康熙來了 2012-03-16 演藝圈中的奇怪職業病

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March 16, 2012
Tipster Rednimer

170 thoughts on “康熙來了 2012-03-16 演藝圈中的奇怪職業病”

  4. the funniest part in this episode was the trash guy telling the kid to eat veges while leaving with the garbage truck! hahaha

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    • 還不是因為26有實名制了, 所以沒水準+不敢發言的煞氣小屁孩就跑到說中文的台灣撒野……以後台灣的討論區跟論壇只會越來越亂, 因為中共最厲害的就是官方語言洗腦, 這些沒出過國的小屁孩早就沒救了….

      我再怎麼討厭美國, 美國也不會硬說台灣是美國省這樣沒品, 美國人也不會來台灣網路亂

      我恨大陸, 因為它讓全世界看不起華人的水準

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  6. 那幹麻不簽完合約之前去查有沒有毒??那幹麻簽完之後才又說有狂牛症??之前好不容易沒有美牛風波平息了?馬總統第二次當選之後又開始大量的報導美牛瘦肉精???  有沒有腦阿? 這事情先後要想清楚再起鬨好嗎 ???

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  7. 你們真是夠了!  毒牛是那些不滿意馬英九當初簽合約給美國的那些綠黨放出來的風聲. 你們死大陸人不要在那邊發浪!  美牛如果沒有經過馬總統同意是不可能進來台灣! 我們幹麻要聽美國..

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  16. 我家裡有兩個間浴室~一個是蹲式的~一個是坐式的~
    便祕的人很適合用蹲式的~而且蹲式的還有人設計外加椅坐~給喜歡坐著的人用

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  20. 大S啊 康熙就是一個要讓人發笑 笑得流淚 笑得忘記壓力的節目 妳連錄調查局都戴個淑女帽????女主人端端莊莊的妳叫客人怎樣放肆無拘束地大笑?

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  26. 要是台灣是大陸管的﹐那就不會有這麼好看的節目﹐連續劇﹐偶像了。
    所以﹐幸好不是﹗  😀

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  27. 发型师干嘛哦，谁会去注意那些细节？ 不要在节目里讲些废话。
    而且她给米可白弄得发型我也没觉得好看

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  37. 這集潘老師和五一零表現得比其他人搶眼
    米可白完全被忽略，知道最後快結束時才丟幾個問題給她，也完全沒有亮點

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  38. 为什么台湾人讲话完全不卷舌？一个节目听下来全是平音，特难听。尤其是那姓米的讲话特别扭，听的我耳朵都坏去了。

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    • 你可以去查，台灣人講的普通話是明清以來的南京官話(當時中華民國首都也在南京)，普通話的北京官話是滿人入關後，融合一些滿人腔調而形成的北京官話，也可以說是胡化普通話。另外目前中國大陸和台灣境內最接近唐朝古音的是客家話….

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      • 一楼是说发音舌位，又没说哪个是”官”话。再说台湾人讲什么话，快别跟中国的南京，中国的民国扯什么关系，完全是两个国家。

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          • 就是兩個國家 怎樣? 你們大陸管好你們自己就好 誰希望是大陸的一部份

          • 而且是比市场贵上不知多少倍在买，真不知台湾人花大钱买过期品的心态在哪？坦白说，你们说大陆打压台湾，难道美国没有？美国把台湾当成白痴小弟，用贵价格卖过期武器给台湾，逼台湾要了瘦肉精牛肉等等，而台湾人还热脸贴冷屁股，把美国人看成神一样。

          • 你們大陸人去死好嗎 你們根本沒有資格來管台灣的事情     祖你媽的國勒 幹你娘   台灣是個國家根本不需要你們死大陸人來承認

          • 那我说台湾是我家的，根本不需要你们这些死台湾人来承认，好吗？

        • 我到世界上任何一個國家，都可以找到很多國家的大使館，比如美國大使館，英國大使館，日本大使館，可偏偏在”台灣國”找不到。再者我到世界上很多國家都找不到台灣國大使館。台灣不是國家嗎？怎麼沒錢開大使館？還是全世界的國家沒錢到台灣設大使館？

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          • 那你是認為因為大陸的威脅是全世界不敢或不會或不要在台灣設大使館，直接或間接承認台灣不是國家，所以你抱怨“你們國家”私底下動作很多？

          •  喔，台灣雖然沒大使館，但是拿台灣護照還可以免簽證到93各國家，但是拿大陸的可不行呢。呵呵，還有大半部份都是非洲那邊國家呢～ 不是國家還會有免簽，被認定。“你們國家“有大使館，啥屁用？

          • 想想你们那93个免签是用什么换来的？还不是毒牛要来台挡也挡不住？只不过为了区区几个礼拜做签证的时间就得换来毒牛吃，台湾人还真阿Q。捧老美LP捧得人家开心给你们一些小甜头就开心的什么一样，说实话这真的有好吗？大使馆是没什么实质用途，它只是用来展示国格的象征，可就偏偏在台湾没有，世界上任何地方也没台湾大使馆，也就是台湾没国格，这就是大使馆的屁用，好吗？别装白痴地说你不懂

          • 毒牛是反對馬英九的綠黨放出來的風聲, 台灣如果是中國的一部分的話那幹麻進口東西不需要經過中國同意?  反倒是你們是共產黨的走狗這樣說比較準確..

          • 你是大陸人你不要用繁體字好嗎??  台灣本來就是個國家,,  你們中國只是個省 你他媽的中國人去死一死.

          • 你不是中国人，请不要用汉字写中国字好吗？台湾本来就是中国的一个省..  你们台湾只是个省 你他妈的台湾人去….我不像你一样没品

      • 其实他的意思应该是字正腔圆的国语比较好听，大概和谁更古音、中古音关系不大。大陆南方人也不是很喜欢翘舌太多的纯北京话，但目前很多台湾年轻人的国语确实不好听，以前邓丽君，赵文瑄那一辈台湾人说的中华国语甚是好听。

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        • 鄧麗君是中國人，她護照上寫的是中華民國而不是台灣，她在世時也常強調他是中國人。

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        • 好聽不好聽 只是你們聽的習慣不習慣而已 連講話要不要卷舌都可以評語 你也真無聊

          沒人逼你看 你耳朵壞了 還要抱怨阿 

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        • 我覺得你說的很好
          的確很多台灣年輕人講話很不正確，寫字也不正確
          但是也不代表中國大陸的腔調比較好聽
          我覺得各有千秋囉 個人喜好

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          •  大部分台灣年輕人講話太大舌頭， 口齒不清，咬字不准， 他們太喜歡裝可愛了。

          • 總比你們在那邊捲捲捲的捲舌音  裝可愛流傳來自日本那你幹麻不去罵日本   還有是你們中國女人漲的太老成 台灣人就是可愛你想怎樣

          • 大陸西北地區和南方地區沒有卷舌音和他們也沒有大舌頭呀,所以字正腔圓。 裝可愛是可以的，但不要overboard。大陸女人老成嗎， 那是因爲美容,護膚和整容沒有像台灣那麽普遍？像很多台灣女人愛打美白針，和微整形才顯的年輕吧。

          • 没有台湾人民没权利，至少是美牛要来台，就算公投反对也没办法停止瘦肉精牛肉来台湾，台湾人也只是听指令-停老美的指令

          •  就牛這件事而已﹐你們大概有幾白萬倍的事都要聽共產黨的話﹐五十步笑百步 feel sorry for you~

          • 他們是聽馬英九的指令,,如果馬英九沒有簽條約美牛根本進不來你他媽的死大陸人你不要不懂給我裝懂你他媽的白痴

      • 為什麼你不說沒什麼美國人不說美國人是英國人？答案是美國比英國強。有本事的台灣比大陸強，到時更多骯髒齷齪手段都可以用，不用現在苟延殘喘的到處告訴人台灣是國家。事實上，拿台灣出氣的不只你口中的中國，看看美國對台灣施壓要美國牛過關，你認為真的是馬政府無能嗎？你認為姓蔡的敢得罪老大哥嗎？

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        • 台灣是不是個國家幹麻要你這死大陸人來承認阿  你他媽的可以去死 一死了 你算什麼東西阿

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          • 引用一句中国台湾也是闽南地区俚语，见笑转生气。对，你见笑转生气，足见你词穷没话说只好谩骂来让你自己好过一点

        • 什麼施壓 那幹麻進口東西不用經過你們共產黨同意,,   那是反對黨放出來的風聲 你他媽你有點知識好嗎 ?????

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    • 有學過英文的就知道，英、美、澳、紐、南非的口音也都不同，就算在美國各地也有不同口音。華人應該要學人家互相尊重，而不是唯我獨尊。在美國挑剔或笑別人的英文口音，是會被告種族歧視的….

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          • 不是什麼都能拿來舉例的好嗎？畢竟兩者是不同國家不同文化不同歷史也不同人，怎麼能一概而論？而且你很沒禮貌，怎麼罵人白痴啊？！

          • 请问这个例子哪里举错? 其他任何例子都会是“不同國家不同文化不同歷史也不同人”… 那大家不要举例好啦~ 骂你白痴是因为你真的散发出白痴的特质哦 ^^

          • 对啊，其他人都不是中国人，那有怎么能拿来举例呢？中国的文化为什么要引用其他文化来作为指标的引导？你想想其他例子会用中国来举例吗？那你干嘛热脸贴人家冷屁股呢？我维持我君子的风格，不做人身攻击。

    • 不同地方有不同的口音，只有北京才特卷，看你的节目，看到特别扭就别看，看你的北京节目。

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    • 其实是卷舌的啊……中文的标准的发音哪里都一样。
      我记得前几期康熙，都是主播的那期，蔡康永还让他们说“四是四，十是十，四十是四十，十四是十四”吗？不卷舌怎么听得出区别？

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    •  卷舌有什么了不起的么？我还特不习惯听那种只会卷舌，没带脑的对话呢。不同而矣，同样是mandarin，不要的自己很特别。

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  44. So, there’s a man crawling through the desert.He’d decided to try his
    SUV in a little bit of cross-country travel, had great fun zooming over the
    badlands and through the sand, got lost, hit a big rock, and then he couldn’t
    get it started again. There were no cell phone towers anywhere near, so his cell
    phone was useless. He had no family, his parents had died a few years before in
    an auto accident, and his few friends had no idea he was out here.He
    stayed with the car for a day or so, but his one bottle of water ran outand
    he was getting thirsty. He thought maybe he knew the direction back, now that
    he’d paid attention to the sun and thought he’d figured out which way was north,
    so he decided to start walking. He figured he only had to go about 30 miles or
    so and he’d be back to the small town he’d gotten gas in last.He thinks
    about walking at night to avoid the heat and sun, but based uponhow dark it
    actually was the night before, and given that he has no flashlight, he’s afraid
    that he’ll break a leg or step on a rattlesnake. So,he puts on some sun
    block, puts the rest in his pocket for reapplicationlater, brings an
    umbrella he’d had in the back of the SUV with him to givehim a little shade,
    pours the windshield wiper fluid into his water bottlein case he gets that
    desperate, brings his pocket knife in case he finds a cactus that looks like it
    might have water in it, and heads out in thedirection he thinks is
    right.He walks for the entire day. By the end of the day he’s really
    thirsty. He’sbeen sweating all day, and his lips are starting to crack. He’s
    reapplied the sunblock twice, and tried to stay under the umbrella, but he still
    feels sunburned. The windshield wiper fluid sloshing in the bottle in his pocket
    is really getting tempting now. He knows that it’s mainly water and some ethanol
    and coloring, but he also knows that they add some kind of poison to it to keep
    people from drinking it. He wonders what the poison is, andwhether the
    poison would be worse than dying of thirst.He pushes on, trying to get
    to that small town before dark.By the end of the day he starts getting
    worried. He figures he’s been walking at least 3 miles an hour, according to his
    watch for over 10 hours. That means that if his estimate was right that he
    should be close to thetown. But he doesn’t recognize any of this. He had to
    cross a dry creek bed a mile or two back, and he doesn’t remember coming through
    it in the SUV. He figures that maybe he got his direction off just a little and
    that the dry creek bed was just off to one side of his path. He tells himself
    that he’s close, and that after dark he’ll start seeing the town lights over one
    of these hills, and that’ll be all he needs.As it gets dim enough that
    he starts stumbling over small rocks and things,he finds a spot and sits
    down to wait for full dark and the town lights.Full dark comes before he
    knows it. He must have dozed off. He stands backup and turns all the way
    around. He sees nothing but stars.He wakes up the next morning feeling
    absolutely lousy. His eyes are gummy and his mouth and nose feel like they’re
    full of sand. He so thirsty that he can’t even swallow. He barely got any sleep
    because it was so cold. He’d forgotten how cold it got at night in the desert
    and hadn’t noticed it the night before because he’d been in his car.He
    knows the Rule of Threes – three minutes without air, three days without water,
    three weeks without food – then you die. Some people can make it a little
    longer, in the best situations. But the desert heat and having to walk and sweat
    isn’t the best situation to be without water. He figures, unless he finds water,
    this is his last day.He rinses his mouth out with a little of the
    windshield wiper fluid. He waits a while after spitting that little bit out, to
    see if his mouth goes numb, or he feels dizzy or something. Has his mouth gone
    numb? Is it just inhis mind? He’s not sure. He’ll go a little farther, and
    if he still doesn’tfind water, he’ll try drinking some of the
    fluid.Then he has to face his next, harder question – which way does he
    go from here? Does he keep walking the same way he was yesterday (assuming that
    he still knows which way that is), or does he try a new direction? He has no
    idea what to do.Looking at the hills and dunes around him, he thinks he
    knows the direction he was heading before. Just going by a feeling, he points
    himself somewhat to the left of that, and starts walking.As he walks,
    the day starts heating up. The desert, too cold just a couple of hours before,
    soon becomes an oven again. He sweats a little at first, and then stops. He
    starts getting worried at that – when you stop sweating he knows that means
    you’re in trouble – usually right before heat stroke.He decides that
    it’s time to try the windshield wiper fluid. He can’t waitany longer – if he
    passes out, he’s dead. He stops in the shade of a largerock, takes the
    bottle out, opens it, and takes a mouthful. He slowlyswallows it, making it
    last as long as he can. It feels so good in his dryand cracked throat that
    he doesn’t even care about the nasty taste. He takesanother mouthful, and
    makes it last too. Slowly, he drinks half the bottle.He figures that since
    he’s drinking it, he might as well drink enough tomake some difference and
    keep himself from passing out.He’s quit worrying about the denaturing of
    the wiper fluid. If it kills him,it kills him – if he didn’t drink it, he’d
    die anyway. Besides, he’s prettysure that whatever substance they denature
    the fluid with is just designed to make you sick – their way of keeping winos
    from buying cheap wiper fluid for the ethanol content. He can handle throwing
    up, if it comes to that.He walks. He walks in the hot, dry, windless
    desert. Sand, rocks, hills,dunes, the occasional scrawny cactus or dried
    bush. No sign of water.Sometimes he’ll see a little movement to one side or
    the other, but whatever moved is usually gone before he can focus his eyes on
    it. Probably birds, lizards, or mice. Maybe snakes, though they usually move
    more at night. He’s careful to stay away from the movements.After a
    while, he begins to stagger. He’s not sure if it’s fatigue, heatstroke
    finally catching him, or maybe he was wrong and the denaturing of the wiper
    fluid was worse than he thought. He tries to steady himself, and keep
    going.After more walking, he comes to a large stretch of sand. This is
    good! Heknows he passed over a stretch of sand in the SUV – he remembers
    doingdonuts in it. Or at least he thinks he remembers it – he’s getting
    woozyenough and tired enough that he’s not sure what he remembers any more
    or ifhe’s hallucinating. But he thinks he remembers it. So he heads off into
    it,trying to get to the other side, hoping that it gets him closer to the
    town.He was heading for a town, wasn’t he? He thinks he was. He isn’t
    sure any more. He’s not even sure how long he’s been walking any more. Is it
    still morning? Or has it moved into afternoon and the sun is going down again?
    It must be afternoon – it seems like it’s been too long since he started
    out.He walks through the sand.After a while, he comes to a big
    dune in the sand. This is bad. He doesn’tremember any dunes when driving
    over the sand in his SUV. Or at least hedoesn’t think he remembers any. This
    is bad.But, he has no other direction to go. Too late to turn back now.
    He figuresthat he’ll get to the top of the dune and see if he can see
    anything fromthere that helps him find the town. He keeps going up the
    dune.Halfway up, he slips in the bad footing of the sand for the second
    or thirdtime, and falls to his knees. He doesn’t feel like getting back up –
    he’lljust fall down again. So, he keeps going up the dune on his hand and
    knees.While crawling, if his throat weren’t so dry, he’d laugh. He’s
    finallygotten to the hackneyed image of a man lost in the desert – crawling
    throughthe sand on his hands and knees. If would be the perfect image, he
    imagines, if only his clothes were more ragged. The people crawling through the
    desertin the cartoons always had ragged clothes. But his have lasted without
    anyrips so far. Somebody will probably find his dessicated corpse half
    buried in the sand years from now, and his clothes will still be in fine shape
    -shake the sand out, and a good wash, and they’d be wearable again. He
    wishes his throat were wet enough to laugh. He coughs a little instead, and it
    hurts.He finally makes it to the top of the sand dune. Now that he’s at
    the top,he struggles a little, but manages to stand up and look around. All
    he seesis sand. Sand, and more sand. Behind him, about a mile away, he
    thinks hesees the rocky ground he left to head into this sand. Ahead of him,
    moredunes, more sand. This isn’t where he drove his SUV. This is Hell. Or
    close enough.Again, he doesn’t know what to do. He decides to drink the
    rest of the wiperfluid while figuring it out. He takes out the bottle, and
    is removing thecap, when he glances to the side and sees something.
    Something in the sand. At the bottom of the dune, off to the side, he sees
    something strange. It’s a flat area, in the sand. He stops taking the cap of the
    bottle off, and tries to look closer. The area seems to be circular. And it’s
    dark – darker than the sand. And, there seems to be something in the middle of
    it, but he can’t tell what it is. He looks as hard as he can, and still can tell
    fromhere. He’s going to have to go down there and look.He puts the
    bottle back in his pocket, and starts to stumble down the dune.After a few
    steps, he realizes that he’s in trouble – he’s not going to be able to keep his
    balance. After a couple of more sliding, tottering steps, he falls and starts to
    roll down the dune. The sand it so hot when his body hits it that for a minute
    he thinks he’s caught fire on the way down – like a movie car wreck flashing
    into flames as it goes over the cliff, before it ever even hits the ground. He
    closes his eyes and mouth, covers his face with his hands, and waits to stop
    rolling.He stops, at the bottom of the dune. After a minute or two, he
    finds enoughenergy to try to sit up and get the sand out of his face and
    clothes. Whenhe clears his eyes enough, he looks around to make sure that
    the dark spotin the sand it still there and he hadn’t just imagined
    it.So, seeing the large, flat, dark spot on the sand is still there, he
    beginsto crawl towards it. He’d get up and walk towards it, but he doesn’t
    seem tohave the energy to get up and walk right now. He must be in the final
    stagesof dehydration he figures, as he crawls. If this place in the sand
    doesn’thave water, he’ll likely never make it anywhere else. This is his
    lastchance.He gets closer and closer, but still can’t see what’s in
    the middle of thedark area. His eyes won’t quite focus any more for some
    reason. And liftinghis head up to look takes so much effort that he gives up
    trying. He justkeeps crawling.Finally, he reaches the area he’d seen
    from the dune. It takes him a minute of crawling on it before he realizes that
    he’s no longer on sand – he’s now crawling on some kind of dark stone. Stone
    with some kind of marking on it – a pattern cut into the stone. He’s too tired
    to stand up and try to see what the pattern is – so he just keeps crawling. He
    crawls towards the center,where his blurry eyes still see something in the
    middle of the dark stonearea.His mind, detached in a strange way,
    notes that either his hands and knees are so burnt by the sand that they no
    longer feel pain, or that this darkstone, in the middle of a burning desert
    with a pounding, punishing sunoverhead, doesn’t seem to be hot. It almost
    feels cool. He considers lyingdown on the nice cool surface.Cool,
    dark stone. Not a good sign. He must be hallucinating this. He’sprobably in
    the middle of a patch of sand, already lying face down anddying, and just
    imagining this whole thing. A desert mirage. Soon thebeautiful women
    carrying pitchers of water will come up and start giving hima drink. Then
    he’ll know he’s gone.He decides against laying down on the cool stone.
    If he’s going to die herein the middle of this hallucination, he at least
    wants to see what’s in thecenter before he goes. He keeps
    crawling.It’s the third time that he hears the voice before he realizes
    what he’shearing. He would swear that someone just said, “Greetings,
    traveler. You donot look well. Do you hear me?”He stops crawling. He
    tries to look up from where he is on his hands andknees, but it’s too much
    effort to lift his head. So he tries somethingdifferent – he leans back and
    tries to sit up on the stone. After a fewseconds, he catches his balance,
    avoids falling on his face, sits up, andtries to focus his eyes. Blurry. He
    rubs his eyes with the back of his handsand tries again. Better this
    time.Yep. He can see. He’s sitting in the middle of a large, flat, dark
    expanseof stone. Directly next to him, about three feet away, is a white
    post orpole about two inches in diameter and sticking up about four or five
    feetout of the stone, at an angle.And wrapped around this white rod,
    tail with rattle on it hovering andseeming to be ready to start rattling, is
    what must be a fifteen foot longdesert diamondback rattlesnake, looking
    directly at him.He stares at the snake in shock. He doesn’t have the
    energy to get up andrun away. He doesn’t even have the energy to crawl away.
    This is it, hisfinal resting place. No matter what happens, he’s not going
    to be able tomove from this spot.Well, at least dying of a bite from
    this monster should be quicker thandying of thirst. He’ll face his end like
    a man. He struggles to sit up alittle straighter. The snake keeps watching
    him. He lifts one hand and wavesit in the snake’s direction, feebly. The
    snake watches the hand for amoment, then goes back to watching the man,
    looking into his eyes.Hmmm. Maybe the snake had no interest in biting
    him? It hadn’t rattled yet -that was a good sign. Maybe he wasn’t going to
    die of snake bite after all.He then remembers that he’d looked up when
    he’d reached the center herebecause he thought he’d heard a voice. He was
    still very woozy – he waslikely to pass out soon, the sun still beat down on
    him even though he wasnow on cool stone. He still didn’t have anything to
    drink. But maybe he hadactually heard a voice. This stone didn’t look
    natural. Nor did that whitepost sticking up out of the stone. Someone had to
    have built this. Maybethey were still nearby. Maybe that was who talked to
    him. Maybe this snakewas even their pet, and that’s why it wasn’t
    biting.He tries to clear his throat to say, “Hello,” but his throat is
    too dry. Allthat comes out is a coughing or wheezing sound. There is no way
    he’s goingto be able to talk without something to drink. He feels his
    pocket, and thebottle with the wiper fluid is still there. He shakily pulls
    the bottle out,almost losing his balance and falling on his back in the
    process. This isn’tgood. He doesn’t have much time left, by his reckoning,
    before he passesout.He gets the lid off of the bottle, manages to
    get the bottle to his lips,and pours some of the fluid into his mouth. He
    sloshes it around, and thenswallows it. He coughs a little. His throat feels
    better. Maybe he can talknow.He tries again. Ignoring the snake, he
    turns to look around him, hoping tospot the owner of this place, and croaks
    out, “Hello? Is there anyone here?”He hears, from his side, “Greetings.
    What is it that you want?”He turns his head, back towards the snake.
    That’s where the sound had seemedto come from. The only thing he can think
    of is that there must be aspeaker, hidden under the snake, or maybe built
    into that post. He decidesto try asking for help.”Please,” he croaks
    again, suddenly feeling dizzy, “I’d love to not bethirsty any more. I’ve
    been a long time without water. Can you help me?”Looking in the
    direction of the snake, hoping to see where the voice wascoming from this
    time, he is shocked to see the snake rear back, open itsmouth, and speak. He
    hears it say, as the dizziness overtakes him and hefalls forward, face first
    on the stone, “Very well. Coming up.”A piercing pain shoots through his
    shoulder. Suddenly he is awake. He sitsup and grabs his shoulder, wincing at
    the throbbing pain. He’s momentarilydisoriented as he looks around, and then
    he remembers – the crawl across thesand, the dark area of stone, the snake.
    He sees the snake, still wrappedaround the tilted white post, still looking
    at him.He reaches up and feels his shoulder, where it hurts. It feels
    slightly wet.He pulls his fingers away and looks at them – blood. He feels
    his shoulderagain – his shirt has what feels like two holes in it – two
    puncture holes -they match up with the two aching spots of pain on his
    shoulder. He had beenbitten. By the snake.”It’ll feel better in a
    minute.” He looks up – it’s the snake talking. Hehadn’t dreamed it. Suddenly
    he notices – he’s not dizzy any more. And moreimportantly, he’s not thirsty
    any more – at all!”Have I died? Is this the afterlife? Why are you
    biting me in theafterlife?””Sorry about that, but I had to bite
    you,” says the snake. “That’s the way Iwork. It all comes through the bite.
    Think of it as natural medicine.””You bit me to help me? Why aren’t I
    thirsty any more? Did you give me adrink before you bit me? How did I drink
    enough while unconscious to not bethirsty any more? I haven’t had a drink
    for over two days. Well, except forthe windshield wiper fluid… hold it,
    how in the world does a snake talk?Are you real? Are you some sort of Disney
    animation?””No,” says the snake, “I’m real. As real as you or anyone is,
    anyway. Ididn’t give you a drink. I bit you. That’s how it works – it’s what
    I do. Ibite. I don’t have hands to give you a drink, even if I had water
    justsitting around here.”The man sat stunned for a minute. Here he
    was, sitting in the middle of thedesert on some strange stone that should be
    hot but wasn’t, talking to asnake that could talk back and had just bitten
    him. And he felt better. Notgreat – he was still starving and exhausted, but
    much better – he was nolonger thirsty. He had started to sweat again, but
    only slightly. He felthot, in this sun, but it was starting to get lower in
    the sky, and the coolstone beneath him was a relief he could notice now that
    he was no longerdying of thirst.”I might suggest that we take care
    of that methanol you now have in yoursystem with the next request,”
    continued the snake. “I can guess why youdrank it, but I’m not sure how much
    you drank, or how much methanol was leftin the wiper fluid. That stuff is
    nasty. It’ll make you go blind in a day ortwo, if you drank enough of
    it.””Ummm, n-next request?” said the man. He put his hand back on his
    hurtingshoulder and backed away from the snake a little.”That’s the
    way it works. If you like, that is,” explained the snake. “Youget three
    requests. Call them wishes, if you wish.” The snake grinned at hisown joke,
    and the man drew back a little further from the show of fangs.”But there
    are rules,” the snake continued. “The first request is free. Thesecond
    requires an agreement of secrecy. The third requires the binding
    ofresponsibility.” The snake looks at the man seriously.”By the
    way,” the snake says suddenly, “my name is Nathan. Old Nathan,Samuel used to
    call me. He gave me the name. Before that, most of the Boundused to just
    call me ‘Snake’. But that got old, and Samuel wouldn’t standfor it. He said
    that anything that could talk needed a name. He was big intonames. You can
    call me Nate, if you wish.” Again, the snake grinned. “Sorryif I don’t offer
    to shake, but I think you can understand – my shake soundssomewhat
    threatening.” The snake give his rattle a little shake.
    wouldn’t it?””Yep,” replied
    Nate, “being as he’d be human too.””Has anyone ever seriously considered
    it?” asked Nate. “Any of those boundto secrecy, that is?””Well, of
    course, I think they’ve all seriously considered it at one time oranother.
    Being given that kind of responsibility makes you sit down andthink, or so
    I’m told. Samuel considered it several times. He’d often getdisgusted with
    humanity, come out here, and just hold the lever for a while.But he never
    pulled it. Or you wouldn’t be here.” Nate grinned some more.Jack sat
    down, well back from the lever. He looked thoughtful and puzzled atthe same
    time. After a bit, he said, “So this makes me the Judge ofhumanity? I get to
    decide whether they keep going or just end? Me?””That seems to be it,”
    agreed Nate.”What kind of criteria do I use to decide?” said Jack. “How
    do I make thisdecision? Am I supposed to decide if they’re good? Or too many
    of them arebad? Or that they’re going the wrong way? Is there a set of rules
    for that?””Nope,” replied Nate. “You pretty much just have to decide on
    your own. It’sup to you, however you want to decide it. I guess that you’re
    just supposedto know.””But what if I get mad at someone? Or some
    girl dumps me and I feelhorrible? Couldn’t I make a mistake? How do I know
    that I won’t screw up?”protested Jack.Nate gave his kind of
    snake-like shrug again. “You don’t. You just have totry your best,
    Jack.”Jack sat there for a while, staring off into the desert that was
    rapidlygetting dark, chewing on a fingernail.Suddenly, Jack turned
    around and looked at the snake. “Nate, was Samuel theone bound to this
    before me?””Yep,” replied Nate. “He was a good guy. Talked to me a lot.
    Taught me toread and brought me books. I think I still have a good pile of
    them buriedin the sand around here somewhere. I still miss him. He died a
    few monthsago.””Sounds like a good guy,” agreed Jack. “How did he
    handle this, when youfirst told him. What did he do?””Well,” said
    Nate, “he sat down for a while, thought about it for a bit, andthen asked me
    some questions, much like you’re doing.””What did he ask you, if you’re
    allowed to tell me?” asked Jack.”He asked me about the third request,”
    replied Nate.”Aha!” It was Jack’s turn to grin. “And what did you tell
    him?””I told him the rules for the third request. That to get the third
    requestyou have to agree to this whole thing. That if it ever comes to the
    pointthat you really think that humanity should be ended, that you’ll come
    hereand end it. You won’t avoid it, and you won’t wimp out.” Nate looked
    seriousagain. “And you’ll be bound to do it too, Jack.””Hmmm.” Jack
    looked back out into the darkness for a while.Nate watched him,
    waiting.”Nate,” continued Jack, quietly, eventually. “What did Samuel
    ask for withhis third request?”Nate sounded like he was grinning
    again as he replied, also quietly,”Wisdom, Jack. He asked for wisdom. As
    much as I could give him.”

    Reply ↓

  52. 个人其实很讨厌那种明明自己就点了一份餐还在上菜的时候问服务生上的是什么的那种人. 我遇到过一次,一个白种中老年妇女, 让人非常反感.

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  56. 我也觉得弄一个star wars主题的婚礼会很无聊….尤其是万一是不喜欢这个系列电影的..那不就挂了…:/

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  64. 看到是小S 突然很安心 雖然B2偏心放在星期五 雖然B2沒放上微博不想讓我們知道有小S 雖然B2親熱地叫大S熙媛對小S冷冷的 雖然B2不幫小S換椅子但是大S一來立刻就換 但是該死的B2 我們都愛小S 你存檔壓著放星期五我們還是看得到

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