Relay-Version: version B 2.10 5/3/83; site utzoo.UUCP Posting-Version: version B 2.10.2 9/5/84; site aecom.UUCP Path: utzoo!watmath!clyde!burl!ulysses!mhuxr!mhuxt!houxm!whuxl!whuxlm!harpo!decvax!genrad!panda!talcott!harvard!seismo!cmcl2!philabs!aecom!werner From: werner@aecom.UUCP (Craig Werner) Newsgroups: net.jokes Subject: Canonical Father Goose Stories Message-ID: <1340@aecom.UUCP> Date: Mon, 1-Apr-85 02:24:02 EST Article-I.D.: aecom.1340 Posted: Mon Apr 1 02:24:02 1985 Date-Received: Wed, 3-Apr-85 02:46:41 EST Distribution: net Organization: Albert Einstein Coll. of Med., NY Lines: 628 [ As promised for posting on April 1st: ] This all started with the first story posted by Matt L. Fichtenbaum below. I then asked for more stories of the same genre, dubbed once by the comedian George Kirby as Father Goose stories. A deluge followed. The following is a collected list. All attributions were made that I could. However, could 87064023@sdcc3.UUCP please identify himself. My favorites are the first, by Matt L. Fichtenbaum and the one that appears last, by jay@npois.UUCP (Anton Winteroak). Criteria for inclusion. I narrowly defined a Father Goose story as a story that ended with a pun on a popular quote or trite saying. This eliminated several good one-liners and also several stories whose punchlines were just simply puns not forming any saying. This was done to keep the size of the list finite, but excluded a few good jokes along the way, including several by Mr. Fichtenbaum. (Also excluded thusly were entries by myers@utcsri (Brad Meyers), dep@allegra (Dewayne E. Perry), ingham@unm-cvax (Kenneth Ingham), and carlton@masscomp (Carlton Hommel)). Some further notes. crandell@ut-sally (Jim Crandell) warned me "on very good authority that the set you're trying to enumerate is not finite." dave@lsuc.UUCP (Dave Sherman @ Toronto) noted that There was an entire book of these published around 1969, called "Hymie Koshevoy's Treasure Jest of Best Puns". It had 100 such stories. It was published in Vancouver. al@mot.UUCP (Al Filipski) suggested that the providing of stories was completely unneccessary since the punch lines could be easily expanded by anyone. This argument did not hold up since several people posted punch lines and asked for the accompanying stories. One Example: From: sean@ukma.UUCP (Sean Casey @ Univ. of KY Mathematical Sciences) >It's the beer that made Mill Famey walk us. I heard that one before. Could someone repost it? I want it for my "collection". Unfortunately for Sean, that joke does not appear below. No one posted the body Some people did just offer punch lines: From: jay@npois.UUCP (Anton Winteroak @ ATTIS, Neptune, NJ) I like to read the father goose stories once in a while but it would be nice to read a new one. I suggest no more stories that include the following punch lines. * I wouldn't send a knight out on a dog like this. * Let your pages do the walking through the yellow fingers Pardon me Roy, is that the cat who chewed your new shoes? I've come to seize here berry, not to praise it. The Koala tea of Mercy is never strained. You can lead a whore to culture, but you can't make her think. * Silly Rabbi, kicks are for Trids. * People who live in grass houses shouldn't stow thrones. No soap, radio. [* signifies appears below] From: cliff@unmvax.UUCP (Cliff @ Univ. of New Mexico, Albuquerque) How about: Oppornockity tunes but once You can't have your kayak and heat it too. The following appeared in a signature, but could be expanded: From: iwm@icdoc.ac.uk (Ian Moor @ Dept. of Computing, Imperial College, UK) The squire on the hippopotamus is equal to the sons of the other two squires. [One last note. All comments in square brackets are mine. All comments delimited in other means are the submitters.] --------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------Canonical (sort of) List of Father Goose Stories---------------- --------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: mlf@teddy.UUCP (Matt L. Fichtenbaum @ GenRad, Inc., Concord, Mass.) Date-Received: 14 Dec 84 05:15:08 GMT There was a new driver for the bus on Sesame Street. His first day on the job, he awoke bright and early, went to the garage, got the bus, and set off on his route. At the first stop there was a chubby little girl waiting for the bus. She climbed the step and got on, and said, "Hi. My name is Patty." The driver replied, "Hi, Patty. Please take a seat." At the second stop there was a second little girl, even chubbier than the first. She got on and said, "Good morning! My name's Patty." The driver answered, "Good morning. Please sit down." At the third stop there was a little boy waiting. He was dressed in a white shirt and tie, and a suit with a vest, and he had a calculator holster on his belt. He said, "Hi. My name is Ross, and I'm special!" The driver wasn't impressed, but he managed a smile and said, "Please sit down, Ross." The fourth stop rewarded the driver with a grubby little boy with dirty jeans and torn sneakers. He got on the bus and said, "My name is Lester Cheese." The driver replied, "Please take a seat, Lester." Well, he's driving along and he looks in his rear-view mirror and sees that Lester Cheese has taken off his sneakers and is scratching at his foot. The driver pulls the bus over to the side of the rode, stops it, and says, "I can't take this any longer! I've got two obese Patties, special Ross, Lester Cheese picking bunions on a Sesame Street bus! From: 87064023@sdcc3.UUCP ({|lit @ U.C. San Diego, Academic Computer Center) [I like his style of combining three in one story] A while back, there were two kingdoms situated close by each other. One kindgom had a powerful king, and the other had a relatively weak king. The difference (or so everybody said) was that the powerful king had a magic throne, which had the property of making people powerful. Well, the weak king wanted this throne, so he had a trusted count get up an army (you know, knights, pages, reporters, that kind of thing) to fetch it. The army trudged along for a day or two (only the reporters would know for sure) and came upon the powerful king's castle. The castle entrance was guarded by a huge yellow monster with huge yellow hands. The army (being an army and all) attacked! The huge Yellow Monster ate them all, except for two pages who did not engage in the fight. The pages, being very frightened, hid until nightfall. When night came along, the pages peeked from their hiding place and saw that the monster was asleep. The only thing guarding the entrance now was the monsters huge hands draped in front of the opening. The pages, being only 8 years old and all, were able to squeeze through the yellow fingers and gain entrance into the castle. Moral: let your pages do the walking through the yellow fingers. Once inside the castle, the pages had no trouble finding the throne. Combined, they were just strong enough to lift it, and were able to carry it out of the castle. (The monster gave them no further trouble, since they had the throne and everything.) After having walked half the night with the heavy throne between them, they were very tired and stopped at a grass house to rest. The farmer who lived there, wanting to steal the throne for himself, let them spend the night in the barn. The throne was "hid" in the farmer's attic. Some hours later, the farmer stole into his barn and killed the pages. The farmer went back to bed. A few minutes later, the throne crashed through the ceiling, crushing and killing the farmer and his wife. Moral: people who live in grass houses shouldn't stow thrones. [also contributed by pooh@ut-sally.UUCP] When the powerful king found his throne missing the next day, he ordered HIS army to kidnap the other king's count and force him to tell where the throne was being hid. The session went as follows: king: Where is the throne? count: I cannot tell you. king: Then I will have you killed! Executioner, cut off his head! count: (as the axe is swinging down...) Ok! I will tell you! THWACK!!! Moral: don't hatchet your counts before they chicken. [also contributed by toby@fritz.UUCP] From: paulb@hcrvx1.UUCP (Paul Bonneau @ Human Computing Resources, Toronto) Date-Received: 25 Dec 84 10:13:38 GMT A wild life photographer goes on an expedition to South America to photograph the legendary and hitherto unseen foo bird. On the way he attempts to hire porters from a tribe of Pygmys. They warn him of the dreaded curse on all who look upon the bird and refuse to join. Undaunted the intrepid photographer continues to the banks of the Amazon where he sets up a blind and waits. After several days, lo and behold, a foo bird flies directly over the river. In a rush of excitement, the photographer rushes out of the blind and snaps off a shot. No sooner has he done this then a huge, evil smelling flock of foos congregate over his head and completely cover him in guano. The slimy stuff starts to harden and restrict his breathing. He frantically tries to get the stuff off but to no avail. Finally in desperation, he throws himself into the river. A large crocodile promptly eats him. The moral? It the foo shits, wear it. From: charles@uw70 (Bad Charles @ Geophyics Dept., U. of Washington) Date-Received: 1 Jan 85 01:17:34 GMT It seems that Mary Poppins has moved to California. Yep, she has started a business telling people's fortunes. But, she doesn't read palms or tea leaves, she smells one's breath. That, right, the sign outside reads: Super California Mystic Expert Halitosis From: carlton@masscomp.UUCP (Carlton Hommel @ Masscomp - Westford, MA) Our Hero was travelling through the mountains on his quest for the Holy Grail, when a fierce storm blew up and his steed caught some horsey sickness. He hied to a monastary, and asked the abbot for a replacement, citing their loyalty to God. It was the winter season, and nightfall was approaching as they looked through the stables. All of the other horses were sneezing a coughing also, until they came to a stable, where a large shaggy dog story(oops) resided. The knight asked for him, to which the abbot replied, "Oh, no, it is still stormy and getting dark. I wouldn't send a knight out on a dog like this." [originally submitted by unni@uwvax.UUCP (Shankar Unni) [carlton made the following observation] >One day, the kingdom was attacked, and the knights all set out to war. >the king took one look and shook his head. He said, >> I wouldn't send a knight out on a dog like this. No, no, no; you need to be talking about the weather to complete the pun. [the above story was the result] From: gwr@cord.UUCP (GW Ryan @ AT&T Bell Laboratories, Piscataway) An international chess tournament is being held in a swank hotel in New York. Everyone who is anyone in the world of chess is there. After a grueling 4 hours of chess, the players and their entourages retire to the lobby of the hotel for a little refreshment. In the lobby, the players get into a big argument about who is the brightest, the fastest, and the best chess player. The argument gets loud, each player claiming that he is the greatest chess player of all time. One security guard in the lobby turns to the other and says: If there's one thing I can't stand, it's chess nuts boasting in an open foyer. (forgive me . . .) From: nemo@rochester.UUCP (Wolfe @ U. of Rochester, CS Dept.) Since this father goose story's punch line is not mentioned, and I haven't seen it in net.jokes, here goes. Buster Crab and Sam Clam were the best of friends for years, and every evening one could find Buster in Sam's bar down by the beach. Finally, Buster passed on and went to heaven. There, he was a model citizen, but he longed for the companionship of his pal, Sam. So the next Christmas, Buster was approached by God who asked him why he wasn't happy. Buster explained that although heaven was a pretty nice place and the halo and wings were real swell, he missed Sam and wished he could go back and spend just one more night in his bar by the beach. God recalled how good Buster had been, and told him that he could spend New Year's with Sam in his bar. "However," God cautioned, "things have changed since you were there last. In order to keep up with the times, Sam has converted his place to a disco. Still, if you wish, you may spend New Year's eve with your old buddy, but be sure not to drink and take good care of your wings, harp and halo." Buster was ecstatic and spend the next week practicing his chops on the harp and polishing his halo. Then the big eveing arrived and poof! there he was beside Sam in his disco. Well, they had a great time talking of old times and dancing and singing and playing. After a while, the temptation to have a drink proved too great for Buster, and he imbibed. So did the rest of the party and the night got progressively wilder until morning found everyone sleeping it off on the furniture and floors of the disco. His time up, Buster was transported poof! back to heaven. God saw him, bleary eyed, halo dented and slipping off to one side, wings in disarray, and well, you get the picture. God gives him an ice bag and asks what happened. "Buster! You've been at the bottle, haven't you? Look at you wings! Look at that halo! And where is you golden harp?" To which Buster replies, "I left my harp in Sam Clam's Disco." (better sung) From: albert@harvard.ARPA (David Albert @ Aiken Computation Laboratory, Harvard) > or one which I made up (but won't include... try making something up for > yourself): > "An itch in time saves Stein." Isaac Asimov did this one best; the story concerns a man, Mr. Stein, who robs a bank, jumps into a time machine, and re-emerges seven years later (after the statute of limitations has expired). They arrest him anyway, but the judge's verdict is "A niche in time saves Stein." From: crandell@ut-sally.UUCP (Jim Crandell @ U. Texas CS Dept., Austin, Texas) Once upon a time, in Days of Yore, which is located in a rather backwoods area of the country, there lived a remarkably innocent young man named Nathaniel. Now Nathaniel, or Nate, as he was often called, one day came of age, and his oppressive and none too dutiful legal guardians just turned him out into the street, as it were. Before giving him the boot, however, they did take the trouble to inform him that he was, in fact, the heir to what was locally considered a sizable fortune in rural real estate. This comparatively immense farm tract was being held for him and currently managed by a man who turned out to be a rather distant cousin, but who was kindly and surprisingly helpful, eventually doing most of what needed to be done to start Nate out in business on the farm. Very shortly afterward, however, the cousin died, leaving Nate alone with little experience and very few ideas. Poor Nate was absolutely in a quandary as to what sort of reliable cash crop to plant on his land. He had heard that one or two of his neighbors were raising a certain (shall we say) ``herb'', whose production was said to be uncommonly lucrative. Our hero wasn't really into haute cuisine, though, so in search of an expert opinion, he consulted a local soothsayer, an elderly woman whose character was completely beyond question, if you follow my meaning. At the urging afforded by about a third of Nate's annual income, she gazed vacantly into her crystal ball for most of an hour, until she finally intoned, SOW ROPE, NATEY-O! [I have to admit, I don't get this one myself] From: merchant@dartvax.UUCP (Peter Merchant @ Dartmouth College, Hanover, NH) Heard this one on Imus a few mornings ago... There was this person who owned a bluish coloured volvo. It was a '72, however, making it quite old and even volvos don't last forever. When he was driving home one afternoon and the engine fell through the engine mount, his wife brought up the subject of buying a new car. "Well, I've really grown partial to this car, dear." "But, honey, that car is going to fall apart any minute." The argument went on for a while and the husband finally agreed that he would buy a new car, but he would only buy another bluish coloured volvo. It had to have the exact shade of blue or he wasn't interested. And so, his quest began. "Nope. Areyou sure they're made in that colour?" asked all the volvo dealers in New York. He went to Connecticut and received the same line. He went to Rhode Island, only to hear "Nope. Had one last week. Couldn't sell it, so we gave it to a junk dealer." The man ran to the junk dealer just in time to see the car of his dreams crushed. He travelled through Vermont. "Nope. Can't get one here." He tried New Hampshire. "I don't think they make them." He went into Maine. "I don't have one, but Charlie might. He's the volvo dealer up in Caribou." Anyone ever told you about Caribou, Maine? It is freezing up there. It is in the middle of nowhere. Now, at this point, a large storm system was moving into the area and the husband was trapped in the storm. Two days later the dealer arrived at his shop and found this guy standing by the door. When the dealer opened the door the husband saw it. Right in the middle of the showroom was his bluish coloured volvo. Perfect! He told the man of his quest, gave him the money, and was about to leave when the dealer asked "Why did you spend so much time searching for this coloured volvo? Why did it have to be this sort of bluish colour?" The husband smiled and said, as he drove off, "Well, ther's something about an aqua volvo, man..." From: nm34@sdcc12.UUCP (Andy Bindman @ U.C. San Diego, Academic Computer Center) There was once a young man who was very fond of illicit vegetable matter that is commonly smoked to get high. Anyway, one day, while he was cleaning his stash of extremely potent stuff ( high oil content) he was called to the phone. His friend, who had already consumed a great portion of the matter thought he would help out in the cleaning. Unfortunately, he was new to the game so he tried to separate the stems and seeds by cleaning the pot with a soap solution. Needless to say, when the hero of our story returned from the phone he was extremely upset, to say the least. However, he didn't have time to cry since the phone call informed him that his wife's car had broken down and he had to go out to help her fix it. He scooped up the messy bag of soapy resinous cannabis and drove out to the broken down car. When he arrived he immediately realized that the car had run out of oil. Unfortunately, he didn't have any oil, but he did have the bag of greasy marijuana. He put the wet pot into the cars engine and started up the car. It ran fine until it exploded a quarter mile down the road. There is a moral. You know what it is? - A washed pot never oils. From: black@unc.UUCP (Samuel Black) [This joke had the most versions posted. The following is the shortest that appeared without sacrificing anything.] A philanthropist decides to donate his prize dolphins to the local zoo. Upon making his donation, he reveals that the dolphins can be kept alive indefinitely by feeding them live myna birds. The zoo, not happy with the prospect of depleting their myna bird collection, decides to send an expedition to Africa to pick up some of the birds. The bird seekers land their helicopter in a large clearing in the middle of the jungle, and go off to seek their prey. They search all the trees, the myna bird bars, the bird baths; in short, all the places myna birds hang out. When they get back to the clearing, they discover that a pride of lions has taken up residence there. As the lions all appear very sleepy, they decide to tiptoe their way back to the safety of their helicopter. But, alas, when they get back to the helicopter, the game warden pops out and writes them a citation for "Transporting mynas over sedate lions for immortal porpoises." [Other versions of the punch line:] [From: annab@azure.UUCP (Anna Beaver @ Tektronix, Beaverton OR) [ * Transporting Mynahs over a stately lion for immortal Porpoises * [From: piggott@bnl.UUCP (Christopher Piggott @ Brookhaven National Laboratory) [ "FOR CROSSING STATE LIONS WITH OBSCENE PORPOSES!" [From: ken@rochester.UUCP (Ken Yap @ U. of Rochester, CS Dept. ) [ Carrying gulls across a staid lion for immortal popoises. [Also note the variety of spellings of the word "porpoise"] From: ktw@whuxi.UUCP (Ken Wolman @ Bell Labs, Whippany, N.J.) An explorer on safari through Africa discovers a magnificently plumed bird known as a Raree. The bird is near death from exhaustion and starvation brought about by a combination of poachers and climatic changes which have turned its once-friendly environment into a death-trap. The bird is uncharacteristically docile, and does not flee from the explorer when he approaches it. The explorer had believed the Raree birds were an extinct species; and so to save the creature from an environment which has become hostile, and to preserve the species, he brings it back with him to the United States. Proper feeding and warmth bring the bird around to its normal behavior. Far from being docile, the Raree bird reverts to being a pain in the ass. It tears open the refrigerator with its beak and rummages around for food. It overturns garbage cans and rummages around for food. Its instinctive loudness and viciousness reassert themselves, and the explorer finds himself gradually losing his mind. He decides to do away with the Raree, figuring that if nature had wanted the species to survive, it would have given the birds better survival skills. He loads the Raree into a pickup truck and drives to a high cliff. He has put drugs into the bird's morning feed so it is docile. He binds its wings and hauls it over to the edge of a 300-foot-high cliff overlooking the ocean. The bird opens its eyes, looks down, and says to the explorer: "It's a long way to tip a Raree." From: rjv@ihdev.UUCP (ron vaughn @ AT&T Bell Labs, Naperville, IL) (my vote for the worst joke in the world, and probably one of the oldest, sorry if you've heard it....) there was a russian man named rudolph, a high ranking member of the KGB. one evening rudolph and his wife, helga, were walking along, and it begins to snow. "my, my, look at the lovely snow," said helga. "no, that is not snow, that is rain!" replied rudolph. "no, no, no, this is snow," she said. "look, there is a palace guard, we will ask him." rudolph went to the palace gaurd and said "is it raining or snowing?" the gaurd was no dummy, so he said "what do YOU think it is doing, rudolph?" rudolph replied, "raining." and the gaurd said "yes comrade,i was going to say raining, also!" so rudolph and helga went walking off. the gaurd could just barely hear the KGB official say: "RUDOLPH, THE RED, KNOWS RAIN, DEAR" aaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggggh!, From: nst@uvaee.UUCP (N. S. Tzannes @ EE Dept., U of Virginia, Charlottesville) Once there was a mad scientist who worked by himself in his laboratory. He was so lonely that one day, he decided to clone himself. Everything worked perfectly, except that the clone had a very foul mouth. The scientist worked with the clone, but ,alas, he could not make the clone clean up his language. He got so tired of the clone's language that one day he pushed him off the end of a cliff. A policeman rushed up to him, and yelled "You are under arrest! You are under arrest!" "What for ?",the mad scientist asked. And the answer was: For making an obscene clone fall. -ogp From: mlf@teddy.UUCP (Matt L. Fichtenbaum @ GenRad, Inc., Concord, Mass.) A traveling-salesman type was opening up new sales territories in Africa. One day he fell ill. Since he was a man of action, he sought immediate medical attention. Even though the only nearby facility was a witch doctor, he went to see the man. The witch doctor looked him over, then cut a long, thin strip from a piece of leather and gave it to the man, saying, "Chew on this, and by the time it's all gone, you'll feel better." As mentioned, the salesman was a man of action, so he spent the rest of the day chewing on the piece of leather. Nonetheless, he didn't feel better, in fact, as you might imagine, he felt worse. So he went back to the witch doctor and said, "Doctor, the thong is ended but the malady lingers on!" Sender: brc@ptsfc.UUCP One day the Shah of a middle-eastern country decided his son the Shan was old enough to have a body guard. He searched his kingdom until he found the right person for the job. As it turned out, he was well suited for the task and watched after the Shan dutifully. As the Shan got older, the body guard decided he could probably slip off for awhile without con- sequence. As luck would have it the Shan was epileptic , had a fit and died while he was gone. When the Shah found out about it, he called the body guard and asked: "Where were you when the fit hit the Shan?" Sender: toby@fritz.UUCP (Toby Gottfried @ FileNet Corp, Costa Mesa, CA) When I was in junior high school, we had a substitute teacher who insisted on telling lots of these. She called them "jokes". Two guys were stranded on a desert island. The only way they could get food was to kill sea birds by throwing rocks at them. By the time they were rescued, ... They had left no tern unstoned. Sender: josh@gcc-opus.UUCP (Josh Littlefield @ General Computer Company, MA) There was once was this guy who began farting a great deal. The smell was quite embarrasing, but what was worse was the sound which was a loud "HONDA!" He went to a number of doctor (of course) and none of them could help him (as is always the case in these tales). Finally out of desperation he went to an old chinese doctor and explained his problem. Without any examination the doctor said, "You have an abcessed tooth, have it fixed and your problem will be solved." So he went to a dentist, and sure, enough he did have an abcessed tooth, which he had repaired, and his "HONDA" farts went away as well. So he went back to the chinese doctor and said, "What's the punch line?" -- or was it, "How did you know that I had an abcessed tooth?" "Because", said the chinese doctor, "everybody know that ... ... abcess make the fart go HONDA!" From: roth@ut-sally.UUCP (Mark Roth @ U. Texas CS Dept., Austin, Texas) Once in a land far, far away there lived a group of people called Trids. The Trids were happy except for the huge ogre that lived on the mountain. The ogre would periodically terrorize the Trids. The Trids tired of the ogre and sought to reason with him. They thought one of their religious leaders would be a good intermediary. So a group of Trids and their minister went up the mountain and before they could even say one word the ogre kicked them down the mountain. Not being dismayed the Trids thought that maybe the ogre was Catholic, so they sent another delagation, this time led by the local priest. But alas, as they approached the ogre he once again kicked them all down the mountain. The Trids were upset until they thought that perhaps the ogre was Jewish. Unfortunately, no Trids were Jewish, so they wrote to the people of another land and asked them to send a Rabbi to help them with the ogre. The Rabbi arrived and led a delegation of Trids up the mountain. The ogre saw them coming and kicked all of them, except for the Rabbi, down the mountain. The Rabbi, having been told of the previous expeditions, wondered why he alone had not been kicked down the mountain, so he asked the ogre. The ogre laughed and replied: "Silly Rabbi, kicks are for Trids!" From: kenw@lcuxc.UUCP (K Wolman @ Bell Communications Research, Piscataway, NJ) During the invasion of Sicily in World War II, General George ("Blood 'n' Guts") Patton was preparing to take the city of Palermo. He checked with his meteorologists and learned the day he had chosen would be incredibly rainy. So he issued an order to place copies of the New York "Times" immediately beneath the tailgates of the transports carrying his troops. In this way the men could keep their feet dry. His staff was mystified. Why the "Times"? Why not the New York "Daily News"? Patton was adamant; and one did not argue with the General. As five tons of old copies of the "Times" were being loaded, the General issued one of his greatest quotes to the assembled war correspondents: "THESE ARE THE 'TIMES' THAT DRY MEN'S SOLES." From: jay@npois.UUCP (Anton Winteroak @ ATTIS, Neptune, NJ) [This wins my vote for the best overall, and certainly most creative] Henry the Plantationer was the Lord of the best flower plantation in all the land, but he had lost his family's corner on the market of fleur de lis (hard won by his father). This loss enraged his cousin Richard, a nasty, deformed, but clever man who was lord of the fields of white roses, and who raised 400 pound attack boars for a hobby. Henry's other cousins, who lorded over the fields of red roses were merely annoyed. They felt that Henry was a good man. He was a quiet visionary gentleman, with a good raport with the heavenly father. As time passed, Richard's fury grew, and he openly proclaimed that he, not Henry should run the plantation. This of course caused many bad feelings. These feelings came to a head one spring evening, when Henry was hosting a fancy feast, with all of the local royalty attending except (for obvious reasons) Richard. When this fest was in full swing, Richard burst in, with five of his biggest most viscious attack boars. And they tore up the feast, and the people turning it into a grotesque study of blood and flesh. When this was done and only Richard and a few others were left alive, Gruesome Richard proclaimed "Now is the dinner of our wistful gent wrent gory assunder by this ton of pork !" [A few people didn't get this one. The story draws from several Shakespeare Histories and the saying from his Richard the Third, "Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this Son of York."] -- Craig Werner !philabs!aecom!werner What do you expect? Watermelons are out of season!