[fortune-mod] / fortune-mod / datfiles / off / unrotated / miscellaneous

A game can by God repent or we'll punish it.
That's how they did it in Salem in the seventeenth century,
and that's how we'll do it now.
                -- Dick Hamlet
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America, I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
                -- Allen Ginsberg
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An Army travels on her stomach.
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Being a woman is of special interest only to aspiring male transsexuals.
To actual women it is merely a good excuse not to play football.
                -- Fran Lebowitz, "Metropolitan Life"
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Beware of altruism.  It is based on self-deception, the root of all evil.
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Bringing your mate to a convention is like taking a game warden hunting.
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Britain has lowered the tax on chastity belts by about 60 cents each...
[reclassifying them] as a safety device rather than... clothing
                -- NY Times
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But sex and drugs and rock & roll, why, they'd bring our blackest day.
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Clark Kent is a transvestite.
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Dad," the 13-year-old boy asked, looking up from his social-studies text,
"what did you do during the sexual revolution?"

"Well, son," his father confided, "I guess you could say I was captured
early and spent the duration doing the dishes."
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Don't cook tonight -- starve a rat today!
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Don't eat yellow snow.
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Don't forget to support the ERA apersonment.
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Evening hours "all clear" for romance!

(Tell mate you have to work late.)
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Ever wondered why you always run out of breath when you throw up?
Ah, but a man's retch should exceed his gasp, else what's a heaving for?
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Faith is the quality that enables you to eat blackberry jam on a picnic
without looking to see whether the seeds move.
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"For an adequate time call 555-3321"
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Fortune's Rules for Memo Wars: #1

        Any attempt to say that someone's personal beliefs are wrong, even if
you supply conclusive evidence to support your claim, is an outright attack.
If you show someone a flaw in his/her logic, they have every right to punch
you in the face.  Mathematical proofs of errors are the moral equivalent
of rape and should be avoided at all cost.
        Now... your opponent has requested a "rational discussion".  What do
you do?  Well, remember that people are normally willing to discuss things
rationally if and only if you agree with them; anything less would obviously
not be rational.  Therefore, agree immediately, and continue as before.
        Always assume that whenever you see someone making a statement about
"certain parties who shall remain nameless", "some people", "assholes", etc.,
they are talking about *you*.  It is also correct to assume that words you
don't understand, such as "prestidigatory", "lapidarian", and "buprestid",
are direct personal attacks aimed at your loved ones and merit an equally
scathing response.  Failure to do this results in many lost opportunities for
rational discussion.  (See above.)
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Fortune's Rules for Memo Wars: #3

The proper time for a vicious ad hominem attack is when you have no logical
recourse.  If you have been arguing a point with a person or persons for
30 odd weeks, and an memo comes across that logically tears down the
final shred of evidence that you thought you had, that is the time to call
the author of that memo:
        1: a mindless twit who attacks other people's beliefs for no reason.
        2: an egotistical flaming typical wombat aggie melon-humping
           cheese-whizzing nanosexual subuseless clamsucker whose memos
           are apparently sneezed onto his/her terminal.
        3: something unpleasant.
The OTHER proper time for an ad hominem attack is immediately after someone
has posted something you don't understand.  Given the current state of modern
electronic communications technology your inability to comprehend the meaning
of an memo constitutes a violation of western moral tradition on the part of
the author of that memo, and the author should be taken to task publicly via
a series of really nasty, name-calling oriented memos.
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Four Oxford dons were taking their evening walk together and as
usual, were engaged in casual but learned conversation.  On this particular
evening, their conversation was about the names given to groups of animals,
such as a "pride of lions" or a "gaggle of geese."
        One of the professors noticed a group of prostitutes down the block,
and posed the question, "What name would be given to that group?"  The four
fell into silence for a moment, as they pondered the possibilities...
        At last, one spoke: "How about 'a Jam of Tarts'?"  The others nodded
in acknowledgement as they continued to consider the problem.  A second
professor spoke: "I'd suggest 'an Essay of Trollops.'"  Again, the others
nodded.  A third spoke: "I propose 'a Flourish of Strumpets.'"
        They continued their walk in silence, until the first professor
remarked to the remaining professor, who was the most senior and learned of
the four, "You haven't suggested a name for our ladies.  What are your
thoughts?"
        Replied the fourth professor, "'An Anthology of Prose.'"
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"He could be a poster child for retroactive birth control."
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He who sneezes without a handkerchief takes matters into his own hands.
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Home is where the hurt is.
                -- Strange de Jim
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Hugh Hefner is a virgin.
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Hypocrisy is the vaseline of social intercourse.
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I don't care who you are, Fatso.  Get those reindeer off my roof.
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I just got off the phone with Sonny Barger [President of the Hell's Angels].
He wants me to appear as a character witness for him at his murder trial
and said he'd be glad to appear as a character witness on my behalf if I
ever needed one.  Needless to say, I readily agreed.
                -- Thomas King Forcade, publisher of "High Times"
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        "I was plodding through the woods when suddenly a giant brown bear
grabbed me from behind and made me drop my gun.  He picked it up and
stuck it in my back."
        "What did you do?"
        "What *could* I do?  I married his daughter."
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        I went into a bar feeling a little depressed, the bartender said,
"What'll you have, Bud"?
        I said," I don't know, surprise me".
        So he showed me a nude picture of my wife.
                -- Rodney Dangerfield
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"I've had one child.  My husband wants to have another.  I'd like to
watch him have another."
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If I could reach, I'd never leave the house.
                -- George Carlin
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Ignorance is the Mother of Devotion.
                -- Robert Burton
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In breeding cattle you need one bull for every twenty-five cows, unless
the cows are known sluts.
                -- Johnny Carson
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In light of the New Morality, Playboy Inc. is offering a new version of
its magazine, for married men.  Every month it has the same centerfold.
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It is better to have Uranus in Cancer than to have Cancer in Uranus.
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It takes a brave man to admit his mistakes.

Especially in a paternity hearing.
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It was a female that drove me to drink and I didn't even have the kindness
to thank her.
                -- R. E. Baber
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It was New Year's Eve and the house was brightly decorated with holiday
trappings.  The only sound that broke the quiet was the click of Grandma's
knitting needles.  The children; Jane, eight and Mary, five, were seated
in front of a cheerily burning fire, leafing through a picture book.
Tiring of this, they went over to Grandma's rocker.  Jane climbed up on
the arm of the chair and Mary snuggled into Grandma's cozy lap.
        "Tell us a story," begged Mary.
        "Oh," said the old lady, laying aside her knitting and wrapping
her arms around the children.  "What story should I tell you?"
        "Tell us our favorite story," whispered little Jane eagerly.
"About the time you were a hooker in Chicago."
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        It was the next morning that the armies of Twodor marched east
laden with long lances, sharp swords, and death-dealing hangovers.  The
thousands were led by Arrowroot, who sat limply in his sidesaddle,
nursing a whopper.  Goodgulf, Gimlet, and the rest rode by him, praying
for their fate to be quick, painless, and if possible, someone else's.
        Many an hour the armies forged ahead, the war-merinos bleating
under their heavy burdens and the soldiers bleating under their melting
icepacks.
                -- "Bored of the Rings", The Harvard Lampoon
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Jesus loves you, but everybody else thinks you're a dork.
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Jesus may love you, but I think you're garbage wrapped in skin.
                -- Michael O'Donohugh
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May a deranged midget on a pogo stick take refuge in your sister's hoop skirt.
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May a diseased yak take a liking to your sister.
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My father was a creole, his father a Negro, and his father a monkey; my
family, it seems, begins where yours left off.
                -- Alexandre Dumas, pere
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Never take a resume seriously.  Resumes only make money for the
people who write the resumes.  No resume ever tells an employer how many
times a job applicant has had the clap.
        Why, indeed, would anyone hire a person based on a resume written
by a professional liar?
        If the applicant is a man, the employer must ask only one question:
did the applicant go to TCU?
        If the applicant is a woman, the employer may simply ask: does she
have a tongue that can lick the paint off a dormitory wall?
                -- Dan Jenkins, "Baja Oklahoma"
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No one born with a mouth and a need is "innocent".
                -- Greg Bear
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Objectivity is to a newspaper what virtue is to a woman.
                -- Joseph Pulitzer
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OLD FELLA RED CLARET
        Produce of Australia -- "The Big 69'er"

An unusual "Rough-as-Guts" wine that has the Distinctive Bouquet of old
and ill-cared for animals.  It is best drunk with the teeth clenched to
prevent ingestion of the seeds and skins.  Connoisseurs will savour the
slight Tannin Taste of burnt shag feathers and soiled medical dressings.
Possessors of a cultivated Palate admire the initial assault on the taste
buds which comes from the careful and loving blending of circus hosings
with perished jock straps.  The maturing in Midland Abattoir hogsheads
gives it a very Definite Nose.  With the bouquet like an aborigine's armpit.
In the United States this wine is marketed as Crow Brand (9 out of 10 people
who drink it for the first time exclaim "VRAAAARRRRRK").

It won a Bronze at the "Kings Cross Homosexuals Convention" of 1973

Warning: Avoid contact with eyes and open cuts.
         Keep away from open naked flames -- both old and new.
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Once upon a time there was a boy, who tried very, very hard to be a Good
Little Boy.  He grew up to try to be a Good Man.
        But he never understood how he could be either.
        Finally, one day, after years of chronic worry and months of
outright crisis, he admitted that he couldn't do either, because at some
level, he wasn't even male.
        So she tried to be a Good Little Girl, and soon after, tried to
learn to be a Good Woman.
        Unfortunately, she didn't look much like Barbie.  More like Ken,
I suppose.
        So, she lost some friends.  But she loved herself, and that was
more important.  Then she lost her career, but that wasn't so important,
because it was *his* career she lost.  Her family tried to accept; all of
them stopped using the old name.  One of them even tried the new one, a
few times.  She couldn't get a job--"That's no woman!" seemed to bar her
even from jobs that didn't require interior plumbing.  But it was all
right, because she had learned to stop trying to be a Good Anything At
All, and loving herself, *was* herself.
        Then the heat went off, and the food ran out, the eviction notice
came and there wasn't anywhere left to borrow money from.  So she filled
the tub, heating water in a kettle on the stove, and gently, lovingly,
cut her wrists.

The moral of the story: The ugly duckling makes a dandy meal.  Dig in.
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A stunning blonde, but probably all bean dip above the eyebrows.
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SEX-CHANGE NUN BECOMES TV WRESTLER!!!
        details at 11!
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Smoking a woman is like kissing a fish.
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So... if you could choose any nose in the whole wide world,
which one would you pick?
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Sorry 'bout that sweat, honey.  That's just holy water.
                -- Little Richard
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Television is a whore.  Any man who wants her full favors can have them
in five minutes with a pistol.
                -- Hijacker, quoted in "Esquire"
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The attractive and grief-stricken widow had been living in seclusion at the
home of her deceased husband's younger brother for several weeks.  One evening,
when she could no longer control her emotions, she barged into her brother-in-
law's study and pleaded, "James, I want you to take off my dress."  Shyly,
the brother-in-law did as she requested.  "Now," she continued, "take off my
slip."  He again complied.  "And now," she said, with a slight blush, "remove
my panties and bra."  Once more James obeyed her command.
        Then, regaining her composure, she stared directly at the young man
and boldly announced, "I have only one more request, James.  Don't ever let
me catch you wearing my things again."
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The moving finger having writ... gestures.
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The only difference between your girlfriend and a barracuda is the nailpolish.
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The Stealth Condom -- they'll never see you coming.
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Watch out for a cold wave this week.  (Or maybe a warm WAC.)
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        When I was coming out, the single most common reaction was a question:
"Oh, well ... have you really thought about this?" delivered with solemn
concern.
        I never did figure out a good reply; I finally settled on a
disbelieving stare, which usually provoked a change of topic.  I always
*wanted* to say "Gee, no!  I just woke up one morning and thought, 'Gosh,
it's been such fun being a boy, I guess I'll try being a girl for a
while!'  Don't you think it's a neato idea?"  But these were *friends* --
clueless, it's true, but trying to comprehend in a moment what I'd
struggled to not comprehend for thirty years ... they didn't deserve that.
                -- Anonymous transsexual woman
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... why should you waste a single moment of *your* life seeming to be something
you don't want to be?  Lord, that's so simple.  If you hate your job, quit it.
If your friends are tedious, go out and find new friends.  You are queer, you
lucky fool, and that makes you one of life's buccaneers, free from the clutter
of 2000 years of Judeo-Christian sermonizing.  Stop feeling sorry for yourself
and start raising your sails.  You haven't a moment to lose.
                -- Edmund Carlevale
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You can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but you can't
pick your friend's nose.
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Your boy/girl friend is *so* ugly that...

        -- when you look up ugly in the dictionary, their picture's there.
        -- it looks like their face caught fire and someone put it out
                with an ice pick.
        -- Nabisco used their face to model for animal cookies.
        -- when they yelled "Rape", the guy screamed "No way!"
        -- they were the birth control poster child.
        -- when they were born, the doctor slapped their mother.
        -- as a child, their parents tied a pork chop around her neck to
                get the puppy to play with them.
        -- they have to sneak up on a glass of water, just to get a drink!
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Diary of a Young Girl LITE(tm)
        -- by Anne Frank

        A young girl hides in an attic but is discovered.
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