Software Vault: The Gold Collection/Software Vault - The Gold Collection (American Databankers) (1993).ISO/cdr14/misc_hmr.zip/WOODWORK.HMR

Text File | 1993-04-01 | 28KB | 558 lines

From tamsun!news.utdallas.edu!wupost!waikato.ac.nz!ccc_spt Fri Feb  7 13:42:32 CST 1992
Article: 16340 of rec.humor
Path: tamsun!news.utdallas.edu!wupost!waikato.ac.nz!ccc_spt
From: [e-mail] (Simon Travaglia)
Newsgroups: alt.sex,rec.humor
Subject: Woodwork Class III
Message-ID: <[e-mail]>
Date: 3 Feb 92 21:53:10 GMT
Organization: University of Waikato Computer Centre
Lines: 87
Xref: tamsun alt.sex:19355 rec.humor:16340


                WOODWORK CLASS III
                    By SimonT

--------------------------------- WARNING! ----------------------------------
--------------------------------- WARNING! ----------------------------------
--------------------------------- WARNING! ----------------------------------
THIS IS A FICTIONAL ESSAY AND IS NOT MEANT TO REPRESENT MY FEELINGS OR SEXUAL
PREFERENCES IN ANY WAY.  IF ANYONE IS OFFENDED BY EROTIC STORIES, THEY SHOULD
TURN BACK NOW BY SKIPPING  THIS  MESSAGE.   I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR FROM PEOPLE
WHO THINK THAT I'M IN SOME WAY SICK OR DEPRAVED.   I AM,  I KNOW, AND I DON'T
CARE.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    So she hits me with this hickory bat, and I just love the feel of it's
smooth-planed 45-degree-bevelled edges!

Then she tells me, she's a wood freak too, and she's not going to give up her
pine without a fight!

Typical of a woman - Immediately thinks that I took her wood from HER!!  I tell
her that she's mistaken, it was love at first sand for us both.  The wood left
her for me.  She still doesn't believe me, so I take her home and show her how
happy we are, just me the house and my pine.

I led her astray of course, me and my Pine were over; I knew that, it left me
for a cambium layer that it considered infinitely more appealing.  Anyway,
the woman leaves and I notice that the rafters are looking at me in a strange
way that I haven't been looked at in years.  Right away I know it's coming on
to me, in front of the pine and everything!  I pay no attention of course, I
may be hurt, but that's no excuse to encourage unfaithfulness.  Hey, maybe the
pine's just going out with the rafter to make me jealous?!!  The slut!

So I look to the pine, and now it all clicks into place.  Me, the pine, and
the house!  I can't believe it, a threesome!!!  Everything about the way it
was laying on the floor where I left it says "Come on big boy, show us your
bradawl!"

       The rafters are moaning already, so I don't want to miss my chance.  I
grab my 1.5m fine tooth crosscut saw, and give them both a soughing they won't
forget in a hurry.

2 hours later, we're just laying around sated, the pine's smoking, maybe I
shouldn't have left it in the fireplace, I dunno.  The rafters are creaking
sleepily, and I just can't believe how quickly things have changed.

Then it gets better!!!

The rafter catches my eye with it's knot in the way only rough-sawn wood can.
It wants more!  Well, of course, I'm no slouch when it comes to treating wood.
I get out my sealer and sizer and give that wood the complete treatment while
my pine sleeps.  I stop short of varnishing because it's probably never been
that far before, so I just rub a little french polish in to give it that
healthy glow.


I can't believe my life is this satisfying.  I decide to take the Pine out and
show it a good time.  First stop is the sexual-adventure shop where we look at
a couple of forestry magazines with lots of close-ups of strip shaved timbers
and bark removers.  I'm getting hot, really hot, so I move away from the heater.

Then we go out to a little nature reserve and take some photos of some young
saplings who'll be real lookers when they get older.

After that it's just a quick trip to the hardware store where, I can't believe
I'm telling you this, we had a good planing, while people were shopping all
around us!  It was amazing.

Then I spot that woman again, the one with the bat.  I see her over at the
sandpaper stand, looking at some 300 grit.  She nods me over and invites me
back to her place to see some of the best Oak I've ever had wet dreams over.

We leave...

Next Week:  At the Beach..

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
This signature was created using RoboSig, the errorfree sigmaker.
Simon Travaglia, [e-mail], Uni of Waikato, P B, Hamilton, NZ
Disclaimer:  The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author
and have no bearing his work or employers (but his teddy agrees with him)
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Benchley's Distinction:  There may be said to be two classes of people in the
 world; those who constantly divide the people of the world into two classes
 and those who do not.                  -- Robert Benchley


From tamsun!bcm!cs.utexas.edu!wupost!think.com!samsung!olivea!uunet!comp.vuw.ac.nz!waikato.ac.nz!ccc_spt Fri Feb  7 13:42:35 CST 1992
Article: 16341 of rec.humor
Path: tamsun!bcm!cs.utexas.edu!wupost!think.com!samsung!olivea!uunet!comp.vuw.ac.nz!waikato.ac.nz!ccc_spt
From: [e-mail] (Simon Travaglia)
Newsgroups: alt.sex,rec.humor
Subject: STORY:  Woodwork Class IV
Message-ID: <[e-mail]>
Date: 3 Feb 92 21:57:06 GMT
Organization: University of Waikato Computer Centre
Lines: 92
Xref: tamsun alt.sex:19356 rec.humor:16341


                WOODWORK CLASS IV
                    By SimonT

--------------------------------- WARNING! ----------------------------------
--------------------------------- WARNING! ----------------------------------
--------------------------------- WARNING! ----------------------------------
THIS IS A FICTIONAL ESSAY AND IS NOT MEANT TO REPRESENT MY FEELINGS OR SEXUAL
PREFERENCES IN ANY WAY.  IF ANYONE IS OFFENDED BY EROTIC STORIES, THEY SHOULD
TURN BACK NOW BY SKIPPING  THIS  MESSAGE.   I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR FROM PEOPLE
WHO THINK THAT I'M IN SOME WAY SICK OR DEPRAVED.   I AM,  I KNOW, AND I DON'T
CARE.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I've been getting a lot of hate mail from wood-lovers who say that my stories
demean the relationship between human and less mobile carbon-based life forms.

It you feel that this is not indicative of your relationship with your Welsh
Dresser or Wall Unit, feel free to write of your past relationships...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------


We get to her place and she tells me to make myself at home while she slips
into something a little more comfortable - a particle board number...

So I look round and notice that her IBM PC's on.  I, ask her about it, and she
says it's just some work she had to do.  Sure.  She pops out to get some milk
for the coffee and I attack the computer with a frenzy.  I check all the main
directories - nothing.  Into the utilities subdirectory, SHOGIF3 is there just
as I thought - work my arse, she's got gifs, I can smell them!!

I check back thru the directories again, pub/agriculture.  Pathetic - that's
worse than UMD's problem of a month ago.  It's got to be a lie - what the hell
would she want with agriculture?  I look carefully at the files there.
The silo subdirectory - she's NEVER going to want that!!!  In the directory
there's hundreds of files, named file00001.dat to file00238.  Bingo!!  I start
up VUgif, and pass the filenames

Immediately a picture of a bark-shaven knot-hole appears on the screen.
 Gross!

I hate that sort of stuff - but I go on viewing for research purposes only.  I
also print a couple on her paintjet in disgust.  I grab the 238 bits of paper
and stuff them in my coat pocket.  This sort of thing is far too prevalent, and
is not at all tasteful.  One day they're going to ban all this sort of thing,
it degrades timber everywhere!

I leave before she can get back - it digusts me so much I lock myself in the
batchroom all night to think about it.

The next day dawns..

God.  Another hot day.  Supposed to get into the 80s today.  I think I'll go
to the beach, check out the hot bods out there.  And maybe show off mine.  My
ass is firm and my stomach's tight.  That should get some attention out there.

I cruise along the shore looking for my dream wood.

Nothing!  Heaps of guys and girls in cut off bikinis, but nothing to interest
me.


Then I spot it, way out to see - a peice of driftwood, it's in a bad way, I
can tell.  Quick as a flash I dive into the water and strike out towards it.

I get there just in time, it's all waterlogged and is on it's last shavings.
Gently I brought it into the beach and put it in the shade.  It was quite a
cute one too, obviously off a pleasure craft - if you know what I mean....

Anyway, I gave it a little artificial aeration and it seemed to get better.
It's knot holes spoke the words it couldn't say - the gratitude and hero
worship was obvious.  Shucks.

Anyway, from it's grain-language I could tell it had just washed in from over-
seas and didn't want to be alone.

I spoke tenderly to it, and hiked up it's torn paintwork...

The less said about this the better, but lets just say that this was more than
a casual cambium affair, this was the real thing....
--


-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
This signature was created using RoboSig, the errorfree sigmaker.
Simon Travaglia, [e-mail], Uni of Waikato, P B, Hamilton, NZ
Disclaimer:  The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author
and have no bearing his work or employers (but his teddy agrees with him)
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Benchley's Distinction:  There may be said to be two classes of people in the
 world; those who constantly divide the people of the world into two classes
 and those who do not.                  -- Robert Benchley

From tamsun!bcm!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!comp.vuw.ac.nz!waikato.ac.nz!ccc_spt Fri Feb  7 13:47:11 CST 1992
Article: 16448 of rec.humor
Path: tamsun!bcm!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!comp.vuw.ac.nz!waikato.ac.nz!ccc_spt
From: [e-mail] (Simon Travaglia)
Newsgroups: rec.humor,alt.sex
Subject: REPOST: Woodwork Class
Message-ID: <[e-mail]>
Date: 5 Feb 92 00:44:52 GMT
Organization: University of Waikato Computer Centre
Lines: 337
Xref: tamsun rec.humor:16448 alt.sex:19487


                WOODWORK CLASS
                    By SimonT

--------------------------------- WARNING! ----------------------------------
--------------------------------- WARNING! ----------------------------------
--------------------------------- WARNING! ----------------------------------
THIS IS A FICTIONAL ESSAY AND IS NOT MEANT TO REPRESENT MY FEELINGS OR SEXUAL
PREFERENCES IN ANY WAY.  IF ANYONE IS OFFENDED BY EROTIC STORIES, THEY SHOULD
TURN BACK NOW BY SKIPPING  THIS  MESSAGE.   I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR FROM PEOPLE
WHO THINK THAT I'M IN SOME WAY SICK OR DEPRAVED.   I AM,  I KNOW, AND I DON'T
CARE.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
                    - Wow -

It was just a normal day in cabinet-making class.  We were learning the Fox-
tenon joint, an immovable joint once it is put together, when I noticed her
across the room.

   It was her Pine I first noticed, fully treated, smooth-grained, perfectly
square.   My set-square and bradawl jumped to attention as she bent down and
I got a front-on view of the fully dressed timber.   It was smooth enough to
be a table-top,  obviously cabinet scraped.   I just had to meet this girl -
and her pine.

   She moved over to the bandsaw, so I grabbed my dowel firmly and followed.
Mentally I dressed her clean pine edges.  Her 3-1-1 grip was perfect!

"Hi there"  I  said  stepping  past her to run my dowel through the endless
blade.  Again and again I ran my dowel through the bandsaw until I could
could take no more - I'd just cut the end of my thumb off.

As I sat in the first aid room, wimpering, my thoughts turned back to the
wood I had just seen.  Mentally, I composed a poem to it.

    "Oh Pine!  Oh Pine
    How I wish you were mine
    For some other bloke,
    The ideal is Oak,
    But I need your grain
    To help ease my pain"

I had to have it - I needed it - Now; and maybe again at 2 in the morning.
I closed my eyes and all I could see was the girl and her wood.  Actually,
I couldn't even remember the girl, just the smooth curves of the grain and
how they moved to it's hot centre, the knot.

I remembered the long nights in my lonely bed as a child, reading carpentry
manuals and five-finger-shuffling.  I used to hide the books under my mattress
for fear that my parents would find them and punish me - I couldn't help
myself.

Of course it was just a passing phase, paper just wasn't enough to satisfy me,
I had to have more.  I used to sneak things back to the house, maybe an offcut
of Beech, a wooden spoon; but soon it got too much, I had to have more.

Of course the parents found out, when they found the French Polished Welsh
Dresser in bed with me, they knew something was up.  The lies and allegations
that followed were horrific.  But I knew I couldn't stop.  I left home and
walked the streets looking for an old packing crate.  It wasn't much, but
what the hell, I loved it for it's sole.  Then they took it away, how I cried.

But it was all different now.  I'd won the lottery in '87 and built my own
wooden house signed up for woodwork class, and I was happy.  Well, I thought
I was happy - till I saw that pine.  I waited in the darkness till the girl
emerged then slunk back inside and took some of her sawdust and shavings and
held them to my nose.   Oh!  What a smell - Beeswax sealing, Mmmemmememem

I had to have it.

  I ducked into the project room, and saw it immediately.   I swaggered over
to the wood slowly, not wanting to scare it.  I started with some smalltalk,
just flattering the cambium layer of pine, saying how I always loved it for
it's nutrients, etc.   Secretly, I was counting it's growth rings.  47!  I
loved a mature wood, they could teach you so much!

Now that I had it's confidence, I touched it a couple of times, just on the
edge, in a non-threatening way.  It responded by just laying there, like a
good wood.

Now, I'm not a woodist, I respect wood for what it is, not simply for it's
feel, but everything in it's manner was just saying "Come and get it".  So
I did.  Rougly I dragged off it's cover sheet and layed it down.  I licked it's
sides energetically, not a splinter at all!

Oh it was heaven.

NEXT WEEK:  The Horizontal Planer.

                WOODWORK CLASS II
                    By SimonT

--------------------------------- WARNING! ----------------------------------
--------------------------------- WARNING! ----------------------------------
--------------------------------- WARNING! ----------------------------------
THIS IS A FICTIONAL ESSAY AND IS NOT MEANT TO REPRESENT MY FEELINGS OR SEXUAL
PREFERENCES IN ANY WAY.  IF ANYONE IS OFFENDED BY EROTIC STORIES, THEY SHOULD
TURN BACK NOW BY SKIPPING  THIS  MESSAGE.   I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR FROM PEOPLE
WHO THINK THAT I'M IN SOME WAY SICK OR DEPRAVED.   I AM,  I KNOW, AND I DON'T
CARE.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm just your average guy, you know, average tastes, I never thought I'd have
anything to write about, up until I found the love of my life.

A peice of fully treated, perfectly square; sealed, sanded and salivated on
chunk of Pine.

I stole it off someone else.

I had to, I needed it, not just for it's grain and groove, but for it's heart-
wood.  And now I was living with it.

Oh it was magic, down at the beach with my wood, drinking in the small hours of
the morning at this little jazz club I know (with my wood), locked up in the
psychiatric unit (with my wood).  How good can life get?

  Of course, my house was very good about things.  It knew it was just a stage
I was going thru - Solid Oak's good like that, very understanding.  And I'd be
lying if I said there wasn't a  bit  of  attraction  left in my heart for it's
long rough-sawn timbers.  In fact (although I've never told anyone), sometimes
when I'm in bed with my pine,  I  like  to  pretend  it's  the  house that I'm
caressing, running my hands up and down along it's edges, perpendicular to the
grain, just the way it likes it.   But  they  get on, and in a way I think the
house and the pine understand each other.

    Anyway, so the other day I come home, and straight away I know something's
wrong.  I reach over to dribble along it's edge in my special little way and I
notice that it's a bit cold to my advances,  you  know,  like I left it out in
the frost or something.  I ask if anything's  the  matter,  but  it just  sits
there  and  ignores  me.   Then I notice the house is quiet too;  like they've
cooked something up between them.  I figure the best way out of this is just
to ignore them and wait for the situation to blow over.

     Then I notice all the doors are sticking; not REALLY sticking, just kinda
rubbing when I open them; enough to concern me, but not really bad.   Now I've
never  believed  in  violence  to wood, but I'm really starting to think about
reaching for the planer and reface both of them.

   I turn around quickly, and I catch the rafters and the pine looking at each
other in that special way that only wood can.  Shit!  Now I know what's REALLY
going on - I'm being dumped.   Trouble in Eden!   I can't just let it end like
this, I just can't.  So I get a tree-doctor in.  He tells me that it's futile,
and that it looks like the pine and the house have been getting it  on.   Sure
enough,  2 weeks later,  I  come  home and there's 3 new oak chairs and a pine
spice rack, the cutest little things you've ever seen.

  I realise I can't stay angry forever, and after all, I am the wrong species.
So I go out for the night.   I go to 10 maybe 20 clubs,  drinking myself into
oblivion, drinking to forget.  About 1:30am I notice the woman from the wood-
shop  but  before  I can do anything I fall from my stool and collapse on the
at her feet, semiconcious.   Her toe-jam does the rest, I pass out.  The next
morning I wake up in a strange house, in a strange bed with the sun streaming
into my face.   I move to get up,  then I notice the posts on the bed.  Shit,
they look to be Ebony.  I sniff them.  They smell OK.   I lick them, figuring
what the hell, we spent the night together, there's no point in being bashful
now.  They taste like ebony!  I'm in a frenzy now,  the  full  dark colour of
the  wood  has  in  it's grip and I don't want to let go.  We go at it like a
pair of love-starved pigs....

Three hours later, I wake up to find the woman standing there...

"Seen one of these before?" she asks, holding up a little wooden cricket bat
with holes drilled in it, like the one on "Dead Poets Society"
"It's a bat like the one on dead poets society" I say, a little interested
"No exactly.  This one is Hickory" she replied
Hickory, the legendary springy wood.  Worth it's weight in shavings any day.
"BEAT ME!!! BEAT ME!!!" I cry....

Next Week:  The Temptation of the Lumber Yard

                WOODWORK CLASS III
                    By SimonT

--------------------------------- WARNING! ----------------------------------
--------------------------------- WARNING! ----------------------------------
--------------------------------- WARNING! ----------------------------------
THIS IS A FICTIONAL ESSAY AND IS NOT MEANT TO REPRESENT MY FEELINGS OR SEXUAL
PREFERENCES IN ANY WAY.  IF ANYONE IS OFFENDED BY EROTIC STORIES, THEY SHOULD
TURN BACK NOW BY SKIPPING  THIS  MESSAGE.   I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR FROM PEOPLE
WHO THINK THAT I'M IN SOME WAY SICK OR DEPRAVED.   I AM,  I KNOW, AND I DON'T
CARE.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

    So she hits me with this hickory bat, and I just love the feel of it's
smooth-planed 45-degree-bevelled edges!

Then she tells me, she's a wood freak too, and she's not going to give up her
pine without a fight!

Typical of a woman - Immediately thinks that I took her wood from HER!!  I tell
her that she's mistaken, it was love at first sand for us both.  The wood left
her for me.  She still doesn't believe me, so I take her home and show her how
happy we are, just me the house and my pine.

I led her astray of course, me and my Pine were over; I knew that, it left me
for a cambium layer that it considered infinitely more appealing.  Anyway,
the woman leaves and I notice that the rafters are looking at me in a strange
way that I haven't been looked at in years.  Right away I know it's coming on
to me, in front of the pine and everything!  I pay no attention of course, I
may be hurt, but that's no excuse to encourage unfaithfulness.  Hey, maybe the
pine's just going out with the rafter to make me jealous?!!  The slut!

So I look to the pine, and now it all clicks into place.  Me, the pine, and
the house!  I can't believe it, a threesome!!!  Everything about the way it
was laying on the floor where I left it says "Come on big boy, show us your
bradawl!"

       The rafters are moaning already, so I don't want to miss my chance.  I
grab my 1.5m fine tooth crosscut saw, and give them both a soughing they won't
forget in a hurry.

2 hours later, we're just laying around sated, the pine's smoking, maybe I
shouldn't have left it in the fireplace, I dunno.  The rafters are creaking
sleepily, and I just can't believe how quickly things have changed.

Then it gets better!!!

The rafter catches my eye with it's knot in the way only rough-sawn wood can.
It wants more!  Well, of course, I'm no slouch when it comes to treating wood.
I get out my sealer and sizer and give that wood the complete treatment while
my pine sleeps.  I stop short of varnishing because it's probably never been
that far before, so I just rub a little french polish in to give it that
healthy glow.


I can't believe my life is this satisfying.  I decide to take the Pine out and
show it a good time.  First stop is the sexual-adventure shop where we look at
a couple of forestry magazines with lots of close-ups of strip shaved timbers
and bark removers.  I'm getting hot, really hot, so I move away from the heater.

Then we go out to a little nature reserve and take some photos of some young
saplings who'll be real lookers when they get older.

After that it's just a quick trip to the hardware store where, I can't believe
I'm telling you this, we had a good planing, while people were shopping all
around us!  It was amazing.

Then I spot that woman again, the one with the bat.  I see her over at the
sandpaper stand, looking at some 300 grit.  She nods me over and invites me
back to her place to see some of the best Oak I've ever had wet dreams over.

We leave...

                WOODWORK CLASS IV
                    By SimonT

--------------------------------- WARNING! ----------------------------------
--------------------------------- WARNING! ----------------------------------
--------------------------------- WARNING! ----------------------------------
THIS IS A FICTIONAL ESSAY AND IS NOT MEANT TO REPRESENT MY FEELINGS OR SEXUAL
PREFERENCES IN ANY WAY.  IF ANYONE IS OFFENDED BY EROTIC STORIES, THEY SHOULD
TURN BACK NOW BY SKIPPING  THIS  MESSAGE.   I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR FROM PEOPLE
WHO THINK THAT I'M IN SOME WAY SICK OR DEPRAVED.   I AM,  I KNOW, AND I DON'T
CARE.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------


We get to her place and she tells me to make myself at home while she slips
into something a little more comfortable - a particle board number...

So I look round and notice that her IBM PC's on.  I, ask her about it, and she
says it's just some work she had to do.  Sure.  She pops out to get some milk
for the coffee and I attack the computer with a frenzy.  I check all the main
directories - nothing.  Into the utilities subdirectory, SHOGIF3 is there just
as I thought - work my arse, she's got gifs, I can smell them!!

I check back thru the directories again, pub/agriculture.  Pathetic - that's
worse than UMD's problem of a month ago.  It's got to be a lie - what the hell
would she want with agriculture?  I look carefully at the files there.
The silo subdirectory - she's NEVER going to want that!!!  In the directory
there's hundreds of files, named file00001.dat to file00238.  Bingo!!  I start
up VUgif, and pass the filenames

Immediately a picture of a bark-shaven knot-hole appears on the screen.
 Gross!

I hate that sort of stuff - but I go on viewing for research purposes only.  I
also print a couple on her paintjet in disgust.  I grab the 238 bits of paper
and stuff them in my coat pocket.  This sort of thing is far too prevalent, and
is not at all tasteful.  One day they're going to ban all this sort of thing,
it degrades timber everywhere!

I leave before she can get back - it digusts me so much I lock myself in the
batchroom all night to think about it.

The next day dawns..

God.  Another hot day.  Supposed to get into the 80s today.  I think I'll go
to the beach, check out the hot bods out there.  And maybe show off mine.  My
ass is firm and my stomach's tight.  That should get some attention out there.

I cruise along the shore looking for my dream wood.

Nothing!  Heaps of guys and girls in cut off bikinis, but nothing to interest
me.


Then I spot it, way out to see - a peice of driftwood, it's in a bad way, I
can tell.  Quick as a flash I dive into the water and strike out towards it.

I get there just in time, it's all waterlogged and is on it's last shavings.
Gently I brought it into the beach and put it in the shade.  It was quite a
cute one too, obviously off a pleasure craft - if you know what I mean....

Anyway, I gave it a little artificial aeration and it seemed to get better.
It's knot holes spoke the words it couldn't say - the gratitude and hero
worship was obvious.  Shucks.

Anyway, from it's grain-language I could tell it had just washed in from over-
seas and didn't want to be alone.

I spoke tenderly to it, and hiked up it's torn paintwork...

The less said about this the better, but lets just say that this was more than
a casual cambium affair, this was the real thing....
--


-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Simon P Travaglia,   || Kia Kaha E Hoa!
University of Waikato|| PSI:0530171000004::, Intr: [e-mail]
Private Bag, Hamilton|| Disclaimer: No-one here but me can read and write,
New Zealand          ||             and I can only write.  What did I say?
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
A new scientific truth does not triumph by convincing its opponents and making
 them see the light, but rather because its opponents eventually die, and a new
 generation grows up that is familiar with it.
                                        -- Max Planck