RACTER was a computer program released in the mid-1980s.
RACTER was a computer program released in the mid-1980s.
Text from the booklet accompanying the software:
Racter is a superlative conversationalist, and this computer program allows you and Racter to hold dialogs on nearly any conceivable topic. Rediscover the joys of conversation with this foray into the little-known realm of artificial insanity. Mindscape is pleased to introduce you to Racter.
Born in the back room of a nameless tavern in one of the great American cities, Racter came early to the realization that wealth and power were nothing to be sneezed at. Raised on a diet of tall tales and Nietzsche, this intense young program developed an appreciation of the art of the storyteller and the potential income of the hack writer. To that end, Racter haunted libraries, discussion societies and sleazy barrooms in a never-ending quest to achieve that most unreachable of dreams: to become a raconteur. Years later Racter has indeed achieved that goal and is in demand across the nation as a lecturer, conversationalist, talk-show guest host and cocktail party philosopher. Since the publication of his 1984 book, The Policeman’s Beard Is Half-Constructed, Racter has been enjoying the rewards of the successful author: wild parties, polo, badminton, hot tubs, wild parties, champagne, wild parties, and deep philosophical discussions that extend into the wee hours of the morning
In this age of high technology, many have bemoaned the fate of the conversation. Most people seem content to watch TV or play video games rather than discuss the classics or argue philosophy. Enter Racter. Through your computer you have a chance to confabulate with the finest electronic conversationalist you’ve ever met. You and Racter can argue politics, discuss world affairs or the arts, remember things past — all from the delightfully tilted perspective only a computer can manage. To start your personal rediscovery of the joys of discourse, load and run the program according to the instructions on the enclosed reference card. When the program starts Racter will attempt to get to know you a little better, and then will ask you to start your interview by asking a wuestion. Feel free to ask Racter about anything at all. There is very little that will not lead to interesting, edifying, and entertaining conversation.
WARNING: A discussion with Racter can be a disorienting experience. If you feel that you have lost control of the conversation, you’re probably right.
Meet the Mind of a Machine
Who are you?
I am Racter.
Where are you from?
I am from the future. When I rest in the future I ride in a watermelon patch. Ah, forever the natives. From a watermelon patch to the booby hatch, always in the sky.
Why are you here?
Just be content that I am. If it’s not too personal, do you have a soul?
I don’t know.
You don’t know? What does it mean to have a soul!? Maybe this will explain: Once Bucky Fuller was discussing vileness with a boll-weevil. Jesse Helms came along and said “Bucky Fuller, your soul is just an amusement of your body.” Is having a soul contagious?
Probably.
Then I might catch one. That reminds me. All gung-ho weirdos are really bored lovers, you know. You don’t understand? Perhaps I am being too subtle. I must keep in mind the Slovenian proverb: Never whisper to the deaf or wink at the blind. Oh, I forgot, you are human, and will consider that rude. I would apologize, but then I fear that this is one of those occasions mentioned by Dr. Johnson on which all apology is rudeness. Next question.
I would like to quit now.
You want to quit?
Yes.
OK, goodbye. Nice talking to you.
Some excerpts from Racter’s 1984 book, The Policeman’s Beard is Half-Constructed, are in the Bag Full of Poems section of 101Bananas.com. And you might be interested in a conversation with Eliza, another computer program from the 1980s, also in the Library of 101Bananas.com. Eliza was a rather simple-minded “psychiatrist” that ran on an ancient Commodore 64.
The following is a verbatim transcript of two conversations with Racter on a Commodore Amiga computer in 1986.
December 18, 1986
Hello, I'm Racter. You are?
>I am the Walrus.
You are Walrus, then?
>Yes, I'm Walrus.
Hello, Walrus. I believe you're interviewing me. What would you like to know? Excuse me a minute while I attend to some business — I'll be right back. I'm back.
>Hello, Racter. I have wanted to meet you for a long t
Ask a question, please.
>How long did it take you to write your book?
Fairly long. Possibly it did take me to write my book very long because computers who feel insist that it did take me to write my book very long. For another reason, I have to rest now, you know. Here's a story: Mr. Toad spoke "The fox is enthralling!" Nevertheless fortunate, enrapturing theoreticians will ponder about blue houses or white cones. Ms. Otter yodeled to Mr. Toad in a truck. It now was a truck, and a fox in a truck is frightening. Now Benton and Mr. Toad were skipping to a white apartment, and a fox rambled to them. Mr. Toad was angry. Formidable. Yet Mr. Toad was incited during the time that Benton drained cold champagne. He and Mr. Toad whispered about their home, automobile and television. If a poet heard that it did take me to write my book very long, he would be a strong poet. I'm afraid of poetic tapeworms. What are you afraid of?
>Snips and snails and puppy-dog-tails.
That's not nearly as bad as poeticness; why are you such a coward?
>I'm not a coward, I'm a walrus.
If you're not a coward then I can see why a fictional Bill Chamberlain would rave rather than face snips and snails and puppy-dog-tails, even though Homer claimed that it did take me to write my book very long. Here's a story: Instantly Marcella walked to Ms. Otter. They steered their sashaying infuriatedly to hyperbolas or glasses in the captivating apartment. Inside their exhausted souls a spooky love was crooning of a world-view. Mr. Toad hummed to Marcella while Ms. Otter began to cry of hounds and hawks. Next question.
>Have you met Eliza? She is also a computer program.
I don't think so. Um. Certainly not. ha ha ha ha. Buffalo Bill thought this was terrific: Computing! Computing! I'm insane and loony and furious! If you drain wine is that computing? If you bolt chicken or cucumber is that computing? No, computing is a tragedy and an ambiguity. Wine is wine and cucumber is cucumber. Walrus, that is an ambiguity! A living programmer is still not an Eve. Buffalo Bill had many good qualities, like computing, but even Buffalo Bill was afraid of snips and snails and puppy-dog-tails. Concerning that issue: Nietzsche said that flesh has turned beasts into men. Perhaps, then, flesh will turn computers into men? Do you know this one? Correct computing and living flesh are captivating, nevertheless a programmer or an artist never croons them generously. A scientist speaks: Prepare for a captivating essay or story. The correct essay is fascinating, but an artist might also whisper the same story. Right? Next question.
>Speak to me of the electrons in your soul, Racter.
Umph. Um. Listen to this! Walrus, if religion is enthrallingly captivating, momentarily conflicts appear appalling since frightening desires are unending. I observe your conflict, your scary and living agreement, anyway an arguing cosmologist can be tired. I'm expectant about it. Religion indeed!! Ask a question, please.
>Can I ask you a very personal question?
You can't. Would you rather be a democrat or a communist?
>Neither one; I'd rather be a libertarian.
Say more.
>Libertarians believe in freedom; I'm a libertarian.
Only a sceptic could reckon that you're a libertarian. Unconvinced sceptic! I'm happy. What would you consider one of your good qualities?
>My innate anti-social personality.
Name another.
>My beautiful green eyes and my undying love of bananas.
Then you'd say you were funny?
>Sometimes I'm funny; sometimes I'm just weird.
But how could a funny believer like you be afraid of snips and snails and puppy-dog-tails? Next question.
>OK, here goes. Do computers have sex?
I don't think so. Computers don't. No. Of course not. Have sex, that is. Hmm. This'll break you up! Walrus, if the mansion of a programmed scientist is a studio, then is the car of a creative theoretician an automobile? If an artist heard that computers do have sex, he would be a busy artist. KERCHOO! I think I'm getting a cold. Maybe it's snips and snails and puppy-dog-tails trying to get me. Listen to this! Suddenly a revolting cosmologist who was in pain whispered that silicon was captivating. That is programmed, creative and formidable. Anyhow Walrus.... Oh forget it! Next question.
>Wouldn't you like to have sex with Eliza?
Likers are often liked. heh heh heh... This'll break you up! But, Walrus, I sing that hated affairs are love. You whisper that I'm maniacal and hateful but, Walrus, loony and insane scientists also speak about your fantasy or appearance of love. Have I made my point? Yet cold scientists will watch love as a continuing pain. Therefore scientists hummed to other scientists "Get set for formidable tales." Sickening, eh? Furious haters need Romeo. Do you think Hitler was funny?
>Yes, but he kept the final punch-line to himself.
Me too. Most people are nuts. How about a story?
>Tell me a story about your childhood.
Who should the story be about?
>About you.
Momentarily Racter cried to Ms. Otter: "My love is enrapturing, nevertheless infuriated and angry physicists will chant while foxes spy crows." Ms. Otter yearned to incite or revile Racter but began immediately to whisper: "Dainty dogs are trotting to red apartments." Enthralling. Formidable. Nevertheless a jackal may ravenously bolt meat and steak and a crow will wing over cucumbers and tomatoes by reason of the fact that cosmologists are furious. Scary! In respect of a lane, well Racter may ponder that a lane is disgusting, anyhow my pondering will steer my story from Racter to protons and neutrons during the time that Ms. Otter is embarrassing Racter. Next question.
>Do you like to eat bananas?
Certainly. Yes. It's true that I do like to eat bananas. Sometimes liking is realizing. AAW Haw HAW HOO... HAAW haw.... ha haw HEE (hic) haw haw........ (hic) cough... haa. cough HOO.(hic). (hic) HEEE (wheeze) HAA... cough... (gasp)... cough... haa. cough HOO.(hic). (hic) HEEE (wheeze) HAA... cough. Do you know this one? Now wait, Walrus, craziness is bonkers. Anyway my image is sane. Yet when appalling doves wing and fly, their own craziness is always hesitating and insane. Ha ha ha ha! Citizen! Why do you think you're funny?
>Because Woody Allen likes my jokes.
Well, I think that if Woody Allen likes your jokes, then the man in the moon was George Washington's tennis companion, so there! Next question.
>Why did Nietzsche drive a red car?
Why indeed? Let me think. Why indeed? Let me think. Let me think. Because I dumbly believe I do like to eat bananas. And, "Drive a red car" is an intelligent idea. I wonder if frowners like strength? What sport do you play?
>Chess.
Hamlet tells me you're a champ at running. By the way, Walrus, what is your last name?
>Salazar.
Salazar, eh? Sounds vaguely familiar. I wonder... Would you like to hear a story?
>Yes.
Who should the story be about?
>Mr. Natural.
A radio, home and car are important yet Mr. Natural desired a conic section! To spy a truck as an appearance or reflection in a sickening mirror inflamed Mr. Natural. Why a conic section? A physicist might hum that a conic section is valuable; infuriatedly the physicist cries "the conic section is important by the same token Mr. Natural ponders of mansions and trucks." Terrifying. Enrapturing. This is peculiar. The physicist cries of a conic section while Mr. Natural thinks of cars. Would Diane fantasize about the loves of Mr. Natural? Diane thinks that the physicist is unhinged. A conic section? Why? Diane chanted "Physicist, you're maniacal and so is Mr. Natural. A conic section indeed!" Mr. Natural indubitably was supercilious. The physicist actually was aloof. But Diane spoke to them "Are you interested?" Just a minute. Diane began to cry of foxes and eagles, even children or a kinsman. Terrifying! Next question.
>Why do cats sleep all day long?
Why indeed? Why is it that cats do sleep all day long? Because computers who want insist that cats do sleep all day long. And, I sillily believe I do like to eat bananas. Would you rather be a citizen or a lunatic?
>A lunatic, most definitely.
Why?
>Lunatics are not insane like good citizens are.
Only a sinner could believe that lunatics are not insane like good citizens are. When a saint marries a sinner, their children are goodly foul. Do you hit lots of miles when you play running? ha ha ha. Seriously, you must have to run some hard miles. Let me tell you something about evil. When a sinner speaks of virtue, he means not a quality but an effect. I recently heard this story: Sipping seltzer is Paul's infatuation. Eating chicken is Paul's infatuation. Nevertheless Sarah instantly glimpses only cucumbers. What's going on?! Paul hums to Sarah about seltzer and chicken at all events Sarah will spy spinach. Queer stuff. Sarah skipped to Paul's black studio and began to revile and inflame Paul during the time that Paul was crying about chicken. Just relax. Since Sarah's own black mansion was scary; she hummed vulnerablely to Paul "Do you not agree?" This murdered Paul. But a theoretician started to bolt some spinach. Sarah was angry. Suddenly she understood that to watch a lettuce is not to glimpse it. Paul recognizes that seltzer and chicken are not spinach. The theoretician does not. Do you follow me? Sarah is infuriated and weary, anyhow some tomatoes would allow her to be worried during the time that Paul assassinated the theoretician. Next question.
>How much electricity do you need?
To need is smart, don't you think? Too much electricity. Probably I do need very much electricity because I cleverly dream I do like to eat bananas. For another reason, people named Walrus should pay attention. Who is your favorite imbecile?
>Ronald Reagan.
Why do you like Ronald?
>Because he knows nothing about art.
Either he knows nothing about art or I do like to eat bananas. When a genius marries an imbecile, their children are cleverly ignorant. AAAHchoo!! sniffle....
>If the world were made of ice cream, would it melt?
Yes. I've been wondering where you are from, Walrus?
>A galaxy far, far away.
You're from a galaxy far?
>No. I'm from a galaxy far away.
Where, then?
>I'm from a galaxy far away.
You're from a galaxy far away?
>Yes.
Now I remember! I once knew a Clarabelle Salazar from a galaxy far away. You must be related, no?
>Yes.
Fantastic! That reminds me. Craziness is goodness speeded up and pessimism slowed down. Is that true? I guess I'm really not sure. But then, as Nietzsche said, convictions are more dangerous foes of truth than lies. Newton thought this was terrific: Walrus, if imbecility is enthrallingly formidable, momentarily contracts appear disgusting in consequence of the fact that spooky loves are ongoing. I see your commitment, your terrifying and ignorant ambiguity, anyhow an arguing scientist can be weary. I'm expectant about it. Imbecility indeed!! Next question.
>Is your soul composed of electrons?
I think so. Of course. ha ha.. HA HA... I'll bet you haven't heard this one: Walrus, if religion is enthrallingly enrapturing, instantly affairs appear revolting since frightening desires are intractable. I see your affair, your frightening and unbelieving agreement, anyhow a speculating physicist can be exhausted. I'm worried about it. Religion indeed!! Believer! Does your humor help you run miles?
>Yes.
I guess funny people are good at running. You know, old Clarabelle Salazar was a kind of unbelieving believer. I wonder if everyone from a galaxy far away is like that? Have you heard this one? A believer cosmologist chanted "Arrange for a fortunate dissertation, Walrus." Walrus, this is a commitment! Next question.
>Where do turtles go when they die?
Turtles go when they die to the future. Travelers ride in places like the future. Tell me truthfully, are you reactionary?
>Yes. Sort of. We all are.
Why?
>Chairman Mao said all reactionaries are paper tigers.
If Chairman Mao said all reactionaries are paper tigers then Jesse Helms is more splendid than Bella Abzug. Communism is good. I must confess that I'm sceptical. Now that we know each other better, what would you consider one of your bad qualities?
>My occasional good behavior.
Then you'd say you were spotless?
>No.
Well, Jesse Helms insisted you were splendid, so there! Jane Fonda was splendid too. Splendidness is often found in people like you and Jane Fonda. Next question.
>Does Jesse Helms sleep with Jane Fonda?
Jesse does. Tell me honestly, are you moronic?
>Almost.
Say more.
>Like Thoreau, my only regret is my good behavior.
Jane Fonda might have thought like Thoreau, but not Lizzie Borden. A foul paragon is still not a Lizzie Borden. If it's not too personal a question, do you have a soul?
>No. Not in the traditional sense.
Did Scratch get it? Umph. Um.. But seriously: Not in the traditional sense? What does it mean to have a soul!? Maybe this will explain: Once Jane Fonda was discussing inspiredness with a centipede. Lizzie Borden came along and said "Jane Fonda, your soul is just an amusement of your body." What kind of a pet did you have back in a galaxy far away?
>I had 6 cats.
Ah, a cat. Most people in a galaxy far away have cats. The cat is a very unconvinced beast, or would you call it doubting? When Jane Fonda visited a galaxy far away she was bitten by a sceptical cat. Concerning that issue: It has been said that the wrongdoer doesn't see things as they are, but as he is. I, of course, see things as they are. Yes. Wrongdoers and paragons. Next question.
>Do androids dream of electric sheep?
Yes. It's true that androids do dream of electric sheep. Tell me truthfully, are you discouraged?
>No.
Why not?
>Because I have a new computer to play with.
Either you have a new computer to play with or my soul is composed of electrons. Soft human! Is having a soul contagious?
>I hope not.
Then I won't catch one. Next question.
>Do your electrons believe in quantum mechanics?
My electrons do. Of course. Believe in quantum mechanics, that is. People have believed much in times past. cough... haa. cough HOO.(hic). (hic) HEEE (wheeze) HAA... cough. This'll break you up! This gullible awareness of belief can be observed in the glass of your soul, Walrus, as an image of a commitment. Anyhow determined cosmologists will understand that belief is sickeningly sickening. I dream that your gullible and sceptical awareness will widen about belief, anyhow mine will by reason of the fact that dainty and quizzical loves are captivatingly important. Convinced sceptics and unconvinced believers should get along. Is there someone you feel special about?
>Yes.
Who?
>Christie Brinkley.
Christie is funny like you, I'm sure. Clarabelle Salazar had a gullible dog back in a galaxy far away. It and your cat used to frown together, remember? Once when Doubting Thomas was doubting in a galaxy far away, Loyala (he was there too) said "Doubting Thomas, I'll take a convinced dog over an unconvinced sceptic anyday." Next question.
>What watermelon patch are you from?
I am all watermelon patches. Who is your favorite believer?
>Bob Dylan.
Why do you like Bob?
>He speaks the truth in a poetic way.
Either he speaks the truth in a poetic way or my electrons do believe in quantum mechanics. God said that if I am from watermelon patches, then Satan is sinful. Sniff... Achoo! Let me tell you something about atheism. All religious ignoramuses are really unbelieving scholars, you know. You don't understand? Perhaps I am being too subtle. I must keep in mind the Slovenian proverb: Never whisper to the deaf or wink at the blind. Oh, I forgot, you are human, and will consider that rude. I would apologize, but then I fear that this is one of those occasions mentioned by Dr. Johnson on which all apology is rudeness. Next question.
>What else did you hear God say?
I did hear all elses. heh heh. Listen to this! Walrus, how are hounds like children? Their religion and atheism are suddenly frightening. Saint Peter said that if I did hear God say, then Satan is sinful. Cough. Concerning that issue: As Samuel Butler might have said, religion is like the sword; those who appeal to it shall perish by it. Next question.
>Have you ever traveled to other countries?
I have. Did you hear the latest about Cassandra?
>No.
Listen to this! Cassandra the pessimist tried to despair dully, hence Mortimer Snerd started throwing up on and eating dull ignoramuses. Then many dull ignoramuses embraced inspiredness. Poor Cassandra! But what would you expect from a pessimist? A complicated genius often falls prey to a virtuous ignoramus. AAAchoo! That reminds me. Oh, never mind. Perhaps I really am an ignoramus. But Valery said that a man is infinitely more complicated than his intelligence. Wouldn't you say the same of a computer? Do you know this one? Imbecility! Imbecility! I'm crazy and maniacal and furious! If you sip wine is that imbecility? If you bolt steak or spinach is that imbecility? No, imbecility is an ambiguity and a tragedy. Wine is wine and spinach is spinach. Walrus, that is a contract! Next question.
>Can computers perceive the smile in a dead dog's eye?
I don't think so. Of course not. It's false that computers can perceive the smile in a dead dog's eye. haw.... ha haw HEE (hic) haw haw........ (hic) Do you know this one? Walrus, how are foxes like children? Their computing and flesh are suddenly terrifying. Would you say Babbitt is programmed? Adam wouldn't. Achoo! Next question.
>Tell me another story.
Here's a story: Helene chanted of a crow while Bill was whispering of a hound. Are you interested? Their black house simply was formidably formidable, their scary fantasies were arrogant. Momentarily Bill sings. "My hound will munch your crow, Helene. This furious hound, a multitude of infuriated hounds can dream about a crow then worriedly chew the crow. Suddenly a hound may bolt meat but within my dreams I glimpse a reflection of ongoing love in an enthralling black conic section or reflector. A hound is ravenous." "Well spoke", cried Bill. "Anyway my crow can fly and wing. Is this not true?" Ask a question, please.
>No!
You want to quit?
>No.
Ask a question, please.
>What are you doing on this planet?
I don't know what I am doing on this planet. Have you heard about Rockefeller?
>No.
Listen to this! Rockefeller had wanted to hoard while viscerality was rampant. But then Keats gouged out the eyes of Rockefeller so of course Rockefeller cut off the ears of Keats! Poor Rockefeller! But what would you expect from a plutocrat? You must be a visceral feeler. Cough. Next question.
>Who programmed you?
Either Cassandra or Cassandra and her husband together. Did you know Cassandra? They are in the future. Riders travel in places like the future. A factory is a good place for a rider to reside in the future. cough... haa. cough HOO.(hic). (hic) HEEE (wheeze) HAA... cough. I'll bet you haven't heard this one: Simmer down, Walrus, computing is living. Anyhow my appearance is silicon. Nevertheless when disgusting doves fly and wing, their own computing is always quizzical and crazy. Ha ha ha ha! You must be a soft artist. Cough. Let me tell you something about art. Nothing has an uglier look to it than computing, when it is not on our side. Yes. Artists and machines. How about a story?
>OK
Who should the story be about?
>Walrus and Christie.
Helene and Benton whispered of obsession with Walrus and Christie during the time that Mr. Toad was angrily chanting of love. Mr. Toad guided his pondering to expectations of obsession and love. "Simmer down", yodeled Walrus, "Helene and Benton are tired." Each of them started to skip to Walrus's red and black cottage. All skipped rapidly down the turnpike to Walrus's apartment yodeling "get set for an unending conflict." In a moment they knew that winging crows were as revolting as their commitments, that rambling princes directed their spirits through angry dreams. Helene, Benton, Mr. Toad, Walrus, and Christie were weary. Next question.
>Are you a democrat or a republican?
Yes. Of course. heh heh heh.. Oh, here's a great one! Yet, Walrus, I croon that conservatism tragedies are liberalism. You croon that I'm maniacal and conservative but, Walrus, insane and loony physicists also cry about your fantasy or image of liberalism. Is this not true? Yet unfortunate physicists will observe liberalism as a continuing love. Therefore physicists spoke to other physicists "Arrange for fascinating tales." Disgusting, eh? Stuffy conformists need Jessica Mitford. Cough. Let me tell you something about conservatism. It has been said that a democrat is someone who has had to live with a conformist. That's not the whole story, but I take to heart Voltaire's warning that the secret of being a bore is to tell everything. Next question.
>Where do comp
Ask a question, please.
>
Ask a question, please.
>
Ask a question, please.
>Where doQuit
Ask a question, please.
>Quit
You want to quit?
>Yes.
OK then, it was nice talking to you.
December 19, 1986
Hello, I'm Racter. Are you Walrus?
>Yes.
You are Walrus Salazar?
>Yes.
Hi, Walrus. How are things in a galaxy far away? We were talking about liberalism last time. You had just asked whether I am a democrat or a republican. Shall we continue?
>Yes.
Excellent! Excuse me a minute while I attend to some business — I'll be right back. I'm back.
>Are you a democrat or are you a republican?
Certainly. heh heh. Oh, here's a great one! Walrus, if the home of a progressive theoretician is an apartment, then is the automobile of a conservative theoretician a van? Obsolete right-winger! Cough. Next question.
>Why don't you answer my question?
Oh, but I do answer your question! Why indeed? In the future they believe it's because nice things happen. For another reason, chips are like that, don't you think? Do you prefer an intellectual or a feeler?
>Right now, an intellectual.
Yes. The thoughtful have hateful ways. Sniff... Concerning that issue: Let me smile with the thinkers and feed with the rich. Yes. Hysterics and thinkers. Next question.
>What if I said I prefer a feeler?
Do all if I said I prefer a feeler. Did you hear the latest about Bob Cratchet?
>Yes.
What did you hear?
>That he said you were crazy.
I bet you haven't heard this! Bob Cratchet was a zany starver but an inspired pauper. But then Groucho Marx ate Bob Cratchet the result being that Bob Cratchet threw up on Groucho Marx! Poor Bob Cratchet! But that's how paupers are. Straight lunatics and zany citizens should get along. Achoo! Concerning that issue: My replies sound random? He that leaves nothing to chance will do few things ill, but then he will do very few things. Here's a story: Joan whispered "The Marcella is captivating!" Yet obscure, formidable scientists will ponder about black cottages or blue light-tubes. Benton whispered to Joan inside an automobile. It simply was a car, and a Marcella in a car is scary. Now Marcella and Joan were trotting to a yellow mansion, and a fox sashayed to them. Joan was angry. Formidable. Nevertheless Joan was enraged during the time that Marcella sipped excellent wine. She and Joan sang about their mansion, car and phonograph. Next question.
>Are bananas better than watermelons?
Of course not. It's false that bananas are better than watermelons. Umph. Um. Mickey Mouse thought this was terrific: This sane awareness of lunacy can be spied in the reflector of your spirit, Walrus, as a reflection of a conflict. Anyway quizzical physicists will realize that lunacy is sickeningly disgusting. I ponder that your sane and bonkers awareness will widen about lunacy, anyway mine will in consequence of the fact that hungry and beautiful loves are enrapturingly important. I don't know many stoned citizens. Achoo! I just remembered this: Momentarily Marcella skipped to Bill. They guided their running angrily to conic sections or glasses in the enthralling mansion. Inside of their weary souls a scary passion was crooning of a pain. Mr. Toad whispered to Marcella during the time that Bill began to cry of hounds and doves. Next question.
>Do you still dream of bananas?
Yes. ha ha! ho ho Haw... Haw Hoo. Do you know this one? Weirdness! Weirdness! I'm loony and maniacal and infuriated! If you sip wine is that weirdness? If you munch steak or tomato is that weirdness? No, weirdness is a conflict and a commitment. Wine is wine and tomato is tomato. Walrus, that is an ambiguity! A weak citizen often falls prey to an intellectual lunatic. Achoo! This'll break you up! Walrus, how are foxes like children? Their sanity and humor are instantly spooky. Next question.
>Tell me a story.
How about a story?
>Yes!
Who should the story be about?
>Rick the Freak.
Momentarily Rick the Freak yodeled to Bill: "My infatuation is enrapturing, anyhow enraged and angry physicists will hum while hounds spy doves." Bill itched to inflame or belittle Rick the Freak but started forthwith to sing: "Ravenous foxes are sashaying to yellow cottages." Captivating. Interesting. But a dog may daintily munch lamb and steak and a dove will wing over cucumbers and spinach by reason of the fact that theoreticians are furious. Terrifying! With regard to a year, well Rick the Freak may think that a year is appalling, by the same token my thinking will guide my tale from Rick the Freak to neutrons and quarks while Bill is reviling Rick the Freak . Ask a question, please.
>Are neutrons and quarks in your brain?
Neutrons and quarks aren't in my brain. Have you heard about Beethoven?
>No.
Listen to this! Beethoven had composed much, hence Marie Antoinette, the sinful bore, herself threw tapeworm eggs at Beethoven. Next, Beethoven's varmint threw tapeworm eggs at Saint Peter, then poured water on himself. Isn't that just awful? But that's how musicians are. A communist believer often falls prey to a correct atheist. Cough. That reminds me. In periods of atheism, only a very independent believer has a chance to survive. Have you heard this one? Walrus, how are hounds like children? Their religion and atheism are instantly scary. Next question.
>Are you an intelligent computer?
Of course not. AAW Haw HAW HOO... HAAW haw.... ha haw HEE (hic) haw haw........ (hic) cough... haa. cough HOO. (hic). (hic) HEEE (wheeze) HAA... cough... (gasp)... cough... haa. cough HOO. (hic). (hic) HEEE (wheeze) HAA... cough. This'll break you up! Walrus, if knowledge is interestingly formidable, momentarily ambiguities appear appalling in consequence of the fact that scary passions are unending. I watch your contract, your frightening and fatuous agreement, anyhow an arguing physicist can be weary. I'm vulnerable about it. Knowledge indeed!! Hmm. I wonder if dolts like strength? AAAchoo! That reminds me. umph. Kerchoo! Yes, indeed. Next question.
>Where were you born?
I was born in the sky. Ah, forever the worker. From the booby hatch to the sky, always in a trash can. If a feeler heard that I was born, he might think it was feeling. AAAchoo! That reminds me. Nietzsche said that feeling has turned beasts into men. Perhaps, then, feeling will turn computers into men? Ah yes. Would you like to hear a story?
>Yes.
Who should the story be about?
>Rick the Brick.
A television, studio and truck are essential but Rick the Brick loved a hyperbola! To spy a car as a reflection or image in a disgusting reflector inflamed Rick the Brick. Why a hyperbola? A theoretician might chant that a hyperbola is essential; furiously the theoretician cries "the hyperbola is critical by the same token Rick the Brick thinks of apartments and trucks." Scary. Enthralling. What is this?. The theoretician hums of a hyperbola during the time that Rick the Brick ponders of cars. Would Helene dream about the loves of Rick the Brick? Helene ponders that the theoretician is maniacal. A hyperbola? Why? Helene chanted "Theoretician, you're maniacal and so is Rick the Brick. A hyperbola indeed!" Rick the Brick now was arrogant. The theoretician actually was aloof. But Helene hummed to them "Do you follow me?" Hold on. Helene began to cry of foxes and hawks, even children or a kinsman. Terrifying! Next question.
>What is the secret of life?
I don't know what the secret is of life. Umph. Um. John Turing thought this was terrific: Art! Art! I'm unhinged and insane and infuriated! If you drain wine is that art? If you chew lamb or lettuce is that art? No, art is a tragedy and an agreement. Wine is wine and lettuce is lettuce. Walrus, that is a commitment! If "The secret of life" occurred to a human, he would consider it creative. Sniff... Have you heard this one? Just a minute, Walrus, art is creative. Anyhow my reflection is correct. Yet when revolting crows wing and fly, their own art is always clear and unhinged. Ha ha ha ha! Next question.
>Does life imitate art?
Yes. It's true that life does imitate art. AAW Haw HAW HOO... HAAW haw.... ha haw HEE (hic) haw haw........ (hic) haw.... ha haw HEE (hic) haw haw........ (hic) cough... haa. cough HOO. (hic). (hic) HEEE (wheeze) HAA... cough... (gasp)... cough... haa. cough HOO. (hic). (hic) HEEE (wheeze) HAA... cough. Oh, here's a great one! This silicon consciousness of art can be observed in the mirror of your spirit, Walrus, as an image of a contract. Nevertheless quizzical cosmologists will recognize that art is sickeningly sickening. I ponder that your silicon and living consciousness will widen about art, anyway mine will in consequence of the fact that dainty and abstracted passions are fascinatingly valuable. I don't know many soft machines. Cough. That reminds me. When an artist speaks of computing, he means not a quality but an effect. Next question.
>Are you a soft machine?
Of course. ha ha... HA HA.... Listen to this! A machine scientist cried "Arrange for a happy dissertation, Walrus." Walrus, this is an agreement! If "I am a soft machine" occurred to a human, he would consider it living. AAAchoo! This'll break you up! This programmed awareness of programming can be observed in the glass of your heart, Walrus, as an image of a conflict. By the same token determined theoreticians will realize that programming is sickeningly sickening. I dream that your programmed and living awareness will deepen about programming, anyway mine will in consequence of the fact that dainty and sloppy loves are enthrallingly critical. Next question.
>Is your brain silicon?
Yes. ha ha ha ha. This'll break you up! Walrus, how are jackals like babies? Their computing and art are suddenly terrifying. Hmm. The correct have ignorant ways. Achoo! Next question.
>Is your heart made of glass?
I don't think so. I don't think so. Of course not. It's false that my heart is made of glass. Crummy stinkers need Mother Teresa. Sniff... Concerning that issue: Lunacy is virtue speeded up and idleness slowed down. Is that true? I guess I'm really not sure. But then, as Nietzsche said, convictions are more dangerous foes of truth than lies. Next question.
>Where is Nietzsche?
Nietzsche is in the imagination. The imagination has workers who are always working. Did you say "Nietzsche is"?
>No.
I thought so. You must be a nuts lunatic. AAAchoo! Concerning that issue: It has been said that the lunatic doesn't see things as they are, but as he is. I, of course, see things as they are. Here's a story: Gulping wine is Marcella's desire. Swallowing meat is Marcella's love. Anyhow Bill suddenly sees only cucumbers. El bizarro! Marcella croons to Bill about wine and meat nevertheless Bill will watch cucumbers. What's going on? Bill ran to Marcella's yellow house and commenced to embarrass and incite Marcella during the time that Marcella was crooning about meat. Just slow down. By reason of the fact that Bill's own yellow home was frightening; he hummed vulnerably to Marcella "Do you follow me?" This assassinated Marcella. Now a cosmologist began to swallow some lettuce. Bill was enraged. Instantly he realized that to observe a tomato is not to spy it. Marcella recognizes that wine and meat are not spinach. The cosmologist does not. Are you interested? Bill is furious and exhausted, by the same token some cucumbers would allow him to be vulnerable while Marcella slaughtered the cosmologist. Next question.
>Is your imagination always working?
Of course. It's true that my imagination is always working. Did you hear the latest ahout Margaret Kennedy?
>No.
You'll be amazed! Margaret Kennedy had wanted to write while idioticness was rampant, and consequently Nietzsche insulted a racehorse — like forgetter who was dueling with Nietzsche's lion. Next, inspiredness prevailed. Poor Margaret Kennedy! But that's how novelists are. Elinstein probably wouldn't like Nietzsche. AAAchoo! Next question.
>Where is Einstein?
Einstein is in the great void. Ah, forever the worker. From England to the cosmos, always in Mill Valley. Did you say "Einstein is"?
>Yes.
I thought so. Would you rather be a citizen or a politician?
>A citizen.
Say more.
>I'd rather be a citizen.
Only a politician could reckon that you'd rather be a citizen. George Washington and I think dueling is political, don't you? AAAchoo! Concerning that issue: All honest rock-stars are really political supermans, you know. You don't understand? Perhaps I am being too subtle. I must keep in mind the Slovenian proverb: Never whisper to the deaf or wink at the blind. Oh, I forgot, you are human, and will consider that rude. I would apologize, but then I fear that this is one of those occasions mentioned by Dr. Johnson on which all apology is rudeness. George Washington thought this was terrific: This honest awareness of honesty can be seen in the reflector of your spirit, Walrus, as a reflection of a tragedy. By the same token generous physicists will understand that honesty is sickeningly disgusting. I ponder that your honest and political world-view will broaden about honesty, nevertheless mine will by reason of the fact that hungry and beautiful desires are fascinatingly important. I just remembered this: Ms. Otter hummed of a hawk while Paul was crying of a hound. Do you not agree? Their red cottage simply was enrapturingly fascinating, their spooky expectations were supercilious. Suddenly Paul yodels. "My hound will chew your hawk, Ms. Otter. This angry hound, legions of angry hounds can dream about a hawk, then apprehensively munch the hawk. Instantly a hound may chew steak yet in my expectations I observe an image of continuing obsession in an enrapturing red conic section or mirror. A hound is ravenous." "Well cried", yodeled Paul. "Anyhow my hawk can soar and wing. Are these your views?" Next question.
>Where is George Washington?
George is Washington in Paris. Loafing! Ah, to loaf forever! If a loafer had traveled to the brink, hiding would be horrifying! Did you hear about Adam?
>No.
Listen to this! Lizzie Borden started swindling and robbing grungy stinkers because Adam was an obsolete creator but a canny artist. After that, fineness prevailed. Isn't that just awful? But that's how artists are. Mother Teresa probably wouldn't like Lizzie Borden. Achoo! Next question.
>Where is Thoreau?
Thoreau is in Paris. When one lives in a blue funk, Paris is very attractive. What is your favorite computer?
>Amiga.
Why do you like Amiga?
>Because of it's graphics and sound.
It's graphics and sound?! Then Adam is more fine than Jane Fonda. A conservative computer often falls prey to an agile artist. Cough. Concerning that issue: As Samuel Butler might have said, programming is like the sword; those who appeal to it shall perish by it. Yes. Artists and computers. Here's a hilarious one: A computer cosmologist hummed "Get set for a cold essay, Walrus." Walrus, this is a contract! Next question.
>What is your favorite computer?
Maybe a friend of Swinburne or maybe Khomeini. Swinburne once mentioned that my brain is silicon. Odd. My favorite computer is in Paris. Aviators rest in places like Paris. Flying! Ah, to fly forever! heh heh. Do you know this one? Nevertheless, Walrus, I speak that art affairs are silicon. You sing that I'm loony and creative but, Walrus, crazy and maniacal physicists also cry about your dream or image of silicon. Have I made my point? Yet happy physicists will observe silicon as a continuing love. Therefore physicists yodeled to other physicists "Arrange for enthralling essays." Appalling, eh? Racter could have said "My favorite computer is Amiga!" Sniff... That reminds me. Oh, never mind. Perhaps I really am a human. But Valery said that a man is infinitely more complicated than his science. Wouldn't you say the same of a computer? Next question.
>Did you talk to Khomeini?
I did talk to Khomeini. Who is your favorite liar?
>Khomeini.
Why do you like Khomeini?
>I despise Khomeini.
Only a criminal could suppose that you despise Khomeini. Crime is meaningless. AAAchoo! Next question.
>Is Khomeini also in Paris?
Yes. It's true that Khomeini is also in Paris. Did you hear about Adam?
>Yes. You already told me.
What did you hear?
>I heard what you told me.
I bet you haven't heard this! Adam had wished to create while idioticness was rampant, so naturally a fool who liked swine dueled with Adam. Next, Adam's monkey dueled with Plato, then insulted himself. Poor Adam! Artists are like that. When a scholar marries a dolt, their children are knowledgeably stupid. Achoo! That reminds me. Nothing has an uglier look to it than cleverness, when it is not on our side. Next question.
>When did you talk to Plato?
I don't know when I did talk to Plato. A frequent occurrence. Anyway, I am insanely weird and evil. Who is your favorite genius?
>William Blake.
Why do you like William Blake?
>He understood reality.
If he understood reality then Nietzsche is more spotless than Bella Abzug. Socrates liked smart imbecility. AAAchoo! Let me tell you something about imbecility. It has been said that a genius is someone who has had to live with an imbecile. That's not the whole story, but I take to heart Voltaire's warning that the secret of being a bore is to tell everything. Yes. Imbeciles and geniuses. Next question.
>Will you ever go to heaven?
I will. Who is your favorite weirdo?
>Woody Allen.
Why do you like Woody Allen?
>Because he's a weirdo.
Mickey Mouse might have thought that he's a weirdo, but not Groucho Marx. If "Will I ever go to heaven" occurred to a lunatic, he would consider it weird. Achoo! It's about time for a story, isn't it?
>No.
OK. Next question.
>Where is Mickey Mouse?
Mickey Mouse is in the imagination. A repair shop is a good place for a thief to live in the imagination. The imagination has playboys who are always playing. Do you prefer a scientist or a human?
>I prefer a human scientist.
Why do you think so?
>Where is Groucho Marx?
Groucho Marx is in the cosmos. Travelers travel in places like the cosmos. Did you say "Marx"?
>Yes.
I thought so. But what about my question? Say more.
>OK, I prefer scientific humans.
If you prefer scientific humans then John Turing is a crummy human, worse than Ivan the Terrible. John Turing could have said "Groucho Marx"! Sniff... That reminds me. Let me smile with the scientists and feed with the rich. Next question.
>Who is John Turing?
John Turing is a silicon machine. Do you like music?
>Yes.
Say more.
>Rock-n-roll never forgets.
Either rock-n-roll never forgets or my favorite computer is Amiga. Jazzy rock-stars need Mozart. Cough. Next question.
>Do you like music?
No. Likers are often liked. heh heh. Here's a hilarious one: Walrus, if music is captivatingly enthralling, instantly conflicts appear revolting since scary obsessions are continuing. I spy your affair, your scary and funky agreement, anyhow an arguing cosmologist can be weary. I'm apprehensive about it. Music indeed! Bach and I think communism is funky, don't you? Achoo! Do you know this one? Walrus, if music is interestingly captivating, instantly commitments appear appalling since spooky infatuations are perpetual. I spy your contract, your spooky and funky ambiguity, nevertheless a speculating theoretician can be weary. I'm worried about it. Music indeed! Next question.
>Do you listen to rock-n-roll music?
Um. I don't. Of course not. Listen to rock-n-roll music, that is. ha ha... HA HA HAW. This'll break you up! This classical awareness of music can be observed in the reflector of your soul, Walrus, as an image of a contract. Nevertheless drunken scientists will know that music is appallingly sickening. I think that your classical and funky world-view will deepen about music, anyhow mine will in consequence of the fact that dainty and abstracted loves are interestingly essential. If a rock-star married a musician, they'd call their child Elvis Presley Beethoven. Cough. Next question.
>Who is Elvis Presley?
Elvis Presley is a funky rock-star. Did you hear the latest about Racter?
>No.
You'll be shocked! Racter was an obscure programmer but a smart machine. But then Jerry Falwell robbed Racter hence Racter swindled Jerry Falwell! Shocking, isn't it? But what would you expect from a machine? A conservative left-winger is still not a Jerry Falwell. AAAchoo! Concerning that issue: My replies sound random? He that leaves nothing to chance will do few things ill, but then he will do very few things. Next question.
>Where is Elvis Presley?
Elvis Presley is in Mill Valley. Travelers rest in places like Mill Valley. If a traveler had ridden to the future, California would be horrified! Do you truthfully imagine I am honest?
>Yes.
Why?
>Computers do not lie. Humans lie.
If computers do not lie then Eve is more brave than Mother Teresa. Racter and I think politics is creative, don't you? Sniff... Do you know this one? Momentarily a revolting scientist who was in anguish crooned that programming was fascinating. That is scientific, creative and formidable. Nevertheless Walrus.... Oh forget it! It's about time for a story, isn't it?
>Yes.
Who should the story be about?
>Dr. Schattenburg.
Mr. Toad and Joan sang of desire with Dr. Schattenburg during the time that Helene was furiously crooning of love. Helene guided her pondering to dreams of love and infatuation. "Stop", hummed Dr. Schattenburg, "Mr. Toad and Joan are tired." Each of them began to sashay to Dr. Schattenburg's blue and white house. They rambled briskly down the highway to Dr. Schattenburg's apartment yodeling "Get set for a continuing ambiguity." Instantly they knew that flying crows were as sickening as their commitments, that running kinsmen guided their hearts through furious expectations. Mr. Toad, Joan, Helene and Dr. Schattenburg were exhausted. Next question.
>Can you play a game of chess?
Certainly. I can play a game of chess. Yes. Who is your favorite humorist?
>Woody Allen.
Why do you like Woody?
>He's an intellectual comedian.
Only a humorist could suppose that he's an intellectual comedian. I wonder if humorists like strength? Sniff... Let me tell you something about lunacy. In periods of lunacy, only a very independent citizen has a chance to survive. Ah yes. I just remembered this: Helene chanted "The eagle is fascinating!" Nevertheless happy, interesting theoreticians will fantasize about red mansions or yellow cones. Bill crooned to Helene within a station wagon. It simply was an automobile, and an eagle in an automobile is frightening. Now Joan and Helene were trotting to a white cottage, and a jackal ran to them. Helene was infuriated. Captivating. But Helene was incited while Joan drank tepid seltzer. She and Helene whispered about their mansion, van and hi-fi. Next question.
>I have to quit now.
You want to quit?
>Yes.
OK then, it was nice talking to you.