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SBI-Submarine Pens Proudly Presents:
####========================================================####
THE PURPLE THUNDERBOLT OF SPODE VOL 2, 43
####========================================================####
"One year and REPLIES TO: HailOtis@socpsy.sci.fau.edu
still going strong"
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WRITE TO: IGHF/955 Massachusetts Ave., Suite 209/Cambridge, Ma 02139
####===================================================================####
INTRO
####===================================================================####
An introduction before this is all done. Well, I'm rushing here in an
attempt to get all these little fiddly bits done as soon as possible.
Anyway, we're late and there are two reasons for it. First: the
semester just started here and there is far too much work for one poor soul
to do. So instead of working on purps I've been doing important things like
sleeping.
Second: of course we had a hurricane. I won't bore you with the long
and short of it, but it was hell. (If you want the long and short of it
write HailOtis@socpsy.sci.fau.edu and ask for it.)
Socpsy is located in Boca Raton which is about 30 to 50 miles north of
Miami where all the damage was. Mostly around here we had some trees fall
over and many power lines down. At the amazing Sea Frolic where I live, our
largest palm tree came crashing down and about went through the picture
window to our place that looks out on the beach. The other mess was the
electric pole we had on our property was at a 45 degree angle for a while,
but that's all taken care of. The real harm was done to you dear narrator.
In short here's what happened to him.
1. Spent Saturday night moving his stuff to his office.
2. Spent Sunday morning buttoning up his place and chopping down two 70
gallon trash cans full of coconuts along with moving a ton of beach
furniture to higher ground.
3. Evacuated and moved his supplies to his office only to be escorted off
campus by the police who refused to let him back into his office to get his
water and such.
4. Snuck back on campus from the FAU shelter which was sort of on campus.
Carried some of his stuff back to the shelter. [While this was going on
it was about 100 degrees and 100% humidity.]
5. After two hours the shelter was shut down due to lack of people to man
it.
6. Moved to another shelter and spent the night on the floor of a gym. I
had a good case of heat stroke as well.
7. At 10 the next day while the Sea Frolic was still out of reach that
shelter shut down and I moved to another one.
8. This shelter told me the Sea Frolic was open so I went home.
9. Sometime in the afternoon the power went on.
10. Next day drove through downtown Ft. Lauderdale with half the lights out
of commission to pick up Lulu. Yep. As fate would have it, Lulu was up
north during the whole mess so she missed out on all the fun.
Yes, you should feel sorry for me. It was hell. It was a nightmare of
ugliness. I never ever ever ever want to go through that again. In some
ways I'm still recovering from that nightmare.
Anyway, everything here is back to normal. We are getting some new
software in the near future so maybe I can finally get a listserver or an
ftp site running. Other than that purps is alive and well and grooving.
Lately we've had quite a few new subscribers and I more than welcome them.
We need them. It's nice to feel that purps is actually being read by folks.
In the news, Doc Simpson seems to have disappeared. His mailing
addressing DC is no longer forwarding his mail. I suppose I'll have to use
his home address or something.
This issue of purps was thrown together with some haste and is a might
smaller than the last one. There will be no Messenger of the Gods story,
seeing at it wasn't written. However there should be enough to amuse you.
Special thanks in this issue goes to GARBETT@utkvx.utk.edu for a
continuation of his amazing wrestling business from last issue. Also to
ArchBishop Chad who at this time is gearing up for another full semester of
Otisian activities and recruiting. He is accepting donations of any way
shape and form to help him. He is especially looking for "a large net
that's kinda hard to see in the dark" so pass any of those along to him you
can find.
####===================================================================####
POST INTRO
####===================================================================####
And now we have the Post Introduction. This is the part I write after
being delayed yet again. This time around I had to move. My landlord had
been telling me for some time that I'd have to move to this other unit at
the wonderful Sea Frolic (yeah I live at the Sea Frolic. Isn't that just
ever so quaint?). Well, he hemmed and hawed and kept saying not to worry
about moving. Then I saw him a couple Fridays ago and he half mentioned
something about knocking down a wall between where he lives and I do. So we
(the infamous Lulu and Myself) ended up having to move which was almost as
traumatic as the hurricane business. I really don't want to talk about that
now, but we're more or less happily settled here at our new place. Sad to
say we no longer have a view of the ocean. However we do have more space
for important things like the filing cabinet full of back issues of Purps
and a sort of office Purps can now be composed in. Also we have plenty of
pseudo wood paneling that reminds one of a rumpus room your dad might make
in the basement.
Well, we've had more news as it were. The Pope--yeah you remember him,
the Luminary who started this amazing journal of enlightenment, is back on
the internet. His official address is now jstevens@world.std.com. This site
gives him real access to the internet so he'll probably be on irc and Otis
knows what else. You might want to drop him a line and tell him you're glad
to have him back. Otis knows I am. It's no fun to fall asleep at the helm
and not have someone to wake you up in an emergency. Maybe now that he's on
line he can finally send along that owner's manual to the Purps yacht I'm
always trying to lay my hands on. We can't seem to figure out the remote
control to the "media center". Nor were the entire collection of Gilligan's
Island video tapes labeled "Survival Manuals" very helpful.
Since the new school year has started up I've received a ton of
petitions for subscription. If you know anyone who wants on the purps list
have them drop us a line. Also thanks to everyone who has lately been
sending in submissions. Hopefully most of them can get put in the next issue
of Purps, which I suspect will be the start of Volume Three. [No I'm not
going to start with Number 1 again. It's going to be Volume Three Number
44. Yes, I know that's not the way it's supposed to be but that's the way
it has to be because of the way Purps is archived at this time.]
If there is anyone out there reading this who wants to set up a Purps
archive please let us know. We're especially interested in having a gopher
site.
Okay I've droned enough. I'm just making more work for Lulu.
####===================================================================####
A DRUG CALLED BOB
####===================================================================####
Date: Fri, 14 Aug 92 09:20:54 CDT
From: Reverend John <UC521832@MIZZOU1.missouri.edu>
Subject: friend of mine just sent me this
From: nuke@reed.edu (Bill Newcomb)
Subject: Drugs
Date: Sat, 8 Aug 92 13:27:49 PDT
Hey ho wha ha hi
Howza? Here are the descriptions of the effects of a drug called BOB, by
Alexander Shulgin, a PhD organic synthetic chemist, from his book
"Phenethylamines I have known and loved". Enjoy...
QUALITATIVE COMMENTS: (with 10 mg) I don't know if it was me this day, or
if it was the chemical, but I got into a granddaddy of a paranoid,
sociopathic snit, without feeling and without emotion. I was indifferent
to everything. Later on, there was some improvement, with body tingling
(good, I'm pretty sure) and a sense of awareness (good, I guess) but I
still canceled my evening dinner company. All in all, pretty negative.
(with 10 mg) I had to get away and into myself, so I weeded in the
vegetable garden for almost an hour. Then I lay down in the bedroom, and
enjoyed a magnificent vegetable garden, in Southern France, in my mind's
eye. An extraordinary zucchini. And the weeds had all been magically
pulled. In another couple of hours a neurological over-stimulation became
apparent, and I spent the rest of the day defending myself. In the
evening, I took 100 milligrams phenobarbital which seemed to smooth things
just enough. Too bad. Nice material, otherwise.
(with 15 mg) The erotic was lustful, but at the critical moment of orgasm,
the question of neurological stability became quite apparent. Does one
really let go? Everything seemed a bit irritable. The tinnitus was quite
bad, but the excitement of the rich altered place I was in was certainly
worth it all. Through the rest of the day, I became aware of how tired I
was, and how much I wanted to sleep, and yet how scared I was to give
myself over to sleep. Could I trust the body to its own devices without me
as an overseeing caretaker? Let's risk it. I slept. The next day there
was a memory of this turmoil. Clearly the first part of the experience
might have been hard to define, but it was quite positive. But the last
part makes it not really worth while.
EXTENSIONS AND COMMENTARY: This compound, BOB, is the most potent of the
BOX series. And yet, as with all of the members of this family, there are
overtones of physical concern, and of some worry as to the integrity of the
body. There may well be a separation of activity with the two optical
isomers, but there is not a tremendous push to explore this particular
family much further. They can't all be winners, I guess. What would be
the activities of compounds with a sulfur instead of an oxygen at the
beta-oxygen position? What would be the nature of action if there were an
alpha-methyl group, making all of these into amphetamine derivatives? Or
what about both a sulfur and a methyl group? And what about the isomers
that are intrinsic to all of this, the threo- and the erythro- and the
RDU'S and the RLU'S? All this is terra incognita, and must someday be
looked into. It is chemically simple, and pharmacologically provocative.
Someone, somewhere, someday, answer these questions!
####===================================================================####
BODY PAINTING
####===================================================================####
From: zaphod@ctrg.rri.uwo.ca (Lance R. Bailey)
Subject: body painting
Date: 7 Aug 92 20:20:39 GMT
A while back we discussed body painting ala goldfinger and whether or not
it is fatal. Following is an article from the August 9th edition of the
Medical Post. (reproduced without permission 'natch). it has a full back
shot and a waist up front shot. man -- this guy (shaved head and all) was
BLUE.
THWARTED LOVER GETS THE BLUES -- Pippa Wysong
New York - When a man covered in tinted lacquer entered a German hospital,
doctors knew right away he was feeling blue.
In fact, the man had covered himself entirely with blue-tinted lacquer in a
suicide attempt after a failed romance. He had heard the gold-covered model
in the opening credits in the James Bond movie "Goldfinger" had died from
complications of whole-body paint and thought that was the way to go.
The 22-year-old latter-day Werther thought he would die of slow
asphyxiation, but the doctors were more worried about the lacquer's
possible toxic effects.
At the recent 18th annual World Congress of Dermatology and Allergology in
Augsburg, Germany, Dr. Robert Plier, professor of medicine at the Clinic of
Dermatology, outlined the doctors' attempts at treating their blue patient.
Even though he was covered in lacquer, the patient was still getting ample
oxygen, "Oxygen intake by the skin is only 2% of the whole body's intake,"
Dr. Plier said in an interview.
After tracking down the type of lacquer (an alkyd resin) and the brand,
doctors found their patient was in no danger of suffering toxic effects.
"The color particles are surrounded by polyesters. Usually they can't be
absorbed," Dr. Plier said.
Some lacquers, however, contain phenol, a substance that can cause kidney
and liver toxicity. "Other possible dangers of this are toxic dermatitis by
solvents or other substances inside the lacquer."
If the lacquer had contained other irritating or toxic substances, the
patient could have ended up with blisters or red skin.
In this particular case, the patient wasn't in danger. It turned out the
worst thing doctors could have done would have been to try to remove the
lacquer. "You could endanger the patient by trying to remove it with
organic solvents. they are all toxic," he said.
The patient didn't even suffer from hypothermia, something one would expect
with overall coating of the skin. Eventually doctors let the patient go,
advising him the lacquer would eventually peel off.
The patient was "quite satisfied by getting so much attention. He did it a
second time two weeks later," Dr. Pleir said. But the second time he
decided to sweeten things up a bit and added sugar to the lacquer.
Both times the patient refused psychiatric help.
####===================================================================####
A RELIGIOUS TALE 3
####===================================================================####
(((((((((((((Chapter Three))))))))))))
{As you may last recall, we left our hero in a terrible fix. He had
just received a telegram from a divine message disguised as a telegram boy.
The message on that telegram had really put a damper on things.
It told Wilberforce (for those of you at home who have forgotten he's
our hero.) that he had to remain celibate on his quest (which has still not
been disclosed owing to the fact that I haven't quite figured out what it
is yet.) We now join the story a few minutes after the messenger had
departed.}
"Come on big fellah give Trixie a kiss," said the leather clad woman
with the beehive, batting her eyes.
"I....I....can't," stammered the bender of wire.
"You're not one of THOSE, are you?" she asked, drawing away from him.
"No, you see it's this quest nonsense. I have to...you know..."
"Bathe?"
"No, I can't have sex..."
"Have you seen a doctor about it? I know a good one if you haven't.
He's great at taking out bullets."
"No you don't understand. I'm on a holy quest and I'm supposed to
remain celibate."
"That's silly," she said taking a lunge at him and smothering him in
an embrace. Wilberforce struggled, but his soft life had left him weak and
he could do nothing about it. Soon he was having too much fun and forgot
about his holy quest.
The next thing Fred knew it was morning. The air was cool and crisp.
He found himself lying naked in a tangle of sleeping bags next to an
equally naked Trixie.
Sudden realization hit him and he leapt to his feet looking around to
see if he was being watched. Seeing a sea of sleeping Hell's Angels around
him he then looked up at the sky.
He couldn't see anyone watching him, so he breathed a sigh of relief.
He then gave a start as he realized that there was a small man dressed in
top and tails standing next to him wearing pitch black Italian sun glasses.
"It's not you is it?" Wilberforce asked, peering at the little man with
bleary eyes.
"I, my good man, happen to represent... let's just say the Competition,"
said the little man in an oily voice holding out a bright red business card
to Wilberforce.
"Competition?" asked Wilberforce taking the card and then dropping it
as it burned his fingers.
"Hell, foolish mortal."
"What do you want with me?"
"Well you see my good man, the boss send me over to try to see if I
could possibly make some deal with you. We noticed that you really seemed
to enjoy last night. How'd you like it if we swung it so you could have that
much fun every night?"
"Ah...I wasn't supposed to do that. I'm on a holy quest."
"Do you mind if I point something out to you dear sir?"
"No."
" All right then. Now aren't gentlemen on a holy quests supposed to be
celibate?"
"Well... yes," said the artist scratching his naked belly and beginning
to feel a bit silly.
"Have you been celibate?"
"Well...no I guess I haven't..."
"And that means..." prompted the man from hell.
"Gee I'm getting cold," said Wilberforce reaching down and wrapping a
sweat soaked sleeping bag around himself.
"Okay fat head. It means this. You have to be celibate to be on a holy
quest and since you aren't celibate you can't be on a holy quest."
"Hey that makes sense," observed Fredric. He realized he was free. He
could go home now and not have to deal with this silly quest. Back to his
lovely home and all its convenience, like his pasta maker. No more worries
or cares. Back to bending wire into shapes people paid big bucks for.
####===================================================================####
GULF BREEZE SIX IN THE NEWS AGAIN
####===================================================================####
[For those of you with long memories, a note on this appeared in one of the
earlier Purps issues. However, it was lacking in some of the details this
one contains.]
Date: Sat, 15 Aug 92 13:02:33 MDT
Subject: Return of the Gulf Breeze 6
From: Michael.Corbin@p0.f428.n104.z1.FIDONET.ORG (Michael Corbin)
Subject: Gulf Breeze Six In The News Again
Date: 5 Aug 92 00:56:02 GMT
ParaNet Information Services
Reprinted from the Rocky Mountain News, Sunday, August 2, 1992,
Page 16
EX-ARMY INTELLIGENCE ANALYST SETS THE RECORD 'STRAIGHT' ON TRIP
NOW HE TELLS US: GHOSTS MADE 'EM GO AWOL -- NOT JESUS IN A UFO
Associated Press
Albuquerque -- When Vance Davis and five of his friends went
AWOL, it was reported that they had gone to a Florida beach to
await the Second Coming of Jesus Christ in a UFO.
No way, says Davis.
"How ridiculous can you get?" he asks. "Jesus Christ is
Jesus Christ. Why would he come in a flying saucer?"
No, says Davis, the reason they left their Army intelligence
posts was simple: Ouija Board spirits told them they were needed
to help lead the world through an impending cataclysm.
For two years, since the six turned up in the Pensacola
suburb of Gulf Breeze, Fla. -- unleashing one of the weirdest
stories of 1990 -- they have remained silent.
But Davis now says he wants to tell his story to set the
record straight and because, according to the Ouija Board, race
riots in Los Angeles were to be a signal the group should go
public.
The six former intelligence analysts, all with top-secret
security clearances, were reported missing from their Augsburg,
West Germany, base on July 9, 1990.
They were arrested five days later after one was stopped for
a broken tail light in Gulf Breeze, a beach town known for
reported UFO sightings.
Two weeks later, they were honorably discharged from Fort
Knox, Ky., after an Army investigation found no evidence the
soldiers from the 701st Military Intelligence Brigade had been
involved in espionage.
As punishment, they were reduced to the lowest rank and
forfeited half a month's pay. Military officials refused to
discuss the investigation.
Davis, originally from Valley Center, Kan., had the rank of
specialist. Others in the group, with ranks and ages at their
arrests, are: Pfc. Michael Hueckstaedt, 19, of Farson, Wyo.;
Pfc. Kris Perlock, 20, of Osceola, Wis.; Pfc. William Setterberg,
20, of Pittsburgh; Spc. Kenneth Beason, 26, of Jefferson City,
Tenn.; and Sgt. Annette Eccleston, 22, of Hartford, Conn.
It all began innocently in November 1989, Davis says.
"We decided to do some experimentation into things," he
says. "We wanted to see if there was something actually to it --
ESP, parapsychology, ghosts, Tarot cards."
Davis says the members of the group "hit brick walls" until
finally they tried a Ouija Board.
"Someone showed up," he says. "I'm talking spiritually."
In the months that followed, Davis says, several spirits
talked to the group, predicting the Gulf War and the 1990 Iran
earthquake.
What they were destined to do, he says, is teach and prepare
people for the coming world chaos.
"This will be the changing of the Earth and Jesus is
involved," Davis says. "He will come back, and Rapture (the
fundamentalist Christian belief that believers will be swept to
heaven before the world ends) is real."
Davis says that when the group couldn't find a legal way out
of the Army, the Ouija Board told them, "Leave, just leave."
"We had top-secret clearances and never did anything wrong
in our life," Davis says. "Being AWOL was the furthest thing
from our mind."
But on July 3, 1990, they hopped a flight from Munich to
Atlanta, making their way to Gulf Breeze to see two friends -- a
psychic and her housemate who would become Vance's wife, Iris.
After their arrest and release from the Army, the group
split up. Davis, 27, lives in Albuquerque with his wife and
daughter, does odd jobs and gives seminars on "self-sustaining
lifestyles."
"With everything we were told that's supposed to be
occurring in the next five years, we want to be here to help,"
Davis says.
The changes, he says, include numerous earthquakes and
volcano eruptions -- including a major eruption of Mount Rainier
in Washington state -- the devastation of New York City by gas
leak, and food and race riots in every major U.S. city that will
lead to martial law and economic collapse.
"When all this occurs, we'll be gone again," Davis says.
END ARTICLE
PARANET FILENAME: 080292CO.TXT
####===================================================================####
RECRUITING POSTER
####===================================================================####
[Quick get on this right away! This should have been sent out all by
itself. Hopefully it's not too late to draw a few more sheep (or yaks) into
the fold of Otis!]
From: "COPING IS EASY, NOT PUREEING ONE'S LOVED ONE'S IS THE DIFFICULT
PART.- Basil Fawlty" <hessoun@kenyon.edu>
Subject: rant
As someone [If things are uncredited about 99% of the time Mal wrote them.]
pointed out in a recent issue of PURPS [Hail OTIS!], the new school year is
about to start. This raises such questions as how to recruit unsuspecting
new students for the IGHF. Well, one could find a soapbox and start ranting
on the nearest street corner, write to the Pope and obtain
campus/company-wide subscriptions to the Otisian Yellow Pages [Hail
SPODE!], or for a less expensive option do the following: laser print this
post, and editing out this crap on top, xerox the rant below and post it in
prominent places - bulletin boards, above urinals, on stall doors, wherever
an unsuspecting Otisian-to-be might look.
**********************************************
Join!
THE INTERGALACTIC HOUSE OF FRUITCAKES!
The only true faith and house of worship left on this pathetic
little plant.
BE! part of the growing international group that worships OTIS,
and other associated deities.
SEE! the amazing Pope Geoffe I, Archbishop Chad, and Countless Saints
perform untold numbers miracles and other supernatural feats! Must be seen
to be believed, folks!
For more Information, just write to:
IGHF
955 Massachusetts Ave.
Suite 209
Cambridge, MA 02139
or
Internet users: to receive the electronic newsletter of this
dynamic group, PURPS (The Purple Thunderbolt of Spode), write to
HailOtis@socpsy.sci.fau.edu
Don't Forget to send that love-gift of cash, check, or money order, along
with your letter. [All donations are non-tax deductible, but don't let a
little thing like that inhibit your needed generosity, friends.]
####===================================================================####
IMPOSSIBLE APOSTLE!!
####===================================================================####
Date: Wed, 19 Aug 1992 14:36:30 EDT
From: "COPING IS EASY, NOT PUREEING ONE'S LOVED ONE'S IS THE DIFFICULT
PART.- Basil Fawlty" <hessoun@kenyon.edu>
Subject: Impossible Apostle!!
For centuries, followers of other so-called religions have referred to
themselves as apostles of such-and-such or so-and-so. They use this term,
"apostle," to claim a certain specialness or closeness to the object of
their misguided worship.
WELL, have you ever heard of an OTISian apostle. NO! You have not heard
anyone going around, _claiming to be_ an apostle to OTIS. Know why?
BECAUSE!, OTIS doesn't have apostles; they remind her of those other
churches too much. So, He declared that no one who claimed to be an OTISian
apostle could be -- THERE'S NO SUCH THING!
Now, in the great heretical tradition of the OTISian faith, there is now an
apostle of OTIS! That's right! The Impossible Apostle! The One and Only!
ANNALISA, The Impossible Apostle, also the Saint of Tetris!
You too can congratulate her on this non-title, just drop her a note at
VANHOOK@KENYON.EDU
-Archbishop cHAD, Saint of Cynicism and related topics...
####===================================================================####
THE GHOST OF TANGLEWOOD
####===================================================================####
Subject: [garrem@aix.rpi.edu: Re: The Ghost of Tanglewood]
From: garrem@aix.rpi.edu (Matthew Olsen Garretson)
Subject: Re: The Ghost of Tanglewood
Date: Mon, 17 Aug 1992 18:56:06 GMT
Here's what the AP had to say about the Tanglewood ghost a couple of weeks
ago. (Posted without permission; I won't do it again. Honest).
By JEFF DONN=
Associated Press Writer=
LENOX, Mass. (AP) _ Reports that a music-loving ghost is haunting the
Tanglewood Music Festival are proving a magnet for the curious, including
conductor and ``E.T.'' composer John Williams. Williams, whose Boston Pops
Orchestra appears each summer at Tanglewood, spent a day last week joining
in the hunt for a specter that reportedly haunts rehearsal rooms, treads
the halls at its photographic pantheon of musical greats, and even scared
Leonard Bernstein shortly before his death. Some say the ghost has caressed
someone's hair, opened doors and faucets, and rustled around the second
floor of a more than 140-year-old house on the festival grounds. Others
dismiss it as an old house's normal quirks, playing on some overly
sensitive imaginations. One thing appears indisputable: The ghost _ real or
imagined _ has played havoc with some people's nerves. ``It spooks me,''
said Beth Francey, who helps run special events from an office inside the
house. ``You have to leave when you're here alone.'' Others, tickled by the
reports, have prowled around the house and even offered to stay overnight.
A week ago, festival spokeswoman Caroline Smedvig took Williams and two
others on a one-hour walk through the house. On Tuesday, she told of
opening a closet and being met by a mysterious rush of hot air. Marcia
Duncan, the house manager, remembered it as a blast of cold air. The women
said Williams, who wrote the music for Steven Spielberg's tale of an
extraterrestrial visitor, was intrigued by the visit to the house. But he
has since left for a national tour and wasn't available for comment. Other
reported encounters with the ghost were closer still. Duncan said someone _
or something _ once tossed back her hair. She said it made her a believer.
``I never believed in ghosts,'' she said. ``It isn't that you can see
anything or touch anything. It's a creepy feeling.'' She said Bernstein was
sitting at a bay window two months before his death in 1990. ``He flew out
of that window seat,'' recalled Duncan, who was with the composer at the
time. ``He threw his arms toward the sky, saying, `What is it that's here?
Who is it?' ``That was it. He left the house,'' she said. Tanglewood
workers say the ghostly happenings seemed to multiply this summer after
they hung a series of photographs of Tanglewood greats, including
Bernstein, on the second floor. Asked if the spirit is moved by classical
strains, Smedvig said, ``Why else would it have stayed?'' The exact age of
the three-story Victorian home, known as Highwood Manor, is unknown. It was
built as a farmhouse and sold to Samuel G. Ward, a New York banker, in
1846. The 58-year-old Tanglewood festival purchased it in 1986. The mystery
deepened on Tuesday when groundskeeper Jim Mooney mentioned to Smedvig that
his workers moved a stone memorial from a site a couple of hundred yards
from the house 2 1/2 years ago, about the time that people started talking
about the ghost. The 4-foot-high memorial, styled like a tombstone, marked
a spot where 37-year-old Oreb Andrews died in 1822 when a tree fell on him.
The memorial now sits propped against the wall of a shed where it was moved
to make space for a parking lot. Mooney remains a skeptic about the
reported haunting. ``I think it's an old building. It's creaky,'' he said.
``Your imagination plays tricks on you.'' Indeed, imaginations can run wild
amid the rich history of the festival and the New England communities
around it _ once home to the likes of Nathaniel Hawthorne and Herman
Melville. Some even say the spirit of conductor Serge Koussevitzky, the
father of Tanglewood, still reigns over Seranak, his house at the festival.
``We're sort of the nouveau ghost here,'' Smedvig said of the Highwood
Manor haunting. ``Anything in New England takes a long time being
established.'' AP-DS-07-29-92 1125EDT<
####===================================================================####
PHONE CALLS OF THE WEIRD
####===================================================================####
Date: Thu, 20 Aug 92 16:38:09 MDT From: eiverson@NMSU.Edu Subject: weird
phone message
Last night some oddball called up our lab's answering machine from the UK
and left about a 20 minute message. Here's part of it:
Date: Thu, 20 Aug 92 14:47:24 MDT
From: owhite%NMSU.Edu
To: yorick%NMSU.Edu
Subject: your message from the machine
(or at least the first part... (really from ted))
My name is William Kind. The date is Wednesday the nineteenth of august.
I'm phoning from the united kingdom, or England. So it's approaching four o
clock in the morning here... reaching nine o'clock on Tuesday where you
are there. The message is to Yorick Wilks. I'm asking you to look at the
possibility that the brain translates information in terms of the extra
sensory, and that's why it achieves intuition and common sense.
For evidence of esp, or extra sensory perception, look for coincidences
especially within words of significance if I leave you with a few words
that are significant to me personally as examples if you write down the
word choice, underline the letters of choice, and underneath insert the
binary code that's oh 1 of course, you will see that the difference between
the i and the 1 is of a number with no head on it.
But if consciousness is omniprarent, or just is, or if consciousness shall
we say is on open network, we would expect in one or more of the languages
the word for choice to contain THE BINARY CODE, but we all also expect in
one of the words for reason, the word on representing a consent code in the
same way as the ability of on on the computer is a consent code. and you
see If we read across the word reason in English, it would say RE AS ON.
If you write down the word neuron, and with the same meaning the word
neurone [different pronunciation], you will see that the last few letters
of the each word neuron is they would say the words 'you are on' by sound
using letters as symbols. The word neurone is able to say in the last few
letters 'you are one'. if you write the word science, under line the letter
i of science, write down the word genius, underline the letter i in genius,
and two words, i don't know whether you know in the French, je suis, they
spell j e s u i s, the mean 'i am', of course, underline the letter i of je
suis, if we read across the word je suis, you see it is able to say 'jeeze,
you is'. no it is not about abysmal stupidity of the religions, it is
telling you whether the religions like it or not, whether we like it or
not, consciousness is omnipresent and on open network that's why we breathe
in and breathe out molecules, and that is why we eat drink and excrete
molecules. because if consciousness is omnipresent, and on open network,
then even molecules achieve an ability to code as do the atoms within them
as do sub-atoms within them because they belong to consciousness. so it
not only expresses or explains the food chains it also explains fission and
fusion or the creation of stars, galaxies, planets, rock ...
It's telling us the very gen[i]us of sub-atoms able to code within atoms,
the gen[i]us of atoms able to code within molecules. it's not about the
stupidity of the religions, but it's telling us, we are always part of
consciousness in some form or another. which means, in certainty whatever
in a year's time, i have no idea how old you are, incidentally you'll
appreciate the extra sensory as by definition extra sensory, all animals,
plants, insects, etc, birds, deer, then, ultraviolet or ultrasound etc,
infrared, etc, they are of little use in our interactivity on the planet as
human beings and so they remain extra sensory. but je suis is telling us
when you die assuming you are cremated at the time your molecular systems
will finally break down, no bonds will be breathed in by the rest of life.
but you will still be part of consciousness. and just as you will want to
return to the ones you've loved and associated with, so will the molecules
will want to return to the ones they have been associated with and in other
words you will have an extra sensory body. and if that is true, to get
private information, from the paranormal (and the word normal is in the
word paranormal) where we would expect it if we were looking for
information in terms of symbols that communicate information that the brain
is able to recognize, in other words, in terms of language. you would only
need to address the brain of your friend giving information from the
paranormal to any on this side, as if you were addressing an audio-visual
computer. and in those terms in terms of any form of programming in which
the brain takes part, in terms of experience and knowledge, any form of
priority, the brain would translate in those terms to thought. your friend
would not be aware of your presence, except by looking for coincidence.
and you see if we read across the word coincidence it's able to say by
sound co, that's the Latin for together, and we have to cross reference
from one language to another when looking for information in terms of
symbols that communicate information, the word coincidence you have to say
co inside ence by sound coincidence. if we remove the letter i from je
suis you see it leaves behind the word jesus. if we allow je suis as jeeze
you is to identify literal words within je suis, it identifies the word
jesus, leaving behind the letter i which itself is identified by the
meaning of je suis, i am. so, je suis is able to say jeeze you is jesus.
i am i. but it's able to give us a signature, as i am, it identifies the
letter i, leaving behind the word jesus, giving as a signature, i am, i
jesus. if you look at the letters uis in je suis, the easiest word
representing the words you, I and the I within us. by using letters as
symbols, of the letters ui, and the i within the word us. ui and the i
within us, is telling us we only need to touch one hair of our heads to
appreciate an exchange of code, this time between the hair you touch and
the brain.
####===================================================================####
WORLD WRESTLING FEDERATION AND 92 CAMPAIGN PLAYOFFS PART II
####===================================================================####
Date: Wed, 26 Aug 1992 14:22 EST
From: GARBETT@utkvx.utk.edu
"Welcome back to the next part of the World Wrestling Federation and 92
Campaign Playoffs! Tonight's contestants for the title of world champion
include: Bouncing Baby Bill, The Gipper, Mad Dog Gore, Wild Man Bush, and
last but least Clueless Quayle.
Pan in on Wild Man Bush circling Mad Dog Gore and growling like a madman.
The camera picks up on Baby Bill making his moves on a woman in the
tightest possible mini-skirt. Baby Bill notices the camera watching him and
runs over to the camera and looks directly into it and says: "I only stuck
it in once, and I never CAME!" and then Bill proceeds to knock over the
camera.
Cut to camera 2, Having taken a few licks from Mad Dog Gore recently Wild
Man Bush is desperately trying to tag out to The Gipper. The Gipper is
standing beside the ring alternating between combing his hair and bowing to
the audience's cheers. The Gipper finally saunters over to Wild Man Bush as
Gore slams him from behind causing him winch up his face in agony. He puts
out his hand for the tag and just as Bush about reaches it he pulls it back
and straightens his hair. "You know, he wouldn't hurt you so bad if you'd
just stand up and face him," mumbles The Gipper. Bush manages to stand up
and half-heartedly swing at Gore. Clinton comes in for the tag and says "How
much cash you got? You deal with her." Clinton hot and mad runs over and
bounces off the ropes to clothes line Bush and the referee runs in for the
count as Wild Man hits the pad and starts losing his sushi.
Commercial Break
Pan back in on the ring with Bush down and the referee counting, when he
mysteriously forgets how to count and starts over and over and over. Bush
gets up slowly and Baby Bill gets an odd look in his eye. Bush goes over to
his manager and bellows out "YOU'RE FIRED!" and jumps out of the ring in an
unprecedented manner. He runs out to the front row and grabs his old
manager Bad Boy Baker and says "Come on, and show me how to win this
thing."
As he jumps into the ring, the crowd has started to chant waving their
tickets, in an obvious reference to the high fees. "All right, all right I
promise if I win to reduce the ticket fees." With renewed vigor he
head-butts Baby Bill and they begin trading blows. Quayle finally steps up
to the ring after his assistant finishes tying his shoes and Wild Man Bush
tags out to the mighty Clueless Wonder. Quayle steps in and after being
pointed in the right direction he charges screaming "Momma! Dadda! Family
GOOD!". Baby Bill distracted with a waving floozy from the sidelines takes
it full force and the wind is blown out of him.
Cut to news break about impending apocalypse, signs of earthquakes and
hurricanes, oil prices and hurting economy.
Cut to two announcers with head gear and over sized mikes. "Well that is
quite a match we have going this year." "Sure is, last year was such a
disappointment when the contender 2-KaKais turned out to not know how to
wrestle." "What is the winner this year going to receive?" "A amazing
package we have lined up for him. World travel, especially to the middle
east, they love a good match over there. Also a luxurious white mansion
situation in the middle of DC not far from the all-you-can-smoke crack
house special. Included in this is the amazing amount of debt that the
Federation owes which he will be responsible for. If he's smart he can make
this higher and have a 4-year free ride." "Wow sounds really impressive,
who's going to pay for all this......
Cut to Test pattern. Commercial Starts
####===================================================================####
NATURE'S MISUNDERSTOOD ETIQUETTE
####===================================================================####
From: IO10712@MAINE.maine.edu (Rumpleforeskin)
Date: Thu, 27 Aug 92 19:22:23 EDT
There's a plague in this society, and I'm a part of it. I'm actively
annoying people in churches, elevators, and baseball games. One of my most
adept talents is considered repulsive and i am all too often shunned for
it. I speak, of course, of Farting.
Farting is nature's misunderstood etiquette. The sound is one of the most
beautiful in nature, and i need not emphasize the relief it normally brings
to the farter. So why does everyone consider it repulsive? Because it's
always coupled with that unmistakable odor.
My belief is that farting was invented by Otis as a sort of warning device,
just as smoke comes before fire, the sound comes before the smell. So the
next time you hear somebody fart, remember, they can't hold it in forever,
so instead of yelling obscenities at them, just say thank you and politely
move somewhere else. It's as easy as that. Thank you.
I just moved to the big city and I'm really depressed at how fucking rude
everyone is to everyone else. This really doesn't have anything to do with
farting, I just thought I'd mention it.
####===================================================================####
A NEW SUBSCRIBER SPEAKS
####===================================================================####
Date: Fri, 28 Aug 1992 03:08:16 -0400 (EDT)
From: <ap38+@andrew.cmu.edu>
Subject: PURPS subscription
>Having read most of the back issues of PURPS I was intrigued enough to
>decide to write to ask for a subscription.
Let this be an example to you all. Back issues are important! The create
converts! They also help on understand Otisian Dogma and Catma.
>First of all, if there was a higher tech way of asking, forgive me, I
>missed it completely.
Sad to say Purps is trying to move into the high tech world. We are in some
ways but in others we're still old fashioned. I suppose some folks like it
and some don't. Purps has that old fashioned charm in that you actually get
all your mail read and processed by a good old human being, warm body type
person who takes extra care in making sure your mail messages are processed
in their own special and unique way.
As we're always ranting some day we expect to go a bit more automated. But
I suspect we'll always have a bit of that old fashioned personal contact
here and there.
>Second of all, as it is getting quite late, I do not feel nearly
>intelligent enough to write anything more interesting than the boring
.prose you see above...sorry. Oh wait, here is a question about the name
>Mal-3...if Mal-1 is Malaclypse the Elder, and Mal-2 Malaclypse the younger,
>the who the hell would Mal-3 be? Mal the even younger than that? Mal the
>unborn. Mal the confused? Or maybe just Mal-3, and that's it?
This of course is one of those questions we cannot ask. Not even the Pope
knows the answer to this and he's been pondering it for years. Treat this
as a Otisian Koan. Or maybe you can send enough money to the IGHF for you
to get an answer. Of course you can also seek the answer by joining up with
say the Ancient Illuminated Knights of Otis or one of Otis' many other
service organizations.
> Sid the Maladjusted
####===================================================================####
REAL ASTROLOGY
####===================================================================####
Date: Sat, 29 Aug 1992 01:33:38 -0400 (EDT)
From: <ap38+@andrew.cmu.edu>
Subject: PURPS stuff
Cc:
Hello again. I've got a few things you might (and then again you
might not) be interested in. First of all, I have here a weakly astrology
chart that honest to OTIS really exists. I didn't make these things up
myself.
Brezsny's Real Astrology
For the week of August 27
Stolen without permission
Aries : Now that you've decided to get cozier with your fear let's
analyze it more closely. I'd say about 24 percent of the noxious stuff
results from your reluctance to love as much as you could [ack, not
normally so preachy, ah well - Sid]. Another 14 percent originates in a
tendency to mistake your teachers for enemies, and 19 percent from your
refusal to negotiate with the misunderstood monsters in your closet. But
fully 39 percent of your fear is nothing more than free-floating angst you
absorb from the 5 billion global village idiots with whom you share this
planet. That leaves 4 percent unaccounted for, which is the only portion
you have no power to exorcise.
Taurus : You're having more fun than it's technically possible to have
during a depression, I mean recession. And I mean smart, clean fun, not
the carcinogenic kind that requires other people to suffer. I guess this
would be a prime time for me to perform the psychic judo that will
transform you into a REVERSE PARANOIAC -- that is, a wise fool interprets
every evidence that there's a vast conspiracy to make you happy and
successful.
Gemini : Venus, the planet that rules lust at first sight, is about to
bust into your house of Goose Bumps. You're likely, in other words, to
turn into a furnace of nuclear love, a blitzkrieg of intimacy, a firestorm
of tenderness. To ensure your horniness is fully requited, I suggest you
seek divine intervention. Here's some right now, absolutely free of
charge, in the form of a love spell. Cut out a small triangle of red
paper. Imbue it with your favorite scent and burn a small hole in the
center with the flame of a green candle. Write this message on it, "Lust
globally, make love locally." Wear it in your underwear for three days.
Cancer : Sometimes you make it difficult for me to reach you. You
listen but you don't listen. You secretly decide that you don;t want to be
influenced by anyone else but yourself. When you shut me out like that, I
become a little stupid. My oracles don't flow. My language grows stilted.
The magic between us withers. Please don't do this to me now. Don't do it
to yourself either. I understand that you need to insulate yourself from
the prattling purveyors of white noise. But your true allies need you
right now as much as you need them.
Leo : I wonder how far you'd be willing to go for money. Would you
tattoo an advertisement for Diet Coke on your arm if you were offered
$10,000? Would you fake a kidnap of yourself if it would raise $40,000
from your rich uncle? Would you sludge away at meaningless drudge work for
a million peanuts a year? All of that's pretty tame compared to what I'm
going to ask you to do: formulate a plan that'll put you in the exact job
you want by September 1, 1995.
Virgo : or your birthday I'm giving you way to much. First of all,
you have my permission to blame everything on me until September 22. If
anyone growls at you, just growl back, "It's my damn astrologer's fault!"
[Now, that seems like an idea! Hmm, keep the poor sane few out there
thinking - Sid] I'm also arranging for you to receive several lovely
dispensations, including a broken trance, more breathing room, cheaper
thrills, a new freedom song, and a wilder heart. Finally, I promise you the
chance to experience global warming in your pants.
Libra : I can feel the pain your feeling, Libra. I can feel your hurt
and rage and frustration now that you suspect that everybody loves
everybody for the wrong reasons. But I have the cure for what's eating
away your happiness, Libra. I can pull you out of the web of lies and
transport you to the suburbs of paradise. Now stand up straight and tall in
front of your television, and bend and stretch and reach for the sky.
Stick out your tongue and cross our eyes and visualize a big pile of
burning money and kick your own ass. And keep kicking your own ass until
it starts to work.
Scorpio : I won't declare categorically that you'll be mistaken for
Balkan royalty and asked to fly to Sarajevo on a dangerous mission of
peace. But you might. Nor will I predict unequivocally that
behind-the-scenes power-brokers will mudwrestle celebrity VIPs for the
right to sign you to a long- term contract. But they might. Just in case
I'm even ten percent accurate, prepare yourself for an apocalyptic delight
that takes a year to understand.
Sagittarius : You'll know you're in tune with astrological forces this
week if you: get a strong urge to drink a pint of vodka and go
bungee-jumping, but decide instead to correct a relationship snafu; feel
possessed by the desire to smash all you furniture, but decide instead to
brainstorm about improving your job situation; become inflamed with the
fantasy of running naked downtown at dawn while singing the Star-Spangled
Banner, but decide instead to sit down and write the letter that'll change
your life forever.
Capricorn : I pride myself on eating fresh, organic food. Polyester I
regard as a crime against my body. Naturally, I hold my breath while
riding my bike through polluted air; I ceaselessly think loving thoughts;
and I shield myself from the Orwellian plague of omnipresent advertising.
I am, in short, a living triumph over the vile corruptions of our
ecologically insane culture. Yet, every so often, my purity makes my sick.
Then I have no choice but to gobble irradiated Twinkies and memorize Reebok
commercials and call radio talk shows to praise nuclear power. If you
realize what's good for you, you'll realize you are in a similar phase.
You simply must rebel against your fantasies of perfection.
Aquarius : Maybe you have a dream of a better life for those you love.
Maybe you know exactly how they could stop sabotaging themselves and start
harmonizing their subconscious habits with their conscious values.
My savvy suggestion is not to nag them with your savvy suggestions.
Instead, make it inevitable for them to arrive at your conclusions on their
own. Tailing gleefully behind the scenes, rework their environment until
every smell, every conversation, every sign lures them towards their
redemption.
Pisces : Happy Unbirthday! It's that flippy-floppy time halfway
between your birthdays when reverse psychology is the only psychology that
works. Here are a few techniques to get you in the mood: Brag about what
you can't do and don't have. Exaggerate your faults until they become
virtues. Heal yourself by giving yourself more of the same germs that make
you sick. Confess profound secrets to people who aren't particularly
interested. Don't just love your enemies. Love your enemies in case your
friends turn out to be jerks.
> ACK! That turned out to be a lot longer than I thought it
>would be. Sigh, and they managed to fit that on half a tab page.
>You've stumbled across one of the great mysteries of Creiza. If you ponder
>this mystery you may learn many great things.
>Oh well, if you like it I can type out more, and if you don't well oh well.
>In addition to that, I had an idea.
> You see the problem with most of the stories in PURPS is they are
>written by only one person. That means that A) If something happens to
>that person the rest never get to see the story anymore, B) It gets a
>little boring, and C) you only get one OTISian viewpoint per story. The
>solution? Group stories. but not the simple ones you may have participated
>in the past! No, group stories that actually have rules (which can, of
>course, be broken whenever the story needs it) which might even make for
>such things as plot consistency, as much plot consistency as any PURPS
>story has that is. Maybe 3 or so people could get together and each take
>turns writing one chapter at a time, what do you think? Stupid idea? Not
>so stupid idea? Ho hum idea?
Actually this is a really good idea. Otis seems have have really blessed
you this time around. Hopefully She will continue. Since this seems to be
Otis inspired perhaps some of our skilled readers could act on this idea?
We are always looking for submissions *HINT HINT PEALS OF THUNDER*
> Sid the Maladjusted
####===================================================================####
ODDS AND ENDS
####===================================================================####
Date: Thu, 27 Aug 1992 12:56:18 EDT
From: "hi." <hillv@kenyon.edu>
Subject: odds and ends
"..OTIS really is practically everywhere, even at Christian Conference
Centers in the middle of Farm Country, Ohio."
In submission news, I would like to report that the number of faded plastic
deer lawn ornaments in Ohio is on the rise. Should we encourage K-Mart to
stock condoms next to the plastic animals, or are they perhaps flagrantly
and lasciviously reproducing in the wild?? The Republican Party should
definitely look into this, as reproduction doubtless falls under the
category of family values and is something else that they can get upset
about and blame upon the demise of the Ozzie and Harriet lifestyle
syndrome.
"We eat the stuff five times a week--elect us, and we will bring broccoli
back to the White House!" -Hillary Clinton
####===================================================================####
A RELIGOUS TALE 4
####===================================================================####
((((((((((((((((((Chapter Four))))))))))))))))))
{As our viewers may last recall, Fredric Wilberforce, one time artist
and now holy quester, was just informed that he did not have to continue
his quest thanks to a certain lady friend of his.
As this episode opens we join our hero sitting around a fire made out
of various pieces of building and benches in the parking lot of a tavern.
With our hero is a pack of crazed Hell's Angels and a beautiful seductive
leather clad woman known as Trixie who has taken a liking to our over
weight hero.
"Oh please don't leave me Fred. You're just too precious to lose,"
crooned Trixie in her beehive hairdo.
"This guy gave me a bus ticket and told me I could go home. My quest
is over. I can get back to my work. I'd really like to stay but I don't
think this is really the life for me," said Fred trying to be gentle.
"This is the life for everyone!" roared the leader of the Hell's
Angels taking a pull on his beer and gulping some pills to wake him up.
"Fred's a wimp!" someone else yelled.
"No he's not. He's the best man I ever met!" retorted Trixie giving
Wilberforce a knowing smile. He turned red with embarrassment and stood up
looking about for his Scooby Doo lunch box, that contained all his
possessions.
As he looked around, he spotted the crumpled telegram he had tossed
away the night before and looked up at the sky worriedly, wondering why the
guy with the bull horn hadn't made an appearance yet. He also wondered if
he should take the offer of the agent from hell. After all, Trixie had been
a real blast and if he could have that all the time for the rest of his
life it might almost be worth it.
"If you're going to leave, I'm coming with you," said Trixie, also
getting up and starting to pack her meager belongings.
"Yeah, the rest of us will go with you two. We'll give you an escort
home," said someone else.
"Gee I don't know..." said Wilberforce hesitantly, not particularly
wanting a pack of Hell's Angels to be hanging around his expensive home
breaking things.
"Well we've got to go. After all, who will protect Trixie?" argued
another beginning to pack up his stuff. The whole crowd seemed to be
packing now. You could almost feel it in the air. It was as if by
telepathic communication everyone agreed that it was the thing to do.
They'd go live with this Wilberforce dude for a while. It might even be
fun.
The overweight bender of wire realized this and appealed to Trixie for
help. "If they all come it will spoil everything. We'll never have a
chance to be alone."
"Well, he is my husband after all," said Trixie pointed to the leader
of the angles, "Half the year he's an Angel and the other half he's a
computer consultant for IBM."
"What?" stammered Fredric, picturing in his mind the divine messenger
writing more little things in his book. "Where did that guy go anyway?"
wondered our hero. He sort of missed the loud squealing of the bull horn.
Could it mean that he was going to burn in hell forever? And now this
Trixie wasn't as appealing as she had been before. She was a married woman.
What sort of husband put up with a woman like that? This was all too
strange for Wilberforce to take and he fainted.
####===================================================================####
THEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHE
####===================================================================####
--Subink 1992 [Special Thanks to Lulu for Proofreading.]