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Politics : Sharks in the Septic Tank -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: jlallen who wrote (41064)	12/18/2001 10:20:04 AM
From: Neocon	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 82486

Hush....leave well enough alone<VBG>.......

To: jlallen who wrote (41064)	12/21/2001 3:29:39 AM
From: Solon	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 82486

Hey, whatever happened to ole Solon and angelachase ??? assenna1? I'm right here, kiddo. Angelachase is in the Virgin Islands. You know, of course, that many people in the SI community have taken to referring to you as the "name caller": this in acknowledgement of your contribution to these threads. I thought, in light of this, that it would be rather fun to jot down this little satire in order to rationalize how you might have become the way that you are. I hope you will accept it in the spirit of friendly good-hearted humour in which it is proffered and assumed.. ________________________________ The doctors cackled noisily in the Lounge as they gulped bottomless coffees and dragged on endless cigarettes. Never before had such an event occurred; never had such a phenomenon been recorded in the entire annals of medical history: little JLA had been born with spaghetti in place of a brain. How could such a thing be? Their features dissolved behind the smoky haze as they coughed and cackled, long into the night. Rufus Vostoboychuki took another long drag on his cigarette; then absent mindedly scratched at his haemorrhoids. In all his years of medical practice, and now as head of neuropathology--he had never encountered a baby born with pasta in lieu of a brain. Could they give the little fellow language? Where would he get the words to communicate? Even God would be dumbfounded by this problem. Could the magicians of Egypt solve it? Rufus inhaled deeply, and he scratched again. It was 1958. The most prestigious doctors in all the world were en route to the United States. They were going to meet Doctor Rufus. They were going to discuss the fate of the little baby boy who had been born with nothing but spaghetti between his ears. The delivery Doctor had noticed a slippery substance oozing out of the eye sockets of the red faced little tot. To his rough fingers it felt like jelly. He muttered in his thick Hungarian accent, as he licked at his fingers: "Jay-a-Lay, Jay-a-Lay, Jay-a-Lay..." The attending nurse had asked three times for the baby's name. Three times the self absorbed old doctor had mumbled, "Jay-a-Lay". Nurse Dutiful lifted up her clipboard and dutifully recorded under "Baby's Name"...J L A. A chill wind blew over the face of the plane; while the gods coughed and wheezed through fits of manic laughter... So it was that 31 famous doctors gathered in the boardroom of Egyptian Magicians Lounge and Diagnostic center to discuss the fate of tiny little JLA--the "Pasta Boy," as he was being affectionately called by the media. But how were they to give the little pasta boy words? Not surprisingly, confidence ran high. They had turned water into blood. What kind of a challenge was a brain full of spaghetti?? "What if we just take it out?" Opined a Nobel prize winner from Afghanistan. "Just scrape it clean and give Mother Nature a chance to replace it with something else..." Thirty-one heads looked at one another through the thick pall of smoke. Thirty of those heads nodded in unison. "But what if nothing grows back?" Ventured a timorous voice from somewhere in the opaque haze. Thirty heads turned expectantly toward the right side of the room, where the Nobel Prize was thought to be... "Well, he could always become a preacher or a lawyer," came the unruffled reply. Everyone in the room inhaled deeply; and this was followed in short order by a raucous round of coughing and clapping. "I will requisition a scraper," puffed Dr. Rufus. Nine year old Peel was muttering over her plate of spaghetti. Peel was the school bully. She was perpetually angry at normal kids because they had real friends instead of imaginary ones. She had received her nickname when she slipped on a banana peel in the first grade earlier in the year, and she had fallen head foremost to the sidewalk--cracking it. Now she languished in hospital with a severe case of ringworm. With pursed lips she toyed with the endless strands of pasta. "P I N H e a d..."she began to form all the words she could think of with her slippery noodles..."Whackjob, windbag, pinhead," she formed--"Freakin, blowhard, demolib..." Many hours later she fell wretchedly asleep. She had formed eleven words. Nurse Dutiful was taking the plate of spaghetti toward the hospital food recycling machine in the kitchen when the alarm went off in OR-5. Quickly she raced into the surgical area, completely forgetting to scrub down. Dr. Rufus had just finished scraping the noodles from the noodle of his tiny patient; everything looked quite legal. The doctors were catching a smoke break, so they entirely missed the adventitious event: Nurse Dutiful fairly flew into the room and slipped on an errant piece of pasta; thus she deposited the whole plate of noodles in the emptied noodle of the pasta faced little JLA. "Sew em up!" Called out Dr. Rufus to Nurse Dutiful. "We'll talk on the phone later. Wear something pretty!" He gave her a large wink. Nurse Dutiful sewed dutifully as she imagined her bed in the little rental flat where she had laid down a black pair of male jeans with studded waistband next to a red tool belt with a tape measure and a portable screw gun. "Oooooohhhh!" She could hardly wait to get home! Sew, sew, sew! It was exactly two years later to the day when little pasta faced JLA spoke his first words to his mom: "Ya FReaKin DemOlib PiNhead WHackJob BLowHaRd NUtJob!" "Come quick, daddy! Little JLA is talking! Oooohhh! He is sooooo smart!" "YA FReaKin PinHEad WHAckJob!" Yelled little JLA, as spaghetti sauce ran down his doughy face. "Ya Freakin hamhead, pinhead, freakin WHAckJob!" Thirty years later little JLA was admitted to the bar; thus did the little pasta faced fellow make his contribution to the field of medicine, and thus did he encourage a renewed interest from anthropologists in the search for the missing link. The little name caller continued to use his entire vocabulary of 11 words to impress his toadies. Somewhere (no-one knows how) he picked up a new word: "LOL!"!...some say it was a yeast infection... "Your a Freakin whackjob!" He sputters to the admiring applause of toadies who secretly scorn and despise him. "YOUR a Freakin Nutjob, ya Pinhead HYPocriTE demolib windbag, LOL!" He is much admired in some circles for his (whoooooo<ggg>) intelligence, and for his depth of thought! <ggg> (LOL!). But he accepts it all in unknowing bedazzlement, and with a modesty befitting his comprehension level! <ggg>!