Nutworks magazine

Electronic Humor Magazine.

Issue024, (Volume VI, Number IV). July, 1988.

NutWorks is published semi-monthly-ish by

Brent C.J. Britton, < Brent@Maine.BITNET>

Mary had an aeroplane
Around the world she'd whisk.
Wasn't she a silly girl
Her little * ?


NewsWorks ...................... Points of Interest
The Shit List .................. Dictionary
The Return of the
Two-dollar Hangover .......... Story
Great Exam Lies ................ Observations
Rules for Writers .............. Essay
Ouch, Mosquito ................. Poem
The View from Up Here .......... Essay
The Orbs of Oppenheimre ........ Story
God: The Ultimate
Autobiography ................ Book Review
The Committee .................. Poem


Agent 3 stood motionless in the dark cellar, hidden from the stairway
by one of the many partially dismembered corpses hanging from the
ceiling. Suddenly, the door slowly creaked open, and Agent 3's gut
tightened as he heard the descending footfalls. He'd been waiting for
this moment for the past eight months, but now, all was lost. It would
be only a matter of seconds before the man he was supposed to kill would
find him hiding here, helpless. Agent 3 had broken into this forsaken
place only an hour ago, and it was only after any chance of leaving again
was lost that he had realized to his horror that he had lost his bullet
clip somewhere outside. His only chance now was to bluff. He reaffirmed
his grip on his empty .357, and counted.
Four more steps before the evil Dr. Flambe reached the bottom, when
Agent 3 would whirl around, squeeze his trigger, and end the deadly
criminal's miserable life. At least, that would have been the plan had
he not lost his shells. Now, all he could hope to do is bluff long
enough to get out. He had a plan, and it just might work. Three more
steps. Agent 3's heart beat madly. Two more. Sweat began trickling
steadily down his face. One more step... There! Agent 3 whirled around,
took aim, and shouted "Freeze, Flambe!" through his clenched teeth.
A devilish grin came over Dr. Flambe's face and he began to chuckle
wickedly as he reached into his pocket and withdrew... Agent 3's lost
clip! Agent 3's heart sank with dread. Suddenly...


Dan: Hello, I'm Dan Rathernot. We here at the NutWorks NewsDesk have
just received word that, starting in August, NutWorks magazine will be
published no less than twice each month. Our vast hoards of marketing
researchers have determined that you, our readers, would prefer to
receive NutWorks magazine more often, given a slight cut in the size of
each issue.
We take you know, live, to correspondent Boopsie McBigones at the
press conference being given at NutWorks headquarters. Boopsie...?

Boopsie: Thanks, Dan. The editor of NutWorks is approching the podium.
Let's listen in.

Editor: Ladies and gentlemen of the press, NutWorks is just this
magazine, you know? And... Boopsie? Is that you back there? Hey!
Why don't you get your cute little... um.. or rather, perhaps you'd
like to come to my office for an exclusive interview?

Boopsie: On my way!

Editor: Great. Well, that's about it. Thank you all for coming. Bye.

Dan: Well, there you have it folks. This is Dan Rathernot.


"Wow, that was a close one, Agent 3." said Commander Hunt as they
watched the ambulence doors close on Dr. Flambe's dead body. "You barely
made it out of there!"
"All in a day's work, Commander." said Agent 3, and he walked off

silently into the night.

The Shit List

(Author unknown)
Submitted by < Martin@WSUVM1>

GHOST SHIT -- That's the kind where you feel the shit come out, have shit
on the toilet paper, but there's no shit in the toilet.

CLEAN SHIT -- The kind where you shit it out, see it in the toilet, but
there is nothing on the toilet paper.

WET SHIT -- The kind where you wipe your butt 50 times and it still feels
unwiped, so you have to put some toilet paper between your
butt and your underwear so you don't ruin them with a brown

SECOND WAVE SHIT -- It happens when you're done shitting. You've pulled
your pants up to your knees, and then you realize
that you have to shit some more.

POP A VEIN IN YOUR FOREHEAD SHIT -- The kind where you strain so much to
get it out that you practically have
a stroke.

RICHARD SIMMONS SHIT -- The kind of shit where you shit so much you lose
30 pounds.

CORN SHIT -- Self explanatory.

LINCOLN LOG SHIT -- The kind of shit that is so huge that you're afraid
to flush the toilet without breaking it up into a few

DRINKER'S SHIT -- That's the kind of shit you have the morning after a
long night of drinking. Its most noticeable trait is
the tread marks left in the bottom of the toilet.

"GEE, I WISH I COULD SHIT" shit -- It's the kind where you want to shit,
but all you do is sit on the toilet
cramped and fart a few times.

BLOODY SHIT -- Self explanatory.

SPINAL TAP SHIT -- That's the kind that hurts so much coming out that you
swear it's leaving you sideways.

POWER DUMP -- That's the kind that comes out of your ass so fast that
your butt cheeks get splashed with the toilet water.

LIQUID SHIT -- The kind where a yellowish-brown fluid shoots out of your
butt, splatters all over the inside of the toilet bowl,
the whole time chronically burning your anus.

MEXICAN FOOD SHIT -- a class all it's own.

The Return of the Two-dollar Hangover

(Or, How To Implode Yourself)
by Q

Oswald the Rolling Donut smiled in joy as he put down the story. "That
Karl sure was lucky!", he beamed, and then imploded.

The watermelon thought; then it thought again. Again it thought. I
think it thought again, thought I, and the melon thought so too. It won-
dered how the donut had imploded; it tried to implode, but could only
make an "eep" sound, no matter how hard it tried. "Eep", went the melon;
"eep" it went again. Eventually, the watermelon got very very bored and
turned on the TV.

Very far away from the TV, on a great big farm, there lived a Russian
boy. He liked to play with his friends; he liked to eat dessert, and he
didn't like school. All in all, he was a very average boy - so average
that he grew into an average man. One day, when he was 83, he died of
old age. The doctors said it was all totally natural. No one suspected

Also far from the TV lived an evil clown. His name was Blotto, and it
was his wont to do evil, clownish things. Oh, was that little Russian
boy lucky that he never ran into Blotto! Blotto ran a terrible, nasty
circus, where people didn't wear clothes and Pop Tarts weren't allowed.
It was a bad place. People there ate chared glass and wrote "Bleah" on
their foreheads with big purple markers. No, sir... the Russian boy
wouldn't have liked that.

Oswald stood up. He hadn't really imploded, technically... he had
swallowed and hiccuped at the same time, and we all know how THAT feels.
Dragging the corpse out of the way, he grated some cheese for the taco
dinner. Oswald loved mexican food. His friend should be there any

A knock sounded at the front door. Turning off the garbage disposal,
Oswald rolled giddishly to the door. Opening it, he saw his friend...
Charles Nelson Reilly! "Hi Chuckster!", he hollered. Charles looked at
him and threw up enchiladas. Then he imploded.

"Eep!", went the melon. Damn! This was so frustrating. He kicked
the TV; the TV told him "Bleah."

The janitor bit deep into her hand. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaugh!", screamed
our heroine as she hit the custodian in the head with her toaster-oven.
With a wild cry, she dove off the landing and fell 19 flights of stairs.
It was no problem, however... she had luckily worn her no-run mascara, so
disaster was averted.

Ulysses S. Grant sat down, not noticing the watermelon on the seat
that he had mushed. He looked at the TV; the TV looked back. "Hey!", it
cryed, "You're supposed to be dead!"

"Oh! Sorry," said the deceased president; "I get confused sometimes,"
he confessed as he crumbled into ashes.

Oswald the donut wondered if crumbling into ashes was harder than
imploding. Not being able to decide, he ate himself.

He was a jelly.

Great Exam Lies

by Dr. Strangeloop and The Eater of Babies

(1) "All the data you need will be printed on the front of the paper."
(2) "You only need to answer two questions to pass."
(3) "It's not a test of memory, it's a test of ability."
(4) "There's plenty of time to read through the paper before you start."

(5) (from the lecture course) "I probably won't test you on this."

Rules for Writers (by William Safire)
combined with

Newsman's English (by Harold Evans)

submitted by Johnathan R. Partington < JRP1@UK.AC.CAM.PHX>

Remember to never split an infinitive. The passive voice should never be
used. Do not put statements in the negative form, and don't use no
double negatives. Verbs has to agree with their subjects. Proofread
carefully to see if you any words out. If you reread your work, you can
find on rereading a great deal of repetition can be avoided by rereading
and editing. A writer must not shift your point of view. And don't
start a sentence with a conjunction. (Remember, too, a preposition is a
terrible word to end a sentence with.) Don't overuse exclamation marks!!
Use apostrophe's correctly, and don't use commas, which, aren't neces-
sary. Place pronouns as close as possible, especially in long sentences,
as of 10 or more words, to their antecedents. About those sentence frag-
ments. Writing carefully, dangling participles must be avoided. If any
word is improper at the end of a sentence, a linking verb is. Take the
bull by the hand and avoid mixing metaphors. Avoid trendy locutions that
sound flaky. Everyone should be careful to use a singular pronoun with
singular nouns in their writing. Always pick on the correct idiom. The
adverb always follows the verb. Corect speling is esential. Last but

not least, avoid trite cliches like the plague.

Ouch, Mosquito

by Mitchell Peck
Submitted by Hugh Cushing < UI.HUGH@CU20B>

Ouch mosquito, silent by night,
Why pierce my skin, so white?
You grow plump, as a leech.
Stop! I beseech (in vein).

I have no choice.
Why waste my voice,
When only a slap will do?
Ouch, I am bitten!
What ho, you are smitten!

Yo mosquito, fuck you.

The View from Up Here

by Richard Outerbridge < RAMO@DALAC>

I'm Canadian so I'm required to be bland. I'm also not in a particularly
good mood, so I have no intention of being funny. That was not an apol-
ogy. If you don't like it, don't read it.

I want some answers from you who are Americans. Whoever is in charge of
answers had better get to it, or I'll get unpleasant. If you've never
seen an unpleasant Canadian, DON'T RISK IT!

I know what a Bush is. This, for example:

Nutworks magazine bush

is an amBush. This:

| Bud |

is an AnheiserBush. This:


is an expletive-free Bush. I even know what a "Jacks on" is. But what,
pray tell, is a Dukakis? You'd better tell me because I've decided it
will become your President. In fact, there doesn't seem much point in
going on with this election nonsense. I'll save you all a lot of fuss
and bother, and announce the appointment next week sometime. I realize
that this will interfere with your collective efforts to bother the rest
of the world, but I'm rather fed up with the lack of originality you've
been exhibiting.

My next question is more mundane. Why do you keep sending us products
with shoddy and incomplete ingredients lists? In the future, please
either: a) List ALL ingredients NOT included in the formation of the
item, or b) List ALL ingredients which you failed to disinclude. A mix-
ture of both of these philosophies is not acceptable.

It also essential that you detail the thought processes (if any) occur-
ring in any of the employee's of the manufacturer involved in the forma-
tion and distribution of all products. We are all tired of trying to
deduce whether or not to avoid using certain batches because there was a
real danger that those involved in bringing them to us were not engaging
in meaningful thought about South Africa as they went about their

One kind thought for you: Don't worry about whether or not to legalize
drugs. We don't care one way or the other.


P.S. If you have time please explain baseball. Unless a very convincing
justification for this is received, statements in the passive voice
will cease, and ice hockey will replace all slower, less demanding,
less suspenseful competitive pursuits (except those entailing mating
behavior. American mating behavior is still amusing).

P.P.S. If everyone really likes the taste of Burger King (King Burger, as
my very adorable wife calls it) better than McDonalds (my favorite
Scottish restaurant), why do so many people engage in ecosystem ex-
changes (receiving and donating) at the latter venues? (Hypothesis:
the virus is detectable through its side effects - the demise of the
Southern Barbarians is not the work of an omniscient or unsportsman-
like being).

P.P.P.S. Re-read this often.

The Orbs of Oppenheimre

by Geoffrey "ZAPHOD" Heller <<96994999@WSUVM1" TITLE="E-mail 96994999@WSUVM1" > 96994999@WSUVM1>

Ronalled had been climbing for days now, yet the peak of Mt. Saltan was
not even in sight. His food was getting low, he was thoroughly tired,
and the insects had not ceased to bite at his every limb since he left
Amacrion. He fondled the small orb in his purse. Little did anyone know
he carried such a powerful weapon, he thought. Climbing still, he con-
sidered his meeting with Gorbacon of Sobied. He couldn't stand Gorbacon,
but his desire for a peaceful relationship with the Sobieds was more
pressing than his dislikes. This was finally a plan for a greater peace.
The destruction of the Orbs of Oppenheimre. He paused momentarily at the
thought of the great Orb and profoundly said, "Gee".

Years ago, when war was still raging between the Amacrions and the
Sobieds, the Lord Ronalled had requested the creation of a superior
weapon. The great Mage, Oppenheimre, replied with the creation of two
orbs. They were so named the Orbs of Oppenheimre. When thrown, the Orbs
could destroy the land for miles around. They also had be used simulta-
neously. Because if one were used, the other would explode too. (For
the same reason that people always seem to find a mutant corn flake in
their cereal on thursdays.) Strangely, no one ever considered the fact
that nobody could throw over a mile. If was foretold by Seers that upon
the coming of the great harmonic divergence they would both spontaneously
explode. (For the same reason that you can't ever find those mutant corn
flakes after you put the milk in.) The harmonic divergence now crept
closer with every waking moment.

Ronalled considered the history of the Orbs while he walked. He
gnashed his teeth knowing that Gorbacon only had the other Orb because he
had stolen it. Overlooking the wrongdoings of Gorbacon, Ronalled focused
on his goal: To get plastered at the beer garden on Mt. Saltan. At the
summit of Mt. Saltan the two Lords were to meet and cast the Orbs into
the endless pit if INFandor. Then the party would really begin.

As Ronalled walked on, he noticed something strange. An odd whistling
accompanied by a noise that sounded like, "uber dere". Faintly he heard
the bushes rustle behind him. He whirled around only to be smashed on
the back of the head from behind. The Orb was thrown from his purse.
Ronalled lay now unconscious. His face was warped into a bizarre and
unnatural fashion. He had a half frown with terrible hound dog eyes.
For one fleeting moment he looked like a grotesque cross between Ollie
North and Benji.

Immediately out of the forest came Kadalferi and his band of thieves.
Well, not thieves. Worse. Golfers. One of Kadalferi's subordinates
came to him with the rather dull looking orb. Kadalferi briefly looked
at it and said, "Ah ha! My golf Ball! I knew it was uber dere some-
where! ... Fore!" With that he proceeded to make the greatest swing of
his golfing career...

Gorbacon looked up and saw the flash. He wanted to say something pro-
found about Ronalled upon his death. He and Ronalled had been to a lot
of really wild parties together. Like the time they were both drunk on
the floor singing Toccata & Fugue in D minor to the beat of "Velcro Fly."
But all he managed to work out was, "Golly" by the time he was blown to

With the leaders gone the two kingdoms began a war of hideous accusa-
tions. "You killed our lord!", "Did not!", "Did too!" and so forth.
Soon these appalling accusations led into a terrible war which raged for
decades. It all finally ended when the great philosopher ZAPHOD discov-
ered the one phrase which truly was analogous to life: "I want to love
life, but life only wants meaningless sex."

The moral of the story is that there are no morals. If truth is
stranger than fiction then a half-truth perforated with fiction and

sprinkled with periodic madness is the oddest thing around.

God: The Ultimate Autobiography

(Holy Ghost-written by Jeremy Pascall)
submitted by Johnathan R. Partington < JRP1@UK.AC.CAM.PHX>


* THE TRUTH ABOUT ADAM AND EVE, and why they were fired from the world's
first theme park.
* SODOM AND GOMORRAH: THE CITIES OF SIN, including street plans, good
food guides and listings of the best clubs, discos, and bars. And why
compulsory demolition orders were placed on all of them.
* BEGETTING: THE DO'S AND DON'T'S, including why you shouldn't covet your
neighbor's ass.

And exclusively revealing:

* The Eleventh Commandment!
* That pigs were *meant* to fly, and rhinos were designed to live under
* That the sky should have been called "Waxtl" but Adam couldn't
pronounce it!

Plus a word for any atheists among you: "Wrong!"

Ebury Press - ISBN 0 85223 657 3 - Hardback - $5.95

The Committee

by Leslie Lipson
submitted by Michael J. Irvin < IRVINMJ@WSUVM1>

Oh give me your pity!
I'm on a committee,
Which means that from morning to night,

We attend and amend
And contend and defend
Without a conclusion in sight.

We confer and concur,
We defer and demur,
And reiterate all of our thoughts.

We revise the agenda
With frequent addenda
And consider a load of reports.

We compose and propose,
We suppose and oppose,
And the points of procedure are fun;

But though various notions
Are brought up as motions,
There's terribly little gets done.

We resolve and absolve;
But we never dissolve,
Since it's out of the question for us
To bring our committee
To end like this ditty,
Which stops with a period, thus.

Issue024, (Volume VI, Number IV). July, 1988.