Page Jokes

A shepherd was herding his flock in a remote pasture when suddenly a brand new Jeep Cherokee advanced out of a dust cloud towards him. The driver, a young man in a Brioni suit, Gucci shoes, Ray Ban sunglasses and a YSL tie leaned out of the window and asked our shepherd: "If I can tell you exactly how many sheep you have in your flock, will you give me one?"
The shepherd looks at the yuppie, then at his peacefully grazing flock and calmly answers, "Sure!"
The yuppie parks the car, whips out his notebook, connects it to a cell-phone, surfs to a NASA page on the Internet where he calls up a GPS satellite navigation system, scans the area, opens up a database and some 60 Excel spreadsheets with complex formulas. Finally he prints out a 150 page report on his hi-tech miniaturized printer, turns round to our shepherd and says: "You have here exactly 1586 sheep!"
"This is correct. As agreed, you can take one of the sheep," says the more...

Where's Spiderman's home page? On the world wide web.

Dear Santa:
I rarely ask for much. This year is no exception. I don't need diamond earrings, handy slicer-dicers or comfy slippers. I only want one little thing, and I want it deeply.
I want to slap Martha Stewart.
Now, hear me out, Santa. I won't scar her or draw blood or anything. Just one good smack, right across her smug little cheek. I get all cozy inside just thinking about it. Don't grant this wish just for me, do it for thousands of women across the country. Through sheer vicarious satisfaction, you'll be giving a gift to us all. Those of us leading average, garden variety lives aren't concerned with gracious living.
We feel pretty good about ourselves if our paper plates match when we stack them on the counter, buffet-style for dinner. We're tired of Martha showing us how to make centerpieces from hollyhock dipped in 18-carat gold. We're plumb out of liquid gold. Unless it's of the furniture polish variety. We can't whip up Martha's creamy holiday sauce, more...

Full page ad brought back from a recent trip, taken from the British
paper The Times (Feb 4 1989).
A full page picture of Ollie North is featured, with his right arm
raised, as if swearing before a court. The subtitle is:
"With a few notable exceptions, no one can transfer money
round the world more efficiently than us."
The ad continues:
We think it's time to come clean. Girobank has been
transferring large sums of money half-way round the world
for years.
It's hardly a risky business. Our centralised
international division, with its unique links to the
entire overseas Giro network, allows business to be
conducted at maximum speed and with the minimum of
bureaucracy.
And even if your transaction should prove difficult
(as it might in Nicaragua for example) we can provide
documentary collections, letters of credit, bonds and
guarantees.
...
All in all, Girobank adds up to less hassle and more...

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Net,
There were hacker's a surfing. Nerds? Yeah, you bet.
The e-mails were stacked by the modem with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The newbies were nestled all snug by their screens,
While visions of Java danced in their dreams.
My wife on the sofa and me with a snack,
We just settled down at my rig (it's a Mac).

When out in the Web there arose such a clatter,
I jumped to the site to see what was the matter.
To a new page my Mac flew like a flash,
Then made a slight gurgle. It started to crash!!

I gasped at the thought and started to grouse,
Then turned my head sideways and clicked on my mouse.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
My Mac jumped to a page that wasn't quite clear.

When the image resolved, so bright and so quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick!
More rapid than more...