Freebsd Fortunes 5

Mr. Cole's Axiom:
        The sum of the intelligence on the planet is a constant; the
        population is growing.

Mr. Rockford?  This is Betty Joe Withers.  I got four shirts of yours from
the Bo Peep Cleaners by mistake.  I don't know why they gave me men's
shirts but they're going back.

Mr. Rockford?  You don't know me, but I'd like to hire you.  Could
you call me at...  My name is... uh...  Never mind, forget it!

Mr. Rockford; Miss Collins from the Bureau of Licenses.  We got your
renewal before the extended deadline but not your check.  I'm sorry but
at midnight you're no longer licensed as an investigator.

Mr. Rockford, this is the Thomas Crown School of Dance and Contemporary
Etiquette.  We aren't going to call again!  Now you want these free
lessons or what?

Mr. Salter's side of the conversation was limited to expressions of assent.
When Lord Copper was right he said "Definitely, Lord Copper"; when he was
wrong, "Up to a point."
        "Let me see, what's the name of the place I mean?  Capital of Japan?
Yokohama isn't it?"
        "Up to a point, Lord Copper."
        "And Hong Kong definitely belongs to us, doesn't it?"
        "Definitely, Lord Copper."
                -- Evelyn Waugh, "Scoop"

MSDOS is not dead, it just smells that way.
                -- Henry Spencer

Much as they like to persuade us differently, lawyers are simply hired
consultants, and at some point you time them out.
                -- Craig Partridge

Much of the excitement we get out of our work
is that we don't really know what we are doing.
                -- Edsger W. Dijkstra

Much to his Mum and Dad's dismay, Horace ate himself one day.
He didn't stop to say his grace, he just sat down and ate his face.
"We can't have this!" his Dad declared, "If that lad's ate, he should
        be shared."
But even as he spoke they saw Horace eating more and more:
First his legs and then his thighs, his arms, his nose, his hair, his eyes...
"Stop him someone!" Mother cried, "Those eyeballs would be better fried!"
But all too late, for they were gone, and he had started on his dong...
"Oh! foolish child!" the father mourns "You could have deep-fried that
        with prawns,
Some parsley and and some tartar sauce..."
But H. was on his second course: his liver and his lights and lung,
His ears, his neck, his chin, his tongue; "To think I raised him from the cot,
And now he's going to scoff the lot!"
His Mother cried: "What shall we do?  What's left won't even make a stew..."
And as she wept, her son was seen, to eat his head, his heart his spleen.
and there he lay: a boy no more, just a stomach on the floor...
None the less, since it *was* his, they ate it -- that's what haggis is.