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ISRAEL
In ancient Israel, it came to
pass that a trader by the name of Abraham Com did take
unto himself a young wife by the name of Dot. And Dot Com
was a comely woman, broad of shoulder and long of leg.
Indeed, she had been called Amazon Dot Com.
She said unto
Abraham, her husband,
"Why doth
thou travel far from town to town with thy goods when thou
can trade without ever leaving thy tent?"
And Abraham
did look at her as though she were several saddle bags
short of a camel load, but simply said,
"How, Dear?"
And Dot replied,
"I will place
drums in all the towns and drums in between to send
messages saying what you have for sale and they will reply
telling you which hath the best price.
And
the sale can be made on the drums and delivery made by
Uriah's Pony Stable (UPS)."
Abraham thought long and decided he would let Dot have her
way with the drums. The drums rang out and were an
immediate success. Abraham sold all the goods he had at
the top price, without ever moving from his tent.
But this success did
arouse envy. A man named Maccabia did secret himself
inside Abraham's drum and was accused of insider trading.
And the young man did take to
Dot Com's trading as doth the greedy horsefly take to
horse flesh.
And,
before very long, there were many others and They were
called Nomadic Ecclesiastical Rich Dominican Siderites, or
NERDS for short.
And lo, the
land was so feverish with joy at the new riches and the
deafening sound of drums,
that no one
noticed that the real riches were going to the drum maker,
one
Brother William of Gates,
who bought up every drum company in the land. And indeed
did insist on making drums that would work only with
Brother Gates'
drumheads and
drumsticks.
Dot did say,
"Oh, Abraham,
what we have started is being taken over by others."
And as Abraham looked out over the Bay of Ezekiel, (or
as it came to be known
"eBay"
)
he
said,
"we need a name that reflects what we are,"
and Dot replied,
"Young
Ambitious Hebrew Owner Operators."
"YAHOO",
said Abraham. And that is how it all began, It wasn't
Al
Gore
after all.
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While taxiing at London Gatwick, the crew
of a US Air flight departing for Ft. Lauderdale
made a wrong turn and came nose to nose with
a United 727.
An irate female ground controller lashed out at
the US Air crew, screaming,
"US Air 2771, where the
hell are you going? I told you to turn right
onto CHARLIE taxiway! You turned right on DELTA!
Stop right there. I know it's difficult for you
to tell the difference between C's and D's, but
get it right!"
Continuing her tirade to the embarrassed crew,
she was now shouting hysterically,
"God, you've screwed up everything! It'll take
FOREVER to sort this out! You stay right there
and don't move 'til I tell you to!
You can expect progressive taxi instructions in
about half an hour and I want you to go exactly
WHERE I tell you, WHEN I tell you, and HOW I
tell you! You got that, US Air 2771?"
"Yes ma'am,"
the humbled crew responded.
Naturally the ground control frequency went
terribly silent after the verbal bashing of US
Air 2771. Nobody wanted to engage the irate
ground controller in her current state. Tension
in every cockpit at the airport was running
high.
Then an unknown pilot broke the silence and
asked,
"Wasn't I married to you once?"
1849 DUEL
A
duel was fought between Alexander
Shott
and John Nott
in June 1849.
Nott
was shot and Shott
was not. In this case it is better to be
Shott
than Nott.
Some said that Nott
was not shot. But
Shott says that he
shot
Nott.
It may be that the shot
Shott
shot, shot
Nott,
or it may be possible that the shot
Shott
shot, shot Shott
himself. We think, however,
that the shot Shott
shot, shot not Shott,
but Nott.
Anyway it is hard to tell which was shot and which
was not.
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US
Actual
Analogies and Metaphors found in American High School Essays:
Her
face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two other sides
gently
compressed by a Thigh Master.
His
thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like
underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.
She
grew on him like she was a colony of E.coli and he was
room-temperature Canadian beef.
She
had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just
before
it throws up.
Her
vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
He was
as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.
The
revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of
his
wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a
formerly
surcharge-free ATM.
McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled
with
vegetable soup.
Her
hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.
The
hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry
them
in hot grease.
They
lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that
resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.
He
fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she was the East
River.
Even
in his last years, Grandpappy had a mind like a steel trap, only one
that
had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.
Shots
rang out, as shots want to do.
The
plan was simple, like my brother-in-law, Phil. But unlike Phil, this
plan
just might work.
"Oh, Bruce, take me!" she panted, her breasts heaving like a
college
freshman on a $1-a-beer night.
He was a
lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a
real
duck that was actually lame . . . maybe from stepping on a land mind
or
something.
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The
ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg
behind
her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
He was
deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if
she
were a garbage truck backing up.
She
was as easy as the TV Guide crossword.
She
walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.
Her
voice had that tense, grating quality, like a generation thermal
paper
fax
machine that needed a band tightened.
It
hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it to the
wall.
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