1Subject: Medical Dictionary
ANTIBODY: against everyone
ARTERY: the study of fine paintings
BACTERIA: back door to a cafeteria
BENIGN: what you be after you be eight
BOWEL: letters like A, E, I, O, or U
CAESAREAN SECTION: a district in Rome
CARDIOLOGY: advanced study of poker playing
CAT SCAN: searching for ones lost kitty
CAUTERIZE: made eye contact with her
COMA: a punctuation mark
CONGENITAL: friendly
CORTIZONE: the local courthouse
D & C: where Washington is
DILATE: to live longer
ENEMA: not a friend
ER: the things on your head that you hear with
FIBRILLATE: to tell lies
GENES: blue denim slacks
HEMORRHOID: a male from outer space
IMPOTENT: distinguished, well known
LABOR PAIN: hurt at work
MINOR OPERATION: somebody else's
ORGAN TRANSPLANT: what you do to your piano when you move
PARALYZE: two far-fetched stories
PATHOLOGICAL: a reasonable way to go
PHARMACIST: person who makes a living dealing in agriculture
PROTEIN: in favor of young people
RED BLOOD COUNT: Dracula
RHEUMATIC: amorous
SECRETION: hiding anything
TABLET: a small table
TERMINAL ILLNESS: getting sick at the airport
TIBIA: country in North Africa
TRIPLE BYPASS: better than a quarterback sneak
TUMOR: an extra pair
URINE: opposite of "you're out"
VARICOSE: very close
VEIN: conceited
2HOW TO KILL AN EEL
(A true story)
Little Johnny was 7 years old, and like other boys his age, rather
curious. He had been hearing quite a bit about courting from other
boys and he wondered what it was and how it was done. One day he took
his questions to his mother, and she became flustered. Instead of
explaining things to Johnny she told him to hide behind the curtains
one night and watch his older sister and her boyfriend. This he did,
and the following morning Johnny described everything to his mother.
Sis and her boyfriend sat and talked for awhile, then he turned off
most of the lights. Then he started to kiss and hug her, I figured sis
must be getting sick because her face started looking funny. He must
have thought so too because he put his hand inside her blouse to feel
her heart, just like the doctor would. Except he's not as good as the
doctor, because he seemed to have trouble finding her heart. He was
getting sick too, because pretty soon both of them started panting and
getting all out of breath. His other hand must have been getting cold
because he put it under her skirt. About this time, sis got toward the
end of the couch. This was when the fever started. I know it was a
fever because sis told him she was really HOT. Finally, I found out
what was making them so sick.... a big eel had gotten inside his pants
somehow. It just jumped out of his pants and stood there about 9
inches long. HONEST! anyway, he grabbed it in one hand to keep it from
getting away. When sis saw it she got really scared. Her eyes big and
her mouth fell open, and she started calling out to God and stuff like
that. I should tell her about the ones saw at the lake! "Anyway", sis
got brave and tried to kill the eel by biting its head off. All of a
sudden, she made a noise and let the eel go... I guess it bit her
back. Then she grabbed it with both hands and held it tight while he
took a muzzle out of his pocket and slipped it over the eels head to
keep it from biting again. Sis lay back and spread her legs so she
could get a scissor lock on it. And he helped by laying on the top of
the eel. The eel put up a hell of a fight. Sis started groaning and
squealing and her boyfriend almost upset the couch. I guess they
wanted to kill the eel by squishing it between them. After a while
they both quit moving and gave a great sigh. Her boyfriend sat up and
sure enough they had killed the eel... I knew it was dead because it
just hung there limp and some of its insides were hanging out. Sis and
her boyfriend were a little tired from the battle, but they went on
courting anyway. He started hugging and kissing her again. And by
golly, the eel wasn't dead after all. It jumped straight up and
started to fight again. I guess eels are like cats.... they have nine
lives or something. This time sis jumped up and tried to kill the eel
by sitting on it. After about 35 minutes of struggle, they finally
killed the eel. I know it was dead this time because I saw sis's
boyfriend peel off the skin and flush it down the toilet.
Mother fainted.
3LOVEMAKER V3.1 By Jeff MacGregor
Welcome to the LoveMaker! (v3.1 Erosoft Industries, (c) 1993)
At the prompt, please enter your response.
I am the LOVEMAKER. A personalized, interactive poetry assistance
program. What is your name?
>JOHN
What a nice name, JOHN. You must be a man.
>YES
How nice for you. Who is your poem for, JOHN?
>SHEILA
How nice for SHEILA. She must be a woman?
>YES
SHEILA must be very special to you, JOHN. Is she?
>YES
What is the occasion, JOHN?
>VALENTINE'S DAY
SHEILA is a very lucky woman. I will need information about SHEILA
for a poem that best reflects your deep feelings for her, JOHN. What
color are her eyes?
>BLUE
Thank you, JOHN. But could you be more specific? Are they blue like
the sky after a clearing storm? Are they the icy blue of the far
flung fjords, shrouded in mist and mystery? Are they the steely blue
of Walter Gropius's later Bauhaus sketchbooks? Are they a cornflower
blue that speaks of Sunday picnics in simpler times?
>THEY LOOK KIND OF GRAY WHEN SHE'S ANGRY
Thank you, JOHN. What about SHEILA'S hair?
>BLOND
Thank you, JOHN. But could you be more specific? Is it ash blond
with some auburn like the silky tresses of Rapunzel? When the sun
hits it in a certain way in the late afternoon does it look like spun
gold? Is it the hard, cheap blond of the streetwise trollop or the
dazzling, brilliant satin of Renaissance cherubim?
>I THINK SHE DYES IT
Thank you, JOHN. Are there any other characteristics we should
mention in our poem to SHEILA?
>
>
>
JOHN, are you still there?
>SKIN?
Thank you, JOHN. But could you be more specific? Is it fine and
alabaster and tightly grained like antique porcelain, slow-fired by
master craftsmen? Or is it pink and lustrous like the hand-burnished
silver one's Grandmother might be found polishing with gentle, loving
strokes on a rainy Sunday afternoon?
>SHE TANS TWICE A WEEK
SHEILA must be very special to you, JOHN. You must have deep
feelings for SHEILA to write her a special VALENTINE'S DAY poem.
>YES
How nice for you, JOHN. What kind of poem do you think SHEILA would
like?
>?
My MENU (Alt+M) offers the following styles.
At the prompt, please choose ONE:
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
| Couplet | Triplet | Quatrain | Eclogue | Pastoral | Sonnet | Elegy
|
|---------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
| Epic | Ballad | Lyric | Ode | Idyll | Haiku | ???
|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
>?
That's O.K., JOHN. How do you see yourself? Please choose ONE:
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------
-+
| Laureate | Bard | Sonneteer | Troubadour | Meistersinger
|
|---------------------------------------------------------------------------
-|
| Jongleur | Versifier | Rhapsodist | Lyricist | Other
|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------
-+
>OTHER
Can you be more specific?
>I GUESS...
Perhaps if you briefly shared your innermost dreams and desires,
JOHN?
>
>
>
>
JOHN?
>I'M THINKING
May I make a suggestion, JOHN?
>SURE
Perhaps you imagine yourself a hopeless romantic, JOHN. A man who
lives and loves with passion and desire and appetite. A man who
grabs great platters from the groaning board of this world and eats
his fill. A man who takes what he wants the moment he sees it and
makes it his own. A man who kneads fate in his strong hands, shapes
it and commands it. A man with a reckless bent and the courage of
fire. A man who sees beauty in a raindrop and all the truth of the
universe in the eyes of a child. A man with needs and wants aflame
within him. A man of power and means of influence, JOHN. A man
destined to be the envy of other men. A man that few can ever
understand and fewer still will have the guts to love. A man of whom
it might be said...
Would that Alexander in his age had but half the measure of his
strong stout heart or clear hawk's eyes undimmed and true, pooled
with azure purpose. No earthbound mortal he, but master o'er each
and all...
Would this describe your self-image accurately, JOHN?
>YES
I thought so. I'll use my random SEARCH MODE (Alt+S) to choose an
appropriate style for you, JOHN. One that truly expresses your deep
feelings for SHEILA on VALENTINE'S DAY.
Please wait...
To print poem, please enter command Alt+P at prompt.
>Alt+P
Dear SHEILA,
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Your hair is blond
and your eyes are gray (when angry)
JOHN
