[5819] in Central_America
New quotes for Fri Mar 17
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Central America)
Fri Mar 17 03:53:38 1995
Date: Fri, 17 Mar 1995 03:53:06 -0500
From: Central America <root@charon.MIT.EDU>
To: ca-mtg@charon.MIT.EDU
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hoyt (C. Hoyt Bleakley Jr.):
"In my opinion you would be very fortunate to
get this person to work for you."
phone: 617-499-9575
"office" (Voo Doo): 617-253-4575
home in Virginia: 804-977-4564
fax in Virginia: 804-977-4616
fastest land mammal: cheetah
address: 3 Ames St. Box 83
Cambridge, MA 02142-1363
home page: http://www.mit.edu:8001/people/hoyt/home.html
________________________________________________________________
In a surprise press release, negotiators for God and Satan have
revealed that they are nearing a settlement. What originally began as
a secret bargain to swap the souls of corrupt popes for the those of
Galileo and Voltaire has developed into wide-ranging negotiations.
According to sources, Satan is willing to renounce some of the more
egregious violent crimes in exchange for premarital sex, and certain
forms of theft by deception. Though both sides claim to be optimistic,
the talks have hit some rough areas, particularly pertaining to the
ownership of the Religious Right.
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jgrucza (Belendha):
{from system: This user's .plan file is not world-readable}
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jhawk (John Hawkinson):
This weekend: Lunacon '95, Rye Town Hilton, Rye Brook, NY
Pager: +1 617 644 1251 (numeric) or +1 800 225 0256,
pin 1141215 (alpha)
I am also: jhawk@panix.com (jhawk@mit.edu)
Various addresses:
John Hawkinson
SIPB W20-557
84 Mass Ave John Hawkinson
Cambridge, MA 02139 4 Ames Street
+1 617 253 7788 Cambridge, MA 02142-1364 John Hawkinson
+1 617 225 6627 1200 Warburton Ave, #57
John Hawkinson Yonkers, NY 10701-1057
15 West 18th Street +1 914 969 1124
New York, NY 10018
+1 212 741 4400
1 1: My quasi-office. This is a good place.
2 2: Someplace I sleep; mail here is read.
3 3: My NY home address; I don't check this often.
4 4: My NY office. I check this almost never.
DON MCLEAN: AMERICAN PIE
A long long time ago,
I can still remember how,
That music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance,
And maybe they'd be happy for a while.
But February made me shiver,
With every paper I'd deliver.
Bad news on the doorstep;
I couldn't take one more step.
I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride,
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.
So . . .
Chorus:
Bye, bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singing "This'll be the day that I die,
This'll be the day that I die."
Did you write the book of love,
And do you have faith in God above?
If the Bible tells you so?
Do you believe in rock and roll;
Can music save your mortal soul,
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?
I know that you're in love with him;
'Cause I saw you dancin' in the gym.
You both kicked off your shoes;
Man, I dig those rhythm and blues.
I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck.
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the music died.
I started singing . . .
Chorus
Now for ten years we've been on our own,
And moss grows fat on a rolling stone.
But that's not how it used to be,
When the jester sang for the king and queen
In a coat he borrowed from James Dean,
And a voice that came from you and me.
And while the king was looking down,
The jester stole his thorny crown.
The courtroom was adjourned,
No verdict was returned.
And while Lenin read a book on Marx,
The quartet practiced in the park,
And we sang dirges in the dark,
The day the music died.
We were singing . . .
Chorus
Helter Skelter in a summer swelter;
The birds flew off to a fallout shelter,
Eight miles high and falling fast.
Landed flat on the grass.
The players tried for a forward pass
With the jester on the sidelines in a cast.
The halftime air was sweet perfume
While the sergeants played a marching tune.
We all got up to dance,
But we never got a chance.
When the players tried to take the field;
The marching band refused to yield.
Do you recall what was revealed,
The day the music died?
We started singing . . .
Chorus
And there we were, all in one place,
A generation lost in space,
With no time left to start again.
So come on Jack be nimble, Jack be quick.
Jack flash sat on a candlestick,
Cause fire is the devil's only friend.
And as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage.
No angel born in hell
Could break that Satan spell.
And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite,
I saw Satan laughing in delight,
The day the music died.
He was singing . . .
Chorus
I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news,
But she just smiled and turned away.
I went down to the sacred store
Where I'd heard the music years before.
But the man there said the music wouldn't play.
And in the streets the children screamed,
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.
But not a word was spoken.
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most --
The father, son, and the holy ghost --
They caught the last train for the coast,
The day the music died.
They were singing . . .
Chorus
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jhawk.root (John Hawkinson):
{from jhawk: This user's pts id exists, but no hesiod information is
available, not to mention a lack of a homedir...}
--- End of Central America ---
