Fun_People Archive
22 Dec
The Fun_People Christmas Mail Bomb...
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From: Peter Langston <psl>
Date: Sun, 22 Dec 96 21:12:33 -0800
To: Fun_People
Subject: The Fun_People Christmas Mail Bomb...
[Dear Funsters:
Okay, I'm about to be on vacation, but before your mailboxes get to
breathe a huge sigh of relief, here's a Christmas compilation that will take
forever to read (but no time at all to delete!) The choice is yours...
- Peter]
_____________________________________________________________________________
-=[ Table of Contents ]=-
-=[ 1]=- HERMANN HATES Christmas
-=[ 2]=- YACPTO (Yet Another Christmas Poem Take-Off)
-=[ 3]=- A Holiday Wish
-=[ 4]=- Tvas the night before Chanukah (YACPTO)
-=[ 5]=- Seasoned Greetings
-=[ 6]=- 6 Christmas Thoughts
-=[ 7]=- Santa Claus is Tapping Your Phone (YACPTO)
-=[ 8]=- Christmas on the Enterprise (YACPTO)
-=[ 9]=- Today's Christmas Technology
-=[10]=- Christmas Quiz
-=[11]=- Happily Addicted to the Web (YSOCPTO)
-=[12]=- The Bill Gates Song (YSOCPTO)
-=[13]=- Gil Amelio's Coming to Town! (YSOCPTO)
-=[14]=- Microsoft (YSOCPTO)
-=[15]=- Violent Night (YSOCPTO)
-=[16]=- Politically Correct Santa (YACPTO)
-=[17]=- All Through the Nets (YACPTO)
-=[18]=- A Computer Christmas Carol (YACPTO)
-=[19]=- Certifiably Inane -- December 22, 1996
-=[20]=- A Networkologist's Christmas (YACPTO)
-=[21]=- There are folks less cynical than I (YACPTO)
-=[22]=- SprintLink Song (YACPTO)
-=[23]=- Top Ten Santa Warning Signs
-=[24]=- Ohio Widows Get Yearly Allotment of Flour
-=[25]=- Ascii Christmas Art
-=[26]=- A Christmas Joke...
-=[27]=- Have A Stealth Christmas (YACPTO)
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: HERMANN HATES Christmas
From: HermHates@aol.com
HERMANN HATES Christmas
--a gift-wrapped column--
Copyright 1996 by Andrew Hermann
Okay. So I've had my damn Thanksgiving Day turkey and put together all my
damn holiday shopping lists and bought my damn nonsectarian holiday greeting
cards. Now all I have to do is spend every last dime of my meager savings
buying all those presents and the obligatory sacrificial tree and the wreath
and the ornaments and the plane ticket home--oh yeah, and I suppose now that
I've got all those nonsectarian holiday greeting cards I should actually
write something pithy on each of them and mail them all out, huh? And I'd
better get on the stick and mail out all the gifts that are going to people
I won't actually see this year, since your friendly neighborhood U.S. Postal
Service can't guarantee delivery of anything mailed out after this weekend
till Martin Luther King Day. And then there's the office Christmas party
to attend to. And all those other Christmas parties to attend.
Am I the only for whom the phrase "Christmas cheer" refers to that whoop of
joy you let out when all this shit is finally over and you've swept the last
of the pine needles out from under the couch?
Don't give me any of this "Peace on Earth" crap. Christmas is STRESSFUL.
I mean, I like giving and receiving gifts as much as the next person, but
why can't you just take all your friends to the mall so they can just point
to what they want? Why all this second-guessing and brainstorming and
gift-wrapping and presentation? How am I supposed to shop for my family
and friends when I forget to buy milk every time I go to the Foodmaster?
Maybe, just maybe, holiday shopping would be fun if it weren't hyped every
year into such a consumer feeding frenzy that you feel downright seditious
for not plunking down your last ten bucks on a novelty tie for Uncle
Francis.
But it's all become just like that depressing holiday feature "Jingle All
the Way," in which Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sinbad destroy an entire
downtown shopping district (or maybe it's just one FAO Schwartz--I haven't
actually seen the movie) in a battle- to-the-death over who gets the last
TurboMegaSomethingorOther Action Figure in town. (By the way, does anybody
else think that this entire movie was inspired by the shopping mall sequence
in "Terminator 2"? Arnie cuts a swath of destruction through consumer
utopia! Madcap hilarity for the whole family! I mean, after all, who
hasn't ever looked at one of those pristinely arranged, beribboned holiday
displays of Santa Claus figurines and eggnog cups and had a crazy desire to
take a sledgehammer to the whole thing?) At some point the mere gesture of
gift-giving stopped cutting the mustard, and like everything else in this
fucked-up society, it got competitive. Now you honestly feel, as you're
doing your seasonal shopping, that you'd better kick ass, take names, and
win first prize in the gift-giving sweepstakes, or you're a big,
insensitive, uncaring hosehead. Macy's may as well hang a banner over every
entrance proclaiming, "Good shopping shows you care." Or perhaps, "Bad
shopping says you don't love them enough."
It's easy to forget, in the midst of all the shopping and parties and
Charlie Brown specials, what this holiday is really all about. It's about
killing a tree for Jesus. No, wait, that's not it. It's about giving
thanks for what we have...er, no. It's about celebrating what makes us
American...no, that puts us right back in the shopping mall again. Hang
on, it'll come to me in a second.
You know, actually, I think this may be the one big holiday of the year that
has no real identity of its own. Once upon a time it was a Christian
holiday, but even that definition was tenuous at best. The birth of Jesus
has about as much to do with evergreen and holly and snow and reindeer and
all the other popular symbols of Christmas as the Detroit Lions have to do
with Thanksgiving. I mean, who are we kidding? Jesus was born in a desert
in the Middle East. Sure, the wise men brought him gifts, but there the
connection pretty much ends. It's not like we all exchange frankincense
and eat dates at Christmas parties (well, maybe in California). All the
other trappings of Christmas are pagan relics appropriated by the Christians
so people would stop dancing around yule logs at the winter solstice and go
to church instead. Christmas is the Frankenstein of holidays, cobbled
together from a bunch of ancient traditions, romanticized with a dash of
Dickens and a smidgen of Capra, and given a sexy modern spin by good ol'
western capitalist greed.
Of course, I can sit here pooh-poohing the Most Wonderful Time of the Year
all I want. It still won't do me any good when I'm standing there paralyzed
in the middle of Copley Place trying to remember if I have enough money left
on my Citibank MasterCard to get Dad the Braun shaving kit, or if I should
just toddle back to Lechter's and settle for the Tabasco Sauce gift pack.
Neither of which dear old Dad, firmly ensconsed back home in a mountain of
electronic gadgets and retiree couture big enough to keep your average
Florida retirement community in geek boxes and polyester well into the 22nd
century, has any real use for. See, for my Dad, the rat race is over, and
even if he didn't exactly win, he finished far enough out in front to
collect some serious consolation prizes. So there is no "just the thing"
for Dad any more. My Dad is set. He may need a new computer one of these
days, since the model he still uses is an ancient, creaky behemoth from the
early 1990's, but he ain't getting it from me on my arts- and-humanities
chump salary.
Although I suppose, in his own impossible-to-shop-for way, my Dad is the
ideal gift recipient in these frazzled times. Precisely because there IS
no "just the thing" for him, Christmas shopping for Dad returns gift-giving
to its pure, old-fashioned, it's-the- thought-that-counts roots. My Dad
knows I love him no matter what's under the Christmas tree.
Of course, if what's under the Christmas tree is a Tabasco Sauce gift pack,
my Dad will know he is loved by an underpaid, underachieving dweeb of a son
who'd rather write humor columns than work overtime.
Any of you readers work for Citibank?
<<If a friend sent you this column, you can save them the trouble next time
by subscribing yourself. E-mail me at HermHates@aol.com.>>
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: YACPTO (Yet Another Christmas Poem Take-Off)
[WARNING: It's long! -psl]
Twas the night before solstice and all through the co-op
Not a creature was messing the calm status quo up.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
Dreaming of lentils and warm whole-grain breads.
We'd welcomed the winter that day after school
By dancing and drumming and burning the Yule,
A more meaningful gesture to honor the planet
Than buying more trinkets for Mom or Aunt Janet,
Or choosing a tree just to murder and stump it
And deck it all out like a seasonal strumpet.
My lifemate and I, having turned down the heat,
Slipped under the covers for some well-deserved sleep,
When from out on the lawn there came such a roar
I slipped from my futon and rolled to the floor.
I crawled to the window and pulled back the latch,
And muttered, "Aw, where is that Neighborhood Watch?"
I saw there below through the murk of the night
A sleigh and eight reindeer, challenged of height.
At the reins of that sleigh sat a mean-hearted knave
Who treated each deer like some personal slave.
I'd seen him before in some ads for car loans,
Plus fast food, soft drinks and cellular car phones.
He must have cashed in from these mercantile chores,
Since self-satisfaction just oozed from his pores.
He called each by name, as if 'twere his right
To treat them like chattel enhancing his might:
"Now Donder, now Blitzen," and other such aliases,
Showing his true Eurocentrical biases.
With a snap of his fingers away they all flew,
Like Democrats served up brie or tofu.
Up to the rooftop they carried the sleigh
(The damage to my shingles is there to this day).
Out bounded the man, who went straight to the flue.
I knew in an instant just what I should do.
After donning my slippers, downstairs did I dash
To see this trespasser emerge from the ash.
His clothes were all covered with soot, well of course,
From our wood-fueled alternative energy source.
Through the grime I distinguished the make of his duds--
He was trimmed all in fur, fairly dripping with blood!
"We're a cruelty-free house!" I proclaimed with such heat
He was startled and tripped on the logs at his feet.
He stood back up dazed, but with mirth in his eyes.
It was then that I noticed his unhealthy size.
He was almost as wide as when standing erect,
A lover of fatty fried foods, I suspect.
But that wasn't all to make sane persons choke:
In his teeth sat a pipe that was belching out smoke!
I could scarcely believe what had invaded our house--
This carcinogenic and overweight louse
Was so red in the face from his energy spent,
I expected a coronary right there and then.
Behind him he toted a red velvet bag
Full to exploding with sinister swag.
He asked, "Where is your tree?" with a face somewhat long.
I said, "Out in the yard, which is where it belongs."
"But where will I put all the presents I've brought?"
I looked at him squarely and said, "Take the whole lot
"To some frivolous people who think that they need
To succumb to the sickness of commerce and greed,
"Whose only joy comes from the act of consuming,
Thus sending the value of retail stocks booming."
He blinked and said, "Ho, ho, ho! But you're kidding."
I gave him a stare that was stern and forbidding.
"Surely children need something with which to have fun?
Or it's like childhood's over before it's begun."
He looked in my eyes for some sign of assent,
But I strengthened my will and refused to relent.
"They have plenty of fun," I cut to the gist,
"And your mindless distractions have never been missed.
"They take CPR so that they can save lives,
And they go door-to-door on used clothing drives.
"They recycle, renew, reuse and reveal
For saving the planet a laudable zeal.
"When they padlock themselves to a fence to protest
Against nuclear power, we think they're the best."
He said, "But they're children--lo, when do they play?"
I countered, "Is that why you've come in your sleigh,
"To bring joy to the hearts of each child and tot?
All right, open your bag; let's see what you've got."
He sheepishly did as I'd asked and behold!
A Malibu Barbie in a skirt of gold.
"You think that my girls will like playing with this,
An icon of sexist, consumerist kitsch?
"With its unnat'ral figure and airheaded grin,
This trollop makes every girl yearn to be thin,
"And take up fad diets, bingeing and purging
Instead of respecting her own body's urging
"To welcome the shape that her body has found
And rejoice to be lanky, short, skinny or round."
Deep from his satchel he produced up a toy,
Saying, "This is a hit with most every boy."
And what did he put in my trembling hand
But a gun from the BrainBlaster Power Command!
"It's a 'hit,' to be sure," I sneered in his face,
"And a plague and a pox on the whole human race!
"How 'bout grenades or some working bazookas
To turn all of our kids into half-wit palookas?"
I seized on his bag just to see for myself
The filth being spread by this odious elf.
An Easy-Bake Oven--ah, goddess, what perfidy!
To hoodwink young girls into household captivity!
Plus an archer play set with shafts that fly out,
The very thing to put a child's eye out.
And toy metal tractors, steam shovels and cranes
For destroying woodlands and scarring the plains,
Plus "games" like Monop'ly, Pay Day, Tycoon,
As if lessons in greed can't start up too soon.
And even more weapons from BrainBlasters Co.,
Like cannons and nunchucks and ray guns that glow.
That's all I could find in his red velvet sack--
Perverseness and mayhem to set us all back.
"We need none of this," I announced in a huff,
"No 'business-as-usual' holiday stuff.
"We sow in our offspring more virtue than this.
Your goods are things that they'll never miss."
The big man's expression was a trifle bereaved
As he shouldered his pack and got ready to leave.
"I pity the kids who grow up around here,
Who're never permitted to be of good cheer,
"Who aren't allowed leisure for leisure's own sake,
But must fret every minute--it makes my heart ache!"
"Enough histrionics! Don't pity our kids
If they don't do as Macy's or Toys 'R' Us bids.
"They live by their principles first and foremost
And know what's important," to him I did boast.
"Pray, could I meet them?" "Oh no, they're not here.
By now, they're on the roof, liberating your deer!"
At that Santa sputtered and pointed his finger
But, mad as he was, he had no time to linger.
He flew up the chimney like smoke from a fire,
And up on the roof I heard voices get higher.
I ran outside the co-op to see him react
To my children's responsible, kindhearted act.
He chased them away, and disheartened, dismayed,
He rehitched his reindeer (who'd docilely stayed).
I watched with delight as he scooted off then;
He'd be too embarrassed to come back again.
But with parting disdain, do you know what he said,
This overweight huckster when he took off in his sled?
This reindeer enslaver, this exploiter of elves?
"Happy Christmas to all, but get over yourselves!!"
by James Finn Garner
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: A Holiday Wish
Forwarded-by: <SCruzin@aol.com>
A HOLIDAY WISH
Best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low
stress, non-addictive, gender neutral winter solstice holiday, practiced
within the most joyous traditions of the religious persuasion of your
choice, yet with respect for the religious persuasions of others or their
choice not to practice religion at all;
and
a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated
recognition of the generally accepted calendar year, 1997, but not without
due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose
contributions to our society have helped make America great, without regard
to the race, creed, color, religious or sexual preference of the wishes.
(This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal, it implies no
promise by the wishor to actually attempt to implement any of the wishes
for her/himself or others.)
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: Tvas the night before Chanukah (YACPTO)
Forwarded-by: Daniel Steinberg <dss@opcode.com>
[this went around years ago...in case you missed it back then. it doesn't
quite scan inh a few places, but it's worth the effort...]
'Tvas the night before Chanukah, boisheks and meidels,
Not a sound could be heard, not even the dreidels.
In the kitchen, the Bubbie was choppin' a bite,
Salami, pastrami, a glassele tey,
And soyere pickles mit bagels, oy vey!
Gesundt and geshmack the kinderlach felt,
While dreaming of toglach and Chanukah gelt.
The alarm clock was sittin',
A kloppen and tickin',
And Bubbie was carving a shtikele chicken.
A tummel arose like a thousand Baroches,
Santa had fallen and broken his toches!
I put on my slippers, eins, zvei, drei,
While Bubbie was enjoying her herring and rye.
I grabbed for my bathrobe and buttoned my gatkes,
And Bubbie was just devouring the latkes.
To the window I ran and to my surprise,
A little red yalmeke greeted my eyes.
When he got to the door and saw the Menorah,
"Yiddishe kinder," he said, "Kenahorah!"
"I thought I was in a strange hois,
As long as I'm here, I'll leave a few toys."
"Come into the kitchen, I'll get you a dish,
A guppel, a leffel, a shtikele fish."
With smacks of delight, he started his fressen,
Chopped liver, and kneidlach, and kreplach gegessen,
Along with his meals, he had a few schnapps,
When it came to eating, this boy was tops.
He asked for some knishes mit pfeffer oon zaltz,
But they were so hot, he yelled "OY GEVALT!!"
He buttoned his hoisen and ran from the tish,
"Your koshereh meals are simply delish."
As he went through the door, he said, "See you all later,
I'll be back next Pesach, in time for the Seder."
More rapid than eagles, his prancers they came,
As he whistled and shouted and called them by name,
"Now Izzie, now Morris, now Louis and Sammy,
On Irving and Maxie and Hymie and Manny."
He gave a geshrey as he drove out of sight,
"A good yontiff to all and to all a good night!!"
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: Seasoned Greetings
Forwarded-by: Ninafel@aol.com
Forwarded-by: AEM@psulias.psu.edu (Alan E. Mays)
Forwarded-by: HRK@psulias.psu.edu (KORETZKY, HENRY)
saltpepper marjoram cilantro
sarsaparilla bay leaves coriander!
garlicsalt allspice curry cinnamon
rosemary fennel parsley turmeric
dillweed ginger anise pepper
tarragon chives nutmeg
angelica garlic cloves
parsleysagerosemarythyme mustard zest
basiloreganocuminpaprika capers dill
marjoram hoisin relish Na
shallots pickle garlic Cl
woodruff cloves sesame
mushroom onions morels
peppermint jalapeno tarragon mace
butterscotch lime juice red pepper garlic
celeryseed cinnamon allspice sage
S E A S O N E D G R E E T I N G S
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: 6 Christmas Thoughts
Forwarded-by: Keith Bostic <bostic@bsdi.com>
Forwarded-by: Carl Staelin <staelin@hplms2.hpl.hp.com>
Forwarded-by: "J. Stuart Read" <sread@diba.com>
All I want for Christmas is Santa's list of naughty girls.
-----
What do you call it when you are afraid of being in a small room with a
bunch of fat guys in red suits?
Santa Claustrophobia!
-----
Ever notice how Christmas is like a day at the office?
You do all the work and the fat guy in the suit gets the credit.
-----
I wish you a Hawaiian Christmas -- POI TO THE WORLD.
-----
How come you never hear anything about the 10th reindeer "Olive"?
Olive?
Yeah, you know, "Olive the other reindeer, used to laugh and call him
names..."
------
But Santa, naughty IS nice...
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: Santa Claus is Tapping Your Phone (YACPTO)
Forwarded-by: Keith Bostic <bostic@bsdi.com>
Forwarded-by: "Carolyn P. Meinel" <cmeinel@techbroker.com>
Forwarded-by: "Robert Schmid" <rschmid@skypoint.com>
You'd better watch out,
You'd better not cry,
You'd better not pout;
I'm telling you why.
Santa Claus is tapping
Your phone.
He's bugging your room,
He's reading your mail,
He's keeping a file
And running a tail.
Santa Claus is tapping
Your phone.
He hears you in the bedroom,
Surveills you out of doors,
And if that doesn't get the goods,
Then he'll use provocateurs.
So -- you mustn't assume
That you are secure.
On Christmas Eve
He'll kick in your door.
Santa Claus is tapping
Your phone.
[Supposedly written for and sung at a US Department of Justice,
Office of Legal Counsel Christmas party]
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: Christmas on the Enterprise (YACPTO)
Forwarded-by: "Jack D. Doyle" <doylej@peak.org>
Forwarded-by: Jennifer Kraus <krausj@ava.bcc.orst.edu>
Forwarded-by: Kraus, Matthew <MKRAUS@ist.ucf.edu>
Christmas on the Enterprise
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the ship
Not a circuit was buzzing, not one microchip:
The phasers were hung in the armory securely,
In hope that no alien would get up that early.
The crewmen were nestled all snug in their bunks
(Except for the few who were partying drunks)
And Picard in his nightshirt, and Bev in her lace,
Had just settled down for a neat face to face. . .
When out in the hall there arose such a racket,
That we leapt from our beds, pulling on pant and jacket.
Away to the lifts we all shot like a gun,
Leapt into the turbos and shouted "Deck One!"
The bridge red-alert lights, which flashed through the din,
Gave a lustre of Hades to objects within.
When, what on the viewscreen, our eyes should behold,
But a weird kind of sleigh, and some guy who looked old.
But the glint in his eyes was so strange and askew,
That we knew in a moment it had to be Q.
His sleigh grew much larger as closer he came.
Then he zapped on the bridge and addressed us by name:
"It's Riker, It's Data, It's Worf and Jean-Luc!
It's Geordi, Weasley, the genetic fluke!
To the top of the bridge, to the top of the hull!
Now float away! Float away! Float away all!"
As leaves in the autumn are whisked off the street,
So the floor of the bridge came away from our feet,
And up to the ceiling, our bodies they flew,
As the captain called out, 'what the Hell is this, Q?!"
And, snapping his fingers, he vanished again.
The spell was removed, and we crashed to the ground.
Then Q, dressed in fur from head to toe,
Appeared once again, to continue the show.
"That's enough!" creid the captain, "You'll stop this at once!"
And Riker said, "Worf, take aim at this dunce!"
"I'm deeply offended, Jean-Luc,' replied Q,
"I just wanted to celebrate Christmas with you."
As we scoffed at his words, he produced a large sack.
He dumped out the contents and took a step back.
"I've brought gifts," he daid, "just to show I'm sincere.
There's someting delightful for everyone here."
He sat on the floor, and dug into the pile,
And handed out gifts with his most charming smile:
"For Counselor Troi, there's no need to explain,
Here's Tylenol-Beta for all of your pain.
For Worf I've some mints, as his breath's not too great
And for Geordi LaForge, an inflatable date.
For Wesley, some hormones, and Clearasil-plus;
For Data, a joke book, for Riker a truss.
For Beverly Crusher, there's sleek lingerie,
And for Jean-Luc, the thrill of just seeing her that way."
And he sprang to his feet with that grin on his face,
And, clapping his hands, disappeared into space.
But we heard him exclaim as he dwindled from sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good flight!"
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: Today's Christmas Technology
Forwarded-by: George Osner <gosner@ainet.com>
Newsgroups: rec.humor.funny
Forwarded-by: chuckc@corley.sr.hp.com (Chuck Corley)
This year I bought several new strings of Christmas lights, the
fancy kind that flash multiple different light patterns. Several days
after putting them up on the Christmas Tree, I noticed that one string was
"stuck"; the lights did not flash. I thought it was somewhat strange
that the lights would be "stuck", as I knew that the light controller
was electronic, with no mechanical parts to get "stuck".
I unplugged and plugged in the lights, and pressed the button on
the light controller box until the lights started working again.
I had walked a few steps away when it struck me what had just
happened:
The light string was controlled by state-machine firmware.
In other words, it was run by computer software.
I had just experienced a Christmas light firmware crash.
I had just rebooted my Christmas lights.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: Christmas Quiz
Forwarded-by: TomRawson@aol.com
Forwarded-by: thebcs@concentric.net
NAME THAT CHRISTMAS TUNE
The following titles of traditonal Christmas carols have been re-written by
government officials. Can you guess the original titles?
1. Move Hither The Entire Assembly Of Those Who Are Loyal In Their Belief
2. Embellish Interior Passageways
3. Vertically Challenged Adolescent Percussionist
4. First Person Singular Experiencing An Hallucinatory Phenomenon Of A
Natal Celebration Devoid Of Color
5. Soundless Nocturnal Period
6. Majestic Triplet Referred To In The First Person Plural
7. The Yuletide Occurance Preceding All Others
8. Precious Metal Musical Devices
9. Omnipotent Supreme Being Elicit Respite To Ecstatic Distinguished Males
10. Caribou With Vermillion Olfactory Appendage
11. Allow Crystalline Formations To Descend
12. Jovial Yuletide Desired For The Second Person Singular Or Plural By The
First Person Plural
13. Commence Auditory Reception The Announcing Cherubs Vocalize
14. Kris Kringle Will Be Arriving In The City In The Not Too Distant Future
15. Bipedal Traveling Through An Amazing Acreage During The Period Between
December 21st And March 21st In The Northern Hemisphere
16. Its Arrival Occurred At Twelve O'Clock During A Clement Nocturnal
Period
17. Exclamatory Remark Concerning A Diminutive Municipality In Judea
Southwest Of Jerusalem
-------------------------------------
Answers: 1. O Come All Ye Faithful, 2. Deck The Halls, 3. The Little Drummer
Boy, 4. I'm Dreaming Of A White Christmas, 5. Silent Night, 6. We Three
Kings, 7. The First Noel, 8. Silver Bells, 9. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,
10. Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer, 11. Let It Snow, 12. We Wish You A Merry
Christmas, 13. Hark! The Herald Angels Sing, 14. Santa Claus Is Coming To
Town, 15. Walking In A Winter Wonderland, 16. It Came Upon A Midnight Clear,
17. O Little Town Of Bethlehem
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: Happily Addicted to the Web (YSOCPTO)
Forwarded-by: Leslie McKay
Happily Addicted to the Web
(sung to the tune of "Winter Wonderland")
Doorbell rings, I'm not list'nin',
From my mouth, drool is glist'nin',
I'm happy--although
My boss let me go--
Happily addicted to the Web.
All night long, I sit clicking,
Unaware time is ticking,
There's beard on my cheek,
Same clothes for a week,
Happily addicted to the Web.
Friends come by; they shake me,
Saying, "Yo, man!
Don't you know tonight's the senior prom?"
With a listless shrug, I mutter, "No, man;
I just discovered letterman-dot-com!"
I don't phone, don't send faxes,
Don't go out, don't pay taxes,
Who cares if someday
They drag me away?
I'm happily addicted to the Web!
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: The Bill Gates Song (YSOCPTO)
Forwarded-by: Leslie McKay
The Bill Gates Song
(to the tune of "The Christmas Song")
Netscape roasting on an open fire,
Apple begging on its knees,
Photo popping up on Time magazine,
Yes, Bill Gates dreams of days like these!
Everybody knows he's never fully satisfied,
Throws himself behind each task,
World dominion is his company's goal.
Well, hey, is that so much to ask?
He knows the world is in his sway,
We'll buy whatever software he might toss our way,
We'll surf his Internet, watch his TV,
He'll take us anywhere we ask him--for a fee.
And so we're offering this simple prayer,
To Bill and all his MS grunts:
Since we all follow any standard you write,
Make it good, please,
Make it good, please,
Make it good, please, just once!
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: Gil Amelio's Coming to Town! (YSOCPTO)
Forwarded-by: Leslie McKay
Gil Amelio's Coming to Town!
(to the tune of "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town")
You better watch out,
Absurd as it sounds,
'Cause Apple's about
To lose a few pounds--
Gil Amelio's coming to town!
He's making a list,
And trimming the rolls
Of projects that missed
Their revenue goals--
Gil Amelio's coming to town!
He knows what's losing money,
Like eWorld, PowerTalk . . .
You'd better make your project work
Or prepare to take a walk!
Though you follow his lead
Right out the back door,
You know he'll succeed--
He's done it before!
Gil Amelio's coming to town!
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: Microsoft (YSOCPTO)
Forwarded-by: Leslie McKay
Microsoft
(to the tune of "Jingle Bells")
Nine-tenths of a gig,
Biggest ever seen,
God, this program's big--
MS Word 15!
Comes on ten CDs,
And requires--damn!
Word is fine, but jeez--
60 megs of RAM?!
Oh! Microsoft, Microsoft,
Bloatware all the way!
I've sat here installing Word
Since breakfast yesterday!
Oh! Microsoft, Microsoft,
Moderation, please.
Guess you hadn't noticed:
Four-gig drives don't grow on trees!
I'm Dreaming of a Clean System
(to the tune of "White Christmas")
I'm dreaming of a clean System,
Something that fits on one CD.
Each component matches,
Not bits and patches,
Unlike 7-5-point-3.
I'm longing for a dream System,
Small, stable, fast, and trouble-free.
What we want, I think you'll agree,
Is called System 6-point-oh-3!
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: Violent Night (YSOCPTO)
Forwarded-by: Leslie McKay
Violent Night
(to the tune of "Silent Night")
Silent Mac, broken Mac!
System bombed, screen went black.
Books suggested things; I tried 'em all:
Shift key, desktop file, clean reinstall.
Now my deadline is tight,
This Mac's been silent all night.
Violent night, horrible night!
Lost my cool, filled with spite,
Threw my Mac through the balcony door
Watched it fall from the 20th floor,
Now I'm sleeping in peace;
Thank God I had it on lease.
Prove It's So!
(to the tune of "Let It Snow")
Oh, the papers say Apple's dying,
But before we start good-byeing,
We should call them all up and go,
"Prove it's so! Prove it's so! Prove it's so!"
They say "Mac OS software's scarcer."
We say, "Read those numbers, there, sir,
Sales continued this year to grow.
There ya go, there ya go, there ya go!"
When they tell us Win 95
Made the Mac's famed advantages ebb,
We'll say, "Why, then, do Macs now drive
60 percent of the Web?"
We can win our PR reversal--
Make the Mac be universal--
Though we may have some years to go,
Make it so, make it so, make it so!
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: Politically Correct Santa (YACPTO)
Forwarded-by: Ninafel@aol.com
Forwarded-by: LenFeld
Forwarded-by: J. Mark Stewart <jmstewart@iwaynet.net>
POLITICALLY CORRECT SANTA
'Twas the night before Christmas and Santa's a wreck...
How to live in a world that's politically correct?
His workers no longer would answer to "Elves,"
"Vertically Challenged" they were calling themselves.
And labor conditions at the North Pole
Were alleged by the union to stifle the soul.
Four reindeer had vanished without much propriety,
Released to the wilds by the Humane Society.
And equal employment made it quite clear
That Santa had better not use just reindeer.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid,
Were replaced with four pigs, and you know that looked stupid!
The runners had been removed from his sleigh;
The ruts were termed dangerous by the EPA.
And people had started to call for the cops
When they heard sled noises on their roof tops.
Second-hand smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened.
His fur-trimmed red suit was called "unenlightened."
And to show you the strangeness of life's ebbs and flows,
Rudolf was suing for unauthorized use of his nose.
He had gone to Geraldo, in front of the nation,
Demanding millions in over-due compensation.
So, half of the reindeer were gone; and his wife,
Who suddenly said she'd enough of this life,
Joined a self-help group, packed, and left in a whiz,
Demanding from now on her title was "Ms."
And as for the gifts, why he'd ne'er a notion
That making a choice could cause so much commotion.
Nothing of leather. Nothing of fur.
Which meant nothing for him and nothing for her.
Nothing that might be construed to pollute.
Nothing to aim. Nothing to shoot.
Nothing that clamored or made lots of noise.
Nothing for just girls. Nothing for just boys.
Nothing that claimed to be gender specific.
Nothing that's warlike or non-pacific.
No candy or sweets. They were bad for the tooth.
Nothing that seemed to embellish a truth.
And fairy tales, while not yet forbidden,
Were like Ken and Barbie, better off hidden.
For they raised the hackles of those psychological
Who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.
No baseballs, no footballs. Someone could get hurt;
Besides, playing sports exposed kids to dirt.
Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be passe;
And Nintendo would rot your whole brain away.
So Santa just stood there, disheveled, perplexed;
He just could not figure out what to do next.
He tried to be merry, tried to be gay,
But you've got to be careful with that word today.
His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground;
Nothing fully acceptable was to be found.
Something special was needed, a gift that he might
Give to all without angering the left or the right.
A gift that would satisfy, with no indecision,
Each group of people, every religion,
Every ethnicity, every hue,
Everyone, everywhere...even you.
So here is that gift. It's price beyond worth.
"May you and your loved ones enjoy Peace on Earth."
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: All Through the Nets (YACPTO)
Forwarded-by: "Sally C. Barry" <sally@platsol.com>
Twas the night before Christmas
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the nets
Not a mousie was stirring, not even the pets.
The floppies were stacked by the modem with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The files were nestled all snug in a folder
The screen saver turned on, the weather was colder.
And leaving the keyboard along with my mouse
I turned from the screen to the rest of the house.
When up from the drive there arose such a clatter
I turned to the screen to see what was the matter.
Away to the mouse I flew like a flash,
Zoomed open a window in fear of a crash...
The glow from the screen on the keyboard below
Gave an electronic luster to all my macros.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a little sleigh icon with eight tiny reindeer
And a tiny disk driver so SCSI and quick
I knew in a nano it must be Saint Nick.
More rapid than trackballs his cursors they came,
He whistled and shouted and faxed them by name.
"Now Flasher! Now Dasher! Now Raster and Bixel!
On Phosphor! On Photon! On Baudrate and Pixel!
To the top of the stack. To the top of the heap."
Then each little reindeer made a soft beep.
As data that before the wild electrons fly,
When they meet with a node, mount to the drive,
So up to the screentop the cursors they flew
With a sleigh full of disks and databits, too.
And then in a twinkling I heard the high whine
Of a modem connecting at a baud rate so fine.
As I gazed at the screen with a puzzling frown
St. Nicholas logged on though I thought I was down.
He was dressed all in bytes from header to footer
And the words on the screen said "Don't you reboot 'er."
A bundle of bits he had flung on his back
And he looked like a programmer starting his hack.
His eyes how they glazed, his hair was so scary,
His cola was jolt, not flavored with cherry.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a GIF
And the pixels of his beard sure gave me a lift.
The stump of a routine he held tight in his code
And I knew he had made it past the last node.
He spoke not a word but looked right at me
And I saw in a flash his file was .SEA.
He self-decompressed and I watched him unfold,
Into a jolly old elf, a sight to behold.
And the whispering sound of my hard drive's head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He went straight to his work without saying a word
And filled all the folders of this happy nerd.
And 'tis the whole truth, as the story is told,
That giving a nod up the window he scrolled,
He sprang to the serial port as if truly on fire
And away they all flew down the thin copper wire.
But I heard him exclaim as he scrolled out of sight
"Happy Christmas to All, and to all a good night."
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: A Computer Christmas Carol (YACPTO)
Forwarded-by: Paul & Joan Blumstein <pbjb@cinenet.net>
Twas the night before implementation, and all through the house
Not a program was working, not even a browse.
The engineers hung by their monitors in despair,
With hopes that a miracle soon would be there.
The customers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of progress danced in their heads.
When out of the CASE there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter.
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a super programmer (with a six pack of beer).
His resume glowed with experience so rare,
He turned out great code with a bit pusher's flair.
More rapid than eagles, his routines they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
On Update! On Body! On Inquire! On Delete!
On Batch Jobs! On Closing! On Withs Complete!
His eyes were glazed over, fingers nimble and lean,
From weekends and nights spent in front of a screen.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know, I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Turning specs into code, then turned with a jerk;
And laying his finger upon the "enter" key,
The system came up and worked perfectly.
The updates updated; the deletes, they deleted;
The inquiries inquired and closings completed.
He tested each whistle, and tested each bell,
With nary an APPEND, thus all had gone well.
The job was finished, the tests were concluded,
The engineer's last changes were even included.
"Heh!", the customer exclaimed with a snarl and a taunt,
"It's just what I asked for, but not what I want!"<
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: Certifiably Inane -- December 22, 1996
Forwarded-by: "Patrick C. Ross" <patrickr@cais.com>
I hope everyone is having a very happy holiday season. Here at CI we
believe there are few things in life, other than the calculations used for
the cost of a long distance call, more inane than the holidays. As such,
this week's column is yet again holiday-related. May it fill you with
ho-ho-hos (as opposed to ho-hos, a junk food we definitely don't need right
now, what with all the calories we're consuming in fruitcakes and figgie
pudding).
Patrick
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
CERTIFIABLY INANE December 22, 1996
(c) Patrick C. Ross
Christmas on Deep Background
Speaking of bankruptcy court, Christmas is almost upon us. Whether
you observe the birth of Christ or the Tao of Pooh, it's hard to avoid
experiencing the full onslaught that this holiday has become. Yet as I was
frantically cranking out cards to that mailing list of friends with whom I
seem to correspond only this one day each year, I found myself puzzling some
of the mysteries of Christmas. Being the intrepid reporter that I am, I
began to look for answers, and soon found someone close to the whole
commercial Christmas operation.
He spoke only on background, of course, but I can tell you that our
covert meeting location had more ambience than Deep Throat's parking garage:
We met in the mall after it closed, across from the Radio Shack in Santa's
little workshop. My source was short with pointy ears and wore a kelly
green shirt with brown lederhosen. His voice was nothing like Deep
Throat's, in that it was quite high and squeaky. I assumed he was using a
contraption to disguise his voice, like you hear Mafia witnesses use on 60
Minutes.
We spoke softly so as not to alert any members of that most feared
battalion, Mall Security.
"My first question," I began, "is this: Does anybody actually like
fruitcake?"
"The taste? No. But the manufacturers love its sales each
Christmas."
That reminded me of PR's Rule # 700: The most amazing thing about
the resilient fruitcake is that the one Aunt Gladys just sent you could have
been made during the Great Depression. "How about mulled wine. What's the
heck is that?"
He looked down at his shoes. They curled at the toes, with a little
bell attached to each tip. "We el..., I mean we Christmas insiders can't
drink alcohol. We get so drunk we end up painting the reindeers red."
"Sorry to hear that," I replied. "Tell me this, then. This year
my wife Lisa and I have received so many catalogues that I'd swear half the
Amazon was cleared just to produce them..."
"Still got any Victoria's Secret issues lying around?" he asked as
he rubbed his hands.
"Lisa throws those away before I can peek at them," I replied. "But
with this much potential to order from home, why did it take me an hour to
find a parking spot when I came here to the mall?"
"That's an easy one," the source replied. "The rise in catalogues
has corresponded with increased offers of pre-approved credit cards.
Catalogues haven't replaced mall shopping, they've merely offered an
additional way to ring up your plastic."
"Well, I hope you can't find catalogues in the waiting area of
bankruptcy court," I said. "Speaking of catalogue shopping, however, one
mystery has me completely stumped. Every order I placed this year arrived
in a box so large I had to turn it sideways to get it through the door.
Yet invariably the product I ordered was only a watch or a 3x5 picture
frame. What gives?"
The source nodded. As he did so, I noticed he had a bell on his
green felt hat, too. "There are several theories for this.
One is that the catalogue salespeople get their commissions based on
packing size, not on total number or monetary volume of sales. Another is
that the companies want to fill up U.P.S.'s trucks so their products don't
have to commingle with those of their competitors. Personally, my theory
is that this is yet another example of an axiom we have up at the North...
um, at corporate headquarters, echoed repeatedly by our jolly old boss:
People are idiots."
"Works for me," I said. "Speaking of idiots, who came up with the
bright idea for midnight Mass?"
"Hey, the right to worship includes insomniacs. It says so right
in the Americans with Disabilities Act."
I scribbled furiously in my notebook. "I had no idea. Now, I don't
know if you're qualified to answer this one," I ventured, "but if the elves
make all of Santa's toys, why don't they ever bother to include batteries?"
My source crossed his short arms. "No comment."
"Alright, here's an easier one. I'm sure you're familiar with those
Christmas family form letters so many people send out. Does anyone actually
read those?"
He cackled, and its high pitch hurt my ears. "Just your mail
carrier."
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: A Networkologist's Christmas (YACPTO)
Forwarded-by: hglatzer@echonyc.com (Hal Glatzer)
Forwarded-by: Joe King <jking@panix.com>
Forwarded-by: Joanne Witt <Cyber-Princess@msn.com>
Forwarded-by: my friend in Arkansas
A Networkologist's Christmas (v3.1)
----------------------------------------------
Tis the night before Christmas," I thought with a frown.
I was stuck at the office. The network was down.
The routers were hung in the closet. All crashed.
Their tables had holes in their data. All trashed.
Remote distribution, it seems, just for fun,
Had erased DLLs Windows needed to run
On 84 desktops way down in accounting.
I sat stunned at my desk. my blood pressure mounting.
When all of a sudden there arose such a clatter,
I saw that a server had something the matter.
There was smoke coming out of the main hard disk drive.
"No problem, " I thought. "I'm set up with RAID 5. "
But I found out the system I thought was unstoppable
Had disk drives that turned out completely unswappable!
"No problem," I thought. "I've tape backup to thank.
And then I discovered my backups were blank.
The UPS burped, and its lights all went out.
I started to scream! I started to shout!
But nobody heard as I vented my rage.
My gurus were all on vacation those days.
And nobody's tech support answered the phone.
I was nose deep in trouble, completely alone.
When out at reception, I heard a soft knock.
As the hands just touched midnight on my desktop clock...
"What's your problem?" he asked.
"Never mind, friend, I know.
I checked out your network five hours ago.
I did some proactive analysis, so
I knew that this time bomb was going to blow.
Who was this guy? Who did he think that he was?
He was dressed in red coveralls, white beard, black gloves.
His eyes had the twinkle of technical genius.
His smile cut down personal distance between us.
He spread out his tools, and went straight to his work.
"Whoever configured this network's a jerk,'
He said with a :-) as he quickly rebooted,
Uploaded some software, and smoothly rerouted
The LAN to a WAN that he quickly supplied
With bandwidth at least 20 gigabits wide
That went via wireless, I think, LEO,
To tech support elves waiting at the North Pole.
"Now bridging, now routing, now Ethernet hubs!'
He chanted as each piece of hardware he rubbed.
"Cheer up, my good friend! Lose that mindset so tragic!
Technology often looks just like some magic
To people who don't understand what we do.
Now a switch, emulation, now middleware glue!
Look at the protocols, check one or two,
Debug a bit, test a bit, presto! We're through!"
My data was back! Every system checked out!
Tears of joy wet my face as I wandered about.
"How can I thank you? You must be Saint Nick!"
He said, 'Really, my friend, it's not such a great trick,
If you don't give up hope, focus on what you're doing,
And read all your issues of NETWORK COMPUTING.'
And I heard him exclaim, as his reindeer were coursing,
"Merry Christmas to all! And consider outsourcing!-
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: There are folks less cynical than I (YACPTO)
Forwarded-by: Keith Bostic <bostic@bsdi.com>
Forwarded-by: Brad Harris <harrisb@email.kaiserslautern.army.mil>
Forwarded-by: Eddie H. Green <aeusg-k-los@email.kaiserslautern.army.mil>
T'was the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone.
I had come down the chimney with presents to give,
And to see just who in this home did live.
I looked all about, strange sight I did see,
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stockings by mantle, just boots filled with sand,
On the wall hung pictures of far distant lands.
With medals and badges, awards of all kinds,
A sober thought came through my mind.
For this house was different, it was dark and dreary.
I found the home of a soldier, once I could see clearly
The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home.
The face was so gentle, the room in such disorder,
Not how I pictured a United States soldier.
Was this the hero of whom I'd just read?
Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed
I realized the families that I saw this night,
Owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight.
Soon round the world, the children would play,
And grown-ups would celebrate a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed Freedom each month of the year,
Because of the soldiers, like the one lying here.
I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone,
On a cold Christmas eve in a land far from home.
The very thought brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees and started to cry.
The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice,
"Santa don't cry, this life is my choice;
I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more,
My life is my God, my Country, my Corps.
The soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep,
I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours, so silent and still
We both shivered from the cold night's chill
I didn't want to leave on that cold, dark night
This guardian of Honor so willing to fight.
Then the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure,
Whispered, "Carry on Santa, it's Christmas Day, all is secure."
One look at my watch, and I knew he was right,
Merry Christmas my friends, and to all a good night.
-- Author Unknown
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: SprintLink Song (YACPTO)
Forwarded-by: "Richard Colella" <colella@aol.net>
Forwarded-by: Vadim Antonov <avg@pluris.com>
SprintLink Song
(apologies to whoever wrote the real song)
Oh, the network outside is frightful,
But on campus, it's so delightful,
Our packets have nowhere to go,
Net is slow, net is slow, net is slow.
It doesn't show signs of stopping,
All our packets, our hosts are dropping;
Bandwidth is turned way down low,
Net is slow, net is slow, net is slow.
When we finally connect to a site,
It's time to go back to the dorm;
But if I could stay here all night,
I could submit their Web form.
The network is slowly dying,
And, I fear, we're still denying,
But as long as Sprint is the way to go,
Net is slow, net is slow, net is slow.
-(new lyrics by kube, bhchan, ekim, & norby)
kube@csua.berkeley.edu
bhchan@csua.berkeley.edu
ekim@csua.berkeley.edu
norby@csua.berkeley.edu
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: Top Ten Santa Warning Signs
Forwarded-by: "Jack D. Doyle" <doylej@peak.org>
TOP TEN SANTA WARNING SIGNS
10. Last year, he described his sleigh as an "open transport."
This year, nobody will support it.
9. Offers to let you in on the ground floor of Wired stock.
8. Keeps peeking at a black and yellow paperback called
"Santa for Dummies."
7. Stuffs your stocking with AOL sign-up disks.
6. Hands out Tickle-Me Ellison dolls.
5. Logged on to the Internet relay chat channel "gift gab"
and hasn't been heard from since.
4. Won't touch your cookies.
3. He made his list, but he cross-linked it twice.
2. Misread something in a chat room and thought he could send
gifts as email attachments.
1. Says Christmas96 is still in beta...wait till February.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: Ohio Widows Get Yearly Allotment of Flour
Forwarded-by: Eric Steese <ecscc@olywa.net>
Forwarded-by: C. Cameli
Forwarded-by: Grace Landel <glandel@u.washington.edu>
Forwarded-by: Mary Hanley <stoney@mead2.u.washington.edu>
Forwarded-by: C <THCLAX00@UKCC.UKY.EDU>
Ohio widows get yearly allotment of flour, courtesy of freed slave
YELLOW SPRINGS, Ohio (Dec 12, 1996 3:48 p.m. EST) -- For years, Yellow
Springs has been keeping a list and checking it twice. But it's the widows,
not the kids, who get the Christmas gift.
Every year this season, every widow in town gets a free 10 pounds of flour
and 10 pounds of sugar, part of a century-old bequest from a former slave..
"The first time I got it I didn't know whether to laugh or cry," said Pat
Hubbard, whose husband died nine years ago. "So I did both."
The widows' benefactor, Wheeling Gaunt, bought his freedom from a Kentucky
slaveholder for $900, moved to Yellow Springs -- a stop on the Underground
Railroad -- in the 1860s, and made his fortune as a teamster, carpenter and
farmer.
At his death in 1894, he donated nine acres of farmland to the community on
the condition it distribute 25 pounds of flour to its "poor worthy widows"
every Christmas
The village, population 4,000, hasn't missed a Christmas since, though it's
made some changes. From the first, the flour was given to all widows,
apparently in the belief that that's what Gaunt would have wanted.
In the early 1950s, the village cut the amount of flour and added sugar
because, it reasoned, women were not baking as much bread anymore and might
have use for sugar.
There are now 110 widows on the distribution list, updated by a village
administrative assistant who pores over the obituaries in the newspaper.
Occasionally, a widow will decline the offer, usually because she doesn't
bake or is allergic to flour or sugar. But that's rare.
"A lot of times the widows will have the doors open and are looking out the
window waiting for me to show up," said Kelley Fox, one of the city workers
who deliver the goods.
Some of the widows even invite the workers to come back and pick up some of
the goodies they've baked. "One lady will make zucchini bread and give to
us," Fox said. "And around Christmastime a batch of cookies are likely to
show up at random. It makes you feel good."
Lottie Phillips, 73, said she uses the flour and sugar to make cornbread,
cakes, sugar cookies and fudge: "My family loves it."
Maxine Grubb, 76, said she is especially glad to get the flour and sugar in
the winter, because it saves her from having to go the grocery store. She
said she uses the sugar to attract hummingbirds to her yard in the summer.
Gaunt intended that the rent from the land pay for his gift, which cost
about $900 this year. The land is now a park, with a swimming pool, baseball
diamonds and soccer fields, and the pool admission fees pay for the flour
and sugar, which the village buys from a grocery store.
No one knows why Gaunt chose this particular legacy, but local historian
Phyllis Jackson noted that most women did not hold jobs then and were often
left penniless when their husbands died. "Bread is the staff of life. If
you had bread, you could survive for a while," she said.
There is hardly a widow in Yellow Springs -- a village that is two-thirds
white -- who doesn't know Gaunt's name.
"This Wheeling Gaunt was a man who had been a slave. I don't know how well
he was treated or how poorly he was treated, but he didn't have any
freedom," Ms. Hubbard said. "But he still found it in his heart to give to
others."
Ms. Hubbard hopes the tradition never dies.
"I guess it's one of the sweetest things in life," she said..
Copyright (c) 1996 Nando.net
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: Ascii Christmas Art
Forwarded-by: Eric Steese <ecscc@olywa.net>
Forwarded-by: C. Cameli wrote:
Forwarded-by: Grace Landel <glandel@u.washington.edu>
MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY HANNUKAH, HAPPY KWAANZA, HAPPY HOLIDAYS
+
XXX
XXXXX
XXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXX
"BOAS FESTAS"
"JOYEUX NOEL"
"VESELE VANOCE"
"MELE KALIKIMAKA"
"NODLAG SONA DHUIT"
"BLWYDDYN NEWYDD DDA"
"GOD JUL"
"BUON ANNO"
"FELIZ NATAL"
"FELIZ NAVIDAD"
"MERRY CHRISTMAS"
"KALA CHRISTOUGENA"
"VROLIJK KERSTFEEST"
"FROHLICHE WEIHNACHTEN"
"BUON NATALE-GODT NYTAR"
"HUAN YING SHENG TAN CHIEH"
"WESOLYCH SWIAT-SRETAN BOZIC"
"MOADIM LESIMHA-LINKSMU KALEDU"
"HAUSKAA JOULUA-AID SAID MOUBARK"
"'N PRETTIG KERSTMIS"
"ONNZLLISTA UUTTA VUOTTA"
"Z ROZHDESTYOM KHRYSTOVYM"
"NADOLIG LLAWEN-GOTT NYTTSAR"
"FELIC NADAL-GOJAN KRISTNASKON"
"S NOVYM GODOM-FELIZ ANO NUEVO"
"GLEDILEG JOL-NOELINIZ KUTLU OLSUM"
"EEN GELUKKIG NIEUWJAAR-SRETAN BOSIC"
"KRIHSTLINDJA GEZUAR-KALA CHRISTOUGENA"
"SELAMAT HARI NATAL - LAHNINGU NAJU METU"
"SARBATORI FERICITE-BUON ANNO"
"ZORIONEKO GABON-HRISTOS SE RODI"
"BOLDOG KARACSONNY-VESELE VIANOCE "
"MERRY CHRISTMAS - - HAPPY NEW YEAR"
"ROOMSAID JOULU PUHI -KUNG HO SHENG TEN"
"FELICES PASUAS-EIN GLUCKICHES NEWJAHR"
"PRIECIGUS ZIEMAS SVETKUS SARBATORI VESLLE"
"BONNE ANNEBLWYDDYN NEWYDD DDADRFELIZ NATAL"
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Subject: A Christmas Joke...
Forwarded-by: cefwis@juno.com (Charles E. Friederich)
Little Johnny desperately wanted a shiny red wagon for Christmas. All
his friends were writing letters to Santa. Johnny decided to do them one
better. He found a pencil and paper and began to write:
Dear Jesus,
If I get a red wagon for Christmas, I will not fight with my
brother for a whole year.
Then Johnny thought, oh, brother Hank is such a brat, I could not
possibly keep that promise. So Johnny crumbled up the paper, got a new
sheet and wrote:
Dear Jesus,
If I get a red wagon for Christmas, I will eat all my veggies
for a whole year.
Then Johnny thought, that would mean spinach and broccoli. I can't
stand spinach and broccoli. So he crumbled up the paper and threw it away.
So Johnny went to the living room. From the mantel above the fireplace,
he took the family's statue of the Virgin Mary. He placed the statue in a
grocery bag and wrapped the bag in newspaper. He took the whole works up
to his room, stuffed it way back in the corner of the closet and shut the
door tightly. Then Johnny got a new sheet of paper and wrote:
Dear Jesus,
If you ever want to see your Mother again...
_____________________________________________________________________________
Subject: Have A Stealth Christmas (YACPTO)
Forwarded-by: Gerry Pollack <pollack@conxion.com>
Have A Stealth Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the skies,
Air defenses were up, with electronic eyes.
Combat pilots were nestled in ready-room beds,
As enemy silhouettes danced in their heads.
Every jet on the apron, each SAM in its tube,
Was triply-redundant linked to the Blue Cube,
And ELINT and AWACS gave coverage so dense,
That nothing that flew could slip through our defense.
When out of the klaxon arose such a clatter,
I dashed to the screen to see what was the matter,
I dialed up the gain and then quick as a flash,
Fine-adjusted the filters to damp out the hash.
And there found the source of the warning we'd heeded,
An incoming blip, by eight escorts preceded.
"Alert status red!" went the word down the wire,
As we gave every system the codes that meant "FIRE"!
On Aegis! Up Patriot, Phalanx and Hawk!
And scramble our fighters -- let's send the whole flock!
Launch decoys and missiles! Use chaff by the yard!
Get the kitchen sink up! Call the National Guard!
They turned toward the target, moved toward it, converged,
Till the tracks on the radar all finally merged,
And the sky was lit up with a demonic light,
As the foe met his fate in the high arctic night.
So we sent out some recon to look for debris,
Yet all that they found, both on land and on sea,
Were some toys, a red hat, a charred left leather boot,
Broken sleighbells, white hair, and a deer's parachute.
Now it isn't quite Christmas, with Saint Nick shot down.
There are unhappy kids in each village and town.
For the Spirit of Christmas can't hope to evade,
All the web of defenses we've carefully made.
Just look how the gadgets we use to protect us,
In other ways alter, transform, and affect us.
They keep us from things that make life more worth living,
Like love for each other, and thoughts of just giving.
But a crash program's on: Working hard, night and day,
All the elves are constructing a radar-proof sleigh.
So let's wait for next Christmas, in cheer and in health,
For the future has hope: Santa's coming by stealth!
![[=]](/GFX/FileDrawer.gif)
© 1996 Peter Langston
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