From karl@haddock.ima.isc.com Wed Nov 22 17:09:41 1989 From: karl@haddock.ima.isc.com (Karl Heuer) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Introduction Date: 20 Nov 89 05:40:45 GMT Reply-To: karl@haddock.ima.isc.com (Karl Heuer) Distribution: alt Organization: Interactive Systems, Cambridge, MA 02138-5302 Status: O The alien steps through the door, walking as if a one-gee field were foreign to him. His uniform--or is it skin?--shimmers when you look directly at it, showing colors only when viewed peripherally. He steps up to the bar and mutters something to Callahan, and after a moment the creature is holding a glass of a bubbling blue fluid. "Hi Karl," says the teddy bear sitting on the counter next to a small bowl of yellow-orange objects thoughtfully provided by Callahan. "Have a piece of candy corn." The alien does his best to ignore the bear, but he accepts and eats the candy. He walks toward the fireplace and raises his glass. "Pkarilonar ki vonil, Sorak itavyyl vaarpkan, Toval itar ki na-pkil, kivanpkavotarkaan." "Have another candy corn," says Willy, pressing another piece into the alien's glove and returning to the counter. "Sonil vyyt ro kavitik, Ki lonik tari porisan, Ro ronak vel tripar lonik, pkelanoritarkaan." "Here's some more candy corn!" The alien is having trouble keeping a straight face, and stumbles on the third verse. "Ki ... umm ... something pkir, Something else inar poran. Ki loni tari rikovir, syynvitarritarkaan." "C'mon, Karl, open your fist. There." The bear makes another trip back to the counter, and takes the last remaining piece. "Avikitor vyyn tripar, Ki lonik tari vaiselan, Itavyyl ro ki vel rikar, kenpeltreopktarkaan." "Have one more piece of candy corn!" says Willy. The alien sighs. "Treefodder," he says, thinking of the wrong author, and turns off a device on his belt. The low hum that had permeated the room is suddenly noticable by its absence, and the illusion disappears, revealing a human male who would still be a teenager if ages were measured in hexadecimal. "Oh well, that persona wasn't completely debugged anyway." He removes his bicycling helmet, revealing shoulder-length hair that gives the impression that it was not so much the result of a conscious decision to let it grow long as a failure to find the time to stop at a barber. His beard is trimmed, but with the occasional glitch that comes from cutting it oneself. The helmet goes into his backpack, where it joins the jacket he surely must have in there unless he really considers the current chilly weather to be T-shirt compatible. (Back at the counter, a squeaky bear voice is saying, "Hey! Who pigged all the candy corn?") Sitting down at a nearby table, he drains his glass, now seen to contain apple juice, and sets it down instead of tossing it in the fireplace. The other occupants of the table introduce themselves, and the once-alien sighs again. "I *was* kenpeltreopktarkaan the wanderer, heir of the homeworld of kinarivalitavosentelipkarrnokak, but Willy pretty much made an anticlimax out of my speech. No, don't bother," he says, seeing one of his companions trying to use rot13 while another consults a Klingon-English dictionary. "It isn't encrypted, and it isn't any language known on Earth. In fact, all I know about it is that it concerns four consecutive generations that all earned the right to bear the name of tarkaan." (Willy's ears prick up at the use of the word "bear," but he returns to his own table when he realizes that he isn't the subject of the conversation. The woman who pulled the sliver out of his paw says something, and Willy replies, "I'm sorry, I can't grant meta-wishes. You have two wishes left!") "I'm Karl William Zyq Heuer, The Walking Lint, ODDHACK Emeritus, NiceBug, Hacker, Wizard, Guru, and Chairman of the Committee to Reinvent the Wheel." He pulls out a business card--actually four business cards taped together-- containing the complete title. Even this weaker attempt at a dramatic introduction doesn't seem to work anymore. "Just call me Karl. I'm afraid I'm not much of a talker--certainly not compared to Willy..." He pauses a moment to listen to the teddy bear say, "I don't have a million dollars. You have one wish left!" before continuing. "...But I'm a fan of Robinson's, as well as a wannabe writer, and I think I'm gonna like this place. I'll mostly listen for now, and maybe have something more to say in a week or two." After some time, he gets up to leave. He stops at the bar to settle up. "I changed my mind about the toast," he says. "Do I have a refund coming?" "No, as a matter of fact, you still owe," says the bartender. "Willy had one milk..." "I'm glad you had enough sense not to serve him alcohol; he's a real bear when he's drunk." Callahan ignores this comment. "...and he bought for the lady, too. Her third wish, I believe." Karl smiles. "Yeah, when he pulled that stunt on me, the best I could get was a peanut butter sandwich. Well, at least he didn't charge anything expensive. Remind me sometime to tell you about the hovercraft. Well, we'd best be off." He leaves the requisite number of singles and gets his change. "Let's go, Willy." "Aren't you going to let me introduce you? She's not married!" (This bear clearly has all the tact of a pile of bricks.) "No, I'm already past 100 lines," replies his master. "We can always take it off-line. Don't forget your skate." Willy puts the roller skate into the backpack, and moves to his master's shoulder, turning so that he can get his back scratched. As Karl does so, the teddy bear falls asleep within seconds. He too becomes cargo now, and the man walks out into the cold night air. If he did have a jacket in that pack, he's forgotten to put it on. From karl@haddock.ima.isc.com Wed Nov 22 17:09:41 1989 From: karl@haddock.ima.isc.com (Karl Heuer) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Well, it's time... Date: 20 Nov 89 06:02:23 GMT Reply-To: karl@haddock.ima.isc.com (Karl Heuer) Distribution: alt Organization: Interactive Systems, Cambridge, MA 02138-5302 Summary: Mostly serious stuff Status: RO I don't mean this as a flame (I like to think Fast Eddie would offer the same treatment for flaming as for prying), but I don't think Punday (as opposed to a random pun thrown into a conversation) can really work in this medium. Punday is supposed to be a once-a-week event, but you can't get that with USENET propagation. And it's not nearly as much of a challenge here--the idea is supposed to be that you come up with a pun *on demand*, when it's your turn, or drop out of the contest. Even a normal typing speed gives you too much time to come up with a good response. Also, of course, one shouldn't reuse a pun that's already been made--but this is not a sequential medium; it's entirely likely that two people will make similar replies and the messages will cross in transit. Oh, well; c'est la vie. --Karl Okay, "la vie." --Willy From usenet@cps3xx.UUCP Wed Nov 22 17:09:41 1989 From: usenet@cps3xx.UUCP (Usenet file owner) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Inspired by Tom Leherer ... (a toast) Date: 19 Nov 89 23:44:08 GMT Reply-To: frey@frith.egr.msu.edu (Zachary Frey) Organization: occaisional member of the human race Keywords: a toast Status: O In article <11073@csli.Stanford.EDU> cphoenix@csli.stanford.edu (Chris Phoenix) writes: >First we got the Bomb, and that was good, cause we love peace and motherhood. "Then Russia got the Bomb, but that's OK, 'cause the balance of power is maintained that way Who's Next! France got the Bomb, but don't you grieve, cause they're on our side -- I believe! China got the Bomb, but don't you fear, cause they can't wipe us out for at least five years Who's Next! Egypt wants one too, just to use on you know who. Israel's getting tense, needs one in self defense; "The Lord's our Shepherd" says the psalm But just in case -- we wanna have a bomb! (approximate lyrics to "Who's Next!" by Tom Leherer) Chris reminded me of this with his .signarure. That, plus the events that even now are occuring in Eastern Europe and all around the world, inspire this toast: To peace, freedom, and human dignity everywhere! May it happen in my time, and if not then, in my children's time. Papernet: Zachary Frey | frey@frith.egr.msu.edu | Usenet: the 514 Virginia St. | frey@frith.BITNET | Bellman's E. Lansing, MI 48823 | ...uunet!frith!frey | Paradise. From lori@hacgate.scg.hac.com Wed Nov 22 17:09:42 1989 From: lori@hacgate.scg.hac.com (Lori Barfield) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Home for the holidays Date: 20 Nov 89 20:22:59 GMT Reply-To: lori@hacgate.UUCP (Lori Barfield) Organization: Hughes Aircraft Co., El Segundo, CA Status: O Then a curvaceous, buxom, long-haired blonde in a low-cut maternity dress (slurping juice in the corner) straightens up and interjects, "*Family* is the feeling you get in your heart when you are welcomed at a table of friends." To Family! ...lori From estokien@jarthur.Claremont.EDU Wed Nov 22 17:09:42 1989 From: estokien@jarthur.Claremont.EDU (Eric Stokien) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Home for the holidays Date: 20 Nov 89 21:25:16 GMT Reply-To: estokien@jarthur.UUCP (Eric Stokien) Organization: Harvey Mudd College, Claremont, CA Status: O In article <42987@bu-cs.BU.EDU> austin@bucsf.bu.edu (Austin Ziegler) writes > "To family." He then throws it into the fireplace in a fit of >passion and the mug shatters noisily. "Let me explain." > "For the first time in my life, all 18 years of it, I'm not going >to be able to join my family for Thanksgiving. Up until now, I have not >been scared about being away from home. Now, however, the reality of how >far away I really am strikes hard. I hate this. I am going to spend this >upcoming weekend with a family that I know nothing more than they are my >Dad's cousins. So, I feel very out of place. It will not be the same >without my family. I feel glad for everyone who can make it home over >Thanksgiving Weekend. To you, I say 'feel compassionate for those of us >who cannot go home. Well here's a dose of compassion with a chaser. One of the hardest parts about spending a year abroad was not being with my family for the holidays. If you think Thanksgiving is bad, try Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's and all the other holidays that occur during the school year in a foreign country. Not to put your difficulty down, I'm used to not being at home a lot, but let it be known that you are not alone. To Family! Oh yeah, it helps if you look at it as if you were trying out what it would be like to have Thanksgiving if you had another family. Just a suggestion. I tend to find thinking about upcoming tests enough to overshadow most difficulties I can find in the normal world. Good luck my friend. The preppy looking brown haired kid settles back into his repose. From jmdoyle@phoenix.Princeton.EDU Wed Nov 22 17:09:43 1989 From: jmdoyle@phoenix.Princeton.EDU (Jennifer Mary Doyle) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: to family (?) Date: 20 Nov 89 21:54:30 GMT Distribution: usa Organization: or, conversely, Chaos: Status: O To family, huh? Okay. [slaps a single on the bar] A root beer, please, Mike. "To family!" I love my family, I do, but I don't belong with them. We're different types of people. I have screwed up my grades yet again, and that's what I'll spend my Thanksgiving break talking about. What a waste of money it's been to send me to school, why can't I study which I *just* *don't* *know* the answer to, and what can I do to make things better, which will all turn out to be spending less time on all the things I like, that make all this tolerable. I know I sound like a lazy, ungrateful child, but I'm missing some sort of drive, I think. I don't enjoy many of my classes, I don't feel I'm learning anything. My favorite part is when we have group discussions. I love to talk with people on a variety of things. That's what I've learned from: talking to/with people. I try to study, and my eyes glaze over and my brain shuts off. It's not that I don't like to read, I love to read. But academia gets to me. Help. Mike, another root beer please. [slaps another bill down] "To family, whereever you find them, however related, by blood or friendship" -- "I can't -- I have rehearsal." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jennifer Doyle // Princeton '92 // jmdoyle@phoenix.princeton.edu Disclaimer: I am a student, I represent the future. From hammer@pawl.rpi.edu Wed Nov 22 17:09:43 1989 From: hammer@pawl.rpi.edu (James A. Damour) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: hiya folks Date: 21 Nov 89 01:34:29 GMT Followup-To: Taldin's second posting Organization: not much... ;) Keywords: Alright Taldin, ah won' let ya outshine everyone on yo' 'shade' pun. Altho ah'll pun w/ Tald (an ah am outta mah league), ah Gauss ah won' say much about electricity. An as fo music, ah'm all thumbs (88 thumbs that is( tol ya ah'm outta Status: O sorry, no sigfile... no need for one James Damour hammer@pawl.rpi.edu From gh1g+@andrew.cmu.edu Wed Nov 22 17:09:43 1989 From: gh1g+@andrew.cmu.edu (Gregg Fielding Hinderstein) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: The future (toast) Date: 21 Nov 89 01:04:44 GMT Organization: Class of '91, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA Status: O Hey Austin, glad to see you here. Mark-glad to see another Hair-ite. Well time for another one. The wild, slightly scary looking lad who hated conformity wanders over to the bar, sails a dollar down with a back-hand flip, and asks for "anything interesting" downing the whatever-it-is, he wanders over to the line. "To the wind, wherever it may take me from here" "Oh, personas, yeah, well, didn't plan on it, but might as well", suddenly, the mane-like mass of black hair begins expanding, the legs begin changing form to acomodate the now crouching figure. With a leap, the feline, which looks like a small, black tiger, bounds over by the fire and lies down. All that remains the same is the black mane and the ever-present Rock-n-Rolling headphones around the neck, which can be heard to be playing a Harry Chapin tune. Meow all. The Cat in the Cradle From gilly@bucsf.bu.edu Wed Nov 22 17:09:44 1989 From: gilly@bucsf.bu.edu (Gilly Rosenthol) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: music Date: 21 Nov 89 03:22:40 GMT Reply-To: jmdoyle@phoenix.Princeton.EDU (Jennifer Mary Doyle) Distribution: alt.callahans Organization: Boston University Status: O Organization: or, conversely. Chaos: Oh, give it a rest. I've noted this line of punning before. I realize music puns may be the staff of life for you, but G, it's gotta stop somewhere. How about some SF puns? The shortest distance between two puns is a Heinlein, after all. Jen -- "I can't -- I have rehearsal." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jennifer Doyle // Princeton '92 // jmdoyle@phoenix.princeton.edu Disclaimer: I am a student, I represent the future. -- +--------------------+-------------------------------------------------------+ | Gilly Rosenthol |"Don't dream it, be it" -The Rocky Horror Picture Show | | gilly@bucsb.bu.edu |"On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur. | | | L'essentiel est invisible aux yeux." -Le Petit Prince | +--------------------+-------------------------------------------------------+ From ckd@bu-pub.bu.edu Wed Nov 22 17:09:44 1989 From: ckd@bu-pub.bu.edu (Christopher K Davis) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Meta-discussion [on puns, contains none] (was Re: Well, it's time...) Date: 21 Nov 89 04:28:20 GMT Distribution: alt Organization: Boston University School of Management In-reply-to: karl@haddock.ima.isc.com's message of 20 Nov 89 06:02:23 GMT Status: O >>>>> On 20 Nov 89 06:02:23 GMT, karl@haddock.ima.isc.com (Karl Heuer) said: Karl> I don't mean this as a flame (I like to think Fast Eddie would offer Karl> the same treatment for flaming as for prying), but I don't think Karl> Punday (as opposed to a random pun thrown into a conversation) can Karl> really work in this medium. You're right. I don't think anyone's been particularly trying to make it work, either--at least not in the original form. [Besides, who's racked up a tab? :-] The net.punday seems really to be more of a pun.thread, with less competitiveness but, perhaps, time for more wit. At any rate, the net.callahans evolves with its readers and posters... we shall see where it ends up. Heck, I didn't expect this kind of response when I newgrouped it--I expected it to be a small group (okay, so it's small relative to, say, comp.sys.mac... but still...), few users, you know the deal. My site's nearing message #150 already, and more keep coming. Once again, thank you--ALL of you, even the lurkers--you make it all worth it. Karl> Oh, well; c'est la vie. Willy> Okay, "la vie." Wisebear. -- Christopher Davis, BU SMG '90 "Technology is dominated by those who manage what they do not understand." From hammer@pawl.rpi.edu Wed Nov 22 17:09:45 1989 From: hammer@pawl.rpi.edu (James A. Damour) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: A Toast! Date: 21 Nov 89 02:31:58 GMT Followup-To: all the other students toasts Organization: not much... :) Summary: students Status: O I walk in, brush the snow off of my down coat, take it off to expose my Rensselaer sweatshirt, walk up to the bar, sit in one of the seats, and soak up the atmosphere and toasts. After a few hours, ah slap a single down and ask for a Chambord with cream. Mike makes it right, pouring the cream slowly down a spoon, careful not to disturb the raspberry liquer. I stand up toe the line, announce "To students...," slooowly down the heavenly mix, dash the glass, and continue, "bless us, each and every one." Ah agree w/ whomever it was who wanted to stay in college forever. This society is EXACTLY what this Damn Yankee needs (born in PA, moved to VA, therefore ah'm a Damn Yankee, all you who live up North are just Yankees :) I LOVE school, its only the work I hate. Ah do wonder about two things, however... why does this newsgroup atract so many students w/ low self esteems and no alcoholic tendencies? Ah can appreciate people who are tea-totallers, and that might explain it, if you belong to this catagory, more power to ya. If, on the udder hand, you want a drink, just ask... Mike'll serve ya if you can reach the bar and doesn't care how old you are (heck, he serves Ralph and HE's only ~5yrs old (altho that's ~30 in dog years :)). It doesn't make sence say that someone is responsible enough to help decide who will lead the country, yet he isn't responsible enough to consume alcohol. That the law raising the drinking age passed shows only how stupid some law makers are and how apathetic most 18 to 20 year olds are. If you are degrade yourself (this includes describing yourself in what is, lets face it, "nerd" fasion), please stop. It isn't necessary. We love you as you are, warts and all. It hurts us for you to put yourself down. We are here to support you, but we can't hold you up if you don't help. I myself could probably be classed as a "nerd", but I don't see myself that way. I'm just a guy. I like computers and math. I also like dancing and dressing up in plastic, leather, and metal and getting hit with sticks. Most of all, I like to softly carres a woman's cheek and kiss her on the lips. This is what I do. I let MY actions and attitudes define who I am, not others opinions. It's not hard to do, and we in alt.callahans can help you do this if you don't think you can do it alone. James Damour hammer@pawl.rpi.edu From gilly@bucsf.bu.edu Wed Nov 22 17:09:46 1989 From: gilly@bucsf.bu.edu (Gilly Rosenthol) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: warm fuzzies story (no puns) Date: 21 Nov 89 04:43:22 GMT Reply-To: gilly@bucsf.bu.edu (Gilly Rosenthol) Distribution: alt.callahans Organization: Boston University Status: O The door creaks open, and Gilly (I've already done the physical description once. That's not what matters anyway, right?) walks in. She seems quieter than usual (which isn't saying much :-) tonight. Instead of hitting every table in the Place, she makes a fairly straight line for the bar, and, after searching through a few pockets, finally retrieves a crumpled bill out of one, and exchanges it for a steaming cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream. She carries it carefully to a seat at an empty table near the fireplace, and curls up in a chair to savor the hot, sweet drink. After sipping the chocolate and basking in the glow of the fire for a while, she starts to notice the mood of the place tonight. Pretty quiet, and, it seems, a bit down. Even Fast Eddie is playing something slow tonight, and Lady Macbeth is sitting silent in a corner. "Well, this will never do," Gilly thinks to herself. "I don't know if it will help much, but..." She raises her voice. "Anyone for a story on this cold and blustery night? No puns, no great literature, just a childrens story. But I like it, and I think you might too." People look up from their drinks, and a few wander over to hear. A teddy bear toddles over and insists on climbing up onto her lap. Gilly lets him, with an apologetic glance at a blue equine who had been eyeing the spot as a good one for a unicorn. While Willy squirms around, trying to make a comfortable nest in her lap, everyone who needs a fresh drink has found one. When everyone is settled, she begins. "Well, those of you who have had mail from me have seen that I sign letters `love, hugs, and warm fuzzies'. You know, I should hope, what love and hugs are, but warm fuzzies, alas, are not so well known. So here's a story I found a while ago that may help to explain. But no, Scott, it doesn't say what color they are. And no, Willy, you are not a warm fuzzy, no matter how warm and fuzzy you are. That includes you beared types, too. Anyway." "Long ago only little people lived on the Earth. Most of them dwelt in the little village of Swabeedoo, and so they called themselves Swabeedoo-dahs. They were very happy little people, and went about with broad smiles and cheery greetings for everybody. "One of the things the Swabeedoo-dahs liked best was to give Warm Fuzzies to one another. Each of these little people carried over her (or his) shoulder a bag, and the bag was filled with Warm Fuzzies. Whenever two Swabeedoo-dahs met, each would give the other a Warm Fuzzy. Now, it is an especially nice thing to give someone a Warm Fuzzy. It tells the person they are special. It is a way of saying, `I like you.' And, of course, it is very pleasing to have someone give you a Warm Fuzzy. When you have a Warm Fuzzy held out to you, when you take it and feel its warmth and fuzziness against your cheek, and place it gently and lovingly in your fuzzy-bag with all the others, it's just extra-nice. You feel noticed and appreciated when someone gives you a Warm Fuzzy, and you want to do something nice for them in return. The little people of Swabedoo loved to give Warm Fuzzies and get Warm Fuzzies, and their lives together were very happy indeed. "Outside the village, in a cold, dark, cave, there lived a great green troll. He didn't really like to live all by himself, and sometimes he was lonely. But he couldn't seem to get along with anyone else, and somehow he didn't enjoy exchanging Warm Fuzzies. He thought it was a lot of nonsense. `It isn't cool,' is what he would say. "One evening the troll walked into town, and he was met by a kindly little Swabeedoo-dah. "`Hasn't this been a fine Swabeedoo-dah day?' said the little person with a smile. `Here, have a Warm Fuzzy. This one's special, and I saved it just for you, for I don't see you in town that often.' "The troll looked around to see that no one else was listening. Then he put an arm around the little Swabeedoo-dah and whispered in his ear. "`Hey, don't you know that if you give away all your Warm Fuzzies, one of these Swabeedoo-dah days of yours you're gonna run out of them?' "He noted the look of surprise and fear on the little man's face, and then adeed, peering inside his fuzzy-bag: `Right now I'd say you've only got about two hundred and seventeen Warm Fuzzies left there. Better go easy on handin' 'em out.' "With that, the troll padded away on his big green feet, leaving a very confused and unhappy Swabeedoo-dah standing there. "Now, the troll knew that every one of the little people had an inexhaustible supply of Warm Fuzzies. He knew that, as soon as you give a Warm Fuzzy to someone, another comes to take its place, and that you can never ever run out of Warm Fuzzies in your whole life. But he counted on the trusting nature of the little Swabeedoo-dahs, and on something else that he knew about himself. He just wanted to see if this same something was inside the little people. So he told his fib, went back to his cave, and waited. "Well, it didn't take long. The first person to come along and greet the little Swabeedoo-dah was a fine friend of his, with whom he had exchanged many Warm Fuzzies before. This little person was surprised to find that when she gave her friend a Warm Fuzzy this time, she received only a strange look. Then she was told to beware of running low on her supply of Warm Fuzzies, and her friend was suddenly gone. That Swabeedoo-dah told three others that same evening: `I'm sorry, but no Warm Fuzzy for you. I've got to be sure I don't run out.' "By the next day, the word had spread over the entire village. everyone had suddenly begun to hoard their Warm Fuzzies. They still gave some away, but very, very, carefully. `Discriminatingly,' they said. "The little Swabeedoo-dahs began to watch each other with distrust, and to hide their bags of Warm Fuzzies under their beds for protection at night. Quarrels broke out over who had the most Warm Fuzzies, and pretty soon people began to trade Warm Fuzzies for things, instead of juts giving them away. Figuring there were only so many Warm Fuzzies to go around, the mayor of Swabeedoo proclaimed the Fuzzies a system of exchange, and before long the people were haggling over how many Warm Fuzzies it cost to eat a meal at someone's house, or stay overnight. There were even some instances of robberies of Warm Fuzzies. Some dark evenings - the kind the little Swabeedoo-dahs had enjoyed for strolling in the parks and streets and greeting each other to exchange Warm Fuzzies - it wasn't even safe to be out and about. "Worst of all, something began to happen to the health of the little people. Many of them began to complain of pains in their shoulders and backs, and as time went on, more and more little Swabeedoo-dahs became afflicted with a disease known as softening of the backbone. They walked all hunched over, or (in the worst cases) bent almost to the ground. Their fuzzy-bags dragged on the ground. Many people in the town began to say that it was the weight of the bags that caused the disease, and that it was better to leave the bags at home, locked up safely. After a while, you could hardly find a Swabeedoo-dah with his fuzzy-bag on. "At first the troll was pleased with the results of his rumor. He had wanted to see whether the little people would feel and act as he did sometimes when he thought selfish thoughts, and so he felt successful with the way things were going. Now, when he went into town, he was no longer greeted with smiles and offerings of Warm Fuzzies. Instead, the little people looked at him as they looked at each other - with suspicion - and he rather liked that. To him, that was just facing reality. `It's the way the world is,' he would say. "But as time went on, worse things happened. Perhaps because of the softening of the backbone, perhaps because no one ever gave them a Warm Fuzzy (no one knows), a few of the little people died. Now, all the happiness was gone from the village of Swabeedoo, as it mourned the passing of its little citizens. "When the troll heard about this, he said to himself: `Gosh! I just wanted them to see how the world was. I didn't mean for 'em to die!' He wondered what to do. And then he thought of a plan. "Deep in his cave, the troll had discovered a secret mine of Cold Pricklies. He had spent many years digging the Cold Pricklies out of the mountain, for he liked their cold and prickly feel, and he loved to see his growing hoard of Cold Pricklies, to know that they were all his. He decided to share them with the Swabeedoo-dahs. He filled hundreds of bags with Cold Pricklies and took them into the village. "When the people saw the bags of Cold Pricklies, they were glad, and they received them gratefully. Now they had something to give to one another. The only trouble was that it was just not as much fun to give a Cold Prickly as a Warm Fuzzy. Giving a Cold Prickly seemed to be a way of reaching out to another person, but not so much in friendship and love. And getting a Cold Prickly gave one a funny feeling, too. You were not just sure what the giver meant, for, after all, Cold Pricklies *were* cold and prickly. It was nice to get *some*thing from another person, but it left you confused, and often with stung fingers. The usual thing a Swabeedoo-dah said when she or he received a Warm Fuzzy was `Wow!' but when someone gave her or him a Cold Prickly there was usually nothing to say but `Ugh!' "But giving Warm Fuzzies never really came back in style in Swabeedoo. Some little people found that they could keep on giving Warm Fuzzies away without ever having their supply run out, but the art of giving a Warm Fuzzy was not shared by many. Suspicion was still there, in the minds of the people of Swabeedoo. "You could hear it in their comments: "`Warm Fuzzy, eh? Wonder what's behind it.' "`I never know if my Warm Fuzzies are really appreciated.' "`I gave a Warm Fuzzy, and got a Cold Prickly in return. Just see if I do that again.' "`You never know about Mabel. A Warm Fuzzy one day, a Cold Prickly the next.' "`If you won't give me a Cold Prickly, I won't give you one. Okay?' "`I WANT to give my boy a Warm Fuzzy, but he just doesn't deserve it.' "`Sometimes I wonder if grandpa has a Warm Fuzzy to his name.' "Probably every citizen of Swabeedoo would gladly have returned to the former days when the giving and getting of Warm Fuzzies had been so common. Sometimes a little person would think to herself or himself how very fine it had felt to get a Warm Fuzzy from someone, and she or he would resolve to go out and begin giving them to everyone freely, as of old. "But something always stopped her or him. Usually, it was going outside and seeing `how the world was.'" Gilly drained the last of the now-tepid chocolate, and tossed it into the fireplace - softly, so as not to disturb the (finally) sleeping bear. "Warm fuzzies for all, on me," she said with a smile. "I think we can find enough here to keep us going for a while." -- +--------------------+-------------------------------------------------------+ | Gilly Rosenthol |"Don't dream it, be it" -The Rocky Horror Picture Show | | gilly@bucsb.bu.edu |"On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur. | | | L'essentiel est invisible aux yeux." -Le Petit Prince | +--------------------+-------------------------------------------------------+