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The Toxic Custard Workshop Episoder 236 to 240
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*******NUMBERS 236 TO 240*****************************BY DANIEL BOWEN*******
*****Please note, some of the quoted addresses within this file may no*****
***longer be correct. Please always use tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu for enquiries***
"Warning: Toxic Custard"
A WARNING TO ALL ATTACHED MALES:
Tuesday is Valentine's Day. Forget this, and three of your objects
may not stay attached for very long.
@@@@ @@@@ @ Toxic Custard Workshop Files
@@ @ @ @@ Number 236, 13th February 1995
@@ @@@ @@ @ written by Daniel Bowen
@@@@ @@@@ @@@@ ------------------------------
Yes hello, this is the personality shop, isn't it?
WHY YES SIR IT IS. CAN I HELP YOU?
Oh yes please. Glad to make your acquaintance. There are a number of
things that I would wish to purchase from your establishment. I'll
just inspect the list that I so thoughtfully prepared prior to
arriving at this location. Let's see. Ah yes. I'd like an ounce of
pity, and a pang of guilt, please.
I'M TERRIBLY SORRY SIR, WE'RE ALL OUT OF GUILT. CAN I OFFER YOU
SOME FEAR INSTEAD?
No thank you, I'm afraid I'm up to here with fear. Would you have any
anger instead?
NO, BUT WE PROBABLY HAVE SOME IGNORANCE.
...Umm, I don't know what that is.
WON'T BE NEEDING THAT THEN. WHAT ABOUT SOME PREMONITION?
Ah yes, I could do with some of that. I don't know why I didn't
realise sooner. I'll tell you why I need it, too. I can't see where
the author is going with this.
ME NEITHER. I GET THE FEELING IT CAME OUT OF A COUPLE OF
ONE-LINERS ABOUT OUNCES AND PANGS, AND HE'S TRIED TO SPREAD SOME
VERY BASIC JOKES OVER THE SPACE OF A FEW PARAGRAPHS
Exactly, and now he's run out of ideas, so he's getting the
characters to rebel out of the joke and discuss the merits of the
writing. Well it don't wash. I'm leaving.
ME TOO. HE REALLY SHOULD STICK TO HIS USUAL INANE DRIVEL.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Have you ever considered the advantages that being clinically insane
can bring? People who are quite mad, and look it, never get asked in
the street for money. Nobody ever asks them to go and get a
newspaper. (Nah... he's MAD mate; he'd probably nut the newsagent and
eat the newspaper on the way back).
Yes, insanity is the KEY to avoiding your responsibilities.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I SAID INANE, NOT INSANE. JUST DO THE HISTORY. THAT'LL KEEP YOU
OUT OF TROUBLE.
TOXIC HISTORY OF THE WORLD
Part 32. When will it all end?
1526 AD
Babar, Moslem warrior king, captures Delhi. He is helped by
confusion amongst the defending army, who are mistakenly told that
the barber had arrived to give everyone a quick trim.
1528
Conquest of Peru. Ummm... by... someone. Not sure who. Does it
really matter? Probably not, after all, it was a *terribly* long
time ago.
1529
The Ottoman Sultan, Suleiman the Magnificent, having taken
Belgrade, the island of Rhodes and Budapest, attempts to storm
Vienna but is beaten back.
Suleiman the Magnificent, eh? I wonder who thought up that
name? From all accounts, his enemies called him Suleiman the
Smelly-Trousers. My money would be on Suleiman's own campaign
directors.
<Insert Cockney accents and cheap suits here>
"Ullo Bob."
"Ullo Phil. What are we gonna call Suleiman during this coming
invasion of Vienna then?"
"Well Bob, since he's already invaded Rhodes and Budapest, what
say we go for Magnificent?"
"Phil, I've said it before, I'll say it again - You are a
genius my son."
1529-1542
Henry VIII gets through more wives than you've had hot dinners.
Including Jane Seymour. Wow. I didn't know she was *that* old.
1534-1536
Jacques Cartier discovers Canada, and tries to sell the locals a
rather nice line in wrist-watches.
1553
Queen Mary persecutes English Protestants, and becomes known as
Vodka And Tonic. Oops, I mean Bloody Mary.
1557-1580
Sir Francis Drake sails around the world in the "Golden
Hindquarters", a ship named after his favourite sailor. What can I
say. You've got to loooove the Drake. One for the Seinfeld fans
there.
1558-1568
Elizabeth (the first one, not the one we have now) succeeds Mary
and works out a compromise between the Catholics and Protestants.
Then, to show she's not all sweetness and light, she imprisons Mary
Queen of Scots by tricking her into thinking the Tower Of London is
a tourist attraction.
1571
Fleet of the Christian League, led by Spain, defeats the Turkish
fleet at Lepanto and destroys Moslem sea power in the
Mediterranean. Yes! The Christian League! Temporarily modifying the
sixth commandment to read "Thou shalt not kill except for Moslems,
whom thou shalt smite and sit upon and shove red hot pokers into".
Well, something like that, anyway.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
You know what I think? I think that cameramen must be the saddest
group of people on the planet. Otherwise, how would they film
concerts or comedy without grooving to the music or laughing their
heads off, and subsequently wobbling the camera?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Toxic Custard back-issues. FTP. WWW. Details.
tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright (c) 1995 Daniel Bowen. May be freely distributed
without profit provided no modifications are made.
--
Daniel Bowen, in Melbourne, Australia - land of a thousand bank machines---
Work: bowed@cpgen.cpsg.com.au---> Computer Power Education, ITS R&D Project
Play: dbowen@gnu.ai.mit.edu-----> TCWF: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu----------------
All opinions are naturally my own. My brain. My hands typing. All mine.----
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Neolithic Toxic Custard"
***** *** * * ***** TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES #237
* * * * * 20th February 1995.
* * * * * **** Written by Daniel Bowen
* *** * * * With some help this week from Brian Smith
Archaeologists have recently found evidence of direct marketing in
the Neolithic period. Found on a cave wall were markings that have
been translated as:
"Dear Mr Og. You may have already won five mammoth steaks"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
An excerpt from "The Really Complete Beatles Recording Sessions"
16th February 1967. Studio 2, 8pm-4am.
"Ganja Fields Forever" (takes 1-3), "Lizards Are Crawling Up The
Wall" (takes 1-7), "Pus" (takes 6-9), "When I'm Sixty Four" (takes
1-2)
A week after the session when they couldn't get into Abbey Road
(imagine the poor bastard who had to tell them that the studio was
booked by Ralph Atherton and his Singing Weasels), the Beatles try
out some songs that were eventually left out of Sgt Pepper's Lonely
Hearts Club Band. These include John Lennon's possibly drug-
influenced songs "Ganja Fields Forever", "Lizards Are Crawling Up The
Wall" and "Pus".
Also recorded was an early version of "When I'm Sixty Four", in which
Paul McCartney tries to predict his future:
When I get older, losing my hair
Many years from now
Will I still be touring with these three twerps
Knocking back pills with a pint of turps
If I'd released a bad cover song
Would I end up poor
Will I be chased by grandmother groupies
When I'm sixty-four
Fans'll be older too
And if they say the word
I could sing Hey Jude
I could get married, find an Eastman
How about Linda
You can write a vegetarian cookbook
Sunday morning go for a steak
Touring Australia, jailed in Japan
Who could ask for more
Will you remember, will you buy tickets
When I'm sixty-four
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
An excerpt from "The Complete Toxic Custard Writing Sessions"
12th May 1991. Bedroom, 8pm-10pm.
FFF joke (takes 1-17), Fart joke overdub, MacBeth (takes 1-9)
Another Sunday night session. Editing of TCWF 48 continued. A fart
joke was overdubbed to bring the underlying incontinence gag to the
fore. Several takes of the Macbeth spoof destined to appear in TCWF
50 were attempted. It is to be the last great Shakespeare spoof for
some time. The final released version was a combination of takes 5
and 7, with Inspector Unnecessary-Violence's lines overdubbed on the
15th of May, by an unknown session writer.
Watching the news brings into existence the idea for one of the most
controversial jokes in Toxic Custard's history. Though denied by
Bowen, the Fascist Fuckwit's Federation is later attacked on UseNet
as being racist. TCWF fans rally behind it, pointing to the blatantly
anti-racist message. It is said that Bowen is making a comparison
between the KKK and the FFF, although some of the original drafts of
this joke show that the KKK was not the inspiration.
A claim that by reading signature of TCWF 48 backwards you can read
"We'll fuck you like supermen" is later proven not to be true,
although an allegation about Satanic messages in TCWF 66 was
justified.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Did you ever go through that phase when you were a kid that you
thought your mother might be some kind of supernatural being? Because
she always seemed to know what you'd been up to...
***WARNING! NO LINK - Code#543a @ line 90
Why do we go up to the shop, and buy a loaf of bread, which is in
plastic... and then get a plastic bag to put it inside to carry it
home? Are we at risk from supergerms that can penetrate a mere one
layer of plastic? Or is the grip on the bread bag so inadequate that
we'll drop it perilously down a drain on the way home? The public
have a right to know.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
TOXIC HISTORY OF THE WORLD
Part 33. A very short Part.
1585
Holland, losing to Spain at home, are relieved when an army of
English hooligans, on a day-trip to check out seedy Amsterdam,
decide spontaneously to have a quick game of "throw clogs at the
Spaniards". The combined England/Holland team win 3-1. The Police
later pick-up three of the English after examining paintings of the
scene drawn by Michaelangelo while he's on holiday.
1587
Queen Elizabeth decides to execute Mary Queen of Scots after Mary
reminds her of that time that Elizabeth couldn't get a date for the
Prom, and called her baldy.
1588
Philip of Spain sends a Great Armada against England. When the news
is incorrectly passed to English captain Francis Drake as being an
invading "great armadillo", he decides to finish his game of
tiddlywinks before fighting.
Aww shit, I can't be bothered with any more this week.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Toxic Custard back-issues. FTP or WWW, the
choice is entirely yours, just be sure to
email tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu for details.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright (c) 1995 Daniel Bowen and Brian Smith. May be freely
distributed without profit provided no modifications are made.
--
Daniel Bowen, Melbourne - I love the smell of kangaroo shit in the morning
Work: bowed@cpgen.cpsg.com.au---> Computer Power Education, ITS R&D Project
Play: dbowen@gnu.ai.mit.edu-----> TCWF: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu----------------
All opinions are naturally my own. Honest. Mine. Only mine. And Brian's----
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Tropical Cyclone Custard"
* __ `||====|
***** / \\ // ||
* < \\ //\ // ||==| Toxic Custard Workshop Files
*** \__ \\// \\// .||. Number 238, 27th February 1995
Right. Hello. This bit is true. I was watching the news on Friday,
and the story about Tropical Cyclone Bobby hitting the Western
Australian coast came on. And as usual, they mentioned those "brave"
(read stupid) people who had decided not to evacuate, but to risk
staying with their homes. And possibly evacuating later. In boxes.
Normally, these people are the old idiots who have "lived all my life
here, and no tropical death blood volcano barbed-wire bastard cyclone
is going to frighten me!" They usually don't mention that in the last
50 years of living at that location, the worst thing nature has
thrown at them has been an irritable blow-fly, and that big spider in
the dunny in 1953.
This time, it wasn't them. It *sounded* like it was. But no - the
footage gave it away. Instead of Bill Fuckingmoron, 68 years old, it
was a picture of two men, pissed as newts, with bottles in their
hands, rolling around on a bench!
"Come on mate, you can't stay here"
"Nah fuck off, fuckin' copper, we're fuckin' stayin' here with
our beer. No fuckin' cyclone is gonna get us!"
"Yeah, leave us alone or we'll thump ya."
"Oh yeah, what the hell. Have a nice time! Here's some aspirin for
tomorrow morning when you wake-up with a hangover and realise what
deep shit you're in. If not from the cyclone, from your parents when
they see you on the telly."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Fun run. Fun run. Fun run.
I've come to a conclusion about fun runs. The actual fun occurs
before, and after, but not usually during, the run. The run itself
generally involves counting the kilometres go by agonisingly slowly
while the hot sun beats down. Even more agonisingly slowly if the fun
run is actually a fun walk. The consolation is that there's less
actual strenuous effort.
It all begins with one of those harmless looking coupons you pick up
or see in the newspaper, send in, and safely forget about until the
sticker, map and sheet of instructions turns up in the mail. The
actual day arrives (why are these things always, but always, on
Sunday mornings?) and you try to be energetic enough to get there
early to get the free breakfast. (Which, if you miss, you'll be
swearing about for the next four hours, because you deliberately
elected *not* to have breakfast at home).
And so, you arrive at the designated venue, generally a park. Just
you, and fifteen thousand others, all queuing up for twenty minutes
just to get your yoghurt and piece of fruit. And just as you're about
to think "call this breakfast?" you spot the other stall, with the
free breakfast cereal. And no queue. As Homer would say, "D'oh!" If
all goes well, you'll manage to scoff that all down and grab all your
other freebies before the warm up begins.
There are many wondrous and magnificent sights in the world. The
pyramids of Egypt, the Eiffel Tower, Mrs Rashomon's Laundromat. While
these have the historical significance, there is an equal amount of
appeal in seeing fifteen thousand people doing early morning aerobics
in the park. It just looks so surreal.
(While we were waiting in the park on Sunday for the Rev walk, I
observed an interesting phenomenon. It is the sound made by thousands
of humans when they hear or see another human having something happen
to them that makes the thousands very glad they are not the one. If
you see what I mean. Close your eyes, and try to imagine hearing
this, as I did: <Car horn Honk honk> <screeeeeech> <bangsmash!>
<sound of 15,000 people going ooooooh...> That ooooooh is a sound of
sympathy for that one person's next insurance premium. Reminds me of
the time I was at a large computer site, and the lights dipped, and
all the computers reset. Cue the sound of 700 people going ooooooh,
each feeling sorry for the poor sod who pressed the wrong button that
did it. And being glad it wasn't them.)
And so, around 9:30, fifteen thousand people, all with stickers or
tags denoting that they are one of the fifteen thousand, try to begin
running/walking/rollerblading/cycling/wheelchairing the x kilometres
of the course. The chaotic start gives way to the closed-off roads,
the woefully few drink stops, and above all, the searing sun beating
down on thousands of people all trying to remember if they slipped
(on a t-shirt), slopped (on some sunscreen) and slapped (on a hat).
"Or did I just slip and slap? Did I slop? And if I slopped, did I
slop enough?"
It all gets rather tiring after the first hour or so. Every toilet
block you pass, there's dozens of people queuing. Every signpost with
spot prize numbers, there's hundreds of people milling around trying
to see if they won anything. But there's consolations. Like the look
of despair on the faces of the car drivers at every intersection you
pass, because they know they're going to be stuck there for at least
another twenty minutes before the police find a suitable gap in the
crowd to let them through. The police themselves look happy, because
they'd rather be directing 15,000 fun runners than 15,000 rioting
demonstrators (or our closest local equivalent here in Kennett
County, Grand Prix demonstrators).
So a couple of hours later, you cross the finish line, go get a
drink, listen to the band, listen for any prizes you might have won
(nope), and finally leave, wishing you'd just gone down the river
path, or jogged around the park that morning instead. But then, you
wouldn't have got a free cap.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
TOXIC HISTORY OF THE WORLD
Part 34.
1606 AD
William Janszoon is walking home one day, trips over a piece of
lead piping in the ground, and discovers Australia. It turns out to
be such a wide, sprawling brown land that he writes an article in
his favourite Explorer's Journal entitled "The Wide, Sprawling
Brown Land Down Under". Janszoon realises the tourist potential of
the place, and hires a fellow Dutchman, Paul Hogensom, to try and
advertise it. The campaign is scuttled when Hogensom leaves his
wife and marries a bimbo he has met on his travels. When asked
about this, he compares the two, saying "Nah, that's not a wife....
Now *that's* a wife!"
1609
Holland frees herself from Spain, and is soon to be a great power,
leading the world in trade, art and science and founding an empire
in East and West Indies. So, looking back almost four centuries
later, one has to ask - What happened?
1618
Outbreak of the Thirty Years' War, last attempt of the Catholics to
stamp out the Reformation in Europe. Okay, it leaves me wondering.
Did they call it the Thirty Years' War *during* the war? And if so,
was it all planned in advance? "Okay, you guys, now we've only got
until 1648 to fit this all in. Seventy great battles, nine
overthrown kingdoms, ten national leaders executed..."
1620
Pilgrim Fathers decide they're sick of hanging around Plymouth, and
sail in the Mayflower to found the first colony in New England.
Yep, I can see the passport now.
Name: John Smith.
Occupation: Pilgrim.
1642
Abel Tasman discovers the island just south of the Australian
mainland. He returns home afterwards to find pandemonium. Screaming
fans, merchandising, in fact, total Tasmania.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You can get Toxic Custard back-issues. If you
really want, that is. Details from
tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright (c) 1995 Daniel Bowen. May be freely distributed
without profit provided no modifications are made.
--
Daniel Bowen, Melbourne, Australia. May koalas not piss on you from above--
Work: bowed@cpgen.cpsg.com.au---> Computer Power Education, ITS R&D Project
Play: dbowen@gnu.ai.mit.edu-----> TCWF: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu----------------
All opinions are naturally my own. Honest. Mine. Only mine. Mine mine mine-
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Grey Toxic Custard"
====\/====// || || /==
\/ // || || ||_ Dynamic exciting number 239
\/ \\ || || || || 6th March 1995
\/OXIC\\CUSTARD\__/\__/ORKSHOP_/ILES written by Daniel Bowen
It was another grey, cruel day in the city. I looked through the
sheet of rain as I waited on the corner, a copy of The Daily Grind
under my arm. I'd been on the case for a good five minutes now, but
still couldn't quite see over the wall. I got off it, and walked
around the perimeter, trying to find a way in. Actually, I was more
used to Imperial measurements, but walking around the periyard just
didn't sound quite right.
The laneway was deserted, the only sound the gush of the rain going
into the gutter. I could hear the water droplets shouting "all right!
A holiday in the drains!"
A gate rattled and opened, and a big black car came out, splattering
me with mud as it passed. Huh, joke's on you mister, this is a dead
end street at *both* ends.
I lit a cigarette in a vain hope to look cool, and ducked through the
gate, trying to look inconspicuous. I made a note to get rid of the
duck suit. Inside the wall, the factory looked foreboding and
industrious. Workmen moved two and fro between the doorways,
whispering conspiratorially. One of them approached me. He looked
stupid, but you can never tell. He might not be as stupid as he
looked.
"Who're you", he asked suspiciously. "Health inspector?"
"No", I replied. "They won't promote me past seargant". Damn, I was
meant to be undercover.
"Police?" he said, wide-eyed.
"Ummm no, no. I'm a... umm.. travelling duck costume salesman."
"Oh." So. He was as stupid as he looked.
"You wanna buy any travelling duck costumes? Only a duck. I mean
buck."
"Well yeah, okay. But don't tell the others".
After finishing the transaction and changing back into my normal
clothes, I made my way up some stairs towards the office. The door
was slightly ajar, the healthy aroma of thick cigar smoke wafting
through the gap. Lucky doors don't have lungs.
Also wafting through, in between the molecules of smoke, were a
few of words. Words from that baron of crime, Baron Von Git. I
guessed there'd be someone else in the room, because the Baron didn't
usually talk to himself. In any case, I didn't hang around to hear
any more than two, because I got a sinking feeling they were talking
about me.
"Kill him."
With all the style that only a high school student can muster, I slid
down the bannister. I drew my gun (just a quick sketch), and bolted
to the exit. The exit was bolted too. Damn. Nothing else for it but
to scale the fence. The fence's scale was 1:1, but it didn't look any
higher than it could have been. I started to climb, only pausing to
change direction when I reached the top. Lucky I did, because as I
leapt towards the ground, a shot rang out. It passed over my head,
and would have swung round to hit me, but it couldn't. I decided I no
longer regretted not being a basketball player.
I ran out of the laneway, to the safety of the bustling street. Just
another day for Jake Spam, Public Detective.
Now, where did I put that case?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
TOXIC HISTORY OF THE WORLD
Part 35.
1648
Someone realises it's time to stop, and so the Thirty Years War
comes to an end. "I survived the Thirty Years War" tunics are a big
seller for several weeks afterwards.
1648-1658
Oliver Cromwell, the man known for banning soft-backed chairs, also
bans every other fun thing he can think of. Including ice-cream,
Nintendo, sex, making air bubbles with BluTack, jokes; you name it,
he bans it.
1664
War between Britain and Holland; the British capture New Amsterdam,
and rename it New York. The Dutch laugh heartily, saying the new
name will never catch on.
1665
Great Plague of London.
1666
Great Fire of London. Not such a great decade for London, really.
The Arson squad are still investigating. Shame the Great Fire
Brigade didn't respond. Or maybe they didn't have one at the time.
1670-85
Charles II gets friendly with the Catholics, attacks Holland with
France, runs out of cash, and eventually dies. Busy guy.
1681
William Penn establishes the colony of Pennsylvania as refuge,
where persecuted Quakers can shelter, some of them no doubt quaking
in fear.
1683
The Turks make a final effort to carry Islam into the heart of
Europe, but are defeated at Vietnam. Oops, I mean Vienna. (Okay,
who gave Ronald Reagan access to this file?)
1701
Yet another Louis (the XIVth) declares France will take on all
comers at the coming Euro Bun Fight. Britain, Holland and Austria
form a "Grand Alliance" to stop him. But they back down when faced
with an army of French container lorry drivers.
1707
Following approval from the Monopolies Commission, England and
Scotland announce a merger. They promise that there will be no
redundancies, and that profitability of both countries will be
enhanced.
1714
George I becomes king. The fact that he can't speak English and has
no interest in English affairs is not seen to be a problem by the
English parliament, who take advantage of it by being able to chew
bubblegum in the house.
1720
A financial crisis, the "South Sea Bubble", produced by wild
speculation, ruins thousands. Rumours that the crash was caused by
a computer error prove untrue, and it is later blamed on some guy
who has disappeared to Singapore.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You can get Toxic Custard back-issues. If you
really want, that is. For details, send email
NOW! to tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This issue of Toxic Custard is provided for humorous purposes only.
The information contained in this document represents the current
view of Daniel Bowen on the issues parodied as of the date of
publication. Daniel Bowen cannot guarantee the relevance or
timeliness of any spoof presented on, before or after the date of
publication.
JOKES PROVIDED IN THIS DOCUMENT IS PROVIDED "AS IS" WITHOUT WARRANTY
OF ANY KIND, EITHER EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
THE IMPLIED WARRANTIES OF HUMOUR, AND FITNESS FOR LAUGHING AT. I'm
not sure you've figured it out yet, so let me say again that the
reader assumes the entire risk as to the funniness and the use of
this document. This document may be copied and distributed subject to
the following conditions: 1) All text must be copied without
modification and all jokes must be included; 2) All copies must
contain Daniel Bowen's copyright notice and any other notices
provided therein; and 3) This document may not be distributed for
profit.
Copyright (c) 1995 Daniel Bowen. May be freely distributed
without profit provided no modifications are made.
I think they've got it now.
--
Daniel Bowen, Melbourne, Australia. May you not be eaten by crocodiles-----
Work: bowed@cpgen.cpsg.com.au---> Computer Power Education, ITS R&D Project
Play: dbowen@gnu.ai.mit.edu-----> TCWF: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu----------------
All opinions are naturally my own. Only mine. No one else's. Just mine.------
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Finally, it's Toxic Custard"
^^^^^ ^^^^ ^ ^ ^^^^ Toxic Custard Workshop Files
^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ Number 240, 14th March 1995
^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^^^ written, as usual, by Daniel Bowen
^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^ ^
This week's issue is a little late, due to a little bit of a moving
house situation, and a certain large telecommunications company being
unable to get our phone working over the weekend. And due to this
throwing my routine out completely so I forgot to be in possession of
vital files at the appropriate time for mailing. Oops.
Moving house is one of those things that no matter how many times we
do it, and how painful it is when it happens, it almost always ends
up happening again at some time. Obviously the memory of traipsing up
and down stairs with boxes fades with time.
The most surprising thing is what's in the heaviest boxes. Lead
weights? No. Medicine balls? No. Books. Books, which are made of
paper. The Olympic committee should seriously consider getting
weightlifters to lift people's boxes full of books at the next Games.
So anyway, first comes about a week of painstakingly packing every
single little thing into a box. (Which is generally accompanied by a
week of pleading with local shopkeepers, who you will most likely
never see ever again, to give you their spare boxes.) Of course,
there are various things that won't go into boxes. And things that
can only go into boxes after being wrapped up with copious amounts of
old newspaper. And various other things that are already in boxes,
but need to go into bigger boxes with other things in boxes to
prevent any of the smaller boxes getting lost along the way. And then
there's boxes that have remained unpacked since the last time you've
moved. Hopefully some of them will get lost along the way.
The morning of the move arrives, and two amiable blokes arrive with
their truck from the company whose ad caught the eye in the Yellow
Pages. Which, if it was one of the first listed, probably has a name
beginning with an abnormal number of "a"s. The guys arrive, and with
no further ado, start piling stuff into the truck.
When we last moved two years ago, we had bugger all. A couple of
computers and a can of Coke. Since then, this situation has changed.
So much that, when it all came down to it, not everything would fit
into the truck. It was a tight squeeze getting the furniture all in,
but eventually just about everything went in, and the truck drove off
to pastures new. (Well, okay, Caulfield).
The two amiable blokes arrive at the new place in the truck, and it
becomes apparent from the amount of swearing going on that they
haven't been told the destination is upstairs. C'est la vie(*). Just
thank Christ it's a larger place, to the extent that it didn't really
matter where all the boxes were left, it was "dump 'em anywhere"
time.
And so, a day, a few car boot shuttle trips, and lots of unpacking
later, everything is almost settled. And as I did a final skim
through the old place to ensure nothing had been forgotten, I found
what almost *had* been forgotten. Of all things, it was two
toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste. That would have been a nice
surprise for the next tenant/s. I also found a lump of Blutack. What,
leave it for the landlady?! Never!
(*) French for Tough Shit.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
TOXIC HISTORY OF THE WORLD
Part 35.
1739 AD
Sir Robert Walpole, first PM of GB, somehow manages to start a war
with Spain that is called, wait for this, I'm not kidding: the "War
of Jenkins' Ear". Ah yes, what terrible times indeed when two
nations go to war over some bloke's ear.
1740-1748
The War of the Austrian Succession. Which is basically as follows:
Prussia attacks Austria; France invades Germany; Britain attacks
France; France fights back at Austria and Britain. Etc, etc, etc.
1756-1763
Just when you thought it was safe to turn CNN back on, the Seven
Years' War breaks out.
1767
Captain Wallis discovers Tahiti. He almost calls it Wallis island,
but then decides that doesn't sound sun-drenched and relaxing
enough.
1768-76
Captain Cook sails around the world in the Endeavour, discovering
and mapping lots of things along the way.
1773
The Boston Tea Party brings to a head the long quarrel between
George III and the American colonists. When the British governor
selfishly hoards the last of the Twinings teabags for himself, the
colonists call him nasty names, and prepare for war.
1775
First shots exchanged between colonists and British troops at
Lexington. George Washington is made American Commander-in-Chief.
He is to be known later as "Stormin' Georgie".
1776
On July 4th, 13 American colonies issue the Declaration of
Independence. They also declare Ya Boo Sucks To The British, and We
Are The Champions And We're Going To Be A Superpower And You're Not
So There Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah.
1788
On January 26th, Australia is colonised, ignoring requests from the
local Aborigines to "bugger off back to Pommyland".
Meanwhile, the Founding Fathers draw up the American
constition, the preamble of which goes something like:
We the people of the United States, in order to form a more
perfect fried chicken, establish French fries and protect
domestic hamburgers, provide for the common Pizza Hut,
promote general fast food and other delicious stuff for
ourselves and our posterity do ordain and establish this
Constitution for the United States of America.
1789
The French Revolution breaks out like a rash of acne. A young man,
Marcel Remington, makes his first entry into the world of blade
sales after a discussion with his mate Joseph Guillotin.
Remington's guillotine blades become so good that one French
nobleman is just about to say he'll buy the company when the blade
chops through his neck, leaving him with a slight speech
impediment. On July 14th, the people of Paris storm the Bastille
prison and have a warehouse party there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Toxic Custard back-issues are available by FTP
and on the very wonderful World Wide Web. Email
tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu for details.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright (c) 1995 Daniel Bowen. May be freely distributed
without profit provided no modifications are made.
--
Daniel Bowen, Melbourne, Australia. May your emu never become sick.--------
Work: bowed@cpgen.cpsg.com.au---> Computer Power Education, ITS R&D Project
Play: dbowen@gnu.ai.mit.edu-----> TCWF: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu----------------
All opinions are my own. Just mine. No one else's. Mine mine mine mine mine
Is California becoming the Bangladesh of the 90's or what?!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the Toxic Custard Workshop Files by Daniel Bowen, Melbourne, Australia
Copyright (c) 1995 Daniel Bowen. May be freely distributed
without profit provided this notice remains intact.
For subscription and back-issue information, contact tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu
