Collage 320               H u m o u r N e t               19 DEC 96

I apologize for the continuing dearth of Collages, but the holidays
have me just a little bit busier than usual. Nevertheless, as many
of you probably recall, I put out a call for "bad (and humorous)
gifts" submissions back in Collage 317. Naturally, the whole topic of
bad gifts has subsequently become a recurring subject of discussion
among my friends and me; a few of them had sufficiently traumatic
experiences to relate that I suggested they also file submissions for
the upcoming "bad gifts" Collage.

Some did; others are still in therapy.

But the single most often-asked question throughout the various
discussions on the "bad gifts" topic was: "What is the worst gift YOU
have ever received, Vince?"

I put a lot of thought into this, and I have to conclude that the
worst gift I ever received -- which left me scarred for life, BTW --
was way back when I was about 18 months old. I wanted a puppy. Badly.
So I brought together all the telekinetic faculties of your average
18-month-old, and prayed and prayed for a puppy. And I got a sister,
instead.

Ever since that day, I've been agnostic.

Okay, the truth of the matter is, I've never received any suitably
bad gifts that I can recall. (Erased them from memory, perhaps?) But
the single most traumatic/amusing gift-related experience occurred
about 15 or so years ago, when I was an undergrad at the University
of Maryland.

The setting:

1. It was Christmas.

2. I was home for the holidays.

3. My mom (see "The Old Broad," Collage 153) used to have an affinity
for giving, along with the usual holiday booty, what she considered
to be "humorous" gifts, intended solely to amuse the recipient. I was
never very fond of these, ever since that "sister" incident (see
comment above). I'm sure you can understand.

4. I have never been a fan of Star Trek. It is an often-provocative
television *show*; it is *not* a way of life.

So, in her holiday humor, The Old Broad(tm) decided to give me several
"Star Trek Action Figures." Basically, Kirk, Spock, and Scotty dolls,
each standing a splendid eight or so inches tall, decked out in Trek
clothing spiffy enough to make even Ken jealous.

Okay, very funny -- now what the h*ll was I supposed to do I do with
these things?

Well, as fate would have it, the University of Maryland Office of
Residential Life had done its clairvoyant best that year to bless me
with a "Trekkie" roommate. So I decided to bring them back to UM
when I returned for the Spring semester, and give them to Tom.
(Tom's feverish Trekkie mind had long ago descended into the Pit of
Trekkollectibles, so the Trek dolls were the perfect thing for the
reality-challenged roommate. Probably were labeled that way, too.)

And so, two weeks later, the now-infamous Trek dolls traveled back to
Maryland with me. On the airplane. But I was smart! Since I routinely
rifle around in my carry-on bag while on board the aircraft, I packed
them in my checked baggage. Yep, safe and secure, tucked away where I
wouldn't have to worry about them falling out of my bag just as Kim
Basinger (a UM alumna, BTW) walked by. (I *hate* days like that.)

I arrived at the airport a little late, since my pet Ball Python had
gotten loose in the house, and no one seemed to be particularly
comfortable with the idea of my going back to school without taking
the Dreaded Creature with me. So I rushed up to security, desperate
to get to my gate before the aircraft pulled back. (These were the
days of "People Express," checking baggage at the gate, and paying on
board the plane -- in flight, no less. I kept waiting to see someone
get thrown off for non-payment.)

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but -- a Kim Basinger
look-alike, working at airport security?

She was gorgeous. (I was late.) She was *really* gorgeous. (Heck, I
was on time; the *airplane* was early.)

My suitcase hit the belt.

(She had the deepest blue eyes I've ever seen in my entire life ...)

The X-ray machine swallowed the bag.

(... and the longest, most beautiful dark brown hair ...)

The belt suddenly ground to a halt.

(... and I loved the way her lips parted as she said ...)

"Excuse me, but we're going to have to inspect your bag."

(I loved the way her brow furrowed as she stared intently into the
X-ray monitor scre--)

"Huh? Inspect my bag?" (A regular conversationalist, I was.)

My suitcase slid listlessly toward the end of the ramp. Ms. Basinger
lifted it onto the inspection table, her soft white blouse drawing
tight around her bosom as she did so. Sliding it around the table to
make it easier for her to open, she methodically unzipped the
industrial-grade zipper that was specially designed to look good in
T.V. commercials should the bag suddenly be accosted by a wild
orangutan.

(Hmmm ... T.V. commercials? ... Television? ... <nagging feeling>
... OMIGOD, THE STAR TREK DOLLS!)

Before I could yell "Fire!" or "Hijacking!" or "Bruce Springsteen!"
(this was, after all, Newark Airport in New Jersey), she lifted the
small pile of thank-God-recently-laundered-not-that-it-mattered-now
clothing that was covering the dolls.

She didn't say a word. She didn't have to; the tell-tale pause, and
the pathetic glance that followed said more than any words ever
could. Even Kirk looked a somewhat sympathetic.

An explanation would, of course, have been futile. So, when you're
halfway there, you might as well just finish the job. I gestured
toward the dolls ...

"The phasers light up when you pull the triggers, you know."

As she quickly (too quickly) zipped the suitcase closed again, she
suggested that the dolls' metal "spines" were probably the cause of
the knife-like silhouettes she'd seen on the X-ray monitor.

I now hated those dolls.

Not that it mattered. I spent the rest of the walk down to my now-
empty gate *hating* gag gifts of all sorts, and had plenty of time
to contemplate fate as I waited for the next flight to arrive.
Needless to say, I was not about to go back through security THAT
evening, even though it meant staying cooped up in the terminal area.

As I finally boarded an aircraft several hours later, I considered
the pros and cons of telling the stewardess in flight that I did not
have the airfare on me -- and finally decided that being tossed from
a moving jetliner would be better than having to endure the hysterics
of my family members when they heard the events of the evening.

But as we went wheels up from the runway, I realized that, in the
end, the last laugh was on them.

The python was, after all, still loose in the house ...

:-)

Christmas has always been a risky time of the year -- and it seems
to have been *especially* bad in recent years for a large chunk of
this list. I'm currently most of the way through the pile of "bad
gift" submissions, and plan to have the Collage out by early next
week if all goes well.

In the meantime, we still have quite a large selection of Christmas
(and Chanukah!) humor to hold you over ...

To kick things off, albeit somewhat belatedly, Rowaan in North White
Plains, New York, sends us Adam Sandler's hysterical "Chanukah Song";

Mark in Springfield, Illinois, continues the music theme with "Micro
Christmas";

Randy Cassingham in Boulder, Colorado, follows through with "Violent
Night";

John in Bristol, Virginia, contributes "Mixed Messages" (a rather
unique piece);

Pastor Rus in Walworth, New York, sends along a "Christmas Sig," and
then gets us started on the holiday-stress theme with "You Know You're
Too Stressed If";

Lorraine in Texas helps you *reduce* your holiday stress with the
piece entitled, "When You Can't Stand Any More Stress";

and finally, Tina wraps things up with an original piece, "Twelve
Things You Can Do With A Fruitcake." (Finally! There's a use for them.
Twelve uses, in fact.)

Except for the bad gifts, this pretty much wraps up the current stash
of holiday humor; most of the holiday material submitted this year
had already run last year or the year prior.

Many thanks to our current contributors, and *Happy Holidays* to
everyone!

- 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: The Chanukah Song
By Adam Sandler

Put on your yarmulke
Here comes Chanukah
So much funukah
To celebrate Chanukah
Chanukah is the festival of lights
Instead of one day of presents, we have eight crazy nights

When you feel like the only kid in town without a Christmas tree
Here's a list of people who are Jewish just like you and me
David Lee Roth lights the menorah
So do Kirk Douglas, James Caan and the late Dina Shore-ah

Guess who eats together at the Carnegie Deli
Bowser from Sha Na Na and Arthur Fonzarelli
Paul Newman's half Jewish, Goldie Hawn's half too
Put them together, what a fine lookin' Jew

You don't need "Deck the Halls" or "Jingle Bell Rock"
'Cause you can spin a dreidel with Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock --
both Jewish!

Put on your yarmulke
It's time for Chanukah
The owner of the Seattle Supersonicahs
Celebrates Chanukah

O.J. Simpson,......NOT A JEW!
But guess who is? Hall of famer Rod Carew -- he converted.
We got Ann Landers and her sister Dear Abby
Harrison Ford's a quarter Jewish -- not too shabby!

Some people think that Ebeneezer Scrooge is,
well he's not, but guess who is
All Three Stooges!
So many Jews are in showbiz
Tom Cruise isn't, but I heard his agent is

Tell your friend Veronica
It's time to celebrate Chanukah
I hope I get a harmonicah
On this lovely, lovely Chanukah
So drink your gin and tonicah
And smoke your MARIJUANICA
if you really, really wannakah
Have a happy, happy, happy, happy Chanukah
Happy Chanukah everybody!

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

SUBJ: Micro Christmas
By Eric B. of Brooklyn, New York; excerpted from Datamation magazine

On the first day of Christmas my user gave to me
Sixty-four KB of memory.

On the second day of Christmas my user gave to me
Two beta tests
And 64 KB of memory.

[Editor's Note: I'll spare you the repetition until we get to the
end. </vs>]

On the third day of Christmas my user gave to me
Three disk packs...

On the fourth day of Christmas my user gave to me
Four CRTs...

On the fifth day of Christmas my user gave to me
Five protocols...

On the sixth day of Christmas my user gave to me
Six cursors cursing...

On the seventh day of Christmas my user gave to me
Seven sheets a-spreading...

On the eighth day of Christmas my user gave to me
Eight numbers crunching...

On the ninth day of Christmas my user gave to me
Nine points a-floating...

On the tenth day of Christmas my user gave to me
Ten RAMs a-charging...

On the eleventh day of Christmas my user gave to me
Eleven systems crashing...
Ten RAMs a-charging
Nine points a-floating
Eight numbers crunching
Seven sheets a-spreading
Five protocols.
Four CRTs
Three disk packs
Two beta tests
And 64 KB of memory.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my user to me
One endless loop.
On the first day of Christmas . . .

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

SUBJ: Violent Night
By David Pogue, excerpted from MacWorld Magazine, December 1996

(Sung, if possible, to the tune of "Silent Night")

Silent Mac, broken Mac!
System bombed, screen went black.
Books suggested things; I tried 'em all:
Shift key, desktop file, clean reinstall.
Now my deadline is tight,
This Mac's been silent all night.

Violent night, horrible night!
Lost my cool, filled with spite,
Threw my Mac through the balcony door
Watched it fall from the 20th floor,
Now I'm sleeping in peace;
Thank God I had it on lease.

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

SUBJ: Mixed Messages

I have a nifty book called "The Truth about Truth." As an example of
postmodern confusion, the editor (Walter Truett Anderson) relates
the following story:

	An American anthropologist visited Japan during the Christmas
	season and noticed that the retail merchants there had begun
	to take a great interest in the symbolism of Christmas. When
	he wandered into a large department store in Tokyo, he saw a
	striking example of this: a Christmas display that
	prominently featured Santa Claus nailed to a cross.

Here's his citation:
Richard Shweder, "Why Do Men Barbecue? and Other Postmodern Ironies
of Growing Up in the Decade of Ethnicity." _Daedalus_, Journal of
the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, Winter 1993, Volume 122,
Number 1.

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

SUBJ: Christmas Sig

Christmas is like a day at the office:
You do all the work, and the fat guy in the suit gets all the credit.

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

SUBJ: You Know You're Too Stressed If...

Relatives that have been dead for years come visit you and suggest
that you should get some rest.

You can achieve a "Runners High" by sitting up.

You say the same sentence over and over again, not realizing that
you have said it before.

The Sun is too loud.

Trees begin chasing you.

You can see individual air molecules vibrating.

You begin to explore the possibility of setting up an I.V. drip
solution of espresso.

You wonder if brewing is really a necessary step in the consumption
of coffee.

You can hear mimes.

You believe that if you think hard enough, you can fly.

Things become "Very Clear."

You ask the drive-thru attendant if you can get your order to go.

[Editor's Note: I do this all the time. Confuses the heck out of
them. </vs>]

You begin speaking in a language that only you and Channelers can
understand.

You say the same sentence over and over again, not realizing that
you have said it before.

You keep yelling "STOP TOUCHING ME!" even though you are the only
one in the room.

Your heart beats in 7/8 time.

David Lynch comes up to you and says: "Hey! Can I film you?"

You and Reality file for divorce.

You can skip without a rope.

It appears that people are speaking to you in binary code.

You have great revelations concerning: Life, the Universe, and
Everything else, but can't quite find the words for them before the
white glow disappears, leaving you more confused than before.

You can travel without moving.

Antacid tablets become your sole source of nutrition.

You discover the aesthetic beauty of office supplies.

You begin to talk to yourself, then disagree about the subject, get
into a nasty row over it, lose, and refuse to speak to yourself for
the rest of the night.

Teddy bears begin to bully you for milk and cookies.

You have an irresistible urge to bite the noses of the people you
are talking to.

You say the same sentence over and over again, not realizing that
you have said it before...

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

SUBJ: When You Can't Stand Any More Stress...

* Go to the coin laundry and throw in the towel.

* Play "Go Fish" with a three-year-old. Win.

* Replace your "in-box" with a garbage can.

* Have an out-of-body experience.

* Answer a highly technical question in your best Donald Duck voice.

* For comic relief from stress, laugh at inappropriate times.

* Avoid rush-hour stress. Drive slowly and honk and wave to
pedestrians.

* Place a mark on your body to show where you've had it up to.

* For a quiet evening, play a blank cassette at full volume.

* Wrap yourself in bubble wrap.

* Glue your old shoes to the ceiling.

* Too much to do? Complain loudly and incessantly. You'll get
farther behind, but you'll feel better.

* Pretend that you're still in control.

* Fill your hot tub with chicken soup.

* Eat Jell-O with chopsticks.

* Ring somebody's doorbell and run away.

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

SUBJ: Twelve Things You Can Do With A Fruitcake
Copyright 1996 Tina Koenig. All Rights Reserved.

Twelve Things You Probably Didn't Know You Could Do With A Fruitcake!

1. Paint a few white and place them outside on the grass so people
won't park on your lawn.

2. Use it as building material. (This is actually what the Ancient
Egyptians used to build the Great Pyramids.)

3. Keep one under your pillow for home defense.

4. Send one to the junk mail company with a note asking them to take
you off their list.

5. It's colorful, use it as a Yule Log.

6. Carve the Presidents' faces in one and submit it as a science
project.

7. Give one to your boss and tell him it's a life preserver.

8. Use it as a base for flower arrangements.

9. Donate to the local airport for use as airliner wheel blocks.

10. Grind a few up and give it back to your in-laws in a bag marked
"lawn fertilizer."

11. For a community project, sink a few in the ocean and build an
artificial reef.

12. Tie one to each foot when you walk through deep snow to keep
your feet dry.

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