Ifffff !! , merci! " she replies , thanking him for the three quarter share of his well filled purse ( That man is generous! ) and bearing him no ill will at all.
Wishing him in silence all the luck he could not know he would need.

Jean Yves is still a very current name in France, beeing a transformation of Jean Ifffff.


( No , Musick , don't search for a pun, history is a pointless pun, but we learn from it that nothing essential really changes.)

The greatest loss in history is the loss of history,

Must have read this quote somewhere. Can't imagine I dreamed this one up my self.

Last edited by BranShea; 01/28/07 08:04 AM.
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