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kcjenkins

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How the Hostess Company Is Being Split Up

You may have heard that Hostess Bakery plants shut down due to a workers' strike, but you may not have heard how it was split up: the State Department hired all the Twinkies, the Secret Service hired all the HoHos, the generals are sleeping with the Cupcakes and the voters sent all the Ding Dongs to Congress.

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Gillian McKeith is a Scottish TV health guru advocating a holistic approach to nutrition and health, promoting exercise, and a vegetarian diet of organic fruits and vegetables. She recommends "detox diets", colonic irrigation and supplements, states that yeast is harmful, that the color of food is nutritionally significant, and extols the utility of mapping your pimples and the detailed examination of your feces and urine. Her best-selling book is titled You Are What You Eat.

She is 51 years old, and here's her photo: gillian-mckeith.jpg

Nigella Lawson is a food writer, journalist and TV chef in England. She eats nothing but meat, butter and desserts. The Sunday Telegraph called her best-selling book How to Eat "the most valuable culinary guide published this decade."

She is also 51 years old, and here's her photo: nigella-lawson.jpg

Need I say more? I rest my case.

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The minister was just starting his sermon when he spotted a man step inside. He beckons him to sit and launches into his lesson on the Ten Commandments.

Since it was a new face, the minister makes sure to seek the man out after the service to greet him.

"I have to confess," the man says, "that I didn't come in to hear your sermon. I came in to steal a hat, because it's cold and I seem to have lost mine."

"What made you stop, then?" the minister asks.

"Well, your talking about 'Thou shalt not steal' made me think about it."

"Terrific!" the minister says.

"Besides," the man continues, "when you got to 'Thou shalt not commit adultery', I remembered where I left my hat."

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Never Buy Version 1.0 Torpedoes

Some years ago, I worked with a fellow with the very British name of Ken Appleby. He had a Spitfire, I had my '74 B, and we used to motor out to Pickwick's Pub and throw darts after work on occasion. Ken used to work for Lucas in the UK, specifically for a division of Lucas that did military electronics. My favorite of his stories was about the time he had been working on a computer-controlled torpedo. It used magnetic core memory to store the programs, which had the advantage of being very non-volatile as well as not susceptible to EMP discharge.

So Ken got to ride on the boat for the first test of the torpedo that used the computer with his program in it. Somewhere out in the North Sea, on a Royal Navy cutter, Ken and his crew launched the first ever run of this new weapon, and Ken learned a new respect for debugging.

The program was supposed to make the torpedo shoot off the boat, dive to a depth at which it couldn't be easily detected, then circle toward the target, climb to striking depth, and hit the target. There were on-board sensors to detect sea level, and the torpedo was supposed to travel at a preset distance below sea level, with constant feedback keeping it on track.

Somehow, somewhere, Ken had multiplied one of the 3D coordinates by a negative number, and this error soon propagated through the transformation matrix (the mathematical construct that models 3D space), with predictable results.

Within instants of hitting the water, the torpedo -- instead of sinking out of visible range -- blasted up and out from the water in a great silver fountain, then continued skipping across the surface of the blue like some sort of deranged wingless flying fish. Worse yet, instead of circling toward the target, it circled all right, but began to return to the ship that launched it. Fortunately it was not armed, but they still detonated the self-destruct on it rather than let it slice through their ship at 50 knots or whatever rate it traveled. Because of the non-volatile core memory, Ken was able to debug the program from what the Royal Navy frogmen could recover from it, and he fixed the problem for Rev 2.0.

But I must admit that the image of the torpedo, splashing happily above the surface of the water like an aroused porpoise, is one that returns to me in idle moments such this. What else would a Lucas torpedo do but try to fly?

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Last week for Thanksgiving, my mom went to my sister's house for the traditional feast.

Knowing how gullible my sister is, my mom decided to play a trick: She asked my sister to pick up something from the store. When my sister left my mom took the turkey out of the oven, removed the stuffing, stuffed a Cornish hen, inserted it into the turkey, and re-stuffed the turkey.

She then placed the bird(s) back in the oven. When it was time for dinner, my sister pulled the turkey out of the oven and proceeded to remove the stuffing. When her serving spoon hit something, she reached in and pulled out the little bird.

With a look of total shock on her face, my mother exclaimed, "Patricia, you've cooked a pregnant bird!!"

Upon pondering this horrifying news, my sister started to cry. It took the family two hours to convince her that turkeys lay eggs!

Yep -- Patricia is blonde!

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Since we're talking about odd stuff here, there's something about psychics which has always puzzled me. Often you'll see a case where a psychic is called in to help locate a missing person. Why do they have to be "called in"? A competent psychic should already know the customer is planning to call them in, so they would just show up ready to work and nobody would be surprised by that. Plus it would validate the fact that they are really good psychic - maybe even earn them a higher fee.

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A gorgeous blonde visited a world-renowned psychic. In a dark and unnaturally cold room, peering into a crystal ball, the mystic delivered some grave news. "There's no easy way to say this, my dear so I'll just tell you what I see: your husband is a powerful man, but prepare yourself to be a widow. Your husband will die a violent and horrible death later this year."

Visibly shaken, the customer stared at the psychic's wrinkled, wise-looking face, then at the flickering candle on the table, then down at her hands. She took a few deep breaths to compose herself.

"I simply have to know one thing," she finally says. The fortune teller met her gaze. The blonde steadied her voice, and finally got the words out: "Will I be acquitted?"

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One quiet fall day, shadows and sun showing the dust on the old furniture, a student burst through the door--no knock, slammed a bluebook down on Jay’s desk, and said in a furious but rather quiet and shaky voice, “Dammit, Dr. Cross, I did not deserve this F!” Without a change of expression, Jay replied, “I know. But it’s the lowest grade we have.”

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>>A competent psychic should already know the customer is planning to call<<

Nowadays it's not enough to be good at one's job. One must also be good at business. Therefore a psychic must not appear to read the CUSTOMER'S mind.

I already knew you were going to post that comment.

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Today's Lesson in Irony....

The Food Stamp Program, administered by the U.S. Department of Agriculture, is proud to be distributing the greatest amount of free meals and food stamps ever, to 46 million people.

Meanwhile, the National Park Service, administered by the U.S. Department of the Interior, asks us "Please Do Not Feed the Animals." Their stated reason for the policy is because the animals will grow dependent on handouts and will not learn to take care of themselves.

This ends today's lesson.

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