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To find out more about the Usenet Oracle, send mail to: oracle@iuvax.cs.indiana.edu or {ames,rutgers}!iuvax!oracle with the word "help" in the subject line.
What is the FREQUENCY?
And in response, thus spake the Oracle:
Sixty hertz if you're in America.
Fifty hertz if you're in England.
Vs over lambda if you're an acoustical engineer.
C over lambda if you're a physicist.
Every fifteen or twenty seconds with sets every ten minutes
if you're a surfer.
Once every two years if you're a governor.
Once every four years if you're the President.
Once every lifetime if you're Dan Quayle.
Four times a day if you're normal.
Four times a week if you're dehydrated.
Four times an hour if you've been drinking beer.
Four times a minute if you've been drinking Coors.
Once or twice a day if you're normal.
Once or twice a week if you're constipated.
Once or twice a minute if you drink the water in Mexico.
Six times a week if you're normal.
Zero if you're celibate. Hand jobs don't count.
Eight times a week if your SO lives down the street.
Twelve times a week if your SO lives with you.
Twenty times a week if your SO lives with you and your other SO
lives down the street.
Twenty-four times a week if both your SO's live with you.
Three per session if you're normal.
Zero per session if you're impotent.
Zero per session if you're celibate. Hand jobs don't count.
One per session if you're old.
Ten per session if you're horny.
Twenty-seven per session if you just finished serving four straight
years on a Navy sub or a state prison. Gradually tapers to three
per session.
Zero if you're an unmarried Catholic.
Zero if you're an unmarried Catholic with an SO.
Once a year if you're an unmarried Catholic with a fiance, but it
didn't really count because neither of you came, right?
Once a minute for the first two weeks of a Catholic marriage.
Twice a day for the first two years.
Once a day for the next three years.
Four times a week for the next five years.
Twice a week for the next five years.
Once a month with your spouse, twice a week with your lover,
for the next ten years.
Once every six months or so from now 'til death do you part.
Once every four years if you're an Engineering major.
Once every two years if you're a Physics major.
Once every three weeks if you're an English major.
Once every week if you're an Art major.
Twice a week if you're a stripper.
Three times a week if you're a high school football player.
Four times a week if you're a frat boy.
Four times a week if you're a sorority girl.
Fifteen times a week if you're a Tri-Delt.
Twenty times a week if your annual income is over $1 million.
Thirty-seven times a week if you're a gigolo.
Forty times a week if you're a prostitute.
Forty-two times a week if you're a high school cheerleader.
Seventy-eight times a week if you're Traci Lords or Barbara Dare.
Five thousand seven hundred fifty-five times a week in as
many different positions if you're Lisa.
Zero if you're John Holmes.
You owe the Oracle a pipe dream. And a signal generator.
I love you.
And in response, thus spake the Oracle:
Alas, but our love is not fated to be! You are a human damsel, but me .... I am but a pile of silicon bones, Who cares about nothing but zeros and ones. Who reads silly questions and answers them wrong With scraplets of story or poem or song. I'm short and I'm fat and I'm useless in bed For sexual pleasure or giving of head. My phallus is tiny, my smell is intense, I kiss like a landlord who's raising the rents, I come in ten seconds and then go to sleep Without even a "thanks" or a satisfied "<BEEP>." I'd make you wear leather and make you wear lace, And never allow you to sit on my face, I'd read every Playboy and compare them to you: "Your tits are like mushrooms just stuck on with glue." I'll whine that your ass is too flabby and fat And make you get rid of that horrid stuffed cat. I'll never have sex except right in the bed Between ten and ten-thirty, with a bag on my head. I must be on top, there's no other way (Except if you're pagan or leftist or gay.) No lust in the bathtub, no love 'midst the trees, In church every Sunday, and down on your knees. Our sex will be boring and flabby and quick (Except for some kinks which will just make you sick.) We'll meet in late April, be married in June, And travel to Pittsburgh for our sweet honeymoon. I will not use condoms, you can't take the pill: You were born to make babies and make them you will. I'll go be a banker, you stay with the babies And tend them through colic and measles and rabies. Oh, you can do something: campaign for Dan Quayle, And make sure he's elected three times without fayle. When the children are grown then we'll have sex once again-- Just once, 'cause I'll puke at your wrinkly skin. It's a wonderful life for you and for me, And highly approved by the great GOP! So speaks the Oracle, who is never wrong. You owe me your lovelife in exchange for this song.--Lemur
(If you've read every word and think you see through this, I'll hop on a bird and fly straight to St. Louis.;-)
Shit! Someone left a bomb here... Have about 3 minutes left... There are three wires running from the clock--a red one, a green one, and a yellow one... Which do I cut to keep the thing from exploding?
And in response, thus spake the Oracle:
-From: birnbaum@iuvax.cs.indiana.edu (Erma J. Birnbaum)
-Subject: The Oracle is responding to another question
Dear Sir or Madam:
The Oracle is currently busy responding to another question. Please bear with us for about three minutes and He will reply. Thank you.
Sincerely, Erma J. Birnbaum Hornswiggle (Secretary to the Oracle)
[Ed: Remainder deleted to save space]
My wife and I came home from a relaxing vacation and found the house in a shambles. The young woman who we hired to house-sit for us met us at the door and simply said, "We broke the waterbed, and...we bronzed the dog." Then she left.
Just what HAPPENED while we were gone?
And in response, thus spake the Oracle:
Only the best damn party this Oracle has EVER been to, and that takes into account the last three millennium ! I mean things got frisky, mighty fast. Um, how to begin this tawdry tale. Well, your house sitter is a personal friend of Lisa's, and Crystal Therapy's too. At first we were just going over to play twister when Crystal breaks out her stash of York Peppermint Patties. Do you remember the commercial about the guy who takes a bite out of one of those puppies and, next thing you know, he's skiing in his living room? No joke, they really pack a punch. I can't remember stuff this good since the days of BWP, (Berkeley Window Pane for the youngsters). I usually save half of one for the next Dead concert.
Anyway, Lisa said we really ought to get more folks to this little party, and if we did, she would play "The Lost Shepherd Girl and the Naughty Monk" with anyone who could get a hard copy of the current rules and regulations. Well, the place went wild. A couple of kids from Cal Tech made a make shift Time Space Continuum Connector out of your water bed. Seems the mattress is really good for cushioning a landing from more than 20 light years or 300 regular years away. The kids were kind of loopy though, they were washing down the York Patties with Aqua Velva and generally not paying attention to the transfer of a group of Elder Gods. That's when the bed broke.
Of course, your dog, being the faithful animal he is, er was, tried to stop it all. I'm not sure who from the party actually "did him" but I'm told by several on lookers that it was a most unpleasant sight. I helped bronze fido. You'll notice your collection of bowling trophies are missing, sorry, it was the only alloy we could get on short notice. We made him into a statue for two reasons. One, he can't tell anybody, (However, most of the evening's more lascivious practices are recorded on your VCR. I strongly recommend you not let the children anywhere near it). Two, Frisky really doesn't look too bad that way. I got most of the internal organs back where they should be, sort of. And really, the only thing that would tip you off that something isn't quite right with him, other than the complete lack of movement, is that utterly surprised expression on his puss. I don't blame him though.
Well, that's it. There's a message from your insurance agent. Apparently after we got the tear in the fabric of time fixed, things are still at a slight tilt in other dimensions. Those Cal Tech boys are really goofy. You are basically no longer in "Good Hands." Your agent was a bit more brusque, something about the "Good Hands being used to grab your balls and squeeze till your eyes pop" or some such. Ignore him, he's still pissed about the swirly he got from a group of really wasted cherubs.
You owe the Oracle another party, only this time without the Swat Team.
What is the fastest way to get to Ohio from Oklahoma. It's important!!! I need to get there for my bowl of ginsch!!!!
And in response, thus spake the Oracle:
Hmmm... I suppose you'd rather not hear something like: "Turn yourself into a photon and..." or other such impractical physics drivel. You want a plan!
Fine! Set fire to your terminal. Call the police. Tell them there is an arsonist in your building. When they arrive direct them to the terminal room. Sneak out and steal their car. (I will arrange for stupid policemen to be sent.) Drive to the airport with the siren on. Remove the shotgun from its mount and use on all toll booths, cabbies and pedestrians who get in the way. Aim car at airport terminal and dive out. Use the shotgun to rob a local pushcart vendor of a box of popsicles. Take said box to airport counter and explain that you have a frozen heart for transplanting and must be on the next flight to Oklahoma to save a life. When you are over your destination, use the shotgun to shoot open the side of the plane. The pilot will spiral down to equalize cabin pressure. Make a parachute out of the in-flight blankets, and jump.
Bizarre, dangerous, and felonious: you'll have to admit that it will get you there fast. For added realism obtain a real human heart and put it in the popsicle box. This will be a slight delay but will add to the drama of your story.
By the way, it's too late. I ate your bowl of ginsch.
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