From: Internet Oracle <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Subject: Internet Oracularity #1257-05
Selected-By: Sid Dabster
The Internet Oracle has pondered your question deeply.
Your question was:
I'm a Debian Linux geek. I admit it. A week ago, under some strange force commanding me to waste hard drive space, I ran the following command:
apt-get install fortune
Now Debbie N. (that's what I named her) talks to me every day. She floats around in my taskbar and gives me fortunes.
My artistic talents are good today. Rob a museum.
Don't look back, the lemmings are gaining on me.
But I need to break up with her, she's just a fish (a software fish) and I already have a girlfriend who I like better.
And if you don't know what Debian Linux is, you're not the true oracle. 73's!!!!
And in response, thus spake the Oracle:
A dimly lighted Italian resturaunt sits on a quiet street. A couple is seated at a table near the window. The man glances up at his date, a striking brunette of almost ethereal beauty, clad in a resplendant crimson gown. She seems to almost glitter. He lifts a glass of white wine to his lips.
"I'm glad you could make it tonight. We have quite a bit to talk about," he says cautiously.
The waiter glides by with a pitcher of water for the elderly couple in the corner.
"You know, Debbie, I- .. uh, ... I've been thinking a lot about our relationship." He stammers, his glass shaking in his hand. He licks his lips, trying to find the words. "I don't think we should see each other anymore. There, I said it."
The girl sits quietly in her simmering aura.
The man waits expectantly, his glass still hovering just in front of his lips.
"Well," he says finally, "Aren't you going to say anything?"
Debbie shifts elegantly in her chair, and says, "It is better to travel hopefully than to fly Continental."
There is a pause, as he thinks about what she just said.
"What?" he finally manages.
"Disks travel in packs," she replies, a sly smile playing across her impeccable face.
"Disks? What disks? I'm talking about our relationship," he blurts out, setting down his wine angrily. "I'm trying to tell you as gently as possible that I cannot see you anymore because I'm seeing someone else."
"You will engage in a profitable business activity," she says.
As she reaches for her fork, he takes her hand. "Please don't make this any harder than it has to be."
He sits back in his chair..
"I thought I was in love with you," he starts. "I--"
But she cuts him off to say, "Your stamina is no match for your marigolds."
"My marigolds? What are you talking about?"
"Bees don't get arthritis."
"Yes, arthritis. Fine." He motions to the waiter.
"Yes, sir?" asks the waiter, when he approaches.
"I'd like another glass of wine. Would you like one too, Debbie?"
"186 thousand miles per second: it's not just a good idea, it's the law."
"Yes, she will have one too."
"Very well," says the waiter, seemingly unperturbed.
"Now, Debbie," the man starts, "Usually when I ask you something, you come up with something very insightful to say. But tonight, you're not making any sense."
"Weasels don't get sucked into jet engines," she explains.
"Indeed they do not. But we were talking about our relationship. I just can't go on like this. My girlfriend is bound to find out. What do you have to say to that?"
"The curtains don't match the couch," she says, the smile leaving her lips.
"Well, then, I guess this is goodbye. Thanks, it was good while it lasted."
Debbie looks down at her lap, a tear forming in her eye. "Fortune not found," she manages.
You owe the Oracle three bottles of Pinot Grigio wine.