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/ \_/\_/ \_/\_/ \ M M 0000 0000 SSSSS EEEEEEE / \_/\_/ \_/\_/ \
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DDDD RRRR OOOO PPPPP PPPPP IIIII N N GGGGG SSSSS
D D R R O O P P P P I NN N G S
D D RRRR O O PPPPP PPPPP I N N N G GGG SSSS
D D R R O O P P I N NN G G S
DDDD R R OOOO P P IIIII N N GGGG SSSSS
A-M00SE-ING ANECDOTES AND ILLUMINATION BY AND FOR THE PAWNS OF THE
M00SE ILLUMINATI
Issue #31| Disclaimer: The Editors will place almost anything | Nov. 03, 1989
---------- in this newsletter out of a frantic desire to fill ---------------
the issue, so don't blame them for the quality or content of the submissions.
Excepting those they may have written themselves, the enclosed items do not in
any way represent the Editors' opinions. In fact, let's be real safe, and say
that as far as this newsletter is concerned, they have no opinions at all. OK?
================================================================================
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************************************* STAFF ************************************
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Editor - Patrick Salsbury <V291NHTP@UBVMS.BITNET>
Submissions to: DangerM00se <V291NHTP@UBVMS.BITNET>
Back issue requests: WarM00se <V291NHTP@UBVMS.BITNET>
M00se List updates and changes: Darkling M00se <V123NKUX@UBVMS.BITNET>
(This space to let): Contact <V291NHTP@UBVMS.BITNET>
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**************************** EDITORIALS AND LETTERS ****************************
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Hmm. Back again? Already? It seems like only yesterday I was mailing out
the last issue. (Maybe because it WAS only yesterday, as the @#&%$(@#% mailer
delayed everyting. (Hey, mon, me tinks I'll tok in de JaMAYca occent fo' a bit!)
Naw, too difficult.
Anyway, things seem to be coming along fine, I've gotten some
submissions, and the !#%@%^&($# mailer is FINALLY working, so you should be
getting this crap on a fairly regular basis. We are getting lots o' bouncebacks
from m00ses who have mysteriously disappeared...I think THEY got our fellow
m00ses!
For those of you who HAVEN'T read ILLUMINATUS! yet, I HIGHLY recommend
it! Go and buy a copy NOW! Otherwise, you won't truly appreciate the subversive
stuff we post here. :)
More stuff as I think of it....
-Pat "DangerM00se" Salsbury
<V291NHTP@UBVMS.BITNET>
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Hey! I just realized that it's a Friday, and that 'Droppings usually
comes out on Friday! So, even though I just sent an issue yesterday, I thought
I'd confuse you all and send another! ;^)
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******************************* EVENTS AND NEWS ********************************
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Here's some thoughts on a way we can really cause some confusion and paranoia.
Anyone know where we can get rubber stamps made up? ;^)
-Pat
[Note: Text with a > preceding is from V115QRJ8@UBVMS - BlAcKDoG]
>Incidentally, following up on what me and Crissm00se were doing one day
>during Western Civ, me and Pat came up with getting rubber stamps, somewhat
>official looking, saying something to the effect that the bill is null&void
>, love, the treasury dept. If we get started we could deface all 20 billion
>odd $1 bills in a few decades. But if other people see them and catch on....
Yeah. I was reflecting a bit on this last night. We put something on a
stamp (with a nice, official looking border) that says:
"This bill has been reclaimed by the Treasury Dept. for destruction. Do
not honor, it is no longer legal tender."
And we start stamping them on all sorts of denominations of currency.
1,5,10,20,50-dollar bills...whatever we can get our hands on. Then we re-release
them into the system. (If we just do it with $1's & 5's, we can put them in
change machines, and then take change back to the back to get more bills! :)
:^)
And the thing is, once people see them, they will try to get rid of
them quickly and surreptitiously. They think that they are committing an
illegal act, and get all guilty and sneaky. They'll start trading them in to
stores and such, with the stamped side face down. Probably not realizing that
reclaimed bills are exchangeable for new ones. :)
And they'll feel like they've had something akin to a counterfeit bill
foisted on them, so they'll feel all cheated. Which will create feelings of
public unrest. And it will eventually make the news and waste lots of time as
they announce to the public that the bills are still legal, and that the
Treasury Dept. doesn't stamp bills, just burns them.
And...
And...
And...I think it's a pretty good idea, don't you? :)
>Tht's one of the great things about money,it shows one of the basic stupidities
>of the capitalist system. If this money is mine....how can it be a crime to
>deface it?! and if it belongs to the gov't, why the fuck am I taking it?
True! Wow! What a great thought! Are we thieves? Or just vandals? :)
-Pat
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***************************** FICTION AND POETRY *******************************
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From: V056QKT3@UBVMS
Date: 30-OCT-1989 16:02:02
Description: aaaaack!
And then... it happened.
Not that modern science would ever care, or not even that it would ever get
on the cover of playboy magazine, but I had just discovered the meaning of life,
the fire-side twinkie. That's right, the fire-side twinkie. Have you ever lost
a quarter in your pocket? Actually had it be there one minute, and gone the
moment before? This is the sign of a total mental imbalance, and may be treated
with 27 Alabama Slammers. Not to mention the lint-balls. Ugh!
Ever been to Guilderland NY?
...And you'll never go back, eh? What a shame. Really is a nice place. And
there sure are a lot of cute girls from there, but that is consequential, and
we shall therefore take that into no consideration whatsoever. Understood?
And now it's time for SPORTS!
Today, while fly-fishing, Mr. Jethro Q Walruss-titty was strangled to death.
It seems that a small whirlwind came up while he was casting, and wrapped it
around his neck 68 times.
And now for college football scoreas.
Syracuse 28 NYU 12
Georgetown 9 ABC 2.5
UCLA 22
MIT 3 to the 5th power!
And now a partial score...
Clemson 28
That's the news for this evening.
This is Dan Lather, not signing off.
where's that damn hold button?
I know it's here somewhere....
Is this it?
#$%^&, it wasn't!
Ah, here it is......
l0i0m00se.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
From: V061REGM@UBVMS - CAPTAIN DEVIOUS!
Date: 31-OCT-1989 10:47:31
Description: osmo
SEMI-OFFICIAL M00SE RULES (FALL '89) FOR OSMOKINETICS!
------------------------------------------------------
1) Get together your semi-standard playing equipment: one 9-inch tensegrity,
eleven small steel balls, a towel, four bathtubs, a fresh package
of stale bread crumbs, and the American ambassador to Finland.
(only the first two are required for the basic version of the game.)
2) Place the tensegrity in the middle of the regulation-size playing area,
distribute the balls in accordance with rule, and, taking turns
in a clockwise fashion, starting with the beginning player, play
the game.
3) The object of OsmoKinetics is to play. If you want to win, then quit
(see rule #4) and go play parcheesi with your little sister. Also,
the play is to be as convincing looking as possible; that is, play
as if you were playing in front of a lot of people (which, by the
way, is the best way to play it), and are trying to make them think
there is actually a highly complex set of rules. Actually, the rules
are quite complicated, but that comes later.
4) To quit the game, leave.
5) The game ends when all players quit. This usually happens after a while
if players become bored, distracted, or discover that nobody is actually
watching them. When a game ends, it is generally done.
6) All rules after rule number 5 are complete nonsense and should be ignored,
if possible, or not if you want.
This concludes the semi-official rules of the game of OsmoKinetics,
version Fall '89.
Provided by: CAPTAIN DEVIOUS!
and
Inspired by: PAT SALSBURY
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From the Superguy list. Submitted by Lord Trelf
Subject: The Armadillo - Chapter One
***DISCLAIMER: Don't blame me or anyone else for anything. I fell down
a flight of stairs at any early age.***
Joe and Ed stood by the trash dumpster, catching a few smokes while on
their ten minute coffee break. The Texas sun was hot on their backs, and the
heat sizzled up from the cement. They were temp workers, and not happy about
it, but as they are only appearing in this story for a few paragraphs, don't
get overly concerned about their plight. They had been busy all morning
at the "Flatfoot Emporium", a retail store specializing in old detective pulps
and videotapes of "The Untouchables" and other similar media products of that
genre. [ For the unenlightened of you out there, the word 'genre' is a term
used by us smart-assed artistic types to mean lots of books, movies or
magazines rehashing the same old stuff.]
Apparently, the Emporium had been bought out by certain members of the PTL
board of trustees, and they were planning on turning the building into a Jim
and Tammy Faye Bakker Memorial Museum, in honor of the now late Bakkers, who
died in a tragic accident involving lengths of rope, a pound of butter, and
97 vials of mascara. This isn't important either, so don't get worried. What
IS important is that Joe and Ed had been ordered to remove all the videos,
magazines, and books from the premises and dump them somewhere, preferably far
away. This is what Joe and Ed had been doing all morning.
Finishing his smoke, Joe tossed it to the ground and crushed it under
his heal. Moving back toward the dumpster, he noticed a rat running out
from the dumpster. It was the same rat they had seen all morning, the one
they had affectionately named 'Willard'. "Gee," said Joe, "that rat seems to
be running off in the direction of Washington D.C."
"So what," said Ed. "Let's get finished. I got a bowling match tonight."
"Okay," said Joe.
By mid-afternoon they were finished, and took the dumpster to a far away
dump. They quickly dumped their not-so-precious cargo off the side of a small
hill and drove off into the quickly setting sun, unaware that they had just
dumped nearly a ton of Detective Genre books, magazines, and videos on a
pool of toxic waste. [Origin of waste unknown -- for now.]
The next morning, a small, non-descript armadillo was meandering his way
through the dump looking for his breakfast. He came across the pile of toxic
magazines, books and videos, said "What the hell?" in armadillo language, and
began to dig in. It wasn't particularly good eating, but he didn't expect to
find much better in a dump where the likes of Joe and Ed dumped things. After
chowing down for 20 minutes [he was a hungry armadillo], he decided to burrow
into the pile and sleep for a while. [Now, you're all out there yelling "NO!
Don't do it!" and the like, but remember, this is an armadillo, not a B-movie
bimbo, so of course he isn't going to understand you.]
Several hours later he woke up, and immediately realized something was
different. He tunneled out of the pile and stood up in the cool evening air.
Off to the side a more-or-less intact mirror stoo}id against a pile of junk, and
the armadillo walked over to it. Looking in, the image he saw shocked him. He
was now humanoid, standing roughly 5 feet 6 inches. He was still clad in armor,
but was now wearing a tan trench coat and a tan, beaten fedora. In a shoulder
holster sat a .38 revolver, well oiled. Rummaging through his coat pockets, he
came across a box of ammo in one and a bottle of cheap bourbon in the other. He
uncapped the bourbon and took a swig. "Smoooooth," he said, then was shocked to
find that he was speaking Human English, with an accent that was a cross between
Chicago and Bronx. [Erie to consider, eh?]
He looked off in a Northwesterly direction, knowing where his destiny
lay......The Big Apple.
Several Years Later...
[Right now you are probably asking why this story is suddenly jumping
several years into the future. I can answer that question by giving you
a description of our hero, who hereing is known as The Armadillo [or
Dillo Man by his friends]. On that fateful day when he ate and nested in a
pile of toxic Detective Genre media stuff, The Armadillo gained humanoid form,
sentience, and a taste for cheap bourbon. Those aren't all of his powers,
though. His body is still made up of armadillo armor, so he can take most
blows and gunshots with surprisingly little damage. His trench coat never
takes damage, nomatter how many shots it takes, and his fedora never falls
from his head. He has gained the proportional strength of an armadillo [what
are you laughing at? do you know how strong one must be to ALWAYS carry a
suit of armor around? thought that would make you straighten up in your seat.]
and unfortunately, the proportional speed of an armadillo, which explains why
our story leaps ahead in years.]
So, as I was saying... Several Years later...
She walked down the hall, apprehensive as all hell, but knowing she
had to do what she was{_ about to do. The dimly lit corridor smelled like a
zoo, and the floor was littered with fast-food wrappers. As the echo of her
high heels resounded through the hall [how can noise resound through a trash
filled corridor, which should normally absorb the sound? Don't ask me..all
I know is that it makes for a neat hollow deserted effect.] she stopped in
front of a wooden door with a smoked plate glass window. On the window were
written the letters A D A, which she knew to stand for the Armadillo Detective
Agency. Wondering how she could decide to use an agency with such a name,
she knocked on the door.
A flat, oddly accented voice answered. "Come in."
She opened the door and gasped upon looking at the form behind the desk.
"My God," she said. "You really ARE an armadillo! I thought that was just a
gimmick."
For his part, The Armadillo was quite taken aback when he saw her. She was
a statuesque blond with a body that would make a rat start living a clean life.
Her hair flowed freely over her shoulders, accenting her rather large
##CENSORED##. And her legs weren't bad either. He had to exert massive control
to keep his tongue from rolling onto the floor. {After all,} he thought, {what
flatfoot worth the name would show emotion over a dame.}
"I know it's a gimmick," he replied in a voice which sounded like it came
from a person who was born and raised in the Bronx, but had been living on the
South Side of Chicago for the past five yeears. "But it ain't mine..it's the
author's. I don't have any control over him."
"I understand," the woman said. "Ya' gotta help me, Mr. um, ah..."
"They call me The Armadillo," he said.
"Okay, Mr. um, Armadillo.."
"No," he interupted. "Not Mr. um, Armadillo. Just call me Mr. Dillo."
"Yes Mr. Dillo. Anyway, I'm in a lot of trouble, and ya' gotta' help me."
He watched the way she breathed when she talked. And the way she breathed
when she moved. And the way she breathed when she didn't move. He even watched
her when she didn't breate. {And to think of all those years I fooled around
with armadillos, when I coulda' been playin' the bagpipes with this one here.}
"Why are ya' in trouble, shweetheart?"
Mere moments later, as she was about to explain what her problems were,
a terrible explosion went off, knocking in the windows and shattering everything
in the room, including [presumably] our hero and the dame.
WHAT WAS THAT EXPLOSION?
DID THE ARMADILLO AND THE DAME SURRVIVE?
DOES "SHE" HAVE A NAME?
WILL THE ARMADILLO GET TO PLAY THE BAGPIPES WITH HER?
THE ANSWERS TO THESE AND OTHER EXCITING QUESTIONS CAN BE FOUND IN A SMALL
WHITE ENEVELOPE HIDDEN IN THE PIANO AT 'RICK'S PLACE'!!!!!!! -OR-
TUNE IN NEXT TIME...SAME ARMADILLO TIME...SAME ARMADILLO CHANNEL!
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*************************** M00SCELLANEOUS NONSENSE ****************************
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From: V118PV6E@UBVMS - Crissm00se
Date: 30-OCT-1989 12:08:06
Description: well, if you ask me...
AA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAA AAAA AAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAA AAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAA AAA AAA AAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAA AAA AAA AAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAA AAAA AAAA AAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAA AAAA AAAA AAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAA AAA AAA AAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAA AAA AAA AAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAA AAAAAAAA
AAAAAAA AAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAA
AA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AA
A AAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Anarchy - the only way.
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From: V123P62M@UBVMS
Date: 30-OCT-1989 14:28:34
Description: ...And so I was saying to Stella..."Stella," I said...
..."there's definitely something strange about the trunk
in the living room."
"Well, that's because it's a foot locker, you lasagna-head,"
Stella mumbled with a disgusted shake of her plum-colored locks.
"No, besides that," I protested. "I put a couple of blankets
in there last October when I cleaned the corner of the living room -
YOU know which corner I mean - and last Wednesday I checked to see if
Marty was in there, and the blankets were gone."
Stella yawned and rotated her new nose ring another half turn.
"Instead, there was a full eight course dinner for five in that
trunk. Steaming hot, and ready to serve. And there was a delecate rose'
wine...Chateau Babinski '98, I believe...."
"Have you ever considered the significance of the number of dead
flies found between the panes of your average kitchen window?" Stella
demanded, waving a chicken leg in my face. "It boggles the mind!"
I took the chicken leg and stuffed it up her nose. Up to my wrist.
Stella has a very large nose.
"And of course, when I tried to take the dinner OUT of the trunk,
the lid slammed on my earlobe and I had to use a cane for weeks. It always
happens."
Stella's eyes lit up like headlights and I knew she was going to
begin to prophesy. I hate when that happens.
"DER FROSTIGER MITBEWOHNER WIRD SAUERMILCH FUEGLICH STUETZEN. DIE
MORPHIUMSUECHTIGE NONNEN SIND LUESTLINGINNEN!"
Well...at least it had been in a tolerably harmless tongue.....
Last week she'd done it in Mongolian Sign Language, and decapitated three
Jehova's Witnesses.
By the time I put her clothes out and reset the smoke detector, she
was fairly lucid. "Tell your acting professor to fark off," she trilled.
"He's a pansy and a libertine. A pasty and a listerine." She suddenly
put on toe shoes and commenced to dance the Spanish Panic on the dining room
table. The chandelier would have suffered, but we'd already eaten it for
breakfast.
Just then the doorbell rang, and Marty stepped through the window,
carrying two blankets and a tire iron.
"You lose these?" He asked, tossing the blankets at me. They weren't
the ones from the trunk, but looked vaguely familiar. I mulled it over as
he clonked Stella on the head with the tire iron and mounted her over the
mantlepiece with an apple in each nostril. I told you she had a big nose.
After that, it was simplicity itself to knit the fish a sweater.
Obviously, he hadn't been in any kind of mood to sit through the measurement
session before Marty arrived, what with all the table-dancing and prophesy.
Oh, the blankets? Turns out my grandmother had burned them a few
years ago when Jorge came down with tuberculosis. Too bad he was in them at
the time.
-Lorelei
(Heeeeeeere little fishy, fishy, fish.....
Wherever did he go?)
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From: V093P9AX@UBVMS (Who never gives a name on his posts.)
Date: 23-OCT-1989 23:10:46
Description: Things II
For all those who desire more things, I present
T H I N G S I I
CHapter one
Screaming
---------------------------
Okay, okay, so I didn't play parchesi like mother said. It only goes to
show that when you are down and out, fake the punt and go long. You can get
better yardage that way. If not, father no's best. Yearning for a lethal
injection of Venetian Pudding is a plot by the carpetbaggers, rugweavers and
surviving members of the Mills Brothers who want a fag-burning amendment to
disallow torching homosex- wh00ps! I mean FLAG_burning amendment. It leaves me
to bring up the only serious point that I'll probably ever make:
WHY DON'T THEY FIREPROOF THE FUCKING THING????
ChapTer Too
Gnnnnnnnannnnnnng!
--------------------------------
Of course you know, this means war. I have received juristiction from the
non-mangled people S.A. and the Ihavenohormones S.A. in order to strip the
country bear. And if you've ever seen a naked bear, that's more than you should
bear. Bear with me. Barely.
ChaPTRe 3
Ong.
------------------------------------
Don't fall into the trap set by those who say the Wright Bros. dis- covered
Kaluha. Dr. Benson ONg did, and no one cxould tell Wright from Ong anyway.
Listen, oh grape of the forbidden pig! Yoou pretend to have all of the
answers but slavism is not red!!! I know where you store the daffodills!!
Upon leaving this level of conscious- ness, prepare to watch ERASERHEAD:
THE MUSICAL. Of course, remember, bananas aren't shaped that way on purpose.
***TO BE CONTINUED***
From: V093P9AX
Date: 25-OCT-1989 19:43:08
Description: Things II: The Conclusion
THE END.
when in doubt, shoubt BL0000p.
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******************************* MEET THE M00SES ********************************
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Still nothing new on this front.
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*************** AND, OF COURSE, THE UBIQUITOUS M00SE LIST UPDATE ***************
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Still waiting for the update. (C'mon, Darkling M00se! :-) )
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