Collage 394              H u m o u r N e t              27 Apr 1998



A few Collages ago, I threatened to bring back John Mozena as a guest
moderator to increase the unsubscription rate and thus bring in more
revenue from the Unsubscription Fees(tMS).

Well, an insufficient number of you unsubscribed, so now the rest of
you are stuck with John. Could be worse, though; you could be stuck
with *me* ...

Anyway, let me welcome John Mozena back for his *second* (oh, how
will he ever survive the embarrassment?) HumourNet Guest Moderator
spot.

Enjoy!

- Vince



Well, you've all gone and done it. Not enough of you unsubscribed
when Vince suggested raising the unsubscription fee, so he has
followed through on his threat to have me guest moderate another
Collage. Strap in and hang on, since you can't get out now.

I suppose I'm at least partly to blame for the scarcity of Collages
these days, as I keep on introducing Vince to new areas of the Net
that contain a lower-than-normal quantity of stupid people. Since he
gets a full dose of stupidity in e-mail from some of the more
intellectually-challenged HumourNetters, in addition to the normal
collection of idiots and fools we all deal with in everyday life
(your mileage may vary if you're employed by a government agency),
poor Vince is always looking for the net.equivalent of fresh air,
unencumbered by the bleatings of idiots, fools and AOLers. (Yes, I
know that's redundant and repetitive.)

You've already gotten one example, when Vince mentioned the Hallowed
Cult of Father Darwin Mailing List. We're almost done digesting (in
some cases literally) the last dose of subscribers, so you'll just
have to figure out on your own how to find it. To quote Larry Niven
and Jerry Pournelle, "Think of it as evolution in action."

Another example is Usenet II , where Vince is
the net.humor Czar. This means he's actually got formal permission to
be an utter bastard in the name of humo[u]r. Unfortunately, this
*does* mean he has to give up his amateur status, but he's looking
forward to the endorsements.

I hear any number of prophylactic manufacturers want to use him as a
poster child, for instance. As a warning of what can happen.

So, in a form of penance for turning Vince's attention away from
HumourNet, I bring you a Stupid People Collage.

I spend my free time taunting stupid people. It's easy work, but the
rewards are endless. (In that sense, it's kinda like being a U.S.
Senator.) Plus, you're never lacking for material -- to misquote
SubGenius icon J.R. "Bob" Dobbs, "You know how dumb the average
person is? Well, by definition, half of 'em are dumber than *that*."

Now, I'm not talking about people who just aren't really bright, but
have some common sense and live their lives in recognition of the
fact that they're just not going to ever shake the King of Sweden's
hand or get a telegram from the Pulitzer committee. I'm talking about
people who might have advanced degrees, but never bother to buckle
their seatbelts or vote in elections. To quote a wise and anonymous
man, "Yes, eat the willfully ignorant. Just use good table manners."

If you ask me (and I know you didn't, but it's your fault for
subscribing to this list and then not unsubscribing when the fees
were nearly raised), environmentalists have it all wrong. The biggest
threat to our world isn't the Raymond Burr-sized hole in the ozone
layer, or internal combustion engines, or nuclear waste or even the
Spice Girls. It's stupidity.

[Editor's Note: *Wrong-O*, John. It's the Spice Girls. ]

Stupidity brought us things like Three Mile Island, Chernobyl,
CFC-laden hair spray cans, Michael Jackson and New Jersey. Stupid
people, in addition to the dumb things they do that are merely
annoying, often rise to positions of power from which they can do
dumb things that screw up stuff for the rest of us who are too smart
to, say, build biological weapons, no matter how much we don't like
somebody. (viz. Jesse Helms and Saddam Hussein)

My point (I have one, I swear) is this: As we laugh at the amusing
antics of the stupid people whose tomfoolery is presented below for
your amusement, just remember that somewhere, there's somebody even
stupider than our heroes below who works for the Department of
Energy, the Department of Defense, NASA, the CIA, the EPA, your
town's Department of Sanitation, your child's school, your grocery
store or your accountant's office. And they're trying to help you or
protect you.

Emigrate now.

Credits for today's Collage:

Capt. Chris P, Colorado Springs, Colorado: "Gravity Sucks"

Don M., Chicago, Illinois: "Genetic Defects"

Barbara C. in Adelphi, Maryland: "Shandong, Sichuan, Syrian -- It's
All The Same Thing"

Steve D. in Ashland, Oregon: "Dream Date for Short Men"

Tim O., Chicago, Illinois: "But He'll Be Making $40 Million a Year
Soon"

Randy Cassingham in Boulder, Colorado: "But The Canadians Have Very
Poor Statistics On Taiwan"

Eric W.: "Physics According to Business Majors"

Ted W. in Cincinnati, Ohio: "Adventures of the 'Clue Unencumbered'"

Art M., Pompton Lakes, New Jersey: "Too Bad We Won The War"

Lori B. in Atlanta, Georgia: "Ca-Ka Jones"

Russ R., Corinth, Texas: "Express Math"

Ed C. in El Cerrito, California: "The Importance of Not Being Heard."

Big round of applause for our contributors! Enjoy ...

- John Mozena
  HumourNet Guest Moderator
  moz@mich.com
____________________________________________________________________
          Opener (above) Copyright 1998 by John Mozena
  Permission is hereby granted to forward or post this "Collage";
  please observe the guidelines stated at the end of the message.
____________________________________________________________________

SUBJ: Gravity Sucks

The following story comes from the naval safety center commander,
COMNAVSAFECEN, Rear Admiral F.M. DIRREN JR. The incident involved two
civilians employed by the Navy to maintain the grounds of a naval
base.

While he didn't actually climb out on a limb then saw the limb off
behind him, this grounds keeper did the next best thing and got
pretty much the same results. Properly bedecked with all the required
safety gear, our hero leaned his ladder against the offending limb,
then turned to brief his helper on the precise manner in which he
wanted his ladder tended while he performed this delicate surgery.
That completed, he yanked his chainsaw into consciousness, ("BAR-UUM!
BA-DA-BA-DA! BRUUM! BAR-UUM!") and scrambled up the ladder, trailing
oily-blue smoke and noise behind him as he rose.

Once up there, he checked his clearances, made sure there was no one
standing underneath, checked his goggles, checked his gloves,
adjusted his hardhat, checked his ladder-holder one more time, gave
his saw a couple of anticipatory BAR-RUMM! BA-DA-BA'S, then he draped
it across that big old saggy limb and he commenced to wail.

"RA-OOM! RA-OOM! WRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

MY GOODNESS! He laid into that thing with a vengeance and, before you
knew it, a huge piece of that big old limb that had been hanging down
there -- getting in every body's way -- creaked loudly, groaned some,
broke off and crashed gracefully to the ground below. Just, I must
add, as the rest of the branch -- suddenly unburdened of a great deal
of weight -- went "SPROING!" And snapped smartly back to its
previously near-vertical position. Which is to say that it, more or
less, popped itself out from underneath the guy ... with the chain
saw ... on the ladder. And he found himself, more or less, leaning
against the atmosphere which, at an altitude of twelve feet or so,
offers precious little resistance to guys standing on ladders holding
chainsaws.

Well, the ladder went one way and the tree trimmer went another. And
the ladder-holder? Well, he didn't know which way to go so he just
sort of stood there with his mouth open as the ladder landed next to
him and the tree trimmer landed on top of him.

You know, that ladder holder fits my definition of a true friend --
someone you can always count on to be there for you when you're
looking for a place to crash.

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: Genetic Defects

My son and his girlfriend were watching the news during the Gulf War.
They were showing a clip of a "Smart Bomb" being released from a
plane and traveling straight into the target with the TV camera in
the nose of the bomb picking up everything right up to the point of
impact. Whereupon, she (a blonde of course) turned to my son and
asked, "I wonder how they get the film back?"

He thought this was pretty funny so he told the story to her mother
and brother later that day. Upon finishing the story, he laughed and
was joined by the mother and brother. The brother then asked, "Well!!
How *do* they get the film back?"

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: Shandong, Sichuan, Syrian -- It's All The Same Thing

One of my college classmates was a Muslim engineer from Syria. A
couple of us decided Nuri was culturally deprived because he'd never
had an Easter basket. (Not surprising since Muslims don't celebrate
Easter.) We weren't deterred by that little factoid and put a big
Easter goodie basket together then looked for someone he didn't know
to deliver it while we were in class.

I knew a Nursing student who had a great body so we decided to
embellish the event by having her dress up as a Playboy version of
the Easter bunny. Needless to say, class attendance was perfect that
day. Diane knocked on the door and asked loudly for Nuri. She stepped
through the door just as he walked up. Poor guy looked like he walked
into a glass wall -- his eyes bulged and jaw dropped. Diane hammed it
up and did a cute presentation of the Easter basket while Nuri
struggled to keep his eyes above her shoulders. She concluded by
saying, "Gee, you don't look at all Chinese."

Nuri looked baffled and replied, "Of course not, I'm Syrian."

When I asked her later where the Chinese question came from, she said
she thought Syria was a province in China.

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: Dream Date for Short Men

I recently walked into a Subway shop here in Chicago, ready for one
of those 12" meatball sandwiches. The dialog went something like
this...

[Editor's Note: In the spirit of Collage 357, "CL" refers to the
"Clue-Challenged" (ClueLess) individual in the exchange. ]

CL: Can I help you?

Me: How about one of those 12 inch meatball subs.

CL: We only serve 6 inch and foot-long subs.

??????? ??????

Me: Okay, how about a foot-long meatball sub then.

After she hands me the sandwich...

[smart-a** mode on]

Me: Wow, that thing must be twice the size of a 6 inch.

CL: Just about.

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: But He'll Be Making $40 Million a Year Soon ...

While attending undergrad my cousin took a job as an athletic trainer
for a high school football team.

Notes:
Public School
Public School in Cleveland
Public School in Cleveland on the East Side

Being relatively young, compared to the coaches, the team would
confide their gripes with my cousin. One member of the team
complained that the coach always extended practice 10 minutes longer
than scheduled. My cousin was confused; the coach kept a very tight
schedule and was always on time. My cousin asked the player why he
was upset with the coach.

The player replied, "Coach said the practice would be over at quarter
to six -- but practice never ends until 5:45." My cousin then tried
to explain that quarter to six *is* 5:45. The player replied "Quarter
to six is 25 to six or 5:35." At which point my cousin gave up on the
conversation, not wanting to give a lesson on fractions and time and
measurement.

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: But The Canadians Have Very Poor Statistics On Taiwan

I was involved in doing usability testing of a "One Stop Shopping"
for federal statistics Web site that just went public a couple of
weeks ago. (Check it out at !) We're
getting user feedback (would love to have some from any of y'all who
try the site), and some of it is hilarious. But this comment from one
gal in Medicine Hat, Canada, took the prize for me. She said:

    Although I found this page interesting, it wasn't really what
    I was expecting, it is just really a regurgitation of
    statistics. But I suppose I can't expect a ton of information
    from a government page. Also, the statistics that I looked at
    only applied to Americans, I am Canadian. This was probably
    the most disappointing thing on this page.

So let me get this straight: A Web site that advertises itself as a
source of *United States Federal statistics* is disappointing because
(a) it only delivers statistics -- not "information" -- and (b) it's
restricted to the U.S.

Wellll, excuuuuse us for living, Ms. Medicine Hat!!

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: Physics According to Business Majors

Your little story a couple of collages ago about the friend who drove
*real* slow with his new car to save the miles reminded me of an
incident in college. Traveling eastbound on the Ohio Turnpike, just
past Toledo, we drove past a sign that read:

    NEW YORK

    490 Miles
    789 Kilmoeters

    Via Turnpikes

My friend, a man almost done with his undergraduate studies at a Big
Ten university, looked at me and said, "See, that's why I hope we
never go to the Metric System; it'll take so much longer to get to
places."

I hope he never procreates.

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: Adventures of the "Clue Unencumbered"

I recently refinanced my auto loan to secure a lower interest rate.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.

After spending 20 minute or so with the helpful management-type from
my bank filling out forms, we had all the paperwork done. At this
point, she told me I should walk the pay-off check down to the
original bank so no more interest would accrue. I said that would be
no problem as the bank was only 3 blocks away. She then informed me
that she could submit the copies of the paperwork to her bank to
forward to the original bank, or I could also take these down the
street with me and the whole thing would be finished. I, being an
efficiency-minded kinda guy, told her I'd take the paperwork with me.



I got to the original bank and sat down with their management-type
(and I use the term loosely). The conversation went something like
this:

ME: I want to pay off my auto loan. I have the check from my home
bank and the paperwork for your files.

CL: You can just take the check to one of the tellers, and we don't
need the paperwork. Your bank will send the copies we need to our
corporate office.

ME: Actually, these are the copies that my bank would be sending. i
just brought then with me.

CL: We don't need those papers here.

ME: I know they don't stay at this branch, but they need to be sent
to your corporate office.

CL: Your bank will send the copies our corporate office needs for
filing.

ME: No, no. These are those copies. There aren't any other copies of
these forms to be forwarded. These are they.

CL: But we don't need those here...

ME: YES, I KNOW THAT. I brought the copies with me so they wouldn't
have to be sent. Your corporate office needs these actual pieces of
paper on file. Here they are.

CL: No, your bank will send our corporate office the copies they need
for filing.

ME: I just have to give this check to the teller?

CL: Yes (please note the friendly, oblivious smile on the
Management-Type's face even at this point)

ME: Thank you.

I then kindly paid the teller, received my receipt, and walked back
to my bank to return the forms so they could be forwarded through
several unnecessary stops to the bank I had just left.

So many idiots, so few comets.

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: Too Bad We Won The War

I swear this is a true story...

While working a T-Shirt booth at a recent car show in Memphis, I
noticed the cash box was very low on singles. I quickly proceeded to
ask a local food vendor next to our booth for some change. Holding up
a $5 bill, I asked, "Do you have 5 singles for a five?"

The lady behind the counter looked up at me with that 'HUH?!?' look.
I asked again ... only to receive that same blank stare.

The guy working the fryer behind her turned around and said, "You
ain't from around here, are ya?"

(He was right about that. I'm from New York, but what in the world
did that have to do with me getting some change?)

He tapped the lady on her shoulder and said, "He means five ones."
"OOh!" she responded and kindly gave me the change.

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: Ca-Ka Jones

I loved the recent "DUH award" Collage {Collage 157]. The
F-as-in-Frank story reminded me of a time I was working over the
summer break from law school just for a few weeks before my (unpaid)
clerkship started doing gruntwork for a to-be-left-unnamed worldwide
organization that did all kinds of good deeds and had membership all
over the world. The one thing it didn't do well was hire bright
staff.

I was working in the department that was in charge of handling the
membership records, changing names, and addresses, and updating our
files if someone passed away, etc. The person put in charge of me was
easily Level II Stupid.

So one day we get in this change of address card from someone who
obviously (to me anyway) couldn't remember if she had changed her
name with our organization when she married (or divorced, I guess).
So when she wrote her name, she put "Jane Smith (AKA Jones)" -- only
she inadvertently left out the close parenthesis at the end of Jones,
so it was written "(AKA Jones."

Well, there was widespread panic: What did this mean -- CAKA Jones? I
looked at the card and explained what it was -- parenthesis, Also
Known As, her maiden name, and then a failure to write the close
parenthesis.

No one believed me. Supervisors were called over. The Level II DUH
honoree who was in CHARGE of ME was directed by HER supervisor to
actually call this woman to ask what CAKA Jones meant.

I cringed in embarrassment as I listened to this phone call, and I
didn't even have to make it.

Sigh. Amazing more people don't drown in the rain.

----------[ H U M O U R N E T ]----------

SUBJ: Going By The Book

Then there is the time that I was 12 years old and tried to get a
public library card, and they said I couldn't because I had no
picture ID. When I said I was TWELVE and therefore could NOT have a
picture ID, they said a credit card bill or tax bill would suffice. I
had some mail and magazines addressed to me, and my bus pass with my
address, but this was not enough. Finally my Dad wrote a letter
swearing I was who I said I was, and that he was my legal and
biological father, and they should issue me a library card before I
resort to a life of crime by stealing books.

And they wonder why kids don't read more.

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: Express Math

I have no idea which level of stupidity this woman fits into, so I'm
not even going to guess. It's important to remember that this a true
story ...

I was in an unspecified grocery store a few months ago and saw a
short middle-aged woman with a heaping cart, full of one of
everything in the store, walk up to the express lane, which is 1 to
15 items only[1]. She walks up and stands under the sign, leans over
to look up and read it, then looks down at her basket, as though she
were counting. She then looks at the sign again, then at the basket.
Sign ... Basket. I suppose she finished counting everything in the
cart, as she kind of walked off toward the aisles again.

The thing is, the express lane was closed.

[1] Come to think of it, the sign actually reads "1 to 15 items or
less only."

[Editor's Note: She was probably trying to decide if she had less
than 1 to 15 items ... ]

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: The Importance of Not Being Heard

When I was in college at UC Berkeley, I clerked at a liquor store in
South Berkeley. It was prom season, so we were alert for eighteen-
year-olds trying to pass themselves off as twenty-one-year-olds. This
young, gentlemen entered (I immediately thought "seventeen"), his
hair all gooped up, his ruffled prom shirt on, and he selected two
bottles of champagne.

He noticed my tee shirt and asked, "UCSB. Do you go there?"

I replied, "No, my brother gave it to me."

His comment: "I'm going there next year!"

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Anyone without a sense of humor is at the mercy of the rest of us.
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