HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU (queue cue)
Newsgroups: bit.listserv.test
Subject: Re: Come back in real time, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean
Date: 18 Aug 92 17:09:01 GMT
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Would you, could you, might you, my beautiful H, journey to
Budapest with me?  I would not find any storm or stress in
delaying to spend a few quality days kicking around Albion
or setting up shop in the heart of Gaedhildge, if so urged,
but, should you be willing, might I be able to abscond with
you briefly to the Magyar capital?

After all, it could be worse; I no longer have any facile
illusions of trip-ticketing you to the sea-to-shining-sea
of good grace and money for films of this-land-is-yr-land
this-land-is-my-land from-bean-curd-sustenance to death-at-
the-hands-of-a-total-stranger.  Picture yrself ... Smiling.

M.
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Date:         Wed, 12 Aug 1992 10:00:00 EDT
Comments:     No poem for today.  This is a substitute, chosen at random.
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From:         Bialik Poetry Server <BIALIK@BRANDEIS.BITNET>
Subject:      Poem number 880912
Comments: To: Multiple recipients of list SBRHYM-L <SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>

After the Dentist
May Swenson


My left upper
lip and half

my nose is gone.
I drink my coffee

on the right from
a warped cup

whose left lip dips.
My cigarette's

thick as a finger.
Somebody else's.

I put lip-
stick on a cloth-

stuffed doll's
face that's

surprised when one
side smiles.
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Date:         Thu, 13 Aug 1992 15:30:45 GMT
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From:         blip-blip-blip-blip-blip-blip <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject:      The Winner Takes It All
Comments: To: Multiple recipients of list SBRHYM-L <SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>

...but, m'dear, the first po-em was exactly as you described: I sat,
and thought, and sat and thought again, and concluded that, by thinking
so damn much, it almost (and I mean a very wide almost) approached the
quality of some of yr more vi(tu)perative rolls of the rill (I've
decided that, damn GR4302 all to New York, I shall keep the Hook-Dream,
such as it is, alive, or at least in escrow), and thus was pretty good.
Do try some more, Dana, but know this in beauty you go and in charm
you embody: be very nice to H.  Ask yourself, calmly, "how did I arrive
in Stony Brook?"  Now, calmly, wonder if that connection is as fragile
as you think it is.  Darling.  Maybe I ought to run for monarch after
all.  And don't forget the calumnity, best if wetted down a bit, you'll
need it for your line so it CUTS through the AIR with the GREATEST of
EASE, oom-pah-pah oom-pah-pah, and, yes, I see now that, indeed, m'dear,
you did.
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Date:         Wed, 19 Aug 1992 13:47:06 PDT
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From:         3501P@NAVPGS.BITNET
Comments: To: Multiple recipients of list SBRHYM-L <SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>

Thank you Felonious, for the marvelous anecdotes on John Cage
and the great opening to the story about your tenure as
manager of the ghetto.   You write well; I am anxiously
awaiting more.


                                 --Jeffrey
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Date:         Thu, 20 Aug 1992 15:30:57 GMT
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From:         "urk." <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject:      Viereck? No.......
Comments: To: Multiple recipients of list SBRHYM-L <SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>

no, not Viereck, this speaks even more ill than Berryman.  Darling.

Alas, one can not influence one's idols, I suppose, so I'll be learning
to support the guided missled reaction tenets to yr hearts content ....
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From: jdd1@cec1.wustl.edu (James Dimos Dimarogonas)
Subject: Test
Organization: Washington University, St. Louis Mo.
Date: Fri, 21 Aug 1992 19:53:52 GMT

Fou Fou eva duo......
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Date:         Thu, 20 Aug 1992 19:32:45 GMT
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From:         All Partied-Up & Nowhere To Go <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject:      Raen, raen, come to play (A Mug's Game Gone Over the Wall)
Comments: To: Multiple recipients of list SBRHYM-L <SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>

The psycadramatemathematics that give shade to 20 degrees worth
are not near enough.  Now, you'd once again place me sideways
by the road, divining-deceiving booth at hand, and allow me, a
mere charlatangent churl to yr better times & better things to
do, to mountebank at least the Future (Escape To) if not the
Past (Escape From) in the name of clarity's rites and Lapsed
deems during hours of austerity (Escape Route, Box 760, @UEA,
Heaven or Hell, make yr pick).  Should I aim higher in my loft-
expressed gaol goals?  The women in the storied fablieux might
at least provide a rationalefaction (or so she said.) to make
certain that, come 9.00 GMT, I'm (not you, I'm sure of this)
standing beneath a windowry panearest-of-all practicing my
serenaiding of the Darling. pretext.  Given the literallons-y
choice, I'd have to say "*where*".  "*Where*"?  (She still, I
think, believes this to be all mere shadow-play; I, she thinks,
merely wish to tadpole-vault in performative indelible
indelicacies as a passant whim.)  And yr confusing yr apposites
again, H; JS spoke in dwelloquent over-coated-tones of
flavoracious acts, be they of God for looking over one's
shoulder or of carnallocating Di-Et for sexploratory
purposelves, picked up in: "Stew in my own juice / In a another
kitchen" -- as the song says, [jellyfish] dais in wait.  Bored?
Hushed?  My %other% Gaelic ex-fiance was somewhat misrused, and
it was you who spoke of bother        bother, so any and all
                               bother
manichean manifestations are not my fault except insomuch as
everything is my fault.  Darling, The Enemy Edible Indeed, a
concoction I wouldn't have expected you to made, forsooth and
for all time.

M
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Date:         Mon, 17 Aug 1992 14:22:05 EDT
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From:         LIBWCA@EMUVM1.BITNET
Subject:      Re: The First Letter Of Each Line: Andrew J Solberg
Comments: To: Multiple recipients of list SBRHYM-L <SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
              15 Aug 1992 18:50:13 GMT from <mjd@SAUL.CIS.UPENN.EDU>

This puerile Winston Churchill Drunk At A Party claptrap has caused me
major inconvenience, Mr. Domini Domini.  Seeing the subject heading,
and believing it to contain the coded message I've been waiting for
prior to launching my planned war of Utter Annihilation on all the
People I Don't Much Care For (you'll be honored to hear that you are
now one of them, but don't get too flustered; it's a very long list,
and can't be begun upon until I've completed the list of People Who
Really Cheese Me Off,) I quickly aborted a message which I was
preparing for distribution to Pat's Clubhouse, and which was to have
been a Major Work; future historians will curse your name while
struggling over the fragment.  Turning my attention to your note, I
found the coded message as expected, and you almost got me, sir- you
almost did.  I sat with my finger poised above the Big Orange Button,
slavering wolverines crouched at my feet, sluice-traps opened to
receive the requisite rivers of gore etc., when suddenly I saw your
mistake: Winston Churchill, being an Englishman, was *always* drunk;
therefore the condition would not have been noted by reputable observers.
This is compounded by the implication in your story that some, but not
all, of those present were also of the British persuasion, so that you
could possibly have escaped your predicament by framing the tale in some
appropriate way, e.g.- "I was at a bar in Queens once, and the bartender
told me about the time he spent in England, and how all these drunken
Englishmen..." or some such.  Absent this rhetorical device, your gambit
was bound to fail, but I do congratulate you on coming so tantalizingly
close, and promise that your end, when it comes, shall be a fittingly
gruesome one.
Cuthbert
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Date:         Wed, 19 Aug 1992 15:23:00 -05
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From:         Dana Rollins <ROLLIDE@AUDUCADM.DUC.AUBURN.EDU>
Subject:      BRAIN IN A JAR SEGUE
Comments: To: Multiple recipients of list SBRHYM-L <SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>

OBSERVER:
I left the Derrida discussion group because I could not afford the
beret.  It took itself too seriously.  I much prefer the comfort and
relative safety of my foil-lined fishing cap.  Its heavy duty aluminum
repels all attempts of the Pope to read my mind.
Is it true -  what John Kennedy said before he died - that basically
we're all a bunch of brains in jars, electrodes trailing out in some
branching will to synapse?
I knew an Entity whose nickname was(maybe still is) Strick.  Strick had
a simple way of dealing with the brain's will to synapse.  If you
mentioned another Being to Strick by means of starting conversation,
say, for example, "Hey Strick, what do you think of that guy over at
the Tastee Dog?", his response was patented, predictable.  He would
always say, "What's WRONG with him?  Why don't he want to DO right?".
It didn't matter of whom you spoke; with Strick, the first thing he was
going to say in reply was always "What's WRONG with ________?  Why
doesn't he (or she) want to DO right?".
He also lectured at great discourse about how he wanted "a woman with
a big butt":  "I mean a BIG butt!"
Wait.
There's one more thing.
I also knew an old woman from the dim recesses of my past whose
simple-minded whiffle ball-like wit still wafts down the corridors of
time to my jar.  She had a line that was so unintentionally laughable
that I find myself quite unconsciously using it in MY conversational
attempts.  If you asked this woman if she knew some particular, you
know, if there was ever a such-and-such or so-and-so around here,
etc., she would always say the same thing.  She would look down, say
"Nossir, not to my nose of".  Isn't that great?  She meant, of course,
"Not that I know of", but no one (of which I am aware) ever corrected
her...
It's not easy being a hedonist in this world, is it, Observer?
One more thing, then I promise I'll let you go.
I think it was Roger Corman who first penned the immortal words, "My
God, it's not a cantaloupe at all -- it's a HUMAN HEAD!".
MAD Magazine editor William Gaines is dead.  His jar, silent.

Have A Nice Day Anyway,

Felonious J. Cubensis
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Date:         Fri, 14 Aug 1992 23:05:42 GMT
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From:         mmmm <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject:      Re: Come back in real time, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean
Comments: To: Multiple recipients of list SBRHYM-L <SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
              14 Aug 1992 15:57:00 GMT from <H760@CPC865.EAST-ANGLIA.AC.UK>

On Fri, 14 Aug 1992 15:57:00 GMT cry me a river said:
>     (try setting them backward in yr head: you might take notes on
>the workings of yr mind to relay to me; people being so used to Bill's
>strange looks round here, they won't mind the blood-vesselish parts
>to which Great Poets do not write Great Poems being visible [Ode: "Now
>You Lay You Down To Sleep // I Plot Your Malformed Nerves To Keep //
>If You Should Die Before You Wake // I Will Take It As A Personal
>Insult And Make Something Terrible Happen To You Darling Will You Marry
>Me Don't Botch The Scene Say Yes 'Cause That Was An Intrinsic Proposal
>And This Is The Last Take"])
Yes, I'll marry you ... once the system comes back up.

You think the cpc folk are incompetent ... oh, and forward to me any
and all hasperipheral junk mail you might receive, I'll take care of
it, and whomever, right quit.

I Promise.

M.
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Date:         Sat, 15 Aug 1992 18:50:13 GMT
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From:         "'[*] Neuromancer'" <mjd@SAUL.CIS.UPENN.EDU>
Subject:      Re: The First Letter Of Each Line: Andrew J Solberg
Comments: To: Multiple recipients of list SBRHYM-L <SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>

In article <1992Aug15.103819.3052@cco.caltech.edu> ajm@wag.caltech.edu (Abner J.
 Mintz) writes:
>   Mr. Churchill was very drunk at a party.  The hostess, outraged, exclaimed:
>   "Mr. Churchill, you are drunk!"

Yes, that was Bessie Braddock.  She gave good parties.  I remember in
particular she always served some sort of Dutch gin that everyone was
ater, but she never would reveal her sources.

Now of course Bessie would never have said such a thing under ordinary
circumstances, because no matter what you think about the English, it is
not true that they are so stupid or naive as to be surprised when a
person becomes drunk at a party, and particularly not when the person is
a vulgar, sensual man like Winston Churchill.    In fact he was drunk,
and the last time he had been drunk at one of Bessie's parties he had
behaved very badly.  He abused the servants, I think, and had to be
restrained from striking the Lord Chancellor.  (I wasn't at that party,
so this is second-hand.)  In any case, the story he and his friends told
the following day was that he replied:

> "Yes, Bessie, and you are ugly.  But in the morning, I shall be sober."

It does little credit to Winston that this was what he wished he had
said, because once you get past the idea that it was a clever thing to
have said on the spur of the moment (which it would have been had he
said it on the spur of the moment and not made it up the following day
while hung over) you realize just how devoid of real wit or quality the
remark is.  Beauty is only skin deep, and although Bessie Braddock
wasn't beautiful, she certainly wasn't deformed either, and she was a
particularly astute and forceful woman, a clever speaker, and a talented
politician.  If she was ugly (and I do not think she was) then in any
case it was not her fault.  On the other hand it most certainly was
Winston's fault that he was so drunk at a party that he inconvenienced
and embarassed his host.
--

                And for to see, and eke for to be seye
Mark-Jason Dominus 	  			    mjd@central.cis.upenn.edu
From: CFORDE@bcsc02.gov.bc.ca
Newsgroups: bit.listserv.test
Subject: carl is testy
Date: 20 Aug 92 00:18:28 GMT
Organization: BC Systems Corporation

This is a test of the public netting system.
 
This is only a test.
 
Please do not adjust your network.
 
Carl Forde
   cforde@bcsc02.gov.bc.ca
X-To:         SBRHYM-L%BITNET.SBCCVM@NSFNET-RELAY.AC.UK
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Date:         Fri, 14 Aug 1992 15:57:00 GMT
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From:         cry me a river <H760@CPC865.EAST-ANGLIA.AC.UK>
Subject:      Come back in real time, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean
Comments: To: Multiple recipients of list SBRHYM-L <SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>

You're a bit late in your death-notices, stewheart, though no later
than the late John Cage: I mourned him in three silent movements in
the half-lit hours of Thursday: a slow movement toward you, a pause
for thought, a drawn-out movement closer, and a devastating finale of
inaudible noise noise noise plate-crashing-against-wall as I realised,
as usual, hell, you weren't there.  You know how cheating does not
exist?  Well, are you sure, really really sure?  Falling upstairs
every night, I figure how, if you're sure, one fortified dose of
epiphenomenonalism could consign you traceless to the void, which
shows nothing more than that those stairs are bloody dangerous.
Where that would leave me depends on whether or not I exist, and
that's something else you haven't yet told me.

You can't have Arthur; I saw him first.  Infidelity, in your case,
is punishable by death, both yours and his.

Please, let me know if you're going to hang yr rosary beads on the
hides of perished Extropians, it'll finely-grate my ready-shred heart
to subscribe to a list of such sensitive nicety, but actions
prescribed by the finer print of the every-step-you-take Unaccepted
Promise, easier if you weren't so damned contrary, are viperformed
thoughtlessly forthwith in watchfulness to abide away the hours till
you choose to move softly into place.  "Cretins", I quoted to myself,
"Cretins"; M, grab the super-glue, piece pell-mell together the
fragments of 90% unsleeping idylls that you are, never forget the
yeux (try setting them backward in yr head: you might take notes on
the workings of yr mind to relay to me; people being so used to Bill's
strange looks round here, they won't mind the blood-vesselish parts
to which Great Poets do not write Great Poems being visible [Ode: "Now
You Lay You Down To Sleep // I Plot Your Malformed Nerves To Keep //
If You Should Die Before You Wake // I Will Take It As A Personal
Insult And Make Something Terrible Happen To You Darling Will You Marry
Me Don't Botch The Scene Say Yes 'Cause That Was An Intrinsic Proposal
And This Is The Last Take"]), beaux until proved otherwise, and,
oubliaisoning the what's-best that's whatever you're wanting, come be
my junk-mail, my chinese fan, my enemy edible, my Dana-basher, my
train-set, my dead cat juke-box... no, wait, don't move, stay right
there while I get a camera, you look so... very...pretty when you smile.
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Date:         Fri, 14 Aug 1992 10:51:00 EDT
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From:         Slimm Laramie <LIBALP@EMUVM1.BITNET>
Subject:      re: 10 on the vault
Comments: To: Multiple recipients of list SBRHYM-L <SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>

Since I've just now discovered that you don't actually exist, Cheating,
I'll have to answer you here.

>LIBALP, through the stymying attack on someone who won't even read
>your attack on FNORD-L because of the wonderful way Usenet fails to
>cope with bitnet linked replies, I award you the highest honor (if

Thanks for relieving me of the notion I-So-Nasty-They-Just-Ignore-Me.
If I flame and no one can hear me . . .

Marry, sorry, no.  (peevishly) I've told you people to stop bothering me.

sl
From: ROLLIDE@AUDUCADM.DUC.AUBURN.EDU (Dana Rollins)
Newsgroups: bit.listserv.test
Subject: THIS JUST IN....
Date: 19 Aug 92 14:02:00 GMT
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*** Original Author: MAILADM - SYSM, Administrator; 08/19/92 13:43

FYI:  The following statement has been issued by the Auburn University
      Computer Security Committee:


"Auburn University considers E-Mail a private resource. However,
current technical limitations preclude complete assurance that E-Mail
messages are safe from unauthorized disclosure. USERs are therefore
advised to use discretion when sending E-Mail documents and messages
containing sensitive (i.e. Confidential or Restricted) information."



*** Comments from ROLLIDE - Rollins, Dana; 08/19/92 01:56pm:
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Date:         Tue, 18 Aug 1992 14:35:00 GMT
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From:         "H." <H760@CPC865.EAST-ANGLIA.AC.UK>
Subject:      Re: Come back in real time, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean
Comments: To: Multiple recipients of list SBRHYM-L <SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>

Somethings Come Up & Systems Go Down & Attendances Go On & I Am Only Here

dr haggard consign coolest collapsed chat by courier & swipe Care of Same

cannot change petunia to uniatz shall sue for defamation of ros character

>mistake: Winston Churchill, being an Englishman, was *always* drunk;

between a cold ocean & a hard stone chip stand and dare prefer Budapest

lack of gumption there arthur in deeming m'dear@wherever less than specious

mock-heroic in his knightly variations run amok for a Red Badge of Excellence

promises & cathexes are what his words are good for i'll tell him that he
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Date:         Wed, 19 Aug 1992 07:44:38 GMT
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From:         Jennifer Crystal Fang-Chien <jchien@LELAND.STANFORD.EDU>
Subject:      The blood sunset is dying
Comments: To: Multiple recipients of list SBRHYM-L <SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>

		The blood sunset is dying,
		Slowly vanishing under the
		Onslaught of Night -- that
		leering, wretched King of
		Crown Jewels.  It Taxes
		away my childhood rocking horse,
		its obsessive race that goes no where;
		my one-button-eyed Velveteen Rabbit,
		never lost but worn away by love; my
		first Kotex maxipad, stained distinctly
		with virginal discharge; my black-bodied
		Buffette Crampon clarinet, gift of
		Orpheus from the Elysian Fields; my
		first love's kisses, held captive in
		his jaundiced porch light; my 3.8
		college average, indicative of
		lost sleep and little else; my
		philosophical rotation from
		atheism to Christianity to Jeddu
		Krishnamurti to nothing, spinning
		all the while yet motionless; my
		faithful lover/friend/(dog) Buddy,
		who despite his emotionless existence
		does not endorse Night; my brother,
		Knight of reusable ink cartridges
		false duty to one's parents and
		incomprehensible humor; my mother, Witch
		of all card hands; my father; my
		dark-haired Love, who retaught
		joy in the stars and simplicity; --
		The blood sunset is dying.
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