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Posts Tagged ‘humor’

I was having a little fun on facebook last night, pondering what I would do if I ever have to set up password protected systems at work, that I would have a little fun with the passwords and names I pick…..


abbot-costello
co-worker: Hey, how do I get into that file share you set up?
me: Just type in the password.
cw: ok, what’s the password?
me: “I dunno”
cw: Huh? Then how do you get into it?
me: what do you mean?
cw: when you need to get into the share you set up, how do you connect to it?
me: I type in the password.
cw: but you just said you don’t know the password.
me: No, you asked me what the password was, and I told you… “I dunno”!

*long sigh*
cw: ok, ok – is there any other way I can access the files?
me: Sure, I threw them on a memory stick.
*hands over USB drive*
me: it’s in an encrypted file container. You just need to stick it in your computer and type in the pass phrase.
cw: Passphrase?
me: yeah, it’s like a password, but it’s a whole sentence complete with spaces. It’s more secure that way.
cw: Oh ok. That makes sense. So what is the pass phrase?
me: “I don’t know what the passphrase is”
cw: what? Then why in the hell did you give me the memory stick?
me: what do you mean? You asked me if there was another way to access the files, so I gave it to you.
cw: Yeah, and you said it needs a passphrase.
me: Yes, just type it in.
cw: Well, ok – then what is it?
me: “I don’t know what the passphrase is”

me: Look… It’s easy, just look for the file on the memory stick.
cw: and the filename for it is?
me: “what”
cw: The file container
me: yes
cw: What is the file container’s name?
me: correct.
cw: The file container is called correct?
me. No, it’s called “what”
cw: I dunno!
me: No that’s the password.
cw: What password?
me: No, “what” has a passphrase…..

cw: So how do I know if I have the right memory stick. Did you give it a label?
me: Yes, “ItsOnTheStick”
cw: What is on the stick?
me: Yes, it is.
cw: so what is the label?
me: no, “what” is the file container.
cw: I dunno
me: That’s the password.
cw: What password?
me: “what” has a passphrase.
cw: I don’t know what the passphrase is.
me: yes, exactly.

cw: *AAAAHHHHGGR* Alright, already. I’ll try to figure it out myself on the network. How do I find the share?
me: Just type in it’s netbios id after two slashes
cw: ok, and that is?
me: “TheName”
cw: yes
me: of course
cw: huh?
me: just type in ‘\\’ then ‘TheName’
cw: and what is the name?
me: No, what is the filecontainer
cw: I dunno!!
me: No that’s the password.
*coworker just shakes head and stares up at the ceiling*

me: I’ll tell you what, I’ll make it easier. I wrote up a wiki page. Just go onto the wiki and look for the words “if you want to access the file share”
cw: OK, and the words I’m looking for are what?
me: No what is on the memory stick!
cw: FORGET ABOUT THE MEMORY STICK FOR A SECOND. I go onto the wiki and search for the words….. *spreads out hands expectantly*
me: “If you want to access the file share”
cw: yes!!!!
me: well there you go!
cw: There I go what??????
me: *points at the USB stick again*

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Three young kids are being asked what they did on Christmas. One is a protestant, one is a catholic and one is an objectivist.

The first kid gets all excited when it’s his turn and says:

Oh oh oh, …we got up in da mornin, we has our brekfests – then the hole famiwee goes down to da church and we prays really hard to thank God for our presents. then we hurry home and we opens our presents and we play with all our presents all day!

The second kid is all excited too and says:

We got up an has our brekfastes too! Then we gots to opan all our presentes, then we go to da church and has da Christmas mass and we tank Jesus for our presents. Then we hurried home and we played with our presents all day!

Finally they ask the objectivist kid what he did on Christmas. He nonchalantly said:

“oh we got up and had a nice continental breakfast. Then dad said ‘It is time to celebrate!
So we got in the limosine, and he took me down to the toy warehouse and we looked at all the empty shelves.”

(all due homage to Dave Allen, R.I.P. for the original joke, slightly reworded for my O’ist friends)

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I was performing the blasphemous act of listening to Richard Dawkin’s book “The God Delusion” on my way home from work the other day, when I found I was thirsty.  So as soon as I got home, I grabbed a glass and filled a pitcher of water.  I threw the headset on while getting out of the car but was only half paying attention now as I noticed something in the glass of water.

marked water glassI quickly grabbed for the sharpie that I use to mark my CDs and DVDs with and put a line at the watermark in the glass.  Then I went into the bathroom across the hall, drained the pitcher and promptly poured the water in the glass into the now empty pitcher.  I shook the glass real good to get as many drops as I could then poured the water back into the glass.

I was amazed!  The water came up to the same mark!!!  I repeated this procedure at least a dozen times and despite a few droplets that could easily be accounted for after spilling onto the sink or the floor, the water line was identical to my original mark!

I was no longer listening to that goofy Dawkins fellow as I was bearing witness to the substance of divinity here in my little water glass.  Despite the chaotic nature of the universe, regardless how many times I attempted to re-arrange the molecules of hydrogen and oxygen, upon pouring them back into the glass they inevitably settled to the same level in the glass.

This cannot possibly happen by mere chance,‘ I thought and repeated the experiment three more times just to be certain.  No, it was definite.  Not only was there an obvious hand of a designer at work here to make the water and the glass and the pitcher, but the very presence of God himself had to be in the room with me!  How else could all those molecules fall into place ‘just so’ every single time I tried to disturb them? The holy one himself must have been moving them about as I poured them such that they would all settle in the glass to achieve the same level EVERY SINGLE TIME!

I quickly ran upstairs and out into the street where I ran up to anyone nearby showing them my miraculous discovery.  “Look!!!” I exclaimed, pouring the water back and forth before their eyes.  “The same level!” I would exclaim.  They would just look at me with an odd expression, one woman told her kids to go into the house, following the statement with a rather stern ‘NOW’ and at least one other guy grabbed the glass with a ‘thank you’ before taking a large drought.

Foolish non-believers!  They couldn’t see the hand of God at work.  I have determined after my mandatory meeting with the county mental health examiner next week, I am going to look for other proofs of the almighty in my fruit loops!

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(re-written based on a joke once told by Ronald Reagan*)

Once in early America an average man worked hard and earned some money, and he saved the money until he had a modest amount.  He heard word that they were opening up some frontier land so he quit his job, sold many of his possessions and purchased passage on a wagon train headed for the new land grab.

But he found upon arriving that a lot of the good land was already gobbled up by the new settlers and what little land was left was far less tillable, overgrown and at higher prices due to the steadily increasing demand.  So he looked over the varous plots and found most to be too hilly or too rocky or too wet and they were all much smaller than he’d hoped for.  But he wasn’t about to be let down on his dream so he found a reasonably flat piece of land that was considerably overgrown and rocky but that he thought he could turn around with dedication and hard work.

Due to all the new settlers moving about a town quickly sprung up in the county seat and soon along came a church.  Since the man came with basically what he could carry on his back and what money he had, he was often in need of supplies as he labored to turn his small stretch of land into a viable farm.  So once a week he would make the 4 mile trip to town to get  more supplies.

Every time he went into town, the new preacher would see him and recognizing that his was a face that he had not seen in church at Sunday mass, the preacher would always walk with him and try to talk him into coming to church.  The preacher would tell the man of all the blessings that a faithful man could expect and all the bounty that God could bring.  But the man would politely decline the invitation and suggest that he had far too much work to do on his land to make it a worthy and productive farm.

Thus was the case every week.  The man would go for supplies, the preacher would spot him and go into his pitch.  The man would politely decline.  But work hard he did, he moved the rocks a wheel barrel at a time to the edges of the property to build a small rock border around the entire plot.  He cut down and pulled up the weeds until this hands were raw.  He tilled at the soil finding more and more rocks and used the smaller ones to grade a cart path up the middle.  He cut some trees and built a small, modest house and eventually a barn.  And before too long, after pulling thousands of weeds and moving more thousands of rocks he began to lay down seed.

As the crops began to grow he had less of a need to go to town for supplies and his trips became less and less frequent and eventually, as his crops began to bear fruit he found that he barely needed to go at all.  But still, on what trips he made, the preacher always made a point corner the man and to tell him all about the wonderful blessings he could expect as a follower of God.

After a month had passed and the preacher did not see the man in town he began to wonder.  For all his attempts he hadn’t convinced the man to come to a single service.  Then one month became two months and two turned into three.  Winter was coming and the preacher decided he should make a trip before the weather gets cold to see what became of the man.  So the preacher ventured the 4 miles to where the man’s claim was said to be registered.

As the preacher rounded the corner of the country road he was overcome!  Despite the nearly unturned land on the neighboring plots where the other land grabbers had all but given up, here stood 8′ tall rows of corn, rows of tomatoes shining bright red in the sun.  Squash the size of a wash basin and melons as big as a small sow.  The preacher was amazed at the contrast between the bountiful farm and the surrounding land. His crops even rivaled the ones he’d seen on the more prime tracks of land owned by the members of  his parish.  At last the preacher spied the man hauling a basket overflowing with strawberries the size of one’s fist.

“Hallelujah!” exclaimed the preacher upon seeing the man.  “Hallelujah and praise the Lord!  Your land and your farm are like a miracle.  Your corn is taller than the eaves of your house!  And the ears appear as long as my forearm.  Your squash would fit but 2 to a cartload and the melons probably only one.  The tomatoes are so ripe and red… and those strawberries – oh those strawberries are downright divine!  It is absolutely amazing what the power of God and the work of man can do to create such a bountiful blessing!”

The man set this basket down and looked across his land remembering all the bleeding fingers, sore muscles, trip after trip with rocks and bundles of weeds and supplies from town and the hours tilling the soil, planting the seeds, pulling more weeds and tending to his crops.  But not wanting to be too unpleasant to the preacher he simply tipped his hat and said….

Preacher, you should have seen it when God was working it all by himself.


(*I’m not sure where Ronald Reagan got the joke, but I reworded the context considerably)

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A friend was talking to me prior to last Christmas and she was faced with a delimma.  She needed to figure out her boyfriend’s ring size without letting on that she was hoping to get him a ring for a gift.  I told her that if I thought on it long enough, I might be able to come  up with something ingenious.  I eventually settled on ‘take him bowling’ but before I did, my twisted brain came up with a bunch more, less than pleasant or productive ways to get the same information.  Thus the list that follows…

How (NOT) to get your significant other’s ring size:

  1. Take them to Grauman’s Chinese restaurant and theater in Hollywood and get them to immortalize their hands and feet in cement.  Come back later and measure the resulting cast.  (OK, this might require you bribing someone at Grauman’s)
  2. Take them some where and do something completely outrageous that gets you both arrested.  After you are released from police custody, file an Freedom of information act request to receive a copy of their fingerprints.  Measure the width to determine the circumference of their fingers.
  3. ‘Accidentally’ slam their hand in a doorjam or something similar and rush them to the E.R.  Then flirt with the x-ray technician at the hospital emergency room to get a copy of the x-ray.  Again, measure the result to calculate the finger size.
  4. Tell them you are on a nostalgia kick for old 80’s TV commercials.  Get out some Palmolive and pretend to be ‘Marge’ and soak their fingers in it.  Use the methods of liquid displacement to calculate the volume of their fingers.  Use the results to calculate the mass of the finger in question and derive the size.
  5. Buy a pair of leather gloves that you know are too small, and get him to try them on.  Be really insistent and pay close attention to just how far they actually do go on.  Then find other guys that would be willing to let you ‘know’ their ring size and pretend you are Johnny Cochran by making them all try on the gloves until you find someone with a similar fit.
  6. Start ‘fooling around’ or necking near a copy machine.  Keep losing your balance or making them lose theirs and then hit the ‘copy’ button by mistake.  You might get lucky and catch their hand in one of the copies and can use it to determine the size of their finger.
  7. Keep dropping small objects down small holes and asking their help to retrieve them until their finger gets stuck in one of them.  Measure the size of the hole after you use the left over palmolive to help them get their finger back out.
  8. For male ring size, if you buy into the old urban legend that correlates to the ‘size of a man’s hands’, you could always start by getting a tattoo like the one pictured below…

The 'Marilyn-Chambers-ometer'

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In that both of my parents were school teachers, we used to spend our summers up at the Canada Creek Ranch during the summer break from school.  Many of the other kids that were up there for the duration of the summer were also children of school teachers.  Sure, there were other groups of kids that would come and go, but the one’s that tended to be up there for the entire summer tended to all be teacher-kids and thus we ended up hanging around together a lot  more than any of the other kids.

One such kid was my friend Mark.  He was an outdoors dork like me.  In fact, Mark could be a bit more of an outdoors dork than me sometimes.  We were both skinny little guys at the time, but Mark had dark, thick rimmed glasses, brown curly hair and was seldom seen without wearing a fishing hat like something you’d see Marty Stouffer wearing.

That particular summer, Mark had picked up a nickname.  Both his older brother and my older brother got to calling him ‘Ulee’.  Mark had taken to reading any magazine on fishing, hunting or the outdoors that he could get his hands on, and doing whatever the article said.

He drilled out all his crank baits and put BB’s inside. He started re-painting all his jigheads in flame orange and chartreuse. He broke the barbs on some of his fish-hooks to make it easier to set the hook. He stuck reflective tape on his spoons. He started building special rigs for perch fishing even though there were very few perch in any of the lakes.  He even started learning and tying all sorts of knots for practice.

…and this here knot used to be used to tie indians to posts for target practice…” (ok, that’s a tad of an exaggeration, but you get the idea)

Someone – it may have been his dad, one of his many older brothers or maybe even my dad – suggested one day that if Mark saw one of Ule Gibbons TV shows that told you how you could eat tree bark, Mark would be out there scraping at the trees with his pocket knife inside of 10 minutes.  My brother Tim and Mark’s brother John were within earshot of the comment and the nickname stuck.

Mark’s and my families both had canoes.  With a little coordinating, we figured out how we could canvas any of the three main lakes in the cabin area by keeping each of our canoes on a different lake and fishing together.  For example, we found out one day that it wasn’t horribly difficult to carry my family’s Michicraft up over the hill between the Lake Geneva beach and down to Wildfowl lake.  From there, it was a short paddle over to the docks and then just a short portage across the road over to Horsehead lake.

On this particular day, we had a plan and we were on a mission. I’m not sure which one of us had gotten the crazy idea first, but we had both seen a bunch of snakes hanging out sunning themselves on a beaver mound near the back corner of Horsehead lake.  Neither of us had seen any rattles on any of them so we determined that they must be northern water snakes.  The only snakes with any kind of venom to worry about were the rattlers.  (Massasauga rattlers are the only pit viper in Michigan)

Northern Water Snake

Northern Water Snake

Our idea was to clobber one of those water snakes to get it’s skin.  I was already diddling in leather work at the time and Mark kinda liked the crazy idea as a change of pace.  It was like huntin!!!  And we were frankly getting bored with fishing every day.

So we hauled the canoe across the hill, then over to Horsehead and set off for the Beaver mound.  We weren’t disappointed either.  Even before we got close we could make out a whole slew of snakes already slithering down into the branches or off into the water.

We pulled up along side the mound and scanned the remaining visible snakes.  We wanted to make damn sure we didn’t see any rattles on any of them.  After looking good and hard but not seeing any rattles, we picked out a snake and proceeded to clobber it over the head ‘but good’.  (of course, not without a few misses, a whole lot of splashing and nearly tipping over the canoe twice)

The snake ended up in the water just off the edge of the beaver mound. Since I was the one that would likely get the job of skinning it, I got stuck with the job of scooping it up in the net.

I got the snake into the net and picked it up out of the water, pausing to let the water drip out of the mesh, then moved the net into the boat.  The next thing you know, the snake starts to move around.  Both of us panic!

Even though the idea of a northern water snake didn’t really skeeze either of us out, the thought of a snake squirming around inside of a wobbly canoe wasn’t the most pleasant notion to consider.   Of course, the first thing that came to my mind was to donk it over the head again.  But I didn’t want to rip a hole in my net either so I told Mark to get his paddle ready because I was going to dump the snake out into the bottom of the boat.

As I flipped the net over, the snake’s “fangs” hung up in the net.

Mind you, I already mentioned that northern water snakes don’t have fangs.  Massasauga rattlers have fangs.  Massasauga rattlers are the only snakes in Michigan that are considered deadly poisonous.  So, obviously, this snake must be a Massasauga rattle snake and not a northern water snake.

This is approximately the same thought process that was running through both of our minds at that very moment; me holding a fish net out at arms length with a half stupefied snake hanging off it by it’s fangs, Mark holding his paddle dangling out over the side of the boat.  Both of our eyes scanned down to the tail at the same time as we continued our thought process in sync with one another.  Nope, no rattle – what the…. ?!?!?

Now is about the time a real panic started to set in.  Now is also about the time it would have been appropriate for someone, anywhere nearby to start the song ‘Dance of the Cuckoos’ because events quickly degraded into a bad scene from a Laurel and Hardy movie.

Ahhhh, why does it have fangs?” I said.

uh… uh… crap! THROW IT OUT – IT’S STILL MOVING,” stuttered mark.

*wobble wobble* said the canoe.

“No wait, I have an idea!” I responded as I slowly lowered the snake’s body back onto the floor of the boat.

“What the heck are you doing?!?!” cried Mark, “Get it out!”

“No trust me…. He’s stuck in the net.  I’m going to stretch him out see?”  Realizing the snake was still somewhat out of it, I stretched his body out in a straight line using the net to keep him ‘hung up’ so he couldn’t move – much.

“If I stretch them out like this they can’t coil to strike.  Right?”  I asked the question in part to put Mark a bit more at ease, in part hoping he might answer it and do the same for me ” He’s still dazed anyway!” I added, hoping that if it wasn’t so, that saying it might just make it so somehow.

At that point I grabbed for my paddle with my other hand.  Before I completely set the snake down, I stuck the blade of the paddle right across the middle of it’s neck behind the head.

“Just like that see?  Now hit my paddle.”

"OK, now hit my paddle with yours!"

Before I could say anything, Mark swung his paddle out to the side and gave a hefty lateral swing.  In his panic state he almost took out my fingers in the process, not to mention that he made me lose my hold on the snake with the end of the paddle.

“DAMMIT ULEE!!! NOT FROM THE SIDE YOU IDIOT!!!  FROM THE TOP… FROM THE TOP!!!”

I quickly moved the blade of my paddle back onto the neck of the snake.  My shouting seemed to snap Mark back to a reasonable level of sanity and he made sense of the idea.  He gave the top of the paddle a good 4 to 5 thumps with his.

We both stood back as I released the pressure off of the paddle and placed the net over the top of the snake, keeping it’s fangs hooked up in the net for ‘additional safety‘ I thought.  After a few seconds we looked at each other and nodded.  Without needing to say a word, we quickly sat down and paddled back to the dock.

I’m not sure which one of us landed on shore first, but we were leaping out of the canoe at the same time without any need for further instruction.

After a few minutes passed, we determined the snake was really a goner this time but still didn’t have the nerve to take it back to skin it right away.  Instead we stuck it down in a shallow marsh puddle behind where we pulled up the canoe up and resolved to go hit the ‘Trading Post’ for a pop.  Then we would see if it was still wiggling by the time we came back.

It was a good 15 minutes, even from Horsehead lake, up the hill to the front gate of the Ranch on foot. So we figured that would be more than enough time to make sure it was dead.

Now I don’t know if those 4-5 whacks didn’t do the trick or if someone (or some critter) came by and spotted the snake, but there was no trace of it when we came back a half-an-hour later!  For the next few weeks we were extremely wary any time we fished Horsehead lake for fear there was an irked off rattlesnake wearing a neck brace lurking somewhere back in the bushes!

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?????????A farmer named Efrum was sitting on the bench at the local feed & grain supply store looking rather glum. His good farming buddy Clem came in and asked him, “Hey, why are you sitting here on this beautiful morning looking so down?”

Efrum just shook his head and replied, “Some thangs ya jest cain’t explain.”

“Aww come on Efrum, I’ve known ya mighty long stretch. What happened that’s so horrible?” Clem asked as he sat down.

“Well,” the Efrum said, “today I gots me up at der crack uh dawn and was lookin to milk mah best gurnsie cow. Juss as I gets the bucket ’bout full, she lifted her left leg and kicked over the bucket – covering me in milk.”

“Okay,” said the Clem, “but that’s not so bad.”

Efrum just lowered his head and muttered “Thar’s sum thangs yer juss cain’t explain,”

“So what happened then?” then Clem asked.

Efrum continued “Well I looks around the barn and found me a peice a’ rope, cut off a stretch and I took her left leg and tied it to the post on the side of the stall. Feelin I had that heffer licked, I sits me back down and continued to milk ‘er. Juss as I gots the bucket ’bout full, she took her right leg and kicked over the bucket – agin soakin me to da bone.”

Clem laughed and said, “Agin? Well cum on Efrum, you knows the old sayin – ‘yer can’t cry over dah spilt milk!’ It’s a beautiful day, it kin only get better!”

Efrum just let out a long sigh and replied, “Thar’s some thangs yer juss cain’t explain.”

“Um ok” said Clem perplexed “I take it thar’s more to this … so, what did you do then?”

“Well I took up what was left of dat thar rope and I took her right leg this time and tied it to the post on the other side. So, I’s sits back down and begun milking her again. And weren’t ya know it, juss as I gets that thar bucket about full, the stupid cow knocked over the bucket with her tail.”

“Hmmm . . . ” the Clem said and nodded his head. “That thar is a downer. But I kin see by yer face thars bound to me more to this here story”

Efrum nodded and begain “Some things…”

“Yeah yeah… you just can’t explain.” Clem added. “So, what did you do?”

“Wel I wern’t about to be bested by that durned cow,” the farmer said, “I din’t have no more rope, so I took off my belt!”

“Good thinkin! that’s usin yer noogin!” Clem chimed in.

“Yup so I thought too – So’s I’s tying her tail to up the rafter when the lack of my belt caused pants to fell down to my ankles. And also juss about that time my wife Ethel comes a walkin into da barn to see what all the fussin was about . . .

and Thar’s some thangs you juss cain’t explain.”

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