Making a spectacle

An army private went to see the Medical Captain for a new pair
of glasses. The Captain looked in his book of record and said,
"But you just got a new pair last month!"
"Yes sir, b.. b.. but I got them b..broken in an accident,"
stammered the private.
"Accident, what kind of an accident?" The Captain looked in his
book of Accident definitions and glossaries, "Road-march
accident, Firing Range accident, PT accident, Drill accident?"
"No, no nothing of those..." said the private.
"Well then, what is it?"
"I'd rather not tell you sir..."
"Well, no satisfactory explanations, no new glasses," said the
medical officer, ready to stand up, "I've to see my patients
now."
"No, no sir wait, I broke them when I was kissing my girl,"
blurted the private.
"Don't be daft man, how could you break your glasses kissing
a girl?"
"You see, she crossed her legs....."

That's all messed up, and missing the attribution.

When a party writes a poem and he puts it on the net,
He writes for love not money, and he takes what he can get.
He writes to bring you pleasure, that's the nature of the game.
He writes for recognition and he's sure to sign his name.

I wrote the poem in question, but this will make you laugh,
the version circulating, is my work cut in half!
Someone didn't like it, I guess that's a cinch.
It passed around the internet, until it met the Grinch.

I've never met the miscreant who edited my work,
but when I close my eyes and try, I can see the jerk!
The eyes are tiny pixels, close together you will find,
they're only separated by his narrow little mind.

His fingernails are dirty as he types on sticky keys,
He lurks around the network and takes whatever he sees.
He edits, chops, appropriates, and strips away my name,
A scoundrel on the internet, a lowdown dirty shame.

I'd like to find this filcher, so I'll offer this reward.
I'll give away my Mac SE, throw in the power cord.
If you will help me track him down and hang his internets
This information highwayman deserves what'er he gets.

An if we fail to find him, I'll hit him with a curse.
His hard disk will start spinning counter-clockwise in reverse.
His screen will start to flicker, and his mouse will chase a hearse.
I'll teach that hacking larcenist to tamper with my verse!

If you want to see my uncut work, take heart, it's still alive
It's in NetGuide, page eighty-six, for March of ninety-five.

This (and the poem posted by Dataman) is by Gene Zeigler. You can read the full version of "A Grandchild's Guide to Using Grandpa's Computer" here: http://www.guernsey.net/~poetry/genez.html

How The Virus Was Born

Baby Virus Says: Daddy, how was I born?

Daddy Virus Says: Ahhh ... well, my son, one day you will need to find out anyway. Here’s how it happened:

Mommy virus and daddy got together in a chat room on MSN. Daddy set up a date via e-mail with your mommy and we met at a cyber cafe. We sneaked into a secluded room, and then mommy downloaded from daddy's memory stick. As soon as daddy was ready for an upload, it was discovered that neither one of us had used a firewall. Since it was too late to hit the escape button, nine milliseconds later our blessed little virus appeared.

<dataman>

With apologies in advance to my friends in the South:

A hillbilly came running into the store and said to his buddy, "Al, somebody just stole your pickup truck." Al said, "Did you see who it was?" The hillbilly replied, "I couldn't tell, but I got the license number!"

***

A reporter asked this hillbilly what he thought about the president’s education bill. He answered: "If he owes it, I reckon he should pay it."

***

A young ventriloquist is touring through the southern United States and stops to entertain at a small bar in Texas. He's going through his usual stupid Redneck jokes, when a big burly guy in the audience stands up and says, "I've heard just about enough of your smart ass hillbilly jokes. We ain't all stupid here in the South."
Flustered, the ventriloquist begins to apologize, when the big guy pipes up, "You stay out of this mister, I'm talking to the smart ass little fella on your knee."

***

I was hitchhiking in the hills of Tennessee last summer when I was picked up by a hillbilly in this beat up old step-side Ford truck. I sat down and said “howdy my friend, it sure en’uff is hot out there”. He pulled out gun and pointed it at my head.

“Reach in there and git that there bottle of corn squeezin’s out’a that glove box and take a big old swig.” He waved the gun and I took a big swaller. I gasped, gulped, sobbed, blinked, wept, gagged, choked, shuddered, squirmed, and finally twitched.

"All right," the hillbilly said. "Now you take this here gun and point it at me. I promised God and my woman I would never take another drink septin’ at gun point."

<dataman>

That was a good one - clean too! Here's another clean one:

A man, whose level of drunkenness was bordering on the absurd, stood up to leave a bar and fell flat on his face.
"Maybe all I need is some fresh air," thought the man as he crawled outside.

He tried to stand up again, but fell face first into the mud.

"Forget it," he thought. "I'll just crawl home."

The next morning, his wife found him on the doorstep asleep.

"You went out drinking last night, didn't you?" she said.

"Uh, yes," he said sheepishly. "How did you know?"
.....
.....
.....
"You left your wheelchair at the bar again."

edited for language...cih