Crisis2000 Year End/World End?


Table of Contents:

News

Events:

The Big Ending

Articles:

Mental Floss

The Story of Pooh

 

 

Announcements

Guess what? Nothing happened at Y2K. Except for all of those who bought into the marketing hype and are now attempting to sell either land in Montana or the generator they took with them. The following information will help you get started down this road, just in case the hype starts all over again in the years to come.

The Nut'n Handheld PAD - Y2K Compliant, Battery Free, Personal Analog Device
http://www.outsidethelines.com/Nutn.html

State Maps and Information for Nuclear Survival (with Intentional Communities list)
http://www.webpal.org/list.htm

For some real amusement, check out this guide to see how people can whip themselves up into a frenzy over voodoo technology and fear run amuck. Now, if the phrase 'Y2K' was replaced with 'Natural Disaster', then they might be onto something.
Y2K Citizen's Action Guide (PDF file available free for download)
http://www.utne.com/aY2k.tmpl


In Other News

Bush to bin Laden
 
October 12, 2001
 
By THOMAS L. FRIEDMAN
 
 
The White House has asked U.S. networks to limit broadcasts of statements by
Osama bin Laden. I wish that instead of censorship, the president would
respond to him. Here's what Mr. Bush could say:
 
Dear bin Laden: I've listened to the statement you released through Al
Jazeera TV. Since I know that no Arab or Muslim leader will dare answer
you, I thought I would do it. Let me be blunt: Your statement was pathetic.
It's obvious from what you said that you don't have a clue why we're so
strong or why the Arab regimes you despise are so weak.
 
You spoke about the suicide attacks on us as being just revenge for the "80
years of humiliation and disgrace" the Islamic nation has gone through. You
referred to the hijackers as a Muslim vanguard sent "to destroy America,"
the leader of the "international infidels," and you denounced the Arab
regimes as "hypocrites" and "hereditary rulers."
 
What was most revealing, though, was what you didn't say: You offered no
vision of the future. This was probably your last will and testament - I
sure hope so - and you could have said anything you wanted to future
generations. After all, it was your mike. Yet you had nothing to say.
Your only message to the Muslim world was whom to hate, not what to build -
let alone how.
 
In part it's because you really don't know much about Islamic history. The
Muslim world reached the zenith of its influence in the Middle Ages - when
it preserved the best of classical Greek and Roman teachings, and inspired
breakthroughs in mathematics, science, medicine and philosophy. That is
also when Islam was at its most open to the world, when it enriched, and was
enriched by, the Christian, Greek and Jewish communities in its midst - whom
you now disparage as infidels - and when it was actively trading with all
corners of the world. Your closed, inward, hate-filled version of Islam -
which treats women as cattle and all non-Muslims as enemies - corresponds
with no period of greatness for Islam, and will bring none.
 
It was also revealing that the only Arab state you mentioned was Iraq.
Interesting - Iraq is led by a fascist dictator, Saddam Hussein, who used
poison gas against his own people, who squandered Iraq's oil wealth to build
himself palaces and who raped Kuwait. But you are silent about all that.
What bothers you is our targeted sanctions to end such a regime - not the
regime itself.
 
In other words, you not only don't understand the Muslim past, you don't
understand its present. The reason these past 80 years have been so
stagnant for the Arab-Muslim world is not because we in America have been
trying to keep you down. Actually, we haven't been thinking about you much
at all. No, the difference between American power, Chinese power, Latin
American power and Arab-Muslim power today is what we've each been doing for
these past 80 years. We and others have been trying to answer many
questions: How do we best educate our kids? How do we increase our trade?
How do we build an industrial base? How do we increase political
participation? And we judged our leaders on how well they answered all those
questions.
 
But people like you want Arabs and Muslims to ask only one question of their
leaders: How well did you fight the infidels and Israelis? I know that who
rules Jerusalem is a deeply important part of your heritage, and every
Arab-Muslim leader must address it. But it can't be the only question.
Yet, because people like you have reduced it to the only question, and tried
to intimidate every Arab who wanted to ask other questions, you have allowed
your region to be led by scoundrels, like Saddam.
 
Yes, you've wreaked some havoc, bin Laden, but don't flatter yourself into
thinking you can destroy us. You have to build something strong to destroy
something strong. But you can't. Because all the intellectual and creative
energies in the Arab-Muslim world - which are as bountiful as in any other
region - can never reach their full potential under repressive regimes like
Iraq or leaders like yourself.
 
Stalin and Mao killed a lot of their own people, but even these thugs had a
plan for their societies. You, bin Laden, are nothing but a hijacker - a
hijacker of Islam, a hijacker of other people's technology, a hijacker of a
vast Arab nation's anger at its own regimes. But you have no vision and no
plan for your people. Which is why your epitaph will be easy to write:
 
Osama bin Laden - he destroyed much, he built nothing. His lasting impact
was like a footprint in the desert. 
 
 


Events

If I were President George W. Bush's Speech Writer.
 
By Mitchell R. Robb
 
Good evening my fellow Americans.
First, I want to pass on my condolences to the people of New York and
all Americans that are hurting in this tragic time. You can rest assured
that anything and everything that can be done to assure the safety of
our country will be done. This is the greatest country in the world and
we will get through this trying time. Now is the time for all people to
set aside our petty differences and show the world that no one or
nothing can destroy the fortitude of the American people.
 
To the people responsible for today's tragedy, I say this:
 
Are you fucking kidding me? Are the turbans on your heads wrapped too
tight? Have you gone too long without a bath? Do you not know who you
are fucking with? Americans are so hungry to kill, that we shoot at each
other every day. We will relish that opportunity for new targets for our
aggression.
 
Have you forgotten history? What happened to the last people that
started fucking around with us? Remember the little yellow bastards over
in Japan? We slapped them all over the Pacific and roasted about 2
million of them in their own back yard. That's what we in America call a
big ass barbecue. Ever seen Texas on a map? Ever wonder why it's so big?
Because we wanted it that way, Mexico started jacking around with the
Alamo and now they cut our lawns. England? We sent them packing.
 
Ask your buddy Saddam about fucking with the good 'ole USA. The only
reason he got away the first time is because it's too hard to shoot
someone when you're doubled over laughing at them. Our soldiers aren't
trained to laugh and shoot at the same time. Now he couldn't stop a pack
of cub scouts from taking over his shitty little country.
 
Trust us, Afghanistan will end up a giant kitty litter box. Go ahead and
try to hide, Bin Laden. There's not a hole deep enough or a mountain
high enough that's going to keep your camel riding asses safe. We will
bomb every inch of the country that harbors him, his camps and any place
that looks and even smells like he was there. Hell, we might even drop a
few bombs on people that have pissed us off in the past. This is
America. We kick ass. This is what we do. Go ahead and laugh now, but
the Tomahawks are coming and we will smoke your sorry asses.

 

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Nova Development Art Explosion


Mental Floss

"Computers in the future may weigh no more than 1.5 tons."
--Popular Mechanics, forecasting the relentless march of science, 1949

 

"I think there is a world market for maybe five computers."
--Thomas Watson, chairman of IBM, 1943

 

"I have traveled the length and breadth of this country and talked with the best people, and I can assure you that data processing is a fad that won't last out the year."
--The editor in charge of business books for Prentice Hall, 1957

 

"But what ... is it good for?"
--Engineer at the Advanced Computing Systems Division of IBM, 1968, commenting on the microchip.

 

"There is no reason anyone would want a computer in their home."
--Ken Olson, president, chairman and founder of Digital Equipment Corp., 1977

 

"This 'telephone' has too many shortcomings to be seriously considered as a means of communication. The device is inherently of no value to us."
--Western Union internal memo, 1876.

 

"The wireless music box has no imaginable commercial value. Who would pay for a message sent to nobody in particular?"
--David Sarnoff's associates in response to his urgings for investment in the radio in the 1920s.

 

"The concept is interesting and well-formed, but in order to earn better than a 'C' the idea must be feasible."
--A Yale University management professor in response to Fred Smith's paper proposing reliable overnight delivery service. (Smith went on to found Federal Express Corp.)

 

"Who the hell wants to hear actors talk?"
--H.M. Warner, Warner Brothers, 1927.

 

"I'm just glad it'll be Clark Gable who's falling on his face and not Gary Cooper."
--Gary Cooper on his decision not to take the leading role in "Gone With The Wind."

 

"A cookie store is a bad idea. Besides, the market research reports say America likes crispy cookies, not soft and chewy cookies like you make."
--Response to Debbi Fields' idea of starting Mrs. Fields' Cookies.

 

"We don't like their sound, and guitar music is on the way out."
--Decca Recording Co. rejecting the Beatles, 1962.

 

"Heavier-than-air flying machines are impossible."
--Lord Kelvin, president, Royal Society, 1895.

 

"If I had thought about it, I wouldn't have done the experiment. The literature was full of examples that said you can't do this."
--Spencer Silver on the work that led to the unique adhesives for 3-M "Post-It" Notepads.

 

"So we went to Atari and said, 'Hey, we've got this amazing thing, even built with some of your parts, and what do you think about funding us? Or we'll give it to you. We just want to do it. Pay our salary, we'll come work for you.' And they said, 'No.' So then we went to Hewlett-Packard, and they said, 'Hey, we don't need you. You haven't got through college yet.'"
--Apple Computer Inc. founder Steve Jobs on attempts to get Atari and H-P interested in his and Steve Wozniak's personal computer.

 

"Professor Goddard does not know the relation between action and reaction and the need to have something better than a vacuum against which to react. He seems to lack the basic knowledge ladled out daily in high schools."
--1921 New York Times editorial about Robert Goddard's revolutionary rocket work.

 

"You want to have consistent and uniform muscle development across all of your muscles? It can't be done. It's just a fact of life. You just have to accept inconsistent muscle development as an unalterable condition of weight training."
--Response to Arthur Jones, who solved the "unsolvable" problem by inventing Nautilus.

 

"Drill for oil? You mean drill into the ground to try and find oil? You're crazy."
--Drillers who Edwin L. Drake tried to enlist to his project to drill for oil in 1859.

 

"Stocks have reached what looks like a permanently high plateau."
--Irving Fisher, Professor of Economics, Yale University, 1929.

 

"Airplanes are interesting toys but of no military value."
--Marechal Ferdinand Foch, Professor of Strategy, Ecole Superieure de Guerre.

 

"Everything that can be invented has been invented."
--Charles H. Duell, Commissioner, U.S. Office of Patents, 1899.

 

"Louis Pasteur's theory of germs is ridiculous fiction".
--Pierre Pachet, Professor of Physiology at Toulouse, 1872

 

"The abdomen, the chest, and the brain will forever be shut from the intrusion of the wise and humane surgeon".
--Sir John Eric Ericksen, British surgeon, appointed Surgeon-Extraordinary to Queen Victoria 1873.

 

"640K ought to be enough for anybody."
--Bill Gates, 1981

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The Story of Pooh

POOH GOES APESHIT By A.A. Milne

Everything was rather quiet in the hundred acre wood. The trees whispered to each other as the wind rustled their leaves. Under a large oak tree, there lived Pooh bear. From inside Pooh's house, there came a steady bang...bang... bang!, that was making his honey jars rattle on the sideboard. The light came through the window, and in the evening sun Pooh raised the axe once more and brought it down on the tattered remains of Christopher Robin. "Why...won't... he...fit..." puffed Pooh to himself as the axe came down once more. There was a small pile of earth, and a hole next to it, which Pooh had hidden with his favourite rug. Christopher Robin, selfish brat that he was, didn't quite fit in the hole Pooh had dug, so instead of making it wider he had decided to hack Christopher Robin's legs off. "A far more sensible idea", thought Pooh, and hummed a little song to himself as he cut the last tendon and rammed the rest of the body in the hole, finally covering it up with the rug. "Always too bossy", thought Pooh, "Always too bossy, always grabbing me by the paw and saying 'Come on Pooh lets have an adventure' or 'Pooh you are silly!' in that affected cutesy spoilt brat voice, and his stupid little shorts - bastard!"

Pooh had waited all afternoon for Christopher Robin to come round, humming a little tuneless song to himself whilst gazing blankly into the fire and fondling the oaken handle of the axe. When C.R. had finally turned up, squeaking in his child-actor voice "Come on Pooh! Open Up!", Pooh had answered the door normal as anything, talked about the weather, and then went to the cupboard and fetched the axe. While C.R. had sat there, prattling on about what a silly bear Pooh was and how he had very little brain (which wound Pooh up no end) Pooh had raised the axe high and brought it down with a satisfying thud on Christopher Robin's skull, cleaving it virtually in two, with just some muscle fibre in place to keep the pieces upright, and freezing C.R's eyes wide in horror that Pooh, lovable Pooh, could do such a thing! Pooh giggled a little and wiped some saliva from his mouth with a shaky paw. Then Pooh, calm as anything, had mopped up the blood, washed the axe and begun to dig the hole.

Piglet had wondered why Pooh had not called for him that morning, to have his tea and biscuits, and so he decided to visit Pooh instead. He admired the evening sun, blood red, and listened to the birds singing. Pooh watched him get nearer and nearer, and plugged in the drill.

Piglet had no time to realise what had happened - the drill pierced his skull, sending a beautiful fountain of blood all over Pooh's orange hide. He rubbed the blood in and all over himself, licking, licking, always licking. Then he pulled Piglet inside and put him in the cupboard. The syringe lay on the sideboard, and Pooh picked it up, paws shaking and sweating, and filled it full of solution of the funny white powder that had been given to him by a strangely spaced-out Rabbit. It was a strange effect at first, and Pooh thought he had seen many strange things, but then experienced a euphoric feeling of power. It made him irritable, and C.R. and Piglet had everything that was coming to them, no doubt at all. When night had fully fallen, Pooh dragged the bodies out and buried them in a makeshift grave.

"Adios, dear 'friends'", Pooh giggled, "Things are going to change around the 100-acre wood now I'm in charge" he laughed hysterically and went indoors.

The next day Tigger and Roo made their way happily to Pooh's house, to see if he knew where C.R. and Piglet were, as no-one had seen them since yesterday. They were sure Pooh would know, as he had had tea with Piglet yesterday and was meant to be playing Pooh-sticks with C.R. in the morning.

When they reached Pooh's house the door was wide open and Pooh was nowhere to be seen. Tigger and Roo looked inside Pooh's house and noticed a large hole in Pooh's floor and a notice was stuck on the wall with a large blob of congealing honey "OWT CHAGIG THE DRAGGN" (spelling had never been one of Pooh's strong points). "That's odd", though Tigger, "there are no dragons in the 100-acre wood only heffalumps. What _is_ that silly bear up to now?"

Not even Tigger would have imagined what Pooh was up to at that moment. That morning Pooh had woken with a splitting headache and a rather snotty nose. So he had taken a large dose of the white powder and a little while later had a brilliant idea! He left the house with a container marked INSECTICIDE in big red letters. He took the container and went to Eeyor's favourite patch of thistles. "This will serve that manic depressive donkey right" laughed Pooh aloud, "always cheating at Pooh-sticks, cheats never prosper", Pooh said to himself. Then he hid behind a tree to watch the unsuspecting Eeyor eat himself to death - sheer poetic justice thought Pooh as he dumped the nearly dead body of Eeyor in the same grave as C.R. and Piglet - "Shouldn't cheat should you?", shouted Pooh as Eeyor's eyes stared with disbelief - "You're lucky I didn't chop you up into little bits and feed you to Tigger!", laughed Pooh manically, before he covered the makeshift grave over.

Pooh didn't return to the house until dinner time as he was totally spaced out all morning. So when he returned to his house he was in an awful mood and all he needed to make him absolutely mad was the sight of Tigger and Roo bouncing up and down outside his house singing "bouncy, bouncy, fun, fun, fun, fun, fun, the wonderful....". "'Wonderful'?", thought Pooh aloud, "My foot, you'd think the writer of this shitty story could think up better lyrics for a song than that, and to think, they released the soundtrack album on cassette and CD; a lot of people are going to get ripped off." This lightened Pooh's mood somewhat, but the respite was brief.

"What was that you said?", asked Roo. "God does he never stop asking pathetic questions?", Pooh thought furiously, "I'm going to have to deal with these prats as well. Is there no-one in this place with intelligence apart from me?" Pooh asked despairingly."

Pooh felt himself extremely lucky as Roo had to go home for his afternoon sleep and that left Tigger at his mercy. Even better, Tigger suggested that himself and Pooh go and play Pooh-sticks; Pooh had smiled slyly as an idea formed in his overactive brain, and agreed - "What an opportunity", Pooh whispered to himself as he followed the innocent Tigger to the bridge.

Once on the bridge, and the rather pointless game of Pooh-sticks was under way, Pooh thought he'd much rather push his stick up Tigger's arse, rather than throwing it into the stream. Tigger was leaning over the side of the bridge looking for his stick. So he did not see Pooh's wide horrific grin as he outstretched his arms and moved toward Tigger with the intent of pushing the stupid cat into the stream - "Cats hate water, tee hee, he'll drown."

There was a loud splash as Tigger hit the water and started to struggle as his head was covered by water, he gulped and choked. Pooh was holding on to the rail of the bridge and jumping up and down with excitement and was joyously shouting at the drowning Tigger.

"Why?", spluttered Tigger as he slowly started to turn blue with the cold, which Pooh found hysterical, after all a blue Tigger?? How absolutely silly. "I'll tell you why you bastard", screamed Pooh, "It serves you right, hiding behind doors and jumping out, and scaring the shit out of people." But Tigger did not hear Pooh's answer as he was already floating downstream face down in the water, dead - "Good riddance", laughed Pooh, and looked at his watch, "Still time to get that little dick head Roo before he wakes up."

Pooh sneaked to the sleeping form of Roo's mum and saw Roo's ear poking out of her pouch - "Now I've got you, you little git", Pooh thought, smiling, as he threaded a needle with extra strong cotton. He was jolly grateful for Piglet's sewing lessons now, because he would be able to sew up Roo nice and tightly, so he would not be able to get out and his mum would not be able to rescue him. So very slowly and carefully Pooh began to sew Roo into his pouch and thereby suffocating the annoying idiotic twit. After the deed was done Pooh made his way back to his house wondering how Roo's mum would take the death of Roo. Badly, hoped Pooh, as he began to cough uncontrollably and felt general nausea overcome him.

By the time Pooh got home he had puked up several times and was very desperate for some more of the white solution. He trembled as he picked up the syringe and gave himself the remaining amount. An awfully large amount, one might say, for a small little bear like Pooh. In fact too much, Pooh died of an overdose, but he died with a smile on his face: he was dreaming that he was the only teddy bear made with a willy and dreamed how he surprised Eeyor one day - but that's a story for another day.

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