Collage 207               H u m o u r N e t               19 JAN 96

San Diego, it turns out, is one of the most interesting places to
drive. Not as frustratingly crowded as Los Angeles (after my second
trip to L.A., I told my boss that I would only go back there if the
government paid for me to rent a helicopter) nor as dangerous as New
York. (I've often said that the best thing to do in NYC is cut off
a cabbie. As soon as you're out of the tunnel or off the bridge,
pick a cabbie and cut him off. That lets them know you mean
business; after that, they pretty much leave you alone. Well,
except for the little bullet hole in your rear window.)

The most interesting thing about driving in San Diego is the unique
variety of vehicles that they must have on their roads. I say "must
have," since all I saw while I was out there were the usual cars,
vans, trucks, etc. -- your standard interstate-highway driving
equipment. However, on I-5 northbound, just prior to the exit for
the San Diego airport, there is a very large sign on the side of the
highway, warning:

        C R U I S E  S H I P S
                U S E
        A I R P O R T  E X I T

This one scared the heck out of me, since I was driving a sub-compact
car (and we all know how large your average cruise ship is). Needless
to say, I avoided the airport exit like the plague -- I took the long
route to the airport, via Seattle. All I'd need is to be stopped at a
traffic light, and have the Norwegian Princess pull up next to me and
drop anchor through my hood. Sure, the rental contract covers damage
to the vehicle, but I'd have *way* too much explaining to do at the
travel office.

Weird, huh? Well, not as weird as today's Collage. I've sent out some
weird material before, but this stuff *really* takes the cake ...

Kudos are dutifully acknowledged as follows:

Carrie, for "Clinton Deploys Vowels to Bosnia," and

Shawn (the now-infamous Bawdy.Net moderator), for "Raw Meat." (This
one's definitely the weirder of the two. Might be the weirdest one
of all time. (The piece, that is, not necessarily Shawn. ;-) Check it
out, though; it's pretty funny -- in a weird sort of way.)

Many thanks to Carrie and Shawn. Oh, and also to Dominick, who
apparently needs the attention.

Enjoy!

- Vince Sabio
  HumourNet Moderator
  HumourNet@telephonet.com
____________________________________________________________________
          Opener (above) Copyright 1996 by Vincent Sabio
  Permission is hereby granted to forward or post this "Collage";
  please observe the guidelines stated at the end of the message.
____________________________________________________________________

SUBJ: Clinton Deploys Vowels to Bosnia

Cities of Sjlbvdnzv, Grzny to be First Recipients

Before an emergency joint session of Congress yesterday, President
Clinton announced US plans to deploy over 75,000 vowels to the
war-torn region of Bosnia. The deployment, the largest of its kind
in American history, will provide the region with the critically
needed letters A, E, I, O, and U, and is hoped to rend countless
Bosnian names more pronounceable.

"For six years, we have stood by while names like Ygrjvslhv and
Tzlnhr and Glrm have been horribly butchered by millions around the
world," Clinton said. Today, the United States must finally stand
up and say 'Enough.' It is time the people of Bosnia finally had
some vowels in their incomprehensible words. The US is proud to
lead the crusade in this noble endeavor."

The deployment, dubbed "Operation Vowel Storm" by the State
Department, is set for early next week, with the Adriatic port
cities of Sjlbvdnzv and Grzny slated to be the first recipients.
Two C-130 transport planes, each carrying over 500 24-count boxes of
"E's" will fly from Andrews Air Force Base across the Atlantic, and
airdrop the letter over the cities.

Citizens of Grzny and Sjlbvdnzv eagerly await the arrival of the
vowels.

"My God, I do not think we can last another day," Trszg Grzdnjkln,
44, said. "I have six children and none of them has a name that is
understandable to me or to anyone else. Mr. Clinton, please send
my poor, wretched family just one 'E,' please!"

Said Sjlbvdnzv resident Grg Hmphrs, 67: "With just a few key
letters, I could be George Humphries. This is my dream."

The airdrop represents the largest deployment of any letter to a
foreign country since 1984. During the summer of that year, the US
shipped 92,000 consonants to Ethiopia, providing cities like
Ouaouaua, Eaoiiaue, and Aao with vital, life-giving supplies of L's,
S's and T's.

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

SUBJ: Raw Meat

Imagine, if you will, the leader of the fifth invader force speaking
to the commander in chief...

"They're made out of meat."

"Meat?"

"Meat. They're made out of meat."

"MEAT?"

"There's no doubt about it. We picked several from different parts
of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, probed them all
the way through. They're completely meat."

"That's impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to
the stars."

"They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don't come from
them. The signals come from machines."

"So who made the machines? That's whom we want to contact."

"They made the machines. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Meat
made the machines."

"That's ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You're asking me
to believe in sentient meat."

"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. These creatures are the only
sentient race in the sector and they're made out of meat."

"Maybe they're like the Orfolei. You know, a carbon-based
intelligence that goes through a meat stage."

"Nope. They're born meat and they die meat. We studied them for
several of their life spans, which didn't take too long. Do you
have any idea the life span of meat?"

"Spare me. Okay, maybe they're only part meat. You know, like the
Weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside."

"Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads like the
Weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They're meat all the way
through."

"No brain?"

"Oh, there is a brain all right. It's just that the brain is made
out of meat!"

"So... what does the thinking?"

"You're not understanding, are you? The brain does the thinking.
The meat."

"Thinking meat! You're asking me to believe in thinking meat!"

"Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat.
The meat is the whole deal! Are you getting the picture?"

"Omigod. You're serious then. They're made out of meat."

"Finally, Yes. They are indeed made out meat. And they've been
trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years."

"So what does the meat have in mind?"

"First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore
the universe, contact other sentients, swap ideas and information.
The usual."

"We're supposed to talk to meat?"

"That's the idea. That's the message they're sending out by radio.
'Hello. Anyone out there? Anyone home?' That sort of thing."

"They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?"

"Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat."

"I thought you just told me they used radio."

"They do, but what do you think is on the radio? Meat sounds. You
know how when you slap or flap meat it makes a noise? They talk by
flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting
air through their meat."

"Omigod. Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do
you advise?"

"Officially or unofficially?"

"Both."

"Officially, we are required to contact, welcome, and log in any and
all sentient races or multibeings in the quadrant, without
prejudice, fear, or favor. Unofficially, I advise that we erase the
records and forget the whole thing."

"I was hoping you would say that."

"It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make
contact with meat?"

"I agree one hundred percent. What's there to say? 'Hello, meat.
How's it going?' But will this work? How many planets are we
dealing with here?"

"Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat
containers, but they can't live on them. And being meat, they only
travel through C space. Which limits them to the speed of light and
makes the possibility of their ever making contact pretty slim.
Infinitesimal, in fact."

"So we just pretend there's no one home in the universe."

"That's it."

"Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to meet meat? And the
ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you have probed?
You're sure they won't remember?"

"They'll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their
heads and smoothed out their meat so that we're just a dream to
them."

"A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate, that we should be
meat's dream."

"And we can mark this sector unoccupied."

"Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any
others? Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?"

"Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence in a
class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic rotation
ago, wants to be friendly again."

"They always come around."

"And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how unutterably cold the
universe would be if one were all alone."

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