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THE MANAGEMENT
Friday, October 04, 2002
Thursday, October 03, 2002
Science Conquers Comedy!
You might enjoy this article. I love when people try to analyze why a joke is funny.
Search for world's funniest joke finds a winner
Thu Oct 3,11:57 AM ET
By JILL LAWLESS, Associated Press Writer
Drum roll, please - an online search for the world's funniest joke has produced a winner.
In a year-long experiment called LaughLab, a British psychology professor asked thousands of people around the world to rate the humor value of a list of jokes; they could also add their own favorites.
In December, Richard Wiseman and his associates announced the front-runner, a hoary old gag involving fictional detective Sherlock Holmes and his sidekick, Dr. Watson. But in the final tally of some 2 million votes for 40,000 jokes, announced Thursday, a new joke emerged as a round-the-world rib-tickler:
"A couple of New Jersey hunters are out in the woods when one of them falls to the ground. He doesn't seem to be breathing, his eyes are rolled back in his head.
"The other guy whips out his cell phone and calls the emergency services. He gasps to the operator: 'My friend is dead! What can I do?'
"The operator, in a calm soothing voice says: 'Just take it easy. I can help. First, let's make sure he's dead.'
"There is a silence, then a shot is heard. The guy's voice comes back on the line. He says: 'OK, now what?'"
Krankiboy Komment: Finally we can use all those old Polish jokes again. Just substitute New Jersey Hunter where it used to say Polish Guy.
"Many of the jokes submitted received higher ratings from certain groups of people, but this one had real universal appeal," said Wiseman, who has published a book based on the experiment.
Wiseman, who teaches at the University of Hertfordshire in southern England, said the research revealed that different countries preferred different types of jokes. Respondents were asked to rate jokes on a five-point scale from "not very funny" to "very funny."
Germans were the most likely to find all types of jokes funny, while Canadians were the least amused of the 10 top responding nations.
The British, Irish, Australians and New Zealanders favored jokes involving wordplay, while continental Europeans liked jokes with a surreal bent. Americans and Canadians preferred jokes invoking a strong sense of superiority — either because a character looks stupid or is made to look stupid by someone else.
Among the jokes favored by Americans:
"Texan: 'Where are you from?'
"Harvard graduate: 'I come from a place where we do not end our sentences with prepositions.'
"Texan: 'OK, where are you from, jackass?'"
Wiseman said jokes work "for lots of different reasons. They sometimes make us feel superior to others, reduce the emotional impact of anxiety-provoking situations or surprise us because of some kind of incongruity."
The winning joke about the hunters, he said, "contained all three elements."
Computer analysis also threw up a number of arcane humor "facts." Not all animal jokes, for example, are created equal — jokes mentioning ducks were rated as funnier than other jokes.
And length matters. Jokes containing 103 words were thought to be especially funny. The winning joke is 102 words long.
The runner-up is considerably longer:
"Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson go on a camping trip. After a good dinner and a bottle of wine, they retire for the night, and go to sleep. Some hours later, Holmes wakes up and nudges his faithful friend.
'"Watson, look up at the sky and tell me what you see.
'"I see millions and millions of stars, Holmes,' replies Watson.
'"And what do you deduce from that?'
Watson ponders for a minute.
'"Well, astronomically, it tells me that there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets. Astrologically, I observe that Saturn is in Leo. Horologically, I deduce that the time is approximately a quarter past three. Meteorologically, I suspect that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. Theologically, I can see that God is all powerful, and that we are a small and insignificant part of the universe. What does it tell you, Holmes?'
"Holmes is silent for a moment. 'Watson, you idiot!" he says. 'Someone has stolen our tent!'"
Krankiboy Komment: What about the Chinese? They were totally left out of this study. It's both arrogant and dangerous to just ignore a BILLION people who are all capable of making pee pee in your Coke."
Search for world's funniest joke finds a winner
Thu Oct 3,11:57 AM ET
By JILL LAWLESS, Associated Press Writer
Drum roll, please - an online search for the world's funniest joke has produced a winner.
In a year-long experiment called LaughLab, a British psychology professor asked thousands of people around the world to rate the humor value of a list of jokes; they could also add their own favorites.
In December, Richard Wiseman and his associates announced the front-runner, a hoary old gag involving fictional detective Sherlock Holmes and his sidekick, Dr. Watson. But in the final tally of some 2 million votes for 40,000 jokes, announced Thursday, a new joke emerged as a round-the-world rib-tickler:
"A couple of New Jersey hunters are out in the woods when one of them falls to the ground. He doesn't seem to be breathing, his eyes are rolled back in his head.
"The other guy whips out his cell phone and calls the emergency services. He gasps to the operator: 'My friend is dead! What can I do?'
"The operator, in a calm soothing voice says: 'Just take it easy. I can help. First, let's make sure he's dead.'
"There is a silence, then a shot is heard. The guy's voice comes back on the line. He says: 'OK, now what?'"
Krankiboy Komment: Finally we can use all those old Polish jokes again. Just substitute New Jersey Hunter where it used to say Polish Guy.
"Many of the jokes submitted received higher ratings from certain groups of people, but this one had real universal appeal," said Wiseman, who has published a book based on the experiment.
Wiseman, who teaches at the University of Hertfordshire in southern England, said the research revealed that different countries preferred different types of jokes. Respondents were asked to rate jokes on a five-point scale from "not very funny" to "very funny."
Germans were the most likely to find all types of jokes funny, while Canadians were the least amused of the 10 top responding nations.
The British, Irish, Australians and New Zealanders favored jokes involving wordplay, while continental Europeans liked jokes with a surreal bent. Americans and Canadians preferred jokes invoking a strong sense of superiority — either because a character looks stupid or is made to look stupid by someone else.
Among the jokes favored by Americans:
"Texan: 'Where are you from?'
"Harvard graduate: 'I come from a place where we do not end our sentences with prepositions.'
"Texan: 'OK, where are you from, jackass?'"
Wiseman said jokes work "for lots of different reasons. They sometimes make us feel superior to others, reduce the emotional impact of anxiety-provoking situations or surprise us because of some kind of incongruity."
The winning joke about the hunters, he said, "contained all three elements."
Computer analysis also threw up a number of arcane humor "facts." Not all animal jokes, for example, are created equal — jokes mentioning ducks were rated as funnier than other jokes.
And length matters. Jokes containing 103 words were thought to be especially funny. The winning joke is 102 words long.
The runner-up is considerably longer:
"Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson go on a camping trip. After a good dinner and a bottle of wine, they retire for the night, and go to sleep. Some hours later, Holmes wakes up and nudges his faithful friend.
'"Watson, look up at the sky and tell me what you see.
'"I see millions and millions of stars, Holmes,' replies Watson.
'"And what do you deduce from that?'
Watson ponders for a minute.
'"Well, astronomically, it tells me that there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets. Astrologically, I observe that Saturn is in Leo. Horologically, I deduce that the time is approximately a quarter past three. Meteorologically, I suspect that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. Theologically, I can see that God is all powerful, and that we are a small and insignificant part of the universe. What does it tell you, Holmes?'
"Holmes is silent for a moment. 'Watson, you idiot!" he says. 'Someone has stolen our tent!'"
Krankiboy Komment: What about the Chinese? They were totally left out of this study. It's both arrogant and dangerous to just ignore a BILLION people who are all capable of making pee pee in your Coke."
Haiku
Well, I try to enter something everyday, to at least keep the brain gear from rusting over completely. A squirt of Blog WD-40 to get the writing wheels cranking. Today I think I'm going to keep it short and mellow.
I have chosen to explore the gentle and soothing art of Haiku.
Haiku # 1
Man contemplates stream
Gentle current calms his soul
He buys a Corvette
Haiku # 2
Dabney Coleman tastes
almost the same as chicken
Don’t ask how I know?
Haiku # 3
Fame and Fortune raced
Fame stabbed Fortune in the throat
and Fame wins again
Haiku # 4
Sleeper is perhaps
Woody’s best comedy
yet some think it sucks
Haiku # 5
by George W. Bush
I the President...
say things what people must do
my house is all white
I highly recommend this Onion article to all my leftist, anarchist, socialist and dentist friends.
http://www.theonion.com/onion3836/bush_seeks_un_support.html
"God bless us. Everyone." Yes, Tiny Tim. Yes, indeed.
I have chosen to explore the gentle and soothing art of Haiku.
Haiku # 1
Man contemplates stream
Gentle current calms his soul
He buys a Corvette
Haiku # 2
Dabney Coleman tastes
almost the same as chicken
Don’t ask how I know?
Haiku # 3
Fame and Fortune raced
Fame stabbed Fortune in the throat
and Fame wins again
Haiku # 4
Sleeper is perhaps
Woody’s best comedy
yet some think it sucks
Haiku # 5
by George W. Bush
I the President...
say things what people must do
my house is all white
I highly recommend this Onion article to all my leftist, anarchist, socialist and dentist friends.
http://www.theonion.com/onion3836/bush_seeks_un_support.html
"God bless us. Everyone." Yes, Tiny Tim. Yes, indeed.
Wednesday, October 02, 2002
Who are the People in Your Neighborhood!
Helter Skelter Hippie?
Every time I drive to the Studio Lot in Burbank I see this weird, bedraggled guy wandering near the street. He looks like a cross between Bob Marley, Pig Pen and Charles Manson. The poor guy is either a serious junkie or mentally ill or both. Probably both. I've seen him like twenty times already and I always have this desire to stop, get out of my car, and see what his deal is. But the guy is pretty big, and not all there and could decide to kill me. What's a curoius and concerned citizen to do? I don't want to call the cops. Because the cops suck. They're professional bullies who'd probably scare the wits out of Bob Marley-Charlie Manson and put him in a choke hold and beat him into an even greater state of senseless. This dirty, dreadlocked, guy isn't harming anyone and he might be perfectly contented living his life the way he does. Who the hell am I to judge him? But the fact is I do make assumptions. I assume that he sleeps outside because of the way he's dressed and that he's a bit off because of his vacant far away look and his unsteady balance. There must be hundreds of thousands of these people all across California alone. And what pisses me off the most is that it makes it much harder for me to complain about my own life. Can't somebody take care of these destitude people so that I can rant and moan about how tough my life is with a clear conscious. One of the greatest joys I have is complaining to friends and family about the bumps in the road of my life and now this misanthrope has taken that away from me. Personally I wish I could shead my negative way of thinking and just live for the moment. Fire up my Zen Grill and really get my Buddah on. But I have responsibilities, people who rely on me and dogs who have adopted me as their leader. So, much as I might like to, I can't just roam the earth as a free spirit. And then I start to think about this Charlie-Marley guy. He's living off the grid. He's living completely from moment to moment, without bills to pay or other people to consider (plus the weather is nice here in LA, so all he really has to worry about is finding food) He's got it easy. Maybe he has the secret to being in harmony with the Universe. Maybe he's got the Philosopher's Stone in one pocket and a frequent flyer card for Nirvana Airways in the other. If you ask me it's the people with money and "success" who are stuck in Coach Class-- squeezed in behind the screaming baby and Grandpa Halitosis. Maybe this Chuck-Marley guy has it all figured out but nobody has ever bothered to pull over on their way to work and ask him. Well, dear readers, I guess this snake will just chase his tail until he tuckers himself out, pops a ruffie, and goes to bed.
Every time I drive to the Studio Lot in Burbank I see this weird, bedraggled guy wandering near the street. He looks like a cross between Bob Marley, Pig Pen and Charles Manson. The poor guy is either a serious junkie or mentally ill or both. Probably both. I've seen him like twenty times already and I always have this desire to stop, get out of my car, and see what his deal is. But the guy is pretty big, and not all there and could decide to kill me. What's a curoius and concerned citizen to do? I don't want to call the cops. Because the cops suck. They're professional bullies who'd probably scare the wits out of Bob Marley-Charlie Manson and put him in a choke hold and beat him into an even greater state of senseless. This dirty, dreadlocked, guy isn't harming anyone and he might be perfectly contented living his life the way he does. Who the hell am I to judge him? But the fact is I do make assumptions. I assume that he sleeps outside because of the way he's dressed and that he's a bit off because of his vacant far away look and his unsteady balance. There must be hundreds of thousands of these people all across California alone. And what pisses me off the most is that it makes it much harder for me to complain about my own life. Can't somebody take care of these destitude people so that I can rant and moan about how tough my life is with a clear conscious. One of the greatest joys I have is complaining to friends and family about the bumps in the road of my life and now this misanthrope has taken that away from me. Personally I wish I could shead my negative way of thinking and just live for the moment. Fire up my Zen Grill and really get my Buddah on. But I have responsibilities, people who rely on me and dogs who have adopted me as their leader. So, much as I might like to, I can't just roam the earth as a free spirit. And then I start to think about this Charlie-Marley guy. He's living off the grid. He's living completely from moment to moment, without bills to pay or other people to consider (plus the weather is nice here in LA, so all he really has to worry about is finding food) He's got it easy. Maybe he has the secret to being in harmony with the Universe. Maybe he's got the Philosopher's Stone in one pocket and a frequent flyer card for Nirvana Airways in the other. If you ask me it's the people with money and "success" who are stuck in Coach Class-- squeezed in behind the screaming baby and Grandpa Halitosis. Maybe this Chuck-Marley guy has it all figured out but nobody has ever bothered to pull over on their way to work and ask him. Well, dear readers, I guess this snake will just chase his tail until he tuckers himself out, pops a ruffie, and goes to bed.
Tuesday, October 01, 2002
The Bitter Parade
The Bitter Parade has once again rolled into Cyberville. Rejoice!
Free Balloons for the Kids and free Kids for the Baboons!
Surgeon General Warning:
Reading this blog may cause constipation, severe migraines, reduce the motor skills of pregnant women and cause cancer in perfectly healthy laboratory animals who had "initially hoped that they'd be adopted by a loving family but were saddened to discover that they had been purchased in bulk by a conglomorate (that manufactures goo and has convinced millions of people through the power of advertising that nobody would like them if they didn't put this goo product in their hair) and the defenseless critters would live out their short lives under sterile conditions undergoing a series of potentially, spine-stingingly, painful experiments from which theere is almost no chance of escape, unless ironically, one of the scientist's offspring were to come to the lab, see the animal, fall in love with it/them and brow beat their parent into letting them take the adorable animal(s) home to "love." This love would come in the form of squeezing, prodding, tossing, and abstract tortures which are too numerous to mention, but certainly lacking any scientific merit whatsoever. Thus totally pissing off the hapless creature(s) and only serving to amuse the child captor and Mrs. Fluffernutter, the fat spoiled family cat-- who gets her own birthday party every year and fancy gourmet kitty-cat snacks on Christmas. Treats that are manufactured by the same conglomorate that makes the goo that nobody could possibly live without.
Yes, sweet Christmas. Gather round children and you'll learn how Jesus was crucified on the cross so that Mrs. Fluffernutter could enjoy expensive halibut-flavored Pounce Treats which make her coat all shiny 'cause the main ingredient is goo. Now available in new Sea Bass flavor. Ting! Some assembly required.
SWEET TEMP OBLIVION
Greetings from the Tax Department at Huge Gigantic Company, Inc.
So, my dear readers, after day two here at Huge Gigantic Company I must say, "I don't like the office world. It's awful." Every little worker ant/cog/sheep/administrative assistant etc... jammed into their identical beige (the color of purgatory) cubicle and the head worker ants in their slightly larger pods allowing them to decorate thm with "art". (a framed poster exclaiming things, like, "Batman Forever 0VER 100 Million Dollars Domestic Gross!") on the wall. It's truly depressing.
This particular building is a maze. Yesterday I couldn't even find my way back to the office for twenty minutes. "Yes, I've done recreational drugs, why do you ask?" Even the bathrooms are identical in every way. It's like something out of the movie "Brazil." The same exact layout everywhere you go.
Corporate America rides a big black horse and you can bet he's gonna find every last one of us happy little Hobbits and trample us into pixie paste. So I've decided to take up arms and start a Jihad against George W. Vader Bush. Oh, don't worry mine is a kinder gentler Jihad. One that provides women with equal rights and yummy fudge pops for all.
But really, it's dull here in cubeville. I just finished labeling sub folders of folders of boxes of files, then marking them with ID numbers and then stamping them so they can quickly be whisked off to... Storage. Where they will be packed away, never looked at, and then destroyed. I'm a pre-storage preparation technician.
And the florescent lights they have here. These are very bad things, made by very bad people.
I'm not depressed by this environment exactly. I'm more amazed that I've never REALLY noticed it all before. I'm just looking around thinking "wow." It's like a Disneyland of misery. Each little cube-dweller "spruces up" their cubicle with delightful (stupid) little colored frames and cute (mass produced) knick-knacks in an effort to express their individuality. But most of them have nearly identical decoration, complete with American flags. But what really smothers my toddler are these little inspirational messages that are pinned up everywhere.
For example: This one.
"Dear God,
on those days
when hope escapes me,
whe all I am is weary,
when darkness is all I see,
let Your strength be my beacon
like a lighthouse
on a rock
shining bright enough
to dispel the clouds
of despair
and bring me new vision."
Well, I like it. It's vague yet generic too... badly written, and yet also terribly depressing. It's saying "God, things suck and I certainly can't do anything about it. Help!" And believe me there is no need for a "beacon of light" in this office. The mega wattage of the florescent bulbs are more than enough for me.
It makes one yearn to go to the forest, eat like twenty pot cookies and find a real new vision. (Kids stay in school, and don't do drugs and definately don't do drugs in school. Lotta bad vibes there.)
Join the Revolution (sorry there's no pay and no dental plan)
The Bitter Parade will be in town through this Friday.
Remember the first 100 negative, jaded and cynical folks get in FREE! And get to meet the Care Bears. In a steel cage grudge match for the ages.
All my love,
The Florescent Light of Your Life
Krankiboy
Free Balloons for the Kids and free Kids for the Baboons!
Surgeon General Warning:
Reading this blog may cause constipation, severe migraines, reduce the motor skills of pregnant women and cause cancer in perfectly healthy laboratory animals who had "initially hoped that they'd be adopted by a loving family but were saddened to discover that they had been purchased in bulk by a conglomorate (that manufactures goo and has convinced millions of people through the power of advertising that nobody would like them if they didn't put this goo product in their hair) and the defenseless critters would live out their short lives under sterile conditions undergoing a series of potentially, spine-stingingly, painful experiments from which theere is almost no chance of escape, unless ironically, one of the scientist's offspring were to come to the lab, see the animal, fall in love with it/them and brow beat their parent into letting them take the adorable animal(s) home to "love." This love would come in the form of squeezing, prodding, tossing, and abstract tortures which are too numerous to mention, but certainly lacking any scientific merit whatsoever. Thus totally pissing off the hapless creature(s) and only serving to amuse the child captor and Mrs. Fluffernutter, the fat spoiled family cat-- who gets her own birthday party every year and fancy gourmet kitty-cat snacks on Christmas. Treats that are manufactured by the same conglomorate that makes the goo that nobody could possibly live without.
Yes, sweet Christmas. Gather round children and you'll learn how Jesus was crucified on the cross so that Mrs. Fluffernutter could enjoy expensive halibut-flavored Pounce Treats which make her coat all shiny 'cause the main ingredient is goo. Now available in new Sea Bass flavor. Ting! Some assembly required.
SWEET TEMP OBLIVION
Greetings from the Tax Department at Huge Gigantic Company, Inc.
So, my dear readers, after day two here at Huge Gigantic Company I must say, "I don't like the office world. It's awful." Every little worker ant/cog/sheep/administrative assistant etc... jammed into their identical beige (the color of purgatory) cubicle and the head worker ants in their slightly larger pods allowing them to decorate thm with "art". (a framed poster exclaiming things, like, "Batman Forever 0VER 100 Million Dollars Domestic Gross!") on the wall. It's truly depressing.
This particular building is a maze. Yesterday I couldn't even find my way back to the office for twenty minutes. "Yes, I've done recreational drugs, why do you ask?" Even the bathrooms are identical in every way. It's like something out of the movie "Brazil." The same exact layout everywhere you go.
Corporate America rides a big black horse and you can bet he's gonna find every last one of us happy little Hobbits and trample us into pixie paste. So I've decided to take up arms and start a Jihad against George W. Vader Bush. Oh, don't worry mine is a kinder gentler Jihad. One that provides women with equal rights and yummy fudge pops for all.
But really, it's dull here in cubeville. I just finished labeling sub folders of folders of boxes of files, then marking them with ID numbers and then stamping them so they can quickly be whisked off to... Storage. Where they will be packed away, never looked at, and then destroyed. I'm a pre-storage preparation technician.
And the florescent lights they have here. These are very bad things, made by very bad people.
I'm not depressed by this environment exactly. I'm more amazed that I've never REALLY noticed it all before. I'm just looking around thinking "wow." It's like a Disneyland of misery. Each little cube-dweller "spruces up" their cubicle with delightful (stupid) little colored frames and cute (mass produced) knick-knacks in an effort to express their individuality. But most of them have nearly identical decoration, complete with American flags. But what really smothers my toddler are these little inspirational messages that are pinned up everywhere.
For example: This one.
"Dear God,
on those days
when hope escapes me,
whe all I am is weary,
when darkness is all I see,
let Your strength be my beacon
like a lighthouse
on a rock
shining bright enough
to dispel the clouds
of despair
and bring me new vision."
Well, I like it. It's vague yet generic too... badly written, and yet also terribly depressing. It's saying "God, things suck and I certainly can't do anything about it. Help!" And believe me there is no need for a "beacon of light" in this office. The mega wattage of the florescent bulbs are more than enough for me.
It makes one yearn to go to the forest, eat like twenty pot cookies and find a real new vision. (Kids stay in school, and don't do drugs and definately don't do drugs in school. Lotta bad vibes there.)
Join the Revolution (sorry there's no pay and no dental plan)
The Bitter Parade will be in town through this Friday.
Remember the first 100 negative, jaded and cynical folks get in FREE! And get to meet the Care Bears. In a steel cage grudge match for the ages.
All my love,
The Florescent Light of Your Life
Krankiboy
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