1101 lines
47 KiB
Plaintext
1101 lines
47 KiB
Plaintext
***** ***** ***** *****
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***** ***** ***** *****
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************* ************* ************* *************
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** *** ** ** *** ** ** *** ** ** *** **
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********* ********* ********* *********
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** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
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***** ***** ***** *****
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SBI-Submarine Pens Proudly Presents:
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####========================================================####
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THE PURPLE THUNDERBOLT OF SPODE VOL 2, 31
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####========================================================####
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"One year and REPLIES TO: HailOtis@socpsy.sci.fau.edu
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still going strong"
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* PPPPPP U U RRRRRR PPPPPP SSSSSS
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*** P P U U R R P P S
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***** P P U U R R P P S
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******* PPPPPP U U RRRRRR PPPPPP SSSSS
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********* P U U R R P S
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*********** P U U R RR P S
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***** P UUUUU R R P SSSSSS
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*****
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*****
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*****
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*****
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* **** *
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*** *** ***
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**** * *****
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************************************
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****************************************
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************************************
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**** ***** *****
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*** ***** ***
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* ***** *
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*****
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*****
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*****
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*****
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*****
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***********
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*********
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*******
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*****
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***
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*
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WRITE TO: IGHF/955 Massachusetts Ave., Suite 209/Cambridge, Ma 02139
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####===================================================================####
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INTRO
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####===================================================================####
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Okay. Let's whack this beast together. I'm running a little late so I'll
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make this short.
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Once again thanks for all the submissions especially from the new people. I
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still can use more though. Or at least have some more people submitting
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stuff.
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One of our readers has expressed some unease about Fawna the Otisian Bimbo.
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Apparently Fawna the Otisian Bimbo needs a new name. So I suppose we're
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more than open to suggestions. We need a name the will sell the product.
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Pretend your some poor innocent sap and suddenly before you is the mighty
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Otisian Kissing both. Before you slap down your money you want to know the
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name of the Bimbo you'll be kissing. What name would appeal to these saps?
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It's important after all. As usual the IGHF needs your money. Otis also
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needs money as well. Winter is rapidly approached. New snow tires are
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needed for the Chariot of Gods. The Purps Yactch could do with a bottom
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scrapping and repainting as well.
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Anyway on with the show.
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####===================================================================####
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####===================================================================####
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OPTIMA PLAN PART 6
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####===================================================================####
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Date: Mon, 14 Oct 91 22:19:33 CDT
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From: Rev <UC521832@UMCVMB.missouri.edu>
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Subject: Oh no here it comes again
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Optima Plan
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part 6
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by Rev. John
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-----------------------------------------------------------------
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Stewy soared above the grey shifting waters of the Pacific Ocean in her
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amazing invisible plane with the Converse All-Star symbol on the side. She
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checked her watch. "Hup, time for DisneyWorld!" She banked the controls and
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the invisible SOG plane headed towards Cinderella's Palace. She tossed a
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cigarette out the window and moved in for a landing. Below, DisneyCorp
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execs were supposedly waiting with a fat check and a tour of the place, led
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by Gib Ford of Converse. Her Chucks quivered in anticipation.
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Doc Simpson (possibly an illegitimate relative of Doc Savage) examined
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the computer screen before him. SamHill had been forwarding some rather
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interesting data 'liberated' from the files of DisneyCorp. Looking on
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the screen, he saw that they spelled trouble.
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"T-R-O-U-B-L-E, that's the password!" cried Simpson joyously as his
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fingers flew over the keys. The data provided by Sam had led him as far
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as this back door. Now, he'd found the key.
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SamHill was worrying him. He'd taken a part time job with Bopping
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Big Boy Burgers and almost immediately been transferred to the company's
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headquarters down south for 'managerial training.' Just where down
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south he refused to say..
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But that was for another day. Doc Simpson scanned through page after
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page of DisneyCorp memos, all discussing the OTISians. It was clear
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that the forces of OTIS had thrown the fear of SPODE into the DisneyCorp
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execs, and they were taking harsh measures. Their plan to sterilize
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the world was here, spelled out to the last detail. But what was this
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about Stewy? And Gib Ford? And...
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Doc Simpson hit the OTISian Trouble Alert.
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In Florida, red flashing lights and sirens began to go off all over
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Commodore Presley's naval complex. Mal sat up in his bunk, rubbed his
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eyes and brushed his hair back to permit vision. On the large
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projection-screen monitor before him the info rattled off from Simpson.
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Mal blinked and squinted. "Hmm.." he said, and then everything went
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black.
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On the deck, Commodore Elvis Presley unconsciously gyrated as he
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fiddled with dials and switches. His crew members ran back and forth
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in their spiffy orange jumpsuits, purchased in bulk from Blofeld after
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James Bond blew up his volcano. Elvis hummed softly. "Hey y'all
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we need to hit the road, you know?" His crew, harried but devoted,
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worked even harder.
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Shortly Elvis' invisible fleet began to move, shuffling stealthily
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along the Florida coast.
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Humpy Stumpy climbed out of Mal's pocket. She got nervous when OTIS
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possessed Mal; being that close to so much magical energy was a little
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unsettling, though not altogether unpleasant. The plucky little bear
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made her way along the bunk, as Mal/OTIS got up like a zombie and
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walked out of the room. Stumpy plopped down on the blanket in the
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middle of the (to her) immense bed and sent comforting vibes to
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Fairbourne. Mal/OTIS had work to do and wouldn't need her for a bit.
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On board the space shuttle, Shark and Fairbourne slipped stealthily
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amongst the scientific instruments in the cargo bay. The massive
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killer satellite was one of those here, the one that would punch a
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mammoth hole in the ozone and allow the sterilization beams to
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coat the planet. She moved along carefully, examining the
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equipment. Finally she recognized it.
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"Meep!" cried Fairbourne, but it was too late. Three burly Optima
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Plan astronauts rushed over and grappled them. Using her awesome
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jujitsu moves Shark flipped them all, and they tumbled about
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crazily in zero-G.
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Shark began punching buttons on the satellite, hoping to shut it down.
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Even now the cargo doors were opening, and the huge machine arm that
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would raise the satellite out of the hold was whirring into place.
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Lights began to flash on the satellite. The astronauts collected their
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wits and propelled themselves towards her. Shark was tackled to the
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floor and struggled with the Optima Plan goons.
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Above her she saw the satellite propelled into space. "Shit!" she
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cried, sensing oncoming doom for the human race.
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Fairbourne squinted his eyes and thought very, very, hard.
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In one of the deep rooms underneath DisneyWorld, Walt Mickey paced
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back in forth in his animatronic hell. "Damn OTISians," he squeaked in
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his forever-perky voice. "Screwing up everything."
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Star Trek doors whooshed open. Two DisneyCorp execs in powersuits
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walked in, followed by a hoverpad. On the hoverpad stood Rev, in some
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sort of stasis field. He appeared absolutely motionless.
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"Ahh," said Walt Mickey. "Finally some good news. Prepare the
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Evil Machine!"
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As the hoverpad moved to the next room, Rev's green hand began to
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glow...
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TO BE CONCLUDED
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####===================================================================####
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SHADES OF BRAZIL
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####===================================================================####
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RISKS-LIST: RISKS-FORUM Digest Friday 11 October 1991 Volume 12 : Issue 48
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----------------------------------------------------------------------
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Date: Fri, 11 Oct 91 09:47:50 pdt
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From: dbenson@yoda.eecs.wsu.edu (David B. Benson)
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Subject: Police raid wrong house -- for second time
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Lewiston Tribune/Friday, October 11, 1991, page 6C
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Associated Press
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FEDERAL WAY, Wash. -- King County Police confounded by a typographical
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error mistakenly descended on the home of Terry and Dean Krussel this week
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-- for the second time this year. At least this time they didn't break the
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door down.
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When the officers from the narcotics unit raided the Krussel home
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in May, they kicked in the door, ordered Terry Krussel, 57, to get down on
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the floor and held her at gunpoint while they searched the house.
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County officials replaced the door at a cost of $2000 and
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apologized profusely.
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When the Krussels got a letter from the county prosecutor's office
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on Sept. 11, addressed to the person officers had sought in the May raid,
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they worried that their address was still on file as a den of iniquity and
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dangerous drugs.
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King County police scrambled to delete their address from the
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department's computer files, and deputy prosecutor Judith Callahan assured
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the Krussels in a Sept. 17 letter of the county's good intentions.
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"Our office is truly concerned that Mr. and Mrs. Krussel not feel
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that they are victims of county bureaucracy," she wrote.
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Unfortunately, the Krussels' address remained in the drug dealer's
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file -- and that's what the officers pursuing the dealer Tuesday night were
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working from.
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The officers didn't leave until Dean Krussel showed them Callahan's
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letter. "This thing just won't go away," he said after the couple's latest
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run-in with King County's finest.
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####===================================================================####
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ELVIS LIVES (THEN AGAIN YOU ALREADY KNEW THAT)
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####===================================================================####
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From: geoff@mdms.moore.com (Geoff Loker)
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Subject: Re: Weirdest Elvis rumor yet
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Date: Fri, 4 Oct 1991 15:45:18 GMT
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This just in. In Ottawa, there is now a laneway called "Elvis Lives Lane".
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It was named this after extensive lobbying by the "Elvis Sighting Society"
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which has its world-wide headquarters in Ottawa. Why Ottawa, you ask?
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Because (and keep this under your hat, since it is a big secret) Elvis is
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alive and well and living in a small town just south of Ottawa called
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Tweed.
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ObUL: Elvis has sat in on a couple of meetings of the Elvis Sighting
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Society (incognito, of course), and, when he decides to make it
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public that he still lives, will first do so at one of their
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meetings.
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####===================================================================####
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TIN FOIL
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####===================================================================####
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[One again our alert new Otisian member speaks!]
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Date: Sun, 13 Oct 91 17:18:39 CDT
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From: C552270@UMCVMB.missouri.edu
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Subject: tin foil
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Mal,
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The tinfoil helmet is doing the job, but I discovered that I was receiving
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Alpha-wave transmissions from the frat house across the street. Made me
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drink a lot of beer for two days, until I installed a magnesium damper with
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a nichrome wire support matrix. Works great and looks cool too! I put
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some red LEDs on it for effect. Frightens children well.
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[stuff deleted]
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Cool runnings,
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Dr. Morpheus
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####===================================================================####
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SOG STORY
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####===================================================================####
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Date: Sat, 19 Oct 91 11:23:38 CDT
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From: Stewy <UC541831@UMCVMB.missouri.edu>
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Subject: PURPS
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The invisible SOG plane glided along the powerful waves of air and coasted
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to the secret Disney Heliport, reserved for the power suits who were flying
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in from places unknown. Stewy could see the planes lining up for 20 miles,
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but no radar in the world could detect her plane.
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Sensing an odd disturbance, she lit another cigarette, rubbed the CHUCKS
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patch on her jacket and Humpy the Stumpy bear rustled in Mal/OTIS's shirt
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pocket.
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"What it is Stewy?" Humpy asked, trying to reposition herself in the
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pocket.
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"I dunno Humperooni, but I'm feeling weird. Aw, maybe it's just my
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anticipation interfering with my SOG powers and all, but do ya 'spose you
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could like check into a few things?"
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"Sure, I'll check with everyone and get back to you as soon as I find
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something out."
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"WHOOOOA! Whups, damn near hit one of the planes!" Stewy shouted in between
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puffs of smoke."Cool, beep me when you know something." The SOG plane
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glided down to a deserted spot near the Heliport and Stewy stepped out of
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the plane. Humpy rubbed her head with her little paws and began a deep
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meditation-like stage.
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In one of the buildings, Gib Ford, Converse President, sat drinking coffee
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and rubbing his robust stomach. In the inside pocket of his power suit was
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a check for Stewy and a gift certificate to be used at the Converse Factory
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Outlet in Florida. Inside of his ear was a clear plastic device that Stewy
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had not noticed when she approached his table. He was listening to reports
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from his Secret Team.
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"Mr. Ford, is that you?" Stewy asked, slightly scared at meeting the man
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she had swamped with letters during the past few months.
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"Why yes! And you must be Stewy, our number one Converse fan."
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"Yes, sir, that's me." Stewy's eyes bulged at the round man in front of
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her. He handed her the check, gift certificate and other papers and told
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her to enjoy herself for the afternoon.
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"We're having a banquet in your honor at 7 p.m., so don't be late. We can't
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have the guest of honor being late, you know." Mr. Ford stood and shook
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Stewy's hand before turning to leave. He rubbed his ear as if in pain.
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"HOLY COW!!! Would ya look at this check! Whuuuu hoooooo!" Stewy ran
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outside of the building, clicking her heals and jumping into the air.
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She hit all the main points of Disney within three hours, saving the best
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for last. She began to notice all the men in power suits parading around
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the park, but her excitement clouded her mind. When she got off of the
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Megatron ride three of the men in suits approached her, but she ran as fast
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as her CHUCKS could carry her.
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"Run Stewy, run!" Humpy cried to her. The messages from Humpy began to fade
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as she ran through a door marked "Suits Only!"
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The hallways were dark, but with her SOG powers, she needed no light. She
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tried to contact Humpy but got nothing more than static. She could see the
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outline of a burly man leaning against the wall and in his hands was an
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automatic weapon. He couldn't see her though, he just sat in the chair and
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listening to the reports from the Secret Team. Stewy grabbed a steel bar
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from one of the dusty shelves and pelted the man in the side of his face.
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Blood oozed from his mouth.
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"Whups!" Stewy waited for the man to groan and began to unlace one of her
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shoes. She wrapped it around his neck and began to ask him questions.
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"Listen pal, this is a secret Tell-Me-The-Truth-SOG-Shoelace, so now you're
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gonna answer a few questions for me."
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The man groaned again, drifting in and out of consciousness. "Optima
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Plan...death..world...Reverend...no time..." The man felt into an
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unconscious state and Stewy shook him violently.
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"Whadd'ya mean death, world, reverend, no time?!!!" The man didn't move.
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"SHIT!" Stewy tried her SOG communication powers again but was still
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receiving interference. She began to walk the dark hallways and glanced
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through several cracks in the walls. The banquet room was being set up for
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her honor that night and she could see a life-size poster of her wearing
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her CHUCKS being raised to the ceiling. Gib Ford stood in the background
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ordering the Secret Team around.
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She continued to walk down the hallway, glancing in various cracks and
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shuddering and what was happening inside of the rooms. The last crack in
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the hallway was glowing an odd green. She knew that color and this time she
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didn't need her SOG powers to tell her something was wrong. Her gut
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wrenched and she peeked through the crack.
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The glow was brighter and suspended in the air. Stewy strained her eyes and
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could see the Rev standing on the platform, the green hand that dangled
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from his neck was glowing into the dark room. His hands were ziptied behind
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his back and his feet were tied together with string.
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"Oh, gosh! Psst. Rev. Psst. Rev" The Rev stood on the platform, waiting for
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the men in suits to continue their business. He glanced toward Stewy
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maintaining his silence.
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"I feel a disturbance!"
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Stewy's eyes widened and her body froze. The Rev glared at her with
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sinister eyes.
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"MAL! MAL! MAL!" Humpy shouted from his shirt pocket. Mal reached inside
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and pulled Humpy out, cradling her in his hands.
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"What is it little guy?"
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"It's Stewy. Our transmission went dead. Something's wrong. Something's
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terribly wrong! We gotta help her!"
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####===================================================================####
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THE ARCHBISHOPS ACCEPTANCE SPEECH
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####===================================================================####
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Date: 16 Oct 91 18:14:00 EDT
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From: <carrott@vax001.kenyon.edu>
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Subject: His Most Esteemed Archbishopric's Acceptance Speech
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To: "hailotis" <hailotis@socpsy.sci.fau.edu>
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What you may have heard from Vic The Slightly Heretical is untrue. as the
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official pimp and translator to his Archbishoproscity, and (unlike The Vic)
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being present at the ordainment of our esteemed religious potentate, i will
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now convey unto the various minions of OTIS (in all of their various states
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of sobriety and sanity) THE TRUE AND UNBIASED (and probably politically
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correct) ACCEPTANCE SPEECH OF ARCHBISHOP CHAD THE FORCIBLY ORDAINED! (hail
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OTIS!)
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it all began that evening, when Jeophey I (our even more esteemed
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papalness), saint Zeck and I sat around a table at gund discussing the
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aesthetic aspects of yak mating rituals. All of a sudden, the table was
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SWATHED IN A MIGHTY WHITE LIGHT (significant religious passages emphasized
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for your worshipping pleasure)
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and A VOICE FROM OTIS ON HIGH (whether legally or not) cried out: "DESPITE
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WHAT YOU FOOLS DID TO MY CAR LAST NIGHT, I WILL GRANT YOU A CHANCE TO
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CONTINUE THE GREAT KENYON TRADITION OF RANDOM OTISIAN WORSHIP! I HAVE
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CHOSEN A BEARDED ONE TO GUIDE YOU!"
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after the white light left... and after Jeoffee and I recovered from the
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blinding dazzle of Saint Zeck's beret... We were overcome with the urge to
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look for the BEARDED ONE.
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the nearest two bearded ones we could think of were Saint Scott and Saint
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cHAD, who were upstairs rubbing sticks and fondling balls on a felt table.
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We vaulted up the stairs, leapt into the game room, and subdued the BEARDED
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ONES.
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after some debate, and a healthy amount of coin tossing (we were yakless at
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the time) we came to the conclusion that the real GUIDE would defy the laws
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of gravity. immediately cHAD was hefted upon the shoulders of those
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involved, and, with a hearty "hail SPODE!", launched across the room into
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the waiting arms of Saint Zeck the Love Bunny.
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Scott, however, dropped like a rock.
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When cHAD had recovered from his tossing, he rose up, and in a blaze of
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bearded glory spoke forth:
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"ok, ok... hail OTIS. Now will you guys fuck off?"
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--Saint James of Nothing Yet, Deacon of Cluelessness; pimp and translator to
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His Eminence Archbishop cHAD
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####===================================================================####
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LICENSING SOOTHSAYERS AND A CONTEST ENTRY OF SORTS
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####===================================================================####
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[We haven't heard from this person before and we should have because this
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is pretty neat stuff.]
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From: gateh%CONNCOLL.BITNET@YALEVM.YCC.Yale.Edu
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Date: Tue, 15 Oct 91 17:30:39 EDT
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Subject: a submission?
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Don't know if you'd seen this one, it came from the Paranet Digest:
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--- Forwarded mail from Michael.Corbin@p0.f428.n104.z1.FIDONET.ORG (Michael Corb
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>From Michael.Corbin@p0.f428.n104.z1.FIDONET.ORG Mon Sep 30 03:45:00 1991
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From: kdq@3D.com (Kevin D. Quitt)
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Date: 25 Sep 91 18:33:43 GMT
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Organization: 3D systems, inc. Valencia CA
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Message-ID: <1991Sep25.183343.13839@3D.com>
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Newsgroups: sci.skeptic,alt.paranormal
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The Los Angeles Police Commission, in an effort to reduce the fraud
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perpetrated on the public (to the tune of several million dollars a year in
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Los Angeles) by crooks using soothsaying as a front, has recommended to the
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L.A. City Council that the city charge a $450 license fee for soothsayers,
|
|
so that they can be registered and regulated.
|
|
|
|
The Police Commission report notes that one difficulty in the licensing
|
|
is that it is not possible to tell "true psychics from fake psychics".
|
|
|
|
|
|
--- End of forwarded message from Michael.Corbin@p0.f428.n104.z1.FIDONET.ORG
|
|
|
|
I also am tempted to divulge tidbits and dingleberries of information
|
|
regarding those Government Warehouses, even though I may be risking all
|
|
future free and open access to porcelain commodes, but, ah, what the hell,
|
|
I can always find somewhere else to do my reading, I suppose.
|
|
|
|
What follows should be handled with the utmost security possible, and
|
|
should only be properly absorbed while firmly clasping a porcelain
|
|
cleansing utensil, or one of those oversized tootsie rolls, whichever is
|
|
preferable. It comes from the highest of sources, and if leaked into the
|
|
wrong hands could potentially bring devastation, destruction, and a general
|
|
failure to refill vending machines.
|
|
|
|
The simple, ugly truth is that the warehouses are filled with cheap digital
|
|
watches emblazoned with pictures and hype from professional wrestling.
|
|
|
|
Now, at first glance, it is understandable that the generally stable
|
|
individual might not see the incredible significance behind this fact, but
|
|
rest assured, it is the tip of the proverbial Eggo (R) frozen waffle. To
|
|
elucidate:
|
|
|
|
The Government, who for some time now have realized that the fall of
|
|
society as we know is inevitable, decided to prepare for that ghastly(?)
|
|
day. They searched the country, looking for something which would
|
|
unfailingly unite the people in the midst of such a fracas. They searched
|
|
with their rem-cons for five days (they started on a Monday, of course)
|
|
without success, until the morning of the sixth day arrived, and lo, an
|
|
answer was laid to rest on their ottomans in short notice: Professional
|
|
Wrestling.
|
|
|
|
Here were individuals capable of convincing entire stadiums that their
|
|
skulls had been cracked open with a plastic folding chair, who could bring
|
|
these people to edge of hysteria with a few pseudo-syllables and a ration
|
|
of spittle. These grand men and women, the Government concluded, could be
|
|
counted on to fulfill the role of spiritual and moral anchor that would be
|
|
so desperately needed in our time of crisis. And so began the stock
|
|
piling...
|
|
|
|
The watches, carefully designed to look exactly like the cheap items used
|
|
for promotions and produced at great expense in orbiting factories, not
|
|
only give you the time (and occasionally the correct date, to maintain
|
|
complete accuracy of the reproduction), but also are capable of receiving
|
|
communications from those who will be chosen on that fateful day.
|
|
|
|
There it is, the incredible, undeniable, slightly water-logged, truth. I
|
|
myself refuse to carry a timepiece of any construction at this point (you
|
|
really can't be too careful, I figure), and I can only warn my fellow
|
|
readers to consider their own circumstances with regard to this matter.
|
|
|
|
Sincerely,
|
|
|
|
Gregg
|
|
|
|
Gregg TeHennepe | Academic Systems Coordinator | Yes, but this
|
|
gateh@conncoll.bitnet | Connecticut College, New London, CT | one goes to 11...
|
|
|
|
Of course, I couldn't get Conn College to believe this, so don't
|
|
attribute any of this to them ;-).
|
|
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
PAPAL PONDERINGS #4
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
Papal Ponderings #4: Pope Jephe I, IGHF, 955 Mass. Ave., Suite
|
|
209, Cambridge, MA 02139: This Week the Official Story of the
|
|
Rise of Archbishop Chad
|
|
|
|
"Something about this religion we've resurrected breeds heresy..." --
|
|
Preacher Tim Howland of the House of Blue Light
|
|
|
|
"'Not gangsters, dear, the underworld,' Saunders Harrison Mathews II
|
|
said."-- Daniel Pinkwater, The Snarkout Boys and the Avocado of Death
|
|
|
|
FIRST A REALLY BORING INTRODUCTION YOU'D BE BETTER OFF SKIPPING:
|
|
|
|
As you are all now well aware, after an official ceremony concocted/
|
|
conducted by yours truly several weeks ago, the formerly humble (or at
|
|
least doing a damn good imitation, probably for tax purposes) St. Chad of
|
|
Sarcasm added to his religious honors the title of Official Archbishop of
|
|
Kenyon College and the Greater Gambier, OH, Area. For you netters, Kenyon
|
|
is a small liberal arts college (conveniently located just a stone's throw
|
|
from the gates of hell [1] [2]) in central OH. Kenyon is my alma mater, the
|
|
home of a thriving cabal of dedicated OTISian worshipers, and the
|
|
birthplace of many of this religion's institutions and traditions
|
|
(including this magazine). In the four years I attended the school[3], in
|
|
fact, OTISianism became the college's second most prominent religion,
|
|
ranking just under atheism and a little above Christianity. OTISian
|
|
followers attended official papal birthday parties, OTISian libation
|
|
ceremonies, formal dinners (in the college's beautiful ARA catered dining
|
|
room), and many other great and glorious activities done in Our God/dess's
|
|
name to the amusement of the Followers, the bafflement of casual observers
|
|
and the Perpetual Annoyance of the Kenyon College Christian Fellowship.
|
|
With my graduation from the school only a few months ago, it became
|
|
necessary to find a new leader for Kenyon's great and growing flock.
|
|
Netters and Kenyonites alike, you are now on equal footing.
|
|
|
|
What none of you have heard, however, is the Official Story.
|
|
|
|
St. James of Nothing in Particular graciously provided us all with an
|
|
official announcement of the event and the Wombatish One kindly transcribed
|
|
the Archbishop's acceptance speech [4]. But the Full and Official Story is
|
|
still waiting to be told. I have taken the liberty of assuming, then, that
|
|
someone would like me to tell it....
|
|
|
|
AND NOW, THE OFFICIAL STORY OF THE RISE OF ST. CHAD TO THE POSITION OF
|
|
ARCHBISHOP:
|
|
|
|
"Jeffe", said St. James of Nothing in Particular (newly declared),
|
|
sitting in the Gund dorm lounge amongst the empty beer bottles and other
|
|
refuse of a particularly nasty Bar Trek [7] drinking party, "we'll be
|
|
needing someone to lead here when you're gone. Have you thought about
|
|
that?"
|
|
|
|
No. Sooo...
|
|
|
|
The first plan was to find an unsuspecting frosh, descend, in full
|
|
regalia, on his person at some obnoxious hour of the morning, drag him
|
|
unwillingly through the rites of ascension, declare him Archbishop of
|
|
Kenyon, take lots of pictures of his baffled expression, and prop him up in
|
|
an appropriate corner at all formal OTISian functions, bowing at his feet
|
|
when the ceremony required.
|
|
|
|
It was a good idea. But it was not a terribly practical idea. The
|
|
newly declared Archbishop could decide not to cooperate, not to show up at
|
|
formal functions, forcing us to find another, and another, and another. At
|
|
the time my head spun thinking this through.
|
|
|
|
"Really", said St. James, swaying a little, unless it was me who was
|
|
swaying, or the room... "What we should do (errrp, excuse me) is to
|
|
elect...."
|
|
|
|
He paused for effect, and when Chad's (who was selflessly finishing
|
|
off the rest of the beer now that the party was dispersing) back was turned
|
|
pointed at it.
|
|
|
|
"He wants to be OTISian spiritual leader for the Kenyon Community?" I
|
|
asked skeptically.
|
|
|
|
Chad shook his head. "Nope. Hehe-- excuse me. He'll probably--
|
|
hehe-- hunt you down and kill you for it. He-- hehe-- he's P E R F E C T."
|
|
He said the last just like I've written it, drawing it out for effect, and
|
|
collapsing into helpless sniggers at the end.
|
|
|
|
"I don't know." I admitted. Chad was, after all, a lot bigger than I
|
|
am (I not being all that terribly big in the first place), and although he
|
|
had shown no past propensity towards violence, well; I'm a Pope, not a
|
|
martyr.
|
|
|
|
But the idea was... tempting...
|
|
|
|
"So," said a voice in my ear "what are you discussing?"
|
|
|
|
"Whether I'm going to be flattened to a pulp by an unwilling member of
|
|
my clergy."
|
|
|
|
"We're making... him" St. James pointed "the Archbishop."
|
|
|
|
"The wall?" asked Reverend Rhob, Screaming Prophet of OTIS Triumphant,
|
|
and founder of the most popular OTISian heresy to date, innocently raising
|
|
his eyebrows.
|
|
|
|
"Ooops," said James "him."
|
|
|
|
"The television set."
|
|
|
|
"No... ummm... him", the Saint tried again, after steadying himself
|
|
slightly.
|
|
|
|
"We're not a wrecked as you drunk we am, I think." I volunteered.
|
|
|
|
"You don't say," said Rhob. "I think Chad would make an excellent
|
|
Archbishop. Tonight?"
|
|
|
|
"Naw. Next year."
|
|
|
|
"In that case, come away with me to the Cove? [8]"
|
|
|
|
When I stepped over Chad as we left (who, if he wasn't asleep, was
|
|
doing a remarkable imitation), Rhob looked at him, and then at me and said,
|
|
"I don't think he knows what you've gotten him into."
|
|
|
|
"I don't think we know what we've gotten him into." I said.
|
|
|
|
It was my last coherent sentence of the night.
|
|
|
|
"Don't," suggested James the next morning at breakfast "make so much
|
|
noise."
|
|
|
|
"Sorry."
|
|
|
|
"Good Morning!"
|
|
|
|
"Good Morning, Elieen" I said, "You sound bushy-tailed today, and your
|
|
clothes are so... loud."
|
|
|
|
James covered his ears and kept his head to the table.
|
|
|
|
"Ah." said Elieen, who says she is in training for the 'Mothering'
|
|
event in the 1992 Olympics, "I see we were baaad boys last night at Bar
|
|
Trek."
|
|
|
|
"She was there," murmured James, "Wasn't she there?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes.", said Elieen, "but I drank Coke, so I'm bright and chipper!"
|
|
|
|
"Chipper," I concurred, massaging my temples.
|
|
|
|
"Look Jeff", said Elieen, pushing a group of papers into my
|
|
peripheral, "Do you know hat this is? ... Completed history paper! I'm so
|
|
happy! Happy! Well, off to get cereal."
|
|
|
|
"Not rice crispies", moaned James.
|
|
|
|
"So," I said, when Elieen got back "Chad for Archbishop, yes or no?"
|
|
|
|
"Does he want to be Archbishop?"
|
|
|
|
"No."
|
|
|
|
"Yes, then. Hehe. I can be so nasty sometimes."
|
|
|
|
"Morning all."
|
|
|
|
"Morning, Wombat."
|
|
|
|
"Morning, Wombat."
|
|
|
|
"Bad night for the Pope?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, Wombat, bad night."
|
|
|
|
"Sorry. Where's Chad?"
|
|
|
|
"I tried to wake him." said James, "He said something about
|
|
justifiable homicide and rolled over."
|
|
|
|
"I see," said Wombat, "Well, you wouldn't want to force an issue like
|
|
that." She pursed her lips and shook her head. "He'll probably be along
|
|
eventually."
|
|
|
|
"Yep", I said, "Which reminds me, "Chad for Archbishop, yes
|
|
or no?"
|
|
|
|
Wombat gave a short laugh with her head back.
|
|
|
|
"Chad? Perfect. Does he know?"
|
|
|
|
"No," said James, "and don't tell."
|
|
|
|
"Me?" the Wombat rolled her eyes, "Certainly not. Far
|
|
sillier that way."
|
|
|
|
"Afternoon."
|
|
|
|
"Hello, Rhob."
|
|
|
|
"Hi, Rhob!"
|
|
|
|
"Rhob! My GOD man! It's been... hours!" I said.
|
|
|
|
"Closer on minutes. Don't squeeze so hard. What's the
|
|
conversation."
|
|
|
|
"Who should be the new Archbishop."
|
|
|
|
"You mean it's not going to be Ch---"
|
|
|
|
"Hum dum de-o-hum dum!" I said "Hello, Chad? Bright and
|
|
chipper this morning?"
|
|
|
|
"Guramph."
|
|
|
|
"You're his roommate", Rhob said to James, "pray tell, what
|
|
did that mean?"
|
|
|
|
"Chad says hello to you all too, thanks you for your cheery
|
|
smiles and wants you all to know how happy his is to see you."
|
|
|
|
"Harumg."
|
|
|
|
I looked at James quizzically.
|
|
|
|
"He's just off for some coffee, back in a moment."
|
|
|
|
"I always feel so, awake, when he arrives," said Elieen.
|
|
|
|
"Alright," said James to me, "the moment of truth has come.
|
|
Will Chad Hessuon, now only a Saint, achieve Archbishophood, or
|
|
won't he?"
|
|
|
|
"Well," I said, "Saints Simpson and Analisa are all for it,
|
|
the Grinnin' Foole gave his approval over the internet this
|
|
morning. I believe his exact words were; 'Who the fuck is Chad
|
|
Hessoun?" Saints Kurella and Tofer are so enthusiastic they
|
|
offered to tie him down for the ceremony. C Squared thinks it's
|
|
just dandy. According to Mr. Hamrick, the ministers of the Brown
|
|
Bucket will honor my decision..."
|
|
|
|
"Cut to the chase" suggested James.
|
|
|
|
"That leaves only St. Zecchin of small Lizards and Furry
|
|
Marshmellows, I suppose."
|
|
|
|
"Is there anyone in this religion who isn't a Saint?" asked
|
|
Elieen.
|
|
|
|
"Only the janitor." said Rhob.
|
|
|
|
"Ah." said Elieen.
|
|
|
|
"Actually," I said, "he's Saint of Dirt, but we have a
|
|
couple of titleless receptionists."
|
|
|
|
"It's easier than paying people." explained James.
|
|
|
|
"Well," said Wombat, "go ask him, by all means."
|
|
|
|
"Chad?"
|
|
|
|
"No Zecchin. Chad's obviously been kidnapped by aliens."
|
|
|
|
"Actually," said Rhob, craning his neck, "I think he's
|
|
talking to Carl."
|
|
|
|
"So," said James, "Why not get Zecchin now?"
|
|
|
|
"Why," I said, he'll be along shortly".
|
|
|
|
"Hello, all." said Zecchin entering the room.
|
|
|
|
"Hello, Zecchin."
|
|
|
|
"Stop playing with my reality, as Mr. Hamrick says" said
|
|
James to me.
|
|
|
|
"Has he ever been at breakfast before?" asked Elieen.
|
|
|
|
"Zecchin", said Wombat "Chad for archbishop. Say yes."
|
|
|
|
"Yes." said Zecchin.
|
|
|
|
"Excellent," I said, now here's how we'll do it...."
|
|
|
|
"Did I miss anything?" Asked Chad several moments later.
|
|
|
|
Nunc Scrpisi Pro OTISio, Da Mihi Potum--
|
|
|
|
PJI
|
|
|
|
NEXT TIME: AN EXCITING CONCLUSION BECAUSE THIS IS TOO LONG
|
|
ALREADY!
|
|
|
|
Notes By "Bill", an Unfortunate House Scribe
|
|
|
|
1. According to several notable physics on the Phil Donahue Show.
|
|
|
|
2. Assuming throwing rocks at hell is your idea of a good time.
|
|
|
|
3. The Pope graduated cum laude and with honors in English in 1991, but
|
|
says this is none of your business.
|
|
|
|
4. See previous issues of this publication.
|
|
|
|
5. Translation "Beware the dragon that lurks in the hidden lands of
|
|
Ghonerreah, eating the unwary scholar and munching on the bones of
|
|
virgins."
|
|
|
|
6. '5.' was not a real note. I just wanted to see if you were with me.
|
|
|
|
7. A drinking game done to Start Trek; the Next Generation
|
|
|
|
8. A drinking establishment.
|
|
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
MUTTERINGS OF THE ORACLE
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
Date: 7 Oct 91 21:22:00 EDT
|
|
From: "MICHAEL S DOW" <dow@vax001.kenyon.edu>
|
|
Subject: Put it in.
|
|
From: VAX001::TUCKER "RCT" 7-OCT-1991 16:26:03.53
|
|
From: VAX001::WINS%"<R3JMT%AKRONVM@vm1.cc.UAKRON.EDU>"
|
|
Subj: a particularly funny oracle session.
|
|
Date: Mon, 07 Oct 91 15:57:08 EDT
|
|
From: Telkner <R3JMT%AKRONVM@vm1.cc.UAKRON.EDU>
|
|
Subject: a particularly funny oracle session.
|
|
|
|
|
|
The Usenet Oracle has pondered your question deeply.
|
|
Your question was:
|
|
|
|
> O mighty Oracle, endowed with the wisdom of the Universe and one
|
|
> _really_ nasty babe for a main squeeze,
|
|
>
|
|
> Why do people think legalizing drugs is The Answer? I thought The
|
|
> Answer was 42.
|
|
|
|
And in response, thus spake the Oracle:
|
|
|
|
} The great and mighty Oracle has deigned to give you an answer to this
|
|
} question. You should offer thanks.
|
|
}
|
|
} Throughout time immemorial, it has been asked: What is the purpose of
|
|
} human existence?
|
|
}
|
|
} At first this was easy. The answer was food
|
|
}
|
|
} You see, back in the Paleozoooliphic, the answer to everything was
|
|
} either food or rock.
|
|
}
|
|
} What do you want? "Food" Where do you live? "Rock" Look, that guy is
|
|
} making off with your stuff, what will you do? "Rock make him food!"
|
|
}
|
|
} As you can see, conversation wasn't too stimulating, and philosophers
|
|
} were stuck with saying things like "rock is rock" and "food is not
|
|
} rock" Luckily rock candy had not been invented yet.
|
|
}
|
|
} Many years passed, vocab increased, and finally the ancient greeks got
|
|
} back around to the question. Socrates explained how the question had no
|
|
} meaning. He of course was wrong, but he was such a great pain in the
|
|
} ass that people agreed with him to shut him up. Finally, they slipped
|
|
} some hemlock in his tea, and that was that.
|
|
}
|
|
} Later, once the vocabulary had gotten all settled, the
|
|
} Romans came up with another answer, one which many of us would agree
|
|
} with today. This, of course was sex. It was later found, however, that
|
|
} sex could not be the answer. Sex was the question. Yes was the answer.
|
|
}
|
|
} This whole issue got more confused around the time of Jesus. You see,
|
|
} Jesus was convinced that Love was the answer. By this, he did not mean
|
|
} what most people think of as love, because then he could have just
|
|
} said that sex is the answer. That would lead to the problem above,
|
|
} Now, Love might be a possible alternative to sex, but the Romans
|
|
} were so upset by the idea that sex wasn't it, that they nailed Jesus
|
|
} to a couple of planks.
|
|
}
|
|
} The Roman empire fell to the barbarians, and it was back to food for
|
|
} most of the dark ages.
|
|
}
|
|
} When the Renaissance finally hit, the answer was Painting. Later on
|
|
} they decided that that was just too silly, and changed it to
|
|
} Enlightenment.
|
|
} This worked fine for the aristocracy, but, at least in France, the
|
|
} peasants revolted, and settled firmly on food again.
|
|
}
|
|
} Not too much after this, drugs spread out through western culture.
|
|
} Some people at this time suggested that drugs were the answer, but
|
|
} Opium isn't really powerful enough to blot out all other questions, so
|
|
} it was quietly shelved for a later date.
|
|
}
|
|
} At one point this century, the proposal "Coke is it" was widely
|
|
} spread, but if Coke was it, what was New Coke? It flat and too sweet?
|
|
} No, that idea was also disregarded.
|
|
}
|
|
} In the '60s, everything disregarded came back with a vengeance (except
|
|
} painting, it was still too silly) "Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll."
|
|
} The Republicans hated this (They thought the answer was Money), and
|
|
} they conspired to break the idea at its weak point; Drugs. So went the
|
|
} revisionists (who ignored the fact that George Washington grew
|
|
} Marijuana), and they outlawed drugs. Outlawing sex would have been
|
|
} nice for them, but even they realized that Republicans, at least, had
|
|
} to reproduce.
|
|
}
|
|
} In 197something, Douglas Adams decided that the answer to Life, the
|
|
} Universe and Everything was 42. Being irrational, it made it difficult
|
|
} to refute, and so was popular among young Democrats (Who had lost so
|
|
} many brain cells due to drugs that they were equally irrational), and
|
|
} science fiction fans (who were so weird that they could just accept
|
|
} it).
|
|
}
|
|
} You now see where your question fits in. Some people think that the
|
|
} solution is to legalize Drugs, and some think that the answer is 42.
|
|
} Others think it is sex, a few still believe in Coke, and food is a
|
|
} perennial favorite. Of course the true answer is there, and has been
|
|
} for a while...
|
|
}
|
|
} The answer is....
|
|
}
|
|
} Painting. Of course.
|
|
}
|
|
} You owe the Oracle a Velvet Elvis.
|
|
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
NEWS OF THE WEIRD
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
|
|
[Well this is NOTW, but it's not from Steph the NOTW woman herself. Alas
|
|
she is still offline but we hope some day she'll be back among the living
|
|
as it were. If not, we can at least keep her memory alive by continuing the
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tradition she set for Purps.]
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From: "Reverend John" <UC521832@UMCVMB.missouri.edu>
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Subject: NOTW
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From the Memphis Flyer, the News Of The Weird
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by Chuck Shepherd
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FOR SERVICES RENDERED
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* In July, an Illinois appeals court ruled that attorney Albert B. Friedman
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|
could not collect the entire amount he billed a female client for handling
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|
her divorce because some of the time he billed her for was for the two of
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|
them to have sex. Friedman was also notified recently by the Illinois
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|
Supreme Court that he had been appointed to the court's Committee on
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|
Character and Fitness.
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POLICE BLOTTER
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|
* Nancy Ann Estevez, 56, former bookkeeper for the Kansas City March of
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|
Dimes Birth Defects Foundation, admitted in court in February that she had
|
|
stolen nearly $80,000 from the foundation in order to pay back money she
|
|
had stolen in 1985 from a country club. She did herself in when she wrote
|
|
one check directly from the foundation to the district court's restitution
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|
fund.
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|
* Police in West Yarmouth, Mass., arrested four suspects at the Windrift
|
|
Vacation Resort loading tv sets they had stolen from the hotel into a
|
|
taxicab that they were using to make their getaway.
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|
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|
* According to the police log of the Wisconsin Muskego Sun, Rhonda L.
|
|
Stipe, 22, was injured in April when, driving down the road, she "ran into
|
|
a 19-ton pile of gravel."
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|
|
* Seattle police arrested a man in April for defrauding a cab driver out of
|
|
a combined $27.50 fare, incurred for taking him to several stores in order
|
|
to find one that would cash two non-negotiable checks clearly marked "void"
|
|
and "sample."
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|
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|
* Jason Ray William was sentenced to 90 days in jail in Houston for
|
|
pleading guilty to shoplifting a $150 ferret from a pet store by putting
|
|
the animal down his pants and trying to walk out. The arresting officer
|
|
said he remembered frisking William just a few weeks previous after a
|
|
report of a suspicious person and had found a 4-foot python wrapped around
|
|
William's leg.
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|
|
|
* Baylor University freshman Kyle Krebs was ticketed by campus police in
|
|
April for breaking wind in violation of the campus ordinance prohibiting
|
|
obnoxious odors (designed for things such as smoke bombs). Krebs said he
|
|
wasn't directing his act at the officers: "They were so far away, and cars
|
|
were driving by. I never thought the decibel level would be so high he
|
|
would hear it." The ticket was eventually dismissed.
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####===================================================================####
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POLITICAL EXPEDIENCY
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####===================================================================####
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Date: 16 Oct 91 11:43:00 EDT
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From: <hillv@vax001.kenyon.edu>
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|
From: VAX001::WINS%"vhill@math15.gatech.edu" 16-OCT-1991 09:09:24.11
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Subj: Political Expediency
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|
Georgia Tech has a legally established policy of giving no honorary degrees
|
|
(not a bad idea, in my view). This led, however, to some embarrassment
|
|
with regard to Georgia native Jimmy Carter, who attended G.T. for one year
|
|
before he went to the Naval Academy, from which he was graduated. The G.T.
|
|
Faculty Senate, and subsequently the Regents, passed legislation that now
|
|
allows an honorary degree to be given "only to a person who has attended
|
|
Georgia Tech and who has attained the office of President of the United
|
|
States." How's that for expediency?
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|
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####===================================================================####
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AN EPISTLE FROM POPE JEPHE I:
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####===================================================================####
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pji@well.sf.ca.us
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|
|
"I shall return"-- Anonymous
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|
|
|
"By hook or by crook we will"-- Number 2
|
|
|
|
"They're baaaaaaack"-- Poltergeist 2
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|
|
|
First of all, let me tell you that it took a little doing. If you
|
|
students out there appreciate nothing else in your college existence,
|
|
appreciate your free (at least almost) internet access. Let me tell you,
|
|
the second you step through those ivy covered gates and into the real
|
|
world, nifty toys like the net become almost impossible to procure access
|
|
to. You won't miss the food (though you will miss having it prepared;
|
|
trust me, there are only so many things one can do with peanut butter), and
|
|
you won't miss the cramped dorm rooms, but you'll miss the company, you'll
|
|
miss the parents paying the bills, and you'll miss the internet. [1]
|
|
|
|
At any rate, know first of all that the Pope is back on the 'lectronic
|
|
fringe and... WANTS MAIL. ANY sort of mail will do, BUT PARTICULARLY
|
|
STRANGE, BIZARRE, SILLY, OTISian MAIL, which he will happily collect and do
|
|
strange, bizarre, silly OTISian things with. That's all you need to know
|
|
for now; let's just say that we OTISians keep archives. In addition, he
|
|
would also like TO HEAR FROM ALL OF HIS FORMER PEERS AT KENYON. HEY YOU:
|
|
WOULD IT KILL YOU TO WRITE? So, in case you missed it at the top of this
|
|
letter, here, again, is the Pope's new address: Send Weird Mail to
|
|
|
|
PJI@WELL.SF.CA.US OR STEVENSJ@VAX001.KENYON.EDU
|
|
|
|
Secondly, now that I'm home again, I figure I might as well make
|
|
myself useful. This means that if I get enough bites in response to this
|
|
note, I will begin either a: an internet mailing list of bizarre/fringee
|
|
stuff, or b: an BRAND NEW, NEVER BEFORE SEEN, REVISED FORMULA, GENUINE,
|
|
100% NATURAL, NO MONEY BACK GUARANTEE, OTISIAN MAGAZINE (a la the one you
|
|
are reading now), tentatively titled:
|
|
|
|
THE ROLLING HEAD OF OTIS!
|
|
|
|
Mind you, that's very tentative. It becomes more tentative, in fact,
|
|
each time that I read it and wonder what I was thinking at the time.
|
|
|
|
WHAT WOULD THE NEW MAGAZINE BE LIKE:
|
|
|
|
Well, probably a lot like old, or "classic" Purps (issues 1- 20ish),
|
|
back in the days when I was still editing it. Mind you, I would aim to
|
|
cover ground not yet covered by Mal, so I could sneakily wean away his best
|
|
clients... err allow loyal Purpsians to be entertained by both
|
|
publications.
|
|
|
|
For those of you (a great number) who joined Purps more recently,
|
|
generally Classic Purps was a bit shorter, a little more ruthless about
|
|
borrowing from a great number of sources, a little bit longer on letters,
|
|
rants and news, and shorter on serial fiction, and a lot more full of my
|
|
stuff because at that point the audience was a little bit more lazy.
|
|
|
|
That's all there is to it really. Anyone who might be at all
|
|
interested in either the Rolling Head or a Papal mailing list, please
|
|
contact me at: stevensj@vax001.kenyon.edu or PJI@well.sf.ca.us, and I'll
|
|
try to get the ball rolling.
|
|
|
|
Lastly, I'd really appreciate it if someone (VICTORIA!, HOW NICE OF
|
|
YOU TO OFFER! hehehehehe) would mail this letter off to ex-Purps
|
|
subscribers who stopped reading it when I left, or at least help me
|
|
remember who all of these folks are. As you know, all converts are GOLDEN
|
|
to OTIS, and I'd hate to have a few slip though the cracks over stylistic
|
|
differences--
|
|
|
|
HAIL OTIS!
|
|
|
|
PJI
|
|
|
|
[1]PS: My other project now that I'm back, is an attempt to produce a
|
|
USEFUL "How to get on the Internet" post graduation guide. I'm familiar
|
|
with the WELL, and the glory that is gnome.eskimo.alaska, but am trying in
|
|
vain, so far, to locate other cheap sources of net access for non-students.
|
|
Anyone with information on the topic could PLEASE e-mail me at
|
|
PJI@WELL.SF.CA.US
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
THEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEEND
|
|
####===================================================================####
|