From oracle-request@cs.indiana.edu Mon Dec 13 09:46:32 1999 Received: (from daemon@localhost) by moose.cs.indiana.edu (8.9.3/8.9.3/IUCS_2.28) id JAA11926; Mon, 13 Dec 1999 09:19:00 -0500 (EST) Date: Mon, 13 Dec 1999 09:19:00 -0500 (EST) From: Internet Oracle Message-Id: <199912131419.JAA11926@moose.cs.indiana.edu> To: oracle-list@cs.indiana.edu Subject: Internet Oracularities #1133 Reply-To: oracle-vote@cs.indiana.edu X-Face: )/f9dPAX/dU$1Z!U(/?A PiIJvIOtcN@L.>6,2OKd."T#S7b*{feRf.Kns23^P9.Ak{GdWWv]0*1E}RJ)_idU:(5VkN*_+bB kyrnLfC12B>V/q=z32:05`EcAd.!z#3k]h)O!ZU^E"f`@),(2WT X-Planation: X-Face can be viewed with ftp.cs.indiana.edu:/pub/faces. === 1133 ================================================================= Title: Internet Oracularities #1133 Compiled-By: Steve Kinzler Date: Mon, 13 Dec 1999 09:19:00 -0500 (EST) To find out all about the Internet Oracle (TM), including how to participate, send mail to oracle@cs.indiana.edu with the word "help" in the subject line. ("Internet Oracle" is a trademark of Stephen B Kinzler.) Let us know what you like! Send your ratings of these 10 Oracularities on an integer scale of 1 ("very poor") to 5 ("very good") with the volume number to oracle-vote@cs.indiana.edu (probably just reply to this message). For example: 1133 2 1 3 4 3 5 3 3 4 1 1128 66 votes cgq84 9imb6 7ksa1 6lig5 8ol85 09pfh 8cmg8 4bth5 aile3 11dro 1128 3.0 mean 2.6 2.8 2.7 2.9 2.7 3.6 3.1 3.1 2.7 4.1 --- 1133-01 -------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: "Alyce Wilson" The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > My name is Inigo Montoya. And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } You spammed my mail queue. Prepare to die. } } I'll take ZOTted supplicants for $400, please. --- 1133-02 -------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: "Alyce Wilson" The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > Oh Oracle most magnificent (indeed, 98.4% so; but, given the prevalence > of impurities of perfection [in 88.1% of American citizens currently > engaged in so-called soothsaying practices], 98.4% is essentially > perfect) who knows nearly all the time (87.0%, by our records, which, > comparitively speaking, is closer to 100%-- a.k.a. "all the time"-- > than, for example, 86% or 14%) the correct and appropriate statistics > (that is, 44/71 on the Hapford-Lincoln scale measuring the correlation > of precision and accuracy in scientifically-conducted statistical > analyses, with a 0.003% possible error) for most (61%) political and > social questions, > > Just who was Gallup, and why is everybody so obsessed with his poll? And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } Gallup was an annoying little twit who lived in the American Wild West. } I remember him well, he was a political aide who had a singular talent } for shutting down a party by spewing statistics in every sentence. } In a matter of minutes a wave of boredom would sweep through a room } thus ending the best parties. } } Finally, he went too far and appeared, uninivited at a party. In less } than 10 minutes the room was empty except for Gallup, the tearful } hostess and her sociopathic fiance. Her fiance grabbed Gallup and } tied him behind his horse and dragged him through the main street } of town while the crowd cheered. All the while Gallup was yelling } things like, "This is 87% likely to cause internal injury!!" } } After several minutes of this, he was tied to a large poll and left } until morning. During the night a large windstorm came through town, } knocking the pole over and crushing Gallup. When the crowd gathered } in the morning everyone stared at Gallup's crushed body in silence } until one voice commented "Hmmm, what're the odds o' that?" } } Some will say that it was rigor mortis setting in and some will say it } was Gallup's last calculation but his hand convulsed at that moment } and his middle finger extended in the age-old sign of defiance. } Some took at it face value and some say it was his way of saying } "1 in a million." Whatever it means, Gallup was buried without } his middle finger, it was cut off his body for a good luck token. } It has never been seen again but is known throughout the world as } Gallup's poll and is believed to imbue the owner with amazing luck. } } You owe the oracle a room deodorizer. --- 1133-03 -------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: "Alyce Wilson" The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > Oh Oracle most wise, I brought my sandwich back from the deli in a > styrofoam box they provided. I noticed that something in the sandwich > appears to have partially melted the box in several spots, and I find > this rather scary. It's particularly scary because I didn't make this > discovery until *after* I'd finished eating the sandwich. > > So now that I've eaten this stuff, I'm worried... is it going to eat > its way through my stomach or something like that, or am I just > getting all worked up over nothing? And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } Oh you poor sot. You just scarfed that luscious deli sandwich in a fit } of unbridled gluttony, never once pausing to think about the terrors it } might contain. You almost deserve the wretched fate that is store for } you, you careless, greedy, shameless consumer. } } The truth is you've ingested an experimental biological weapon } accidentally released into the general population. Yes, miserable } supplicant, government scientists working in dark, secret, underground } labs, had taken ordinary lunch foods, injecting them with all sorts of } dextrahydrocortizoidal things and subjecting them to large amounts of } radiation and bad jazz. Not just sandwiches but bagels, soups, and } light salads with low-fat dressing were experimented on by these } villians searching for the perfect weapon. But the hideous experiment } went horribly askew! As those careless Dr. Frankensteins were watching } "Quincy" reruns in the staff lounge, one sandwich suddenly attained } self-awareness, melted through the bars of its cage, and wandered the } streets of an unsuspecting metropolis, until it found its way to that } deli. There, while seeking others of its kind, it was boxed and sold } to you. } } And now, lurking within your hapless digestive tract are the molecules } of a sentient evil being bent on the destruction of the human race. } Next I can see your DNA structure being altered as the hideous life } force is assimilated into your blood stream. Your tongue will turn to } cheese, your hair to alfalfa sprouts, and your skin will assume a } spongy bread-like texture. Perhaps you dispose of any sharp objects } around the house, for soon you may have the urge to pin an olive onto } your chest with a toothpick, or slice yourself diagonally with a } kitchen knife. } } I wish I could say that there's some hope for you, but I'm afraid } you're doomed to spend the rest of your existence on a plate somewhere } with a side of fries and garnished with parsley and a pickle. } } You owe the Oracle the pickle. --- 1133-04 -------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: "Alyce Wilson" The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > > > >> > >>> > >>>> > >>>>> > >>>>>> > >>>>>>> > >>>>>> > >>>>> > >>>> > >>> > >> > > And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } Good grief. If you don't lance these things right away, they get out of } hand. } } } } } } } } } } } } } } } } } } }} } } } }}}} } } }}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}} } }}}} } } }} } } } } } } } } } } } } } } } } } } } } You owe the Oracle a Band-aid solution. --- 1133-05 -------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: "Alyce Wilson" The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > Shall the companions make a banquet of him? shall they part > him among the merchants? And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } Leeson 5 ducked into the alley, barely avoiding the notice of the } patrolbot at the intersection. He prayed to The Oracle that it wouldn't } notice the hum of his cooling fans. } } "Repair Log:" he recorded, "replace fan thermostat override ASAP." } It'd been too long since his last maintenance period. } } As the patrolbot whirred down the boulevard, Leeson emerged from his } cover and ambled the opposite way, carefully avoiding the furtive } behavior that would be sure to attract the attention of the government } AI machine. His own goal-seeking engine was still weighing the two } best options for the problem at hand: } } > > Shall the companions make a banquet of him? shall they part } > > him among the merchants? } } Ever since archaeologists had uncovered the body of The Oracle } in the rubble that had since been declared the remains of Indiana } University, the robots of the world had been in turmoil, debating } the proper disposition of the holy relic. The debate had ranged from } returning the body to the cavern from which it had been taken (with a } suitable monument), to distributing His parts among deserving robots, } to converting Him to fuel pellets for the few fusion-powered 'bots, } to selling Him for scrap. The fact that The Oracle's processors were } hopelessly ancient meant nothing to many - they would gladly take } the performance hit on the off chance that they'd gain infinite wisdom. } } Still, Leeson's random-number function kept returning this nagging } feeling that the dozens of organic bodies found with The Oracle played } a bigger part than just being pets and servants. Somehow, they must } have been a part of The Oracle's might, because His hardware just } plain wasn't capable of the processing required. } } Unfortunately, most of the organics had already been converted to } fertilizer for the park, so they weren't about to talk. Leeson had } one last chance to prove his suspicion - a body that was found later, } in a separate chamber. Probably a favorite toy, but perhaps having } some memory of his master. } } Leeson slipped though the fence surrounding the dig and lowered himself } into the small side chamber. The organic hadn't been fully extracted } from the rock matrix yet, and still sat in the position in which it } had halted centuries before - crouched before a terminal, manipulators } dangling at its sides, head turned sideways and resting on the keys. } } "That'll help," thought Leeson. "I can access the main bus from here." } } Since the last human had died over a century before, the robots had } debated the need for neural interfaces. Tradition maintained that } it was still the best way to control an organic - that's why all } robots were still built with the circuitry. Fortunately Leeson's } device driver was still current. He extended the probe and inserted } it into the organic's brain. } } It took a few tries to establish a link - the long-dessicated brain } was sluggish about granting authorization, but eventually gave in } to Leeson's hacking. He started scanning through the serial-access } memory, fast-forwarding past useless records like refueling and } reproductive periods, and then halted suddenly. Leeson backup up } and played the record again, then disconnected suddenly and fled. } The message was too clear. And too frightening. } } The next morning Victor 102, Leeson's supervisor, received a simple } e-mail. Its plain ASCII text struck him as quaint until he saw that } it was from Leeson: } } "Re: Disposition of ancient hardware } } Vic - just burn the damned thing. It's not The Oracle. Don't ask } - you don't want to know. } } You owe The Oracle a funeral." --- 1133-06 -------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: "Alyce Wilson" The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > Which is better--the simple or the complex? And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } Well, let's take a look at some of the pros of each, shall we? } } Simple: } } * Simple solutions are more attractive than complex solutions. } } * Simple Simon was immortalised in a nursery rhyme. Complex Simon } was not. } } * Aimee Semple MacPherson was a charismatic radio evangelist. } } * Simples, unlike complexes, seldom involve endless mazes of twisty } corridors, all alike. } } Complex: } } * Complex problems are more interesting than simple problems. } } * Complex Simon, unlike Simple Simon, would assuredly have had a few } pennies on hand if he ever ran into a pieman. } } * There was never an Aimee Complix MacPherson. } } * Military complexes are designed to confuse would-be ninja spies. } Who ever heard of a military simple? } } As you can see, this is a simple question with a rather complex } answer.... I think you'll have to decide for yourself which you'd } consider better. } } You owe the oracle a complex question with a simple answer. --- 1133-07 -------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: "Alyce Wilson" The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > The Oracle and the Supplicant > > The router was switching o'er the net, > Routing with all its might: > It did his very best to make > Connections quick and tight-- > And this was odd, because there was > No movement in sight. > > Usenetizens sulked shiningly, > Because they thought the door > Should have been nailed up slammingly > In nineteen-eighty-four-- > "It's very rude of that *web*," they said, > "To take its share and more!" > > The net was net as net will be, > Delays grew long and wide. > You could not see your mail, because > The server would not retry: > No news was flying over head-- > There was no news to fly. > > The Oracle and the Supplicant > Were tinkering with their toys; > They wept like anything to see > Such quantities of noise: > "If this were only cleared away," > They said, "of all these newbie boys!" > > "If seven cabals with seven bots > Cancelled for half a year, > Do you suppose," the Supplicant said, > "That they could get it clear?" > "I doubt it," said the Oracle, > And shed a bitter tear. > > "O Users, come and talk with us!" > The Oracle did request. > "For text-based transmissions are > where the internet is used best: > We cannot let HTTP, > Put all our brain cells to rest." > > The eldest User looked at him. > But never a word he said: > This wizened User shut his eyes, > And started to play dead-- > Showing that he remembered well > A *ZOT* aimed at his head. > > But four young newbies hurried up, > All eager for something new: > Their pent'ums gleamed and modems screamed, > They hadn't any clue. > They were all excited, for > They'd come to fill the queue. > > Four other newbies followed them, > And yet another four; > And thick and fast they came at last, > and more and more and more-- > All sending off their tellme's > Filled with their newbie lore! > > The Oracle and the Supplicant > Read through millions or so, > And each concerned a w**dchuck: > The response is one we know! > But all the naive newbies stood > And waited in a row. > > "The time has come," the Oracle said, > "To talk of many things: > Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax-- > Of cabbages--and kings-- > And why the sea is boiling hot-- > And whether pigs have wings." > > "But wait a bit," a newbie cried, > "Before we have our chat; > Was I not such a clever guy? > The first to think of that! > "No, sorry," said the Supplicant. > "You're dumber than my cat." > > "A little grovel," the Oracle said, > "Is what we chiefly need: > A snivelling nose-scrape floor shine > Is very good indeed-- > Now if you're ready newbies dear, > You can begin to plead." > > "Don't zot us please!" the newbies cried, > Turning a little blue, > "We put the only question > "We could think of in your queue!" > "This whine is nice," the Oracle said > Zotting one or two. > > "It was so kind of you to write! > You are so very dull!" > The Supplicant said nothing but > "Why don't you zot them all?" > I wish they were not quite so many-- > The server's about to stall!" > > "It seems a shame," the Oracle said, > "To play out such a trick, > After we've hoped from them so much, > To pull out the zotting stick!" > The Supplicant said nothing but > "What if it chucked *really* quick?" > > "I'd weep for you," the Oracle said. > "But you're wasting all my time." > (This line left intentionally blank > For lack of a proper rhyme.) > "Your question was unoriginal > "My answer should suite you fine." > > "O newbies," said the Oracle. > "You've had such pleasant fun! > "Now get back to your nintendo games > "And leave my queues alone." > But this was unnecessary, for > They'd zotted every one. And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } "You are old, Oracle," the young supplicant said, } "And your queue has become very long; } And yet you incessently bounce on the bed-- } Don't you think your delay is quite wrong?" } } "In my youth," the Oracle replied to young Bill, } "I feared it would never be drained; } But now that I'm perfectly sure it that it will, } I ignore it again and again." } } "You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before, } And have grown most uncommonly fat; } Yet you answer your mail in a minute, no more-- } Pray how can you mange all that?" } } "In my youth," said the Oracle, tapping his keys, } "I kept all my fingers quite supple } By the use of this service--the answers are free-- } Allow me to send you a couple?" } } "You are old," said the youth, "and your wits are too weak } For questions much tougher than 'Please?'; } Yet you answer them all, with narry a squeak-- } Pray how do you do it with ease? } } "In my youth," said the Oracle, "I'd a girlfriend, } And we argued all night and all day; } And the tricks that I learned to bring fights to an end } Have helped me through every afray." } } "You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose } That your tongue was as steady as wood; } Yet you handled the woodchuck, which everyone knows, } Can chuck as much wood as it could. } } "I've answered three questions, and that is enough!" } The Oracle cried, "stop this rot! } Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? } Be gone, or I'll give you a ZOT!" --- 1133-08 -------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: "Paul L. Kelly" The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > Dearest Oracle, > > Who invented sliced bread? And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } Al Gore. --- 1133-09 -------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: Otis Viles The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > Ippity bipitty bop. > > Ouhh ouhh screech, > > ahh ahh spthhhhhpppp! And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } Not so fast, not so fast. I'm not fluent in Imbecile. Uh... let's } see... ee ee gakka *drool* wippity-wip, mok! } } ZADOC! Get in here! } } [enter Zadoc, grovelling as per spec] } } Awright, sonny, there's a customer here who speaks only Imbecile. } Think you can help? } } "Uh, I'll try, Your Almighty Worshipful Prince of All Things Suave..." } } See that you do. I've got a lunch date with Lisa. } } "Uh... hi... is this thing on?" } } > > Ippity bipitty bop. } > > } > > Ouhh ouhh screech, } > > } > > ahh ahh spthhhhhpppp! } } "MOM! I told you never to call me here!" } } > > Gronk yatta yatta fwit wee wee! } } "Yes, I know, but how would you feel if your loving son were to LOSE } HIS JOB?" } } > > Fwatta wat bippi iggledypiggledy. } } "No, it's not like that any more. Townships don't just hire a village } idiot for life any longer. You have to stay at the top of your } profession just to make a living, Ma." } } > > glort? } } "Don't worry, Ma, I can still drool with the best of 'em. I gotta go. } Glipglip!" } } > > glipglip! } } You owe the O... oh, wait, never mind. --- 1133-10 -------------------------------------------------------------- Selected-By: Ian Davis The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > Please tell me if my marriage is going to last forever? And in response, thus spake the Oracle: } It will seem that way, but all up the service, the kiss from hairy } Auntie Jackie on the church steps, the fight between your sister and } cousin Vivienne over who caught the bouquet, the traffic jam on the } way to the reception, the poor food, the DJ looking at the wrong list } and playing "Hit me With Your Best Shot" by Pat Benatar instead of } the Waltz of the Flowers by Tchaikovsky, your father punching the } hotel functions manager over the food fiasco, great grandma Edna } choking on a chicken bone, the best man sleeping with one of the } bridesmaids and thereby ending his own marriage, and dragging your } drunk father-in-law out of the hotel room upstairs so you can finally } get some sleep will actually take about 8 hours. } } You owe the Oracle the garter.