Relay-Version: version B 2.10 5/3/83; site utzoo.UUCP Posting-Version: version B 2.10 5/3/83; site uw-june Path: utzoo!linus!decvax!ucbvax!ucbcad!tektronix!uw-beaver!uw-june!gordon From: gordon@uw-june Newsgroups: net.jokes Subject: A rather long and very strange chain letter Message-ID: <1672@uw-june> Date: Sat, 30-Jun-84 10:01:20 EDT Article-I.D.: uw-june.1672 Posted: Sat Jun 30 10:01:20 1984 Date-Received: Wed, 4-Jul-84 00:22:59 EDT Organization: U. Washington, Computer Sci Lines: 186 1: Dear _______________, This is a letter, not an ordinary letter mind you, but one specifically designed for perusal by _______________. Hello, ______________, this is your lucky day, you've received a letter from me, Thornton Guerrero, a personalized, hand-signed limited edition, complete with envelope with YOUR address printed on it. How are you? I am fine. A cliche in time will save you nine. But really folks, I know you're out there I can smell you breathing. OK. Enough of the frivolity. It's time to get down to business. There is ac- tually a purpose to this letter. It's a very important letter. Its sub- ject matter remains one of the deepest and hard hitting problems facing humanity today. Yes, you guessed it, this is a CHAIN LETTER. All you need to do to get involved is to send a copy of this letter to four billion and nine people and have them send 1 dollar to who(m)ever has their name on the following list: Thornton Guerrero Then your job is to add the name 'Thornton Guerrero' to the list. Simple, is it not? Get busy. You probably aren't wondering what I've been up to lately, so I'll tell you. I am now writing the sentence you are now reading. Also, I just wrote the sen- tence you just read. Furthermore, I will be writing the next sentence and you will be reading it. I knew you would. OK so far, but there isn't a scintilla of evidence that this is not a form letter that I made up for all of my friends in order to save time, although either of them would probably be so surprised to hear from me that they would immediately drop everything they were doing and notify the authorities. So I'll give you the evidence that this is truly a unique and original letter and that you are the sole beneficiary (?) of its wonderful prose. This I will accomplish by bringing up an event that only the two of us know happened... Remember the time we were walking down the street from opposite directions and as we passed you said, 'Hi, Thornton' and (get this!) I said, 'Hi'? Not funny, repeat, not funny. C'mon, say it! I know what you're thinking ... NOT FUNNY. (Unless, of course, one uses 'funny' in the sense of 'weird') But then if God meant for 'funniness' to be a main feature of letter writing then He would write more often. (Let's face it, Anyone who created the human race has to have a sense of Humor.) Moving right along. How can I possibly inject into this spiel the urgency, the necessity with which its message must be felt; the coherency, the cogency, the correct grammar with which its message can be made comprehensible? I can't. Thus, we arrive at an impasse, I never had anything much to say; you never had anything much to read. This must CHANGE. It will, too. Right ..., ..., ..., NOW. Real words. Meaningful words. Pertinent words. Words with purpose. Read US. Aren't WE wonderful? Don't WE have meaning? Short concis words. Redundant and redundant words. English words. Palabras de Espanol. Many, many, many, many, many, many, many words. Mispeled wurds. Yes, but where are we complete sentences during all of this? That got out of hand and onto the paper, for which I am truly sorry, deeply in emotional... regret... remorse... I must destroy this letter, but it's too late, I have already sealed the envelope and mailed it. More regret. Speaking of caribou (note the sly shift of subject matter), how's yo' Mama? It's late. Too late for some. But not for others if you take action right now and send your donation to: Rid-the-world-of-insane-letterwriters 4019 7th NE #2 Seattle Wa 98105 Stop reading. It is forbidden to read past this. Hey, you can't DO that, can you? Didn't you read that thing up there? Hey, hey.. stop! Ouch, ouch, ouch. Oh well, now that you're down here in the forbidden zone we might as well make the best of it. Since no one else would ever read this far we can say whatever we want, right? La de da, la de da. Whoopee. Isn't this FUN. Ha ha ha we really put one over this time, etc. Look! Naughty words: pee-pee, number two, doo-doo, Nixon, & so on. OK buddy. You've been caught. Stop right where you are, put your hands on your head, and do an imitation of Phyllis Schlafly in heat. Um.. Here we are, deep in the ugly underbelly of that 'hideous letter' as it came to be called. The letter that went on and on and on without saying a thing that could possibly be construed as being relevant to anything else in existence or possessing the slightest social value, but that somehow exerted a strange appeal over people, made them want to read it over and over, show it to their friends, relatives, accountants, strangers, pets, psychiatrists; write scholarly treatises on it, kill the author... the list goes on and on. So. Thus it goes. All good things must come to an end. Also, this letter must come to an end. Or does it? What would you do if I just sat here and kept typing forever, huh? Goto 1 Well I'm back. Just when you thought it safe to go on reading. I have some sage advice that I figured you might consider worth your while to take. (That is if the going rate for 'while' remains at 2.5 'when-hell-freezes-over'.) Never, no.. always, no.. NEVER say anything Steve Martin might.(Steve who?) Has life been getting you down lately? (Don't count time since starting to read this letter) Are you having financial troubles? Are you worried that your dog isn't getting enough cheese? Does your group get more cavities than theirs? Do people tend to snap on their gas masks whenever you enter a room? Did your girl-friend just dump you for an electric toothbrush? Deluged with stupid form letters? Did God just test you with another set of plagues? Does Nancy Reagan tend to burst into your living room and criticise the kitty-litter- box's decor? Is the KGB trying to steal your your Rubik's cube? Is the Pope trying to date your mother? In short... do YOU have athlete's foot fungus? Boy, I'd hate to be in your shoes! Sure, we all have problems. But remember, nuclear war is never having to say you're sorry. Now we come to the deeply moving, personal part of the letter, the part that always makes you blush and feel like you're reading mail that you shouldn't be, the part that leaves you misty-eyed, short of breath and nauseous, the part that piques your interest, the part that in the final analysis was a big let-down, the part that says 'the part' a lot. That's it. But, what does it MEAN? How does this relate to that tenuous network of protein we call the 'soul'. And what the hell did THAT mean? And what did that MEAN? And THAT. And that and that AND that? But follow closely and all the secrets of the universe will unfold themselves. Answers to all those questions that give life the minimal interest that it occasionally exerts will be revealed. (Thus rendering it totally uselss.) Such heartfelt questions as: Is life absurd, or is it just the present administration? Is there a hell, and will this help save me on heating costs? Will pork belly futures close up on July 29, 1988? Is there a question with less meaning than this one? How do they DO that, anyway? Will you PLEASE pass the catsup? What can the polyester leisure suit do to make ME incredibly popular? Where can I get a good one now and again? Which of course brings up the letter's main (only) attraction. Yes, it's here. For the old and old at heart. Specifically produced to arouse your prurient interests, bring in the box office receipts, and delicately offend your finer sensibilities, we have obscenity! Yes SEX. (WARNING: The following contains explicit sexual detail, and may not be suitable for all members of family, particularly any of those who happen to read it.) He inserted his penis into her vagina, did not cause or have an orgasm, and rapidly returned to the flaccid state.* Morally bankrupt. Utter filth. Vile. Really disgusting. Awful. Ooooo, that's pretty scary, huh kids? But why, why should this very personal, loving, beautiful act between two mature individuals be described in such terms? I mean as long as neither had a tattoo, was named 'Muffy', or happened to be an andeluvian llama, I, for one have no complaint. To avoid prosecution, we must show that the gratuitous sex scene was necessary to the overall plot of the letter. But this condition cannot be satisfied since it's obvious that the letter has no overall plot. Tell anyone who asks what the last sentence is, 'Tell anyone who asks what the last sentence is.' *Of course, any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental, even if your name is Ronald Reagan and you live at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave Wash DC. But can we really say 'living or dead' in this case?