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Internet Oracularities #984

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Internet Oracularities #984    (96 votes, 3.0 mean)
Compiled-By: Steve Kinzler <kinzler@cs.indiana.edu>
Date: Sun, 15 Feb 1998 12:26:47 -0500 (EST)

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   984
   2 1 3 4 3   5 3 3 4 1

984   96 votes 4pGi7 17kvB 5jLi7 6Gyc2 csqm8 9wBd5 bxvg5 4dGlg avAh2 mnnj9
984   3.0 mean  3.0   4.0   3.0   2.6   2.9   2.7   2.7   3.3   2.7   2.7


984-01    (4pGi7 dist, 3.0 mean)
Selected-By: "Alyce Wilson.Nesbit" <berlin63@hotmail.com>

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> O Great and Powerful Oracle, to whom I am little less than nothing,
> please tell me:
>
> Who wrote the book of love?
> And where can I find him so I can shove it up his ass?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Umm... That would be Vatsyayana.  And he's been dead for some time,
} so shoving it up his ass would not be very productive... but no,
} my job is merely to answer your question, not to question your motives.
}
} Vatsyayana, according to the customs of his people, was delivered
} after his death to the Sacred River Ganges.  His body was carried
} downriver for several miles, until it lodged upon a sandbank.
}
} At that point, the scavengers took over.  I'm not going to go into
} the details of this, because frankly, it makes me queasy.  Suffice it
} to say that there's nothing left of Vatsyayana now but bones.
}
} Nonetheless, all is not lost!  This worthy personage's skeleton
} was subsequently discovered (although the finder was not aware of
} the skeleton's identity), and carefully reassembled for use by the
} medical profession.  Vatsyayana now occupies a place of honor at the
} School of Ecology and Biotechnology at the International University
} of Kyrgyzstan.
}
} You owe the Oracle a photograph of a skeleton with a book wedged in
} its pelvic cavity.


984-02    (17kvB dist, 4.0 mean)
Selected-By: Otis Viles <cierhart@ic.net>

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> I know what you're asking yourself. You're asking yourself, did he send
> four hundred emails, or only one? Well, keeping in mind this is email
> sent from a Cyberpromo account, the most feared spammer on the world,
> and is capable of blowing your account clean away, you have to ask
> yourself, 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya, Oracle? Do you feel lucky?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

}   As he rounded the dry clapboard building at the end of the dusty
} street, the man known only as The Oracle paused. It was quiet. Too
} quiet. The town was a deserted, no-account corner of Hell, and he knew
} the Cyberpromo Gang was here someplace.
}
}   The Oracle squinted up at the sun, beating down mercilessly on the
} dead plain, as he relit his cheroot.  Nothing moved but the blowflies
} on the poor dead dawg lying in front of the abandoned saloon. He
} stepped boldly forward, loosening his pistol in its holster. His pistol
} was his only friend; the only one to stand firmly by his side during
} the mess with that dance-hall girl (Lisa? Michelle? the names, like the
} faces, all blended together) and the worm he knew as Zadoc. But Zadoc
} was gone, too, dead as The Oracle's loyal companion Og; dead as his
} horse; dead as the Cyberpromo Gang was going to be. Soon. Real soon.
}
}  "Spamford!" called The Oracle. "I know you're here! I've come to call
} you to account!"
}
}  A feeble gust of wind blew a pathetic dust devil down the street as
} the gang appeared. Skulking like the rats they were, they stepped from
} the alleys between the buildings, slipped out of doorways, crawled out
} from beneath the sidewalks. Spamford was there, and a dozen others,
} faces without names, none of whom would have done anything worse than
} selling used horses without Spamford. Spamford fed their sickness, and
} drove them on, and railed at them. Spamford was the means by which they
} had become more than just the town drunk or a bully in a loud suit. But
} none of that mattered anymore. They made their choice. And, just like
} Spamford, The Oracle would make them each pay for the crimes they'd
} committed.
}
}  "We-ellll," drawled Spamford. "If it ain't T.I. Oracle. Mister High
} and Mighty. To whut do ah owe the pleasure?"
}
}  "You know why I'm here, Spamford," replied The Oracle. " I aim to rid
} the world of you and your kind. You've taken what was once clean and
} pure and dragged it through the dirt. You've turned the inboxes of the
} world into your toilet, and you've dragged these boys into the sewer
} with you. I aim to make you pay."
}
}  "Haw. Haw. Haw." Spamford laughed without humor, biting off each
} syllable. "Clean and pure? Wise up, Orrie, boy. The guv'mint paid fer
} all of it. Men like me built it. And men like me are gonna use it. You
} kin have yer dreams of schoolkids playin' in the open fields. Meantime,
} me 'n my boys are gonna  make a killin' off them dreams. It's already
} dirty. I'm just doin' what you and your kind don't dare."
}
}  The Oracle stood firmly, glaring grimly at Spamford. It was true, the
} dreams of purity and beauty had faded long ago. The dancehall girls and
} the rodeo boys had taken that dream, and twisted it, and Spamford and
} his kind had left a bad taste in the mouths of the honest folk that
} still remained. But a new dream had arisen, one even he didn't quite
} understand. And there was no room on the new homestead for the likes of
} Spamford.
}
}  Into the silence, The Oracle said, "Draw, Spamford."
}
}  Spamford stood, hands clenching and unclenching. Suddenly he shouted,
} "HOW MUCH WOO---"
}
}  A single shot rang from the wooden face of the town. Spamford's
} shirtfront blossomed red, and he looked down, mouth working silently.
} He looked up at The Oracle, and his eyes opened wide, curious, silently
} asking the question he knew he would never be able to ask.
}
}  "Forty-two," breathed The Oracle.
}
}  "Forty-two _what_?" asked Spamford, before he fell face down in the
} dust.
}
}  The Oracle stood, watching the remnants of the Cyberpromo Gang. One by
} one, they slipped quietly away from him, disappearing in different
} directions. When they all had gone, The Oracle knew he hadn't seen the
} last of their kind. Evil fled to the dark corners when it was beaten,
} but one day, they would find another Spamford, and they'd be back. But
} when they returned, they would find him standing tall, defending a
} dream he didn't understand, and answering the question no one can ask
} with the answer no one understands. Because he is The Oracle.
}
}  You owe the Oracle some Louis Lamour, some Kurosawa, and a little John
} Woo.


984-03    (5jLi7 dist, 3.0 mean)
Selected-By: Mike Nolan <nolan@celery.tssi.com>

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> Dear, almighty Oracle!
>
> I'm <hic!> just a humble applicant with a <hic!> silly <hic!> problem:
> I have had the hiccups for almost <hic!> an hour, and I <hic!> can't
> make it stop.
> Do You have any ad<hic!>vice against hiccups?
>
> Yours
>
> H. Ic.

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Dear supplicant,
}
} There are many traditional ways to get rid of hiccups, some with their
} basis in supserstition and folklore, and some that are grounded in
} scientific fact.  It is important when addressing this issue to
} understand the nature of hiccups, and what is going with our diaphragm
} when <<<<BOOO!!!>>>>
}
} There you go, supplicant.  You're quite welcome.
}
} You owe the <hic> Oracle a <hic> glass of water.


984-04    (6Gyc2 dist, 2.6 mean)
Selected-By: Mike Nolan <nolan@celery.tssi.com>

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> Oh Oracle most wise, why don't they want jokes about mouse balls on
> rec.humor.funny?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Welcome to the ever-expanding world of Usenet!  Naturally the
} participants in rec.humor.funny are annoyed by your intrusion - they
} swap jokes ABOUT humor in that newsgroup.  You're looking for
} rec.humor.rodent.genitalia.male - the proper forum for this sort of
} humor (using that word in it's broadest possible sense).  The jokes to
} which you refer might be cross-posted acceptably to
} rec.humor.computer.ancient, or even
} alt.funny.true.life.hardware, but at all costs avoid
} alt.science.rodentia.reproductive.d - those guys have no sense of humor
} AT ALL.
}
} You owe the Oracle a 16mm print of Bergman's classic "Rats In Lust"


984-05    (csqm8 dist, 2.9 mean)
Selected-By: Darkmage <DAVIS@wehi.edu.au>

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> O great Oracle,
>     Who can see the far side of the moon,
>     Who can count the spelling mistakes in the dictionary,
>     Who can sleep through sex education,
> Hear now this pitiful supplicant
>     unworthy to bathe you with my tongue,
>     unable to read a menu without assistance.
> Please answer my feeble questions:
>
> If "Einstein" means "One Cup," what does "Frankenstein" mean and why?
> Did Einstein really only have one cup?
> What did he use his one cup for?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Supplicant!
}
} You have come the second closest human to understanding a minuscule
} subset of the universe! Your human brethren should be semi-proud!
}
} When they found the papers of chicken scratch next to Einstein's death
} bed, do you think they found that he was working on some esotericum
} like a Grand Unified Theory or Quantum Gravity?  No way!  He was
} recalculating the Babe's stats to double check for errors.  Why?  He
} performed the same thought experiment you did, and was led to the one
} inescapable conclusion: the Standard Model is rubbish; Baseball
} Relativity is the true path to understanding.
}
} BR is an attempt to reduce everything to the axiomatic essentials. In
} BR, the einstein, you see, is the basic unit of genital protection,
} which, while being highly attractive to players, obeys the Aaron
} Exclusion Principle, which says that more than one is just too many.
} You must also remember the duality of the einstein, which is also "ein
} Stein Bier," and when you have steins of beer floating around at a
} ballpark, what else do you expect to see?  Hot dogs, of course.  This
} subset of the general BR theory is called Specal BR Theory, or as the
} professors colloquially call it, Frank'n'Stein Theory.
}
} I hope that sets you on the right path, Young One.
}
} Oh, and as for how many cups Einstein had: it's all relative to the
} number of wieners.  And he used his cup(s) to thwack twits like you
} upside the head for asking such nonsense.
}
} You owe the Oracle a great big, plump, juicy, Oscar Meyer.  Play ball!


984-06    (9wBd5 dist, 2.7 mean)
Selected-By: David Sewell <dsew@packrat.aml.arizona.edu>

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> Oh Musically-Inclinedness, what *would* one get if one crossed Vivaldi
> and Handel?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

}      It's obvious, of course.
}
}      A composer who pillaged Rome in the year 455 and spray painted his
} compositions on public property.
}
} You owe the Oracle better puns.


984-07    (bxvg5 dist, 2.7 mean)
Selected-By: clemenr@westminster.ac.uk (Ross Clement)

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> Oh Oracle most wise, I suspect my nail clippers, despite outward
> appearances, are alive.
>
> The reason I think this is that every time I buy a pair of nail
> clippers, after a period of two or three days they disappear.  It never
> fails.  So the next week, when I want to cut my nails again, I have
> to go and buy a new pair.  And of course that pair disappears too.
>
> But here's where it gets really weird.  After a few months, all the
> nail clippers I've bought suddenly turn up again, so I have twelve
> pairs.  And then a few weeks later they start disappearing again,
> one by one.  What on earth are they up to?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} Well, I was supposed to keep this a secret, but since you asked,
} I'll tell you.  They've been out working so they could buy you a nice
} birthday gift.
}
} You owe the oracle a 10-pack of nail clippers.  One for each nail.


984-08    (4dGlg dist, 3.3 mean)
Selected-By: clemenr@westminster.ac.uk (Ross Clement)

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> Oh Oracle most wise,
>
> Did Bill Clinton really have sexual relations with
> that lady in the newspapers?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} No, it was in the small study just off the Oval Office.
}
} You owe the Oracle a parse of your question.


984-09    (avAh2 dist, 2.7 mean)
Selected-By: David Sewell <dsew@packrat.aml.arizona.edu>

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

> How are things in Glocamora?

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

} How are things in Indiana?
} Are those priests still sleeping there?
} Do they still run that mail-queue with care?
} With sorry begs, null-query and w**dch*ck-hair?
}
} How are things in Indiana?
} Is that pawn of mine still staying there?
} Does old Zadoc with the mournful eye
} Come crawling by and does he shuffle away
} Sad and broken after I ZOT him there?
} So I ask you, sorry fellow
} And each supplicant today
} And each that comes to Me askin'
} Questions today
} How are things in Indiana
} This fine day?
}
} You owe the Oracle a pint of Guiness and a Celtic translation
} of "On a clear day you can see forever".


984-10    (mnnj9 dist, 2.7 mean)
Selected-By: David Sewell <dsew@packrat.aml.arizona.edu>

The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was:

>       Oracle:  Why do you stay?
>       Zadoc:  Why do you keep me?
>       Oracle:  There's no one else.
>       Zadoc:  There's nowhere else.

And in response, thus spake the Oracle:

}       Oracle: What's wrong with you?
}       Zadoc:  Nothing.
}       Oracle: I'm going.
}       Zadoc:  So am I.
}               [they do not move]
}       Oracle: I hear something.
}       Zadoc:  Here? Where?
}               [they listen, bent double]
}       Oracle: Wait. . .
}                 [takes off wizard-hat, concentrates]
}       Zadoc:  Let me see it. [takes wizard-hat, concentrates]
}               Ah!
}       Oracle: Well?
}       Zadoc:  Look at it.
}               [they look at wizard-hat]
}       Oracle: It must be Fall.
}       Zadoc:  Anymore it's always Fall.
}       Oracle: I want it back.
}               [snatches wizard-hat back]
}       Zadoc:  Look, it's Lisa.
}       Oracle: No, it's a boy.
}       Boy:    Lisa told me to tell you she won't be coming
}               this day, but surely tommorow.
}               [leaves]
}       Zadoc:  Why wait?
}       Oracle: Let's go.
}               [they do not move]
}
} You owe The Oracle a season pass to Theatre de Babylone.


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