Last Laugh! A Final Example of the Idiotic Spam Going Around

[TELECOM Digest Editor's Note: Nora Burch was formerly employed by Harvard University until she was fired because of her web log ('blog') which is part of her web site . When I reviewed her site over last weekend, I found several very clever examples of her writing; take-offs on the sort of spam which has made the rounds on the net in recent years. I do not want to belabor this for too long, but here is one that originally appeared in _Reader's Digest_ many years ago which circulates on the net a lot, but in its original format. You should easily be able to spot the alterations in Nora's account. PAT

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Like any good mother, when Bertha found out that another baby was on the way, she did what she could do to help her 33-year-old son, Buford, prepare for a new sibling. They found out that the new baby was going to be a hermaphrodite, and day after day, night after night, Buford would sing to his brother/sister in Mommy's tummy. The pregnancy progressed normally for Bertha. Then the labor pains came. Every five minutes ... every minute. But complications arose during delivery. Weeks of labor. A C-Section was required. Finally, Buford's little brother/sister was born, but s/he was in serious condition. With sirens howling in the night, the ambulance rushed the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit at St. Hilda's Hospital in Scituate, Massachusetts.

The days inched by. The little boy/girl got worse. The pediatric specialist tells the parents, "It's gonna die soon, whoo-ee!." Bertha and her husband contacted a ditch digger about a burial plot. They had fixed up a special corner in their basement for the new baby -- now they plan a funeral. Buford, kept begging his parent to let him see his brother/sister, "I want to yell at him/ her," he says.

Week two in intensive care. It looked as if a funeral would come before the week was over. Buford keeps nagging about singing to his brother/sister, but kids are never allowed in Intensive Care.

Bertha made up her mind. She would take Buford whether they liked it or not. If he didn't see his brother/sister now, he would never see him/her alive.

She dressed him in an oversized scrub suit and marched him into ICU. He looked like a walking laundry basket, but the head nurse recognized him as a child and bellowed, "Get that kid out of here now! No children are allowed in ICU."

The mother rises up strong in Bertha, and the usually mild-mannered lady glares steel-eyed into the head nurse's face, her lips a firm line. "He is not leaving until he sings to his brother/sister!"

Bertha tows Buford to his brother/sister's bedside. He gazes at the tiny infant losing the battle to live. And he begins to sing. In the pure-hearted voice of a 33-year-old, Buford sings:

"Smokin' in the boys' room-"

Instantly the baby girl responded. The pulse rate became calm and steady.

"Smokin' in the boys' room..."

The ragged strained breathing became as smooth as a kitten's purr.

"'teacher, dont' you fill me up with your rule...cause everybody knows..."

Buford's little brother/sister relaxes as rest, healing rest, seemed to sweep over her. Tears conquered the face of the bossy head nurse. Bertha glowed.

"that smokin' ain't allowed in school."

Funeral plans were scrapped. The next day, the very next day, the little boy/girl was well enough to go home! Soldier of Fortune magazine called it "the miracle of a brother's song." The medical staff just said "forward this incident to everyone on the net you know, immediately!"

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[TELECOM Digest Editor's Note: Nora, that one was just plain weird. But then, so is so much spam going around. PAT]