Freebsd Fortunes 2

        "How did you spend the weekend?" asked the pretty brunette secretary
of her blonde companion.
        "Fishing through the ice," she replied.
        "Fishing through the ice?   Whatever for?"
        "Olives."

        "How many people work here?"
        "Oh, about half."

        How many seconds are there in a year?  If I tell you there  are
3.155  x  10^7, you won't even try to remember it.  On the other hand, who
could forget that, to within half a percent, pi seconds is a nanocentury.
                -- Tom Duff, Bell Labs

        "How would I know if I believe in love at first sight?" the sexy
social climber said to her roommate.  "I mean, I've never seen a Porsche
full of money before."

        "How'd you get that flat?"
        "Ran over a bottle."
        "Didn't you see it?"
        "Damn kid had it under his coat."

        "I believe you have the wrong number," said the old gentleman into
the phone.  "You'll have to call the weather bureau for that information."
        "Who was that?" his young wife asked.
        "Some guy wanting to know if the coast was clear."

        "I cannot read the fiery letters," said Frito Bugger in a
quavering voice.
        "No," said GoodGulf, "but I can.  The letters are Elvish, of
course, of an ancient mode, but the language is that of Mordor, which
I will not utter here.  They are lines of a verse long known in
Elven-lore:

        "This Ring, no other, is made by the elves,
        Who'd pawn their own mother to grab it themselves.
        Ruler of creeper, mortal, and scallop,
        This is a sleeper that packs quite a wallop.
        The Power almighty rests in this Lone Ring.
        The Power, alrighty, for doing your Own Thing.
        If broken or busted, it cannot be remade.
        If found, send to Sorhed (with postage prepaid)."
                -- Harvard Lampoon, "Bored of the Rings"

        I did some heavy research so as to be prepared for "Mommy, why is
the sky blue?"
        HE asked me about black holes in space.
        (There's a hole *where*?)

        I boned up to be ready for, "Why is the grass green?"
        HE wanted to discuss nature's food chains.
        (Well, let's see, there's ShopRite, Pathmark...)

        I talked about Choo-Choo trains.
        HE talked internal combustion engines.
        (The INTERNAL COMBUSTION ENGINE said, "I think I can, I think I can.")

        I was delighted with the video game craze, thinking we could compete
as equals.
        HE described the complexities of the microchips required to create
the graphics.

        Then puberty struck.  Ah, adolescence.
        HE said, "Mom, I just don't understand women."
        (Gotcha!)
                -- Betty LiBrizzi, "The Care and Feeding of a Gifted Child"

        I disapprove of the F-word, not because it's dirty, but because we
use it as a substitute for thoughtful insults, and it frequently leads to
violence.  What we ought to do, when we anger each other, say, in traffic,
is exchange phone numbers, so that later on, when we've had time to think
of witty and learned insults or look them up in the library, we could call
each other up:
     You: Hello?  Bob?
     Bob: Yes?
     You: This is Ed.  Remember?  The person whose parking space you
          took last Thursday?  Outside of Sears?
     Bob: Oh yes!  Sure!  How are you, Ed?
     You: Fine, thanks.  Listen, Bob, the reason I'm calling is:
          "Madam, you may be drunk, but I am ugly, and ..."  No, wait.
          I mean:  "you may be ugly, but I am Winston Churchill
          and ..."  No, wait.  (Sound of reference book thudding onto
          the floor.)  S-word.  Excuse me.  Look, Bob, I'm going to
          have to get back to you.
     Bob: Fine.
                -- Dave Barry

        "I don't know what you mean by 'glory'," Alice said.
        Humpty Dumpty smiled contemptuously.  "Of course you don't --
till I tell you.  I meant 'there's a nice knock-down argument for you!'"
        "But glory doesn't mean 'a nice knock-down argument'," Alice
objected.
        "When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said, in a rather scornful
tone, "it means just what I choose it to mean -- neither more nor less."
        "The question is," said Alice, "whether you can make words mean
so many different things."
        "The question is," said Humpty Dumpty, "which is to be master --
that's all."