Welcome to Netrider ... Connecting Riders!

Interested in talking motorbikes with a terrific community of riders?
Signup (it's quick and free) to join the discussions and access the full suite of tools and information that Netrider has to offer.

Longest Joke in the World? (very long and then some)

Discussion in 'Jokes and Humour' started by Milos, Nov 11, 2005.

  1. ** Read at own risk. It might take a while :D

    So there's a man crawling through the desert.

    He'd decided to try his SUV in a little bit of cross-country travel, had great
    fun zooming over the badlands and through the sand, got lost, hit a big rock,
    and then he couldn't get it started again. There were no cell phone towers
    anywhere near, so his cell phone was useless. He had no family, his parents
    had died a few years before in an auto accident, and his few friends had no
    idea he was out here.

    He stayed with the car for a day or so, but his one bottle of water ran out
    and he was getting thirsty. He thought maybe he knew the direction back, now
    that he'd paid attention to the sun and thought he'd figured out which way
    was north, so he decided to start walking. He figured he only had to go about
    30 miles or so and he'd be back to the small town he'd gotten gas in last.

    He thinks about walking at night to avoid the heat and sun, but based upon how
    dark it actually was the night before, and given that he has no flashlight,
    he's afraid that he'll break a leg or step on a rattlesnake. So, he puts on
    some sun block, puts the rest in his pocket for reapplication later, brings an
    umbrella he'd had in the back of the SUV with him to give him a little shade,
    pours the windshield wiper fluid into his water bottle in case he gets that
    desperate, brings his pocket knife in case he finds a cactus that looks like
    it might have water in it, and heads out in the direction he thinks is right.

    He walks for the entire day. By the end of the day he's really thirsty. He's
    been sweating all day, and his lips are starting to crack. He's reapplied
    the sunblock twice, and tried to stay under the umbrella, but he still feels
    sunburned. The windshield wiper fluid sloshing in the bottle in his pocket
    is really getting tempting now. He knows that it's mainly water and some
    ethanol and coloring, but he also knows that they add some kind of poison
    to it to keep people from drinking it. He wonders what the poison is, and
    whether the poison would be worse than dying of thirst.

    He pushes on, trying to get to that small town before dark.

    By the end of the day he starts getting worried. He figures he's been walking
    at least 3 miles an hour, according to his watch for over 10 hours. That
    means that if his estimate was right that he should be close to the town. But
    he doesn't recognize any of this. He had to cross a dry creek bed a mile or
    two back, and he doesn't remember coming through it in the SUV. He figures
    that maybe he got his direction off just a little and that the dry creek bed
    was just off to one side of his path. He tells himself that he's close, and
    that after dark he'll start seeing the town lights over one of these hills,
    and that'll be all he needs.

    As it gets dim enough that he starts stumbling over small rocks and things,
    he finds a spot and sits down to wait for full dark and the town lights.

    Full dark comes before he knows it. He must have dozed off. He stands back
    up and turns all the way around. He sees nothing but stars.

    He wakes up the next morning feeling absolutely lousy. His eyes are gummy
    and his mouth and nose feel like they're full of sand. He so thirsty that
    he can't even swallow. He barely got any sleep because it was so cold. He'd
    forgotten how cold it got at night in the desert and hadn't noticed it the
    night before because he'd been in his car.

    He knows the Rule of Threes - three minutes without air, three days without
    water, three weeks without food - then you die. Some people can make it a
    little longer, in the best situations. But the desert heat and having to
    walk and sweat isn't the best situation to be without water. He figures,
    unless he finds water, this is his last day.

    He rinses his mouth out with a little of the windshield wiper fluid. He waits
    a while after spitting that little bit out, to see if his mouth goes numb,
    or he feels dizzy or something. Has his mouth gone numb? Is it just in his
    mind? He's not sure. He'll go a little farther, and if he still doesn't find
    water, he'll try drinking some of the fluid.

    Then he has to face his next, harder question - which way does he go from
    here? Does he keep walking the same way he was yesterday (assuming that he
    still knows which way that is), or does he try a new direction? He has no
    idea what to do.

    Looking at the hills and dunes around him, he thinks he knows the direction
    he was heading before. Just going by a feeling, he points himself somewhat
    to the left of that, and starts walking.

    As he walks, the day starts heating up. The desert, too cold just a couple
    of hours before, soon becomes an oven again. He sweats a little at first,
    and then stops. He starts getting worried at that - when you stop sweating
    he knows that means you're in trouble - usually right before heat stroke.

    He decides that it's time to try the windshield wiper fluid. He can't
    wait any longer - if he passes out, he's dead. He stops in the shade of a
    large rock, takes the bottle out, opens it, and takes a mouthful. He slowly
    swallows it, making it last as long as he can. It feels so good in his dry
    and cracked throat that he doesn't even care about the nasty taste. He takes
    another mouthful, and makes it last too. Slowly, he drinks half the bottle.
    He figures that since he's drinking it, he might as well drink enough to
    make some difference and keep himself from passing out.

    He's quit worrying about the denaturing of the wiper fluid. If it kills him,
    it kills him - if he didn't drink it, he'd die anyway. Besides, he's pretty
    sure that whatever substance they denature the fluid with is just designed
    to make you sick - their way of keeping winos from buying cheap wiper fluid
    for the ethanol content. He can handle throwing up, if it comes to that.

    He walks. He walks in the hot, dry, windless desert. Sand, rocks, hills,
    dunes, the occasional scrawny cactus or dried bush. No sign of water.
    Sometimes he'll see a little movement to one side or the other, but whatever
    moved is usually gone before he can focus his eyes on it. Probably birds,
    lizards, or mice. Maybe snakes, though they usually move more at night. He's
    careful to stay away from the movements.

    After a while, he begins to stagger. He's not sure if it's fatigue, heat stroke
    finally catching him, or maybe he was wrong and the denaturing of the wiper
    fluid was worse than he thought. He tries to steady himself, and keep going.

    After more walking, he comes to a large stretch of sand. This is good! He
    knows he passed over a stretch of sand in the SUV - he remembers doing
    donuts in it. Or at least he thinks he remembers it - he's getting woozy
    enough and tired enough that he's not sure what he remembers any more or if
    he's hallucinating. But he thinks he remembers it. So he heads off into it,
    trying to get to the other side, hoping that it gets him closer to the town.

    He was heading for a town, wasn't he? He thinks he was. He isn't sure any
    more. He's not even sure how long he's been walking any more. Is it still
    morning? Or has it moved into afternoon and the sun is going down again? It
    must be afternoon - it seems like it's been too long since he started out.

    He walks through the sand.

    After a while, he comes to a big dune in the sand. This is bad. He doesn't
    remember any dunes when driving over the sand in his SUV. Or at least he
    doesn't think he remembers any. This is bad.

    But, he has no other direction to go. Too late to turn back now. He figures
    that he'll get to the top of the dune and see if he can see anything from
    there that helps him find the town. He keeps going up the dune.

    Halfway up, he slips in the bad footing of the sand for the second or third
    time, and falls to his knees. He doesn't feel like getting back up - he'll
    just fall down again. So, he keeps going up the dune on his hand and knees.

    While crawling, if his throat weren't so dry, he'd laugh. He's finally gotten
    to the hackneyed image of a man lost in the desert - crawling through the
    sand on his hands and knees. If would be the perfect image, he imagines,
    if only his clothes were more ragged. The people crawling through the desert
    in the cartoons always had ragged clothes. But his have lasted without any
    rips so far. Somebody will probably find his dessicated corpse half buried
    in the sand years from now, and his clothes will still be in fine shape -
    shake the sand out, and a good wash, and they'd be wearable again. He wishes
    his throat were wet enough to laugh. He coughs a little instead, and it hurts.

    He finally makes it to the top of the sand dune. Now that he's at the top, he
    struggles a little, but manages to stand up and look around. All he sees is
    sand. Sand, and more sand. Behind him, about a mile away, he thinks he sees
    the rocky ground he left to head into this sand. Ahead of him, more dunes,
    more sand. This isn't where he drove his SUV. This is Hell. Or close enough.

    Again, he doesn't know what to do. He decides to drink the rest of the wiper
    fluid while figuring it out. He takes out the bottle, and is removing the
    cap, when he glances to the side and sees something. Something in the sand.
    At the bottom of the dune, off to the side, he sees something strange. It's
    a flat area, in the sand. He stops taking the cap of the bottle off,
    and tries to look closer. The area seems to be circular. And it's dark -
    darker than the sand. And, there seems to be something in the middle of it,
    but he can't tell what it is. He looks as hard as he can, and still can tell
    from here. He's going to have to go down there and look.

    He puts the bottle back in his pocket, and starts to stumble down the dune.
    After a few steps, he realizes that he's in trouble - he's not going to be
    able to keep his balance. After a couple of more sliding, tottering steps,
    he falls and starts to roll down the dune. The sand it so hot when his
    body hits it that for a minute he thinks he's caught fire on the way down
    - like a movie car wreck flashing into flames as it goes over the cliff,
    before it ever even hits the ground. He closes his eyes and mouth, covers
    his face with his hands, and waits to stop rolling.

    He stops, at the bottom of the dune. After a minute or two, he finds enough
    energy to try to sit up and get the sand out of his face and clothes. When
    he clears his eyes enough, he looks around to make sure that the dark spot
    in the sand it still there and he hadn't just imagined it.

    So, seeing the large, flat, dark spot on the sand is still there, he begins
    to crawl towards it. He'd get up and walk towards it, but he doesn't seem to
    have the energy to get up and walk right now. He must be in the final stages
    of dehydration he figures, as he crawls. If this place in the sand doesn't
    have water, he'll likely never make it anywhere else. This is his last chance.

    He gets closer and closer, but still can't see what's in the middle of the
    dark area. His eyes won't quite focus any more for some reason. And lifting
    his head up to look takes so much effort that he gives up trying. He just
    keeps crawling.

    Finally, he reaches the area he'd seen from the dune. It takes him a minute
    of crawling on it before he realizes that he's no longer on sand - he's now
    crawling on some kind of dark stone. Stone with some kind of marking on it -
    a pattern cut into the stone. He's too tired to stand up and try to see what
    the pattern is - so he just keeps crawling. He crawls towards the center,
    where his blurry eyes still see something in the middle of the dark stone area.

    His mind, detached in a strange way, notes that either his hands and knees are
    so burnt by the sand that they no longer feel pain, or that this dark stone,
    in the middle of a burning desert with a pounding, punishing sun overhead,
    doesn't seem to be hot. It almost feels cool. He considers lying down on
    the nice cool surface.

    Cool, dark stone. Not a good sign. He must be hallucinating this. He's probably
    in the middle of a patch of sand, already lying face down and dying, and
    just imagining this whole thing. A desert mirage. Soon the beautiful women
    carrying pitchers of water will come up and start giving him a drink. Then
    he'll know he's gone.

    He decides against laying down on the cool stone. If he's going to die here
    in the middle of this hallucination, he at least wants to see what's in the
    center before he goes. He keeps crawling.

    It's the third time that he hears the voice before he realizes what he's
    hearing. He would swear that someone just said, "Greetings, traveler. You
    do not look well. Do you hear me?"

    He stops crawling. He tries to look up from where he is on his hands and
    knees, but it's too much effort to lift his head. So he tries something
    different - he leans back and tries to sit up on the stone. After a few
    seconds, he catches his balance, avoids falling on his face, sits up, and
    tries to focus his eyes. Blurry. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hands
    and tries again. Better this time.

    Yep. He can see. He's sitting in the middle of a large, flat, dark expanse
    of stone. Directly next to him, about three feet away, is a white post or
    pole about two inches in diameter and sticking up about four or five feet
    out of the stone, at an angle.

    And wrapped around this white rod, tail with rattle on it hovering and
    seeming to be ready to start rattling, is what must be a fifteen foot long
    desert diamondback rattlesnake, looking directly at him.

    He stares at the snake in shock. He doesn't have the energy to get up and
    run away. He doesn't even have the energy to crawl away. This is it, his
    final resting place. No matter what happens, he's not going to be able to
    move from this spot.

    Well, at least dying of a bite from this monster should be quicker than dying
    of thirst. He'll face his end like a man. He struggles to sit up a little
    straighter. The snake keeps watching him. He lifts one hand and waves it
    in the snake's direction, feebly. The snake watches the hand for a moment,
    then goes back to watching the man, looking into his eyes.

    Hmmm. Maybe the snake had no interest in biting him? It hadn't rattled yet -
    that was a good sign. Maybe he wasn't going to die of snake bite after all.

    He then remembers that he'd looked up when he'd reached the center here
    because he thought he'd heard a voice. He was still very woozy - he was
    likely to pass out soon, the sun still beat down on him even though he was
    now on cool stone. He still didn't have anything to drink. But maybe he had
    actually heard a voice. This stone didn't look natural. Nor did that white
    post sticking up out of the stone. Someone had to have built this. Maybe
    they were still nearby. Maybe that was who talked to him. Maybe this snake
    was even their pet, and that's why it wasn't biting.

    He tries to clear his throat to say, "Hello," but his throat is too dry. All
    that comes out is a coughing or wheezing sound. There is no way he's going
    to be able to talk without something to drink. He feels his pocket, and the
    bottle with the wiper fluid is still there. He shakily pulls the bottle out,
    almost losing his balance and falling on his back in the process. This isn't
    good. He doesn't have much time left, by his reckoning, before he passes out.

    He gets the lid off of the bottle, manages to get the bottle to his lips, and
    pours some of the fluid into his mouth. He sloshes it around, and then swallows
    it. He coughs a little. His throat feels better. Maybe he can talk now.

    He tries again. Ignoring the snake, he turns to look around him, hoping to
    spot the owner of this place, and croaks out, "Hello? Is there anyone here?"

    He hears, from his side, "Greetings. What is it that you want?"

    He turns his head, back towards the snake. That's where the sound had seemed
    to come from. The only thing he can think of is that there must be a speaker,
    hidden under the snake, or maybe built into that post. He decides to try
    asking for help.

    "Please," he croaks again, suddenly feeling dizzy, "I'd love to not be
    thirsty any more. I've been a long time without water. Can you help me?"

    Looking in the direction of the snake, hoping to see where the voice was
    coming from this time, he is shocked to see the snake rear back, open its
    mouth, and speak. He hears it say, as the dizziness overtakes him and he
    falls forward, face first on the stone, "Very well. Coming up."

    A piercing pain shoots through his shoulder. Suddenly he is awake. He sits
    up and grabs his shoulder, wincing at the throbbing pain. He's momentarily
    disoriented as he looks around, and then he remembers - the crawl across the
    sand, the dark area of stone, the snake. He sees the snake, still wrapped
    around the tilted white post, still looking at him.

    He reaches up and feels his shoulder, where it hurts. It feels slightly wet.
    He pulls his fingers away and looks at them - blood. He feels his shoulder
    again - his shirt has what feels like two holes in it - two puncture holes -
    they match up with the two aching spots of pain on his shoulder. He had been
    bitten. By the snake.

    "It'll feel better in a minute." He looks up - it's the snake talking. He
    hadn't dreamed it. Suddenly he notices - he's not dizzy any more. And more
    importantly, he's not thirsty any more - at all!

    "Have I died? Is this the afterlife? Why are you biting me in the afterlife?"

    "Sorry about that, but I had to bite you," says the snake. "That's the way
    I work. It all comes through the bite. Think of it as natural medicine."

    "You bit me to help me? Why aren't I thirsty any more? Did you give me a
    drink before you bit me? How did I drink enough while unconscious to not be
    thirsty any more? I haven't had a drink for over two days. Well, except for
    the windshield wiper fluid... hold it, how in the world does a snake talk?
    Are you real? Are you some sort of Disney animation?"

    "No," says the snake, "I'm real. As real as you or anyone is, anyway. I
    didn't give you a drink. I bit you. That's how it works - it's what I do. I
    bite. I don't have hands to give you a drink, even if I had water just
    sitting around here."

    The man sat stunned for a minute. Here he was, sitting in the middle of the
    desert on some strange stone that should be hot but wasn't, talking to a
    snake that could talk back and had just bitten him. And he felt better. Not
    great - he was still starving and exhausted, but much better - he was no longer
    thirsty. He had started to sweat again, but only slightly. He felt hot, in this
    sun, but it was starting to get lower in the sky, and the cool stone beneath
    him was a relief he could notice now that he was no longer dying of thirst.

    "I might suggest that we take care of that methanol you now have in your system
    with the next request," continued the snake. "I can guess why you drank it,
    but I'm not sure how much you drank, or how much methanol was left in the
    wiper fluid. That stuff is nasty. It'll make you go blind in a day or two,
    if you drank enough of it."

    "Ummm, n-next request?" said the man. He put his hand back on his hurting
    shoulder and backed away from the snake a little.

    "That's the way it works. If you like, that is," explained the snake. "You
    get three requests. Call them wishes, if you wish." The snake grinned at
    his own joke, and the man drew back a little further from the show of fangs.

    "But there are rules," the snake continued. "The first request is free. The
    second requires an agreement of secrecy. The third requires the binding of
    responsibility." The snake looks at the man seriously.

    "By the way," the snake says suddenly, "my name is Nathan. Old Nathan,
    Samuel used to call me. He gave me the name. Before that, most of the Bound
    used to just call me 'Snake'. But that got old, and Samuel wouldn't stand
    for it. He said that anything that could talk needed a name. He was big into
    names. You can call me Nate, if you wish." Again, the snake grinned. "Sorry
    if I don't offer to shake, but I think you can understand - my shake sounds
    somewhat threatening." The snake give his rattle a little shake.

    "Umm, my name is Jack," said the man, trying to absorb all of this. "Jack

    "Can I ask you a question?" Jack says suddenly. "What happened to the
    poison...umm, in your bite. Why aren't I dying now? How did you do that?
    What do you mean by that's how you work?"

    "That's more than one question," grins Nate. "But I'll still try to answer
    all of them. First, yes, you can ask me a question." The snake's grin gets
    wider. "Second, the poison is in you. It changed you. You now no longer need
    to drink. That's what you asked for. Or, well, technically, you asked to not
    be thirsty any more - but 'any more' is such a vague term. I decided to make
    it permanent - now, as long as you live, you shouldn't need to drink much at
    all. Your body will conserve water very efficiently. You should be able to
    get enough just from the food you eat - much like a creature of the desert.
    You've been changed.

    "For the third question," Nate continues, "you are still dying. Besides the
    effects of that methanol in your system, you're a man - and men are mortal.
    In your current state, I give you no more than about another 50 years.
    Assuming you get out of this desert, alive, that is." Nate seemed vastly
    amused at his own humor, and continued his wide grin.

    "As for the fourth question," Nate said, looking more serious as far as Jack
    could tell, as Jack was just now working on his ability to read talking-snake
    emotions from snake facial features, "first you have to agree to make a
    second request and become bound by the secrecy, or I can't tell you."

    "Wait," joked Jack, "isn't this where you say you could tell me, but you'd
    have to kill me?"

    "I thought that was implied." Nate continued to look serious.

    "Ummm...yeah." Jack leaned back a little as he remembered again that he was
    talking to a fifteen foot poisonous reptile with a reputation for having
    a nasty temper. "So, what is this 'Bound by Secrecy' stuff, and can you
    really stop the effects of the methanol?" Jack thought for a second. "And,
    what do you mean methanol, anyway? I thought these days they use ethanol in
    wiper fluid, and just denature it?"

    "They may, I don't really know," said Nate. "I haven't gotten out in a
    while. Maybe they do. All I know is that I smell methanol on your breath
    and on that bottle in your pocket. And the blue color of the liquid when you
    pulled it out to drink some let me guess that it was wiper fluid. I assume
    that they still color wiper fluid blue?"

    "Yeah, they do," said Jack.

    "I figured," replied Nate. "As for being bound by secrecy - with the
    fulfillment of your next request, you will be bound to say nothing about me,
    this place, or any of the information I will tell you after that, when you
    decide to go back out to your kind. You won't be allowed to talk about me,
    write about me, use sign language, charades, or even act in a way that will
    lead someone to guess correctly about me. You'll be bound to secrecy. Of
    course, I'll also ask you to promise not to give me away, and as I'm guessing
    that you're a man of your word, you'll never test the binding anyway, so
    you won't notice." Nate said the last part with utter confidence.

    Jack, who had always prided himself on being a man of his word, felt a little
    nervous at this. "Ummm, hey, Nate, who are you? How did you know that? Are
    you, umm, omniscient, or something?"

    Well, Jack," said Nate sadly, "I can't tell you that, unless you make the
    second request." Nate looked away for a minute, then looked back.

    "Umm, well, ok," said Jack, "what is this about a second request? What can
    I ask for? Are you allowed to tell me that?"

    "Sure!" said Nate, brightening. "You're allowed to ask for changes. Changes to
    yourself. They're like wishes, but they can only affect you. Oh, and before you
    ask, I can't give you immortality. Or omniscience. Or omnipresence, for that
    matter. Though I might be able to make you gaseous and yet remain alive, and
    then you could spread through the atmosphere and sort of be omnipresent. But
    what good would that be - you still wouldn't be omniscient and thus still
    could only focus on one thing at a time. Not very useful, at least in my
    opinion." Nate stopped when he realized that Jack was staring at him.

    "Well, anyway," continued Nate, "I'd probably suggest giving you permanent
    good health. It would negate the methanol now in your system, you'd be
    immune to most poisons and diseases, and you'd tend to live a very long time,
    barring accident, of course. And you'll even have a tendency to recover from
    accidents well. It always seemed like a good choice for a request to me."

    "Cure the methanol poisoning, huh?" said Jack. "And keep me healthy for a
    long time? Hmmm. It doesn't sound bad at that. And it has to be a request
    about a change to me? I can't ask to be rich, right? Because that's not
    really a change to me?"

    "Right," nodded Nate.

    "Could I ask to be a genius and permanently healthy?" Jack asked, hopefully.

    "That takes two requests, Jack."

    "Yeah, I figured so," said Jack. "But I could ask to be a genius? I could
    become the smartest scientist in the world? Or the best athlete?"

    "Well, I could make you very smart," admitted Nate, "but that wouldn't
    necessarily make you the best scientist in the world. Or, I could make you
    very athletic, but it wouldn't necessarily make you the best athlete either.
    You've heard the saying that 99% of genius is hard work? Well, there's some
    truth to that. I can give you the talent, but I can't make you work hard. It
    all depends on what you decide to do with it."

    "Hmmm," said Jack. "Ok, I think I understand. And I get a third request,
    after this one?"

    "Maybe," said Nate, "it depends on what you decide then. There are more
    rules for the third request that I can only tell you about after the second
    request. You know how it goes." Nate looked like he'd shrug, if he had

    "Ok, well, since I'd rather not be blind in a day or two, and permanent
    health doesn't sound bad, then consider that my second request. Officially.
    Do I need to sign in blood or something?"

    "No," said Nate. "Just hold out your hand. Or heel." Nate grinned. "Or
    whatever part you want me to bite. I have to bite you again. Like I said,
    that's how it works - the poison, you know," Nate said apologetically.

    Jack winced a little and felt his shoulder, where the last bite was. Hey,
    it didn't hurt any more. Just like Nate had said. That made Jack feel better
    about the biting business. But still, standing still while a fifteen foot
    snake sunk it's fangs into you. Jack stood up. Ignoring how good it felt
    to be able to stand again, and the hunger starting to gnaw at his stomach,
    Jack tried to decide where he wanted to get bitten. Despite knowing that it
    wouldn't hurt for long, Jack knew that this wasn't going to be easy.

    "Hey, Jack," Nate suddenly said, looking past Jack towards the dunes behind
    him, "is that someone else coming up over there?"

    Jack spun around and looked. Who else could be out here in the middle of
    nowhere? And did they bring food?

    Wait a minute, there was nobody over there. What was Nate...

    Jack let out a bellow as he felt two fangs sink into his rear end, through
    his jeans...

    Jack sat down carefully, favoring his more tender buttock. "I would have
    decided, eventually, Nate. I was just thinking about it. You didn't have to
    hoodwink me like that."

    "I've been doing this a long time, Jack," said Nate, confidently. "You humans
    have a hard time sitting still and letting a snake bite you - especially one
    my size. And besides, admit it - it's only been a couple of minutes and it
    already doesn't hurt any more, does it? That's because of the health benefit
    with this one. I told you that you'd heal quickly now."

    "Yeah, well, still," said Jack, "it's the principle of the thing. And nobody
    likes being bitten in the butt! Couldn't you have gotten my calf or something

    "More meat in the typical human butt," replied Nate. "And less chance you
    accidentally kick me or move at the last second."

    "Yeah, right. So, tell me all of these wonderful secrets that I now qualify
    to hear," answered Jack.

    "Ok," said Nate. "Do you want to ask questions first, or do you want me to
    just start talking?"

    "Just talk," said Jack. "I'll sit here and try to not think about food."

    "We could go try to rustle up some food for you first, if you like,"
    answered Nate.

    "Hey! You didn't tell me you had food around here, Nate!" Jack jumped up.
    "What do we have? Am I in walking distance to town? Or can you magically
    whip up food along with your other powers?" Jack was almost shouting with
    excitement. His stomach had been growling for hours.

    "I was thinking more like I could flush something out of its hole and bite
    it for you, and you could skin it and eat it. Assuming you have a knife,
    that is," replied Nate, with the grin that Jack was starting to get used to.

    "Ugh," said Jack, sitting back down. "I think I'll pass. I can last a little
    longer before I get desperate enough to eat desert rat, or whatever else it
    is you find out here. And there's nothing to burn - I'd have to eat it raw.
    No thanks. Just talk."

    "Ok," replied Nate, still grinning. "But I'd better hurry, before you start
    looking at me as food.

    Nate reared back a little, looked around for a second, and then continued.
    "You, Jack, are sitting in the middle of the Garden of Eden."

    Jack looked around at the sand and dunes and then looked back at Nate

    "Well, that's the best I can figure it, anyway, Jack," said Nate. "Stand
    up and look at the symbol on the rock here." Nate gestured around the dark
    stone they were both sitting on with his nose.

    Jack stood up and looked. Carved into the stone in a bas-relief was a
    representation of a large tree. The angled-pole that Nate was wrapped
    around was coming out of the trunk of the tree, right below where the main
    branches left the truck to reach out across the stone. It was very well done
    - it looked more like a tree had been reduced to almost two dimensions and
    embedded in the stone than it did like a carving.

    Jack walked around and looked at the details in the fading light of the
    setting sun. He wished he'd looked at it while the sun was higher in the sky.

    Wait! The sun was setting! That meant he was going to have to spend another
    night out here! Arrrgh!

    Jack looked out across the desert for a little bit, and then came back
    and stood next to Nate. "In all the excitement, I almost forgot, Nate,"
    said Jack. "Which way is it back to town? And how far? I'm eventually going
    to have to head back - I'm not sure I'll be able to survive by eating raw
    desert critters for long. And even if I can, I'm not sure I'll want to."

    "It's about 30 miles that way." Nate pointed, with the rattle on his tail
    this time. As far as Jack could tell, it was a direction at right angles to
    the way he'd been going when he was crawling here. "But that's 30 miles by
    the way the crow flies. It's about 40 by the way a man walks. You should be
    able to do it in about half a day with your improved endurance, if you head
    out early tomorrow, Jack."

    Jack looked out the way the snake had pointed for a few seconds more, and
    then sat back down. It was getting dark. Not much he could do about heading
    out right now. And besides, Nate was just about to get to the interesting
    stuff. "Garden of Eden? As best as you can figure it?"

    "Well, yeah, as best as I and Samuel could figure it anyway," said Nate. "He
    figured that the story just got a little mixed up. You know, snake, in a
    'tree', offering 'temptations', making bargains. That kind stuff. But he
    could never quite figure out how the Hebrews found out about this spot from
    across the ocean. He worried about that for a while."

    "Garden of Eden, hunh?" said Jack. "How long have you been here, Nate?"

    "No idea, really," replied Nate. "A long time. It never occurred to me to
    count years, until recently, and by then, of course, it was too late. But I
    do remember when this whole place was green, so I figure it's been thousands
    of years, at least."

    "So, are you the snake that tempted Eve?" said Jack.

    "Beats me," said Nate. "Maybe. I can't remember if the first one of your kind
    that I talked to was female or not, and I never got a name, but it could have
    been. And I suppose she could have considered my offer to grant requests a
    'temptation', though I've rarely had refusals."

    "Well, umm, how did you get here then? And why is that white pole stuck out
    of the stone there?" asked Jack.

    "Dad left me here. Or, I assume it was my dad. It was another snake - much
    bigger than I was back then. I remember talking to him, but I don't remember
    if it was in a language, or just kind of understanding what he wanted. But
    one day, he brought me to this stone, told me about it, and asked me to do
    something for him. I talked it over with him for a while, then agreed. I've
    been here ever since.

    "What is this place?" said Jack. "And what did he ask you to do?"

    "Well, you see this pole here, sticking out of the stone?" Nate loosened
    his coils around the tilted white pole and showed Jack where it descended
    into the stone. The pole was tilted at about a 45 degree angle and seemed
    to enter the stone in an eighteen inch slot cut into the stone. Jack leaned
    over and looked. The slot was dark and the pole went down into it as far
    as Jack could see in the dim light. Jack reached out to touch the pole,
    but Nate was suddenly there in the way.

    "You can't touch that yet, Jack," said Nate.

    "Why not?" asked Jack.

    "I haven't explained it to you yet," replied Nate.

    "Well, it kinda looks like a lever or something," said Jack. "You'd push it
    that way, and it would move in the slot."

    "Yep, that's what it is," replied Nate.

    "What does it do?" asked Jack. "End the world?"

    "Oh, no," said Nate. "Nothing that drastic. It just ends humanity. I call
    it 'The Lever of Doom'." For the last few words Nate had used a deeper,
    ringing voice. He tried to look serious for a few seconds, and then gave up
    and grinned.

    Jack was initially startled by Nate's pronouncement, but when Nate grinned
    Jack laughed. "Ha! You almost had me fooled for a second there. What does
    it really do?"

    "Oh, it really ends humanity, like I said," smirked Nate. "I just thought
    the voice I used was funny, didn't you?"

    Nate continued to grin.

    "A lever to end humanity?" asked Jack. "What in the world is that for? Why
    would anyone need to end humanity?"

    "Well," replied Nate, "I get the idea that maybe humanity was an experiment.
    Or maybe the Big Guy just thought, that if humanity started going really bad,
    there should be a way to end it. I'm not really sure. All I know are the
    rules, and the guesses that Samuel and I had about why it's here. I didn't
    think to ask back when I started here."

    "Rules? What rules?" asked Jack.

    "The rules are that I can't tell anybody about it or let them touch it unless
    they agree to be bound to secrecy by a bite. And that only one human can be
    bound in that way at a time. That's it." explained Nate.

    Jack looked somewhat shocked. "You mean that I could pull the lever now?
    You'd let me end humanity?"

    "Yep," replied Nate, "if you want to." Nate looked at Jack carefully. "Do
    you want to, Jack?"

    "Umm, no." said Jack, stepping a little further back from the lever. "Why
    in the world would anyone want to end humanity? It'd take a psychotic to
    want that! Or worse, a suicidal psychotic, because it would kill him too,
    wouldn't it?"

    "Yep," replied Nate, "being as he'd be human too."

    "Has anyone ever seriously considered it?" asked Nate. "Any of those bound
    to secrecy, that is?"

    "Well, of course, I think they've all seriously considered it at one time
    or another. Being given that kind of responsibility makes you sit down and
    think, or so I'm told. Samuel considered it several times. He'd often get
    disgusted with humanity, come out here, and just hold the lever for a while.
    But he never pulled it. Or you wouldn't be here." Nate grinned some more.

    Jack sat down, well back from the lever. He looked thoughtful and puzzled
    at the same time. After a bit, he said, "So this makes me the Judge of
    humanity? I get to decide whether they keep going or just end? Me?"

    "That seems to be it," agreed Nate.

    "What kind of criteria do I use to decide?" said Jack. "How do I make this
    decision? Am I supposed to decide if they're good? Or too many of them are
    bad? Or that they're going the wrong way? Is there a set of rules for that?"

    "Nope," replied Nate. "You pretty much just have to decide on your own. It's
    up to you, however you want to decide it. I guess that you're just supposed
    to know."

    "But what if I get mad at someone? Or some girl dumps me and I feel
    horrible? Couldn't I make a mistake? How do I know that I won't screw up?"
    protested Jack.

    Nate gave his kind of snake-like shrug again. "You don't. You just have to
    try your best, Jack."

    Jack sat there for a while, staring off into the desert that was rapidly
    getting dark, chewing on a fingernail.

    Suddenly, Jack turned around and looked at the snake. "Nate, was Samuel the
    one bound to this before me?"

    "Yep," replied Nate. "He was a good guy. Talked to me a lot. Taught me to
    read and brought me books. I think I still have a good pile of them buried
    in the sand around here somewhere. I still miss him. He died a few months ago."

    "Sounds like a good guy," agreed Jack. "How did he handle this, when you
    first told him. What did he do?"

    "Well," said Nate, "he sat down for a while, thought about it for a bit,
    and then asked me some questions, much like you're doing."

    "What did he ask you, if you're allowed to tell me?" asked Jack.

    "He asked me about the third request," replied Nate.

    "Aha!" It was Jack's turn to grin. "And what did you tell him?"

    "I told him the rules for the third request. That to get the third request
    you have to agree to this whole thing. That if it ever comes to the point
    that you really think that humanity should be ended, that you'll come here
    and end it. You won't avoid it, and you won't wimp out." Nate looked serious
    again. "And you'll be bound to do it too, Jack."

    "Hmmm." Jack looked back out into the darkness for a while.

    Nate watched him, waiting.

    "Nate," continued Jack, quietly, eventually. "What did Samuel ask for with
    his third request?"

    Nate sounded like he was grinning again as he replied, also quietly, "Wisdom,
    Jack. He asked for wisdom. As much as I could give him."

    "Ok," said Jack, suddenly, standing up and facing away from Nate, "give it
    to me.

    Nate looked at Jack's backside. "Give you what, Jack?"

    "Give me that wisdom. The same stuff that Samuel asked for. If it helped him,
    maybe it'll help me too." Jack turned his head to look back over his shoulder
    at Nate. "It did help him, right?"

    "He said it did," replied Nate. "But he seemed a little quieter afterward.
    Like he had a lot to think about."

    "Well, yeah, I can see that," said Jack. "So, give it to me." Jack turned
    to face away from Nate again, bent over slightly and tensed up.

    Nate watched Jack tense up with a little exasperation. If he bit Jack now,
    Jack would likely jump out of his skin and maybe hurt them both.

    "You remember that you'll be bound to destroy humanity if it ever looks like
    it needs it, right Jack?" asked Nate, shifting position.

    "Yeah, yeah, I got that," replied Jack, eyes squeezed tightly shut and body
    tense, not noticing the change in direction of Nate's voice.

    "And," continued Nate, from his new position, "do you remember that you'll
    turn bright purple, and grow big horns and extra eyes?"

    "Yeah, yeah...Hey, wait a minute!" said Jack, opening his eyes, straightening
    up and turning around. "Purple?!" He didn't see Nate there. With the
    moonlight Jack could see that the lever extended up from its slot in the
    rock without the snake wrapped around it.

    Jack heard, from behind him, Nate's "Just Kidding!" right before he felt
    the now familiar piercing pain, this time in the other buttock.

    Jack sat on the edge of the dark stone in the rapidly cooling air, his feet
    extending out into the sand. He stared out into the darkness, listening
    to the wind stir the sand, occasionally rubbing his butt where he'd been
    recently bitten.

    Nate had left for a little while, had come back with a desert-rodent-shaped
    bulge somewhere in his middle, and was now wrapped back around the lever,
    his tongue flicking out into the desert night's air the only sign that he
    was still awake.

    Occasionally Jack, with his toes absentmindedly digging in the sand while
    he thought, would ask Nate a question without turning around.

    "Nate, do accidents count?"

    Nate lifted his head a little bit. "What do you mean, Jack?"

    Jack tilted his head back like he was looking at the stars. "You know,
    accidents. If I accidentally fall on the lever, without meaning to, does
    that still wipe out humanity?"

    "Yeah, I'm pretty sure it does, Jack. I'd suggest you be careful about that
    if you start feeling wobbly," said Nate with some amusement.

    A little later - "Does it have to be me that pulls the lever?" asked Jack.

    "That's the rule, Jack. Nobody else can pull it," answered Nate.

    "No," Jack shook his head, "I meant does it have to be my hand? Could I
    pull the lever with a rope tied around it? Or push it with a stick? Or throw
    a rock?"

    "Yes, those should work," replied Nate. "Though I'm not sure how complicated
    you could get. Samuel thought about trying to build some kind of remote
    control for it once, but gave it up. Everything he'd build would be gone
    by the next sunrise, if it was touching the stone, or over it. I told him
    that in the past others that had been bound had tried to bury the lever so
    they wouldn't be tempted to pull it, but every time the stones or sand or
    whatever had disappeared."

    "Wow," said Jack, "Cool." Jack leaned back until only his elbows kept him
    off of the stone and looked up into the sky.

    "Nate, how long did Samuel live? One of his wishes was for health too,
    right?" asked Jack.

    "Yes," replied Nate, "it was. He lived 167 years, Jack."

    "Wow, 167 years. That's almost 140 more years I'll live if I live as long.
    Do you know what he died of, Nate?"

    "He died of getting tired of living, Jack," Nate said, sounding somewhat sad.

    Jack turned his head to look at Nate in the starlight.

    Nate looked back. "Samuel knew he wasn't going to be able to stay in
    society. He figured that they'd eventually see him still alive and start
    questioning it, so he decided that he'd have to disappear after a while. He
    faked his death once, but changed his mind - he decided it was too early
    and he could stay for a little longer. He wasn't very fond of mankind,
    but he liked the attention. Most of the time, anyway.

    "His daughter and then his wife dying almost did him in though. He didn't
    stay in society much longer after that. He eventually came out here to spend
    time talking to me and thinking about pulling the lever. A few months ago
    he told me he'd had enough. It was his time."

    "And then he just died?" asked Jack.

    Nate shook his head a little. "He made his forth request, Jack. There's only
    one thing you can ask for the fourth request. The last bite.

    After a bit Nate continued, "He told me that he was tired, that it was
    his time. He reassured me that someone new would show up soon, like they
    always had.

    After another pause, Nate finished, "Samuel's body disappeared off the stone
    with the sunrise."

    Jack lay back down and looked at the sky, leaving Nate alone with his
    memories. It was a long time until Jack's breathing evened out into sleep.

    Jack woke with the sunrise the next morning. He was a little chilled with
    the morning desert air, but overall was feeling pretty good. Well, except
    that his stomach was grumbling and he wasn't willing to eat raw desert rat.

    So, after getting directions to town from Nate, making sure he knew how to
    get back, and reassuring Nate that he'd be back soon, Jack started the long
    walk back to town. With his new health and Nate's good directions, he made
    it back easily.

    Jack caught a bus back to the city, and showed up for work the next day,
    little worse for the wear and with a story about getting lost in the desert
    and walking back out. Within a couple of days Jack had talked a friend with
    a tow truck into going back out into the desert with him to fetch the SUV.
    They found it after a couple of hours of searching and towed it back without
    incident. Jack was careful not to even look in the direction of Nate's lever,
    though their path back didn't come within sight of it.

    Before the next weekend, Jack had gone to a couple of stores, including a book
    store, and had gotten his SUV back from the mechanic, with a warning to avoid
    any more joyriding in the desert. On Saturday, Jack headed back to see Nate.

    Jack parked a little way out of the small town near Nate, loaded up his new
    backpack with camping gear and the things he was bringing for Nate, and then
    started walking. He figured that walking would leave the least trail, and he
    knew that while not many people camped in the desert, it wasn't unheard of,
    and shouldn't really raise suspicions.

    Jack had brought more books for Nate - recent books, magazines, newspapers.
    Some things that would catch Nate up with what was happening in the world,
    others that were just good books to read. He spent the weekend with Nate,
    and then headed out again, telling Nate that he'd be back again soon, but
    that he had things to do first.

    Over four months later Jack was back to see Nate again. This time he brought
    a laptop with him - a specially modified laptop. It had a solar recharger,
    special filters and seals to keep out the sand, a satellite link-up, and a
    special keyboard and joystick that Jack hoped that a fifteen-foot rattlesnake
    would be able to use. And, it had been hacked to not give out its location
    to the satellite.

    After that Jack could e-mail Nate to keep in touch, but still visited him
    fairly regularly - at least once or twice a year.

    After the first year, Jack quit his job. For some reason, with the wisdom
    he 'd been given, and the knowledge that he could live for over 150 years,
    working in a nine to five job for someone else didn't seem that worthwhile
    any more. Jack went back to school.

    Eventually, Jack started writing. Perhaps because of the wisdom, or perhaps
    because of his new perspective, he wrote well. People liked what he wrote,
    and he became well known for it. After a time, Jack bought an RV and started
    traveling around the country for book signings and readings.

    But, he still remembered to drop by and visit Nate occasionally.

    On one of the visits Nate seemed quieter than usual. Not that Nate had been
    a fountain of joy lately. Jack's best guess was that Nate was still missing
    Samuel, and though Jack had tried, he still hadn't been able to replace Samuel
    in Nate's eyes. Nate had been getting quieter each visit. But on this visit
    Nate didn't even speak when Jack walked up to the lever. He nodded at Jack,
    and then went back to staring into the desert. Jack, respecting Nate's silence,
    sat down and waited.

    After a few minutes, Nate spoke. "Jack, I have someone to introduce you to."

    Jack looked surprised. "Someone to introduce me to?" Jack looked around,
    and then looked carefully back at Nate. "This something to do with the Big Guy?

    "No, no," replied Nate. "This is more personal. I want you to meet my son."
    Nate looked over at the nearest sand dune. "Sammy!"

    Jack watched as a four foot long desert rattlesnake crawled from behind the
    dune and up to the stone base of the lever.

    "Yo, Jack," said the new, much smaller snake.

    "Yo, Sammy" replied Jack. Jack looked at Nate. "Named after Samuel, I assume?"

    Nate nodded. "Jack, I've got a favor to ask you. Could you show Sammy around
    for me?" Nate unwrapped himself from the lever and slithered over to the
    edge of the stone and looked across the sands. "When Samuel first told me
    about the world, and brought me books and pictures, I wished that I could go
    see it. I wanted to see the great forests, the canyons, the cities, even the
    other deserts, to see if they felt and smelled the same. I want my son to have
    that chance - to see the world. Before he becomes bound here like I have been.

    "He's seen it in pictures, over the computer that you brought me. But I hear
    that it's not the same. That being there is different. I want him to have
    that. Think you can do that for me, Jack?"

    Jack nodded. This was obviously very important to Nate, so Jack didn't
    even joke about taking a talking rattlesnake out to see the world. "Yeah,
    I can do that for you, Nate. Is that all you need?" Jack could sense that
    was something more.

    Nate looked at Sammy. Sammy looked back at Nate for a second and then said,
    "Oh, yeah. Ummm, I've gotta go pack. Back in a little bit Jack. Nice to meet
    ya!" Sammy slithered back over the dune and out of sight.

    Nate watched Sammy disappear and then looked back at Jack. "Jack, this is
    my first son. My first offspring through all the years. You don't even want
    to know what it took for me to find a mate." Nate grinned to himself. "But
    anyway, I had a son for a reason. I'm tired. I'm ready for it to be over. I
    needed a replacement."

    Jack considered this for a minute. "So, you're ready to come see the world,
    and you wanted him to watch the lever while you were gone?"

    Nate shook his head. "No, Jack - you're a better guesser than that. You've
    already figured out - I'm bound here - there's only one way for me to leave
    here. And I'm ready. It's my time to die."

    Jack looked more closely at Nate. He could tell Nate had thought about this -
    probably for quite a while. Jack had trouble imagining what it would be like
    to be as old as Nate, but Jack could already tell that in another hundred or
    two hundred years, he might be getting tired of life himself. Jack could
    understand Samuel's decision, and now Nate's. So, all Jack said was, "What
    do you want me to do?"

    Nate nodded. "Thanks, Jack. I only want two things. One - show Sammy around
    the world - let him get his fill of it, until he's ready to come back here
    and take over. Two - give me the fourth request.

    "I can't just decide to die, not any more than you can. I won't even die of
    old age like you eventually will, even though it'll be a long time from now.
    I need to be killed. Once Sammy is back here, ready to take over, I'll be
    able to die. And I need you to kill me.

    "I've even thought about how. Poisons and other drugs won't work on me. And
    I've seen pictures of snakes that were shot - some of them live for days,
    so that's out too. So, I want you to bring back a sword.

    Nate turned away to look back to the dune that Sammy had gone behind. "I'd
    say an axe, but that's somewhat undignified - putting my head on the ground
    or a chopping block like that. No, I like a sword. A time-honored way of going
    out. A dignified way to die. And, most importantly, it should work, even on me.

    "You willing to do that for me, Jack?" Nate turned back to look at Jack.

    "Yeah, Nate," replied Jack solemnly, "I think I can handle that."

    Nate nodded. "Good!" He turned back toward the dune and shouted, "Sammy!
    Jack's about ready to leave!" Then quietly, "Thanks, Jack."

    Jack didn't have anything to say to that, so he waited for Sammy to make
    it back to the lever, nodded to him, nodded a final time to Nate, and then
    headed into the desert with Sammy following. Over the next several years
    Sammy and Jack kept in touch with Nate through e-mail as they went about
    their adventures. They made a goal of visiting every country in the world,
    and did a respectable job of it. Sammy had a natural gift for languages, as
    Jack expected he would, and even ended up acting as a translator for Jack in
    a few of the countries. Jack managed to keep the talking rattlesnake hidden,
    even so, and by the time they were nearing the end of their tour of countries,
    Sammy had only been spotted a few times. While there were several people
    that had seen enough to startle them greatly, nobody had enough evidence to
    prove anything, and while a few wild rumors and storied followed Jack and
    Sammy around, nothing ever hit the newspapers or the public in general.

    When they finished the tour of countries, Jack suggested that they try some
    undersea diving. They did. And spelunking. They did that too. Sammy finally
    drew the line at visiting Antarctica. He'd come to realize that Jack was
    stalling. After talking to his Dad about it over e-mail, he figured out that
    Jack probably didn't want to have to kill Nate. Nate told Sammy that humans
    could be squeamish about killing friends and acquaintances.

    So, Sammy eventually put his tail down (as he didn't have a foot) and told Jack
    that it was time - he was ready to go back and take up his duties from his
    dad. Jack, delayed it a little more by insisting that they go back to Japan
    and buy an appropriate sword. He even stretched it a little more by getting
    lessons in how to use the sword. But, eventually, he'd learned as much as he
    was likely to without dedicating his life to it, and was definitely competent
    enough to take the head off of a snake. It was time to head back and see Nate.

    When they got back to the US, Jack got the old RV out of storage where he
    and Sammy had left it after their tour of the fifty states, he loaded up
    Sammy and the sword, and they headed for the desert.

    When they got to the small town that Jack had been trying to find those
    years ago when he'd met Nate, Jack was in a funk. He didn't really feel like
    walking all of the way out there. Not only that, but he'd forgotten to figure
    the travel time correctly, and it was late afternoon. They'd either have to
    spend the night in town and walk out tomorrow, or walk in the dark.

    As Jack was afraid that if he waited one more night he might lose his resolve,
    he decided that he'd go ahead and drive the RV out there. It was only going
    to be this once, and Jack would go back and cover the tracks afterward. They
    ought to be able to make it out there by nightfall if they drove, and then
    they could get it over tonight.

    Jack told Sammy to e-mail Nate that they were coming as he drove out of sight
    of the town on the road. They then pulled off the road and headed out into
    the desert.

    Everything went well, until they got to the sand dunes. Jack had been nursing
    the RV along the whole time, over the rocks, through the creek beds, revving
    the engine the few times they almost got stuck. When they came to the dunes,
    Jack didn't really think about it, he just downshifted and headed up the first
    one. By the third dune, Jack started to regret that he'd decided to try driving
    on the sand. The RV was fishtailling and losing traction. Jack was having
    to work it up each dune slowly and was trying to keep from losing control
    each time they came over the top and slid down the other side. Sammy had
    come up to sit in the passenger seat, coiled up and laughing at Jack's driving.

    As they came over the top of the fourth dune, the biggest one yet, Jack saw
    that this was the final dune - the stone, the lever, and somewhere Nate,
    waited below. Jack put on the brakes, but he'd gone a little too far. The
    RV started slipping down the other side.

    Jack tried turning the wheel, but he didn't have enough traction. He pumped the
    brakes - no response. They started sliding down the hill, faster and faster.

    Jack felt a shock go through him as he suddenly realized that they were heading
    for the lever. He looked down - the RV was directly on course for it. If
    Jack didn't do something, the RV would hit it. He was about to end humanity.

    Jack steered more frantically, trying to get traction. It still wasn't
    working. The dune was too steep, and the sand too loose. In a split second,
    Jack realized that his only chance would be once he hit the stone around the
    lever - he should have traction on the stone for just a second before he hit
    the lever - he wouldn't have time to stop, but he should be able to steer away.

    Jack took a better grip on the steering wheel and tried to turn the RV a little
    bit - every little bit would help. He'd have to time his turn just right.

    The RV got to the bottom of the dune, sliding at an amazing speed in the
    sand. Just before they reached the stone Jack looked across it to check that
    they were still heading for the lever. They were. But Jack noticed something
    else that he hadn't seen from the top of the dune. Nate wasn't wrapped around
    the lever. He was off to the side of the lever, but still on the stone,
    waiting for them. The problem was, he was waiting on the same side of the
    lever that Jack had picked to steer towards to avoid the lever. The RV was
    already starting to drift that way a little in its mad rush across the sand
    and there was no way that Jack was going to be able to go around the lever
    to the other side.

    Jack had an instant of realization. He was either going to have to hit the
    lever, or run over Nate. He glanced over at Sammy and saw that Sammy realized
    the same thing.

    Jack took a firmer grip on the steering wheel as the RV ran up on the stone.
    Shouting to Sammy as he pulled the steering wheel, "Better nate than lever,"
    he ran over the snake.
  2. ok, i didnt read anything but the last line cos I suspect its just a long lead up to a bad pun.
    Im confident that im right :p
  3. Heh I got a laugh out of it. I suppose if I was wasting my own time instead of being paid it might not have seemed worth it... still not sure really :D
  4. eswen, let me refresh your memory on the definition of a joke.

    IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE FUNNY!!!!!!!!!!!
  5. I dont get it... and I still cant be bothered reading it :p
    as I mentioned before... now leaving for a ride to ... somewhere. Followed up by a pissup at mine when i get back. Another impromtu geek night maybe?
  6. Or you could join me for my fairwell pissup at the Cubby House tonight :D
  7. pfft $$$.
    Have ep 6 of season 2 lost to watch anyway :D

    ah crap. im a geek
  8. Start drinking beer! Happy hour till 9, $2.50 pots :D

    And lost will only take ya 45 minites anyway :p
  9. dude thats gross. At jaysons 21st i tried some beer... I dont think i could ever be drunk enough for that.
  10. Trust me it's an aquired taste, I've been told I spat it out at the age of 2, I prefered Ouzo back then :p
  11. Since when has that worried eswen :p :wink:

    I remember a few jokes she's posted :roll:
  12. hehehe true but

    p.s. I still think the captian cook joke is funny!
  13. I read this joke at 4 yesterday afternoon and I am still laughing. I think more at the fact it took me 30 minutes to get to that corker of a punchline than the actual punch line itself. My partner on the other hand wasn't at all impressed, which made it even funnier for me..lol.
  14. Just read it... I don't know what to say... I invested too much to just go "groan...." at the punch line :)

  15. it was wayyyyyyyyy too long and the pun was lame after reading for so long
  16. I actually read all of that... felt like I was reading a short story from Analog or something similar... something by Issac Asimov when he was in a punny mood maybe.
    Pretty well done :)
  17. Definantly up there in my list of mistakes.

    EDIT: Shit... old thread :oops:
  18. I actually enjoyed the story and forgot it was a joke till the pun at the end,
    Good effort.
    Even if it is from a revived thread I never caught it the first time.
  19. +1 Smee. It was a really good short story. Reminded me how much I should get back into reading fiction.
  20. Not as long as the other joke:

    One day, little Timmy is walking home from school on Friday afternoon when he sees a poster which says "Circus in town on Saturday - 20p admission". Timmy rushes home, opens his piggy bank and finds that he has exactly 20p. He sleeps with the coin held tight in his hand all night, and wakes up the next morning, ready to go to the circus.

    He gets to the circus and waits in the queue. When he gets to the front, he hands over his 20p and gets in. First, he goes to see the trapeze artists, twirling gracefully through the air. Then he sees the lion tamer, holding back the lion with a whip and an upturned chair. Then, finally, he gets to the big top. 2 clowns come onto the stage in a tiny car. They do the wallpaper sketch, and throw water over each other, then they say "we need someone from the audience to tell a joke". Timmy's hand shoots up in the air, and he screams "ME ME ME!!!". The clowns pick him out of the audience.

    The first clown says "what's your name little boy?". Timmy replies "my name's Timmy". The clown says "ok Timmy, we're going to make a horse, what part of the horse do you think you'll be?"
    "Will I be the head?"
    "Will I be the tail?"
    "Will I be the fetlocks?"
    "No.... you'll be the arse!"
    The whole crowd erupts with laughter, and Timmy rushes out of the circus in tears. He decides then that he will get those clowns back for what they did.

    During the year, Timmy gets a job to save up some money. Then he sets aside 20p for the circus, and uses the rest of the money he earns to take night classes to teach him the art of witty come-backs. The next year rolls around, and Timmy once again sees the circus poster. He gets the 20p he had saved for the circus, and holds it tight in his hand all night, ready to go to the circus the next morning.

    The morning finally arrives, and he gets to the circus and waits in the queue. When he gets to the front, he hands over his 20p and gets in. First, he goes to see the trapeze artists, twirling gracefully through the air. Then he sees the lion tamer, holding back the lion with a whip and an upturned chair. Then, finally, he gets to the big top. 2 clowns come onto the stage in a tiny car. They do the wallpaper sketch, and throw water over each other, then they say "we need someone from the audience to tell a joke". Timmy knows that the clowns won't recognise him, since they've been travelling around the country all year, so he puts his hand up. Once again, the clowns pick him out of the audience.

    The first clown says "what's your name little boy?". Timmy replies "my name's Timmy", this time with much less boyish enthusiasm, as if he's going through the motions. The clown says "ok Timmy, we're going to make a horse, what part of the horse do you think you'll be?"
    "Will I be the head?"
    "Will I be the tail?"
    "Will I be the fetlocks?"
    "No.... you'll be the arse!"
    The whole crowd erupts with laughter.

    At that point, Timmy stands square up to the clowns. He looks them in the eye, and with a steely determination, replies...



    fcuk OFF YOU RED NOSED ****!