Freebsd Fortunes 2

        The way my jeweler explained it, it's like insurance.
        Six months' pay isn't much to keep my wife from sleeping around.

A diamond -- pure, sparkling, natural, flawless, forever.  The way marriage
should be but never quite is.  People grow and change and sometimes want to
take their clothes off with strangers.  So when you invest in a fine piece
of diamond jewelry, you're not only making an investment, you're making a
statement.  You're telling the woman you love that you've just spent a lot
of your hard-earned money on her.  Now she owes you the kind of loyalty that
only precious jewelry can buy.  Isn't she worth it?

        The Honeymoon's Over:                   from $ 5000
        The Seven Year Itch:                    from $10000
        No More Lunchtime Quickies:             from $15000
        Divorce Would Be More Expensive:        from $42000

                        A diamond is for leverage.  BeDears

        The wise programmer is told about the Tao and follows it.  The average
programmer is told about the Tao and searches for it.  The foolish programmer
is told about the Tao and laughs at it.  If it were not for laughter, there
would be no Tao.
        The highest sounds are the hardest to hear.  Going forward is a way to
retreat.  Greater talent shows itself late in life.  Even a perfect program
still has bugs.
                -- Geoffrey James, "The Tao of Programming"

        THE WOMBAT

The wombat lives across the seas,
Among the far Antipodes.
He may exist on nuts and berries,
Or then again, on missionaries;
His distant habitat precludes
Conclusive knowledge of his moods.
But I would not engage the wombat
In any form of mortal combat.

        The world's most avid baseball fan (an Aggie) had arrived at the
stadium for the first game of the World Series only to realize he had left
his ticket at home.  Not wanting to miss any of the first inning, he went
to the ticket booth and got in a long line for another seat.  After an hour's
wait he was just a few feet from the booth when a voice called out, "Hey,
Dave!"  The Aggie looked up, stepped out of line and tried to find the owner
of the voice -- with no success.   Then he realized he had lost his place in
line and had to wait all over again.  When the fan finally bought his ticket,
he was thirsty, so he went to buy a drink.  The line at the concession stand
was long, too, but since the game hadn't started he decided to wait.  Just as
he got to the window, a voice called out, "Hey, Dave!"  Again the Aggie tried
to find the voice -- but no luck.  He was very upset as he got back in line
for his drink.  Finally the fan went to his seat, eager for the game to begin.
As he waited for the pitch, he heard the voice calling, "Hey Dave!" once more.
Furious, he stood up and yelled at the top of his lungs,  "My name is not
Dave!"

        Them Toad Suckers

How 'bout them toad suckers, ain't they clods?
Sittin' there suckin' them green toady frogs!

Suckin' them hop toads, suckin' them chunkers,
Suckin' them a leapy type, suckin' them flunkers.

Look at them toad suckers, ain't they snappy?
Suckin' them bog frogs sure make's 'em happy!

Them hugger mugger toad suckers, way down south,
Stickin' them sucky toads in they mouth!

How to be a toad sucker, no way to duck it,
Get yourself a toad, rear back, and suck it!
                -- Mason Williams

        Then a man said: Speak to us of Expectations.

        He then said: If a man does not see or hear the waters of the
Jordan, then he should not taste the pomegranate or ply his wares in an
open market.

        If a man would not labour in the salt and rock quarries then he
should not accept of the Earth that which he refuses to give of
himself.

        Such a man would expect a pear of a peach tree.
        Such a man would expect a stone to lay an egg.
        Such a man would expect Sears to assemble a lawnmower.
                -- Kehlog Albran

        Then there's the atmosphere -- half the time you can eat the air,
it's got so much stuff floating around in it.  It takes the edge out of
the colors.  Down here even the traffic lights are pastel.  And people!
With a lot of these folks you'd have to check their green cards just to
make sure that they are Earthlings.  Then there's the police.  In Portland,
when some guy goes bananas, the cops rope off a sixteen block area around
him and call a shrink from the medical school who stands atop a patrol car
with a megaphone and shouts, "OK! THIS!  ALL!  STARTED!  WHEN!  YOU!  WERE!
THREE! YEARS!  OLD!  ON!  ACCOUNT! OF!  YOUR MOTHER!  RIGHT?  SO!  LET'S!
TALK! ABOUT!  IT!"  Down here they don't waste that kind of time.  The LAPD
has SWAT teams composed of guys who make Darth Vader look like Mr. Peepers.
Before they go to bust a bookie joint they mortar it first.
                -- M. Christensen, "A Portland Innocent in LA"

        Then there's the story of the man who avoided reality for 70 years
with drugs, sex, alcohol, fantasy, TV, movies, records, a hobby, lots of
sleep...  And on his 80th birthday died without ever having faced any of
his real problems.
        The man's younger brother, who had been facing reality and all his
problems for 50 years with psychiatrists, nervous breakdowns, tics, tension,
headaches, worry, anxiety and ulcers, was so angry at his brother for having
gotten away scott free that he had a paralyzing stroke.
        The moral to this story is that there ain't no justice that we can
stand to live with.
                -- R. Geis

        "Then what is magic for?" Prince Lir demanded wildly.  "What use is
wizardry if it cannot save a unicorn?"  He gripped the magician's shoulder
hard, to keep from falling.
        Schmendrick did not turn his head.  With a touch of sad mockery in
his voice, he said, "That's what heroes are for."
...
        "Yes, of course," he [Prince Lir] said.  "That is exactly what heroes
are for.  Wizards make no difference, so they say that nothing does, but
heroes are meant to die for unicorns."
                -- P. Beagle, "The Last Unicorn"

        There are some goyisha names that just about guarantee that
someone isn't Jewish.  For example, you'll never meet a Jew named
Johnson or Wright or Jones or Sinclair or Ricks or Stevenson or Reid or
Larsen or Jenks.  But some goyisha names just about guarantee that
every other person you meet with that name will be Jewish.  Why is
this?
        Who knows?  Learned rabbis have pondered this question for
centuries and have failed to come up with an answer, and you think you
can find one?  Get serious.  You don't even understand why it's
forbidden to eat crab -- fresh cold crab with mayonnaise -- or lobster
-- soft tender morsels of lobster dipped in melted butter.  You don't
even understand a simple thing like that, and yet you hope to discover
why there are more Jews named Miller than Katz?  Fat Chance.
                -- Arthur Naiman