Heard on the radio this morning:
Im using other random names, because I dont remember the ones from the radio.
Somewhere in the midwest (I dont remember that either), Bob bought billboard space. On it, he asked Tanya to marry him.
Well, it turns out that the Tanya it was meant for said yes, but so did 10 other Tanyas who are dating guys named Bob.
I submit the following. For all I know, it may have originated in
rec.humor.funny, but I dont know. This was sent to me by a friend.
Apparently it has an unknown author.
[Note – Michael subsequently reported that the author is Terry Bisson, it
originally appeared in OMNI Magazine, it was nominated for a Nebula,
and it is reprinted here by permission of Mr. Bisson. My thanks
to Michael and Terry – ed.]
Imagine if you will… the leader of the fifth invader force speaking to
the commander in chief…
Theyre made out of meat.
Meat?
Meat. Theyre made out of meat.
Meat?
Theres no doubt about it. We picked several from different parts of
the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, probed them all the way
through. Theyre completely meat.
Thats impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the
stars.
They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals dont come from them.
The signals come from machines.
So who made the machines? Thats who we want to contact.
They made the machines. Thats what Im trying to tell you. Meat made
the machines.
Thats ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? Youre asking me to
believe in sentient meat.
Im not asking you, Im telling you. These creatures are the only
sentient race in the sector and theyre made out of meat.
Maybe theyre like the Orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence
that goes through a meat stage.
Nope. Theyre born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several
of their life spans, which didnt take too long. Do you have any idea
the life span of meat?
Spare me. Okay, maybe theyre only part meat. You know, like the
Weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside.
Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads like the
Weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. Theyre meat all the way
through.
No brain?
Oh, there is a brain all right. Its just that the brain is made out of
meat!
So… what does the thinking?
Youre not understanding, are you? The brain does the thinking. The
meat.
Thinking meat! Youre asking me to believe in thinking meat!
Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The
meat is the whole deal! Are you getting the picture?
Omigod. Youre serious then. Theyre made out of meat.
Finally, Yes. They are indeed made out meat. And theyve been trying to
get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years.
So what does the meat have in mind?
First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore the
universe, contact other sentients, swap ideas and information. The
usual.
Were supposed to talk to meat?
Thats the idea. Thats the message theyre sending out by radio.
Hello. Anyone out there? Anyone home? That sort of thing.
They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?
Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat.
I thought you just told me they used radio.
They do, but what do you think is on the radio? Meat sounds. You know
how when you slap or flap meat it makes a noise? They talk by flapping
their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting air through
their meat.
Omigod. Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do you
advise?
Officially or unofficially?
Both.
Officially, we are required to contact, welcome, and log in any and all
sentient races or multibeings in the quadrant, without prejudice, fear,
or favor. Unofficially, I advise that we erase the records and forget
the whole thing.
I was hoping you would say that.
It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make contact
with meat?
I agree one hundred percent. Whats there to say? Hello, meat. Hows
it going? But will this work? How many planets are we dealing with
here?
Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat containers,
but they cant live on them. And being meat, they only travel through C
space. Which limits them to the speed of light and makes the possibility
of their ever making contact pretty slim. Infinitesimal, in fact.
So we just pretend theres no one home in the universe.
Thats it.
Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to meet meat? And the ones
who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you have probed? Youre sure
they wont remember?
Theyll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their heads
and smoothed out their meat so that were just a dream to them.
A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate, that we should be meats
dream.
And we can mark this sector unoccupied.
Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any others?
Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?
Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence in a
class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic rotations ago,
wants to be friendly again.
They always come around.
And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how unutterably cold the universe
would be if one were all alone.
Bill and Marla decided that the only way to pull off a Sunday afternoon quickie with their ten-year-old son in the apartment was to send him out on the balcony and order him to report on all the neighborhood activities.
The boy began his commentary as his parents put their plan into operation. Theres a car being towed from the parking lot, he said.
An ambulance just drove by.
A few moments passed.
Looks like the Andersons have company, he called out, Matts riding a new bike and the Coopers are having sex.
Mom and Dad shot up in bed. How do you know that? the startled father asked.
Their kid is standing out on the balcony too, his son replied.
Two lawyers walking through the woods spotted a vicious-looking bear.
The first lawyer immediately opened his briefcase, pulled out a pair of sneakers and started putting them on.
The second lawyer looked at him and said, Youre crazy! Youll never be able to outrun that bear!
I dont have to, the first lawyer replied. I only have to outrun you.
Stephen Hawking has written another book, its about time.
Q: How many University of Washington Husky football fans (or any over-the-top sports fans who pay way way too much attention to minutia surrounding their team) does it take to change a light bulb?
A: A million and one. One to hold the old bulb, and the rest to all try and make the world revolve around it.
Q: How many preservation society members does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
A: One, but it takes a year to find an antique Edison light bulb so itll be architecturally accurate.
Q: How many gardeners does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: Three. One to change it and two to have a debate about whether this is the right time of year to be putting in lightbulbs or daffodil bulbs.
A transcript of the new answering service recently installed at the Mental Health Institute.
Hello, and welcome to the Mental Health Hotline.
If you are obsessive-compulsive, press 1 repeatedly.
If you are co-dependent, please ask someone to press 2 for you.
If you have multiple personalities, press 3, 4, 5 and 6.
If you are paranoid, we know who you are and what you want. Stay on the line so we can trace your call.
If you are delusional, press 7 and your call will be transferred to the mother ship.
If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a small voice will tell you which number to press.
If you area manic-depressive, it doesnt matter which number you press, as no one will answer.
If you are dyslexic, press 9696969696969.
If you have a nervous disorder, please fidget with the hash key until a representative comes on the line.
If you have amnesia press 8 and state your name, address, phone number, date of birth, social security number and your mothers maiden name.
If you have post-traumatic stress disorder, slowly and carefully press 000.
If you have bi-polar disorder, please leave a message after the beep or before the beep. Or after the beep. Please wait for the beep.
If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.
If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.
If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.
If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.
If you have low self-esteem, please hang up. All our operators are too busy to talk to you.
Era un muchacho que fue a la casa de la novia, pero la tuvo que esperar y se sentó en la mesa junto al suegro, pero tenia ganas de echarse un pedo, y que se lo echa… y el suegro dice:
¡QuÃtate, perro!
El muchacho piensa:
Que bueno que le echó la culpa al perro, y se echa otro…
¡QuÃtate perro!
Me salvé otra vez, piensa el muchacho.
Entonces que se echa el tercero…
¡QuÃtate perro, que este menso te va a CAGAR!