Here are a few humorous essays by prominent authors, make believe letters and funny articles written in a tongue-in-cheek manner.  I have included any and all author information I had on hand.  If I have infringred any copyrights let me know (and prove it to me) and I'll make the appropriate ammendments.
 

1.  Consumer's Report review of the girlfriend
2.  Are You Man Enough by Dennis Leary
3.  Guide to the bases
4.  The many uses of 'Fuck'
5.  Guide to Favorite Colours
6.  Letter to Miller and response
7.  Life will not be like Star Trek by Scott Adams
8.  Properties of Hell
9.  A Concise Family Tree
10.  The New Twelve Days of Christmas
11.  Astrology by Adam sandler  Theories to make you think
12.  Australian letter to Jacques Chirac

     As in a car or a computer, you should ask yourself what you need a
     girlfriend for before obtaining one.  This will, in large part,
     dictate the final product which you should consider.  Do you want an
     intellectual companion?  A baby factory?  A hiking partner?  Or just
     lots of good, old-fashioned sex?  Identifying your needs is the first,
     and most important, step in selecting a girl- friend.

     The second question which needs to be addressed is, of course, how
     much you are able to spend.  This is largely determined by your
     physical and personal characteristics--if you are good looking, have a
     commanding personality and a good sense of humor, you will have the
     resources to obtain a fancy, high-end model.  On the other hand, if
     you are ugly, smell bad, and wear polyester clothes, your choices are
     more limited.  Keep your purchasing power in mind when considering
     your selection.  Although the salesman will tell you that a girlfriend
     can be financed, BU does not recommend this practice; due to
     inflating expectations, the required monetary outlay will actually
     *increase* with time.

     Used vs. New?
     - - -------------
     A question many girlfriend seekers have to address is whether to get a
     new or a used girlfriend.  The answer to this question will, roughly
     speaking, be determined by your age, as shown in the following table:

     Your age        Used or New
     - - - --------        -----------
     1-12 years      (see note A)
     13-16 years     New
     17-21 years     Used, but not used up
     22-35 years     Used heavily
     35-60 years     New (see note B)
     60+                (see note A)

     Notes:
     A: Seek psychiatric help
     B: Only "new" if income $100,000/year.  Otherwise, "divorced".

     New girlfriends have the advantage that they have no previous bad
     experiences to project on you, but the disadvantage that they will
     rarely be old enough to open their own checking account.  Used
     girlfriends, on the other hand, may be steady, reliable performers,
     with the initial problems worked out, but BU advises that you avoid
     models which have much more than average mileage (2.1 SO's/yr).  Much
     greater than the average may be an indication that the girlfriend was
     a professional.

     Accessories
     - - -----------
     Often the potential girlfriends you see on the lot or in a tavern will
     be loaded with accessories, as the dealer gets a high markup on such
     items as large bosom, long legs, green eyes, etc.  Other accessories
     will only appeal to fringe markets, such as models which come
     pre-equipped with children, or the ability to run 10 miles while chanting
     sanskrit.  In such cases you should make a list of accessories desired,
     tolerated, and disliked.  Note that some accessories (such as children)
     can be added later, while others (such as a large bosom) must be
     factory installed.

     The Test Ride
     - - -------------
     When evaluating a girlfriend, a test ride is essential.  The test ride
     ritual begins with the so-called "pickup line", which can range from
     the simple if dull ("Can I buy you a drink?") to the aggressively hip
     ("dance with me or I'll kill you") to the arcane ("You're my Camus
     comrade, and I want to leap you, Faith!").  BU rates as Not Acceptable
     "Smile, you'll look better."  Once on the test bed, evaluate handling,
     stability, and acceleration.  The two questions you want to answer
     are: how fast, and how far?  Examine the detailing.  Does the bosom
     sag?  Does the heater warm adaquately, or does she remain cool?

     Ordering vs. On-The-Lot
     - - -----------------------
     Finding the right girlfriend can be a frustrating experience, and many
     potential customers find it hard to get the exact model and
     accessories wanted. In such cases ordering from the factory is an
     option.  Delivery time, however, is from 14 to 16 years (depending on
     the state you live in), and BU questions the usefulness of such a
     practice: if you have access to the baby factory, you should
     reconsider your need for a girlfriend anyway.

     Methodology
     - - -----------
     Girlfriends were evaluated by a dedicated group of 10 test engineers,
     selected to typify the average seeking population.  All tests were
     performed at BU's specially constructed test facility, which included
     a bedroom, kitchen, and living room, and at a number of bars and
     taverns surrounding the facility.  A series of seven tests were run,
     evaluating each product according to the following criterion:
     intelligence, wit, humor, empathy, initiative, looks, and performance.

     Results
     - - -------
     Girlfriends are grouped together in catagories by similarity.  Within
     each catagory, variation is not statistically significant.

     Catagory        Comments
     - - --------    ---------------------------------------------------
     Goddess         This is the woman of your dreams.  She comes equipped
                     with all the options you want and none of the ones you
                     don't. She can argue subtle points of philosophy, give
                     you a stiff game of raquetball, understand what you
                     mean even if you don't say it, and break a bed.  No
                     mental or physical hangups.  The drawback is that this
                     model is not actually available.

     Goddess-in-law  This model is similar to the goddess, but comes with
                     contractual retainers, such as a psychotic ex-husband,
                     a spiteful mother, an alchololic father, and a bratty
                     kid.  This model tends to generate grey hairs.

     Ms. Right       The best all-around choice for most girlfriend
                     situations. Has most of the characteristics of the
                     Goddess except possibly in the wrong size or hair
                     color.  Other than that, an excellent long-term
                     investment.  Availability is extremely limited but can
                     occasionally be found with luck.

     Babe            This is the flashy, fully-loaded variety with all the
                     options.  Unfortunately this model lacks cognitive
                     powers and empathy.  Showy, and suitable for a parade
                     or for impressing your friends, but not for your
                     long-term girlfriend needs.

     Friend          The model with the most empathy.  Caring and kind but
                     you wouldn't be caught dead in it.  Availability is
                     poor to fair, depending on quality.

     Yeah, Her       The Ford Escort of girlfriends.  Widely available, but
                     useful as a girlfriend only in a pinch, if no others
                     are available.  Tends to be spiteful or unreliable, or
                     have a dull finish.  Until you find her, we at BU wish
                     you Happy Hunting
 Back to the top

    Here's a cold hard fact that you must now chew and swallow:  if
you are reading this, you are not macho.  Period.  Case closed.  Real men
do not read anything other than GUNS AND AMMO, SPORTS ILLUSTRATED, or SHAVED BEAVER.
    Do not mention FIRE IN THE BELLY.  Do not clutch your copy of IRON
JOHN.  Sit your soft little ass down and listen up.  Understanding macho
means that you don't possess it.  I have proven myself to be the pussy
that I am by writing this piece.  (I'm wearing a powder blue cotton print
shirt and peach panties as I type) [sic]  Ernest Hemingway, you say?
Wrong.  Ernest lived a very macho life and wrote some very macho stories.
But Ernest threw it all away by blowing his head off with a shotgun.  Very
unmacho.  Real men do not commit suicide.  Real men know just how much
life sucks.  Real men grit their teeth and take it bill after bill, war
after war, tumor after tumor.  You don't greet Death, you punch him in the
throat repeatedly as he drags you away.  I think John Wayne said it best
when he said, "Fuck Death and the lung cancer he rode in on."
    Macho is a very slippery thing.  You don't read about it, you don't
write about it, you don't even know the correct spelling of the word.  In
a vain attempt to keep some semblance of masculinity, I didn't research
the roots of the word while writing this article, but I can only assume
that "macho" comes from "machismo," which sounds a hell of a lot like
machine.  Being macho implies a tough, hard, blocklike approach full of
pistons and rods and axles and other big steel-type stuff.
    It's hard to live by the old macho code these days.  They've
chipped away at it over the years, slowly but surely.  Drinking has been
reduced to a few beers or a couple of whiskeys, if that.  Otherwise, your
AA friends begin to stare across the table with that "I personally think
you have a problem and that all alcohol should be banned so that I won't
feel the urge to drink myself into a naked stupor but I'm not gonna say
anything" look on their faces.  No mess, no mauling, no mistress, no mas.
    From time to time, people try to use macho as an image builder.
Bush tries to make himself seem like a card-carrying Mace Club member.
He's not.  The last macho pres. we had was FDR.  FDR-a man stricken by
polio, stuck in a wheelchair, fighting the Nazis all the while smoking 3 &
1/2 packs a day.  "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself!"  Yeah,
and staircases, of course.  And soccer and dancing.
    I think the death of macho is easily located on a very recent map.
Sometime in the late '70s-right around the time the Village People
released "Macho Man" and Barry Manilow sang "Copacabana" and Robby Benson was mewling his way into the hearts of teenage ultra-virgins, men made a
serious mistake. We started TALKING to each other. We stopped punching each
other and began discussing why we wanted to punch each other. I'll bet my right
nut that if I had done some research, I would have found a dramatic
decline in facial cuts and brain contusions starting in 1977. Now we're supposed
to be sensitive. We are supposed to share our feelings and cry at funerals
and care about our hair. We're, in short, supposed to be women. Hello, my
name is Shirley. Touch me in the morning.
    I believe in equal rights.  I believe that women should get equal
pay for equal jobs.  I believe women should have control of their bodies
and be in positions of power.  I believe we should have the same size
shoulder pads in our suits.  But I also believe that men should be men and
women should be, well, women.  Women should be soft and smart and
mysterious.  And men should have their own tools.  I pine for the sheer
stupidity of the old macho days, when men would brandish hammers and build
huge, bulky cars that sucked up gas and tore open the ozone layer and
crushed small animals beneath totally useless but totally cool-looking
tail fins.  When men were apes with good shoes and a dental plan.  John
Wayne, John Huston, Bill Holden, Bob Mitchum, Clark Gable, Babe Ruth, Lee
Marvin, Sam Peckinpah.  Men who drank and fought and puked and ate raw
meat right off the bone and drank some more and fought some more and puked
again and kept on drinking. Men who died of massive heart attacks or sudden
brain seizures or who just plain fucking blew up. Men who had cancer six or
seven times.  Men made out of leather.
    My dad was one of these men.  My dad once cut off his thumb with a
power saw, duct-taped it back on, and drove himself to the hospital
smoking a Camel un-filtered on the way.  My dad's theory was simple: no
pain-no fucking pain.  My dad smoked 5 packs a day, worked 3 jobs 7 days
a week, ate beef for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  One night in 1985, he
ate a big steak dinner with a side order of bacon and extra steak fries.
He ordered some coffee, sat back, lit up a cigarette, and exploded.
    I don't wanna hear about Arnold Schwarzenegger.  Even Arnold caved
in. In Terminator 2, he was all of a sudden Mr. Caring Guy, protecting the
kid and hoping the earth wouldn't end.  Bullshit.  There was even a
sequence at the end of the movie where a hige truck full of flammable liquid
tears down a highway for about 3 minutes and then doesn't blow up.  A sign of
the times if ever there was one. Every real man knows the 1 golden rule of
macho movie making: if you see a truck on the screen, blow it up. In Thelma &
Louise, the women saaw a truck. What did they do? Susas Sarandon pulled out her
gun and blew the truck way the fuck up. Another sign of hte times. Arnold's
tromping around praying for the earth to save itself and Ms. Davis and Ms.
Sarandon are drinking and shooting and screwing their way all over the
macho west. Citizen Kane? A masterpiece. But every real man knows it would
have been better if a huge Mack truck with the word ROSEBUD emblazoned on the trailer drove through the front gate of the mansion and then KAA-POWWWWW!
    Another movie matter I'd like to get off my girly little chest:
asses.  Part of this new male code has men baring their butts on screen
the way women used to do.  Mel Gibson, Kevin Costner, Michael Douglas,
and of course, Arnold.  Hey if I wanted to see Kevin Costner's ass, I
would've married him.  You never saw Bob Mitchum's ass.  I am in a macho
movie called GUNMEN, and I can guarantee you that you never see my ass on
any screen but if you do, it will not be shaved. It will be hairy and hoary
and very, very white.
    Our macho movie idols have changed forever.  No wonder they end up
baring it all.  Listen to the names--Mel, Kevin, Michael, Arnold.  In the
old days movie stars had real names:  John, Bill, Duke, Buck, Chuck, Rip.
Kevin sounds like your skinny Irish cousin with the big Coke bottle
glasses and a heat rash;  Mel, the guy in charge of aisle five at
Woolworth's.  ("Excuse me Mel, where are the light bulbs?")
    It's getting very bad, boys.  We don't blow up trucks anymore.
Hell, we don't even drive trucks anymore.  We drive simple little Japanese
cars with air bags.  In the old days we used to rip out the seat belts and
fly through the windshield ready for action.  "Thrown from the car."
Remember that phrase in accident reports?  Always the sign of a very macho
driver.
    We seem a little more sorry, a little more plump, a lot more
ladylike around the edges.  If you really want to reclaim your macho self,
if you really want to be a macho, macho man, stop reading this article.
    If you are still reading, you probably need a little more help.
Forget Robert Bly or "FIRE IN YOUR PROSTATE."  Don't go on a Male-Bonding
Self-Discovery Weekend, which is just another term for Circle Jerk as far
as I'm concerned.  Here, instead, is a guide:

    BALLS, A.K.A. COJONES:  You should have several.  Preferably brass
or steel.  Extra large.

    CRYING:  Never.  Ever.  Over anything.  Not death in the family,
not a bullet in the chest.  You may tear up ever so slightly in one eye
only when watching a favorite sports legend retire.  You may tear up in
both eyes only when kicked, accidentally or on purpose, in the COJONES.

    KISSING:  see "SPORTS"
    HUGGING:  see "SPORTS"

    SPORTS:  Once all men within reach are dressed in a team uniform,
it is perfectly acceptable to kiss and hug and grab each other's ass.
This is probably because all men are latent homosexuals and prefer male
company to female company.  But if some guy points out this fact to you,
punch him directly in the throat.  (Optional retorts:  "Prefer this!" or
"Fuck You!" or " Shut the fuck up!"

    HEALTH:  Never go to the hospital or visit a doctor.  If you have
a stroke, keep drinking and act like you prefer to use only one side of
your body.  If you cut off a limb while using a power tool--so what?
That's why there's duct tape and staple guns.  If someone tries to drive
you to the hospital after a heart attack or maiming, punch him in the
throat.  (Optional retorts:  "Drive This!" or "Fuck you!" or "Shut the
fuck up!"

    DIET:     meat, cigarettes, meat, booze, meat, and coffee.  In case
of aneurysm or alcohol-induced coma, see "HEALTH."

    FIGHTING:  At all times, over anything.  Never hit a woman.  Or a
child.  Or a bus.  Never hit a priest until he takes off his collar.  (If
it's the pope, wait until he removes the large hat.)  Clergy will often
provoke a punch in the throat with their "violence doesn't prove anything"
pontifications.  (Optional retorts:  "Prove this!" or "Fuck you Father!"
or "Shut the fuck up, Padre!")

     DRINKING:  No falling down.  No puking--unless to empty the
stomach in order to continue drinking.  No slurring of words.  Tell a few
war stories:  "See that scar?  I was in 'Nam and I ate a grenade and it
blew up in my colon."  If your aim is off due to alcohol, it's acceptable
to punch someone in the head or solar plexus.

     SEX:  You're probably too drunk or just plain stupid to have sex
but pretend you get a lot, i.e.  "You should've seen me last night, blah,
blah, blah, blah."

     Absorb this info and you should be on your way.  If you have any
further questions, call 1-800-COJONES.  Remember:  We're men.  Big, boxy,
sweaty, ignorant men.  We have penises.  Well, we used to have penises.
Either way, I think Billy Martin, the late Yankees manager, said it best
when he said, "Hey, I can drive."

"I am the voice inside your head - and I control you..."
Back to the top

       First, let's examine what the bases could have meant in the
old days.

                     -- First Base--
This was almost always kissing, although one guy I knew thought it
meant holding hands.  Sometimes it was tongue kissing and sometimes
not.
                     --Second Base--
Variously this meant tongue kissing, breast feeling, or outside the
clothes genital contact.

                      --Third Base--
Usually this was a hand down the pants of you or your partner.

                       --Home Run--
This was ALWAYS sex, although it was rarely reached in the times
when you had to refer to it in terms of bases.

      Well that system is ok, if you are a young teenager with a
repressed sex drive.  But what happens when you reach maturity and
new factors enter the equation, such as oral sex?  And what about the
exact definitions?  Well we have attempted to answer such puzzling
questions and present without further ado...

             Standardized Guide to the Bases!

--On Deck--
Having plans for a date

--Strike-Out--
Duh!!

--Walk--
Kissing

--Bunt--
Masturbation

--Single--
Tongue kissing

--Double--
Breasts/chest touched, some clothes off, lots of grabbing and feels

--Triple--
Most of the clothes off, genital contact, mutual masturbation

--Inside the park home run--
Oral Sex

--Home Run--
SEX!

--Ground Rule Double--
would have sex, but no condom

--Error--
Condom breaks during sex

--Banned for life for gambling--
sex without condom

--Hall of Fame--
Marriage

   Now that we've got the basics, let's introduce some terms to
better explain all the things that can happen now a days.

--Balk--  Premature ejaculation
--Pine Tar--  KY jelly
--Relief pitcher--  Vibrator
--Rain Delay--  parents/roommate return home unexpectedly
--Box Seats--  Waterbed
--Seventh Inning Stretch--  Unusual positions
--Rookie--  Virgin
--Minor Leagues--  Under 18
--Loaded Bases--  manage a trois
--Grand Slam--  Sex four times in twelve hours
--Foul tip--  VD
--Three up and three down--  impotency

   Now that we have the definitions, lets quickly contrast the old
confusion with current clarity.

 OLD WAY- "We, um, got to third base I guess and then we, um, got
 like past third base, but not to home plate.  I really like her.

 NEW WAY- First, there was a triple, then we got an inside the park
 home run, and I started thinking, it's hall of fame time.

 NEW WAY- So there I was with the bases loaded and nobody out, when I
 balked during the seventh inning stretch and I had to call in a
 relief pitcher.
Back to the top

Greetings       How the fuck are you!
Fraud           I got fucked by the car dealer.
Trouble         Well, I guess I'm fucked now.
Confusion       What the fuck...?
Retaliation     Up your fucking ass!
Denial          I didn't fucking do it.
Apathy          Who gives a fuck anyway?
Suspicion       Who the fuck are you?
Directions      Fuck off.
Chronology      It's Five-Fucking-Thirty!
Business        I hate this fucking job.
Oedipal         Motherfucker.

The word has been used by some very notable people throughout history:

Where the fuck is all that water coming from?   -Captain of the Titanic
That's not a fucking real gun.                  -John Lennon
Who's going to fucking know?                    -President Nixon
Any fucking idiot could understand that.        -Albert Einstein
What the fuck was that?                         -Mayor of Hiroshima
It fucking does "so" look like her.             -Picasso
How the fuck did you work that out?             -Pythagoras
You want "what" on the fucking ceiling?         -Michelangelo
Fuck a duck.                                    -Walt Disney
Scattered showers my fucking ass!               -Noah
Pick up the fuckin' phone!                      -E.T.
Fuck Logic!                                     -Spock
I can't breathe in this fucking thing!          -Darth Vader
Fuck I'm hungry!                                -Ghandi!
Do or do not, there is no fuckin' try!          -Yoda
Back to the top

RED
 Tend to be tigers in the sack.  They are easily aroused and enjoy
sex in every way imaginable.  Once the sexual spark is lighted, it may
take hours to extinguish.  When two Reds get together, the ensuing erotica
could make Lady Chatterley blush.  Lovers of Red tend to be the aggressors
and weaker colors should beware!

YELLOW
 If you tend to favor Yellow your sexual drivers are complex and lean
toward the adaptable.  The favorite color of homosexuals is Yellow!  No
don't panic, not everyone who wears Yellow is gay.  In most cases the
person will acquiesce to the stronger partner's desires in a passive
manner.  You will never enjoy sex to the fullest, but you will never turn
down an invitation from someone you enjoy or admire.

PURPLE
 Lovers of the color Purple frequently consider themselves too regal
for a fun romp in the sack.  Women sometimes are the type who hate to
muss their hair.  Men are businesslike in their approach to lovemaking.
In both sexes, Purple partners are more concerned with their fulfillment than
anyone else's gratification.

BLACK
 Black color preferences point to Black sex.  These people are the
misfits of the sex world and seek out each other in kinship.  They tend
to prefer perverted sex and are usually masochistic or sadistic in
nature.  They are moody people and often perform at their peak when under
stress or during unhappy times.  Police psychiatrists claim that many sex
offenders prefer the color Black.  And it is no coincidence that the
uniform of monsters and teenaged gangs is Black attire.

GREEN
 Those who prefer Green are fresh and innocent in their approach to sex.
Women who love Green will make love like virgins all of their life.  And a
man may always be a trifle clumsy and awkward, but in a charming and
endearing sort of way.  Green lovers are gentle, but not passionate.  If
chosen as a mate, one will never need worry about infidelity.

PINK
 Persons who like Pink show a reluctance to mature in sexual matters.
Women tend to tease; to promise more than they intend to deliver.  In some
cases, they flaunt their femininity - but because they secretly hate men.
A great percentage of prostitutes boast entire lingerie wardrobes in
Pink.  Men who like Pink are philanderers and flirts.  They are the type
who will take three dates for the same evening and not keep one;
preferring to pick up a dish in some bar, instead.  Women whose husbands
like Pink should keep a secret nest egg for when they are deserted.  Pink
indicates a tendency to squander money.

ORANGE
 People who favor Orange tend to have sexual fantasies.  The sex act is
regarded as a dramatic role, a one-act play in which they are the star.
Foreplay is as important as the act of love.  They whisper sweet
nothings; meaningless dialogue they feel fits their image.  Orange people
often do not experience orgasm, but they put on a darn good act.  Men
tend to pull their partner's hair and women leave red welts on their sex
partners back.  But the bruises and the ballyhoo add up to nothing.

BROWN
 If you love Brown, you are a real treasure for the right mate.  Brown
lovers tend to be warm and deep.  Sensitive to the needs and desires of their
partners.  Sex is a 24-hour a day thing to them.  They can't say "I Love
You" often enough.  Snuggling by the fire, walking in the rain or catching
snowflakes on their tongue is a turn on to a lover of Brown.  They need
lots of time and privacy to make love. But their emotions are such that
one harsh word could end the affair.

GRAY
 The color Gray is preferred by people who are indecisive.  They can't
get excited about anything - including colors - so they choose a noncommittal
shade.  Men who prefer Gray look at sex as a means of relieving tension,
(nothing more, nothing less).  It's wham, bam, thank you ma'am.  Women who
prefer Gray don't make love, they have intercourse.  And for one of two
reasons, to accommodate their mate or to become pregnant.  They count the
cracks in the bedroom plaster until the sex act is over with and done.
When a Gray marries another Gray, the marriage is made in heaven.  But
when teamed with another color, the Gray spouse considers the color's
infidelity a blessing.

BLUE
 Lovers of Blue are wonderful sex partners. They are sincere,
affectionate and sensitive to their partners needs. They consider
lovemaking a fine art and their approach is elegant.  Men who love Blue are
like concert pianists; delicately ravaging their partner like they would play
a baby grand.  Women in the Blue category enjoy sex to the fullest. They are
exciting partners, but their passion might be compared to tidal waves
rather than fiery aggression.  Both men and women enjoy foreplay and the
aftermath of love-making as much as the sex act itself. In marriage, a Blue
person is a wonderful mate - never failing to please the spouse and never
seeking outside interests.

WHITE
 If a person in infatuated with White, sex often seems dirty.  These
people are puritanical in nature.  French kissing is obscene and to make
love in daylight in unheard of.  Women who love White will undress
beneath the covers.  Men will shower before and after the sex act.  These
people will use pet names for their genitals.
 Back to the top

Subject: a lesson in public relations...
 

The following is a letter sent to Miller Brewing Company earlier this
month. Miller's response is at the end.

Miller Brewing Company
Milwaukee, Wisconsin  53201

Dear Sir or Madam,

I have been a drinker of Miller beer's for many years (actually, ever
since that other company donated a big chunk of change to Handgun
Control Inc.  back in the mid 80's).

Initially, my beer of choice was Lite, but some time in mid 1990 while
in Honduras I switched to MGD smuggled up from Panama. Now, for nearly
six years, I have been a faithful drinker of MGD.

For these past years, I have come to expect certain things from
Genuine Draft. I expect that whenever I see that gold can of MGD, I am
about ready to enjoy a great, smooth brew.

But wait!  Sometime around the first of the year, my beloved MGD
changed colors, so to speak. That familiar gold can was no longer
gold! Knowing that I am, by nature, somewhat resistant to change, I
forced myself to reserve judgment on the new can design.

Gradually, I grew to appreciate the new label.
That was until about May of this year.  That was when I discovered
(empirically) that I really didn't like the new design.  Further
investigation of the cause of my distress resulted in the following
observations:

1. Your cans are made of aluminum.
2. Aluminum is a great conductor of energy.
3. Your beer is commonly consumed outside, and thus, the container may
   be exposed to sunlight.
4. Sunlight striking the can causes radiant warming of the surface of
   the can.
5. The resultant heat (energy) is transferred through the aluminum, by
   conduction, to the contents of the can (the beer).
6. Warm beer sucks.

This is a process that can be observed in just about any beer.
However, this process is significantly accelerated in MGD because you
painted the damn can black!!!

Who was the rocket scientist that designed the new graphic for the can
and implemented the change right before summer?  Granted, this process
may not be real evident up there in Wisconsin, but down here in
Oklahoma (OR TEXAS) where the summers are both sunny and hot, this
effect is quite a problem. There's no telling what the folks in Texas
and Arizona are having to put up with.

Knowing that you would probably not address this issue unless you had
firm evidence of a problem, I and several other subjects conducted
extensive experimentation.  The results of these experiments are
listed below.

The experiments were conducted over two days on the deck next to my
pool. The study included seven different types of beer (leftovers from
a party the previous weekend) that were initially chilled to 38 (and
then left exposed to sunlight for different lengths of time.  These
beers were sampled by the test subjects at different intervals.  The
subjects, all normally MGD drinkers, were asked at each
sampling interval their impressions of the different beers.
The length of time between the initial exposure to sunlight and the
point where the subject determined the sample undrinkable (the
Suckpoint) was determined.  The average ambient temperature for the
trials was 95 degrees F.
 

    Beer Type                        Average Suckpoint (min)
    Miller Lite (white can)                      6.2
    Bud (white can)                              5.5
    Bud Lite (silver can)                        5.2
    Ice House (blue and silver can)              4.4
    Coors Lite (silver can)                      4.1
    Miller Genuine Draft (black can)             2.8
    Coors (gold can)                             0.1
It was evident that the color of the can directly correlates to the
average suckpoint, except for Coors which was pretty much determined
to suck at any point.

It is to be hoped that you will consider re-designing your MGD cans.
All beer drinkers that are not smart enough to keep their beer in the
shade will thank you.

Sincerely,

Bradley Lee
Beer-drinker
 
 

Phil,

I have a friend that works for Miller Brewing in Milwaukee and she
knew about the letter sent in by Bradley Lee.  She sent me the Miller
response and it appears below.  She says they have had a lot of fun
with this guys letter. Enjoy.
 

Dear Bradley Lee,

Thank you for your letter and your concern about the MGD can color as
it relates to premature warming of the contents.  Like you, we at
Miller Beer take beer drinking very seriously.  To that end, we have
taken your letter and subsequent experiment under serious
consideration.  Outlined below are our findings and solution to your
problem.  May we add that we have had similar letters from other loyal
beer drinkers, mostly from the Southern United States.

First, let us congratulate you on your findings.  Our analysis tends
to agree with yours regarding Coors.  It certainly does suck at about
any temperature.

Now, it was our intentions when redesigning the MGD can to create
better brand identity and brand loyalty.  Someone in marketing did
some kind of research and determined we needed to redesign the can.
You will be pleased to know, we have fired that idiot and he is now
reeking havoc at a pro-gun control beer manufacturer.  The design
staffer working in cahoots with the marketing idiot was also
down-sized.

However, once we realized this mistake, to undo it would have been
even a bigger mistake.  So, we took some other actions.  From our
market research, we found a difference between Northern beer drinker
and Southern beer drinkers.

Beer drinkers in the South tend to drink slower than beer drinkers in
the North.  We are still researching why that is.  Anyway, at Miller
Beer, it was never our intentions to have someone take more than 2.5
minutes to enjoy one of our beers.  We pride ourselves in creating
fine, smooth, quick drinking beers and leave the making of sissy, slow
sipping beers to that Sam guy in Boston.

However, it is good to know that you feel our Miller Lite can last as
long as 6 minutes.  However, may we suggest in the future you try
consuming at least two in that time frame.

From your letter, we had our design staff work 'round the clock to
come up with a solution that would help not just MGD but all our fine
Miller products. We hope you have recently noticed our solution to
your problem.  We found that the hole in the top of the can was not
big enough for quick consumption. So, we have now introduced the new
"Wide Mouth" cans.  We hope this will solve all your problems.  Might
I also suggest that if you want to get the beer
out of the can even faster,  you can poke a hole on the side near the
bottom, hold your finger over it, open the can, tip it to your mouth
and then pull your finger off the hole.  This is a common way to drink
beer at  parties and impress your friends. This technique is known as
"shot-gunning".  You should like the name.

Again, thank you for your letter and bring to our attention that there
might be other beer drinkers taking more that 2.5 minutes to drink our
beers.  Let me assure you that I am have our advertising department
work on campaign to solve this problem, too.

 Sincerely,
 

Tom B. Miller
Public Relations
Miller Brewing Co.
 

P.S. And remember, at Miller Beer we do favor gun control, too.  So
please use two hands when firing.
Back to the top

Medical Technology
------------------
On Star Trek, the doctors have handheld devices that instantly close
any openings in the skin. Imagine that sort of device in the hands of
your unscrupulous friends. They would sneak up behind you and seal
your ass shut as a practical joke. The devices would be sold in
novelty stores instead of medical outlets. All things considered, I'm
happy that it's not easy to close other people's orifices.

Transporter
-----------
It would be great to be able to beam your molecules across space and
then reassemble them. The only problem is that you have to trust your
co-worker to operate the transporter. These are the same people who
won't add paper to the photocopier or make a new pot of coffee after
taking the last drop. I don't think they'll be double-checking the
transporter coordinates. They'll be accidentally beaming people into
walls, pets, and furniture. People will spend all their time
apologizing for having inanimate objects protruding from parts of
their bodies.

'Pay no attention to the knickknacks; I got beamed into a hutch
yesterday.'

If I could beam things from one place to another, I'd never leave the
house. I'd sit in a big comfy chair and just start beaming groceries,
stereo equipment, cheerleaders, and anything else I wanted right into
my house. I'm fairly certain I would abuse this power. If anybody came
to arrest me, I'd beam them into space. If I wanted some paintings for
my walls, I'd beam the contents of the Louvre over to my place, pick
out the good stuff, and beam the rest into my neighbor's garage.
 

If I were watching the news on television and didn't like what I
heard, I would beam the anchorman into my living room during the
commercial break, give him a vicious wedgie, and beam him back before
anybody noticed. I'd never worry about 'keeping up with the Joneses,'
because as soon as they got something nice, it would disappear right
out of their hands. My neighbors would have to use milk crates for
furniture. And that's only after I had all the milk crates I would
ever need for the rest of my life.  There's only one thing that could
keep me from spending all my time wreaking havoc with the transporter:
the holodeck.

Holodeck
--------
For those of you who only watched the 'old' Star Trek, the holodeck
can create simulated worlds that look and feel just like the real
thing. The characters on Star Trek use the holodeck for recreation
during breaks from work. This is somewhat unrealistic. If I had a
holodeck, I'd close the door and never come out until I died of
exhaustion. It would be hard to convince me I should be anywhere but
in the holodeck, getting my oil massage from Cindy Crawford and her
simulated twin sister.

Holodecks would be very addicting. If there weren't enough holodecks
to go around, I'd get the names of all the people who had reservations
ahead of me and beam them into concrete walls. I'd feel tense about
it, but that's exactly why I'd need a massage.

I'm afraid the holodeck will be society's last invention.

Sex with Aliens
---------------
According to Star Trek, there are many alien races populated with
creatures who would like to have sex with humans.  This would open up
a lot of anatomical possibilities, but imagine the confusion. It's
hard enough to have sex with human beings, much less humanoids. One
wrong move and you're suddenly transported naked to the Gamma Quadrant
to stand trial for who-knows-what. This could only add to performance
anxiety. You would never be quite sure what moves would be sensual and
what moves would be a galactic-sized mistake.

        Me Trying to Have Sex with an Alien
        -----------------------------------

        Me:      May I touch that?

        Alien:  That is not an erogenous zone. It is a
                separate corporeal being that has been
                attached to my body for six hundred years.

        Me:     It's cute. I wonder if it would let me
                have sex with it.

        Alien:  That's exactly what I said six hundred
                years ago.

The best part about having sex with aliens, according to the Star Trek
model, is that the alien always dies a tragic death soon afterward. I
don't have to tell you how many problems that would solve.
Realistically, the future won't be that convenient.

Phasers
-------
I would love to have a device that would stun people into
unconsciousness without killing them. I would use it ten times a
day. If I got bad service at the convenience store, I'd zap the
clerk. If somebody with big hair sat in front of me at the theater,
zap!

On Star Trek, there are no penalties for stunning people with phasers.
It happens all the time. All you have to do is claim you were
possessed by an alien entity. Apparently, that is viewed as a credible
defense in the Star Trek future. Imagine real criminals in a world
where the 'alien possession' defense is credible.

Criminal:  Yes, officer, I did steal that vehicle, and
           I did kill the occupants, but I was possessed
           by an evil alien entity.

Officer:         Well, okay. Move along.

I wish I had a phaser right now. My neighbor's dog likes to stand
under my bedroom window on the other side of the fence and bark for
hours at a time. My neighbor has employed the bold defense that he
believes it might be another neighbor's dog, despite the fact that I
am standing there looking at him barking only twenty feet away. In a
situation like this, a phaser is really the best approach. I could
squeeze off a clean shot through the willow tree. A phaser doesn't
make much noise, so it wouldn't disturb anyone. Then the unhappy
little dog and I could both get some sleep. If the neighbor complains,
I'll explain that the phaser was fired by the other neighbor's dog, a
known troublemaker who is said to be invisible.

And if that doesn't work, a photon torpedo is clearly indicated.

Cyborgs
-------
Given the choice, I would rather be a cyborg instead of 100 percent
human. I like the thought of technology becoming part of my body. As a
human, I am constantly running to the toolbox in my garage to get a
tool to deal with some new household malfunction. If I were a cyborg,
I might have an electric drill on my arm, plus a metric socket
set. That would save a lot of trips. From what I've seen, the cyborg
concept is a modular design, so you can add whatever tools you think
you'd use most.

I'd love to see crosshairs appear in my viewfinder every time I looked
at someone. It would make me feel menacing, and I'd like that. I'd
program myself so that anytime I saw a car salesman, a little message
would appear in my viewfinder that said 'Target Locked On.'

It would also be great to have my computer built into my skull. That
way I could surf the Net during useless periods of life, such as when
people talk to me. All I'd have to do is initiate a head-nodding
subroutine during boring conversations and I could amuse myself in my
head all day long.

I think that if anyone could become a cyborg, there would be a huge
rush of people getting in line for the conversion. Kids would like it
for the look. Adults would like it for its utility. Cyborg technology
has something for everyone. So, unlike Star Trek, I can imagine
everyone wanting to be a cyborg.

The only downside I can see is that when the human part dies and
you're at the funeral, the cyborg part will try to claw its way out of
the casket and slay all the mourners. But that risk can be minimized
by saying you have an important business meeting, so you can't make it
to the service.

Shields
-------
I wish I had an invisible force field. I'd use it all the time,
especially around people who spit when they talk or get too close to
my personal space. In fact, I'd probably need a shield quite a bit if
I also had a phaser to play with.

I wouldn't need a big shield system like the one they use to protect
the Enterprise, maybe just a belt-clip device for personal use. I
could insult dangerous people without fear of retribution. Whatever
crumbs of personality I now have would be completely unnecessary in
the future.  On the plus side, it would make shopping much more fun.

             Shopping with Shields Up
             ------------------------
 

        Me:          Ring this up for me, you
                     unpleasant cretin.

        Saleswoman:  I oughta slug you!

        Me:          Try it. My shields are up.

        Saleswoman:  Damn!

        Me:          There's nothing you can do to
                     harm me.

        Saleswoman:  I guess you're right. Would you like
                     to open a charge account? Our interest
                     rates are very reasonable.

        Me:          Nice try.
 

Long-Range Sensors
------------------
If people had long-range sensors, they would rarely use them to scan
for new signs of life. I think they would use them to avoid work. You
could run a continuous scan for your boss and then quickly transport
yourself out of the area when he came near. If your manager died in
his office, you would know minutes before the authorities discovered
him, and that means extra break time.

Vulcan Death Grip
-----------------
Before all you Trekkies write to correct me, I know there is no such
thing as a Vulcan Death Grip even in Star Trek. But I wish there were.
That would have come in handy many times. It would be easy to make the
Vulcan Death Grip look like an accident.

'I was just straightening his collar and he collapsed.'

I think the only thing that keeps most people from randomly killing
other citizens is the bloody mess it makes and the high likelihood of
getting caught. With the Vulcan Death Grip, it would be clean and
virtually undetectable. Everybody would be killing people left and
right. You wouldn't be able to have a decent conversation at the
office over the sound of dead co-workers hitting the carpet. The most
common sounds in corporate America would be, 'I'm sorry I couldn't
give you a bigger raise, but . . . erk!'

And that's why the future won't be like Star Trek.

..........................................................
Written by Scott Adams, published in "The Dilbert Future" by
HarperBusiness.  Copyright United Media, 1997.  Please keep this notice
with the text.
..........................................................
Back to the top

A retiring Phys Chem professor was setting his last exam, for a graduate
course in statistical thermodynamics. Being a bit bored with it all, and
with a well kept and wry sense of humor, he set a single question on the
sheet :
"Is Hell endothermic or exothermic?  Support your answer with a proof."
He had little idea what to expect, or how to grade the results, but decided
to reward any student who was able to come up with a reasonable and
consistent reply to his query. One A was awarded.  Most of the students
wrote proofs of their beliefs using Boyle's Law or some variant. The top
student however wrote the following:
First, we postulate that if souls exist, then they must have some mass.  If
they do, then a mole of souls can also have a mass.
So, at what rate are souls moving into hell and at what rate are souls
leaving?
I think that we can safely assume that once a soul gets to hell, it will not
leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving. As for souls entering hell, lets
look at the different religions that exist in the world today.  Some of
these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion, you
will go to hell.  Since there are more than one of these religions and
people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that all
people and all souls go to hell. With birth and death rates as they
are, we can expect the number of souls in hell to increase exponentially.
Now, we look at the rate of change in volume in hell. Boyle's Law
states that in order for the temperature and pressure in hell to stay the
same, the ratio of the mass of souls and volume needs to stay constant. There are
two possible conditions.

One, if hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls
enter hell, then the temperature and pressure in hell will increase
exponentially until all hell breaks loose.
Conversely, if hell is expanding at a rate faster than the increase of souls
in hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until hell freezes over,
condition two.  We can solve this with the 1990 postulation of Theresa LeClair,
the girl who lived across the hall from me in first year residence. Since I
have still not been successful in obtaining sexual relations with her, condition
two above has not been met, and thus it can be concluded that condition one
is true, and hell is exothermic.
Back to the top

Many people are at a loss for a response when someone says, "You don't
know
Jack Schitt."

For your information Jack is the only son of Awe Schitt, the
fertilizer magnate, owner of KneeDeep Schitt, Inc.  In turn, Jack Schitt
married Noe Schitt and the deeply religious couple
produced six children: Holie, the twins-Deep and Dip, Fulla, Giva and
Bull.

Against his parent's objections, Deep Schitt married Dumb, a high school
dropout. After being married 15 years, Jack and Noe Schitt unfortunately

divorced.
Noe later married Mr. Sherlock, and because her younger kids were living
with them, she wanted to keep her previous name.  She was known as Noe
Schitt-Sherlock.

Dip Schitt married Loada and they produced a son, Chicken. Fulla and
Giva
were inseparable throughout childhood, and consequently married the
Happens
brothers in a dual ceremony.  The Schitt-Happens children are Dawg, Byrd
and

Horace.

Bull Schitt, the prodigal son, left home to tour the world.  He
recently returned with his new Italian bride, Pisa.

Now, when someone says you don't know Jack Schitt, you can correct them.
Back to the top

My dearest darling John:
 
Who ever in the whole world would dream of getting a real Partridge in a
Pear Tree?  How can I ever express my pleasure.  Thank you a hundred
times for thinking of me this way.
 
      My love always,
                 Agnes
 
================================================
 
December 15, 1972
 
Dearest John:
 
Today the postman brought your very sweet gift.  Just imagine two turtle
doves.  I'm just delighted at your very thoughtful gift.  They are just
adorable.
 
      All my love,
          Agnes
 
================================================
 
December 16, 1972
 
Dear John:

Oh!  Aren't you the extravagant one.  Now I must protest.  I don't
deserve such generosity, three French hens.  They are just darling but I
must insist, you've been too kind.
 
      All my love,
            Agnes
 
================================================
 
December 17, 1972
 
Dear John:
 
Today the postman delivered four calling birds.  Now really, they are
beautiful,  but don't you think enough is enough.  You are being too
romantic.
 
      Affectionately,
              Agnes
 
================================================
 
December 18, 1972
 
Dearest John:
 
What a surprise.  Today the postman delivered five golden rings, one for
every finger.  You're just impossible, but I love it.  Frankly, all
those birds squawking were beginning to get on my nerves.
 
      All my love,
            Agnes
 
=================================================
 
December 19, 1972
 
Dear John:

When I opened the door today there were actually six geese laying on my
front steps.  So you're back to the birds again huh?  These geese are
huge.  Where will I ever keep them?  The neighbors are complaining and I
can't sleep through the racket.  Please stop.
 
      Cordially,
            Agnes
 
================================================
 
December 20, 1972
 
John:
 
What's with you and those freaking birds?? Seven swans a swimming.  What
kind of damn joke is this?  There's bird poop all over the house and
they never stop the racket.  I can't sleep at night and I'm a nervous
wreck.  It's not funny.  So stop those freaking birds.
 
     Sincerely,
                Agnes
 
================================================
 
December 21, 1972
 
O.K. Buster:

I think I prefer the birds.  What the hell am I going to do with 8 maids
a milking?  It's not enough with all those birds and 8 maids a milking,
but they had to bring their damn cows.  There is manure all over the
lawn and I can't move in my own house.  Just lay off me, smartass.
 
                           Agnes
 
================================================
 
December 22, 1972
 
Hey Shithead:

What are you.....some kind of sadist?  Now there's nine pipers playing.
And Christ do they play.  They've never stopped chasing those maids
since they got here yesterday morning.  The cows are getting upset and
they're stepping all over those screeching birds.  What am I going to
do?  The neighbors have started a petition to evict me.
 
      You'll get yours !
              Agnes
 
================================================
 
December 23, 1972
 
You rotten prick:
 
Now there's ten ladies dancing.  I don't know why I call those 'sluts'
ladies.  They've been balling those pipers all night long.  Now the cows
can't sleep and they've got diarrhea.  My living room is a river of
shit.

The Commissioner of Buildings has subpoenaed me to give cause why the
building shouldn't be condemned.   I'm calling the police on you !
 
                             Agnes
 
================================================
 
December 24, 1972
 
Listen Fuckhead:
 
What's with those eleven lords a leaping on those maid and ladies?  Some
of those broads will never walk again.  Those pipers ran through the
maids and have been committing sodomy with the cows.  All twenty-three
of the birds are dead.  They've been trampled to death in the orgy.  I
hope you're satisfied, you rotten vicious swine.
 
      You're sworn enemy,
                 Agnes
 
================================================
 
December 25, 1972
 
Dear Sir:
 
This is to acknowledge your latest gift of twelve fiddlers fiddling
which you have seen fit to inflict on our client, Miss Agnes McHolstein.
The destruction, of course, was total.  All correspondence should come
to our attention.  If you should attempt to reach Miss McHolstein at
Happy Dale Sanitarium, the attendants have been instructed to shoot you
on sight.
 
With this letter please find attached a warrant for your arrest.
 
      Cordially,
 
      Law Offices of Badger, Bender and Cajole
Back to the top

  What's your sign?

  Aquarius (Jan 23 - Feb 22) You have an inventive mind and are
  inclined to be progressive. You lie a great deal.  You make the same
  mistakes repeatedly because you are stupid. Everyone thinks you are a
  fucking jerk.

  Pisces (Feb 23 - Mar 22) You are a pioneer type and think most
  people are dickheads. You are quick to reprimand, impatient and full of
  advice.  You do nothing but piss-off everyone you come in contact with.
  You are a prick.

  Aries  (Mar 23 - April 22) You have a wild imagination and often
  think you are being followed by the FBI or CIA.  You have minor
  influence on your friends and people resent you for flaunting your
  power.  You lack confidence and are a general dipshit.

  Taurus (April 23 - May 22) You are practical and persistent. You
  have a dogged determination and work like hell.  Most people think
  your are stubborn and bullheaded. You are nothing but a goddamed communist.

  Gemini (May 23 - June 22) You are a quick and intelligent thinker.
  People like you because you are bisexual.  You are inclined to
  expect too much for too little. This means your are a cheap bastard.
  Geminis are notorious for thriving on incest.

  Cancer (June 23 - July 22) You are sympathetic and
  understanding to other people's problems, which makes you a sucker.
  You are always putting things off. That is why you will always be on
  welfare and won't be worth a shit.  Everyone in prison is a Cancer.

  Leo (July 23 - Aug 22) You consider yourself a born leader.
  Others think you are an idiot. Most leos are bullies.  You are vain
  and cannot tolerate criticism. Your arrogance is disgusting.  Leo people
  are thieving motherfuckers and enjoy masturbation more than sex.

  Virgo (Aug 23 - Sept 22) You are the logical type and hate disorder.
  Your shit-picking attitude is sickening to your friends and
  co-workers.  You are cold and unemotional and often fall asleep while
 fucking.
  Virgos make good bus drivers and pimps.

  Libra (Sept 23 - Oct 22) You are the artistic type and have a
  difficult time dealing with reality.  If you are a male you are probably
 queer.
  Chances for employment and monetary gain are nill.  Most Libra
  women are whores. All Libras die of venereal disease.

  Scorpio (Oct 23 - Nov 22) You are the worst of the lot.  You are
  shrewd in business and cannot be trusted. You shall achieve the pinnacle of
  success because of your total lack of ethics.  You are the perfect
  son-of-a-bitch. Most Scorpios are murdered.

  Sagittarius (Nov 23 - Dec 22) You are optimistic and enthusiastic. You
  have a reckless tendency to rely on your luck since you have no talent.
  The majority of  Sagittarians are drunks.  You are a worthless piece of
 shit.

  Capricorn (Dec 23 - Jan 22) You are conservative and afraid of taking
  risks.  You are basically  chickenshit.  There has never been a
  Capricorn of any importance. You should kill yourself.
Back to the top

GRAND PRIZE WINNER
When a cat is dropped, it always lands on its feet, and when toast is
dropped, it always lands with the buttered side facing down.  I propose

to strap buttered toast to the back of a cat; the two will hover,
spinning inches above the ground.  With a giant buttered cat array, a
high-speed monorail could easily link New York with Chicago.

RUNNERS-UP:
#1
If an infinite number of rednecks riding in an infinite number of
pickup trucks fire an infinite number of shotgun rounds at an infinite
number of highway signs, they will eventually produce all the world's
great literary works in Braille.

#2
Why Yawning Is Contagious:  You yawn to equalise the pressure on your
eardrums.  This pressure change outside your eardrums unbalances other
people's ear pressures, so they must yawn to even it out.

#3
Communist China is technologically underdeveloped because they have no
alphabet and therefore cannot use acronyms to communicate ideas at a
faster rate.

#4
The earth may spin faster on its axis due to deforestation. Just as a
figure skater's rate of spin increases when the arms are brought in
close to the body, the cutting of tall trees may cause our planet to
spin dangerously fast.

HONOURABLE MENTION:
The quantity of consonants in the English language is constant.  If
omitted in one place, they turn up in another. When a Bostonian "pahks"

his "cah," the lost r's migrate Southwest, causing a Texan to "warsh"
his car and invest in "erl wells."
Back to the top

   An open letter to M. Jacques Chirac:

   Mon cher Jack

   Je suis a bit fromaged off avec votre decision to blow up La
   Pacifique avec le Frog bombes nuclears. Je reckon vous  must
   have un spot in La Belle France itself pour les  explosions.
   Le  Massive  Central? Le Quay d'Orsay?  Le  Champs  Elysees?
   Votre own back yard, peut etre?

   Frappez  le  crows avec stones, Sport! La  guerre  cold  est
   fini!  Votres forces militaire need la bombe atomique  about
   as beacoup as poisson need les bicyclettes.

   Un autre point, cobber. Votre histoire militaire isn't  tres
   flash, consisting, n'est-ce pas, of battailles the likes  of
   Crecy,  Agincourt, Poitiers, Trafalgar, Borodino,  Waterloo,
   Sedan et Dien Bien Phu. Un bombe won't change le  tradition.
   Je/mon   pere/mon  grand  pere/le  cousin  third   avec   ma
   grandmere/  la plume de ma tante fought avec  votre  soldats
   against Le Boche in WWI (le Big One). Have vous forgotten?

   Reconsider, mon ami, otherwise in le hotels et estaminets de
   l'Australie  le curse anciens d'Angleterre -  "Damnation  to
   the French" - will be heard un autre temps.

   Votre chums don't want that.

   Millo.
Back to the top