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A Dog's Diary
5:30am: Started the day as a hero! When the sound of the newspaper hitting the driveway roused me from my deep slumber -- the impact indicating the paper was much heavier than normal -- I realized that no one in the house was yet awake! I roused my master by licking him in the face. He appeared very angry with himself for having overslept, shouting and waving his arms. His ill temper even seemed directed at me a bit, which is silly since it is I who saved him from being fired. Funny thing though: He didn't go into work, but spent the morning leafing through the large newspaper and drinking coffee. He seems to do this once a week, and I don't know why.
7:30am: Invaders! The people who live next door came out into their yard, obviously getting ready to lay siege to our house. Snarling and barking, I let them know in no uncertain terms that I was prepared to tear them from limb to limb it they came any closer, and was able to repel the invasion. This is an almost daily occurrence; you'd think they'd learn. My master added his voice to the fray as well, yelling angrily. I am sure the people couldn't hear him, but it was nice of him to lend his support.
10:00am: I was forced to move, as the patch of sun in which I was lying had, for some reason, slid over a few feet. It's not easy being a dog.
1:00pm: I have the most thoughtful master in the world! While it's true he left me alone in the house for several hours, he did set out a treat for me on the kitchen counter. It was even gift-wrapped, a courtesy I wish he'd skipped, since it led to me having a lot of plastic in my teeth. The roast was delicious, though frozen in the center. I don't want to seem ungrateful, but crunching through two inches of rock-hard beef is hardly my idea of a delicacy.
2:00pm: Most unpleasant experience when my master returned home and was furious that I had not eaten the plastic wrap which had been covering my present. He kept pointing at the small pieces of Styrofoam and other debris and raving in a most irrational fashion. I'm sorry, but he should know that I can't eat that stuff; it makes my stomach upset. When he began rolling up a newspaper I realized he'd lost all reason and bolted for the front door, which was fortunately open just a crack.
4:00pm: Spent the afternoon with the girls. A most productive day; I was able to mark territory for two blocks. "Drip 'til you drop" is our motto. We had a small snack at an outdoor cafe we like, with meat scraps and bread served out of circular containers with easily displaced lids. Ran into that rogue Sebastian, who lifted his leg with irritating nonchalance -- does he think I don't know about his obsession with Muffy, that snotty schnauzer from down the road? Last month there wasn't a male in the neighborhood who couldn't be found outside her fence, and Sebastian was at the head of the pack. I let him know I want nothing more to do with him.
5:00pm: What a treat! On the way home a flock of ravens drew my attention to a squirrel that had been flattened by an automobile. After several days in the sun, the aroma was so delicious it made my nose quiver. I rolled in the wondrous fragrance for several minutes, and when I stood up I positively radiated eau de roadkill. Let Sebastian drool over Muffy -- he doesn't know what he's missing.
6:00pm: Of all the times to get a bath! My master, still in a foul mood, made me stand outside in the chill air while he shampooed and rinsed me several times. Every time I shook the water from my fur he, too, became drenched, and in the end he was shivering. Why in the world does he do stuff like this?
9:00pm: Time to sleep, though I am not allowed on the bed whenever anyone's home. Ah, the life of a dog.
author at bruce@wbrucecameron.com
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Thought of the Day
Never hold your farts in.
They travel up your spine, into your brain, and that's where you get sh**ty ideas from.
:banana:
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Brain Teaser - 3
Imagine you are in a sinking rowboat surrounded by great white sharks. How would you survive?
(Scroll down for the answer)
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Stop imagining!
(You may groan now)
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Bruce Gives Paternal Proclamations
The Cameron Column # 132
Paternal Proclamations
Copyright 2001 W. Bruce Cameron
==> Please, please do not remove the copyright from this essay <==
Long ago, I hit upon the inspired idea of issuing formal Paternal
Proclamations on matters of particular importance to my family,
which are to be treated with the same reverence and obedience as an
edict from the king. (My children refer to my decrees as "Dad's
Demented Demands.") I usually announce these mandates at the dinner
table, followed by a formal posting to the refrigerator, which is so
littered with papers and photographs it looks like a collage.
Being a benevolent dictator, I allow a period for public comment
following a dinnertime Paternal Proclamation, though once it has
been affixed to the refrigerator with a magnet it becomes the Law of
the House, Forevermore.
I, Wise and Wonderful Father: Children, I have a Paternal
Proclamation. Please stop eating for a moment and pay rapt and
worshipful attention.
Children: (Groan)
I, Wise Father: It has come to my attention that all of you are,
on occasion, leaving a good quarter of an inch of milk in the
bottoms
of your glasses. Since milk is an expensive commodity, and we do
not yet own a cow, you are forevermore required to finish your milk
at every meal. Any public comments before this goes on the
refrigerator?
Son: If we're throwing up, do we have to finish our milk?
I, Wise Father: No. If you are throwing up, you do not have to
finish your milk.
Son: What if the dog licked it, would I still have to drink it?
I, Wise Father: How would that happen?
My son proceeds to show me how, in the course of taking a drink of
milk, he might be seized with muscle spasms which fling him from
chair, causing him to fall to the floor and to thrust his cup out in
front of him. Our canine springs forward to assist in the
demonstration, burying its nose in the glass. I shake my head.
I, Wise Father: I really don't think that's going to happen.
Son: Well how about if there's a fire and you tell everyone to get
out of the house, should I stay and finish my milk even if it means
I will be incarcerated?
Daughter: I think you mean incinerated.
Son: What?
I, Wise Father: No, if there's a fire, you don't have to finish
your milk.
Daughter: "Incinerated" means burned up. "Incarcerated" means
being arrested.
Son: That's what I meant.
Daughter: What do you mean, that's what you meant?
Son: I meant what if I was arrested.
Daughter: No, you didn't! You said if the house was on fire!
Son: Well, what if I started the fire, wouldn't I be arrested?
Daughter: You never said you started the fire!
Son: Dad, if I were arrested for starting the fire, would I still
have to finish my milk?
Daughter: This is so stupid.
I, Wise Father: Well, yes, if you were arrested, you would still
have to finish your milk.
Son: That's not fair!
Daughter: It does seem like if you were arrested you shouldn't
have to finish your milk.
I, Wise Father: How does that make any sense?
Daughter: I told you this was stupid.
Son: What if the only way to put out the fire was to pour milk on
it, wouldn't you be glad then?
I, Wise Father: Glad about what?
Daughter: What you should do is a Demented about stupid
conversations.
I, Wise Father: Stop calling them that; they're Proclamations.
Son: What if we're out of milk? Can we drink root beer?
I, Wise Father: What?
Daughter: Hey, he's kicking me under the table!
Son: You're nothing but a big baby.
I, Wise Father: Stop kicking your sister.
Daughter: He's kicking me! (Stands up, knocking over her milk
glass.)
I, Wise Father: Hey!
Son: (After studying the white stain.) Dad? What if we spill our
milk, do we have to drink it then?
Thus ends the period of public comment, and in due course the
Proclamation is pressed to the layered surface of the refrigerator,
held in place by a magnet with sufficient strength to penetrate two
years' worth of elementary school art and a photograph of me that my
children improved by adding a mustache and a tattoo of a fish on my
forehead. So from now on, the Cameron children must finish their
milk.
Well, unless there's a fire.
Write to the author at bruce@wbrucecameron.com
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++
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How to Build a Better Toaster
Toaster Software Development Project History
Day 1: My boss, an engineer from the pre-CAD days, has successfully brought a generation of products from Acme Toaster Corp's engineering labs to market. Bob is a wonder of mechanical ingenuity. All of us in the design department have the utmost respect for him, so I was honored when he appointed me the lead designer on the new Acme 2000 Toaster.
Day 6: We met with the president, head of sales, and the marketing vice president today to hammer out the project's requirements and specifications. Here at Acme, our market share is eroding to low-cost imports. We agreed to meet a cost of goods of $9.50 (100,000). I've identified the critical issue in the new design: a replacement for the timing spring we've used since the original 1922 model. Research with the focus groups shows that consumers set high expectations for their breakfast foods. Cafe latte from Starbucks goes best with a precise level of toast browning. The Acme 2000 will give our customers the breakfast experience they desire. I estimated a design budget of $21,590 for this project and final delivery in seven weeks. I'll need one assistant designer to help with the drawing packages. This is my first chance to supervise!
Day 23: We've found the ideal spring material. Best of all, it's a well-proven technology. Our projected cost of goods is almost $1.50 lower than our goal. Our rough prototype, which was completed just 12 days after we started, has been servicing the employee cafeteria for a week without a single hiccup. Toast quality exceeds projections.
Day 24: A major aerospace company that had run out of defense contractors to acquire has just snapped up that block of Acme stock sold to the Mackenzie family in the '50s. At a company wide meeting, corporate assured us that this sale was only an investment and that nothing will change.
Day 30: I showed the Acme 2000's exquisitely crafted toast-timing mechanism to Ms. Primrose, the new engineering auditor. The single spring and four interlocking lever arms are things of beauty to me.
Day 36: The design is complete. We're starting a prototype run of 500 toasters tomorrow. I'm starting to wrap up the engineering effort. My new assistant did a wonderful job.
Day 38: Suddenly, a major snag happened. Bob called me into his office. He seemed very uneasy as he informed me that those on high feel that the Acme 2000 is obsolete - something about using springs in the silicon age. I reminded Bob that the consultants had looked at using a microprocessor but figured that an electronic design would exceed our cost target by almost 50% with no real benefit in terms of toast quality. "With a computer, our customers can load the bread the night before, program a finish time, and get a perfect slice of toast when they awaken," Bob intoned, as if reading from a script.
Day 48: Bill Compguy, the new microprocessor whiz, scrapped my idea of using a dedicated 4-bit CPU. "We need some horsepower if we're gonna program this puppy in C," he said, while I stared fascinated at the old crumbs stuck in his wild beard. "Time-to-market, you know. Delivery is due in three months. We'll just pop this cool new 8-bitter I found into it, whip up some code, and ship to the end user."
Day 120: The good news is that I'm getting to stretch my mechanical-design abilities. Bill convinced management that the old spring-loaded, press-down lever control is obsolete. I've designed a "motorized insertion port," stealing ideas from a CD-ROM drive. Three cross-coupled, safety-interlock micro switches ensure that the heaters won't come on unless users properly insert the toast. We're seeing some reliability problems due to the temperature extremes, but I'm sure we can work those out.
Day 132: New schedule: We now expect delivery in three months. We've replaced the 8-bitter with a Harvard-architecture, 16-bit, 3-MIPS CPU.
Day 172: New schedule: We now expect delivery in three months.
Day 194: The auditors convinced management we really need a graphical user interface with a full-screen LCD. "You're gonna need some horsepower to drive that," Bill warned us. "I recommend a 386 with a half-meg of RAM." He went back to design Revision J of the PC board. Day 268: New schedule: We now expect delivery in three months. We've cured most of the electronics' temperature problems with a pair of fans, though management is complaining about the noise. Bob sits in his office all day, door locked, drinking Jack Daniels. Like clockwork, his wife calls every night around midnight, sobbing. I'm worried about him and mentioned my concern to Chuck. "Wife?" he asked. "Wife? Yeah, I think I've got one of those, and two or three kids, too. Now, let's just stick another meg of RAM in here, OK?"
Day 290: We gave up on the custom GUI and are now installing Windows CE. The auditors applauded Bill's plan to upgrade to a Pentium with 32 Mbytes of RAM. There's still no functioning code, but the toaster is genuinely impressive. Four circuit boards, bundles of cables, and a gigabit of hard-disk space. "This sucker has more computer power than the entire world did 20 years ago," Bill boasted proudly.
Day 384: Toast quality is sub-par. The addition of two more cooling fans keeps the electronics to a reasonable temperature but removes too much heat from the toast. I'm struggling with baffles to vector the air, but the thrust of all these fans spins the toaster around.
Day 410: New schedule: We now expect delivery in three months. We switched >From C++ to Java. "That'll get them pesky memory-allocation bugs, for sure," Bill told his team of 15 programmers. This approach seems like a good idea to me, because Java is platform-independent, and there are rumors circulating that we're porting to a SPARC station.
Day 530: New schedule: We now expect delivery in three months. I mastered the temperature problems by removing all of the fans and the heating elements. The Pentium is now thermally bonded to the toast. We found a thermal grease that isn't too poisonous. Our marketing people feel that the slight degradation in taste from the grease will be more than compensated for by the "toasting experience that can only come from a CISC-based, 32-bit multitasking machine running the latest multi-platform software."
Day 610: The product ships. It weighs 72 lb and costs $325.
Bill is promoted to CEO.
-
Bruce Shares Driving Tips
Nothing is more gratifying for a business traveler than to return from a long, hard week on the road and have his loving children come running up and shout adoringly, "what'd you bring me?" (By the time you have a teenage daughter, the tiny bottles of shampoo from the hotel don't do the trick. Try diamonds.)
Also fulfilling is to have your family press you for the exotic details of the trip, and all you can remember is the airport, the rental car place, and the inside of the hotel--in other words, every city looks the same. The only difference is the way the people drive.
I've done a little traveling myself this past year, and, in an effort to have something to tell my children, I made special note of the way people in some cities handle their highways. Here is a quick coast-to-coast review:
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Boston
Driving in Boston is a bit like playing football, except that everyone else is on the other team. Boston drivers act like they're taking testosterone injections, with little old ladies sporting bumper stickers which say, "Call me Terminator."
The streets of Boston were laid out in pre-Revolutionary war times by drunken horsemen--it's possible to hit twenty intersections in a hundred yards, all of them spilling cars into your path at oblique angles. Don't look for traffic signs; Bostonians think traffic signs are for weenies. Worse of all are the traffic circles, which suck in unwitting automobiles like a black hole pulling in interstellar dust. Oncoming vehicles do their best to keep you pinned inside the innermost crease. Your only hope of escape from a traffic circle is to whiz round and round at ever increasing speed until you are flung away by sheer centrifugal force.
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Kansas City
In Kansas City, drivers begin to prepare for an exit from the interstate by flipping on their blinkers and slowing down several miles from the turnoff. By the time they hit the off ramp, they are traveling no more than four miles an hour, and have been doing so for thirty minutes.
Come to an intersection in Kansas City and stop at a red light and everyone else stops too, waving in a most polite fashion for you to proceed. This can be very confusing, since they have a green light and you have the red--do the fools want you to break the law? Apparently so, for they will wait, beaming and nodding encouragingly, while other citizens pull up and smile at you as well. Three or four of these Stepford stops and you begin to long for the streets of Boston.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Detroit
The whole point of car travel in Detroit is to get where you are going at the fastest possible speed. The automobiles have a special switch which disconnects the brakes so no one will be tempted to use them during rush hour, which is a continuous, white-hot flash of cars screaming down the pavement at Mach 2.
Slow down due to friction or engine exhaustion while traveling in Detroit and someone will instantly slot himself into place in front of you. It really seems like you could put the car in neutral and coast--the line of cars behind you would keep you pressing ahead at the same berserk pace.
In some cities, the sight of a disabled or wrecked car by the side of the road will cause a slowdown in the flow of traffic, as everyone cranes their necks to see what happened. In Detroit, the same sight causes everyone to speed up, under the assumption that one less car means there is a gap up there somewhere to be filled.
Yet, no matter how fast they go, they are still stuck in Detroit.
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California
In California, people don't actually drive anywhere. They pull onto long, narrow parking lots called "freeways" and sit for hours with their engines running.
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Chicago
The automobile exists strictly as a source of revenue in the Windy City. Every dozen yards or so the cars are funneled through toll booths, sucking every coin out of your pocket like locusts stripping a corn field. These funds finance massive construction projects underway at every mile, building, it appears, more toll booths.
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Denver
Voted by the Windshield Replacement Workers of America as the best place in which to live, Denver's roads are buried in several inches of gravel that becomes airborne during high winds and sprays car windows like machine gun fire. Everyone in Denver drives a sport utility vehicle, not for the snow, but to get through all the sand on the highway.
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I'm sure the drivers in other cities have a few quirks as well; I just didn't go anyplace else. If you want to share some of your favorite anecdotes, please write me at bruce@wbrucecameron.com.
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Building By Committee
The church congregation decided to build a new church. They asked the deacons to look into the cost of materials and land. After the deacons got price quotes, they realized they wouldn't have enough funds to cover all the expenses without getting a loan. The interest rate was very high, so that was out of the question. After some deliberations they presented their findings to the congregation.
1. Because the cost of land was the highest, they decided to use the land the church was already on.
2. Because materials would have to be ordered special, they would use the materials from the existing building.
3. Until the new building was finished, in order to have services during the construction of it, they would use the old building.
Now THAT is a committee at work!!!
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Bureaucratic Babble
Bureaucrats -- What they say ... (What they mean)
We've all heard the language of the bureaucrat.
Did you ever wonder what they are *really* saying?
1. Above Critical ... (out of control)
2. Categorical Inaccuracy ... (a lie)
3. Terminological Inexactitude ... (a lie)
4. Strategic Misrepresentation ... (a lie)
5. Compliance Assistance Officer ... (a cop)
6. Contributions ... (tax payments)
7. In the Early Stages of Finalization ... (unfinished)
8. In the Earliest Stages of Finalization ... (not started yet)
9. Good Neighbor Policy ... (invading a neighboring country)
10. Great Restraint ... (what police officers, ie: Compliance
Assistance Officers, always exercise up until the moment
they are forced to shoot someone)
11. Judgement Lapse ... (a white collar crime)
12. Sanitize ... (to censor)
13. Suboptimal ... (lousy)
14. Nonperforming Asset ... (a bad loan)
15. Procedural Safeguards ... (red tape)
16. Rapid Oxidation ... (a fire)
17. In a Reduced State of Awareness ... (asleep or comatose)
18. Soft Targets ... (humans selected to be bombed or
otherwise militarily attacked)
19. Target Servicing ... (dropping a bomb)
20. Therapeutic Segregation ... (solitary confinement)
21. Terrain Alteration ... (saturation bombing)
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The Burial
One day, Timmy was in his backyard digging a hole. His neighbor, seeing him, said, "Hey,Timmy, what are you doing that for?"
Timmy replied, "My goldfish died and I'm burying him."
The neighbor noted, "Well, that's an mighty big hole for a goldfish, don't you think?"
Timmy glares back. "No, my goldfish is inside your cat."
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Burma Shave Signs
While these first short "signs" are from Cascade Express, there is information at the end of this piece which provides a very brief history of the signs and a link to a site with more information.
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I've read
These signs
Since just a kid
Now that I shave
I'm glad I did
Burma-Shave
We don't
Know how
To split an atom
But as to whiskers
Let us at 'em
Burma-Shave
(Anti-inflation series)
Bargain hunters
Gather 'round
For fifty cents
Still
Half a pound
Burma-Shave
No price increase
A man
A miss
A car -- a curve
He kissed the miss
And missed the curve
Burma-Shave
And my personal favorite, although
I doubt if it was ever a real sign:
Her guy's whiskers
Just don't phase her.
He shaves with
Electric razor.
Why bother with
Burma-Shave
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The Great Burma Shave Signs of Yesteryear
By Chuck Woodbury,
editor, Out West
Once, long ago, cars went slow and "super" highways were two lanes. One of the joys of driving back in those good 'ol days was reading the Burma-Shave signs by the side of the road. One after another, they told a little upbeat story, all with the punch line "Burma-Shave."
For those too young to remember Burma-Shave, it was a brushless shaving cream. Today, anyone older than 55 fondly remembers the red and white signs that advertised the product along America's rural highways and byways. On a nondescript stretch of road, where the best scenery might be a pasture with cows, the sight of Burma-Shave signs ahead was reason for celebration -- the monotony broken.
Special Seats
Reserved in Hades
For Whiskered Guys
Who Scratch
Their Ladies
Burma-Shave
http://www.outwestnewspaper.com/burmashave.html
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The Bus Driver
One fine day, a bus driver went to the bus garage, started his bus, and drove off along the route. No problems for the first few stops, a few people got on, a few got off, and things went generally well.
At the next stop, however, a big hulk of a guy got on. Six foot eight, built like a wrestler, arms hanging down to the ground. He glared at the driver and said, "Big John doesn't pay!" and sat down at the back. Did I mention that the driver was five feet three, thin, and basically meek? Well, he was. Naturally, he didn't argue with Big John, but he wasn't happy about it.
The next day the same thing happened-Big John got on again, made a show of refusing to pay, and sat down. And the next day, and the one after that, and so forth. This grated on the bus driver, who started losing sleep over the way Big John was taking advantage of him. Finally he could stand it no longer. He signed up for body building courses, karate, judo, and all that good stuff. By the end of the summer, he had become quite strong; what's more, he felt really good about himself.
So on the next Monday, when Big John once again got on the bus and said, "Big John doesn't pay!," the driver stood up, glared back at the passenger, and screamed, "And why not?"
With a surprised look on his face, Big John replied, "Big John has a bus pass."
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>An elderly gentleman of 85 feared his wife was getting hard of hearing.
>So one day he called her doctor to make an appointment to have her
>hearing checked. The doctor made an appointment for a hearing test in
>two weeks, and told the husband that meanwhile he could do a simple
>informal test to give the doctor some idea of the severity of her problem.
>
>"Here's what you do," said the doctor. "Start out about 40 feet away
>from her, and in a normal conversational speaking tone see if she hears
>you. If not, go to 30 feet, then 20 feet, and so on until you get a
>response."
>
>That evening the wife is in the kitchen cooking dinner, and the husband
>is in the living room, about 40 feet away. In a normal tone he asks,
>"Honey, what's for supper?" No response. So he moves to the other
>end of the room, about 30 feet from his wife and repeats, "Honey, what's
>for supper?" Still no response. Next he moved into the dining room
>where he is about 20 feet from his wife and asks, "Honey, what's for
>supper?" Again he gets no response. So he walks up to the
>kitchen door, only 10 feet away. "Honey, what's for supper?" Again
>there is no response. So he walks right up behind her. "Honey, what's
>for supper?"
For the fith time we are having chicken
-
AIN'T IT THE TRUTH!!!
Senior citizens are constantly being criticized for every conceivable deficiency of the modern world, real or imaginary. We know we take responsibility for all we have done and do not blame others.
HOWEVER, upon reflection, we would like to point out that it was NOT the senior citizens who took:
The melody out of music,
The pride out of appearance,
The courtesy out of driving,
The romance out of love,
The commitment out of marriage,
The responsibility out of parenthood,
The togetherness out of the family,
The learning out of education,
The service out of patriotism,
The Golden Rule from rulers,
The nativity scene out of cities,
The civility out of behavior,
The refinement out of language,
The dedication out of employment,
The prudence out of spending,
The ambition out of achievement, or,
God out of government and school.
Does anyone under the age of 50 know the lyrics to the National Anthem?
What about the last verse of My Country 'tis of Thee?
"Our father's God to thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing.
Long may our land be bright,
With freedom's Holy light.
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God our King."
Just look at the Seniors with tears in their eyes and pride in their hearts as they stand at attention with their hand over their hearts!
YES, I'M A SENIOR CITIZEN!
I'm the life of the party...... even if it lasts until 8 p.m.
I'm very good at opening childproof caps... with a hammer.
I'm usually interested in going home before I get to where I am going.
I'm awake many hours before my body allows me to get up.
I'm smiling all the time because I can't hear a thing you're saying.
I'm very good at telling stories; over and over and over and over...
I'm aware that children in other people's lives are not nearly as cute as those in mine.
I'm not really grouchy,
I just don't like traffic, waiting, crowds, lawyers, loud music, unruly kids, Toyota commercials, Tom Brokaw, Dan Rather, barking dogs, politicians and a few other things I can't seem to remember right now.
I'm sure everything I can't find is in a safe secure place, somewhere.
I'm wrinkled, saggy, lumpy, and that's just my left hand...
I'm having trouble remembering simple words like.......
I'm beginning to realizing that aging is not for wimps.
I'm sure they are making adults much younger these days, and when did they let kids become policemen?
I'm a walking storeroom of facts..... I've just lost the key to the storeroom door.
Yes, I'm a SENIOR CITIZEN and I think I am having the time of my life!
Now if I could only remember who sent this to me, I wouldn't send it back to them, but I would send it to many more!
Now- Have I already sent this to you???????
If so, I'll try not to do it again (for a while.)
-
Try This
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Think of a letter between
A and W.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Repeat it
out loud as
you scroll down.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Keep going . . .
Don't stop . . .
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Think of an
animal
that begins
with that letter.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Repeat it
out loud
as you
scroll down.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Think of
either a man's/woman's
name
that
begins
with the
last letter
in the
animals name
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Almost
there........
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Now
count out
the letters
in that name
on the fingers
of the hand
you are not
using to
scroll down.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Take the
hand you
counted with
and hold it out
in front of you
at face level
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Look at your
palm
very closely
and
notice
the
lines
in
your
hand
.
.
.
.
Do the lines
take the
form of the
first letter
in the
persons name?
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Of course not.......
.
.
.
Now smack
yourself in the head, get a life,
and
quit playing
stupid
e-mail games!
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Bruce on Health
Welcome to another session of Bruce the Answer Man. Today's topic: Health And Why It Can Be Good For You.
Q: I've been dieting for nearly a year and I've only lost three pounds. I'm getting discouraged. What should I do?
A: What you should do is gain some perspective. What difference does a few pounds make in the grand scheme of things? Consider our planet. Earth weighs trillions and trillions of tons, and the Sun, the most potent force in our solar system, is millions of times heavier. Are you more important than they are? Of course not! So why do you even own a device which measures weights in something as infinitesimal as a pound? Does your watch measure time in zillionths of a second? Does your kitchen have measuring cups for adding a tenth of a grain of flour? In my opinion, anything less than a billion tons is "one." So yeah, if you weigh more than "one," you should probably go on a diet.
Q: How can I calculate my body/fat ratio?
A: Well, if you have a body, and you have body fat, your ratio is one to one. If you have two bodies, your ratio is two to one, etc.
Q: I've heard that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life. Is this true?
A: How could that be true? Your heart is only good for so many beats, and that's it. Everything wears out eventually, so how could speeding up your heart make you live longer? That's like saying you can extend the life of your car by driving it more. Want to live longer? Take a nap.
Q: My wife says I should cut down on meat, and eat more fruits and vegetables.
A: Your wife just doesn't grasp logistical efficiencies the way you do. Look, what does a cow eat? Corn. And what's corn? A vegetable. So a steak is nothing more than an efficient mechanism of delivering vegetables to your system. Need grain? Eat chicken. Beef is also a good source of field grass. And a pork chop can give you 100% of your recommended daily allowance of slop.
Q: Is beer bad for you?
A: I normally don't like to answer questions which deal with my religious values, but I find this question so anathema I simply have to say something. Look, it goes to the earlier point about vegetables. As we all know, scientists divide everything in the world into three categories: animal, mineral, and vegetable. Well, we all know that beer is not an animal, and it's not on the periodic table of elements, so that only leaves one thing, right? My advice: Have a burger and a beer and tell everyone you're on a vegetarian diet.
Q: What is my "skin age?"
A: Well, how old are you?
Q: I'm 38 years old.
A: Well, I'd say your skin is at least that old, wouldn't you?
Q: At the gym, a guy asked me to "spot" for him while he did the bench press. What did he mean?
A: "Spotting" for someone means you stand over him while he blows air up your shorts. It's an accepted practice at health clubs, though if you find that it becomes the ONLY reason why you're going in, you probably ought to reevaluate your exercise program.
Q: What are some of the advantages of participating in a regular exercise program?
A: Can't think of a single one, sorry.
Q: I'm getting a little soft around the middle. Will sit-ups help this?
A: Definitely not! Look, when you exercise a muscle, it gets bigger, right? You should only be doing sit-ups if you want a bigger stomach.
Q: I thought it would be good for me to carry my clubs when I play golf, but last weekend some idiot almost ran over me with the golf cart!
A: Uh, sorry, I was reaching into my cooler and didn't see you.
Q: There's a lot of equipment available at the gym today, like the treadmill, the stair-stepper, etc. Which one do you recommend?
A: The strato-lounger.
Be sure to watch for additional installments of Bruce the Answer Man!
Write to Bruce the Answer Man at bruce@wbrucecameron.com
