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*****NUMBERS 161 TO 165***********BY DANIEL BOWEN (tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu)*****

"Continental Toxic Custard"


    161         161   161        1  161    1   161      161
     the 161st edition of1the Toxic Custard6Workshop Files 161
        161        161   6  161  1     6   1       161
  161       161  161     1            1          161     161

And now here is the news.

The Prime Minister, Mr Paul Keating was severely embarrassed by the
admission yesterday that he had wet his pants during the previous
week's session of parliament. Mr Keating attempted to divert the
questioning of persistent journalists by trying to remind them of
Opposition Leader John Hewson's loud trumpeting fart last month, but
to no avail.
    A spokesman for the Continence Alliance denounced the Prime
Minister's danglies, declaring that any self-respecting leader of
this country should have an iron-clad bladder. He also said it was
probably just a publicity stunt to coincide with Continence Week
(it's this week folks, I'm not kidding!), and described Mr Keating as
a political "wet".

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
                                         ___
                ________________________/  /     "The Spirit
               /##   # # # # # #CustardAir/         of Custard"
               \__________\   \__________/
                           \___\

    Fly CUSTARD Airlines to all the major cities of the world! (Like
Dubbo, Broken Hill, and even Bendigo!) Our LUXURY cabin service
includes a free tissue with every fifth passenger. Every passenger
gets a FREE set of headphones(*). And our unique SELF-SERVICE
approach to snacks and refreshments and parachutes ensures that you
SAVE, because we don't have to pay for someone to stand at the front
of the plane rabbiting on about those safety procedures that you'll
forget in the panic of a real emergency.
    Speaking of which, by flying CUSTARD Airlines, you can be assured
that we have some of the best safety procedures in the world, mainly
because we get to practice them so much. And in the rare event of an
imminent unexpected zero altitude arrival in a descending mode
situation, all CUSTARD Airline passengers will benefit from our ALL
NEW "You'll Never Know" policy of in-flight announcements.
    So the next time you go to the airport to fly into the sunset,
fly CUSTARD Airlines, and wave your family goodbye!


(*) Return to staff after flight. Movies/music cost additional fee.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I'm panicking more now than a type-setter who has got an Ikea
catalogue to print and has entirely run out of umlauts. So we cross
once again to the Oppression Olympics where Martin Sprot is about to
compete in the final of the 100 Metres Suspect Submission Sprint. A
little later will be the semi-final of the 400 Metres Bollocks
Kicking Relay, and the first heats of the Water Torture Diving
events. And of course, the Javelin has to be seen to be believed,
although the shooting events are fairly predictable...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ah, so you're reading this crap again, are you? What a sad loathsome
lump of a human being you are. Just think of all the things you could
be doing right now if you weren't subjecting your eyeballs to this
garbage.

All the things I'd like to do
Like walking in the park or in the zoo
Or listening to a new song by U2
Rather than read this Custard.

I'd rather read an intelligent book
Or give that new TV show a look
Come to that, I'd rather cook
Than read my Toxic Custard.

Better to go out spraying walls
Or rowing over big waterfalls
Measuring Michaelangelo's David's balls
Much better than Toxic Custard.

Queue up for tickets to see Megadeath
Or eat lots and lots, get garlic breath
I'd rather lie on benches and get drunk on Meths
Than to read my Toxic Custard

I'd prefer to watch reruns of Neighbours
Or get sick on Baskin Robbins 31 flavours
Or even publicly hail L. Ron as saviour
It's better than reading Custard

Rather clean out wild pigs muck
Watch some musical that really sucks
Because all in all I could not give a fuck
For reading any more Toxic Custard

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That's probably an excellent time to
abruptly end this edition of Toxic
Custard. 'Night. Oh, but before I go,
can I just mention that back-issues
from the "golden" age of TCWF are
still available by ftp? Mail here for
details. Where's here? Well, try
pointing your mailer towards
tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu  I hope you
recognise a blatant plug and line
padding bit when you see it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright (c) 1993 Daniel Bowen                           I
--                                                        t
Daniel Bowen, NTC Systems------|\      /\      /\      /\   seemed      /\
Telecom Australia, Melbourne---| \    /  \    /  \    /  \    /like a  /  \
dbowen@vcomtelc.telecom.com.au-|  \  /    \  /    \  /    good idea\at/    \  /
TCWF stuff: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu|   \/      \/      \/      \/ the time      \/

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Retrospective Toxic Custard"


/\/\/  /\/\/  \     \  /\/\/   \  \     \/\/\  Toxic  Custard
  \    \      /     /  \       /  /         /  Workshop Files
  /    /      \  /  \  /\/\    \  \/\/  \/\/\
  \    \      /  \  /  \       /  /  \  /      Number 162 - 23/8/93
  /    /\/\   \/\/\/\  /       \  \/\/  \/\/\  by Daniel Bowen

Toxic Custard was three years old on the twelfth of this month, and
tonight, we flash back to those early days of August 1990, and take a
(slightly less topical than it could have been) look at how TCWF was
born.

"THE MAKING OF TOXIC CUSTARD"

[File footage of crumbling, flooded corridor in F Block, Monash Uni
Caulfield]

DENNIS: Good evening. I'm Dennis Monkeygland. It was here, in the
shallowed halls of Monash University, that Toxic Custard as we know
it, was born. But where and why was it actually written? And how did
it get its wacky, zany off-the-wall Pythonesque-type name? Tonight,
we'll take you back to the earliest days of Toxic Custard, and reveal
how TCWF was created.

DANIEL: Well, back in them days of '90, I was in the second year of
my course, a Bachelor of Pretending Cobol Is Structured, failing
Photocopying 215, and me and me mates had just discovered the
Internet. We suddenly realised that there was more to computer
networks than just using Phone and Talk to annoy people in the next
room, or sending Mail to tell people to meet you for lunch and Tetris
at the corner shop.

DENNIS: So how did the concept for TCWF come about?

DANIEL: I was messing around with my mate Bw.. err Brian Smith. Hi
Brian, if you're reading. And another pal of ours, Ray Chan, who was
in an Electronics, Robotics And Other High-Tech Stuff course, came up
with an idea for an electronic magazine, called "The Serial Saga". Hi
Ray, if you're reading. We thought this was great, and immediately
mugged him in the corridor and stole his idea. Ray never actually
wrote anything, but did manage to create a monster robot which went
berserk the next semester, and killed 5 lecturers due to a faulty
diode in its corduroy detection circuits.

DENNIS: So TCWF was born. Or perhaps hatched.

DANIEL: Yeah, a little TCWF baby was hatched on 12/8/93, and
immediately set about crapping all over the floor. Bw.. err Brian
wrote a separate serial called Rocket Roger, about a guy whose name
was... umm... Roger. At first both came out twice a week, TCWF on
Mondays and Wednesdays, and RR on Tuesdays and Thursdays. But that
didn't stop half the known galaxy confusing the two. I put that down
to lack of intelligence. Now RR comes out about as often as Halley's
Comet, and TCWF comes out whenever I bloody well feel like it, which
is about once a week. Usually on a Monday. Around 10pm. Eastern
Standard time.

DENNIS: So who thought of the name "Toxic Custard Workshop Files"?

DANIEL: I guy I knew in high school. Me and my mates Mark Bainbridge
and David Holicek (Hi guys, if you're reading), were trying to think
up a name for another aborted project in amateur TV. David thought of
the phrase "Toxic Custard Workshop" on a number 700 bus on the way
home in 1988. David went on to reach the very end, and built a Toxic
Waste Dump for diseased camels, so it was quite prophetic.

[Footage of old 8-bit computers, rusting and falling to bits under
the weight of their own keyboards]

DANIEL: Originally I wrote TCWF on my old BBC computer at home. I
kept it for sentimental reasons, but let's face it, who the hell uses
a computer with less than 32Kb of RAM these days? Anyway, in those
days it was sent up to the Uni mainframe by 300 baud modem. Those
were the days... Shit, I just remembered, I still do that, since my
2400 baud modem fell off the desk.

DENNIS: How did you find readers?

DANIEL: Well, originally we hadn't had the idea of posting stuff to
UseNet News. So I just sent it to people around the campus who wanted
it. As well as anyone else whose username we happened to stumble
across. We bailed people up in the corridors and demanded "Username
or your life!" Of course, by getting mailed TCWF and Rocket Roger,
they lost both. A couple of them got angry, in fact two unhappy
Rocket Roger readers attacked Brian one day with a spare keyboard
someone left lying around. Rammed the DIN plug right up his nose. I
think some of it's still up there.

DENNIS: So how many people read the first issues?

DANIEL: Seven people read the first ever issue, which was pretty
pathetic. We started a little "subscription war" of sorts, though
TCWF and RR plugged each other regularly. The numbers of both
increased steadily every week, and today, TCWF is read by more than
ten people, and an estimated 37 on News.

DENNIS: So over the years, what's changed?

DANIEL: Oh, not very much. Umm... my alias; the sideways messages
came and went; linked stories of the early issues; switching to a
"real" mailing list; very late News postings; mailing on Mondays
instead of Sundays; updates to the ftp sites, 'cos everyone
responsible seems to have changed jobs or disappeared mysteriously;
the almost-demise of TCWF at issue 50; TCWF's inclusion in the Freaks
Anonymous list, which has resulted in loads of Freaks Anonymous
people mailing me saying "why are you sending me this shit"; excerpts
in the Naked Wasp student newspaper; an unbroadcast tape made for
Monash Uni radio; an excerpt in the National Telemarketer magazine at
work (Hi Wes, if you're reading); editing on a PC rather than the
Beeb; occasional inclusion of GIF cartoons...

DENNIS: Errr thank you.

DANIEL: Usenet-type signatures; bothering to bung a copyright on the
end...

DENNIS: Shut up!

DANIEL: Well you did ask.

DENNIS: Err, and finally, what have been your favourite bits out of
Toxic Custard?

DANIEL: The first Shakespeare parody (#19); the Fascist Fuckwits'
Federation (#48), which one twerp actually publicly attacked as being
racist; God's database (#61); the appearance of Irene Busybody (#72);
the Popsicle "Phoenix" take-off; Bowen NURK Power (#96) and the
Cosmo/Cleo wars of #125.

DENNIS: Is that all?

DANIEL: Well, all that I can think of for the moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It is your privilege to have been reading
Toxic Custard #162. And normally most people
would expect to pay for the privilege. You
have - but you just don't know it yet. Some
back-issues are available by ftp; reply, or
send mail to tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu for details.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright (c) 1993 Daniel Bowen
--                                
Daniel Bowen, NTC Systems------|  Next week... well, something
Telecom Australia, Melbourne---|  a little less self-
dbowen@vcomtelc.telecom.com.au-|  indulgent, at the very
TCWF stuff: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu|  least.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Aging Toxic Custard"


Speaking as a member of the dominant species on the planet, I am
proud to lay down my fingers in honour of the dominant humorous
computerised newsletter of your screen of the moment, that most
shunned of electronic journals, the very humble and dare I say it
(yes, I dare), superfluous,

T O  X   I    C      ||||    |||          |||||||||||
C U  S   T    A     R |||  D ||                   |||
W O  R   K    S     H |||  O ||||||P|||   |||||||||||
F I  L   E    S       |||    |||    |||          ||||
3 0  t   h    A     u |||  g ||||||u|||   ||s|||||||| t ||  ||   ||    ||

    Old people have been depressing me lately. You've seen them,
tottering onto the tram waving their 60 Plus cards and holding the
rest of us up. It's almost enough to make you run up to them and
scream "you're gonna die before me! Hahahaha!!"
    And if you're of the male persuasion, you'll have noticed how
grandparents always send birthday cards that have captions like "For
You, Grandson", and have pictures of flowing waterfalls, or antique
motor cars. It's like an entire generation of people out there on the
planet that haven't heard of Gary Larson or Purple Ronnie. Very sad.
    Of course, you can get rid of old people by shipping them off to
the infamous Bingo Camps. For a very reasonable fee, a gang will come
and kidnap your grandparents, tie them up, and take them away to a
Bingo camp, where they will be mercilessly tortured with games of
Bingo, Andrew Lloyd-Webber soundtracks, Dorothy L Sayers stories, and
episodes of The Good Old Days. Some Bingo Camp prisoners are even
taken overseas, or split into special interest groups, where the
rules of Bingo tend to vary slightly. Instead of shouting "Bingo!"
when you have all the numbers, the following silly exclamations
apply:
    - in Mexico:                 "Gringo!"
    - in Australia:              "Dingo!"
    - in Liverpool, England:     "Ringo!"
    - for the chauvinists:       "Jingo!"
    - for language experts:      "Lingo!"
    - alcoholics:                "Stingo!"
    - bird watchers:             "Flamingo!"
    - botanists:                 "Eryngo!"
and possibly the dodgiest one of the lot,
    - in the Dominican Republic: "Santo Domingo!"

   [I can see this Rhyming Dictionary is going to come in very handy]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

TOXIC TALES - "Kaga, the Unfortunate Rabbit"

    Once upon a time, in a field quite nearby to the enchanted forest
that crops up in every bloody fairy tale, there lived a little
rabbit, called Kaga. He was called that because that's what the label
says on the monitor next to this one. See? Over there  ------------>
    Kaga was a very furry rabbit, and had a happy time with all his
friends in the field, including his bestest ever buddy, Sally
Fieldmouse. Unfortunately though, Kaga had one little problem, which
involved personal hygiene. (I won't pretend I know how to spell the
word hygiene at this time of night, but I'll let the spelling checker
work it out. Now I've said that, the spelling looks right. Tell you
what, bet you $5 it's okay. I'll give you the result at the end of
the story.)
    Kaga's little problem was of under-paw smells, and was
complicated by the fact that they don't make Rexona for rabbits. And
so it was that after a hard day of doing what rabbits do best -
eating grass and lettuce - Kaga tended to arrive home at the burrow
feeling very smelly, and, in all honesty, quite sodden with sweat.
    Sally Fieldmouse suggested that Kaga bathe himself in the nearby
water more regularly than the twice a month that he tended to. She
also offered other solutions, including detergent, alcohol, and a
rather nasty acid that grumpy Farmer Nitrate had left a canister of
nearby.
    But Kaga was determined to remain sweaty and filthy, as he was
hoping for a spot in the next Hare Yakka ad.
    And that's how this story ends - at a stalemate, with no positive
conclusion. Hmm.

                               The End

             And the moral of the story is: Don't expect
               a decent ending when the author is tired
                    and just wants to get to bed.

                        PS. Hygiene was right.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    I was walking up the street today, and saw a van pull up outside
KFC. And a guy got out, and started carrying cardboard boxes inside.
And on the cardboard boxes it said "KFC Fresh Salad". Hmmm.
    Which makes me wonder(*). If you eat food that's about to expire,
doesn't that mean it goes off while it's inside your body? Maybe
perishable food should include a "digest by" date?
    Next week I'm going to see that new movie about the prehistoric
butcher: Jurassic Pork.

                              (*) Actually, it didn't make me wonder,
                                          but it's a convenient link.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There are many things I sometimes wonder
Like why there's so much noise with thunder
Why the garbos scatter the bins
And are there cars for Siamese twins
I wonder why greeting cards cost three bucks
Why only smart-arses get the dux
Why people at parties arrive late
Why fish don't realise worms are bait

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I also wonder why we've reached
the end of another Toxic Custard.
Because we have, that's why.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright (c) 1993 Daniel Bowen
--
Daniel Bowen, NTC Systems------|   I'm an Aussie boy
Telecom Australia, Melbourne---|   I was brought up wrong
dbowen@vcomtelc.telecom.com.au-|   Hear me belching
TCWF stuff: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu|   And wear my thongs

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Satanistic Toxic Custard"


Toxic CustarD workShop fIles    -\   /    | \    W     N     A     B
tOxic cUstaRd worKsHop FiLes      \ |___  |__\_   R   E     D N     O
toXiC cuStArd WoRkshOp filEs       \ \  \     \    I T   B     I L   W N
toxIc cusTard wOrkshoP fileS        \ \__|     \    T     Y     E     E
-/-/-/-\-\-\-/-/-/-\-\-\-\-\-\-/-/-/-/-/-/-\-\-\-\-\-/-/-/-/-\-/-/-\--\-

- Excuse me, can you give me directions?

Certainly. Empty contents of sachet, half into a large cup, and half
all over your knees. Pour cold water into cup (and on your knees),
before striking a match and setting fire to the stove. Crack eggs and
place yolks and shells in a bowl, before mixing with contents of the
cup and dropping in a Lego block. Bang head on cupboard getting out
spoon, and catch sleeve in stove flame. Collapse in pain, pulling
bowl and contents over your head and fall to floor.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

As I sit here in the wasteland that is the computer/spare room, I
ponder the world around me. What a mess. The room I mean. This proves
how uninspired I am at the moment. The sheer drudgery of just looking
through the bookshelf, reading all the old ten year old computer
books on the shelf that's at eye-level. Pretty sad, eh?

                  DANIEL'S GUIDE TO OPENING THE DOOR

    We've all been in that situation, haven't we. The door knocks,
and you suspect there might be someone outside making all the noise.
The key thing to do is BEWARE. In fact, the absolute best thing you
can do at this point is simply to ignore the knocking, and hope that
eventually it will go away. The may be a rather unsociable way to
deal with things, but then, so is screaming in people's faces when
they're trying to take a leak.
    For some people, ignoring the problem of knocking doors may not
be sufficient. For one thing, the person at your door could be one of
those types who will continue knocking for some hours, which, even if
it's not annoying, will most certainly take some of the shine off
your door. At this point, it is often advantageous to have a "peek
hole" in your door. This is a marvellous device that enables you to
peek at whoever's attacking your door, without letting them know that
you're actually checking them out from behind your door, deciding
whether or not to let them in. I recommend getting a peek hole for
your door. Though if you're only bothering to read this guide now
that there's someone knocking at your door, it may be too late.
    So, if possible, perform a "peek" security check to see which
door knocker category the knocker falls into, and thence behave
appropriately:

THE BAD DOOR KNOCKERS:
* Neighbour wanting to borrow sugar - Ignore/pretend you're not home,
    until they give up and go and see another neighbour, who
    hopefully won't be as selfish and nasty as you
* Masked knife-wielding maniac - Shout very loudly that you're going
    to call the Police and get out your grandfather's shotgun that he
    killed a battalion of Germans with during the war
* In-law of any description - (see previous)
* Jehovah's Witnesses, Mormons, or other religious CULTs - Answer the
    door wearing a satanic mask, edging the door just open enough to
    let them see the flames and pentangle that you've drawn on the
    livingroom floor in chalk. And who says you're just having a
    little joke?

THE GOOD DOOR KNOCKERS:
* Neighbour wanting to return sugar - Open the door, take the sugar,
    and slam it in their face before they can open their mouths to
    borrow something else
* Expected friend/s with an appointment and positive identification -
    Shine spotlight, check ID, let in, frisk then invite into the
    other room for a seat and a drink. And don't take your eyes off
    them for a minute.
* Man from Tattslotto - Check ID, check you actually *entered* Tatts
    this week, invite into the other room for a seat and a drink, and
    demand the money. And leave the accompanying TV journalists out
    in the cold street. That will annoy them no end.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    YOU HAVE REACHED SATAN'S QUESTION LINE. WHAT IS YOUR QUERY?

Hi, we're about to have a son, and we'd like him to grow up as a bad
Satanists just like us. Are there any names that you recommend we
use?

    YES... PETER, ANDRE, JASON, DONOVAN, ANDREW, LLOYD...

And what do you, as the devil, the evil one, think of KFC?

    LOVE THAT HOT AND SPICY...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

- Excuse me, can you give me directions to the boat shed?

Yeah, sure. You go down that street there, to where it turns, but you
don't turn. You keep walking towards the traffic lights, until you
see the statue with pigeon crap all over it, and you go around that,
down the grass verge, jump over the hedge (watch your danglies), then
run down the hill onto the main road and land under a car and end up
in hospital. Then you go out of the hospital back entrance, and get
hit by an ambulance. So then you go out of the front entrance, left
down the driveway, straight down the street until you get to the
bridge, where you jump off the middle of the south side, swim to the
east bank, and you can't miss it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    YOU HAVE REACHED SATAN'S QUESTION LINE. WHAT IS YOUR QUERY?

Hi, I'm just ringing to find out if it's okay to kill my grandmother.

    YES. KILL AS MANY GRANDMOTHERS AS YOU CAN GET YOUR KNIFE INTO.

Oh, great. Okay! Bye!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bye!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright (c) 1993 Daniel Bowen
--
Daniel Bowen, NTC Systems------|  TCWF back-issues are available
Telecom Australia, Melbourne---|  from.. oh hell, if you don't
dbowen@vcomtelc.telecom.com.au-|  know by now, I'm not about
TCWF stuff: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu|  to tell you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Sponsored Toxic Custard"


    TCUDWHOESereper19ityDlBHaonuaotdTAniphit?PlMaItdBeTwIntaleOe
    OCSROSPLNb1Stb1h9rtBaeonsyetlBheoydchTsiIoeeieWlecootsAtWtfm
    XITARKFIum65em3t3WenniweAnAclyerTrDeerShfSaslMouNiKnWaToasTi
    -------------"Don't bother; it's not worth it"--------------

There's nothing more necessary than shoes. You can walk down the
street naked in most weather without undue harm, but you'll be
regretting it the instant you step on a snail. So we present:

               DANIEL'S GUIDE TO PUTTING ON YOUR SHOES

    The first thing to do is to check that you're not an amputee who
is missing both legs. If so, I'm afraid there won't be much to
interest you in this section. Unless you're in the habit of placing
shoes on other appendages, or you have one or more false legs that
you regularly change the shoes on. This may be the case if sometimes
you are required to attend formal occasions, and hence to wear formal
shoes, but other times you wear more casual (false) footwear. On the
other hand, perhaps you just have different legs for different
occasions.
    For the rest of us however, one of the most mundane things is
that tiresome part of getting up when it becomes necessary to place
our feet into protective compartments for the comparatively simple
task of walking down the street.
    So, step two (har har) is to find a pair of socks. Depending on
your outlook on life, your visual abilities, and the state of your
laundry, these may be matching. Or not. You may encounter some
difficulty in determining how many of the socks you find are inside-
out. This will vary between zero and two, and careful inspection in
association with plenty of light will reveal the true figure. Anyway,
once you've found two socks, place them carefully on your feet.
    The next thing to do is to determine which shoes you wish to
wear. Unlike socks, virtually all people ensure that they wear only
*pairs* of shoes. So while the Sock Matching Confirmation rate is
only around 79.3%, the Shoe Matching Confirmation rate is up at
around 99.8%. Which is quite a lot, when you're talking about
percentages.
    Now comes a tricky bit. You have to untie the shoelaces on your
shoes that you were too fucking lazy to untie when you last took them
off. There are a number of possible situations you may be in at this
point:
    FINGERNAILS:   SMALL KNOT IN LACE?   SHOE UNTYING STATUS:
    ------------   -------------------   --------------------
    Sharp          None                  Great!
    Sharp          Yes                   Tricky, but you'll get it
    Nonexistent    None                  Great!
    Nonexistent    Yes                   Oh shit. Have you considered
                                           Velcro?
    Remember, if needs be, you can always cut the laces out and get
them replaced. But you may need to wear thongs on your way down to
the shoe-lace emporium.
    Once you've got the shoe-laces into their premium untarnished
untied state, we recommend that you proceed in inserting your feet
into the shoes. Make use of a shoe-horn if necessary. The shoe-horn
originated in Athens around 600BC, when it was used as an instrument
during sandal makers' ceremonies.
    The next step is tricky, and it is to tie the shoe-laces
together. Enough has been written on this subject to tear down a
major forest should anyone order a reprint, so here's just a very
simple summarised method of how to tie your own shoe-laces.
    Lace A comes out of the left-hand side of the shoe, and lace B
comes out of the right. Pull lace B over lace A in an 'X' formation.
Loop lace B back under lace A through the gap between laces. Pull
both laces tight to form the first knot. Stop pulling when you feel
the blood starting to give up trying to reach your foot. Lace B is
now where lace A was, just to confuse things. Next take lace A and
form a small loop between the thumb and forefinger of your right
hand, using your left thumb to form the loop. Loop lace B around the
lace A loop, trapping your thumb with it. Then, making a small loop
in lace B, pull it through the hole between lace A and the first
knot. Drag it through with your right hand. Oh wait, that was already
holding the first loop. Maybe the left hand can help. No, that's busy
maintaining the B loop. If you can get a foot in... no, they're both
in their stupid shoes. Wait wait wait. Supposing you get a small
stick that you can loop the laces around, and then... oh sod it, just
get someone else to do it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

And now, a word from our sponsors.

Have YOU ever considered what was missing from your life? Okay, so
you've got your stereo VCR, your hyperbolic hologrammatic VisuMass
television, and those nifty MegaDecibel SuperLoud speakers, all ready
to blast you out of your seat... but have you ever considered
gardening as a hobby? Gardening is not only therapeutic, it's
exciting! But who gives a fuck about gardening, you might ask? The
whole concept of gardening shrivels into insignificance when compared
to the almighty power of the LORD. For it is He who has given us our
watering-cans, ride-on lawn-mowers, and those annoying weeds that just
won't come out no matter how hard you pull. It is the will of the
LORD that has brought about the existence of Bass Boost buttons. So
come all ye boys and girls, and congregate now at the Holy Trinity
Disco of the Lord. Be sure to dress in sensible shoes, and boogie
your way to the biggest religious music of the A.D period. And when
you've finished with that, go outside into the adjacent park with
shotguns and blast the crap out of every living thing you can find.
    Phew, that was scary. I almost went religious on you. That's
what large quantities of Nut Mix chocolate can do to you.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    A few short words about videos: Ever noticed how pamphlets
advertising VCRs all list the features inside little rounded boxes?
Curious. Maybe it's some kind of rating system so you know how great
the VCR is from how many boxes there are.
    And how come video tapes come in "High Standard", "Premium Extra-
High Grade", and so on... but no "Average Grade" or "Poor Standard"?
Sometime I really want to find an E180-SG (Shit Grade) so I can
record programmes I don't like very much onto it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You probably all know by now that
some TCWF back-issues are available
by anonymous ftp. And if you ask,
I'll even tell you where from!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright (c) 1993 Daniel Bowen
--
Daniel Bowen, NTC Systems------|  "Stormin'" Norman Schwarzhopf has
Telecom Australia, Melbourne---|  introduced to the world his
dbowen@vcomtelc.telecom.com.au-|  younger, more timid brother:
TCWF stuff: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu|  "Squirmin'" Herman.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

the Toxic Custard Workshop Files by Daniel Bowen, Melbourne, Australia

Copyright (c) 1993, 1994 Daniel Bowen. May be freely distributed
without profit provided this notice remains intact.

For subscription information, contact tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu
