I was wondering......

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I was wondering.....suppose yer only alloted so many things to eat in yer life....for example.....1,435 apples.....or 4,587 carrots....or say.....500,134 potato, potatoes, potatos....whatever......I mean.... "taters".....then "puff"......"phut!" yer gone....yer outta here.. OK....how about cups of coffee...yer only alloted 8,954 cups of coffee....and then "bang" yer dead......or maybe yer only allowed to see 4,785 sunsets.....or 6,789 naked people....then...."bang" yer outta here......or....yer only allowed 9,875,745 orgasmies.... then bang yer outta here....or maybe yer alloted 9 lives....and then bang....yer outta here.....maybe everything is preconceived. Maybe, it's a re-run. Maybe it's groundhog's day. I had a dream. This guy was allowed to say, "final answer?" 6,789 times....and then....."bang!".....he was outta there. Damn it...who has the book? Somebody's got all these numbers somewhere....I'd just like to see. So's I'd know how many damn beers I got left here....to drink.... I know I'm gettin' pretty close....then I'll have ta' switch to rum or somethin'.....

-- lotech [arnold] spazinski (lotech@ipa.net), March 07, 2000

Answers

If anybody is close...it's you Lo......

~~grin~~.......

-- sunflowergirl1 (dianne63@hotmail.com), March 07, 2000.


Dearest Lo: I saved a red tennis shoe for your from Quaatland Races. If you want to pick it up, send email. Yer not over 'til yer over...so keep on counting to see where the limit is. While you are fiddlin' around vplaces, come on in and spend some quality time with us? :-) *.*

-- sibil (sibil@excite.com), March 07, 2000.

Ahem... cough, cough. Mr. Spazinski, You are correct sir! It's only a dream. The magic number is directly related to the number of times you cross the street against the red light. From now on only trust the voices you hear in Excite's voice chat. Unless they have a note from their mother, people who claim not to have a microphone are not usually to be trusted and are most likely clones. Sincerely owing you a steak dinner or three, Myrtle MooCowan

-- Laighe of the Limberlost (laighe@excite.com), March 07, 2000.

*Waving at Laighe* Hey? who is eating the three steak dinners? Lo eats much less than he drinks. Who knows what product is labeled "Buckhorn"?

-- sibil (sibil@excite.com), March 08, 2000.

Well... a long time ago lotech was supposed to bring one or two of his sons to share dinner with me and my family. After all the help that lotech gave us we felt that a steak dinner and drinks, or just drinks if that's what he wants, is the least we could do to show our appreciation

-- Laighe of the Limberlost (laighe@excite.com), March 08, 2000.


whine, whine, cry, cry....I'm so overwhelmed that all my "old"....snicker, friends....are still about. Well, this is it. I'm personally baking a cake for each and everyone of you....and sending it....well, I don't think UPS picks up around here....so I guess I'll just wrap them in some kind of cheesecloth and send them off....gosh....I remember Arthur Godfrey singing...."If I knew you were comin' I'da baked a cake, baked a cake, baked a cake.....if I knew you were comin' I'da baked a cake, hotchado hotchado hotchado....".....and they thought old dead red haired men couldn't rap.....but, anyhow, I know you guys are tight and all that....and I even heard from the elusive Editrix......[dictated to a maseur whilst on the old treadmill]....ahem.....but anyhow......gee! so nice to see you all STILL here.....ok, me too! Mommy?

-- Arnold Spazinski (iwaslotech@excite.com), March 10, 2000.

editrix did write to you, you whiney baby. winey baby?

oh baby oh

anyway, good to see you back, old man. when I'm done with my treadmill (that's for another cardiac test, not fer me health -- no joke there), I'll write again and you can ignore it again. Sound good?

-- editrix (editrix@hotmail.com), March 10, 2000.


... and whatcha doin' at an ISP in Arkansas, Missouri, etc? You gone and bought that hog-farm?

-- editrix (editrix@hotmail.com), March 10, 2000.

Folks, I've been feeling guilty about a lot of things lately, and I'd like to take this opportunity to clear my conscience. First of all, sorry for not being a people person. Sorry for not being rich yet. Sorry for feeling so sick all the time. Sorry for making all those personal calls at work. And about all those hangovers, and getting up so late, and lying around the house all day reading magazines. And about bouncing so many checks and for accumulating all those parking tickets and only paying the minimum on my credit card bills. Sorry for not flossing and for missing all those PBS specials, and for immediately opening every newspaper to the sports page instead of the review of books, and for not seeing the face of Jesus on the side of my toaster-oven. And, of course, there's the budget deficit And the trade imbalance, for power walking, tie-dye, insider trading. Did I mention that I was sorry for not living up to my potential as an Elvis impersonator? And for not relating to my peers and for subscribing to Consumer Reports. Sorry that BMWs don't deliver the fulfillment promised in their ads. Oh, yeah, sorry about all that 3rd World debt, and the new class of poor, and well, there's Black Monday, the S&L scandal, for letting Exxon get away with it. And all those defense contractors on the take -- did I apologize for that yet? I'm feeling guilty just thinking about these things.

Folks, I'm real embarrassed about all this. I know I'm somehow responsible for all these problems. I'm sorry. Please, somebody, forgive me. Sorry about all those racial problems, and well, there's that tiny little hole in the Ozone level, the crack babies, those wacky contras, and Stephen Freind. For Jane Fonda, Pia, Sting, Bono, Frank Sinatra Jr., and Peter Tork For liposuction, Bhopal, self-actualization, quality time, Bess Myerson, plausible deniability, the children of the Woodstock generation, job enrichment, Joey Heatherton. I really mean it this time. I've always tried to avoid the appearance of impropriety. I'm sorry. I wish it weren't true. Oh, why me, Lord, why me? My head hurts. Sorry, but I'll tamper with my own Tylenol capsules thank you. Sorry for being so completely underwhelmed about everything. Sorry that we keep funding those billion dollar defense systems that we don't need. Sorry that the cost of a single Stealth bomber could feed Central America for years. Sorry for those stiffer sentences for drug addicts, who can then continue their addictions in prison without treatment.

Folks, I'm sorry, but I'm an old dog and I ain't learning any new tricks. This isn't Kansas anymore, Trigger's dead, and Sally Starr and Mr. Green Jeans are gone. I'm sorry -- I wish it weren't true. God is in heaven, good people, but all is not well in Mudville. In fact, Mudville is a godawful mess. Look, I know, nobody said it would be easy, but nobody said it would be pathetic either. So my advice is this: set your house in order, Ladies and Gentlemen. Deliver yourselves from unpleasantness. Make amends before it's too late! This is your final warning. Repent, you fucking savages, repent!!! This end is near. We can't be getting any closer to the beginning, can we? lotech thanks Mike Walsh

-- Arnold Spazinski (lotech@ipa.net), March 10, 2000.


Ye gods, Lotech has offspring?

-- Cardialgia (Cardialgia@rocketmail.com), March 10, 2000.


Hi Cardi, sweetie, [thanks for the blueberries you sent ~ BTW, did you question the ability to produce offspring? ~~or to "spring-off"? Lotech often sprung sideways too......*waving at lotech*

-- Sibil (sibil@excite.com), March 12, 2000.

Oh boy! A willing scapegoat! Now I have someone else to blame for my too fat thighs and other parts. And how about my, moles, freckles and green eyes? No, that can all be blamed on my parents. Hmm... Let me think - okay how about this - you can be responsible for all the books that get stolen from the library and all the homework that used to get eaten by family pets and younger siblings but please leave some guilt for the rest of us. Without guilt there is no civilization.

-- Laighe of the Limberlost (laighe@excite.com), March 15, 2000.

Mister Spazinski ... you still there? Mebbe ya ran outta beer?

-- editrix (editrix@hotmail.com), March 18, 2000.

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