Ë Ë Ë º º º º º º ÉÍÍÍ͹ ÉÍÍÍÍ» ÉÍÍÍÍ» ÉÍÍÍ͹ ÉÍÍÍÍ» ÌÍÍÍÍ» º º º º º º º º ÉÍÍÍ͹ º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º ÈÍÍÍÍÊÍ ÈÍÍÍͼ ÈÍÍÍͼ ÈÍÍÍÍÊÍ ÈÍÍÍͼ ÍÊÍ ÍÊÍ Doodah Humor Magazine Volume 4, Number 3 October, 1991 ---------------------------------------------------------------- Editorial Offices: Charlie Radd, Editor and publisher Paul Forrester, supervisory editor plus a staff of K's submitting articles under various aliases and/or real names. The editor can be reached through the Politics Conference on the ILink network found on PCBoard. No guarantee is made that you will receive a reply. We read the mail, but we may or may not answer it. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CONTENTS THIS ISSUE: An Editorial Letters to the Editor More Stuff which we will think of by the time we get down to actually typing it ________________________________________________________________________ WeirdHouse Editorial About the only thing of any interest to have happened recently is the publication of a book called "Sex Is Not Compulsory" by one Liz Hodgkinson. In this meaty tome, the lady advocates celibacy for the betterment of health and marital relationships. Of course, we quite agree. We have worked for many years to persuade the public that sex is an appalling bore. The bulk of the argument is that all women get pissed off with bonking their husbands after a few years, and we can't fault her on that, can we men? After that, apparently, they just pretend to like it because they think we poor antedeluvian brutes need that sort of thing. Jolly noble of them, we think. Besides that, Liz says that the removal of all that sperm deprives men of zinc and makes them turn imbecile before they finally go blind. How true! The local authority whittling down at the courthouse says that as soon as this rubbish about lack of zinc gets around, all the fellows will be buying zinc tonics to stop the blindness and such. And, as he has invested two million in zinc, you can understand why he feels this book is a jolly good thing. But, name me one good reason why modern men should stand for all this feminist crap! You can't, can you? But after all the fucking they've forced us to do in the past twenty years, is it any wonder that we're short of zinc, half-blind, and imbecile enough to put up with anything? So, after a month of celibacy, with our zinc levels back to normal, we will be strong-minded enough to tell the girls to burn Liz's book, and, while they're at it, get those pants off. ---------------------- ** ****** ******** ******** ****** ***** ***** ** ****** ******** ******** ****** ****** **** *** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **** ** ***** ** ** ***** ****** ***** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **** ****** ****** ** ** ****** ** ** *** **** ****** ****** ** ** ****** ** ** **** ******** ******** ******** ** ** ****** ******** ******** ******** ** ** ****** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ******* ****** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ******** ** ** ** ****** ** ******** ** ** ** ****** ****** ***** ******** ******** ******** ***** ****** ****** ******** ******** ******** ****** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ****** ** ** ** ** ** ** ****** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ****** ****** ******** ** ******** ** ** ****** ***** ******** ** ******** ** ** ________________________________________________________________________ Sirs: Fancy that, eh, what? Betcha didn't think your miserable little journal reached as far as Down Under, did you? Sod it, you Yanks think the whole world follows what goes on in the States, don't you? Well, let me tell you something, where would you be if we 'adn't sent you "Crockodile Dundee"? You'll never know how funny it was listening to all you Yanks go around saying "G'day, mate"! in your phony Australian accents, trying to impress your mates. It was almost as funny as hearing you all speaking "Valley Talk" and painting your hair green! Sure, we're pissed about the Americas Cup, but that was sporting, and we'll win it back next time. Besides, it kinda makes up for us sending you Jacko, oy! "The Enerjoyzer, it'll surproyze ya, oy!" Seems to me that we got the better deal out of it! Reginald Butler Melbourne Editorial Reply: I knew we shoulda let the Nips march all the way to Canberra...... ---------------- Sirs: Owhay adglay IWAY amway otay eadray away etterlay omfray Australiaway. IWAY amway ustjay acrossway ethay aterway inway Port Moresby, ichwhay isway ocatedlay inway Papua-New Guinea. E'reway inway ethay aterway, inway atthay orrendoushay essmay ofway islandsway atthay includesway The Phllipines andway uchsay. IWAY asway artingstay otay onderway ifway erethay ereway anyway otherway omputercay usersway atway allway inway isthay artpay ofway ethay orldway. Erhapspay youway ouldway arecay otay owknay aboutway ourway ountrycay? Eway avehay omesay ofway ethay orld'sway ostmay eautifulbay olfgay oursescay erehay. OLFGAY! At'sthay ightray, OLFGAY! Eingbay away airlyfay ountainousmay ountrycay, e'veway otgay omesay orgeousgay oleshay andway airwaysfay. Eway enjoyway Utworksnay eryvay uchmay, andway onceway eway endsay itway outway overway ethay unglesjay iavay umdray orway ollowhay oglay, ethay ainray orestfay iterallylay akesshay ithway ethay aughterlay ofway ong-lostlay ibesmentray. Sincerely, Mugatu Vanuaatu Port Moresby, Papua-New Guinea Editorial Reply: We would like to thank Mr. Mugatu Vanuaatu for providing our secretary's fifth grader with an interesting code to translate into English. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ Brrm ... Brrm! Two Down, Montego I don't have to do this job, you know. I could have been a boxer, heavyweight contender, but I chose this instead. And having committed myself to being a motoring writer for the rest of eternity, I tend to take the whole thing pretty damn seriously. The thing is, there's a responsibility to being a writer: my public expects the truth, and it's my job not only to find it, but to print it, unswervingly delivering my opinion regardless of outside influences. The fact that one particular company or manufacturer may be a big advertiser for my boss's other magazines (the paper ones) cannot alter my honest opinions. And I have to say that road testing vehicles (pronounced VE-ikl, not ve-HICK-ul, as most barbarians say it) to their extremes is an unfortunate necessity if the reader is to reap the full benefit from my knowledge and experience. How do I know what the actual limit of adhesion of any given car is unless I have personally surpassed it? Can I report back and say that it hangs on like grim death and still hold my head up if I subsequently discover that some other magazine has taken the trouble to measure cornering capacity accurately? No, of course I can't. And if I later find that they've pulled more G in cornering than I, why, them I have a clear indication that they had a better car, a drier day, or ever wind and surface conditions than I did. On the other hand, I can be absolutely certain that if I can get better figures than the rest, it's almost certainly down to something else altogether. Every driver has a psychological limit, and if mine is that much further on than my less fortunate companions--well, who am I to brag about it? That's mainly why we don't publish that boring stuff in NutWorks. Time after time we read road tests in other magazines in a state of advanced incredulity. I can't believe that nobody here has taken Corvette beyond 1.8G on the lateral-force test; we did that two years ago WITHOUT the extra stiffening in the sidewall bracing, and without the new large-diameter anti-sway bar. And then you find that they're slow on speed as well. Nobody has hit 200 mph in a road test of any sort yet, but I can remember going through the suburbs at 210 mph in a GT40 about 10 years ago. I can remember Main Street at 140 mph one Sunday as well. That was pleasure, not business. But it does make you aware that there may be some chaps who simply aren't doing their job. I mean, anyone who couldn't get an Astra GTE speedo to say 130 mph on the interstate, never mind on a test track, is clearly in need of a jolly good pep talk. Instead they just turn out all the old nonsense about headwinds and tire scrub up the banking. Seems to me that what we're talking about here isn't tire scrub at all. It's fear, pure and simple. And masking it behind a load of seemingly smart remarks about interior design and the positioning of the armrests (all doubtless cribbed from the Press Kit in any case) is hardly a reasonable substitute. "Cramped cockpit and awkwardly-placed seat height adjuster prevented us from reaching the maximum," you read. Baloney, I say. And they do the same with gasoline consumption. You keep seeing it in print: "average of blah-blah exceptionally good for this size of car, etc.". What they really mean is: "we were so terrified of going really fast in this one, so we just screwed around and saved loads of gas instead". I read those fuel figures with near disbelief. I have used HEAPS more gas than most of them without even trying. Still, it can be tricky. When the Sierra came out years ago, it had a neat little dash indicator to tell you how the fuel was flowing: Green light = very economic, orange light = not too clever, and red light = you're going too fast in this gear. At first it looked simple to master, but it wasn't, and I soon lost count of the number of accidents I avoided trying to keep the damn thing in the red. Most of these jokers can't even be trusted to have a decent accident without supervision. This leads to disappointment among readers, who are also keen judges of a good RTA if you ask me, and can spot a man who's been holding back just by the size of his dents. From there, it's just a short step to holding back at the till, and before you know it sales are in the gutter along with the cars. Top marks, therefore, to the motoring writer of a national daily newspaper, who borrowed a Mercedes because it's the only car he can drive with a broken leg. Of course, Mercedes lent him one, because they knew he couldn't have been trying all that hard if all he broke was a leg. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Next time in WeirdHouse Tons of funny stuff No mention of SEA and PKWARE Sad commmentary on the state of human existence Death, plague, and pestilence Fire, famine, and earthquakes Juggling for fun and profit