|
Joe Buck
|
 |
« on: July 13, 2008, 06:36:31 AM » |
|
Some kids were in the habit of teasing one of their group by repeatedly offering him a choice between a nickel and a dime. He always chose the nickel, "because it's bigger." One day, a friend took him aside and asked, "Don't you know that a dime's worth more than a nickel?"
The kid answered, "Yeah, but if I picked the dime they'd stop doing it!"
Contributed by Barry F. Anderson
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- An old Jew got a parrot from his sons after his wife died, to keep him company. He discovered that the parrot had heard him pray so often, that it had learned to pray. The old man was so thrilled, that he decided to take his parrot to the synagogue on Rosh Ha'shana (the Jewish new year). When he entered with the bird, the rabbi tried to protest, but when he told them the parrot could pray ("daven", in Yiddish), they got interested - though skeptical. People started betting on whether the parrot would pray, and the old man happily took all the bets. The prayer starts -- the bird is silent. The prayer continues - not a word from the bird. The prayer ends, and the old man, crestfallen, pays out the bets. On the way home he asks his parrot: "What did you do to me? I know you can pray, you know you can pray, I bet you can pray - and you let me down!". Says the parrot: "Look ahead, man, can you imagine what the odds will be like on Yom Kippur?". Contributed by Maya Bar-Hillel
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Sir, What is the secret of your success?"
"Two words"
"And, Sir, what are they?"
"Right decisions."
"And how do you make right decisions?"
"One word."
"And, What is that?"
"Experience."
"And how do you get Experience?"
"Two words"
"And, Sir, what are they?"
"Wrong decisions."
Version due to Jacques Barber
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- (From Olek's wisdom) Thinking - The Silent Disease*
It started out innocently enough. I began to think at parties now and then -- just to loosen up. Inevitably, though, one thought led to another, and soon I was more than just a social thinker. I began to think alone -- "to relax," I told myself -- but I knew it wasn't true. Thinking became more and more important to me, and finally I was thinking all the time.
That was when things began to sour at home. One evening, I turned off the TV and asked my wife about the meaning of life. She spent that night at her mother's.
I began to think on the job. I knew that thinking and employment don't mix, but I couldn't help myself.
I began to avoid friends at lunchtime so I could read Thoreau, Muir, Confucius, and Kafka. I would return to the office dizzied and confused, asking, "What is it exactly we are doing here?"
One day, the boss called me in. He said, "Listen, I like you, and it hurts me to say this, but your thinking has become a real problem. If you don't stop thinking on the job, you'll have to find another job."
This gave me a lot to think about.
I came home early after my conversation with the boss. "Honey," I confessed, "I've been thinking..."
"I know you've been thinking," she said, "and I want a divorce!"
"But Honey, surely it's not that serious."
"It is serious," she said, lower lip aquiver. "You think as much as a college professor and college professors don't make any money, so if you keep on thinking, we won't have any money!"
"That's a faulty syllogism," I said impatiently.
She exploded in tears of rage and frustration, but I was in no mood to deal with the emotional drama.
"I'm going to the library," I snarled as I stomped out the door. I headed for the library, in the mood for some Nietzsche. I roared into the parking lot with a social reportage on the radio and ran up to the big glass doors. They didn't open. The library was closed.
To this day, I believe that a Higher Power was looking out for me that night. Leaning on the unfeeling glass, whimpering for Zarathustra, a poster caught my eye: "Friend, is heavy thinking ruining your life?" it asked. You probably recognize that line. It comes from the standard Thinkers Anonymous poster. This is why I am what I am today: a recovering thinker. I never miss a TA meeting. At each meeting we watch a non-educational video; last week it was /Porky's/. Then we share experiences about how we avoided thinking since the last meeting.
I still have my job, and things are a lot better at home. Life just seemed...easier, somehow, as soon as I stopped thinking. The road to recovery is now nearly complete for me.
Today I took the final step. I joined the Republican Party.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Textbook bloopers (more wanted) "[Overinclusive thinking] is estimated to occur in 50% of all schizophrenics (Payne & Friedlander 1962). This figure, however, was based on a concept of overinclusion which was wider than the usual one."
J. Cutting, The Psychology of Schizophrenia (1985), p. 331. (Submitted by Michael A. Covington.)
"Varey and Kahneman (1992) told subjects that A must carry a 30-pound suitcase for 200 years, B must carry it for 550 years, and C must carry it for 900 years. When subjects were asked whether B's ``overall physical discomfort for the task as a whole'' is closer to A's or C's, most subjects thought it was closer to A's."
From Thinking and Deciding, 2nd ed., by Jonathan Baron. (Corrected in the 3d edition.)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Participants" wanted A Stanford Medical research group advertised for participants in a study of obsessive-compulsive disorder. They were looking for therapy clients who had been diagnosed with this disorder. The response was gratifying; they got 3,000 responses about three days after the ad came out. All from the same person.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Dead Grandmother/Exam Syndrome and the Potential Downfall Of American Society -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Seasons greetings On the 12th day of Eurocentrically imposed midwinter festival my significant other in a consenting, adult, monogamous, relationship gave to me:
Twelve males reclaiming their inner warrior through ritual drumming.
Eleven pipers piping (plus an 18 member pit orchestra made up of members in good standing of the Musicians Equity Union as called for in their union contract, even though they will not be asked to play a note.)
Ten melanin deprived testosterone poisoned scions of the patriarchal ruling class system leaping.
Nine persons engaged in rhythmic self-expression.
Eight economically disadvantaged female persons stealing milk products from enslaved bovine Americans.
Seven endangered swans swimming on federally protected wetlands.
Six enslaved fowl-Americans producing stolen non-human animal products.
Five golden symbols of culturally sanctioned enforced domestic incarceration.(After members ofl the Animal Liberation Front threatened to tthrow red paint at my computer, the calling birds, hens and partridge have been reintroduced to their native habitat. To avoid further Animal-American enslaavement, the remaining gift package has been revised.)
Four hours of recorded whale songs.
Three deconstructionist poets.
Two Sierra Club calendars printed on recycled processed tree carcasses, and
One Spotted owl activist chained to an old-growth pear tree.
Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Good Kwanzaa,, Blessed Yule, and Happy Holidays*
*unless you are suffering from seasonally affected disorder(SAD). If this is the case, please substitute this gratuitous call for celebration with the suggestion that you have a thoroughly adequate day.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Florida election recount -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [Original title: "Pavlov's birds" - obviously not from a psycholgist] An MIT student spent an entire summer going to the Harvard football field every day wearing a black and white striped shirt, walking up and down the field for ten or fifteen minutes throwing birdseed all over the field, blowing a whistle and then walking off the field. At the end of the summer, it came time for the first Harvard home football game, the referee walked onto the field and blew the whistle, and the game had to be delayed for a half hour to wait for the birds to get off of the field. The guy wrote his thesis on this, and graduated.
|