Saturday, April 09, 2005
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Food Spoilage Test
FINALLY, a way to know what to pitch and what to save!
THE GAG TEST
Anything that makes you gag is spoiled (except for leftovers from what you cooked for yourself last night).
EGGS
When something starts pecking its way out of the shell, the egg is probably past its prime.
DAIRY PRODUCTS
Milk is spoiled when it starts to look like yogurt. Yogurt is spoiled when it starts to look like cottage cheese. Cottage cheese is spoiled when it starts to look like regular cheese. Regular cheese is nothing but spoiled milk anyway and can't get any more spoiled than it is already. Cheddar cheese is spoiled when you think it is blue cheese but you realize you've never purchased that kind.
MAYONNAISE
If it makes you violently ill after you eat it, the mayonnaise is spoiled.
FROZEN FOODS
Frozen foods that have become an integral part of the defrosting problem in your freezer compartment will probably be spoiled - (or wrecked anyway) by the time you pry them out with a kitchen knife.
EXPIRATION DATES
This is NOT a marketing ploy to encourage you to throw away perfectly good food so that you'll spend more on groceries. Perhaps you'd benefit by having a calender in your kitchen.
MEAT
If opening the refrigerator door causes stray animals from a three-block radius to congregate outside your house, the meat is spoiled.
BREAD
Sesame seeds and Poppy seeds are the only officially acceptable "spots" that should be seen on the surface of any loaf of bread. Fuzzy and hairy looking white or green growth areas are a good indication that your bread has turned into a pharmaceutical
laboratory experiment.
FLOUR
Flour is spoiled when it wiggles.
SALT
It never spoils.
CEREAL
It is generally a good rule of thumb that cereal should be discarded when it is two years or longer beyond the expiration date.
LETTUCE
Bibb lettuce is spoiled when you can't get it off the bottom of the vegetable crisper without Comet. Romaine lettuce is spoiled when it turns liquid.
CANNED GOODS
Any canned goods that have become the size or shape of a softball should be disposed of. Carefully.
CARROTS
A carrot that you can tie a clove hitch in is not fresh.
RAISINS
Raisins should not be harder than your teeth.
POTATOES
Fresh potatoes do not have roots, branches, or dense, leafy undergrowth.
CHIP DIP
If you can take it out of its container and bounce it on the floor, it has gone bad.
EMPTY CONTAINERS
Putting empty containers back into the refrigerator is an old trick, but it only works if you live with someone or have a maid.
UNMARKED ITEMS:
You know it is well beyond prime when you're tempted to discard the Tupperware along with the food. Generally speaking, Tupperware containers should not burp when you open them.
GENERAL RULE OF THUMB:
Most food cannot be kept longer than the average life span of a hamster. Keep a hamster in or nearby your refrigerator to gauge this.
THE GAG TEST
Anything that makes you gag is spoiled (except for leftovers from what you cooked for yourself last night).
EGGS
When something starts pecking its way out of the shell, the egg is probably past its prime.
DAIRY PRODUCTS
Milk is spoiled when it starts to look like yogurt. Yogurt is spoiled when it starts to look like cottage cheese. Cottage cheese is spoiled when it starts to look like regular cheese. Regular cheese is nothing but spoiled milk anyway and can't get any more spoiled than it is already. Cheddar cheese is spoiled when you think it is blue cheese but you realize you've never purchased that kind.
MAYONNAISE
If it makes you violently ill after you eat it, the mayonnaise is spoiled.
FROZEN FOODS
Frozen foods that have become an integral part of the defrosting problem in your freezer compartment will probably be spoiled - (or wrecked anyway) by the time you pry them out with a kitchen knife.
EXPIRATION DATES
This is NOT a marketing ploy to encourage you to throw away perfectly good food so that you'll spend more on groceries. Perhaps you'd benefit by having a calender in your kitchen.
MEAT
If opening the refrigerator door causes stray animals from a three-block radius to congregate outside your house, the meat is spoiled.
BREAD
Sesame seeds and Poppy seeds are the only officially acceptable "spots" that should be seen on the surface of any loaf of bread. Fuzzy and hairy looking white or green growth areas are a good indication that your bread has turned into a pharmaceutical
laboratory experiment.
FLOUR
Flour is spoiled when it wiggles.
SALT
It never spoils.
CEREAL
It is generally a good rule of thumb that cereal should be discarded when it is two years or longer beyond the expiration date.
LETTUCE
Bibb lettuce is spoiled when you can't get it off the bottom of the vegetable crisper without Comet. Romaine lettuce is spoiled when it turns liquid.
CANNED GOODS
Any canned goods that have become the size or shape of a softball should be disposed of. Carefully.
CARROTS
A carrot that you can tie a clove hitch in is not fresh.
RAISINS
Raisins should not be harder than your teeth.
POTATOES
Fresh potatoes do not have roots, branches, or dense, leafy undergrowth.
CHIP DIP
If you can take it out of its container and bounce it on the floor, it has gone bad.
EMPTY CONTAINERS
Putting empty containers back into the refrigerator is an old trick, but it only works if you live with someone or have a maid.
UNMARKED ITEMS:
You know it is well beyond prime when you're tempted to discard the Tupperware along with the food. Generally speaking, Tupperware containers should not burp when you open them.
GENERAL RULE OF THUMB:
Most food cannot be kept longer than the average life span of a hamster. Keep a hamster in or nearby your refrigerator to gauge this.
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Things you don't want to hear during surgery
1. Better save that. We'll need it for the autopsy.
2. "Accept this sacrifice, O Great Lord of Darkness."
3. Bo! Bo! Come back with that. Bad dog!
4. Wait a minute, if this is his spleen, then what's that?
5. Hand me that. uh. that uh. that thingy there.
6. Oh no! Where's my Rolex.
7. Oops! Hey, has anyone ever survived from 500 ml of this stuff before?
8. There go the lights again?
9. "Ya know, there's big money in kidneys? and this guy's got two of 'em."
10. Everybody stand back! I lost my contact lens!
11. Could you stop that thing from beating; it's throwing off my concentration.
12. What's this doing here?
13. I hate it when they're missing stuff in here.
14. That's cool. Now can you make his leg twitch by pressing that one?!
15. Well folks, this will be an experiment for all of us.
16. Sterile schmerile. The floor's clean, right?
17. What do you mean he wasn't in for a sex change?!
18. OK, now take a picture from this angle. This is truly a freak of nature.
19. This patient has already had some kids, am I correct?
20. Nurse, did this patient sign an organ donation card?
21. Don't worry. I think it is sharp enough.
22. What do you mean "You want a divorce?!?"
23. FIRE! FIRE! Everyone get out!
24. Darn! Page 47 of the manual is missing!
25. And if all that weren't enough here's the last: Hey !! This seems to be alive !!!
2. "Accept this sacrifice, O Great Lord of Darkness."
3. Bo! Bo! Come back with that. Bad dog!
4. Wait a minute, if this is his spleen, then what's that?
5. Hand me that. uh. that uh. that thingy there.
6. Oh no! Where's my Rolex.
7. Oops! Hey, has anyone ever survived from 500 ml of this stuff before?
8. There go the lights again?
9. "Ya know, there's big money in kidneys? and this guy's got two of 'em."
10. Everybody stand back! I lost my contact lens!
11. Could you stop that thing from beating; it's throwing off my concentration.
12. What's this doing here?
13. I hate it when they're missing stuff in here.
14. That's cool. Now can you make his leg twitch by pressing that one?!
15. Well folks, this will be an experiment for all of us.
16. Sterile schmerile. The floor's clean, right?
17. What do you mean he wasn't in for a sex change?!
18. OK, now take a picture from this angle. This is truly a freak of nature.
19. This patient has already had some kids, am I correct?
20. Nurse, did this patient sign an organ donation card?
21. Don't worry. I think it is sharp enough.
22. What do you mean "You want a divorce?!?"
23. FIRE! FIRE! Everyone get out!
24. Darn! Page 47 of the manual is missing!
25. And if all that weren't enough here's the last: Hey !! This seems to be alive !!!
Saturday, April 02, 2005
The Infinite Monkey Protocol Suite (IMPS)
An April Fool's joke - The RFC for the Infinite Monkey Protocol Suite (IMPS)
Please find the RFC at this location
Please find the RFC at this location
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
For all those who ever went to Sunday school...
HIRING A NEW PASTOR:
We do not have a happy report to give. We've not been able to find a suitable candidate for this church, though we have one promising prospect still. We do appreciate all the suggestions from the church members, and we've followed up each one with interviews or calling at least three references.
The following is our confidential report on the present candidates.
Adam:
Good man but problems with his wife. Also one reference told of how he and his wife enjoy walking nude in the woods.
Noah:
Former pastorate of 120 years with no converts. Prone to unrealistic building projects.
Abraham:
Though the references reported wife-swapping, the facts seem to show he never slept with another man's wife, but did offer to share his own wife with another man.
Joseph:
A big thinker, but a braggart, believes in dream-interpreting and has a prison record.
Moses:
A modest and meek man, but poor communicator, even stuttering at times. Sometimes blows his stack and acts rashly. Some say he left an earlier church over a murder charge.
David:
The most promising leader of all until we discovered the affair he had with his neighbor's wife.
Solomon:
Great preacher but our parsonage would never hold all those wives.
Elijah:
Prone to depression - collapses under pressure.
Elisha:
Reported to have lived with a single widow while at his former church.
Hosea:
A tender and loving pastor but our people could never handle his wife's occupation.
Deborah:
Female.
Jeremiah:
Emotionally unstable, alarmist, negative, always lamenting things, and reported to have taken a long trip to bury his underwear on the bank of a foreign river.
Isaiah:
On the fringe? Claims to have seen angels in church. Has trouble with his language.
Jonah:
Refused God's call into ministry until he was forced to obey by getting swallowed up by a great fish. He told us the fish later spit him out on the shore near here. We hung up.
Amos:
Too backward and unpolished. With some seminary training he might have promise, but has a hang-up against wealthy people -- might fit in better with a poor congregation.
John:
Says he is a Baptist, but definitely doesn't dress like one. Has slept in the outdoors for months on end, has weird diet, and provokes denominational leaders.
Peter:
Too blue collar. Has a bad temper -- even has been known to curse. Had a big run-in with Paul in Antioch, Aggressive, but a loose cannon.
Paul:
Powerful CEO type leader and fascinating preacher. However, short on tact, unforgiving with young ministers, harsh and has been known to preach all night.
Timothy:
Too young
Jesus:
Has had popular times, but once when his church grew to 5,000 he managed to offend them all and his church dwindled down to 12 people. Seldom stays in one place very long. And of course, he's single.
Judas:
His references are solid. A steady plodder. Conservative. Good connections. Knows how to handle money. We're inviting him to preach this Sunday. Possibilities here.
We do not have a happy report to give. We've not been able to find a suitable candidate for this church, though we have one promising prospect still. We do appreciate all the suggestions from the church members, and we've followed up each one with interviews or calling at least three references.
The following is our confidential report on the present candidates.
Adam:
Good man but problems with his wife. Also one reference told of how he and his wife enjoy walking nude in the woods.
Noah:
Former pastorate of 120 years with no converts. Prone to unrealistic building projects.
Abraham:
Though the references reported wife-swapping, the facts seem to show he never slept with another man's wife, but did offer to share his own wife with another man.
Joseph:
A big thinker, but a braggart, believes in dream-interpreting and has a prison record.
Moses:
A modest and meek man, but poor communicator, even stuttering at times. Sometimes blows his stack and acts rashly. Some say he left an earlier church over a murder charge.
David:
The most promising leader of all until we discovered the affair he had with his neighbor's wife.
Solomon:
Great preacher but our parsonage would never hold all those wives.
Elijah:
Prone to depression - collapses under pressure.
Elisha:
Reported to have lived with a single widow while at his former church.
Hosea:
A tender and loving pastor but our people could never handle his wife's occupation.
Deborah:
Female.
Jeremiah:
Emotionally unstable, alarmist, negative, always lamenting things, and reported to have taken a long trip to bury his underwear on the bank of a foreign river.
Isaiah:
On the fringe? Claims to have seen angels in church. Has trouble with his language.
Jonah:
Refused God's call into ministry until he was forced to obey by getting swallowed up by a great fish. He told us the fish later spit him out on the shore near here. We hung up.
Amos:
Too backward and unpolished. With some seminary training he might have promise, but has a hang-up against wealthy people -- might fit in better with a poor congregation.
John:
Says he is a Baptist, but definitely doesn't dress like one. Has slept in the outdoors for months on end, has weird diet, and provokes denominational leaders.
Peter:
Too blue collar. Has a bad temper -- even has been known to curse. Had a big run-in with Paul in Antioch, Aggressive, but a loose cannon.
Paul:
Powerful CEO type leader and fascinating preacher. However, short on tact, unforgiving with young ministers, harsh and has been known to preach all night.
Timothy:
Too young
Jesus:
Has had popular times, but once when his church grew to 5,000 he managed to offend them all and his church dwindled down to 12 people. Seldom stays in one place very long. And of course, he's single.
Judas:
His references are solid. A steady plodder. Conservative. Good connections. Knows how to handle money. We're inviting him to preach this Sunday. Possibilities here.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Saturday, March 12, 2005
Some interesting theories
A contest was held for people to submit their theories on ANY subject.
Below are the winners:
4th RUNNER-UP (Subject: Probability Theory)
If an infinite number of rednecks riding in an infinite number of pickup trucks fire an infinite number of shotgun rounds at an infinite number of highway signs, they will eventually produce all the world's great literary works in Braille.
3rd RUNNER-UP (Subject: Bio-Mechanics)
Why Yawning Is Contagious: You yawn to equalize the pressure on your eardrums. This pressure change outside your eardrums unbalances other people's ear pressures, so they then yawn to even it out.
2nd RUNNER-UP (Subject: Symbolic Logic)
Communist China is technologically underdeveloped because they have no alphabet and therefore cannot use acronyms to communicate technical ideas at a faster rate.
1st RUNNER-UP (Subject: Newtonian Mechanics)
The earth may spin faster on its axis due to deforestation. Just as a figure skater's rate of spin increases when the arms are brought in close to the body, the cutting of tall trees may cause our planet to spin dangerously fast.
HONORABLE MENTION (Subject: Linguistics)
The quantity of consonants in the English language is constant. If omitted in one place, they turn up in another. When a Bostonian "pahks his cah," the lost R's migrate southwest, causing a Texan to "warsh" his car and invest in "erl" wells.
GRAND PRIZE WINNER (Subject: Perpetual Motion)
When a cat is dropped, it always lands on its feet, and when toast is dropped, it always lands buttered side down. It was proposed to strap giant slabs of hot buttered toast to the back of a hundred tethered cats;the two opposing forces will cause the cats to hover, spinning inches above the ground. Using the giant buttered toast/cat array, a high-speed monorail could easily link New York with Chicago.
Below are the winners:
4th RUNNER-UP (Subject: Probability Theory)
If an infinite number of rednecks riding in an infinite number of pickup trucks fire an infinite number of shotgun rounds at an infinite number of highway signs, they will eventually produce all the world's great literary works in Braille.
3rd RUNNER-UP (Subject: Bio-Mechanics)
Why Yawning Is Contagious: You yawn to equalize the pressure on your eardrums. This pressure change outside your eardrums unbalances other people's ear pressures, so they then yawn to even it out.
2nd RUNNER-UP (Subject: Symbolic Logic)
Communist China is technologically underdeveloped because they have no alphabet and therefore cannot use acronyms to communicate technical ideas at a faster rate.
1st RUNNER-UP (Subject: Newtonian Mechanics)
The earth may spin faster on its axis due to deforestation. Just as a figure skater's rate of spin increases when the arms are brought in close to the body, the cutting of tall trees may cause our planet to spin dangerously fast.
HONORABLE MENTION (Subject: Linguistics)
The quantity of consonants in the English language is constant. If omitted in one place, they turn up in another. When a Bostonian "pahks his cah," the lost R's migrate southwest, causing a Texan to "warsh" his car and invest in "erl" wells.
GRAND PRIZE WINNER (Subject: Perpetual Motion)
When a cat is dropped, it always lands on its feet, and when toast is dropped, it always lands buttered side down. It was proposed to strap giant slabs of hot buttered toast to the back of a hundred tethered cats;the two opposing forces will cause the cats to hover, spinning inches above the ground. Using the giant buttered toast/cat array, a high-speed monorail could easily link New York with Chicago.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Cybersex - Very funny
Online computer users often engage in what is affectionately known as "cybersex". Often the fantasies typed into keyboards and shared through Internet phone lines get pretty raunchy. However, as you'll see below, one of the two cyber-surfers in the following transcript of an online chat doesn't seem to quite get the point of cyber sex. Then again, maybe he does...
Wellhung: Hello, Sweetheart. What do you look like?
Sweetheart: I am wearing a red silk blouse, a miniskirt and high heels. I work out every day, I'm toned and perfect. My measurements are 36-24-36. What do you look like?
Wellhung: I'm 6'3" and about 250 pounds.I wear glasses and I have on a pair of blue sweat pants I just bought from Walmart.I'm also wearing a T-shirt with a few spots of barbecue sauce on it from dinner...it smells funny.
Sweetheart: I want you.Would you like to screw me?
Wellhung: OK
Sweetheart: We're in my bedroom.There's soft music playing on the stereo and candles on my dresser and night table.I'm looking up into your eyes, smiling. My hand works its way down to your crotch and begins to fondle your huge, swelling bulge.
Wellhung: I'm gulping, I'm beginning to sweat.
Sweetheart: I'm pulling up your shirt and kissing your chest.
Wellhung: Now I'm unbuttoning your blouse.My hands are trembling.
Sweetheart: I'm moaning softly.
Wellhung: I'm taking hold of your blouse and sliding it off slowly.
Sweetheart: I'm throwing my head back in pleasure.The cool silk slides off my warm skin.I'm rubbing your bulge faster, pulling and rubbing.
Wellhung: My hand suddenly jerks spastically and accidentally rips a hole in your blouse.I'm sorry.
Sweetheart: That's OK, it wasn't really too expensive.
Wellhung: I'll pay for it.
Sweetheart: Don't worry about it.I'm wearing a lacy black bra.My soft breasts are rising and falling, as I breath harder and harder.
Wellhung: I'm fumbling with the clasp on your bra.I think it's stuck. Do you have any scissors?
Sweetheart: I take your hand and kiss it softly.I'm reaching back undoing the clasp. The bra slides off my body. The air caresses my breasts. My nipples are erect for you.
Wellhung: How did you do that? I'm picking up the bra and inspecting the clasp.
Sweetheart: I'm arching my back. Oh baby. I just want to feel your tongue all over me.
Wellhung: I'm dropping the bra. Now I'm licking your, you know, breasts. They're neat!
Sweetheart: I'm running my fingers through your hair. Now I'm nibbling your ear.
Wellhung: I suddenly sneeze. Your breasts are covered with spit and phlegm.
Sweetheart: What?
Wellhung: I'm so sorry. Really.
Sweetheart: I'm wiping your phlegm off my breasts with the remains of my blouse.
Wellhung: I'm taking the sopping wet blouse from you. I drop it with a plop.
Sweetheart: OK. I'm pulling your sweat pants down and rubbing your hard tool.
Wellhung: I'm screaming like a woman. Your hands are cold! Yeeee!
Sweetheart: I'm pulling up my miniskirt. Take off my panties.
Wellhung: I'm pulling off your panties. My tongue is going all over, in and out nibbling on you...umm... wait a minute.
Sweetheart: What's the matter?
Wellhung: I've got a pubic hair caught in my throat. I'm choking.
Sweetheart: Are you OK?
Wellhung: I'm having a coughing fit. I'm turning all red.
Sweetheart: Can I help?
Wellhung: I'm running to the kitchen, choking wildly. I'm fumbling through the cabinets, looking for a cup. Where do you keep your cups?
Sweetheart: In the cabinet to the right of the sink.
Wellhung: I'm drinking a cup of water. There, that's better.
Sweetheart: Come back to me, lover.
Wellhung: I'm washing the cup now.
Sweetheart: I'm on the bed arching for you.
Wellhung: I'm drying the cup. Now I'm putting it back in the cabinet. And now I'm walking back to the bedroom. Wait, it's dark, I'm lost. Where's the bedroom?
Sweetheart: Last door on the left at the end of the hall.
Wellhung: I found it.
Sweetheart: I'm tuggin' off your pants. I'm moaning. I want you so badly.
Wellhung: Me too.
Sweetheart: Your pants are off. I kiss you passionately-our naked bodies pressing each other.
Wellhung: Your face is pushing my glasses into my face. It hurts.
Sweetheart Why don't you take off your glasses?
Wellhung: OK, but I can't see very well without them. I place the glasses on the night table.
Sweetheart: I'm bending over the bed. Give it to me, baby!
Wellhung: I have to pee. I'm fumbling my way blindly across the room and toward the bathroom.
Sweetheart: Hurry back, lover.
Wellhung: I find the bathroom and it's dark. I'm feeling around for the toilet. I lift the lid.
Sweetheart: I'm waiting eagerly for your return.
Wellhung: I'm done going. I'm feeling around for the flush handle, but I can't find it. Uh-oh!
Sweetheart: What's the matter now?
Wellhung: I've realized that I've peed into your laundry hamper. Sorry again. I'm walking back to the bedroom now, blindly feeling my way.
Sweetheart: Mmm, yes. Come on.
Wellhung: OK, now I'm going to put my...you know ...thing...in your...you know...woman's thing. Sweetheart: Yes! Do it, baby! Do it!
Wellhung: I'm touching your smooth butt. It feels so nice. I kiss your neck. Umm, I'm having a little trouble here.
Sweetheart: I'm moving my ass back and forth, moaning. I can't stand it another second! Slide in! Screw me now!
Wellhung: I'm flaccid.
Sweetheart: What?
Wellhung: I'm limp. I can't sustain an erection.
Sweetheart: I'm standing up and turning around; an incredulous look on my face.
Wellhung: I'm shrugging with a sad look on my face, my weiner all floppy. I'm going to get my glasses and see what's wrong.
Sweetheart: No, never mind. I'm getting dressed. I'm putting on my underwear. Now I'm putting on my wet nasty blouse.
Wellhung: No wait! Now I'm squinting, trying to find the night table. I'm feeling along the dresser, knocking over cans of hair spray, picture frames and your candles.
Sweetheart: I'm buttoning my blouse. Now I'm putting on my shoes.
Wellhung: I've found my glasses. I'm putting them on. My God! One of our candles fell on the curtain. The curtain is on fire! I'm pointing at it, a shocked look on my face.
Sweetheart: Go to hell. I'm logging off, you loser!
Wellhung: Now the carpet is on fire! Oh noooo!
Sweetheart:
Wellhung: Hello, Sweetheart. What do you look like?
Sweetheart: I am wearing a red silk blouse, a miniskirt and high heels. I work out every day, I'm toned and perfect. My measurements are 36-24-36. What do you look like?
Wellhung: I'm 6'3" and about 250 pounds.I wear glasses and I have on a pair of blue sweat pants I just bought from Walmart.I'm also wearing a T-shirt with a few spots of barbecue sauce on it from dinner...it smells funny.
Sweetheart: I want you.Would you like to screw me?
Wellhung: OK
Sweetheart: We're in my bedroom.There's soft music playing on the stereo and candles on my dresser and night table.I'm looking up into your eyes, smiling. My hand works its way down to your crotch and begins to fondle your huge, swelling bulge.
Wellhung: I'm gulping, I'm beginning to sweat.
Sweetheart: I'm pulling up your shirt and kissing your chest.
Wellhung: Now I'm unbuttoning your blouse.My hands are trembling.
Sweetheart: I'm moaning softly.
Wellhung: I'm taking hold of your blouse and sliding it off slowly.
Sweetheart: I'm throwing my head back in pleasure.The cool silk slides off my warm skin.I'm rubbing your bulge faster, pulling and rubbing.
Wellhung: My hand suddenly jerks spastically and accidentally rips a hole in your blouse.I'm sorry.
Sweetheart: That's OK, it wasn't really too expensive.
Wellhung: I'll pay for it.
Sweetheart: Don't worry about it.I'm wearing a lacy black bra.My soft breasts are rising and falling, as I breath harder and harder.
Wellhung: I'm fumbling with the clasp on your bra.I think it's stuck. Do you have any scissors?
Sweetheart: I take your hand and kiss it softly.I'm reaching back undoing the clasp. The bra slides off my body. The air caresses my breasts. My nipples are erect for you.
Wellhung: How did you do that? I'm picking up the bra and inspecting the clasp.
Sweetheart: I'm arching my back. Oh baby. I just want to feel your tongue all over me.
Wellhung: I'm dropping the bra. Now I'm licking your, you know, breasts. They're neat!
Sweetheart: I'm running my fingers through your hair. Now I'm nibbling your ear.
Wellhung: I suddenly sneeze. Your breasts are covered with spit and phlegm.
Sweetheart: What?
Wellhung: I'm so sorry. Really.
Sweetheart: I'm wiping your phlegm off my breasts with the remains of my blouse.
Wellhung: I'm taking the sopping wet blouse from you. I drop it with a plop.
Sweetheart: OK. I'm pulling your sweat pants down and rubbing your hard tool.
Wellhung: I'm screaming like a woman. Your hands are cold! Yeeee!
Sweetheart: I'm pulling up my miniskirt. Take off my panties.
Wellhung: I'm pulling off your panties. My tongue is going all over, in and out nibbling on you...umm... wait a minute.
Sweetheart: What's the matter?
Wellhung: I've got a pubic hair caught in my throat. I'm choking.
Sweetheart: Are you OK?
Wellhung: I'm having a coughing fit. I'm turning all red.
Sweetheart: Can I help?
Wellhung: I'm running to the kitchen, choking wildly. I'm fumbling through the cabinets, looking for a cup. Where do you keep your cups?
Sweetheart: In the cabinet to the right of the sink.
Wellhung: I'm drinking a cup of water. There, that's better.
Sweetheart: Come back to me, lover.
Wellhung: I'm washing the cup now.
Sweetheart: I'm on the bed arching for you.
Wellhung: I'm drying the cup. Now I'm putting it back in the cabinet. And now I'm walking back to the bedroom. Wait, it's dark, I'm lost. Where's the bedroom?
Sweetheart: Last door on the left at the end of the hall.
Wellhung: I found it.
Sweetheart: I'm tuggin' off your pants. I'm moaning. I want you so badly.
Wellhung: Me too.
Sweetheart: Your pants are off. I kiss you passionately-our naked bodies pressing each other.
Wellhung: Your face is pushing my glasses into my face. It hurts.
Sweetheart Why don't you take off your glasses?
Wellhung: OK, but I can't see very well without them. I place the glasses on the night table.
Sweetheart: I'm bending over the bed. Give it to me, baby!
Wellhung: I have to pee. I'm fumbling my way blindly across the room and toward the bathroom.
Sweetheart: Hurry back, lover.
Wellhung: I find the bathroom and it's dark. I'm feeling around for the toilet. I lift the lid.
Sweetheart: I'm waiting eagerly for your return.
Wellhung: I'm done going. I'm feeling around for the flush handle, but I can't find it. Uh-oh!
Sweetheart: What's the matter now?
Wellhung: I've realized that I've peed into your laundry hamper. Sorry again. I'm walking back to the bedroom now, blindly feeling my way.
Sweetheart: Mmm, yes. Come on.
Wellhung: OK, now I'm going to put my...you know ...thing...in your...you know...woman's thing. Sweetheart: Yes! Do it, baby! Do it!
Wellhung: I'm touching your smooth butt. It feels so nice. I kiss your neck. Umm, I'm having a little trouble here.
Sweetheart: I'm moving my ass back and forth, moaning. I can't stand it another second! Slide in! Screw me now!
Wellhung: I'm flaccid.
Sweetheart: What?
Wellhung: I'm limp. I can't sustain an erection.
Sweetheart: I'm standing up and turning around; an incredulous look on my face.
Wellhung: I'm shrugging with a sad look on my face, my weiner all floppy. I'm going to get my glasses and see what's wrong.
Sweetheart: No, never mind. I'm getting dressed. I'm putting on my underwear. Now I'm putting on my wet nasty blouse.
Wellhung: No wait! Now I'm squinting, trying to find the night table. I'm feeling along the dresser, knocking over cans of hair spray, picture frames and your candles.
Sweetheart: I'm buttoning my blouse. Now I'm putting on my shoes.
Wellhung: I've found my glasses. I'm putting them on. My God! One of our candles fell on the curtain. The curtain is on fire! I'm pointing at it, a shocked look on my face.
Sweetheart: Go to hell. I'm logging off, you loser!
Wellhung: Now the carpet is on fire! Oh noooo!
Sweetheart:
Saturday, February 26, 2005
Carjacking in Reverse
An elderly lady did her shopping and upon return found 4 males in her car. She
dropped her shopping bags and drew her handgun, proceeding to scream at them
at the top of her voice that she knows how to use it and that she will if
required.... so get out of the car.The 4 men didn't wait around for a second
invitation but got out and ran like mad, where upon the lady proceeded to load
her shopping bags into the back of the car and got into the drivers seat.
Small problem, her key wouldn't fit the ignition.Her car was identical and
parked four/five spaces further down.She loaded her bags into her car and
drove to the police station.The sergeant that she told the story to nearly
tore himself in two with laughter and pointed to the other end of the counter
where 4 pale white males were reporting a car-jacking by a mad elderly white
woman....no charges were filed.
dropped her shopping bags and drew her handgun, proceeding to scream at them
at the top of her voice that she knows how to use it and that she will if
required.... so get out of the car.The 4 men didn't wait around for a second
invitation but got out and ran like mad, where upon the lady proceeded to load
her shopping bags into the back of the car and got into the drivers seat.
Small problem, her key wouldn't fit the ignition.Her car was identical and
parked four/five spaces further down.She loaded her bags into her car and
drove to the police station.The sergeant that she told the story to nearly
tore himself in two with laughter and pointed to the other end of the counter
where 4 pale white males were reporting a car-jacking by a mad elderly white
woman....no charges were filed.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Friday, February 04, 2005
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Physics Final
A thermodynamics professor wrote a take home exam for his graduate students. It had one question: Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic (absorbs heat)? Support your answer with a proof.
Most of the students wrote their proofs using Boyle's Law -- gas cools off when it expands and heats up when it is compressed -- or some variant thereof. One student, however, wrote:
First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. Therefore, we need to know the rate that souls are moving into Hell and rate they are leaving. I think we can safely assume that once a soul goes to Hell, it will not leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving. As for how many souls are entering Hell, well, let's look at the different religions that exist in the world today. Some of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion you will go to Hell. Since there are more than one of these religions, and since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can predict that all people and all souls will go to Hell. With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially. Now we look at the rate of change of the volume in Hell because Boyle's Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has to expand as souls are added. Thus, we are left with two possibilities:
1) If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.
2)Of course, if Hell is expanding at a faster rate than the increase of souls in Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until Hell freezes over.
So which is it? If we accept the postulate given me by Ms. Therese Banyan during my freshman year, i.e., "It will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you" and take into account the fact that I still have not succeeded in having sexual relations with her, then #2 cannot be true, and so Hell is exothermic.
The student received the only A.
Most of the students wrote their proofs using Boyle's Law -- gas cools off when it expands and heats up when it is compressed -- or some variant thereof. One student, however, wrote:
First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. Therefore, we need to know the rate that souls are moving into Hell and rate they are leaving. I think we can safely assume that once a soul goes to Hell, it will not leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving. As for how many souls are entering Hell, well, let's look at the different religions that exist in the world today. Some of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion you will go to Hell. Since there are more than one of these religions, and since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can predict that all people and all souls will go to Hell. With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially. Now we look at the rate of change of the volume in Hell because Boyle's Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has to expand as souls are added. Thus, we are left with two possibilities:
1) If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.
2)Of course, if Hell is expanding at a faster rate than the increase of souls in Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until Hell freezes over.
So which is it? If we accept the postulate given me by Ms. Therese Banyan during my freshman year, i.e., "It will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you" and take into account the fact that I still have not succeeded in having sexual relations with her, then #2 cannot be true, and so Hell is exothermic.
The student received the only A.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Badtimes Virus
If you receive an email entitled "Badtimes," delete it immediately. Do not open it. Apparently this one is pretty nasty.
It will not only erase everything on your hard drive, but it will also delete anything on disks within 20 feet of your computer. It demagnetizes the stripes on ALL of your credit cards. It reprograms your ATM access code, screws up the tracking on your VCR and uses subspace field harmonics to scratch any CD's you attempt to play.
It will re-calibrate your refrigerator's coolness settings so all your ice cream melts and your milk curdles. It will program your phone autodial to call only your mother-in-law's number. This virus will mix antifreeze into your fish tank. It will drink all your beer. It will leave dirty socks on the coffee table when you are expecting company.
Its radioactive emissions will cause your toe jam and bellybutton fuzz (honest, you have some) to migrate behind your ears. It will replace your shampoo with Nair and your Nair with Rogaine, all while dating your current boy/girlfriend behind your back and billing their hotel rendezvous to your Visa card.
It will cause you to run with scissors and throw things in a way that is only fun until someone loses an eye. It will give you Dutch Elm Disease and Tinea. It will rewrite your backup files, changing all your active verbs to passive tense and incorporating undetectable misspellings which grossly change the interpretations of key sentences.
If the "Badtimes" message is opened in a Windows95 environment, it will leave the toilet seat up and leave your hair dryer plugged in dangerously close to a full bathtub. It will not only remove the
forbidden tags from your mattresses and pillows, but it will also refill your skim milk with whole milk. It will replace all your luncheon meat with Spam.
It will molecularly rearrange your cologne or perfume, causing it to smell like dill pickles. It is insidious and subtle. It is dangerous and terrifying to behold. It is also a rather interesting shade of mauve. These are just a few signs of infection.
It will not only erase everything on your hard drive, but it will also delete anything on disks within 20 feet of your computer. It demagnetizes the stripes on ALL of your credit cards. It reprograms your ATM access code, screws up the tracking on your VCR and uses subspace field harmonics to scratch any CD's you attempt to play.
It will re-calibrate your refrigerator's coolness settings so all your ice cream melts and your milk curdles. It will program your phone autodial to call only your mother-in-law's number. This virus will mix antifreeze into your fish tank. It will drink all your beer. It will leave dirty socks on the coffee table when you are expecting company.
Its radioactive emissions will cause your toe jam and bellybutton fuzz (honest, you have some) to migrate behind your ears. It will replace your shampoo with Nair and your Nair with Rogaine, all while dating your current boy/girlfriend behind your back and billing their hotel rendezvous to your Visa card.
It will cause you to run with scissors and throw things in a way that is only fun until someone loses an eye. It will give you Dutch Elm Disease and Tinea. It will rewrite your backup files, changing all your active verbs to passive tense and incorporating undetectable misspellings which grossly change the interpretations of key sentences.
If the "Badtimes" message is opened in a Windows95 environment, it will leave the toilet seat up and leave your hair dryer plugged in dangerously close to a full bathtub. It will not only remove the
forbidden tags from your mattresses and pillows, but it will also refill your skim milk with whole milk. It will replace all your luncheon meat with Spam.
It will molecularly rearrange your cologne or perfume, causing it to smell like dill pickles. It is insidious and subtle. It is dangerous and terrifying to behold. It is also a rather interesting shade of mauve. These are just a few signs of infection.
Friday, January 14, 2005
The Life of a Computer Science Major - Author Unknown
Ask anyone who has stayed awake for thirty-seven hours consuming nothing but
Coke and Snickers bars and staring into a green CRT screen, if there is
anything glamorous about the world of computer programming. Look deep into
his bloodshot eyes, and try to detect any signs of joy among the red
streaks. Then, just for kicks, ask him why he does what he does, despite all
the pain it's causing. The most positive answer you'll get is, ``it feels so
good when it stops.''
Although computer sciences majors come in all sizes and shapes, each
possesses that essential ``nerd'' quality which led us to declare the major
in the first place. Some of us, the stragglers, are only part time nerds.
Unfortunately, over the past three years, an alarming number of lifers,
full-time nerds, have appeared. These are the really scary people who hang
around the terminal room regularly, with absolutely no purpose for being
there. People who'd rather sit around hacking on a Saturday evening than
lying stuporously drunk in one of the Dellys, or sleeping. This specialized
breed of computer nerds, affectionately known as the Computer Nazis, becomes
an increasingly large organization every semester. No one knows exactly
where they come from, since no one has ever seen a Nazi outside of the
computer center. Similarly, no one has ever tried to find one, either.
The leader of the Williamsburg Nazis, it seems, is a large Arabic slob we
shall call Abdul. Abdul typifies the model Nazi. Granted, he's not quite as
dweebish looking as you'd expect, yet somehow you know that he's not the
kind of guy you'd invite to dinner. He's loud, he's self-righteous, and he
can tell you anything about the computer system you'd never want to know.
Below Abdul are his Seargeants at Arms, Jeff and Andy. Though not quite as
loud as their leader, both possess voices which will rise above all others
at large gatherings. Jeff has a lisp and Andy is annoyingly nasal; everyone
in the department can imitate his favorite Nazi. Somehow, they're always in
your class. And today is no exception.
Larry, the instructor wanders in, dumps several folders on his podium, and
smiles at the class. Attendance is good today, for the first time since the
beginning of the semester. Ah yes. Today he is to hand out the specs for the
final program, an event not to be missed. Floating among the seemingly
carefree students is a definite air of uneasiness; a combination of hope,
anticipation, and dread. He passes out the assignment, announcing that he
will take questions regarding the program during the next class meeting.
Simultaneously, two hands shoot up in the front row. Apparently, Abdul and
Andy, the ``Sunshine Boys'', have questions which can't wait two days.
You've got to hand it to these guys. They're fast readers, and seem to zero
in on ambiguous phrases and logical errors in the description even before
the entire class has received the document. This time they've even caught
the instructor off guard with their rapid fire analysis of his instructions.
You can tell that Larry really wants to tell them off, but remembers his own
Nazi days.
Two days go by. It's Question Day. Again, Abdul and Andy have the floor.
Seems that the instructor's skeleton for the program didn't work for some
obscure test case, and caused their respective programs to bomb. Larry
apologizes to Abdul, and makes a few witty comments to Andy. Most of the
class stares in amazement with the patented Computer Science ``Holy Shit''
expression hanging off of their faces. Have these two guys actually finished
the assignment already? We haven't had the thing for forty-eight hours yet.
Hell, I don't even remember where I put my specs sheet.
Two weeks have passed. Monday morning. The project is due on Wednesday.
Questions are finally rolling in from people other than the Sunshine Boys. A
certain anxiety begins to well up in the stomach as the deadline approaches.
Serious doubts about finishing the program in time arise. Larry, ever the
entertainer, mentions that ``If you haven't started the project yet, you'll
never get it done.'' He means it, too. That night, the stragglers tackle the
machine for the first time in weeks, trying to make some sort of headway, or
at least translate the problem at hand.
There are two mutually exclusive techniques that are used in the early
stages of programming: The Software Engineering method, and the ever-popular
Brute Force strategy. Right from the start of our computer careers, we are
told that any problem can be broken down into manageable pieces, and that
these pieces can be linked together to form a logically constructed program;
the method used by Software Engineers. This process is time consuming, yet
incredibly simple. Keep the pieces as small as possible, construct each one
separately, get it to working, and plug it in. ``This method can be applied
to any problem you'll ever have to solve, in the field of computer science,
or in real life situations,'' says the textbook. Sure. If you've got the
time.
Brute Force can similarly be applied to any real life situation, and in the
early stages it's quicker than the Software Engineering method. It's
instinctive, spontaneous, and produces concrete results almost immediately.
Read the problem, get a general idea of where you're headed, and head there.
Start simply, and then build the sucker. If you don't understand something,
ignore it. If it doesn't work, throw it out. Assume you know more about what
you're doing than you actually do. It's kind of like picking a nice living
room set, and building a house around it.
Apparently, Brute Force is the way to go this time around. The first few pot
shots at the problem miss their target completely, but finally pieces begin
to fit together. Granted, there's no central structure here yet, but we've
definitely bought the living room set. And, with a little bit of pushing and
bending of good programming rules, we seem to have built the fireplace and
part of the upstairs bedroom. So far so good. Who says we can't finish this
in two days? Get a printout, go home, have a beer and watch David Letterman.
The Letterman show appears to have been a tactical error. Brute Force has
come to its inevitable halt, and the deadline is tomorrow. Bits and pieces
of the program are working just fine, but the major chunks are still in
shambles. The program has to be finished within the next eighteen hours. We
have not choice but to begin the Caffeine Airlift.
If it weren't for caffeine, many of us computer science majors would have
died back in sophomore year. Sometimes, there just aren't enough waking
hours in the day to accomplish everything that has to be done. The logical
solution is to eliminate some of the sleeping hours, through carefully
measured doses of coffee and Coke. Time release caffeine pills were in
fashion two years ago, but turned out to be entirely too efficient. It's
difficult to concentrate on programming when your body wants to tap dance.
In any shape or form, the Caffeine Airlift has saved us all.
Once the body is properly primed, the work begins. The computer lab
overflows with other desperate individuals, all heavily caffeinated, and all
decked out for the long night ahead. Grab a terminal, and start hacking.
It's comforting to know that everyone else will fail this project with you.
The mood is surprisingly relaxed, and jokes about impending doom begin to
fly.
Ten o'clock. Eleven hours and counting. Condition: guarded but stable. The
three Cokes in your system are making your legs bounce, but you ignore it.
Concentration is the key. The room fills to capacity, and the jokes
continue. Of course no one will finish, but who cares anymore? This is no
longer a project, but a mission. Actually, you've made amazing progress in
the last few hours, but won't admit it to the others. More fun to complain,
isn't it?
Midnight. The Jello Hour. The Jello Principle state that ``no matter what
quick solution you find for a given problem, it will still make you worse
off than you were before.'' Kind of like nailing Jello to a tree. The
temporary solutions look pretty for awhile, but are destined to fail in the
long run. After Jello hour, you get a whole new perspective on life. The
beard begins to appear. The empty Coke cups form a wall along the side of
your work space. You realize that you'll miss Letterman tonight. Short cuts
that simulate important program elements come to mind, are added to the
code, fail, and are discarded. The best rule of thumb is to try something so
unorthodoxly simple, that it could never work. Odds are that it will.
One thirty. You've watched half of your classmates walk out in stuporous
frustration. The die-hards remain, chugging caffeine in lethal dosages and
cursing quietly to themselves. And suddenly, the peaceful torpor of the
terminal lab is shattered by the unexpected arrival of the Nazis. Abdul
strolls in, flips on a terminal, and talks loudly to his partner Jeff across
the room. In the back of your mind, you wonder where Andy is tonight, but
the truth is you don't really care. Abdul is amused that we non-Nazis are
working on the same program they had finished nearly two weeks ago. Jeff
comments, through his speech impediment, that the program was ``trivial.''
Eventually, the Nazis become engrossed in their own work, whatever the hell
they do at two o'clock in the morning. Abdul has found some new way to amuse
himself, and yells for Jeff to come over. Jeff yells back that he's too
busy. Everyone wishes Abdul and Jeff would die painfully.
Finished. It's four AM, and the damn thing is finally in the can. Smile at
the amphetimized corpses as you leave, and wish them luck. The walk home
seems longer tonight. No cars. No birds. No noise. Life seems to have gone
on outside of the computer center. As you hit the bed, you know you're too
wired to fall asleep. It doesn't matter. You've won the game again. As your
body continues its tap dance, you realize that the process is going to start
again on Monday. No problem. Yeah, it's hurts for awhile. But it feels so
good when you stop....
Coke and Snickers bars and staring into a green CRT screen, if there is
anything glamorous about the world of computer programming. Look deep into
his bloodshot eyes, and try to detect any signs of joy among the red
streaks. Then, just for kicks, ask him why he does what he does, despite all
the pain it's causing. The most positive answer you'll get is, ``it feels so
good when it stops.''
Although computer sciences majors come in all sizes and shapes, each
possesses that essential ``nerd'' quality which led us to declare the major
in the first place. Some of us, the stragglers, are only part time nerds.
Unfortunately, over the past three years, an alarming number of lifers,
full-time nerds, have appeared. These are the really scary people who hang
around the terminal room regularly, with absolutely no purpose for being
there. People who'd rather sit around hacking on a Saturday evening than
lying stuporously drunk in one of the Dellys, or sleeping. This specialized
breed of computer nerds, affectionately known as the Computer Nazis, becomes
an increasingly large organization every semester. No one knows exactly
where they come from, since no one has ever seen a Nazi outside of the
computer center. Similarly, no one has ever tried to find one, either.
The leader of the Williamsburg Nazis, it seems, is a large Arabic slob we
shall call Abdul. Abdul typifies the model Nazi. Granted, he's not quite as
dweebish looking as you'd expect, yet somehow you know that he's not the
kind of guy you'd invite to dinner. He's loud, he's self-righteous, and he
can tell you anything about the computer system you'd never want to know.
Below Abdul are his Seargeants at Arms, Jeff and Andy. Though not quite as
loud as their leader, both possess voices which will rise above all others
at large gatherings. Jeff has a lisp and Andy is annoyingly nasal; everyone
in the department can imitate his favorite Nazi. Somehow, they're always in
your class. And today is no exception.
Larry, the instructor wanders in, dumps several folders on his podium, and
smiles at the class. Attendance is good today, for the first time since the
beginning of the semester. Ah yes. Today he is to hand out the specs for the
final program, an event not to be missed. Floating among the seemingly
carefree students is a definite air of uneasiness; a combination of hope,
anticipation, and dread. He passes out the assignment, announcing that he
will take questions regarding the program during the next class meeting.
Simultaneously, two hands shoot up in the front row. Apparently, Abdul and
Andy, the ``Sunshine Boys'', have questions which can't wait two days.
You've got to hand it to these guys. They're fast readers, and seem to zero
in on ambiguous phrases and logical errors in the description even before
the entire class has received the document. This time they've even caught
the instructor off guard with their rapid fire analysis of his instructions.
You can tell that Larry really wants to tell them off, but remembers his own
Nazi days.
Two days go by. It's Question Day. Again, Abdul and Andy have the floor.
Seems that the instructor's skeleton for the program didn't work for some
obscure test case, and caused their respective programs to bomb. Larry
apologizes to Abdul, and makes a few witty comments to Andy. Most of the
class stares in amazement with the patented Computer Science ``Holy Shit''
expression hanging off of their faces. Have these two guys actually finished
the assignment already? We haven't had the thing for forty-eight hours yet.
Hell, I don't even remember where I put my specs sheet.
Two weeks have passed. Monday morning. The project is due on Wednesday.
Questions are finally rolling in from people other than the Sunshine Boys. A
certain anxiety begins to well up in the stomach as the deadline approaches.
Serious doubts about finishing the program in time arise. Larry, ever the
entertainer, mentions that ``If you haven't started the project yet, you'll
never get it done.'' He means it, too. That night, the stragglers tackle the
machine for the first time in weeks, trying to make some sort of headway, or
at least translate the problem at hand.
There are two mutually exclusive techniques that are used in the early
stages of programming: The Software Engineering method, and the ever-popular
Brute Force strategy. Right from the start of our computer careers, we are
told that any problem can be broken down into manageable pieces, and that
these pieces can be linked together to form a logically constructed program;
the method used by Software Engineers. This process is time consuming, yet
incredibly simple. Keep the pieces as small as possible, construct each one
separately, get it to working, and plug it in. ``This method can be applied
to any problem you'll ever have to solve, in the field of computer science,
or in real life situations,'' says the textbook. Sure. If you've got the
time.
Brute Force can similarly be applied to any real life situation, and in the
early stages it's quicker than the Software Engineering method. It's
instinctive, spontaneous, and produces concrete results almost immediately.
Read the problem, get a general idea of where you're headed, and head there.
Start simply, and then build the sucker. If you don't understand something,
ignore it. If it doesn't work, throw it out. Assume you know more about what
you're doing than you actually do. It's kind of like picking a nice living
room set, and building a house around it.
Apparently, Brute Force is the way to go this time around. The first few pot
shots at the problem miss their target completely, but finally pieces begin
to fit together. Granted, there's no central structure here yet, but we've
definitely bought the living room set. And, with a little bit of pushing and
bending of good programming rules, we seem to have built the fireplace and
part of the upstairs bedroom. So far so good. Who says we can't finish this
in two days? Get a printout, go home, have a beer and watch David Letterman.
The Letterman show appears to have been a tactical error. Brute Force has
come to its inevitable halt, and the deadline is tomorrow. Bits and pieces
of the program are working just fine, but the major chunks are still in
shambles. The program has to be finished within the next eighteen hours. We
have not choice but to begin the Caffeine Airlift.
If it weren't for caffeine, many of us computer science majors would have
died back in sophomore year. Sometimes, there just aren't enough waking
hours in the day to accomplish everything that has to be done. The logical
solution is to eliminate some of the sleeping hours, through carefully
measured doses of coffee and Coke. Time release caffeine pills were in
fashion two years ago, but turned out to be entirely too efficient. It's
difficult to concentrate on programming when your body wants to tap dance.
In any shape or form, the Caffeine Airlift has saved us all.
Once the body is properly primed, the work begins. The computer lab
overflows with other desperate individuals, all heavily caffeinated, and all
decked out for the long night ahead. Grab a terminal, and start hacking.
It's comforting to know that everyone else will fail this project with you.
The mood is surprisingly relaxed, and jokes about impending doom begin to
fly.
Ten o'clock. Eleven hours and counting. Condition: guarded but stable. The
three Cokes in your system are making your legs bounce, but you ignore it.
Concentration is the key. The room fills to capacity, and the jokes
continue. Of course no one will finish, but who cares anymore? This is no
longer a project, but a mission. Actually, you've made amazing progress in
the last few hours, but won't admit it to the others. More fun to complain,
isn't it?
Midnight. The Jello Hour. The Jello Principle state that ``no matter what
quick solution you find for a given problem, it will still make you worse
off than you were before.'' Kind of like nailing Jello to a tree. The
temporary solutions look pretty for awhile, but are destined to fail in the
long run. After Jello hour, you get a whole new perspective on life. The
beard begins to appear. The empty Coke cups form a wall along the side of
your work space. You realize that you'll miss Letterman tonight. Short cuts
that simulate important program elements come to mind, are added to the
code, fail, and are discarded. The best rule of thumb is to try something so
unorthodoxly simple, that it could never work. Odds are that it will.
One thirty. You've watched half of your classmates walk out in stuporous
frustration. The die-hards remain, chugging caffeine in lethal dosages and
cursing quietly to themselves. And suddenly, the peaceful torpor of the
terminal lab is shattered by the unexpected arrival of the Nazis. Abdul
strolls in, flips on a terminal, and talks loudly to his partner Jeff across
the room. In the back of your mind, you wonder where Andy is tonight, but
the truth is you don't really care. Abdul is amused that we non-Nazis are
working on the same program they had finished nearly two weeks ago. Jeff
comments, through his speech impediment, that the program was ``trivial.''
Eventually, the Nazis become engrossed in their own work, whatever the hell
they do at two o'clock in the morning. Abdul has found some new way to amuse
himself, and yells for Jeff to come over. Jeff yells back that he's too
busy. Everyone wishes Abdul and Jeff would die painfully.
Finished. It's four AM, and the damn thing is finally in the can. Smile at
the amphetimized corpses as you leave, and wish them luck. The walk home
seems longer tonight. No cars. No birds. No noise. Life seems to have gone
on outside of the computer center. As you hit the bed, you know you're too
wired to fall asleep. It doesn't matter. You've won the game again. As your
body continues its tap dance, you realize that the process is going to start
again on Monday. No problem. Yeah, it's hurts for awhile. But it feels so
good when you stop....
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