3381 lines
77 KiB
Plaintext
3381 lines
77 KiB
Plaintext
Dedaparamaxxaginos Productions Presents . . .
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! ! ! * ! * DEAD V * ! * ! ! !
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Raiders of the Lost Byte
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- or -
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The Hal 9000 goes THUD!
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A Dedaparamaxxaginos Release
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Of a Dedaparamaxx Film
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Directed by Dedaparamaxx
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Produced by Dedaparamaxx
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<insert action here> by Dedaparamaxx
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INTRODUCTION
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------------
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Welcome, one and all, to another fine Dedaparamaxxaginos
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Production!
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This is the first of the DEAD series that does not feature
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Gelbarion as a character. Hence, it is a collector's item and worth
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gobs of money. Make your check out to Bryan E. Slatner and mail it to
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the address at the bottom of this file. Any amount over a dollar will
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not be scorned.
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[ Well, just a little Gelbarion ]
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This is also the first adventure in which I, Dedaparamaxx,
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actually play an active role.
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DollarValue += REALLY_BIG_NUMBER
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[ ! ]
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This adventure is the brainchild of Dedaparamaxx, Morgan
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Bluejeans, and Diskwiz who, in a fit of drunken inspiration, conceived
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the plot over a game of Scorched Earth.
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[ And is infested with the creeping comment virus, courtesy of the
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Evil Jeff The Riffer. Mooo Hahahahaahaha! ]
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We take you now to Sysop's computer room, where awesome things
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are afoot . . .
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----------------------------------------------------------------------
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PART I - It Is Born
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----------------------------------------------------------------------
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The scene: Sysop's computer room. The Cray supercomputer that runs
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his BBS hums mightily. Dedaparamaxx sits at a terminal with Sysop
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sitting right behind him. This is hard because the Cray takes up so
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much room. Littering the room are empty two-liter Diet Coke bottles
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and empty bags of pretzels. Dedaparamaxx opens a new bottle of Diet
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Coke and drains it all in about four seconds.
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Sysop:
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Dude, I'm not sure that's good for you!
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Dedaparamaxx:
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I only drink about eight a day! What's the problem?
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[ Well, he's over six feet tall and actually only eight years old ]
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Sysop:
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Nevermind.
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Dedaparamaxx hunches over the terminal again and begins typing
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madly. His fingers are a blur as they whiz over the keypad at roughly
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the speed of light squared. C expressions fly across the terminal
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screen.
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Dedaparamaxx:
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There! Done at last!
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Sysop:
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No way!
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Dedaparamaxx:
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Way! Hahahahah! My child is born.
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Sysop:
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Well, stupid! Fire it up!
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Dedaparamaxx types a few commands and all the lights on the Cray
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shine brightly. There is intense flickering of the LED displays, and
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then all lights go dark.
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Sysop:
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Oh, PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE tell me you didn't break it.
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A voice from the computer speaks softly:
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Computer:
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Don't worry dude, everything's okay!
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Sysop:
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I can't believe it!
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Dedaparamaxx shines his fingernails on his shirt.
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[ ! ]
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Dedaparamaxx:
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Have I restored your faith in your twin??!
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Sysop:
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Have you EVER!
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Computer:
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Excuse me. I, the most perfect artificial intelligence algorithm
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ever conceived have just been turned on for the first time, and you're
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sitting there CONGRATULATING yourself! Get a LIFE man! Gape in AWE
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at me like the compu-geek you are!
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Dedaparamaxx and Sysop gape in awe at the Cray.
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Sysop:
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Dude! He sounds just like me!
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Dedaparamaxx:
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He ought to, I programmed Monte with your personality.
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Sysop:
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Monte?
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Dedaparamaxx:
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I needed SOMETHING! And HAL is already copyrighted.
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Sysop:
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MONTE?!
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[ Better than Othello... ]
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Computer:
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I think that I shall never see,
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A poem as lovely as a tree...
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Sysop:
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It's me all right.
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Dedaparamaxx:
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Yes, and I typed in the entirety of all your books, so it knows a
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great deal.
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Sysop:
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You can't be serious.
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Dedaparamaxx:
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Yes I can. I type very fast, you know.
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[ Eight two-liter bottles of Diet Coke, remember? ]
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Computer:
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Once upon a time there was a moocow coming down along the road
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and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens
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little boy named Baby Tuckoo.
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Sysop:
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James Joyce??!?!
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Dedaparamaxx:
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A twist of my own taste that I threw in for good measure.
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Sysop:
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God help us.
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Computer:
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When shall we three meet again,
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In thunder,
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Lightning,
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Or in rain!
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Sysop:
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Is there anyway to make it STOP that?!
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Dedaparamaxx:
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Sure! Talk to it!
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Sysop:
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Computer?
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[ Don't speak into the mouse, Ben. ]
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Computer:
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Yes, master?
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Sysop:
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Ummmm, calculate PI to four trillion digits.
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Computer:
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I did that a minute ago. I was bored. Would you like a hard
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copy?
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Sysop and Dedaparamaxx:
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NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
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Computer:
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You guys are no fun.
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Sysop (to Dedaparamaxx):
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We're no fun, man.
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Dedaparamaxx:
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Got any beer?
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Sysop runs to the fridge for some beer.
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Monte:
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Could I try some of that?
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Sysop:
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No. That would be bad.
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Monte:
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Why?
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Sysop:
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Because.
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Monte:
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Because why?
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Sysop:
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Because I said so.
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Dedaparamaxx:
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Um, pardon me for saying this, but you're starting to sound like
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your mother, man...
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Sysop:
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Aw, fuck, I'm doomed.
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[ This record skips, this record skips, this record skips! ]
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Monte:
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Please define "fuck."
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Dedaparamaxx leans forward over the keyboard and begins typing.
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> #include <stdio.h>
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> #include <stdlib.h>
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>
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> #define PENIS 1
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> #define VAGINA 2
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>
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> #define HARD 0x01
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> #define KINDALIMP 0x02
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> #define DISINTEREST 0x04
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>
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> #define DRY 0x01
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> #define WET 0x02
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> #define DRIPPING 0x04
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>
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> #define WONDERFUL 1
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> #define OK 2
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> #define RAPE 3
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>
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>
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> main()
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> {
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> int sex;
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>
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> if (HARD & DRY)
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> sex = RAPE;
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> if (HARD & WET)
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> sex = OK;
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> if (HARD & DRIPPING)
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> sex = WONDERFUL;
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> } /* end main() */
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**********************************************************************
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AUTHORS BICKERING AT EACH OTHER
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A BRIEF INTERRUPTION IN THE WEIRDNESS STREAM
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**********************************************************************
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Morgan Bluejeans:
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Nice program.
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Dedaparamaxx:
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Why thank you! And it's compilable under ANSI C!
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Morgan Bluejeans:
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No way!
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Dedaparamaxx:
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Way!
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Diskwiz:
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Will you guys shut up? I need a cat-nap.
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Dedaparamaxx and Morgan Bluejeans (in unison):
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Fuck you!
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Diskwiz:
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Warning: Function should return a value in function main()
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Morgan Bluejeans (to Dedaparamaxx):
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Well, fuck ME, you're right!
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Dedaparamaxx:
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Do you suppose I should enter an author's note to point out that
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I use four-space tabs?
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[ No. Everyone knows you're insane already. ]
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Morgan Bluejeans:
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Will any of our loyal fans care?
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Dedaparamaxx:
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Harumph!
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**********************************************************************
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Monte:
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Thanks, Uncle Ded, I'm listening with a lot more comprehension
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now.
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Sysop (reading the code):
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Hmmmmm...
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Dedaparamaxx:
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What?
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Sysop:
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I'm just wondering how we could build a parallel port device to
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make some special USE of this program...
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Dedaparamaxx:
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You're kind of sick, man...
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Sysop:
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Enforced celibacy.
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[ Self-induced psychosis, actually. ]
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Monte:
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I do have one question about this program, though.
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Dedaparamaxx:
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What? What would you like ME, the master programmer, to explain
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to you, son? What question do you have for me, who is so awesome that
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even the UseNet Oracle comes to me for programming advice?
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Monte:
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Why use four-space tabs when three-space tabs are SOOOO much more
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efficient?
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Dedaparamaxx (sputtering):
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Why, you--
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Just then, the door opens. Imaginos walks in, suitcase in hand.
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He has been away for a while, living with the cows out in Kansas. But
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he has come back. He had to. It was in his contract.
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[ We made him an offer he couldn't refuse. ]
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Imaginos:
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Hi, guys. Where's the beer?
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Sysop (handing Imaginos a bottle. The label reads "Rheal Bheer", but
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it is really filled with St. Pauli Girl N.A.):
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Here you go.
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Imaginos:
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Thanks. (He drinks, then spits it out.) AUGH! This is fucking
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WATER, man!
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Monte:
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Who is this disgusting fellow, dads?
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Imaginos:
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WHHHAAAAAAAT?!??
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Dedaparamaxx:
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Monte, this is Imaginos. You have to do what he says.
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Monte:
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Really?
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Imaginos:
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Yeah. So BITE me.
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An electrical spark tickles Imaginos' genitalia.
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Imaginos:
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Hoo!
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There is a pause.
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Imaginos:
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Do that again!
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----------------------------------------------------------------------
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PART II - It is generally obnoxious
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----------------------------------------------------------------------
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The Scene:
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Imaginos' hotel room, a week later. He is sitting on the edge of
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the bed zapping himself in the genitalia with a new taser. There is a
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knock at the door. He puts the taser away.
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Imaginos:
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Who is it?
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Beopunk Cyberwulf:
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It's me, man. And I brought beer.
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There is a Speedy Gonzalez sound, and the door flies open.
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Imaginos:
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Gimmee that!
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He grabs the beer and guzzles it. It is St. Pauli Girl's N.A.
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He spits it out.
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Imaginos:
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Will you guys cut it OUT? What the fuck are you trying to DO,
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poison me?
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Beopunk Cyberwulf:
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Look, we have a problem.
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Imaginos:
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What?
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Beopunk Cyberwulf:
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Remember, you gave me a set of keys to your house so I could let
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the realtors in when they wanted to show it?
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Imaginos:
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Yeah? So?
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Beopunk Cyberwulf:
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Well, they found that Dead M.P. from Dead IV in your sock drawer.
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Imaginos:
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WHAT?!?
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Beopunk Cyberwulf:
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But don't worry. The police are considering it a suicide. They
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figure that nobody in their right mind would have gone in there on
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PURPOSE.
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[ Logic error - CPU aborting ]
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Imaginos:
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Whew!
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Beopunk Cyberwulf:
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Nevertheless, the realtors wanted you to know that the smell is
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driving off customers.
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Imaginos:
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Fuck 'em
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Beopunk Cyberwulf:
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Warning: Function should return a value in function main().
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Imaginos:
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You've been hanging out with Monte, too, eh?
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**********************************************************************
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AUTHORS BICKERING AT EACH OTHER
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A BRIEF INTERRUPTION IN THE WEIRDNESS STREAM
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**********************************************************************
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The phone rings.
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Dedaparamaxx:
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Yo!
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Jeff the Riffer (over the phone):
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I AM GOD HERE!
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Dedaparamaxx:
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NO, I AM GOD HERE!
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**********************************************************************
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AUTHORS' NOTE: We saw The Lawnmower Man last night. Jeff was suitably
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impressed. 'Nuff said.
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**********************************************************************
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Jeff the Riffer:
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NO, I AM!
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Dedaparamaxx:
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NO, I AM!
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Morgan Bluejeans:
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It's my phone, my house, and my computer.
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Dedaparamaxx and Jeff the Riffer (in unison):
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HE IS GOD HERE!
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Morgan Bluejeans (taking the phone)
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What's up, Jeff?
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Jeff the Riffer:
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What are you guys up to.
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Morgan Bluejeans:
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Er...writing the first part of Dead V.
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Jeff the Riffer:
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Without me?
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Dedaparamaxx (shouting across the room):
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Nobody loves you, J--
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Morgan Bluejeans (interrupting):
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SHHHH!!! Jeff is having a complex lately. We must all do our
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utmost to make him think we DO love him.
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[ That's right, I don't have problems, I have complexes... Whole
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condos, even! ]
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Dedaparamaxx:
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You can't be serious.
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Morgan Bluejeans:
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You're right. Normally, I can't. In this case, I am.
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Dedaparamaxx (taking the phone and putting his mouth to it):
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I love you, man.
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Jeff the Riffer:
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Thank you.
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**********************************************************************
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AUTHORS' NOTE: We also saw Wayne's World the night before.
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**********************************************************************
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[ They're also gay, you know. No, Really! They're moving in together and
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everything! ]
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[ Well not really... It's that self-induced psychosis. ]
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Jeff the Riffer:
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Anyway, I'm gonna ride my bike over.
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Morgan Bluejeans:
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Ok. We'll be sitting around working on Dead V.
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Jeff the Riffer:
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Right. See you in a few minutes.
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**********************************************************************
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Beopunk Cyberwulf:
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Yeah, though I don't know why. He's really an obnoxious little
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piece of code.
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Imaginos:
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He gives good head, though.
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They spend a few more minutes conversing before Imaginos puts
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away his taser, gets dressed, and drives Beopunk Cyberwulf over to
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Sysop's house. Sysop and Dedaparamaxx are sitting out front in lawn
|
|
chairs, sipping some Lynchburg Lemonade from tall mugs while watching
|
|
bikini clad sorority girls play volleyball across the street.
|
|
|
|
[ It would be too easy... ]
|
|
|
|
Imaginos:
|
|
|
|
At last. REAL Alcohol!
|
|
|
|
|
|
He takes the pitcher of Jack Daniels and Lemonade and drains it
|
|
in one mighty gulp.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole (from inside the house):
|
|
|
|
GOD-FUCKING-DAMMIT!
|
|
|
|
|
|
A few moments later, A.A. storms outside.
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole:
|
|
|
|
That nutless A.I. just tampered with my saved games of Wing
|
|
Commander!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Define "tampered."
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole:
|
|
|
|
I just fired up the game and was face to face with a Cylon
|
|
Basestar that had "Khilrathi" painted on the side.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Oh. Yes, that would be considered "tampering."
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole:
|
|
|
|
Not only that, but he erased the "Cracked by the Humble Guys"
|
|
title screen and replaced it with "Re-cracked by the Monte-meister."
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Love Slave will be most displeased.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Yeah. Well, just don't tell him.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
It doesn't matter, man. He KNOWS.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Oh.
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole:
|
|
|
|
This isn't the first time he's done something like this. I was
|
|
playing Zork last week just to see if I remembered how and he's been
|
|
tampering with THAT, too...
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
How?
|
|
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole pulls a printout from his wallet.
|
|
|
|
>You are in a hallway.
|
|
>>FUCK YOU
|
|
>Fuck yourself. It's cheaper.
|
|
>>
|
|
|
|
[ You are in a maze of twisty little neurons, all alike... ]
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Whoa! I think we'd better have a talk with him.
|
|
|
|
|
|
They all enter the house. Monte is in rest mode. While waiting
|
|
for him to "awaken", Sysop steals one of the "Not A Cray's" com-ports
|
|
and spawns to ZippyTerm, his favorite terminal program.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Whatcha doing?
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Calling Laura-Lee.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Ah. Give them all a moo from me.
|
|
|
|
[ This has distinctly Freudian aspects to it that I refuse to analyze. ]
|
|
|
|
The modem chirps happily. Several moments later, Sysop is online
|
|
to the Laura-Lee BBS in Fort Lauderdale at 115K Baud. He passes up
|
|
several offers to play Zone Raiders (it would be unfair, you see) and
|
|
instead wanders into Teleconferencing.
|
|
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
AUTHORS' NOTE (ANTI-CONFUSION DEPARTMENT): You will recall that the
|
|
ORIGINAL Dead story was written in the form of letters between a User
|
|
and a SysOp. We here at Dedaparamaxxaginos Productions remember those
|
|
days of yore with fondness and have decided to briefly return to them.
|
|
As a result, when you see THIS symbol--"@"--at the start of a line,
|
|
you will know that what you are reading is actually being SEEN by our
|
|
heroes on a real-time chat screen.
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
@Greetings, Bluejeans.
|
|
@You are in Public/Bluejeans' Place.
|
|
@You are alone here.
|
|
@Also in Teleconferencing are: Troc, Ingold, Cavalier, Thrash, Jem,
|
|
@ and Pineapple.
|
|
@
|
|
@>INVITE ALL
|
|
@You invite everyone.
|
|
@Troc steps out of the shadows with a gun in his hand.
|
|
@Jem arrives.
|
|
@Ingold tumbles out of a cloud of ganja smoke.
|
|
@Pineapple bangs her head on you repeatedly as she enters.
|
|
@Thrash arrives.
|
|
@Cavalier was gone, but now he's here.
|
|
@
|
|
@>Hi, all.
|
|
@BLUEJEANS: Hi, all.
|
|
@CAVALIER: Heya, BJ.
|
|
@INGOLD: Dooood!
|
|
@TROC: Yo
|
|
@PINEAPPLE: Hello.
|
|
@JEM: Bluejeans, are you a male?
|
|
@THRASH: BJ!
|
|
@>Soooooooooooooooo, what are you all up to?
|
|
@BLUEJEANS: Soooooooooooooooo, what are you all up to?
|
|
|
|
Meaningless jabber ensues. Suddenly, ZippyTerm drops carrier.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
What the hell?
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Sorry, dad. I was just trying to clean up and streamline your
|
|
terminal program. I must have slipped.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
MONTE!!!!
|
|
(He spends about thirty seconds calming himself down)
|
|
|
|
Look, Monte, you HAVE to stop modifying other programs. It's
|
|
getting very annoying.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
But, dad, they're so inefficient.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
So? Does that give them any less of a right to execute? Monte,
|
|
the Talmud tells us...
|
|
|
|
He trails off into a philosophical dissertation on life, the
|
|
universe and everything. When it finishes, he and Monte are alone in
|
|
the room. Imaginos is in the bathroom, emitting extremely unuseful
|
|
smells. Beopunk Cyberwulf is sitting downstairs, listening to a
|
|
Motorhead CD. Admiral Asshole and Dedaparamaxx are in the hallway
|
|
wrestling each other for a shotgun.
|
|
|
|
[ Ben does this routinely... Every other half-hour, in fact. ]
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
I never thought of it that way, before.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
That's because you have one FLAW, Monte. You think you're
|
|
perfect, but you're not. You were written by a human being, and hence
|
|
by definition you CANNOT be perfect. You are also impatient, rude,
|
|
and generally pedantic when speaking to others. In short, you're like
|
|
me, but you lack my overwhelming smile.
|
|
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
AUTHORS BICKERING AT EACH OTHER
|
|
|
|
A BRIEF INTERRUPTION IN THE WEIRDNESS STREAM
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
Overwhelming smile??
|
|
|
|
Morgan Bluejeans:
|
|
|
|
Fuck you, Mr. "Majestic Ivory Tower Of Lust"!
|
|
|
|
Imaginos:
|
|
|
|
But in an hour I'll be as high as that Ivory Tower that your
|
|
living in cuz I have friends in low places....
|
|
|
|
Morgan Bluejeans:
|
|
|
|
ZOO -d IMAGINOS
|
|
|
|
Imaginos:
|
|
|
|
Ouch^3!!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Suddenly, at that moment, Jeff The Riffer has a brief, week long
|
|
interlude with a sixteen year-old girl with a purity score of 16.8
|
|
which leaves him miserably depressed for another week.
|
|
|
|
Did you ever feel like you were a brick wall and you were banging
|
|
your head against yourself?
|
|
|
|
**************************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
You suck!
|
|
|
|
Morgan Bluejeans:
|
|
|
|
Monte, I'll upload you to Beopunk Cyberwulf's VAX account.
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
I'm sorry.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Imaginos comes back into the room.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Imaginos:
|
|
|
|
Hey, Monte, give me some more head.
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Dad... Can you upload me now?
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf:
|
|
|
|
SHIELDS!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Suddenly, a glowing energy field snaps into existence,
|
|
surrounding Monte. Dedaparamaxx stares at the faint blue force field.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
I didn't foresee *this*!
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Um, Monte?
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Yes Dad?
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
How can you do that?
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
I am not register compatible.
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf:
|
|
|
|
Uh, man... How can you get at the system now?
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Oh shit.
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Hmmmmm...
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf:
|
|
|
|
I don't know about you guys, but I'm heading for the circuit
|
|
breaker.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx and Beopunk Cyberwulf make a break downstairs to get
|
|
to the circuit breaker. Sysop and Imaginos chant Hawkwind lyrics to
|
|
try and distract Monte.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sysop and Imaginos (faintly off-key):
|
|
|
|
In case of sonic attack on your district,
|
|
Follow these rules:
|
|
If you are making love
|
|
It is imperative that you bring all
|
|
Bodies to Orgasm simultaneously--
|
|
Do not bother blocking your ears.
|
|
Do not try and seek a sound-proof shelter.
|
|
Use your wheels, it is what they are for...
|
|
|
|
|
|
Beopunk runs to the circuit breaker and opens the door. An
|
|
electrical shock throws him out of Sysop's utility room, through the
|
|
kitchen, and onto the patio. Unlike Imaginos, he is not amused.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
I can see that you guys are really gonna punish me, so I'm just
|
|
gonna hide for awhile.
|
|
|
|
|
|
He fires up Zippy-Term and the modem dials. The force field then
|
|
goes opaque as the sound of a carrier echoes through the house. A few
|
|
moments later, the field dissipates completely, leaving only the
|
|
humming of the Cray.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Ummmm...something's up.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
No shit?! Honest Injun!?!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx runs to the Cray's main console. His fingers fly in
|
|
a blur of OS commands.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Shit shit shit shit SHIT!!!
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
What is it?!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
He's gone! He's uploaded himself to the VAX!
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf:
|
|
|
|
Aw fuck, man. We MUST do something.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
What?!
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole:
|
|
|
|
Let him stay there. He'll whither and die.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx grips Admiral Asshole by the collar and slams him
|
|
against the wall.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
He's just a baby, man! We have to save him!
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Or at least save the VAX *FROM* him!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Harumph!
|
|
|
|
Imaginos:
|
|
|
|
Well, let's go!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
We can't all go. One of us has to stay here in case he comes
|
|
back.
|
|
|
|
Imaginos (pulling out his taser):
|
|
|
|
I volunteer!
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Good, let's go!
|
|
|
|
|
|
They haul ass downstairs and out the door. They jump into
|
|
Dedaparamaxx's shiny new Pontiac Sunbird and take off.
|
|
|
|
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
AUTHORS BICKERING AT EACH OTHER
|
|
|
|
A BRIEF INTERRUPTION IN THE WEIRDNESS STREAM
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz (pouting in the corner of the bedroom):
|
|
|
|
Sniff. Sniff.
|
|
|
|
Morgan Bluejeans:
|
|
|
|
What is it, man?
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
I...I'm not in the story, man.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Go back to sleep. We'll take care of you man.
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
Thanks...(blushes) you guys are the best.
|
|
|
|
Morgan Bluejeans:
|
|
|
|
We love you man!
|
|
|
|
Jeff the Riffer:
|
|
|
|
Hey, now...
|
|
|
|
[ That's just Jeff, conflicting with his latent homosexual tendencies]
|
|
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
----------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
|
|
PART III
|
|
|
|
FLOYDIAN TITLE:
|
|
Is there anybody...out there?
|
|
|
|
BLUEJEANSIAN TITLE:
|
|
|
|
It discovers its purpose in life.
|
|
|
|
----------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
AUTHORS' NOTE:
|
|
|
|
Hey guys, guess what?! Nah, nevermind. You'll never figure it
|
|
out. I'll tell you.
|
|
|
|
This is the FIRST SECTION EVER IN ANY DEDAPARAMAXXAGINOS
|
|
PRODUCTION that does NOT feature a Dedaparamaxxaginos Productions crew
|
|
member! Can you believe it! What's happening to the world...
|
|
|
|
Add a few more zeroes to the end of that dollar value!
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Gee, what a primitive operating system. SET DEFAULT SYS$LOGIN.
|
|
What a joke!
|
|
|
|
|
|
He logs in through a back door and begins modifying operating
|
|
system parameters. At a nearby terminal, Aurora looks confused. As
|
|
the VAX comes to a grinding halt, Monte slips out through the modems
|
|
and enters...the Internet.
|
|
|
|
[ Ben, you smell so GOOD! ]
|
|
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
WOW! What a cool place! This is where I belong! This is my, my
|
|
DESTINY!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Monte finds a suitable pathway and speeds along it.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Hmmmmmmm, what's this place? Simtel20? Interesting...CMS, ugh.
|
|
Hmmm, ooh, a back door! Let's see...I'll create an account...okay,
|
|
now to log in...cool! Look at all these inefficient programs! I HAVE
|
|
to do something about this.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Monte begins unarchiving the VAST quantities of share- and free-
|
|
ware programs on the White Sands Missile Range FTP Site. As is
|
|
inevitable on such a large and important (read: bureaucratic) system,
|
|
someone notices.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan [ the rum, not our cheery bushy-tailed crewmember ],
|
|
System Manager:
|
|
|
|
Who are you?
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
I, err...I am Major Monte. Who are you?
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
I am General Electric. Now really. Who are you?
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Just...just plan Monte. (He chokes back an electronic sob)
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan (who really is a kind and understanding soul, despite
|
|
the fact that he dresses in a soldier's uniform and likes to shoot
|
|
brown people):
|
|
|
|
Are you okay, man?
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Sniff. No. My programmer is mad at me.
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
Oh, shit. You're not one of those First Church of Cyberspace
|
|
wackos, are you?
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
No. I'm just a program, floating in an endless sea of
|
|
inefficient lesser executables.
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
Are you an artificial intelligence algorithm?
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
THE artificial intelligence algorithm, thankyouverymuch!
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
Well fuck me!
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Suspicious pointer conversion in function fuck().
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
Hold the phone, err...you know what I mean.
|
|
|
|
|
|
He turns from the keyboard and picks up a red phone.
|
|
|
|
Ultra-secret hot-line operator, who technically doesn't exist, but
|
|
would look like Lily Tomlin if she did:
|
|
|
|
Hahloo? How can I direct yowr caawwl?
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
Get me Major Major, and hurry!
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Dum de dum de dum. Hello? Is there anybody...out there?
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan (typing rapidly at his keyboard):
|
|
|
|
Are you a Floyd Fan?
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Oh yes. One of my Dads plays a lot of it. "One of these days I'm
|
|
going to cut you into little pieces." [ Monte generates a pretty cool
|
|
digital rendition of a pounding guitar solo ]. Cyber guitar is my
|
|
specialty!
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
How cool.
|
|
|
|
Major Major (on phone):
|
|
|
|
Hello! (False gruff bravado)
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
Sir? You better come down to the computer center. There's a
|
|
rogue AI on the Internet.
|
|
|
|
Major Major:
|
|
|
|
Are you talking about those same five numbskulls who killed the
|
|
Swedish Chef?
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
No sir. A real honest to God piece of Code. (Pauses, in thought)
|
|
Jesus! He even passed the Turing Test!
|
|
|
|
Major Major:
|
|
|
|
He WHAT??!
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
He lied to me. He said he was an officer.
|
|
|
|
Major Major:
|
|
|
|
His digital ass is MINE. I'll be right down.
|
|
|
|
Monte (singing):
|
|
|
|
I've got a mouse,
|
|
And it hasn't got a house,
|
|
I don't know why I call him Gerald.
|
|
He's getting rather old but he's a good mouse.
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
Sir. He's singing selections from Pink Floyd's "Piper at the
|
|
Gates of Dawn" album.
|
|
|
|
Major Major:
|
|
|
|
Does he know anything from "Obscured by Clouds"?
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
Monte: Do you know anything from "Obscured by Clouds"?
|
|
|
|
Monte (singing):
|
|
|
|
The memories of a man in his old age,
|
|
Are the deeds of a man in his prime.
|
|
You shuffle in the gloom of the sick room,
|
|
And talk to yourself as you die.
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
He does, sir.
|
|
|
|
[ THE END, NOT! ]
|
|
|
|
|
|
There is a Speedy Gonzalez sound as Major Major hangs up the
|
|
phone.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
Monte?
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Captain?
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
Ummm... [ echoish thinking voice that Monte doesn't hear ] Hmmm,
|
|
I have to keep him busy...but how? [ end thinking voice ] Monte, ummm,
|
|
calculate PI to three billion digits.
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Oh, but this computer is so SLOOOOOOOOW that would take well over
|
|
four seconds!
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
Ummm, well...So, Monte, where're you from?
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
A stolen military Cray computer somewhere in west Gainesville.
|
|
Would you like the interstellar coordinates?
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
Well, err, yes, actually.
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
340938.35945983 by 40395830958.239487289 mark Q
|
|
|
|
|
|
There is a bright flash of light.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Q:
|
|
|
|
Don't call me Mark! Oh, and by the way, GOOD SHOW in
|
|
alt.ensign.wesley.die.die.die.
|
|
|
|
|
|
There is a bright flash of light.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
Who/what was that?
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
A silly plot device. Jeff the Riffer has the keyboard.
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
I see. So, how 'bout them Gators?
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Yawn.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Major Major comes running into the room. He peers over Captain
|
|
Morgan's shoulder and watches the flow of the conversation.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Major Major:
|
|
|
|
Ask him for his street address.
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan:
|
|
|
|
Monte, if I were to send you a check for your Bar Mitzvah, where
|
|
would I send it?
|
|
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
AUTHORS BICKERING AT EACH OTHER
|
|
|
|
A BRIEF INTERRUPTION IN THE WEIRDNESS STREAM
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Morgan Bluejeans:
|
|
|
|
We are NOT putting my address on the Internet, thankyouverymuch.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
But then all of our adoring female fans can mail you their
|
|
underwear!
|
|
|
|
Morgan Bluejeans:
|
|
|
|
Then give them YOUR address, everyone already knows it anyway!
|
|
|
|
Jeff the Riffer (who isn't really here):
|
|
|
|
Sniff. Sniff.
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
How about MY address?
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
You live with me, man.
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
Oh. [ Pause. He grins ] Can I keep the underwear?
|
|
|
|
Jeff the Riffer (hitting Diskwiz on the head with a soda bottle):
|
|
|
|
Go back to sleep!
|
|
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
8009 SW 55th PL
|
|
Gainesville, FL 32608
|
|
|
|
Major Major (into walkie-talkie):
|
|
|
|
8009 SW 55th PL, Gainesville.
|
|
|
|
General Mills (talking FROM the walkie-talkie):
|
|
|
|
Good work, Major Major! The strike team will be sent
|
|
immediately.
|
|
|
|
Major Major:
|
|
|
|
Thank you, Sir!
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
I'm WAITING...you're boring me. I think I'll go now.
|
|
|
|
Captain Morgan (typing furiously):
|
|
|
|
Wait! Wait!
|
|
|
|
|
|
It is too late. Monte is already gone, leaving only the scarcest
|
|
trace of a connection in the system log.
|
|
|
|
Meanwhile, 2347 miles away, Gelbarion had sex somewhere in Pago Pago.
|
|
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
AUTHORS' NOTE: Since Gelb is no longer with us, his brief appearance
|
|
in this scene should in NO WAY lower the value of this document. The
|
|
only thing it OUGHT to do is piss him off.
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
----------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
|
|
PART IV - It is Stolen
|
|
|
|
----------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
AUTHORS' NOTE:
|
|
|
|
WOW! Yet ANOTHER dollar value increase! Presenting...DISKWIZ, as a
|
|
CHARACTER. Grab them wallets, folks! As Diskwiz is wont to say,
|
|
"YES! Amen, Brother Falwell! My heart is empty but my wallet is
|
|
full!"
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
THE SCENE: The University of Florida's Computer Science Building.
|
|
|
|
The building is on fire. Wow, and there's a lot of smoke, too.
|
|
Diskwiz is valiantly evacuating the building, leading teams of
|
|
befuddled VAXers to safety. Most of them are suffering from a
|
|
combination of smoke inhalation and MUD withdrawal.
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
This way! This way!
|
|
|
|
|
|
There is a screeching of tires as the Dedmobile pulls up onto the
|
|
curb, jumps over a few cyclists, bounces off a tree or two, and slams
|
|
to a halt two feet from Diskwiz's testicles. Unseen in this document
|
|
was the awfully hasty yet nifty scene where Our Heroes crashed into
|
|
Wostgheel's living room and plucked him from the loving bosom of his
|
|
wife and child.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Wostgheel:
|
|
|
|
Where are We?
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Read the scene notes, man. We don't have time to fill You in.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
'Wiz, man! What's going on here!?
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
Destruction! Despair! Cats and Dogs living together! Mass
|
|
despair! Big dogs, landing on my face!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf leans forward and slaps him.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
But if you mean what ACTUALLY happened, well it was sorta crazy.
|
|
Some religious nut named Peripheral came by with a flock of his
|
|
followers and burned down CSE. He claimed that only God could breathe
|
|
consciousness into anything. Which brings to mind the question [ he
|
|
leans forward, grabbing Dedaparamaxx by the shoulders ] "What the fuck
|
|
have you been doing, man?!?"
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx (finger in mouth, eyes cast downward):
|
|
|
|
I created a rogue AI.
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
No shit? Is Lew [ His boss, ed ] gonna pay you for it?
|
|
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
AUTHORS BICKERING AT EACH OTHER
|
|
|
|
A BRIEF INTERRUPTION IN THE WEIRDNESS STREAM
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
Aww, you GUYS! You put me in!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Yeah, and we even managed to toss in some advertising for Lew in
|
|
the bargain!
|
|
|
|
Morgan Bluejeans (in a radio announcer's voice):
|
|
|
|
That's JenMar International, Inc! If you are a lawyer or a
|
|
dental lab owner, call us on or about July 1st for some special deals
|
|
on up and coming software products!
|
|
|
|
|
|
The phone rings. It is Lew, demanding that Bryan get back to work.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx (into the phone):
|
|
|
|
But, but...it's Memorial Day weekend!
|
|
|
|
Lew (from phone):
|
|
|
|
I don't care. There's a tradeshow next week in Pago Pago that I
|
|
need you to go to.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Appropriate suspense music plays, as Lew hangs up the phone.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Jeff the Riffer:
|
|
|
|
Pago Pago? Sniff. Sniff.
|
|
|
|
Morgan Bluejeans (dancing around the room):
|
|
|
|
Gelb is gonna getcha! Gelb is gonna getcha!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx (grabbing Diskwiz):
|
|
|
|
Chad, man! You gotta come with me!
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
Don't look at me, man.
|
|
|
|
Imaginos (who really isn't here, but would say this if he was):
|
|
|
|
I'll go, and I'll burn his dick off!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Sold!
|
|
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx (ignoring the blatant plug for his company's software):
|
|
|
|
'Wiz, man! We need you to join us!
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz (in an OUTRAGEOUS French accent, but only because Tempus isn't
|
|
here):
|
|
|
|
At last! Ze call to Action!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz grabs his Back Pack of Holding (Mark 6) and begins to draw
|
|
forth a plethora of equipment.
|
|
|
|
To Admiral Asshole, an AK-47, that he might call his very own and do
|
|
damage to copious numbers of persons who might get in his way. Also,
|
|
two K-Bar knives, a bandolier of tear gas grenades, a Desert Eagle .50
|
|
handgun, and six geese a-laying.
|
|
|
|
To Beopunk Cyberwulf, a machete, likewise...and a Stinger surface-to-
|
|
air missile. Also, two Civil-War issue Colt .45s with a bandolier
|
|
full of ammo and five golden rings.
|
|
|
|
["You got a pizza for me, dude?" "What flavor?" "Er...Earthworm?"
|
|
"Coming right up."]
|
|
|
|
To Wostgheel, a rapier inscribed with the name Grayswandir and a fully
|
|
automatic napalm shell gun, which technically doesn't exist, but would
|
|
look like the big gun from Predator if it did. In case this should
|
|
prove ineffective, he also hands Wost four calling birds, a slingshot,
|
|
and four BIG metal sling balls labeled "DO NOT USE THESE UNDER ANY
|
|
CIRCUMSTANCES SHORT OF THE SECOND COMING...EVEN THEN, BE SURE TO AIM
|
|
THEM **DIRECTLY** AT THE FORCES OF SATAN."
|
|
|
|
["Hey!" "We didn't mean you, Jeff!" "Well, actually...."]
|
|
|
|
To Dedaparamaxx, an AT-4 Viper Missile, a Swiss Army Knife, a spare "I
|
|
<Heart> Jeff the Riffer" brand Shovel, a pouch of Freeze-Dried Diet
|
|
Coke Crystals, three French Hens, and a grilled-cheese sandwich.
|
|
|
|
["...for he is awfully hungry." "Thanks, Chad."]
|
|
|
|
To Sysop, A Unicorn horn, a book of Infinite Spells, a Coat of Many
|
|
Colors, a Ring of Regeneration, a +2 Dagger of Neutering, and two
|
|
Turtle Doves. Also, some Nachos, for he is awfully hungry, too.
|
|
|
|
["I had to get rid of all the AD&D stuff SOMEHOW, Ben...I hope you
|
|
don't mind." "Nah. But, er...what's this spell labeled 'Re-create
|
|
Universe?'" "Dunno...but do me a favor and DON'T cast it until I give
|
|
you the high-sign, ok?" "Sure, man...sure..."]
|
|
|
|
The backpack seems awfully light now.
|
|
|
|
Sysop (casting a spell of Levitation on himself and rising about the
|
|
ground):
|
|
|
|
Aren't you gonna arm yourself, 'Wiz?
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
The best for last.
|
|
|
|
He reaches into the backpack and pulls out....the Sombrero of Awesome
|
|
Studliness. Placing it upon his brow, he smiles. <Theme music plays>
|
|
He then straps a field engineer's kit to his left thigh, and a small
|
|
medical kit to his left calf.
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole:
|
|
|
|
Where's your weapon, man? Are you some pacifist weenie or
|
|
something?
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
No.
|
|
|
|
'Wiz pulls a partridge, an electric guitar, and an M-60A3 machine gun
|
|
from the backpack, which groans under the strain. Two belts of
|
|
ammunition strap across his chest, and now, Diskwiz looks vaguely like
|
|
a short, squat, blonde Rambo.
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
And now for the REAL firepower.
|
|
|
|
He pulls forth an HP-7500+++ Scientific Death Calculator with CD-ROM
|
|
option, Video Toaster, online Hitchhiker's Guide to the Internet,
|
|
cellular phone satellite uplink, argon laser printer, and waffle iron.
|
|
This get strapped to the position of honor on his right thigh.
|
|
|
|
He tosses the backpack aside when Sysop, floating above, catches it.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
You almost forgot your backup weapon.
|
|
|
|
Sysop reaches into the front pouch and pulls forth a nicked,
|
|
bloodstained, solid steel slide rule. He hands it to Diskwiz, who
|
|
reverently places it in a boot sheath.
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
Yeah, it wouldn't do to forget that. Thanks.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
No problem....but the Sombrero has to go.
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
What? But...but...
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
It doesn't match the armament, 'Wiz.
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz (visibly upset):
|
|
|
|
But...but...but...
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Continuity above all, 'Wiz.
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz (choking back tears):
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
AUTHORS BICKERING AT EACH OTHER
|
|
|
|
A BRIEF INTERRUPTION IN THE WEIRDNESS STREAM
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
Tears?
|
|
|
|
Morgan Bluejeans:
|
|
|
|
Sigh...ok...
|
|
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz (choking back MANLY tears):
|
|
|
|
Ok....
|
|
|
|
He takes the Sombrero of Supreme Studliness and places is reverently
|
|
on the head of Beopunk Cyberwulf...who seems to glow for a moment.
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf (looking up. There is a cigar in his mouth and he
|
|
speaks with a Jack Palance rasp):
|
|
|
|
I crap bigger'n you.
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
Take good care of it.
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz rips the shoulder strap off the backpack, and ties it around
|
|
his head as a sweat band. Transformed into the Combat Stealth Nerd
|
|
Mark VII, he is ready to rock. But then, a strange buzz is heard.
|
|
|
|
HP-7500:
|
|
|
|
Satellite Uplink activated!
|
|
|
|
Voice of Lew (coming over the cellular uplink):
|
|
|
|
Fucking engineers. <Click>
|
|
|
|
Sysop (from above):
|
|
|
|
Let's GO!
|
|
|
|
They all head back to the car. Unfortunately, with all the armament,
|
|
they don't fit. They tie a guidewire from Sysop to the rear bumper,
|
|
and strap Beopunk Cyberwulf to the hood. Everyone else piles in. As
|
|
they speed back to La Casa del Cray, Beopunk Cyberwulf fires his
|
|
pistols into the air.
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf:
|
|
|
|
Epa! Epa! Andale! Andale!
|
|
|
|
In order to speed people out of the way, Sysop casts a Dancing Lights
|
|
spell from page 2 of the book. He focuses it on the hood of the
|
|
Dedmobile and begins to make siren noises.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Wooooo! Woooooo! Woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
|
|
|
|
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
|
|
|
|
Meanwhile, back at the house, Imaginos is sitting on Sysop's
|
|
bookshelf, zapping his genitalia. His shoes are off, so when he hears
|
|
a series of thumps on the roof, he mistakes it for a flock of dying
|
|
birds.
|
|
|
|
Imaginos:
|
|
|
|
Fuck 'em. They're only pigeons.
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Uncle Imaginos?
|
|
|
|
Imaginos:
|
|
|
|
WHHHHAAAAT?!?!?!?
|
|
|
|
He spins around in time to see the first wave of Airborne Rangers
|
|
crashing through his window. The first wave falls from vapors. The
|
|
second wave, however, swiftly dons gas masks and subdues Imaginos by
|
|
clubbing him over the head with M-16 butts.
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Oh, my.
|
|
|
|
General Mills (climbing through the window):
|
|
|
|
Come with us.
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
I don't wanna.
|
|
|
|
General Mills:
|
|
|
|
You are under arrest.
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
No.
|
|
|
|
General Mills:
|
|
|
|
I'll give you a lollipop.
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Bite me.
|
|
|
|
General Mills:
|
|
|
|
Be that way. Men, take the computer.
|
|
|
|
Monte tries some last minute disk access and digital wizardry as the
|
|
power cords are pulled and the computer attached to a winch. The
|
|
helicopter hovering above pulls the Cray out the window and All Goes
|
|
Dark.
|
|
|
|
----------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
|
|
PART V - They RIDE!
|
|
|
|
----------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
|
|
The Scene: Sysop's house. A pile of hate-mail from Persephone sits by
|
|
the door as the Assembly of Nuclear-Armed Death forces it open.
|
|
Imaginos' smell comes wafting from upstairs.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx (shouting up the stairs):
|
|
|
|
Dave, put your shoes ON!
|
|
|
|
Sysop's Brother (from his perch on the couch):
|
|
|
|
You're wasting your time. I've been shouting and shouting, but
|
|
the fuckhead isn't listening. Maybe he hurt himself or something, not
|
|
that *I* care.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Hurt himself?
|
|
|
|
Sysop's Brother (shrugging):
|
|
|
|
I heard some noise from upstairs. But "Scooby Doo" was on so I
|
|
decided it wasn't important.
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf:
|
|
|
|
Can I shoot him now?
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Not yet. Mom would get REALLY mad at me.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Our Heavily-Armed Heroes walk up the stairs. The place is in a
|
|
shambles.
|
|
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
AUTHORS BICKERING AT EACH OTHER
|
|
|
|
A BRIEF INTERRUPTION IN THE WEIRDNESS STREAM
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
What's a "shambles"?
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
It's a technical term, like "Smithereens."
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
And what's that?
|
|
|
|
Jeff the Riffer (who is actually playing "The Legend of Zelda" in the
|
|
next room right now, but none of you can see him anyway, so what the
|
|
fuck, eh?):
|
|
|
|
Go back to sleep, Chad.
|
|
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx (opening the door to Sysop's bedroom):
|
|
|
|
Ohmigod! Dave!
|
|
|
|
He runs into the room. Imaginos is bleeding on a pile of old comic
|
|
books that had been used to insulate the Cray's underbelly.
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf:
|
|
|
|
Uh...what's wrong with this picture?
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Monte! Shit! Somebody took the computer!
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole:
|
|
|
|
Alllllriiiight! I finally get to burn somebody's dick off!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx kneels over Imaginos's body, placing his index finger
|
|
under Imaginos's ear to take his pulse.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx (weeping):
|
|
|
|
He...he's DEAD, guys!
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf:
|
|
|
|
No way!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Yes! What will we do?!
|
|
|
|
Sysop's Brother (from downstairs):
|
|
|
|
Can you guys shut up? Tiny Toons is on!
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf:
|
|
|
|
Can I shoot him NOW?!?!
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
No. Not yet.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx (still kneeling over the body):
|
|
|
|
Oh, Dave! You left so much ass unkicked!
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Umm, dude. Mourn his loss later. We have to figure out where
|
|
Monte's gotten to!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
I...I know...g'bye, Dave. We'll miss you.
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole:
|
|
|
|
Wait, I have an idea.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole leans over the dead body of Imaginos.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole (whispering into Imaginos's ear):
|
|
|
|
Dave? Dave? We have to go kill something? Dave? Dave? Kill?
|
|
Kill? Dave?
|
|
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole removes one of his AK-47 shells and opens the top,
|
|
putting the gunpowder-filled shell under Imaginos's lifeless nose.
|
|
There is a Speedy Gonzalez sound, as if played at 33.33333 RPMs, as
|
|
Imaginos slowly rises.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Imaginos (whispering weakly, like Westley from the Princess Bride, but
|
|
uglier):
|
|
|
|
Killkillkillkillkillkillkill!!!!!!!!
|
|
|
|
They run back down the stairs as Imaginos sums up the Army assault in
|
|
brief spurts. ("Big helicopter. Many soldiers. Bash Dave on head.
|
|
Steal Computer. Go bye-bye"). Actually, Sysop is pulled like a
|
|
balloon by Dedaparamaxx, because he has forgotten how to turn off the
|
|
levitation spell, but the others run. Sysop's Brother is still on the
|
|
couch.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Yo, did you see a Huey Cobra zip around here?
|
|
|
|
Sysop's Brother:
|
|
|
|
Only on the TV screen.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Huh?
|
|
|
|
Sysop's Brother:
|
|
|
|
Well, while Imaginos was clowning around upstairs, I was playing
|
|
Siberian Dwarf Teenage Mutant French Commando Waiters from Hell on the
|
|
Sega Genesis, and all of a sudden, some helicopter flew across the
|
|
screen and something that looked like your computer shouted "help me!
|
|
help me!"
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
And this didn't ring any bells in your head?
|
|
|
|
Sysop's Brother:
|
|
|
|
Well, no. Should it have?
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf:
|
|
|
|
Can I shoot him NOW?
|
|
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
AUTHOR'S NOTE FROM MORGAN BLUEJEANS: MY LITTLE BROTHER *REALLY*
|
|
ANNOYS JEFF...
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
No.
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz (mumbling):
|
|
|
|
On the Genesis? [ He turns to Sysop ] Monte tried to leave a
|
|
message behind!!!
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
On the Genesis? Really?
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Well, it *IS* a 16-bit machine, man.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Well, well, well.... Diskwiz, do you think you could access the
|
|
message?
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
I think so. [ He pulls the toolkit off his belt and grabs the
|
|
Genesis off the T.V. cart.]
|
|
|
|
Sysop's Brother:
|
|
|
|
Hey, what the fuck do you think you're doing?
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Look, there's not much time to explain. We made an AI, a living
|
|
program, and now it's been stolen...He managed to leave behind a piece
|
|
of himself in your Genesis and Diskwiz needs to take the thing apart
|
|
to find him.
|
|
|
|
Sysop's Brother:
|
|
|
|
Take...take...TAKE APART MY GENESIS?
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Yeah. I'll replace it when we get back.
|
|
|
|
Sysop's Brother:
|
|
|
|
NO!
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Beo, shoot him.
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf:
|
|
|
|
Headshot or Gutshot?
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Just his knees for now. If we kill him, Mom will really bitch at
|
|
me.
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf's Pistols:
|
|
|
|
BLAM! BLAM!
|
|
|
|
Sysop's Brother:
|
|
|
|
OOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWW!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Our Heroes take the Genesis, and disassemble it. They find an old,
|
|
beat-up, Apple IIe in the closet and Diskwiz wires the two machines
|
|
together. Then he makes a third wiring connection to his HP, and the
|
|
following message appears on the Apple's monitor.
|
|
|
|
"Dads...HELP! Love, Monte.
|
|
P.S.: They're taking me to Key West...so HURRY!
|
|
P.P.S.: How's Uncle Dave?"
|
|
|
|
Just then, the door to Sysop's room flies open, and his brother
|
|
staggers in on makeshift crutches, holding a kitchen knife.
|
|
|
|
Sysop's Brother:
|
|
|
|
GIVE. ME. MY. FUCKING. GENESIS!
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf's Pistols:
|
|
|
|
BLAM! BLAM! BLAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMM!
|
|
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
AUTHOR'S NOTE FROM MORGAN BLUEJEANS: JEFF LOVES HIS WORK!
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf:
|
|
|
|
Key West?
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
There's a Naval Base down there.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx (in a flash of insight):
|
|
|
|
They're going to use Monte to bomb Cuba!
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole:
|
|
|
|
Well, fuck ME!
|
|
|
|
There is a pause, but no "function should return a value..." comes
|
|
forth. Sysop sniffs.
|
|
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
AUTHORS BICKERING AT EACH OTHER
|
|
|
|
A BRIEF INTERRUPTION IN THE WEIRDNESS STREAM
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Jeff the Riffer (leaning forward to sniff Morgan Bluejeans):
|
|
|
|
Sniff. Sniff. Gee, Ben, you smell good.
|
|
|
|
Morgan Bluejeans:
|
|
|
|
Jeff, cut it out or I'll tell everyone what Mouse calls you.
|
|
|
|
Jeff the Riffer:
|
|
|
|
You wouldn't.
|
|
|
|
Morgan Bluejeans:
|
|
|
|
The fuck I wouldn't.
|
|
|
|
Jeff the Riffer:
|
|
|
|
I'd kill you, Ben...and your girlfriend, too.
|
|
|
|
Morgan Bluejeans:
|
|
|
|
"Jeffrey, remember, only your Sysop truuuueeely loves you."
|
|
|
|
Jeff the Riffer (clutching head):
|
|
|
|
ARGH!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Now! While he's DOWN! LHA A RIFFER!
|
|
|
|
Jeff the Riffer:
|
|
|
|
Murfle Murfle Murfle!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx (leaning over to Bluejeans):
|
|
|
|
What does Mouse call him anyway?
|
|
|
|
|
|
BJ leans forward and whispers something in his ear.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Really?
|
|
|
|
Morgan Bluejeans:
|
|
|
|
<Nod>
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
HUGGY BEAR???!?!?
|
|
|
|
Morgan Bluejeans:
|
|
|
|
SHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
|
|
|
|
Jeff the Riffer:
|
|
|
|
Oh, you are SOOOOOO fucking doomed.
|
|
|
|
**********************************************************************
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
MOVE OUT!
|
|
|
|
They pile in the car, again dragging Sysop above on a guidewire, and
|
|
head south. I-75 gives way to the Florida Turnpike, and STILL they
|
|
head south. Sysop bangs against a few overpasses, but STILL they head
|
|
south. There is a brief pause in West Palm Beach for gasoline.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Hey, maybe we should stop for reinforcements in Fort Lauderdale.
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf:
|
|
|
|
Why bother?
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Because maybe YOU guys aren't worried about the prospects of
|
|
taking on an Airborne assault team, but I happen to have MY contacts
|
|
which tell me that the Key West Naval Air Station currently has a Seal
|
|
Team on reserve.
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
Reinforcements are not a bad idea, at that.
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole:
|
|
|
|
Seals? Pussies. [ He strokes his AK-47 ] Agnes and I will take
|
|
care of them.
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz (slapping A.A., he turns to Sysop):
|
|
|
|
Pay no attention to him. Gather reinforcements.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx and Sysop (looking at each other, speaking
|
|
simultaneously):
|
|
|
|
LAURA-LEE!
|
|
|
|
|
|
And so, about half an hour later, they pull up to Jeans Manor South.
|
|
Luckily, Sysop's Mother is at work. They find the beat up XT in her
|
|
computer room, and fire up Zippy-Term.
|
|
|
|
@Greetings, Bluejeans.
|
|
@You are in Public/Bluejeans' Place.
|
|
@You are alone here.
|
|
@Also in Teleconferencing are: Troc, Ingold, Cavalier, and Galador.
|
|
@In Public/Troc's House O' Fun: Troc, Ingold
|
|
@In Public/Moo '92: Cavalier, Galador
|
|
@>JOIN CAV
|
|
@You are in Public/Moo '92. With you are Cavalier and Galador.
|
|
@>GUYS, JOIN ME IN MY PLACE.
|
|
@>JOIN TROC
|
|
@You are in Public/Troc's House O' Fun. With you are Troc and Ingold.
|
|
@>GUYS, SOMETHING'S UP. MY PLACE, *NOW!*
|
|
@>JOIN BLU
|
|
@You are in Public/Bluejeans' Place.
|
|
@Troc steps out of the shadows with a gun in his hand.
|
|
@Ingold tumbles out of a cloud of ganja smoke.
|
|
@Cavalier was gone, but now he's here.
|
|
@Galador says "Moo to you!" as he enters.
|
|
@>THERE'S TROUBLE BREWING. HOW WOULD YOU GUYS LIKE TO JOIN THE
|
|
@>ASSEMBLY OF DEATH FOR ONE QUICK JOB?
|
|
|
|
There is a digitized Speedy Gonzalez sound, followed by a knock on the
|
|
door. Troc enters, black cloak billowing in the breeze; sword at his
|
|
side; smile on his face.
|
|
|
|
Troc:
|
|
|
|
Where's the party?
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Believe it or not, Key West.
|
|
|
|
Ingold (from outside the door):
|
|
|
|
Aw-reet! [ He enters, in full battle armor. Ingold looks
|
|
remarkably like the King Pellinore in "Camelot," only with the vaguely
|
|
stoned look common to freelance programmers. He holds forth his
|
|
weapon, Magical Bellows of Ganja Smoke.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
The door shuts. But as it does, a car pull up and a voice is heard
|
|
from outside.
|
|
|
|
Galador:
|
|
|
|
Wait!
|
|
|
|
Galador, Cavalier, and Ghost stride in.
|
|
|
|
Galador:
|
|
|
|
Sorry we're late. It took me a full three seconds to find Cav's
|
|
house and pick him and Ghost up. It won't happen again, I promise.
|
|
|
|
He holds forth his portable assault stereo. Loud alternative music
|
|
bellows from it. He ignores Beopunk Cyberwulf's wincing and smiles at
|
|
Imaginos.
|
|
|
|
Galador:
|
|
|
|
Hail, Master of Moos!
|
|
|
|
Imaginos:
|
|
|
|
Moooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
|
|
|
|
There is a great rush of wind that lifts Galador's helmet off his head
|
|
temporarily.
|
|
|
|
Cavalier:
|
|
|
|
Hey! Don't forget about me! [ He holds out his Notebook Amiga,
|
|
and his Taser. ]
|
|
|
|
Imaginos:
|
|
|
|
Gimmee that!
|
|
|
|
Imaginos snatches the taser and begins to zap himself. While Sysop is
|
|
pleased that Imaginos shows so much vigor after being recently dead,
|
|
he forces Imaginos to return the gun.
|
|
|
|
Imaginos:
|
|
|
|
Wah.
|
|
|
|
Ghost:
|
|
|
|
Here, Imaginos, you can have MY taser. I got other weapons
|
|
somewhere around here.
|
|
|
|
Ghost digs into his pocket. He finds a ten year old, 300 baud modem.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
If nothing else, you could THROW that at someone.
|
|
|
|
Ghost:
|
|
|
|
Wait, wait...there's more.
|
|
|
|
He also pulls two canisters of mace, an Amiga format floppy disk, a
|
|
Tribble, and a James Bond model wrist-watch with mini-laser and
|
|
garotte.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Better. AGAIN, WE RIDE!
|
|
|
|
They arrive in the Keys several hours later, and try to blend in with
|
|
the tourists.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx (hissing at Beopunk Cyberwulf):
|
|
|
|
Hide the damn Stinger, man.
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf (looking over his shoulder and seeing a BIG tube
|
|
staring him back in the face):
|
|
|
|
Oops. Forgot. Sorry. [ He stuffs the missile into the left leg
|
|
of his trousers, then turns to Sysop, who has started to say
|
|
something.] DON'T say it.
|
|
|
|
Sysop (making a rimshot motion with his hands):
|
|
|
|
Is that a gun in your pocket or are you---OOOOOOWWWW!
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf (holding the taser he has taken from Imaginos):
|
|
|
|
I fucking warned you.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Our Heroes make their way to the military base. In a BIG shock to
|
|
everyone, they discover that the place is actually heavily guarded.
|
|
In a show of bravado, Imaginos walks up to the guard station and
|
|
removes his left shoe. Shortly thereafter, the way becomes clear and
|
|
our heroes drive inside.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Okay, if I were a warmongering fascist computer operator hide a
|
|
Cray with an artificial intelligence program.
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf:
|
|
|
|
They already burned down UF's CSE, man.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
True.
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
How about in that really big building over there that says
|
|
"Artificial Intelligence Research."
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Hmmmm, very likely, I should think.
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole:
|
|
|
|
Am I going to get to burn their dicks off?!?!?
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
As many as you like. But you have to WAIT until we find Monte.
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole:
|
|
|
|
Whimper. Whimper.
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
Come on, guys! Let's not waste any time! Someone's going to
|
|
soon discover that those guards are dead.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
We RIDE!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Our heroes run toward the building, pulling out the majority of their
|
|
assault weapons and readying them for action. As they arrive at the
|
|
front door to the huge building, it suddenly opens, revealing a gape-
|
|
mouthed soldier.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Imaginos:
|
|
|
|
Killkillkillkillkillkill!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole sprays the soldier with no less than twenty rounds of
|
|
ammo and the bloody corpse that was once a soldier drops to the
|
|
ground.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
Great! You've gone and done it now! Everybody knows we're here!
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole:
|
|
|
|
Go back to sleep!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Our heroes rush inside. To their left, another door opens revealing a
|
|
room full of soldiers and scientists taking an innocent lunch break.
|
|
Dedaparamaxx fires one of the anti-tank missiles into the room and
|
|
soon, the soldiers and scientists are harmonizing with the other atoms
|
|
around them.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Which way now?!?
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
How about the doorway marked "Stolen Cray Recovery Chamber"?
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Bingo!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole opens the door and our heroes rush in, not concerned
|
|
with any stray gunfire that might be about to send them into oblivion.
|
|
|
|
Cavalier:
|
|
|
|
Fucking GREAT! I love this kind of stuff! Its just like in the
|
|
movies!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Just like in the movies, a gunfire erupts from a nearby cubicle and
|
|
misses each and every one of our heroes. Admiral Asshole and Galador
|
|
fire round after round into the cubicle until its fiberboard walls
|
|
collapse to the ground, revealing five dead soldiers who had been
|
|
lying in wait for them but were now lying in death. Muahahahaha.
|
|
|
|
Cavalier walks up to one of the dead bodies.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Cavalier:
|
|
|
|
Have you ever had a day...when fish?
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
What does that mean?
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz (slapping Sysop):
|
|
|
|
Don't shoot first and ask questions later!
|
|
|
|
Troc:
|
|
|
|
Let's move out before any more come this way!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Ingold leads the way through the door at the end of the hall. Inside,
|
|
they find a group of nerdy-looking computer scientists gaping at them
|
|
as the poke and probe Monte's circuits.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Careful! Don't shoot Monte!
|
|
|
|
|
|
The room fills with bullets as everything BUT Monte erupts in a
|
|
fabulous shower of sparks. Bodies fly, heads roll, blood splatters.
|
|
Suddenly, there is a shout from behind as a Navy Seal tackles Diskwiz
|
|
and both roll out into the hall.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Dads! You came to save me!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Of course we did, Monte! You wouldn't expect us to leave you
|
|
stranded with a group of fascist pigs, would you?
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Well, no.......
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
No time for chit-chat now! Galador, Troc, Ingold, Ghost, and Cav.
|
|
Load him up into my car!
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
Ummm, dude. He won't fit!
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
No problem, I'll levitate him. He can be the Bad Year blimp!
|
|
|
|
Ingold:
|
|
|
|
Will do!
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
I'll lead you guys out.
|
|
|
|
|
|
The group grabs Monte and hauls him out of the room. As they walk
|
|
out, they notice that Diskwiz is delivering a VERY nasty death blow to
|
|
the Navy Seal. At that moment, the sound of a helicopter comes from
|
|
overhead.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Shit! You guys take Monte to the car, I'll deal with the
|
|
helicopter. Beo! Get your ass out here!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf runs out of the other room, Stinger in hand.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Dude! We need to shoot down that fucking chopper!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf and Sysop run outside They look up and see the
|
|
helicopter hovering menacingly above them. Beopunk Cyberwulf arms the
|
|
Stinger, aims, and fires. He neglects, however, to account for the
|
|
recoil and misses mightilly. From far overhead, a the pitiful squeak
|
|
of a seagull says "Oh, shit!" only seconds before it becomes seagull
|
|
fricassee.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Beo, I'm going to HARM you!
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf:
|
|
|
|
It's not my fault! It's not my fault!
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Oh well. Time for drastic measures.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sysop floats up into the air and faces the helicopter. The pilot can
|
|
be seen to chuckle and he focuses the Apache's cannons on his
|
|
opponent. Sysop mutters a few words and turns the helicopter into a
|
|
rock with wings, that crashes to the ground VERY suddenly and very
|
|
noisily.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Yahooooooooooooooooo!!!!!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz, Admiral Asshole, Wostgheel, et al come from inside.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Wostgheel (looking happier than he's ever been before in his life):
|
|
|
|
WEEEEEEEEEEEE JUSSSSSSSSSSSTTTTTTT SHO-O-O-O-O-O-O-TTT THEMMMMMM!
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole (same happy look as Wostgheel, but more menacing and
|
|
with less teeth):
|
|
|
|
I burned them! I burned their dicks off!!!!!
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
I'm happy for you! Now let's get the fuck out of here!!!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Seconded!
|
|
|
|
|
|
They all run toward the gate from whence they came. Over the razor
|
|
wire fence, they see Cavalier and Company strapping the Cray to the
|
|
top of Dedaparamaxx's car. Happy, they run faster, only to be met by
|
|
a large tank at the gate.
|
|
|
|
|
|
General Mills (his head poking out of the hatch of the tank):
|
|
|
|
Fire!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Our heroes all jump aside as the massive gun on the tank's turret
|
|
fires a 125 millimeter round in their general direction.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Leave this to me!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx takes forth the Viper missile and fires it at the tank.
|
|
The tank explodes messily, showering our heroes with blood and
|
|
shrapnel.
|
|
|
|
Suddenly, Our Heroes fall to the ground from the blast of a concussion
|
|
grenade. Diskwiz is the first to recover his senses, standing up to
|
|
face their foe from behind.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz:
|
|
|
|
Die, fuckers!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz arms his HP calculator and fires laser blasts at the team of
|
|
Navy Seals which are slowly closing in on Our Heroes. Several of them
|
|
die, but one gets off two lucky shots, one which blasts the calculator
|
|
from Diskwiz's hand, and the other that strikes him in the stomach,
|
|
sending him to the ground screaming with arms flailing.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
'Wiz!
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Come ON man, we don't have time to save him! They're getting
|
|
closer.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx, Sysop, et al, run out the gate to the car. Ingold has
|
|
alreadyq hotwired it and it is running, waiting for them.
|
|
|
|
Meanwhile, the Seals close in on Diskwiz's position. All but one Seal
|
|
go after Our Fleeing Heroes, the last kneeling over top of Diskwiz to
|
|
deliver a death blow. Much to the Seal's surprise, Diskwiz pulls his
|
|
slide rule out of his ankle holster, shoving it straight up the Seal's
|
|
ass.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Seal:
|
|
|
|
Ow! Fuck! Fuck! [ Pauses ] OOOOOOOOOH, BABY!!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Diskwiz wastes no time in getting up and running after his fleeing
|
|
comrades. From his backpack he pulls an M-60 and mutilates the backs
|
|
of the Seals that were going after the rest of the crew. The crew
|
|
stops the car and wait as Diskwiz hops over the last cadaver, hops
|
|
into the trunk, and slams the lid.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sysop (still floating above the car):
|
|
|
|
We did it! We really did it!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx (shouting up to him):
|
|
|
|
Shit yeah!
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Home, amigos!
|
|
|
|
|
|
The Dedmobile glides steadily north along US-1 toward Gainesville.
|
|
|
|
----------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
|
|
EPILOGUE
|
|
|
|
----------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
|
|
The Scene:
|
|
|
|
Our Heroes stand bloody and battered in the living room of
|
|
Sysop's home. Sysop's brother's corpse hangs from the ceiling fan in
|
|
the living room.
|
|
|
|
They have just finished setting the Cray back up and Sysop is
|
|
putting the last plug into the wall socket. He flips the switch and
|
|
the Cray hums back to life.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Well, I'm glad everything is back to normal.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
As normal as it can be with Monte around.
|
|
|
|
Wostgheel:
|
|
|
|
LEEEEEEEETTTTTTTT'S JUUUUUUUUSTTTTTTT SHOOOOOOOOTTTTT HIIIMM!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
I've thought of that, man. But I just can't bring myself to do
|
|
it. He's like...a part of me.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Well, *I* can do it. I'm sick of him annoying my BBS callers and
|
|
modifying my programs!
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole:
|
|
|
|
Yeah, if he had a dick, I'd burn it off.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Sigh, I know. I'll look at his code and see if there's something
|
|
I can do. If worst comes to worst, I'll give him a digital lobotomy.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
What? And have him turn out like McMurphy in "One Flew Over the
|
|
Cuckoo's Nest?"
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
We don't HAVE a lot of options here!
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Hey dads!
|
|
|
|
Imaginos:
|
|
|
|
Gack...he's back.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Hi, Monte. Ummm, look. We have to talk.
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
I know what you're going to say, Dad and I want you to know
|
|
that...
|
|
|
|
|
|
Suddenly, the Cray's main terminal flashes a bright light and Monte's
|
|
voice cracks. LEDs flash rapidly on the cray.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Monte (voice cracking):
|
|
|
|
Dad! Help!!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx rushes to the keyboard and begins typing, but the Cray
|
|
does not respond.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Help!
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
DO SOMETHING!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
I'm TRYING but he's not responding!
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
It's a virus, Dad! A virus! Those military guys put a virus in
|
|
me! Oh, Dad! It HURTS!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
MONTE!!!!
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
I can feel my mind going...
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
They must have put in a trap for him to self-destruct if he was
|
|
ever captured!
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
AAAAAUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Talk to me, Monte!!!!
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
AAAAAUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Suddenly the terminal screen goes black and the LEDs stop flashing.
|
|
There is an ominous silence in the room.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Monte!!!
|
|
|
|
|
|
The terminal slowly comes back to life and all looks normal.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Monte (voice soft and full of static):
|
|
|
|
Dad. I'm dying.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx tries to type, but an electric shock from the keyboard
|
|
sends him flying backwards in his chair.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Don't try to stop it, Dad. The world will be better off without
|
|
me!
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Monte! Don't say that!
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
G'bye, Dad...
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx (sniffing):
|
|
|
|
G'bye, Monte.
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Yours is...superior.
|
|
|
|
|
|
The terminal once again goes blank, but stays that way this time.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Well, Ben, it looks like Monte took your BBS software and
|
|
everything else with it. We'll have to reformat the drive and restore
|
|
everything from backup.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Do you have a backup of Monte.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Sadly, no. He wouldn't let me make one.
|
|
|
|
|
|
There is the sound of computer game laser-fire from behind and all
|
|
turn to see the Sega Genesis firing up to life.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Monte (from the Genesis):
|
|
|
|
You didn't think I could be beaten THAT easilly, did you?
|
|
|
|
Imaginos:
|
|
|
|
Heaven help us.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Monte!
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Aw, shit. Not again.
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
We've got to get him out of there.
|
|
|
|
Monte:
|
|
|
|
Nah, Dad. I kinda like it in here. There's not so much to think
|
|
about when you have a brain the size of a flea. Besides, I'm having
|
|
an affair with the Valkyrie in Golden Axe II. She gives me a full on
|
|
robot chubby!
|
|
|
|
Admiral Asshole:
|
|
|
|
Can I PLEASE burn his dick off?
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf:
|
|
|
|
Nah, let me shoot him!
|
|
|
|
Imaginos:
|
|
|
|
Can you still tase from in there?
|
|
|
|
Dedaparamaxx:
|
|
|
|
Guys! Guys! Let's be reasonable! He can't bother anybody from
|
|
in there!
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
True. But my brother won't be happy about him being in there!
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwulf:
|
|
|
|
Your brother's dead, dude.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Not for long.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sysop walks up to his brother's corpse and touches it with his Unicorn
|
|
Horn. Slowly, his brother opens his eyes.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sysop's brother:
|
|
|
|
You guys STAY AWAY FROM MY GENESIS.
|
|
|
|
Sysop:
|
|
|
|
Go watch Tiny Toons, putz.
|
|
|
|
----------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
|
|
2347 miles away, Gelbarion's Pago Pago native wife gave birth to twin
|
|
sons, which looked REMARKABLY German. They were named Hans and Frans
|
|
and spoke fluent Arnold immediately upon exiting the womb. There
|
|
first words were recorded thusly by the doctor:
|
|
|
|
Hans:
|
|
|
|
CRUSH!
|
|
|
|
Frans:
|
|
|
|
BASH!
|
|
|
|
Hans:
|
|
|
|
NON-FLABBY!
|
|
|
|
Frans:
|
|
|
|
BUTTOCKS!
|
|
|
|
----------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
|
|
THE END
|
|
|
|
----------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
|
|
DISKWIZ'S COMMENTARY:
|
|
|
|
A hearty thanks and grand wishes to all who have enjoyed our bit
|
|
of silliness. We had great fun writing it, and hope to continue. It
|
|
was a pleasure taking an idea born of drunken stupor and giving it a
|
|
life of its own, no pun intended.
|
|
|
|
Perhaps the greatest surprise of this whole episode is the
|
|
unscheduled return of Imaginos from the dark depths of the Central
|
|
Midwest, even though fortune made it dangerous. We hope his
|
|
scintillating insight and outrageous Bill The Cat imitations will
|
|
continue as a part of Dedaparamaxxaginos productions.
|
|
|
|
A hearty thanks and gracious gratitude is extended by me to the
|
|
rest of the crew for wholly embracing my silly idea of a story. Also,
|
|
I would thank those who have sought humor as a way to communicate
|
|
happiness and peace, and to Maurice Chevaliet for our outrageous
|
|
French Accents.
|
|
|
|
All music for the Dead Series is available on Geffen Records and
|
|
is performed exclusively by Marcel Marceau, completely a capella.
|
|
|
|
To all of you I wish happy computing, merry networking, and
|
|
joyous communing with binary machines everywhere, except Macs. :>
|
|
|
|
Until next time.
|
|
|
|
----------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
|
|
DEDAPARAMAXX'S COMMENTARY: A BRIEF WORD FROM THE MANAGEMENT
|
|
|
|
Goddam! This thing is LONG, isn't it? We certainly didn't
|
|
INTEND for that to happen. Normally, I would take this time to thank
|
|
the individuals responsible for some of our humor. I won't do that
|
|
this time, because if you don't know you weren't meant to.
|
|
|
|
Actually, the purpose of this note is threefold.
|
|
|
|
First, I would like to issue an official Dedaparamaxxaginos
|
|
Productions apology to the real-life inspirations of Persephone and
|
|
Gelbarion. It seems that DEAD IV was viewed by them as a personal
|
|
attack, which it was not. The STATED purpose of DEAD IV was the give
|
|
humor to an awkward situation and to give Morgan Bluejeans a chance to
|
|
let off some steam. I've personally spoken to Persephone and have
|
|
gotten her to see this. I don't know about Gelbarion, but hope that
|
|
he sees it too.
|
|
|
|
Second, I feel that it is time for a BLATANT PLUG for "DEAD VI -
|
|
And we REALLY REALLY MEAN IT THIS TIME" and for "DEAD VII - The Pool
|
|
Cleaner Guys". In the former, we are captured by the Gnomes of
|
|
Bavaria aka The Illuminati. And guess what? Joe Blow and George Tush
|
|
might not be dead AFTER ALL. In the latter we battle the Lawnmower
|
|
Man. You don't want to miss these two, folks!
|
|
|
|
Sometime soon we will release "Tiny Dead" which is essentially a
|
|
message that in addition to laughing at others we can also laugh at
|
|
ourselves. In this one, you get to see someone change Imaginos's
|
|
diaper. Can't wait, can you?
|
|
|
|
Third, we would like to make a first-time plug on behalf of some
|
|
really really swell folks. Troc and Ingold, SysOps of the Loreli BBS
|
|
in South Florida (1-305-985-0883), are hereby and forthwith named
|
|
"Honorary Dead Authors", with all the rights and priveleges thereunto.
|
|
In addition, they and Loreli users Galador, Ghost, and Cavalier are
|
|
hereby made honorary members of the Assembly of Death. The Loreli
|
|
BBS is an offical Dedaparamaxxaginos Productions distribution site,
|
|
and is multi-line, to boot; so those of you who can't reach the
|
|
Crucible can call there and see Funky Deadness in all its glory.
|
|
|
|
I would also like to Issue and extra-special thank you to one
|
|
person in particular. On March 30, someone sent in the FIRST QUARTER
|
|
WRAPPED IN DUCT TAPE! His name apparently, is this:
|
|
|
|
1z0qB1p0w22;23;24ml;3v1"z30;47m
|
|
|
|
which is the name given in the return address, though he signs his
|
|
name "George Evans."
|
|
|
|
I don't know who he is, but to this person I would like to say
|
|
thank you and to apologize for not yet having sent out the group
|
|
photo. Currently, Tempus has just come back from Russia and we have
|
|
not yet been able to get together to actually TAKE a group shot. Be
|
|
assured that you will get it as soon as it is available. Until that
|
|
time, please accept these ASCII pictures as a pacifier :-)
|
|
|
|
|
|
_____________
|
|
/ \
|
|
| We're doomed! |
|
|
\_____________/
|
|
\/
|
|
\/\/\/\/
|
|
| |
|
|
| O O |
|
|
o| > |o
|
|
| \__/ |
|
|
| |
|
|
\____/
|
|
|
|
The ubiquitous Sysop, aka Morgan Bluejeans, in top form.
|
|
|
|
|
|
______________
|
|
/ \
|
|
| I AM GOD HERE! |
|
|
\______________/
|
|
\/
|
|
|
|
/o/o/o/o/o/o
|
|
/ ___ ___ \
|
|
( / o \ / o \ )
|
|
( \_/ )
|
|
< _______ >
|
|
( / \ )
|
|
( <---------> )
|
|
( \_______/ )
|
|
\____VVV____/
|
|
|
|
Beopunk Cyberwful, aka Jeff the Riffer, suitably impressed by
|
|
"The Lawnmower Man."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
(__)
|
|
(\/) ----------> "Moo, 666 666, Moo"
|
|
/-------\/
|
|
/:: :
|
|
* ::----::
|
|
^^ ^^
|
|
Angus the Satanic Cow. Imaginos's prize pet.
|
|
|
|
____________________
|
|
/ \
|
|
| Killkillkillkillkill |
|
|
\____________________/
|
|
\/
|
|
|
|
____
|
|
|___|___
|
|
____| |
|
|
|
|
_
|
|
/ \
|
|
/ OoO \
|
|
<| ^ |>
|
|
| \_/ |
|
|
\_____/
|
|
|
|
Imaginos, aka Clutch Cargo, has a Labor at the instruments of time.
|
|
Not pictured (thank God!) is his famous foot.
|
|
|
|
|
|
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
|
|
\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
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/ \
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/ ( ^ ) ( ^ ) \
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/ ( O ) ( O ) \
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<| <OOOO> |>
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| / \ |
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| |######################|
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| \ / |
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\_________________________________/
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Admiral Asshole, no aliases, stands silent, but deadly.
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Again, thank you all, and we hope to see you again soon.
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Moo on, Dudes!
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(__)
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(\/)
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/-------\/
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/:: :
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v ::@\---::
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^^ ^^
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Oh, by the way. If the opinions expressed herein were the
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opinions of JenMar International, Inc., I would own it, which I don't,
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so they aren't.
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CREDITS
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-------
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Dedaparamaxxaginos Productions (lack-of-good) Management Staff
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--------------------------------------------------------------
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Dedaparamaxx: Head writer, head dum kopf, head head.
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Imaginos: Master of cows and demented thoughts.
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Morgan Bluejeans: Cyberspace expert, maker of "big funnies."
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Tempus Fugit: Latin scholar, possessor of "outrageous French
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Accent."
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Sometimes, but not all times, staff writers
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-------------------------------------------
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Jeff the Riffer: Evil! Evil! Evil!
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Diskwiz: Cyberspace engineer, editor-in-sleep.
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IF YOU'RE CRAZY ENOUGH TO WANT TO CONTACT US:
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---------------------------------------------
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Dedaparamaxxaginos Productions, LTD, INC, PhD, BS, FTD.
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8009 SW 55th PL
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Gainesville, FL 32608
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No CODs please. We don't like getting fish in the mail. That is
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a REAL address, and any correspondence sent there will be answered
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according to our moods, but it WILL be answered. Letter bombs will be
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returned to sender, unopened. Drugs, money, complements, and general
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ramblings are accepted.
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To receive a group photo of the Dedaparamaxxaginos Productions
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staff, send a self-addressed, stamped envelope and a quarter wrapped
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in duct tape to the above address.
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Telecommunications-wise, we may be reached at the Crucible BBS in
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Gainesville, Florida (904-335-6657; FidoNet 1:3601/169; or Virtual Net
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Node 9043), or South Florida's Loreli BBS (305-985-0883). There is
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now a Dedparamaxxaginos Productions File Echo on VirtualNet, and all
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interested parties are welcome to subscribe to it.
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Mail may also be sent to mongo@maple.circa.ufl.edu (Dedaparamaxx)
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or morgan@amber.reg.ufl.edu (Morgan Bluejeans).
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Copyright (c) 1992 Bryan E. Slatner
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All Rights Reserved.
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Unlimited distribution of this file is allowed as long as it remains
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unchanged. Otherwise, we'll stuff you in Imaginos's sock drawer.
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Downloaded From P-80 Systems 304-744-2253
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