Relay-Version: version B 2.10 5/3/83; site utzoo.UUCP Posting-Version: version B 2.10.1 6/24/83; site cavell.UUCP Path: utzoo!watmath!clyde!burl!ulysses!mhuxl!ihnp4!alberta!cavell!tim From: tim@cavell.UUCP (Tim Breitkreutz) Newsgroups: net.jokes Subject: Incredibly stupid, long story. (Offensive to Gypsies) Message-ID: <111@cavell.UUCP> Date: Wed, 23-May-84 14:05:55 EDT Article-I.D.: cavell.111 Posted: Wed May 23 14:05:55 1984 Date-Received: Sat, 26-May-84 12:15:45 EDT Organization: U. of Alberta, Edmonton, AB Lines: 123 One day there was a man named Joe who was walking down his feet and he ran into a singularity. This hurt a lot. This unfortunate collision caused his head to blow up. Now, what can a person named Joe do when his head is converted to X-rays? Joe wandered around this for a while (which is particularly difficult to do without a head) and decided to go see a doctor. When he got to the doctor's office another irrelevant fact struck Joe (those facts hurt, too, or so he discovered). How would he communicate his problem to the doctor? "Ah," thought Joe, "I'll pick up a book on Egyptian hieroglyphics and learn symbol writing so that I can talk to the doctor." With this decided, Joe flipped out to the library and did just that. About an hour later, Joe was ready to face his physician (another difficult problem: Joe didn't have a face). He entered the doctor's office and was told to have a seat. Not actually having any need for another chair at his home, Joe decided instead to sit down... After waiting a mere three and half years, Joe was summoned by a fiendly nurse to come into the Doctor's office. By this time he had lost a significant amount of blood and other nasty things that tend to emerge when you get your head blown up. The doctor came in and said, "Well, what seems to be the problem?" Quickly Joe pulled out his papyrus and quill and scrawled out "I don't have a head" in Egyptian hieroglyphics. The doctor took one look at this and said, "I'm sorry, Joe, but I can't read hieroglyphics. Just a second, while I go get the janitor. I think he's a gypsy." The doctor came back in a few minutes and said, "If you don't have a head, then how can you be hearing me? You must be lying! Get out of my office!" Joe took the hint and left. Now he was faced with a new dilemma: how was he going to convince the skeptical medical establishment that he locked a head? Realizing that this might take a long time, Joe practically decided to check his blood level. Grabbing the dip stick from a '57 Chevy, he determined that he was down a quart. After a few moments of thought, it became clear to Joe that he was losing blood! Always ready for emergencies, he found the leak and stuffed a sock in it. During this complex procedure, Joe had realized that the doctor was right: he shouldn't be able to hear rounds. It was a curious disconsistancy, and the search for a solution began to consume Joe. Thinking rapidly for a second time, he fought the search off sending it to find someone else to consume. It was clear to Joe that he had to do something soon or he might never resolve his problem: he decided to visit the University's Engineering department in the hope of finding someone who could explain his ability to hear. On his way there, a flash of inspiration suddenly hit Joe. Now, he didn't appreciate this, as he thought he had had quite enough abuse already for one day. He suddenly realised that he wasn't a man at all! He was really an insect, and the reason he could hear was because he was listening through his feet. This was quite a blow to Joe. Imagine, living for years thinking you are human, and suddenly realising you are an insect. And the utter embarrasment of needing to have your head blown off to realise it! What was he going to tell his wife? Would she believe him? What about the kids? Can you imagine the ridicule they would get if their friends found out their father was an insect? Right about now, Joe started getting rather depressed, and there just happened to be a pub around the corner, so he went in and walked up to the bar. His recent realisation of the fact that he was actually an insect made him acutely aware of the stares he attracted from the pub's patrons. The bartender, a burly but cherubic looking man, came towards him behind the bar. "Well, what'll it be, bub?" It had been a long time since Joe had received such a cheery greeting. He quickly scrawled his order out on a napkin in trinary, another obscure language he had picked up while at the library. The barkeep read the note and shuffled merrily off to prepare his request. While he was away, Joe had a moment to take in his surroundings. When the other patrons began to complain, he regurgitated them and apologized profusely: it wasn't good manners not to. However, Joe did notice one malcontent amongst the small group. The man was obviously drunk and lacked the common courtesy to even be oblivious about it. Joe decided to keep an eye on the fellow, then remembered he didn't have an eye anymore: a swizzle stick had to do for a substitute. The drunk did not seem to appreciate having a swizzle stick placed on him, but made no overt protest. When at last his drink arrived, Joe had sized up the pub fairly well. He put away his tape measure and took the drink. Joe didn't recall ordering a whole case of whiskey, but it was too late to do anything about it now. He grabbed a convenient straw and began to drink, hoping to get quietly bombed and forget all of his troubles. Failing that, a few small explosions might suffice: he'd have to fo with the glow and do his best. Suddenly, just as he was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol, Joe caught something out of the corner of his swizzle stick: the drunk was standing up! The ape was dressed as if to go to some child's party, his four piece suit and tie making him stand out like a green thumb. His ridiculously meticulous fur and gold plated glass eyes completed his costume: in short, he was an utter disgrace. Addressing himself towards Joe, the man said: "You, sir, have no head. You also bear a resemblance to a common household insect. I find this quite hard to accept and can not believe that the other patrons of this bar can calmly ignore your presence as if a headless, six foot tall insect walked in here every day and ordered a drink! In short, this whole situation is utterly foolish and makes no sense whatsoever." At that, the bar keep reached beneath the bar and drew out his sub-atomic blaster and nebulized the drunk. "Ain't got no room for no realists in MY pub." The entire pub broke out in spontaneous combustion: it was truly sickening to see such an example of violence and disrespect for the intellectually and morally handicapped! As the applause wore down (such diseases as 'spontaneous combustion' rarely last longer than a few minutes or so) Joe had his dreams suddenly come true when, as he looked out the window, he saw an atomic bomb blow up in the distant skyline of his home town. The pub and all its occupants were instantly vapourized, and nobody had to worry about realism any more. The moral of the story is: don't try to make any sense of senseless situations. You'll probably get blown up and WW III is probably just about to start. THE END Please send flames to /dev/null. Send requests for sequels to ihnp4!alberta!tim.