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January 1, 0001

HumourList Package #37 - Misc Humour

Here you go folks… a bunch of Misc Humour I’ve been saving up. This will be the sixth of eight Packages to be sent between August 23rd and August 30th.

Opening header is Copyright 1997 by Ian W. Douglas; all rights are reserved, and no portion should be copied in any way or modified in any way without permission of the author.

What Happens When an Engineer Reads the Bible:

The temperature of Heaven can be rather accurately computed from available data. Our authority is Isaiah 30:26, “Moreover, the light of the Moon shall be as the light of the Sun and the light of the Sun shall be sevenfold, as the light of seven days.”

Thus Heaven receives from the Moon as much radiation as we do from the Sun, and in addition seven times seven (49) times as much as the Earth does from the Sun, or fifty times in all. The light we receive from the Moon is one ten-thousandth of the light we receive from the Sun, so we can ignore that. With these data we can compute the temperature of Heaven.

The radiation falling on Heaven will heat it to the point where the heat lost by radiation is just equal to the heat received by radiation, i.e., Heaven loses fifty times as much heat as the Earth by radiation. Using the Stefan-Boltzmann law for radiation, (H/E)^4 = 50, where E is the absolute temperature of the earth (-300K), gives H as 798K (525C). The exact temperature of Hell cannot be computed, but it must be less than 444.6C, the temperature at which brimstone or sulphur changes from a liquid to a gas.

Revelations 21:8 says “But the fearful, and unbelieving … shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone.” A lake of molten brimstone means that its temperature must be at or below the boiling point, or 444.6C (Above this point it would be a vapour, not a lake.) We have, then, that Heaven, at 525C is hotter than Hell at 445C.

– “Applied Optics”, vol. 11, A14, 1972


A UNIX saleslady, Lenore, Enjoys work, but she likes the beach more. She found a good way To combine work with play: She sells C shells by the seashore.


Fond du Lac, Wisconsin:

It would make Mayor McCheese proud.

Don Gorske suffered his first Big Mac attack 25 years ago. It never ended. Since 1973, Gorske has eaten 14,837 Big Macs.

“I don’t eat to break records. I just eat these because I love them,” he said. “I really look forward to Big Macs.”

Gorske said he drove his first car to McDonald’s when he was 17. He ate three Big Macs for lunch and returned for six more that day. He kept tossing the cartons in the back seat, and a month later counted 265 Big Macs.

Gorske vowed from then on to count every Big Mac he ate, averaging about two per day.

He met his wife “somewhere around 1,500 Big Macs” on Sept. 22, 1973. Three years later, he proposed to her in a McDonald’s parking lot.

Gorske estimates he’s eaten 2,967.6 pounds of patties – roughly equal to the beef in 4.5 cows. He’s downed 73 gallons of “special sauce,” 6 million sesame seeds, 500 pounds of cheese and 29,676 pickle slices.

He puts the tab at $50,000.

Gorske went only seven days without eating his favorite meal, he said. He now keeps an emergency stash of Big Macs in the freezer in case weather keeps him away. He also brings along a directory of McDonald’s outlets when goes on vacation.

His license plate even reads, “SZME CB1,” or as he pronounces it, “sesame seed bun.”


By Carolee Sandell, Saint John Evening Times Globe, Thursday August 7th, 1997

It was all over the news last week.

Saint John’s crime rate rose an alarming 20 per cent last year, the biggest jump in the country. The statistics were broken down for all in the nation to see - violent crimes, property crimes, youth crimes, drug crimes. But nowhere was there a category for what I want to know.

You see, I have a theory. And I think the statistics would have proven me right, but for a category left shamefully unexplored. I believe Saint John’s best-kept secret - something all our own - is that we have really stupid criminals. Now every hick hamlet and two-bit town has a criminal element, you’re saying. True. But they don’t make criminals like ours just anywhere. As the Times Globe’s main court reporter for the past four years, I am convinced that Saint John is home to the stupidest criminals in the country - maybe even the planet. But do we publicize this treasure? Hold it up for the world to see? Invite tourists to our courts and be amazed? Alas, no. Upon arriving in our fair city, visitors are greeted by a smiling Loyalist Man. What’s he done lately? Why not erect full-size statues of our very own criminal masterminds?

For instance, there’s a young city man who’s this month’s recipient of the Better-Luck-Next-Time-Award. Come on, everyone. Give him a round of applause. The young man, who we’ll call Kevin, since that’s what his mother called him, recently cooked up a scheme to get himself a brand new stereo worth $1,000. Some stolen ID somehow managed to end up in his hot little hand, and he went to a local electronics store masquerading as someone else, set up a phony line of credit, and bought the stereo he had his heart set on. All he had to do was sign on the dotted lime He picked up a pen and with a flourish signed . . . his own name. Oops. Oh well, he decided. No harm done. He just crossed out his own name and signed the fake one, easy as pie. Unfortunately for our budding little crime lord, a vigilant employee decided this was all a little suspicious, and poor Kevin ended up on the wrong end of a police lineup

He is just the most recent in a long line of less-than-brilliant criminals our city has spawned. One of my fellow court reporters covered a shoplifting case a few years ago. The guy stole a wallet from a department store and ran outside with it, a security guard in hot pursuit. As he sprinted across the parking lot, the poor guy decided to lighten his load, and he threw the wallet at the guard, hoping it would persuade him to give up the chase. As a matter of fact, it did. Unfortunately, the thief had thrown the wrong wallet - his own, containing all his I.D. Didn’t take the cops long to crack that case. There’s another guy awaiting trial in Saint John right now. He’s charged with stealing from a local video store. When the store’s anti-theft alarm sounded, he bolted. How did they manage to track him down, you ask? Well, it seems that in his haste to escape, he dropped several appearance notices that had been given to him when police arrested him for a rash of earlier thefts.

Then there’s another genius we’ll refer to as George. In a job where I’ve seen my share of inept robbers, he takes the prize. He went to a bank, withdrew money from his own account, then robbed the teller. He then walked across the street to a convenience store carrying an armload of money and asked the cashier for a plastic bag. He proceeded to stuff his booty into the bag, then stagger home. Perhaps the most puzzling aspect of this case is that it took the police three days to round him up. Of course when George’s story hit the newspaper, we nasty reporters made him look a wee bit silly, so he wrote a letter to the editor deriding us for our sensationalism. No doubt he’s already writing the sequel. Sorry, George.

Speaking of robbers who should hang onto their day jobs, how about the one called Bob, the man who just couldn’t get enough of those Chinese combos. Bob robbed the same Chinese food takeout not once, not twice, but five times. I’m told by the last time they had a tab set up for him One of my favourites is a case from a few years ago. A guy in a bar had his leather jacket stolen. He heard a local man was trying to sell one just like it, so he sent a friend of his to see if it was the same one. Sure enough, his friend immediately recognized the jacket, and stole it back. The outraged thief called the police to complain that he’d been robbed. No one will ever accuse that guy of being short on nerve. Brains, yes. But nerve? No way. A local defence lawyer tells me he once represented a man who tried to rob a store where the clerk knew him. However, his attempts to conceal his identity left something to be desired. The puzzled cashier looked at him and said his name. To which our hero replied, “No, it’s not me!” I’m glad I only had to report on this stuff. If I were inventing it, no one would believe me. Sometimes theft, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. Take the case of a guy named Earl, in court a few months ago for possessing stolen property. An speaking on his own behalf (you know what they say about having a fool for a client), Earl told the judge he should be lenient, because, why, it had been 20 years since he’d been convicted for anything theft-related. Hold on, the judge said, looking at Earl’s criminal record. You’ve got a conviction here for robbery. “I’m not counting that one,” Earl said indignantly. Obviously not. Thanks for clearing that one up, Earl.

Another one I remember with a great deal of fondness is the saga of a boy named Victor and a stolen all-terrain vehicle. Victor was being pursued over some back roads with his ill-gotten transportation, and he was determined not to be taken alive. He managed to ditch the bike and run into the woods, and the officers followed him in, complete with a police dog. Now, for some reason only our friend the cagey criminal can explain, he decided to take off his pants to help in his escape. I’m not sure how this helped, but I’m sure Victor is. Anyway, the chase ended up behind the community college, and our friend managed to scramble under a car parked next to the school. When an officer peered under the car and found the pants-less putz, Victor told him he was merely doing some work on his car. Apparently without any tools or pants. Did I mention this all happened in November? I remember when the case came to trial and Victor walked past me into the courtroom, one of the local police officers leaned over and said, “There goes the stupidest man on earth.” Well, one of them anyway.

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