Asdcattb.552
net.jokes
utcsrgv!utzoo!decvax!ucbvax!ucsfcgl!sdcarl!sdcattb!wa125
Tue Mar 16 21:14:37 1982
a fable
Here is another little story to dunk your donuts with.  I call it FABLE
because im not very good with names.
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                               Fable

       Toddy had just dipped down into the formalin, forked
the pickled sheep brain and brought it out fresh and dripping to rest
in a dissection pan when it gave a little inarticulate cry, said
three Hail Mary's and proved Fermat's last theorem.  Mulling
this over, Toddy decided to postpone the dissection.  He returned
the brain to its jar and put the Jean-Francois Pailliard Chamber
Orchestra edition of the Pachelbel Canon on the stereo.  On the
desk, the typewriter began gratefully to clatter out an annotated
adaptation of James Joyce's Ulysses for children.  Toddy went into
the kitchen for some whisky and sat back with it for the better part
of an hour.  Then he picked up the phone and dialed the number of
Professor Green.  "I have established communications with my sheep
brain," said Toddy.
 "Oh?" said Professor Green.
 "It proved Fermat's last theorem."
 "Yes?"
 "Won't you come down and have a look at it?"
 "I'll be down in an hour," said Professor Green.  Toddy
put the the reciever down.  He went into the kitchen and fixed
himself a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk.  He ate.
He went back into his study and watched cartoons.  He watched the
typewriter.  He waited.  Twenty minutes later the doorbell rang.
When he opened the door the professor's face was grave.  "Is the
brain still --"
 "Yes," said Toddy, "Right this way professor." Toddy led
the professor into the paper strewn study, where the brain was
blithely hammering out U.S. economic forecasts for the year 1983.
The report was discouraging.
 The professor spoke: "Toddy, would you step into the closet
for a moment?  I'd like a word in private with the brain."
 "Certainly, professor," replied Toddy as he stepped inside
the indicated jacket hangar.  "Shall I lock the door and throw away
the key?"
 "Please."  The professor's voice became a little strange
and tight.  "You understand that an active sentient sheep brain
such as this simply cannot exist.  The situation must be rectified,"
he said, pulling a .38 magnum from his jacket and sending two slugs
ripping into the typewriter, which choked to a stop.
 "Stop it!" came the voice from the closet.
 "In the name of science --" continued the professor,
sending a volly through the plastic jar, shattering it and reducing
it contents to Frito bean dip.
 "No! No!" came the muffled, horrified, closeted voice.
 The professor got some Grand Marnier from the kitchen,
spilled it over the collected works of the sheep brain, and
ignited it.  Then he sat back to drink the rest.  It had been
a long day, but as it must, reason had prevailed.

MORAL: none. [in this type of story you can write your own.]

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                               --steve ms
                               sdcattb!wa125

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