informis/textfiles
1
0
Fork 0
Code Issues Pull Requests Packages Projects Releases Wiki Activity
textfiles/magazines/TCWF/tcwf146-150.txt

724 lines
29 KiB
Plaintext
Raw Normal View History

Initial commit
2021-04-15 13:31:59 -05:00
From: MX%"dbowen@kryten" 21-JAN-1994 13:55:29.71
To: BOWENEX
CC:
Subj:
Return-Path: <dbowen@kryten>
Received: from amalfi.trl.OZ.AU by VAX1.CCS.DEAKIN.EDU.AU (MX V3.3 VAX) with
SMTP; Fri, 21 Jan 1994 13:55:16 +1000
Received: from kryten.telecom.com.au ([144.136.94.5]) by amalfi.trl.OZ.AU
(8.6.4/8.6.beta.2) with SMTP id NAA01001 for
<bowenex@vax1.viccol.edu.au>; Fri, 21 Jan 1994 13:52:35 +1100
Received: by kryten.telecom.com.au (5.0/SMI-SVR4) id AA16744; Fri, 21 Jan 1994
13:53:16 --1000
Date: Fri, 21 Jan 1994 13:53:16 --1000
From: dbowen@kryten (Daniel Bowen)
Message-ID: <9401210253.AA16744@kryten.telecom.com.au>
To: bowenex@vax1.ccs.deakin.edu.au
Content-Length: 29012
****************************************************************************
### # # ### ##### ## # # # ## ## # # ### ##### ## ### ###
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
# #### ### # # # # # # # # # ## # #### ### # #
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
# # # ### # ## # # # ## ## ## ### # # # # # ###
____________________________________________________________________________
# # ### #### # # #### # # ### #### ##### # # ##### ####
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
# # # # # #### ### ### ##### # # #### ##### # # ##### ###
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
### ### # # # # #### # # ### # # # ##### ##### ####
*****NUMBERS 146 TO 150***********BY DANIEL BOWEN (tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu)*****
"Forgetful Toxic Custard"
_____ ____ _ _ _____ _ _ _ _
|__ __| | __| | |_| | | ___| | | | |_| | | |__ Toxic Custard
| | | |__ | | | | | __| | | |___ | | __ | Workshop Files
|_| |____| |_____| |_| |_| |_| |____| #146 (3/5/93)
......................................................^..............
|
Scarey, isn't it.
O to be a seagull,
To soar just like a dove
To fly throughout the heavens
And crap on from above
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Need to re-lay your carpet? Then come down to Greasy Fred and Al's
Carpet Warehouse for our once a year annual sell out bargain-priced
**** * * *** *** *** * ****
* * * * * * * * * *
**** * * * ** *** ***** * ***
* * * * * * * * * * *
D * * *** *** *** * * **** ****
--------------------------------------------
Going POTty over your carpet? CRACKing up over "HIGH" rug prices?
Then come visit Al's JOINT and he'll be happy to give you a DEAL that
will have you jumping HIGH for joy! You don't have to be a hero or
HEROINe to enjoy our great prices! In fact, you'd have to be a DOPE
to go past these bargains! Most people would rather MARRY an IGUANA
than miss this sale! So, come on a TRIP to Greasy Fred and Al's
Carpet Warehouse today, and win a free COKE!
[Subtle Bros Advertising TC001]
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Is it just me, or does the drummer in Lenny Kravitz's "Are You Gonna
Go My Way" video look like the nasty waitress from Cheers?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
THE APATHETIC COOK
Take all the stuff. Throw into bowl. Stir a bit. Bung in oven at..
oh, say 200oC, if you can be bothered. Wait a while. Take out of
oven and throw at the wall.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Hello kiddies. Amnesia Man here. Yes yes yes, play the fanfare and
all that. ___
/ \
/ \ A M N E S I A M A N
A M N E S I A
/\_______/\ "The Mind Slurper"
/ M A N \
/ \ Part Three
You'll remember last week that I'd been lured (well, okay, so I
walked into it) into a trap by my arch enemy, the cunningly evil, and
evilly cunning Reginald Completebastardprick. The mind slurper
machine had been turned onto full power, and as my face turned blue,
and my mind went even more blank than usual, I knew that I had mere
seconds to live.
Now, the more perceptive smart-arse children amongst you are
going to say "ah, but he must have survived, otherwise he wouldn't be
here now to tell the tale." Well don't be so stupid. I'm not fucking
here, am I. Some poor sod of an author has made it all up. So shut
the fuck up and keep reading like a good little boy and/or girl.
The mind slurper's fifty-seven Duracell batteries burned their
way into the Guiness Book of Records for the most concentrated power
ever to come out of alkaline. The noise from the machine could be
heard miles away. All over the city, angry viewers rushed to thump
their tellies in a vain attempt to stop the noise.
I myself could do little at this stage. By this time my mind
lacked the mental energy required to take advantage of my miraculous
Amnesia Man strength and tear the suction mechanism away from my head
with the brute force I am best known for, so I carried on doing my
impersonation of an imploding blueberry, while Reginald
Completebastardprick laughed himself absolutely silly on the rooftop
above.
But somewhere, deep in my mind, I had the solution. Oh yes, you
can't beat me, the mighty Amnesia Man by merely developing a Mind
Slurper machine and trying to suck my brains out, oh no. The
remaining few cells of my mind formed a plan. They held a brief
committee meeting in the cranium board room, over tea and biscuits.
One of the cells had the formation of an idea, and with help, it
could be allowed to develop into a plan that would rescue my brain,
and the rest of my rather amazing body from its current predicament.
Two of the brain cells at the meeting had been sucked away by the
time it was decided, but the plan was put into action immediately. It
was a brilliant plan. A plan that only the truest of super, super-
dooper super-trooper heroes could have thought up. A plan that would
involve split-second timing, keen coordination, mental and physical
strength, and above all, an eye for fashion.
Yes kiddies, it was the time for me, Amnesia Man, to take control
of my own destiny. The time for me, Amnesia Man, to realise that no
other bastard was going to save me from *this* predicament. The
future lay with me. And I had the plan to match it. The plan that
would get me to safety, head the villain off at the pass, and satisfy
the readers that this story really would finish with a plausible
action-packed ending.
So, here's what happened. I made my move. I... umm... I.. errr.
Oh. I can't remember. Damn.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You have been reading another Toxic Custard
Workshop File. Bad luck. For details of
back-issues, please reply to this message,
or email tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright (c) 1993 Daniel Bowen
--
Daniel Bowen, National Telemarketing Centre| HOLOCAUST!
----Telecom Australia, Melbourne, Australia| Rupert Murdoch blows
dbowen@vcomtelc.telecom.com.au-------------| up oil refinery to
------------TCWF stuff: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu| sell more papers!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"The World's Best Toxic Custard"
TOXIC CUSTARD "known to cure
"as read in WORKSHOP FILES many ailments"
Usenet's great ## ## #######
journal, rec.humor" ## ## ## ##
## ~ ####### ~ ## "laughed at
"masterfully ## ## ## by the great
scribed by ## ## ## and virtuous"
wordsmith "PURVEYORS OF FINEST COMEDY
Daniel Bowen" THE WORLD OVER, SINCE 1990"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I think the time has come for the world to admit defeat. The Bosnian
crisis is just not going to be solved by the Vance / Owen peace plan.
Though these two great men have tried valiantly to achieve peace,
it's just not working.
So it's time for a new plan. I've been getting together with my
good friend Hans (who is German, in keeping with the multinational
tradition of these peace plans), and we've come up with something
that we believe will bring peace to Bosnia:
THE HANS / BOWEN PEACE PLAN, IN THREE EASY STEPS
1. Take a whole shit load of bombs
2. Blow the absolute crap out of everything
3. Wait until the dust settles
Quicker, cheaper, and no more depressing pictures on the telly while
you're trying to eat your dinner.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
ROLL UP, ROLL UP, FOR THE FINEST TOUR OF THIS CITY! SEE THE SIGHTS
AND HEAR THE SOUNDS OF THE REAL MELBOURNE, THE STUFF THAT THE AVERAGE
TOURIST NEVER SEES!
All of these great SIGHTS are included in your itinerary. Everything
that this grand city has to provide!...
- RIDE the longest escalators in the southern hemisphere at
Parliament Station!! (Lean forward while going down, lean back
while going up. Confuse everyone on the parallel escalator.)
- COLLECT photos of all the funny Legal & General billboards!
- WALK on the high-speed moving walkway in the Degraves Street
subway!
- WATCH as dozens of dimwitted motorists ignore the No Entry signs
and drive down Swanston Street Walk! (Jump in front of them and
watch their insurance premiums leap! Or take photos of their
licence plates and send them to VicRoads!)
- COUNT the number of Jennifer Keyte posters that have been defaced!
- WONDER why the telephone place in Elizabeth Street is called The
Beehive!
- SQUINT at the shitty SBS-TV reception in most people's houses!
(Like they care)
- EAT a la carte at the Hare Krishna Crossways cafe in Swanston
Street! (all the vegie shit you can eat for $4)
- SEE if you can find all the places where they filmed bits of
"Phoenix"!
- LISTEN to the automated announcement computer trip over while
saying "Attention platform 1: The 4:54 train to Hurstbridge
stopping at Parliament, Clifton Hill, Ivanhoe, and Heidel...
Heidel... Heidel... Heidelberg then all stations is scheduled to
arrive next" at Museum Station!
- be AMAZED by the confused elevator at 233 Collins Street!
- and SEE the billboard where the giant Elle MacPherson cut-out got
stolen!
And it's not all places, we've got PERSONALITIES!
- BE HASSLED by the odd thin woman in the light blue coat who tells
everyone she's lost her purse/been robbed and asks for money!
(Currently found in the Centreway Arcade, Collins Street,
weeknights around 5:45pm)
- KEEP UPWIND of "Jesus" the tramp, resplendent in old Reeboks and a
white pineapple knit jumper! (complimentary NoseBlok(tm) (ie a
clothespeg) supplied)
- THRILL to the informed debate and intelligent argument from the
weirdos at the Speakers' Forum on Sunday afternoons in the City
Square!
- SHUN the blokes in the light grey (ugh) morning suits who hand out
leaflets outside the Australian Diamond Company! (Try and guess
what music they've got on their Walkmans)
- DONATE to that guy in the wheelchair outside Flinders Street
Station who plays the bagpipes, then THRILL as he gets up and
walks away!!! (Then denounce him as a fraud!)
- IGNORE the invitations to take a personality test from the
Scientologists in Swanston Street! (Tell them you have no
personality)
- GET A PHOTOGRAPH of the guy with the megaphone and the judge's wig
who sits outside the GPO shouting about the legal system!
(complimentary EarBlok(tm) ear-plugs supplied)
- CATCH A FLEETING GLIMPSE of the granny who cycles around Moorabbin
and Brighton with about fifty radios hanging from the handlebars!
- and BE SAVED by the big one, the man himself, the evangelist who
wheels his bannered shopping cart around the shopping centres
trying to convert people by shouting the Scriptures at them!
(ditto with the EarBlok(tm). For more entertainment, shout back.)
Yes, all these attractions and more are ripe for the picking, when
you visit Marvellous Melbourne! (PS, we're still trying to track down
the lady on the Belgrave train who was spotted sipping tea (from a
china teacup), reading a book, and conducting a Walkman orchestra one
Saturday afternoon. Pretentious is the only word.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This has been another edition of the Toxic Custard
Workshop Files. We wish to emphasise that NO ANIMALS
were harmed during the making of this edition of TCWF.
Although it may have looked as though they might have
been in extreme pain, you can rest assured that they
were all trained stunt pets, and that any "blood" you
may have seen was only tomato sauce. Furthermore, no
drugs were smoked, no virgins defiled, and no domestic
appliances were destroyed to bring you this edition of
TCWF. That's the TCWF guarantee. Honest.
Back-issues of TCWF are still available (some ftp
sites never learn, do they?) Reply to this message, or
send mail to tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu for details.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright (c) 1993 Daniel Bowen
--
Daniel Bowen, National Telemarketing Centre| I cannot believe!...
----Telecom Australia, Melbourne, Australia| they now have
dbowen@vcomtelc.telecom.com.au-------------| Lego men with stubble!
------------TCWF stuff: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu|
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Interstellar Toxic Custard"
. ,-------^-------. .
. / O X I \ . .
. / T ,--/-----\--. C \ .
. \ / / \ \ / .
. ____\/__/_________\__\/____ .
. | _ _ ___ _ _ _ | .
. . | | | | |_ | |_| |_| | \ | .
. | |_ |_| _| | | | | \ |_/ | .
. `----------\-----/----------' . .
\148/
\./
ROLL TITLES: "Doctor Who - Revenge of the Unrealistatrons"
SCENE ONE:
----------
[View of some spaceship or isolated underwater base where there's a
bunch of warmongering but hopeless humans about to get fried by some
bunch of monsters, but who are totally unable to call for help from
elsewhere. Inside dozens of people in silly uniforms sit at computers
and walk around prodding machinery, going about their various
duties.]
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: Officer Sega, arm the glutonic missile sprocket,
rewire the circuit produceivers, reprogram the database mullifier and
make me a cup of hydrated prune juice.
SEGA: Yes Commander.
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: And give me the latest report on that mysterious
unidentified object you've been tracking. You know, the one that is
so weird because it appears to be organic matter, and powered by
baked beans.
SCENE TWO:
----------
[Meanwhile, on the baddies spaceship/submarine/control deck, the
Unrealistatrons prepare for attack. Two inside the room are real, the
rest are cardboard cut-outs. These costume budgets are a bugger,
aren't they!]
UNREALISTATRON 1: (very deep alien-type voice. Yep, another race of
aliens who speak perfect English. What's the galaxy coming to?) Are
the rubber suits with antennae attached ready?
UNREALISTATRON 2: Yes leader.
UNREALISTATRON 1: (with great relish) Excellent. Prepare for attack.
Arm the pathetibomb.
UNREALISTATRON 2: The pathetibomb is armed, leader.
UNREALISTATRON 1: (with great relish) Excellent. Fire the
pathetibomb.
UNREALISTATRON 3 (Cardboard cut-out): Yes leader.
UNREALISTATRON 1: (with great relish and a little mustard) Excellent.
SCENE THREE:
------------
[In a corridor on the human craft, the TARDIS arrives with a quaint
old sound-effect. The Doctor steps out, with his platonic companion,
who is naturally a human with a very silly name. The last Doctor Who
companion with a normal name was Sarah Jane Smith in 1975]
JANYETTE: Where are we, Doctor?
DOCTOR: On some sort of base, in the 21st or 22nd century. Two
super-powers are poised at war, just like back in the 1980s and 90s.
[A guard comes around the corner.]
GUARD: Halt! Don't move! You will be treated with extreme suspicion
until the second episode of the story, when we will start to believe
that you're not really working with the aliens, but are innocent
time-travellers roaming through time and space within 30 miles and 27
years of the BBC Television Centre. You will then help us to defeat
the aliens, preferably in a peaceful way so that we will see the
errors of our ways and a positive peaceful message is passed on to
the viewers. But for now, I'm taking you to the command deck. Move!
SCENE FOUR:
-----------
[The human's base command deck]
SEGA: Commander Fleggle, we're under attack!
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: Battle stations! Everyone to your positions! Start
the glutonic missile countdown on the big screen at the front of the
studio so we can go to a strong apocalyptic-type cliff-hanger at the
end of this episode!
GUARD (Entering, with Doctor and Janyette): Commander, I have found
these spies!
DOCTOR: We're not spies, honest. Didn't you see the last episode? We
always coincidentally bungle into battlezones and get suspected of
spying.
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: I don't trust you. What do you think, Nintendo?
NINTENDO: Well, they could be telling the truth...
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: Nonsense. I won't believe that before episode two.
They're spies. And you know what that means when we're at war.
SEGA: The aliens have launched a pathetibomb, Commander!
DOCTOR: Good grief. The Unrealistatrons!
JANYETTE: You know them?
DOCTOR: I dealt with them before. Many years ago, I...
SEGA: Oh shut up, smart arse. Commander, we're in trouble! The
glutonic missile is about to go off, an alien pathetibomb is heading
straight for us, and the zip on my costume is stuck!
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: Quiet Sega! Now, you two are spies, and the legal
conditions made up by the writer give me the power to have you
executed. Guard! Perform the cliff-hanger.
JANYETTE: (Scream) Doctor, do something!
[Close up of the Doctor's face, as the guard comes towards him with a
kerosene heater refill attachment. Roll credits.]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
More of this crap next week. If you'd like
information on back-issues, just reply to this
message, or send mail to tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright (c) 1993 Daniel Bowen
--
Daniel Bowen, National Telemarketing Centre|
----Telecom Australia, Melbourne, Australia| For sale - genuine
dbowen@vcomtelc.telecom.com.au-------------| Wombat dung.
------------TCWF stuff: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu|
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Intergalactic Toxic Custard"
T o x i c
_____ _ _ _____ _______ ______ ____ ____
| ___|| | | || ____||__ __|| __ || __ | | _ \
| |___ | |__| ||____ | | | | __ || _ \ | |_> |
|_____||______||_____| |_| |_| |_||_| \_||____/
149, 24th May 1993, Continuing on from the rather silly issue 148
ROLL TITLES: "Doctor Who - Revenge of the Unrealistatrons" Part Two
SCENE ONE:
(Actually mostly repeat of the previous scene, to save money)
----------
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: You two are spies, and the legal conditions made
up by the writer give me the power to have you executed. Guard!
Perform the cliff-hanger.
JANYETTE: (Scream) Doctor, do something!
[Close up of the Doctor's face, as the guard comes towards him with a
lethal looking kerosene heater refill attachment. Suddenly cut-away,
and press stop on the "Dramatic Music" CD. A timely explosion rocks
the base. All the nasty humans naturally react by not killing the
Doctor, and waving their arms around as the cameraman shakes the
camera up and down]
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: What's that? Corporal Atari, what's happening?
ATARI: The Unrealistatrons are attacking, Commander! Their
pathetibomb has penetrated our hull!
DOCTOR: (interrupting) Commander, you don't stand a chance! The
Unrealistatrons will destroy your base if you try and fight. They'll
kill every last one of you, by pulling your fingers from their
sockets, ramming them down your throats, and then doing rather nasty
things with your lower intestines. You must give in now!
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: Give in? And then what?
DOCTOR: If you surrender to them now, they will come in peace.
They'll take over your base, then kill every last one of you, by
pulling your fingers...
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: I think I get the idea.
DOCTOR: Don't worry! You'll be safe - we can't afford special effects
that good.
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: Alright Doctor. I've suddenly gained complete
respect and a limited amount of trust for you and your scantily clad
colleague with the silly name. But we do this my way. Sega, Nintendo!
Arm the Very Dangerous Missile. And get me radio contact with the
aliens. Err, maybe each of you should do one of those things.
DOCTOR: Commander, these are alien creatures. Their radio signals
will be completely different systems, their communications circuitry
unknown to Earth, and their language may be made of sounds that can't
be heard by the human ear.
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: Hello Unrealistatrons. This is Commander Fleggle
of the deep space probe X54-723 and a half.
VOICE FROM RADIO: Hello Earwigs, err Earthlings.
DOCTOR: Oh.
VOICE FROM RADIO: My name is Pentax. I am leader of the
Unrealistatrons of the planet Mothball 6.
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: Hello Pentax. Why are you attacking us?
VOICE FROM RADIO: Because we're hostile aliens. That's what hostile
aliens do.
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: I must warn you, we are arming our Very Dangerous
Missile. If you do not cease hostilities, we will fire it.
VOICE FROM RADIO: Be warned, Commander. No Earth weapons will have
any effect against us, for we have the Grunge shield activated.
2ND VOICE FROM RADIO: Shh, Pentax, don't tell them about the Grunge
shield!
VOICE FROM RADIO: Oh shut up, Tampax. I know what I'm doing.
DOCTOR: Commander, I may have an idea.
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: Oh? What's that.
DOCTOR: Well, if we... oh. No. It's gone again, sorry.
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: Never mind. Nintendo! Fire the Very Dangerous
Missile!
(Cue sound effect as the missile launches)
VOICE FROM RADIO: Right, I'll do you for that. Tampax, fire the
Cliche Bomb!
JANYETTE: (screams again)
DOCTOR: What is it? Why did you scream?
JANYETTE: Well, there was this gap in the script...
[Another explosion rocks the command centre thingy.]
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: The cliche bomb has hit! We're going to die!
SEGA: We're done for!
NINTENDO: Goodbye cruel world!
ATARI: I'll never play another decent game!
JANYETTE: (scream)
[Close up on the Doctor's face...]
DOCTOR: This is it...
[The camera starts to rock again as the command centre is hit. Roll
credits.]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That should hook your gullible viewers
err readers in next week. Until then,
have you ever considered TCWF back-
issues as a viable part of your life-
style? Well, they're available now!
For details, just send email to
dbowen@vcomtelc.telecom.com.au
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright (c) 1993 Daniel Bowen
--
Daniel Bowen, National Telemarketing Centre| SHOW-BIZ NEWS SHOCK!
----Telecom Australia, Melbourne, Australia| Michael Jackson has
dbowen@vcomtelc.telecom.com.au-------------| admitted to using a
------------TCWF stuff: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu| stunt-crotch.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Universal Toxic Custard"
TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES #150
(Continuing on from the rather silly issue 149)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Doctor Who - Revenge of the Unrealistatrons" Part Three
SCENE ONE:
----------
[On the command deck of the human space-base thingy. Replay the
cliff-hanger from last time, carefully edited to save space.]
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: The cliche bomb has hit! We're going to die!
SEGA: We're done for!
NINTENDO: Goodbye cruel world!
DOCTOR: This is it...
[The camera starts to rock as the command centre is hit. Various
computers explode just as if someone had put sparklers inside them. A
large chunk of polystyrene falls out of the wall and hits the Doctor
on the head. He falls to the floor. Zoom up on his face, as Janyette
screams "Doctor, Doctor!", and all the other humans look horrified.
His face starts to change, with loads of swirly effects. He gets up.]
JANYETTE: Doctor, are you all right?
DOCTOR: Oh yes, fine. Just a regeneration. Perfectly natural for a
Timelord to regenerate when he is in great peril and his contract
gets terminated. Now, where were we? Oh yes, the command centre is
under attack.
[He gets back to waving his arms around and moving from side to side
as if he were on a spaceship which was under strong laser attack.]
ATARI: Commander!
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: Yes Atari, what is it?
ATARI: I haven't had any good lines in this epi... oh my God, the
base is going to blow!!
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: But the shields should be able to withstand this
piddly little alien laser stuff! Sega, what's happening?
SEGA: Commander, I've just been on the space walkie-talkie thingy,
and they say they booked the special effects guy by mistake! The
whole base is going to blow up!
NINTENDO: Commander, according to the radar, the aliens are docking
with our base! They're going to invade!
ATARI: Commander, this can of beans you bought is past its expiry
date!
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: What a motherfucker of a day.
[The command centre's ten eight-bit computers blow up simultaneously,
with huge flames pouring out of them, probably improving their
performance. Another explosion rocks the centre as the main entrance
is blown in. A shining light comes through the gap, followed after a
few seconds by the aliens - the Unrealistatrons. They march in
slowly, as they always do (ever see a rubber masked alien running??
Nah...). In their droves, they march in, accompanied by threatening
sounding synthesiser music and remarkably Earth-like-looking weapons.
They are about the height of humans, with two legs and two arms, like
humans, and a face with two eyes, a mouth and a nose, just like
humans. Except that they are dark green and scaly. And they don't
where any clothes. Look closely and you may be able to find their
genitals. Their leader steps forward making pelvic thrusts, but
nobody notices.]
PENTAX: I am Pentax, leader of the Unrealistatrons of Mothball 6.
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: I know, you said so in the last episode.
PENTAX: Yes, but I thought I should indicate which one I was, since
us hostile aliens always all look identical. Who are you?
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: I am Commander Fleggle.
PENTAX: Ah yes. You earwigs, err Earthlings all look the same to me.
DOCTOR: What do you want here, Pentax? Your race of Unrealistatrons
were once a noble and peaceful race.
PENTAX: Oh shut *up*! I'm sick of hearing how bloody noble and
peaceful we are. Everywhere I look; in Jane's Encyclopaedia of Alien
Races, in the Junior Thwarg's Guide To The Universes, and even in the
bloody Hitch Hiker's Guide To The Galaxy, they all go on about how
bloody hospitable we are; how we're so peaceful and loving, and we
wouldn't hurt a fly... well we're not! We've been refused entry into
most of the seedier nightclubs on Neptune! We're tough! We're rough!
You wouldn't want to run into us alone in a time corridor!
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: Prove it!
TAMPAX: You want proof? Ha! Since the late twentieth century, we have
been toying with your puny space projects. Such is our power, we can
send rockets screaming back to Earth at the flick of a switch!
Remember SkyLab in 1979? That was us. The Space Shuttle in 1986? That
was us too. The Optus satellite in that got lost in 1993? It is safe,
in the spare room back on Mothball 6!
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: I see.
TAMPAX: And the other five Optus satellites they tried to send up in
1994, 1996, 1999...
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: Yes, yes, I see...
TAMPAX: And the Australian Pay-TV satellite...
COMMANDER FLEGGLE: Okay, okay, you've made your point!
PENTAX: I'm glad to hear that, Commander. Because we've just realised
that it's almost time for the cliff-hanger. And you're going TO DIE!
[Roll credits]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Phew, we only just fit that cliff-hanger in. And now
for the shameless bit where we say: "Would you like
to get your claws on TCWF back-issues? Why not ask
for details. Send mail to tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu today!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright (c) 1993 Daniel Bowen
--
Daniel Bowen, National Telemarketing Centre|
----Telecom Australia, Melbourne, Australia| "A bargain at half
dbowen@vcomtelc.telecom.com.au-------------| the price"
------------TCWF stuff: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu|
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the Toxic Custard Workshop Files by Daniel Bowen, Melbourne, Australia
Copyright (c) 1993 Daniel Bowen. May be freely distributed without
profit provided this notice remains intact.
For subscription information, contact tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu
Reference in New Issue Copy Permalink