Jocop Classic: Injuneering

It is an obsquatulation in the Engineering-Construction bidness--to which several of the more incarcerated members of the readership have devoted major portions of their respective dysfunctionalities--that the autobiographical soundbite most germane to its default practioners is as follows:

"Two years ago, I couldn't spell Enkinier. Now I are one."

Be that as it may, the observatorial was the inspiration that suggested the title of this piece which, by our own admission, is older than Hillary Rodham Clinton's [mothballed] IUD.


A young Lakota Sioux boy is talking to the elderly Chief as he watches the women do all the work with immense satisfaction.

"Chief, why do we Native Americans have such strange names? They're nothing like the white man's names."

"Why that's because our children are named after things that happen at the exact moment of conception," replies the old Chief, focusing on a young squaw's generously firm quivering haunches as she bends over to collect firewood.

"For example, a brave once saw a pony race by in a frenzy at the special moment, so he named the child Crazy Horse. Another brave--he must have been on the bottom--saw a cumulo-nimbus dividing in half just at the supreme instant, so the child was named Two Clouds."

Suddenly, the Chief, looking puzzled, turns to the young boy.

"Why do you ask, Broken Rubber?"