HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: gooley@netcom.com (Mark. Gooley)
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,talk.bizarre
Subject: is it germane? Jackson or Greer? and what of that wombat woman?
Date: 21 Jan 93 16:12:46 GMT
Followup-To: alt.fan.gooley
Organization: Dostoyevskian Characters, plc


	She cut open her belly with a utility knife provided by the phone
company, and removed from her large intestine a package of microwave popcorn.
I thanked her for it, and she smiled through her agony, the blood spoiling
her skirt and shoes.  I left her to die and climbed sixty-three flights of
stairs and fancy to get to the nearest microwave oven, a great hulking
beast and Hogan of one, made from a Soviet radar installation sold to us
cheap by the Latvian government.  As I ascended, the popcorn explained to
me its religious and philosophical beliefs.  It claimed to be a polytheist,
but especially devoted to the Goddess of Microwaveable Foods, Debiboon.
It believed in communal property and cheese, and was spouting Marxist theory
when I popped it into the oven and turned on the power.  In twenty seconds
the bag and its contents were smoldering and African-American -- sorry, I
mean black -- but I ate the entire charred mess anyhow.
	That night I dreamt that I was a midget playing the xylophone and
a Munchkin in an Italian remake of "The Wizard of Oz," with Clint Eastwood
as a mysterious drifter who gets Emerald City painted red and shoots the
Wizard dead with bullets made of ravioli frozen in liquid nitrogen as he
says, "Proceed to construct a day for me," in Hungarian.  In the morning I
woke to find a young woman in bed next to me, acting as if she were my wife;
the bedroom was strange and when I looked at my own body it was different
from the one I was used to.  She pushed the bleached-blonde hair from her
face and entirely off her scalp; a slot opened in her forehead and she
said mechnically, "Please insert...twenty...dollars for continued service,"
over and over again.  I ran in terror and my Boxer shorts (Boxer Rebellion
surplus) from the room, from the house, from the suburban housing development
(designed by the housing-developmentally disabled), all the way to downtown.
At a "New You" franchise I became a Belgian businessman, and within two days
as was with my loving wife and nymphomanical incestuous teenaged daughter
in our home in a small town near Antwerp.

Mark.
gooley@netcom.com
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,alt.slack,rec.pets.cats,alt.religion.kibology
From: mdw@theory.TC.Cornell.EDU (Matt Welsh)
Subject: Re: Help me name my cat
Organization: Jim's Burger Hut and Ferengi Tavern, Deep Space Nine
Date: Sat, 23 Jan 1993 02:37:12 GMT

In article <93022.190042NMR103@psuvm.psu.edu> <NMR103@psuvm.psu.edu> writes:
>hey matt, why don't you just name it one of the names
>YOUR BAND didn't take????

I'd never name my cat "We Hate Judd Hirsch", even if Kibo tattooed it with
one of his "ch" ligatures that he so loves to rave about.

mdw

-- 
Matt Welsh     mdw@tc.cornell.edu     Cornell Theory Center
  "Donuts. Is there anything they can't do?" 
Xref: sparky alt.non.sequitur:1026 alt.slack:3963 rec.pets.cats:16806 alt.religion.kibology:6096
From: sstrazdu@vulcan.intel.com (Stephen Strazdus)
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,alt.slack,rec.pets.cats,alt.religion.kibology
Subject: Re: Help me name my cat
Date: 27 Jan 1993 01:17:18 GMT
Organization: Intel Corporation
NNTP-Posting-Host: vulcan.intel.com

In article <1993Jan22.183147.10738@netcom.com> howard@netcom.com (Howard Berkey) writes:

>I think you should name it "A beer".  Then when you are looking for
>it, you can say things like "Where's 'A beer'?" and confuse everyone.

We had a beagle named Taxi.  That way when my dad was out in the middle
of the woods hunting he could call a taxi.  This name may be even better
for a cat though, since everyone knows neither a taxi nor a cat comes
when you call one.

--
Steve Strazdus    sstrazdu@sedona.intel.com
80960 Design      (602) 554-3867
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,rec.arts.poems
From: mdw@db.TC.Cornell.EDU (Matt Welsh)
Subject: Re: Ode to AT&T, Sunday Night
Organization: Jim's Burger Hut and Ferengi Tavern, Deep Space Nine
Date: Mon, 25 Jan 1993 05:15:05 GMT

In article <16B601443C.SENDIAA@YaleVM.YCC.Yale.Edu> SENDIAA@YaleVM.YCC.Yale.Edu writes:
>In article <1993Jan25.005801.11042@tc.cornell.edu>
>mdw@db.TC.Cornell.EDU (Matt Welsh) writes:
>>	Ah, shut up
>you clumsy pup
>>You know your words are less than divine
>like columbine.
>>I've had a clue
>a plan, a gnu.

How about that. Diana turned a real piece of art into a Dr. Seuss story.

mdw
"I will not eat them, Sam I Am!"

-- 
Matt Welsh     mdw@tc.cornell.edu     Cornell Theory Center
  "Donuts. Is there anything they can't do?" 
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,talk.bizarre,alt.folklore.ghost-stories
From: SENDIAA@YaleVM.YCC.Yale.Edu
Subject: Postcards from the edge: the latest a.n.s. promotional item
Organization: Yale University
Date: Tue, 26 Jan 93 16:50:36 EST

Hello. All those on the a.n.s. anthology hardcopy mailing list are about to
receive an a.n.s. postcard! Anyone else who wants a postcard, please send me
your address.
 
Lots of you, please. I want to run out of the pink so I can do them in a more
stomachable color (blue, maybe?) -- Diana
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,alt.slack,rec.pets.cats,alt.religion.kibology
From: rsr4936@cc.utah.edu (Reay, Robert S.)
Subject: Re: Help me name my cat
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.4-b1  
Organization: University of Utah Computer Center
Date: 25 Jan 1993 19:54 MST  

In article <C1F70J.LyB@willamette.edu>, pdudey@willamette.edu (Peter Dudey) writes...
{	Tabula Rasta
{	Maelstrombudsmanifold
{	The Punch-Out-And-Assemble-A-Working-Toaster Album
{	Richard Hatch Gets Me Hot
{	
Pouncer, Goombah, Conquistador, Daisy, Flash, Zygote, Fluffy,
Speedball, Dandelion, Rutabega, Stalker, Laser, Rumble, Purrbox,
Flounce, Puma, Xerxes, Iota, Arclight, Zanzibar, Yowsa.
(From a guy named Aaron Evans)

Roadkill, Speedbump, Bitmap, Dipshit, Jamshed, Perrywinkle,
Fattuggleyobulious, Geg, and most importantly:

Damn-little-hairball-coughin'-couch-pissin'-on-dog-killin'-no-damn-
good-little-bastard-from-hell!


			rob


Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,alt.slack,rec.pets.cats,alt.religion.kibology
From: mdw@db.TC.Cornell.EDU (Matt Welsh)
Subject: Re: Help me name my cat
Organization: Linux
Date: Tue, 26 Jan 1993 03:46:17 GMT

In article <25JAN199319541623@cc.utah.edu> rsr4936@cc.utah.edu (Reay, Robert S.) writes:
>Damn-little-hairball-coughin'-couch-pissin'-on-dog-killin'-no-damn-
>good-little-bastard-from-hell!

That's not nice. And I thought "Lunch" was a mean name.

mdw
-- 
Matt Welsh     mdw@tc.cornell.edu     Cornell Theory Center
  "Donuts. Is there anything they can't do?" 
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,alt.slack,alt.religion.kibology
From: emp1@crux2.cit.cornell.edu (Slender Fungus)
Subject: Re: Help me name my cat
Organization: Cornell Information Technologies
Date: 25 Jan 93 16:49:11 GMT

Howabout "Chewy"?


Xref: sparky alt.non.sequitur:1020 alt.slack:3938 rec.pets.cats:16737 alt.religion.kibology:6074
From: rperkins@astro.as.arizona.edu (Rachel J. Perkins)
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,alt.slack,rec.pets.cats,alt.religion.kibology
Subject: Re: Help me name my cat
Date: 26 Jan 93 17:33:45 GMT
Organization: st. alfonso's pancake breakfast



kit-ibo, with the emphasis in the -i- (as in kitt eee bow. or possibly
kitt eye bow). 

or how about bloodbath?

bah. 
i am the asciibo!
--
		    -just give me what for,
	rachel perkins =  rperkins@astro.as.arizona.edu
      coed naked internet grep! always keep your link up!
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,alt.slack,rec.pets.cats,alt.religion.kibology
From: mdw@theory.TC.Cornell.EDU (Matt Welsh)
Subject: Help me name my cat
Organization: Jim's Burger Hut and Ferengi Tavern, Deep Space Nine
Date: Fri, 22 Jan 1993 06:06:46 GMT

Well, we did it. After finally scrounging up enough money and some friends
who were willing to chip in, Jim and I went out and got ourselves the
cutest little kitten: He's furry, a mottled-black and brownish color, and
about the size of a Nerf(tm) ball. He's got a really adorable nose.
And, yes, we plan to keep him. 

So we need to name this little furry ball o' love. The only things I could
come up with on the spur of the moment were "Rosalia Castro" and 
"Black Dog's Hate Monger", but neither of these seem appropriate. 
Jim's only suggestion was "Furball", and I vehemently oppose naming any 
cat "Furball".

So, I'd like some suggestions; you can either post or e-mail them to me.
I'll honor the winning suggestion in some way--- hey, I'll name a cat after it.
And, please, we need something original. "Furry" and "Socks" are taken, and
we've flipped through a few pet name books. 

Thanks a lot!
mdw


-- 
Matt Welsh     mdw@tc.cornell.edu     Cornell Theory Center
  "Donuts. Is there anything they can't do?" 
Xref: sparky alt.non.sequitur:975 talk.bizarre:46083
From: gooley@netcom.com (Mark. Gooley)
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,talk.bizarre
Subject: Marcie becomes her own dog, and we have caproic acid for dinner
Date: 22 Jan 93 20:22:57 GMT
Followup-To: alt.fan.gooley,alt.spleen
Organization: Dostoyevskian Characters, plc


	I had spent the afternoon harvesting libido from Agatha Christie
novels, and when Roger burst into the kitchen, spattering blood, the
contents of his intestines, and so forth over everything, I was sauteeing
it in 5W-30 synthetic motor oil.  He hadn't had time to ask who I was,
why a six-foot beer-bellied unshaven man in a "Sautee' Your Family" T-shirt,
green jeans, and Birkenstock (tm) steel-toed sandals with white socks should
be cooking things in his kitchen.  I took a chunk of liver from the floor,
chopped it with a cleaver named Beaver, and tossed liver and cleaver into
the pan, saying aloud, "What am I?  Chopped liver?"
	I looked at the mess in the kitchen and decided to have Jeannie,
Roger's wife, clean it up.  I went upstairs to their root cellar, where
I had rubbed human softener into her and put her clay-like and unconscious
body into the mold.  I opened the mold, ignoring the moldy odor, and
Jeannie, now a fiberglas (tm) department-store mannequin brought to life,
got up stiffly, for it could move only where its new form had joints.
Its plastic face could show no emotion; only a slight reluctance and
capacitance in its movements gave any hint that the self within might be
terrified or furious.
	I looked at it with pity, and wondered what my girlfriend would
think of my absurd and needless cruelty towards a harmless and pleasant
woman.  Fortunately I remembered that I had no girlfriend, and I ordered
the living dummy to go downstairs and clean up the mess in the kitchen.
I followed it upstairs and watched it try to use a mop with fingers that
were not prehensile.  Constrained to obey my order, it tried again and
again, growing more and more uncoordinated with frustration.  I began to
feel guilty about my sadistic behavior, but recalled that Jeannie was
ficticious anyway.
	I gestured with my left hand towards the mannequin, and it became
enveloped in a giant glowing envelope with huge postage stamps on it.  This
gradually dissolved away, the mannequin meanwhile changing into a short
woman with heavy, wavy dark hair and a naughty and beautiful face.  I made
the corpse and offal vanish, and the woman and I walked hand in hand through
walls and floors and ceilings to Roger and Jeannie's waterbed, where we
made passionate and passionfruit love.  Then she waved her hand and changed
me into a department-store mannequin of male shape, changed herself into
a fortyish bleached-blonde spinster dressed as a department store manager
complete with nametag, and with a circular saw cut me into small pieces.

Mark.
gooley@netcom.com
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,alt.slack,alt.religion.kibology
From: chawla@wam.umd.edu (Jay Paul Chawla)
Subject: Re: Help me name my cat
Organization: University of Maryland, College Park
Date: Mon, 25 Jan 1993 03:54:44 GMT

Name it either

now-or-I-will-never-feed-you-again
or
and-bow-down-before-me-or-I-will-strike-you-down

Neither one will make you popular with the neighbors, but who cares 
about them when a little bundle of life is yours to nurture or destroy?

Jay
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,alt.slack,rec.pets.cats,alt.religion.kibology
From: rsrodger@wam.umd.edu (Yamanari)
Subject: Re: Help me name my cat
Organization: University of Maryland, College Park
Date: Sat, 23 Jan 1993 03:05:35 GMT

In article <1993Jan23.025130.8310@CSD-NewsHost.Stanford.EDU> fahn@Xenon.Stanford.EDU (Paul Fahn) writes:
>In article <1993Jan22.183147.10738@netcom.com> howard@netcom.com (Howard Berkey) writes:
>>I think you should name it "A beer".  Then when you are looking for
>>it, you can say things like "Where's 'A beer'?" and confuse everyone.
>>
>
>How about naming the kitten "I"? Then you can say things like "I coughed 
>up a hairball today".
>
>Paul


	I vote for "Spunk".. 

	<Although, I would vote for "I" if "spunk" is rejected..>


-- 
	Attempts to lessen the burden of proof in rape trials are an assault 
        	on out civil liberties.  Support equality, not revenge. 
 ---  boycott == coercion == censorship == closed mindedness == cowardice  ---
	Pyramid schemes are illegal unless you're the US government.
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,alt.prose,talk.bizarre
From: dan@BofA.com (Dan Brockman)
Subject: Re: My lambda, now broken from desuetude.
Organization: Bank of America, Capital Products, RMTG #5906
Date: Fri, 22 Jan 93 02:30:56 GMT

In article <1993Jan21.031854.27081@tc.cornell.edu> mdw@db.TC.Cornell.EDU (Matt Welsh) writes:
>Fade to a decrepit New Jersey or New York City railroad station, 19th 
>century motif, rotting leather upholstry en masse.
>
>    .
>    .
>    .
>
>"Do you think Keiko really did kill the Vulcan ambassador in last week's show?"
>
>"I don't know, Jake. I just don't know."

Yeh, I get it.  Same thing with roller-skates on.

-- 
 Daniel Brockman             tel 415-953-0406, fax 415-622-2892
 Bank of America, Dept 5906, 555 Calif St
 San Francisco 94104 USA    email uunet!odinba!dan dan@bofa.com
Xref: sparky alt.non.sequitur:1010 talk.bizarre:46410
From: gooley@netcom.com (Mark. Gooley)
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,talk.bizarre
Subject: polyurethane faces: the food of love and micturition, said Elvis
Date: 25 Jan 93 19:13:06 GMT
Followup-To: alt.fan.gooley,alt.pets.chia
Organization: Dostoyevskian Characters, plc


	After she left the bathroom, leaving the toilet unflushed, her feces
collected themselves together, climbed out, and changed into an exact
duplicate of her.  The duplicate admired her naked body in the mirror, sat
on the toilet seat, defecated, and left the bathroom, again not flushing
the toilet.  The feces repeated the process, and so on, until there were
fifteen copies in her apartment, not including the original, whom they
overpowered, butchered, and started to fix for dinner.
	They had trouble finding enough clothes to fit them all: much of
what she owned was in her dirty-clothes bag, and they soon ran out of bras
and shoes.  One of them went shopping for clothes and makeup, taking her
car, while the others watched television, fixed dinner, or engaged in
lesbian orgies that were essentially autoerotic.  When the old woman next
door knocked on the door to complain about the noise, they let her in and
converted her to a costume which one of them put on, putting the excess
flesh into the stewpot.
	By repeated defecations they reproduced, and made costumes out of
everyone in the building.  Soon everyone in the city was one of them in
disguise, and the plague spread throughout the world.  Within a year there
were no other people in the world, and one May fifteenth everyone dismasked
to reveal several billion identical young women, who ate the costumes and
began defecating, reproducing their kind.  The population grew exponentially,
and somewhere Thomas Malthus smiled as the women began to kill each other
for food.
	I was getting bored with this, so I put on my purse costume and
teleported to a department store and waited to be purchased.  A predatory
shopgirl, fingernails red with dried gore from a customer she had savaged,
saw through my disguise and sauteed me in camel fat until I became transparent
and fit only for artists who work in asphalt.  After a harrowing escape to
Harrow, where the older boys tried to bugger me until I changed them into
attractive lesbians, I became Sir Alec MacEnema, K. C. B., Bart. & Homer.
I invaded the Channel Islands by channeling Coco Chanel, and the Arizona
National Guard named me their Woman of the Year despite my gender.  Out of
shame they sent thuggish plastic surgeons to do gender-reassignment surgery
on me, but they made delicious blender pastries and gave me severe diarrhea.
	A nice woman with big gray eyes and dull brown hair (her hair had
an IQ of only 75 compared to her 149) fell asleep in my arms, and I realized
that I was dreaming.  I awoke as a hairy-nosed wombat.

Mark.
gooley@netcom.com
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,talk.bizarre
From: SENDIAA@YaleVM.YCC.Yale.Edu
Subject: Re: the other night you were with some friends
Organization: Yale University
Date: Sat, 23 Jan 93 19:13:40 EST

In article <106309@netnews.upenn.edu>
blewis@be.seas.upenn.edu (benn bet nun nun lewis) writes:
 
>	On the coalition for non-science:
>	there you are, in a restaurant telling these people about what happened
>the other day:
>	"So, we had a choice, we could eat, we could watch the Star Wars Trilogy,
>or we could do something else fun!"
>	"Ohh, please," we cried, "think of a fun game for us to play!"
>	"All right,  but somebody else has to promise that after this,
>somebody has walk down to the snack machines and buy me a candy bar, and
>somebody else has to think of the next fun thing!"
>	"O.K."
>	"O.K."
>	"And would somebody buy me a coke?"
>	"Oooh, that sounds soooo good, can I get a diet pepsi?"
>	"O.K."
>	"O.K."
>
(then some stuff about answering machines and restaurants and recursive loops
and time and the likelihood of getting rich in our old age)
>
So have you ever sat there, thrilled with your coke and new answering machine
message and bubbly wit, having a deja-vu about the time when you were doing
exactly what you are doing now, thinking ahead to the time when you will be
looking back on these times of simple pleasures and genuine friends, and
actually remembered the time when you were looking ahead to the time when you
would be looking back on it all? If so, what kind of loop is that?
 
I swear by the pendant hanging around my neck, if I ever do get rich, I will
look back fondly on these days, where take-out Chinese will be, in retrospect,
a greater source of fun than the Recreational Jungle at the Hawaii Nonsequitur
Resort will have become then.
Xref: sparky alt.non.sequitur:960 alt.religion.kibology:5947 talk.bizarre:45841
From: an072@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Richard White)
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,alt.religion.kibology,talk.bizarre
Subject: Re: This group
Date: 21 Jan 1993 18:21:56 GMT
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, OH (USA)
Reply-To: an072@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Richard White)
NNTP-Posting-Host: hela.ins.cwru.edu


In a previous article, cdukes@nyx.cs.du.edu (Chris Dukes) says:

>So remember folks if
>you like doing strange things with that belt sander at home, and desire
>job security... don't work for Samsung.

Or the Department of Defense for that matter
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,talk.bizarre
From: gooley@netcom.com (Mark. Gooley)
Subject: sensitivity training made her into Alan Alda (tm): Max Factorization?
Followup-To: alt.dev.null
Organization: Dostoyevskian Characters, plc
Date: Wed, 27 Jan 1993 18:08:23 GMT

	The pharmacist filled my prescription and my teeth by providing
a young woman in suspended animation, sealed in plastic for my protection.
Gently I carried her into my aerodynamic and self-damaging motorcar, and
by clicking the heels of my jackboots (made from jackfruit, excellent for
jacking up cars or jacking off) apart I teleported the car and us to the
roof of my garage.  With ease and a copy of Edsger Wybe Dijkstra's (tm)
book, _A discipline of programming and bondage_, I climbed down, balancing
the woman atop my head and harmonizing with the singing wallabies in the
nearby shrubs.  At length, breadth, width, and a fourth dimension I don't
have a name for, I managed to get the package of woman onto the sopha (note
archaic spelling) in my weasel-emulation room.  I tore open the pull tab,
exposing the simply-though-not-copper-clad woman and simultaneously reviving
her.  She sat up and smiled at me.
	"Hello," she said.  She had a pleasant, soothing voice laden with
major tranquilizers and honey.  Her skin was a pale brown, her hair dark
and wavy (thanks to several oscillators in her barettes), her ancestry
uncertain but resulting in a pretty face.
	"Magnetic arthropods in aspic?" I asked her.
	She laughed politely.  "You need someone badly," she said, shrugging
off the remains of the packing and flying to my arms with the aid of a
Prith and Watney's jet engine, designed by expatriate Indians drunk on
British beer, but well-made and effective.
	Her skin was silken, and she peeled it off, revealing real skin,
not quite as near flawless but still beautiful and soft.  We made love out
of some old romantic songs, a jar of Cheez Whiz (tm), a bottle of sparkling
wine (with bits of shiny aluminum in it) from a melding of Spain with Chile
(which made a country much wider than Chile but squatter and full of squatters,
with high mountains and some coasts on the Altantic, some on the Pacific, and
some on the Mediterranean; the social consequences were amusing as well), a
5400-color box of crayons, the _Mayaguez_ incident, the Franco-Prussian war,
freeze-dried ennui harvested from the slopes of Sloth outside Valladoid,
and the scrap of foreskin saved from my great-uncle Friedrich's circumcision.
	Unfortunately she reached her expiration date a week later, and the
form and personality that had been imprinted on the slaughterhouse offal
used as raw material for her body vanished, leaving me facing a stinking
heap of bloody waste wrapped in a $600 strapless gown.  The waiter was
indignant, the proprietor furious, and after they rifled my wallet with a
rifle and had the bouncer commit unspeakable acts upon my person, they
compressed me into a tiny Thai woman and sold me to a Chinese restaurant
down the street as a waitress.  When I tried to escape I ended up in the
curry.

Mark.
gooley@netcom.com
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,talk.bizarre
From: SENDIAA@YaleVM.YCC.Yale.Edu
Subject: Re: Scintillating Locrian Update: Nonsequitur Karma
Organization: Yale University
Date: Thu, 21 Jan 93 23:21:41 EST

In article <1993Jan22.031901.4557@tc.cornell.edu>
mdw@theory.TC.Cornell.EDU (Matt Welsh) writes:
 
>
>In article <16B5CFFF6.SENDIAA@YaleVM.YCC.Yale.Edu> SENDIAA@YaleVM.YCC.Yale.Edu writes:
>>Counting genres on our toes, we arrive at ten: 3 poems, 1 ode, 1 molecule, 1
>>corrigenda, 1 advice column, several cascades, 1 bio, 1 contest result, 1
>>interview, 1 dialogue (consisting of 13 postings), 15 prose pieces, and an
>>ever-growing mailing list.
>
>You almost forgot:
>
>1 dozen eggs
>Half a gallon of milk
>
>DIRECTIONS
>Mix in a large bowl until all of the lumps are out.
>Spead on a cookie sheet, bake at 400 F until golden brown.
 
You forgot the salt! And I thought only I did that!
Too late. Gotta start over. Send me more eggs (sp.?)
 
Diana
Xref: sparky alt.non.sequitur:995 alt.slack:3887 rec.pets.cats:16636 alt.religion.kibology:6018