Tipper Gore, an amateur genealogical researcher, discovered that her husband's great-great uncle, Gunther Gore, a fellow lacking in character, was hanged for horse stealing and train robbery in Tennessee in 1889. The only known photograph of Gunther shows him standing on the gallows. On the back of the picture is this inscription:
"Gunther Gore; horse thief, sent to Tennessee Prison 1885, escaped 1887, robbed the Tennessee Flyer six times. Caught by Pinkerton detectives, convicted and hanged in 1889."
After letting Al Gore and his staff of professional image consultants peruse the findings, they decided to crop Gunther's picture, scan it in as an enlarged image, and edited it with image processing software so that all that's seen is a head shot. The accompanying biographical sketch was sent to the Associated Press as follows:
"Gunther Gore was a famous rancher in early Tennessee history. His business empire grew to include acquisition of valuable equestrian assets and intimate dealings with the Tennessee railroad. Beginning in 1883, he devoted several years of his life to service at a government facility, finally taking leave to resume his dealings with the railroad. In 1887, he was a key player in a vital investigation run by the renowned Pinkerton Detective Agency. In 1889, Gunther passed away during an important civic function held in his honor when the platform upon which he was standing collapsed."
The Supreme Court has ruled that there cannot be a nativity scene in Washington, D.C. this Christmas. This isn't for any religious reason. They simply have not been able to find three wise men and a virgin in the Nation's capitol. There was no problem, however, finding enough asses to fill the scene.
Microsoft is appealing last year's antitrust ruling. To prove it isn't a monopoly, the company has offered to abandon its hotels on Park Place and Boardwalk while selling off the Water Works.
Al Gore is out jogging one morning, notices a little boy on the corner with a box. Curious, he runs over to the child and says, "What's in the box, kid?"
The little boy says, "Kittens, they're brand new kittens."
Al Gore laughs and says, "What kind of kittens are they?"
"Democrats," the child says.
"Oh, that's cute," Al Gore says and he runs off.
A couple of days later, Al Gore is running with his buddy Bill Clinton and he spies the same boy with his box just ahead. Al says to Bill, "You gotta check this out," and they both jog over to the boy with the box.
Al says, "Look in the box Bill, isn't that cute? Look at those little kittens. Hey, kid, tell my friend Bill what kind of kittens they are."
The boy replies, "They're Republicans."
"Whoa!" Al says, "I came by here the other day and you said they were Democrats. What's up?"
"Well," the kid says, "Their eyes are open now."
Last summer, the President and Mrs. Clinton were vacationing in their home state of Arkansas. On a venture one day, they stopped at a service station to fill up the car with gas. It seemed that the owner of the station was once Hillary's high school love. They exchanged hellos, and went on their way. As they were driving on to their destination, Bill put his arm around Hillary and said, "Well, honey, if you had stayed with him, you would be the wife of a service station owner today." She smiled and replied, "No. If I had stayed with him, he would be President of the United States."
Bill Clinton, Al Gore, and Bill Gates have died and gone to heaven. As they stand outside the Pearly Gates, Clinton nudges Gore and says, "I never thought I’d get here; I didn’t lead a very good life." Just then, St. Peter strolls up and overhears this. He says, "There is no such thing as hell; we just tell people that so they lead a better life on Earth, but how much you enjoy heaven depends on how you behaved while on Earth."
He leads them through the gates and down a hallway. He says to Al Gore, “You’re in this room.” Gore looks in and sees a hideous looking old woman. He doesn't want to go in, but they shove him in and he hears a booming voice, “Al Gore, you have NOT lived a good life, you are doomed to spend all eternity with this woman.”
They leave him and continue down the hallway. St. Peter says to Bill Clinton, “You’re in this room.” Clinton looks in and sees an even more hideous looking old woman. He hears the booming voice, “Bill Clinton, you have NOT lived a good life, you are doomed to spend all eternity with this woman.” By this time Clinton has fainted, so they drag him into the room and leave him.
Bill Gates is starting to get worried it seems the women are getting worse as they go further down the hall. St. Peter stops at the next room and says to Bill Gates, Youre in here. He looks in and sees Cindy Crawford in a very sexy negligee. Needing no coaxing at all, he runs into the room. He then hears the booming voice, "Cindy Crawford, you have NOT lived a good life..."
I hear President Clinton just worked out a trade agreement with the Russians. We're sending them fifty thousand cars, and they're sending us a hundred and fifty thousand unused parking spaces.
A little boy wanted $100 badly and prayed for two weeks but nothing happened. Then he decided to write a letter to the Lord requesting the $100. When the postal authorities received the letter addressed to the Lord, USA, they decided to send it to President Clinton. The President was so impressed, touched, and amused that he instructed his secretary to send the little boy a $5 bill. President Clinton thought this would appear to be a lot of money to a little boy. The little boy was delighted with the $5 and sat down to write a thank-you note to the Lord, which read:
Thank you very much for sending me the money. However, I noticed that for some reason you had to send it through Washington, DC and as usual, those jerks deducted $95.
Bill Clinton, Bob Dole, and Ross Perot are on a long flight in Air Force One. Perot pulls out a $100 bill and says "I'm going to throw this $100 bill out and make someone down below happy." Dole, not wanting to be outdone, says, "If that was my $100 bill, I would split it into 2 $50 bills and make two people down below happy." Of course Clinton doesn't want these two candidates to outdo him, so he chimes in, "I would instead take 100 $1 bills and throw them out to make 100 people just a little happier." At this point the pilot, who has overheard all this bragging and can't stand it anymore, comes out and says, "I think I'll throw all three of you out of this plane and make 250 million people happy."
Three contractors were touring the white house on the same day. One was from New York, another from Missouri, and the third from Florida. At the end of the tour, the guard asked them what they did for a living. When they each replied that they were contractors the guard said "Hey, we need one of the rear fences redone. Why don't you guys look at it and give me a bid." So to the back fence they went. First up was the Florida contractor. He took out his tape measure and pencil, did some measuring and said, "Well I figure the job will run about $900. $400 for materials, $400 for my crew, and $100 profit for me." Next was the Missouri contractor. He also took out his tape measure and pencil, did some quick figuring and said, "Looks like I can do this Job for $700. $300 for materials, $300 for my crew, and $100 profit for me." Then the guard asks the New York contractor how much. Without so much as moving the contractor says, $2700." The guard, incredulous, looks at him and says "You didn't even measure like the other guys! How did you come up with such a high figure?" "Easy" says the contractor from New York, "$1,000 for me, $1,000 for you and we hire the guy from Missouri."
Election poetry, from the humor list of the Piano Technicians Guild:
In olden times, it could be decades before major events were cast in verse. But The Great 2000 Election Controversy is so big that a bunch of all-star poets have come out of retirement to quickly set the story to rhyme.
For starters, history buff Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:
Listen, my children, don't dare ignore,
The midnight actions of Bush and Gore
In early November, the year ought-ought,
Hard to believe the mess they wrought.
Two billion bucks of campaign bounty
All came down to Palm Beach County.
What result could have been horrider
Than the situation we found in Florider?
Edgar Allen Poe is his usual gloomy self:
Once upon a campaign dreary, one which left us weak and weary
O'er many a quaint and curious promise of political lore
While we nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a yapping,
As of some votes overlapping, energy-zapping to the core
"'Tis a mess here," we all muttered, as the network anchors stuttered,
Stuttered over Bush and Gore.
Could there be another election with such a case of misdirection,
One with such a weak selection, yet fraught with tension to the core?
Quoth the ravers, "Nevermore."
Britain's Edward Lear's limerick is lighter:
There once was a U.S. election
That called for some expert detection -
How thousands of pollers
Could become two-holers
Like outhouses of recollection.
Ditto Ogden Nash:
I regret to admit that all my knowledge is
What I learned at Electoral Colleges,
So tell me please, though I hate to troubya,
Will the winner be Al, or will it be Dubya?
Joyce Kilmer's a media analyst:
I thought that I would never see
The networks all so up a tree.
Walt Whitman is lyrical, as always:
O' Captain! My Captain! our
fearful trip's not done
The ship has weather'd every rack, but nobody knows who's won.
Alfred Noyes rhythmically rumbles:
And still of an autumn night they say, with the White House on the line,
When the campaign's a ghostly galleon and both candidates cry, "'Tis mine!"
When the road is a ribbon of ballots, all within easy reach,
A highwayman comes riding,
Riding, Riding, A highwayman comes riding, and punches two holes in each.
Dr. Seuss takes a look at election officials:
I cannot count them in a box
I cannot count them with a fox
I cannot count them by computer
I will not with a Roto-Rooter
I cannot count them card-by-card
I will not 'cause it's way too hard
I cannot count them on my fingers
I will not while suspicion lingers.
I'll leave the country in a jam -
I can't count ballots, Sam-I-Am.
Clement Moore adopts a holiday theme:
'Twas the month before Christmas, when all through the courts,
All the plaintiffs made stirring bad ballot reports.
Which leaves the problem:
Perhaps the best way to stop complaints that are raucous is
Start over again, with the Iowa caucuses.