Freebsd Fortunes 5

One day President Reagan, Chairman Brezhnev, the Pope, and a boy scout were
flying together in an airplane.  Right out in the middle of nowhere the plane
developed engine trouble and started to go down.  Unfortunately, only three
parachutes could be found for the four passengers!  Brezhnev grabbed one of
the parachutes and declared "Comrades, as leader of the socialist workers
revolution, my life must be spared."  And he jumped out of the plane.  Then
Reagan exclaimed "As leader of the greatest nation on earth, I must keep the
world safe for democracy."  And with that he too jumped to safety.  Now if
you are following all this (or counting on your fingers) you must see that
there is only one parachute left for the two remaining passengers.  The Pope
looked kindly upon the boy scout and said "I have had a long and productive
life, my son.  You take the parachute and leave me in God's hands."  "That's
very kind of you," the observant scout replied, "but there is no need.  Reagan
just jumped out with my knapsack."

One day the King decided that he would force all his subjects to tell the
truth.  A gallows was erected in front of the city gates.  A herald announced,
"Whoever would enter the city must first answer the truth to a question
which will be put to him."  Nasrudin was first in line.  The captain of the
guard asked him, "Where are you going?  Tell the truth -- the alternative
is death by hanging."
        "I am going," said Nasrudin, "to be hanged on that gallows."
        "I don't believe you."
        "Very well, if I have told a lie, then hang me!"
        "But that would make it the truth!"
        "Exactly," said Nasrudin, "your truth."

One day this guy is finally fed up with his middle-class existence and
decides to do something about it.  He calls up his best friend, who is a
mathematical genius.  "Look," he says, "do you suppose you could find some
way mathematically of guaranteeing winning at the race track?  We could
make a lot of money and retire and enjoy life."  The mathematician thinks
this over a bit and walks away mumbling to himself.
        A week later his friend drops by to ask the genius if he's had any
success.  The genius, looking a little bleary-eyed, replies, "Well, yes,
actually I do have an idea, and I'm reasonably sure that it will work, but
there a number of details to be figured out.
        After the second week the mathematician appears at his friend's house,
looking quite a bit rumpled, and announces, "I think I've got it! I still have
some of the theory to work out, but now I'm certain that I'm on the right
track."
        At the end of the third week the mathematician wakes his friend by
pounding on his door at three in the morning.  He has dark circles under his
eyes.  His hair hasn't been combed for many days.  He appears to be wearing
the same clothes as the last time.  He has several pencils sticking out from
behind his ears and an almost maniacal expression on his face.  "WE CAN DO
IT!  WE CAN DO IT!!" he shrieks. "I have discovered the perfect solution!!
And it's so EASY!  First, we assume that horses are perfect spheres in simple
harmonic motion..."

One day,
A mad meta-poet,
With nothing to say,
Wrote a mad meta-poem
That started: "One day,
A mad meta-poet,
With nothing to say,
Wrote a mad meta-poem
That started: "One day,
[...]
sort of close".
Were the words that the poet,
Finally chose,
To bring his mad poem,
To some sort of close".
Were the words that the poet,
Finally chose,
To bring his mad poem,
To some sort of close".

One difference between a man and a machine
is that a machine is quiet when well oiled.

One doesn't have a sense of humor.  It has you.
                -- Larry Gelbart

One dusty July afternoon, somewhere around the turn of the century, Patrick
Malone was in Mulcahey's Bar, bending an elbow with the other street car
conductors from the Brooklyn Traction Company.  While they were discussing the
merits of a local ring hero, the bar goes silent.  Malone turns around to see
his wife, with a face grim as death, stalking to the bar.
        Slapping a four-bit piece down on the bar, she draws herself up to her
full five feet five inches and says to Mulcahey, "Give me what himself has
been havin' all these years."
        Mulcahey looks at Malone, who shrugs, and then back at Margaret Mary
Malone.  He sets out a glass and pours her a triple shot of Rye.  The bar is
totally silent as they watch the woman pick up the glass and knock back the
drink.  She slams the glass down on the bar, gasps, shudders slightly, and
passes out; falling straight back, stiff as a board, saved from sudden contact
with the barroom floor by the ample belly of Seamus Fogerty.
        Sometime later, she comes to on the pool table, a jacket under her
head.  Her bloodshot eyes fell upon her husband, who says, "And all these
years you've been thinkin' I've been enjoying meself."

One expresses well the love he does not feel.
                -- J.A. Karr

One family builds a wall, two families enjoy it.

One father is more than a hundred schoolmasters.
                -- George Herbert