1049 lines
52 KiB
Plaintext
1049 lines
52 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 4, 55
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####========================================================####
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"Three years 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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Pope Jephe: jstevens@world.std.com
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Doc Simpson: scott@plearn.bitnet
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Subscriptions: HailOtis@socpsy.sci.fau.edu
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Back issues ftp from quartz.rutgers.edu in /pub/journals/purps
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####===================================================================####
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INTRO
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####===================================================================####
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I suppose I should bemoan and bewail my fate. Actually, I suppose I should
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really give our Loyal Otisian Fan's a good tongue lashing. The lack of
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submissions this time around was appalling! Shame shame shame on you! Here
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I work my fingers to the bone trying to present a quality product and I
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don't have any help from the seething massing of Otis! Oh well, I've made
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do. You get another chapter of a Deeply Religious Tale inflicted on you
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along with another installment of Messenger of the Gods. Hopefully this
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will convince some of you to contribute in order to spare yourselves further
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installments.
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One note: sorry for the lateness of this issue, for the past month the
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editor has been bogged down with a study involving squirming human beings
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and had not time to do any editing or much of anything else. Then there was
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the veritable plague on high which whipped out said editor for a week and a
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half. Still that plague was just a warning sign from Otis that an issue of
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Purps was do. Since the editor was not devoting tim to Otis the Editor
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would to sick to devote any time to much of anything.
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No doubt in this introduction I should welcome all our new subscribers.
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This issue should do a good job of making you scratch you head as to why
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you actually subscribed to Purps or gotten involved with Otis at all. Well
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go get the back issues and read all the Messenger of the God's material.
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Then maybe you'll begin to understand. Still it is good to have you aboard,
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and I cannot stress how astonished I sometimes get at how subscriptions
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continue to pour in. I suppose our loyal Otisian are doing their part and
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advertising the amazing Purple Thunderbolt of Spode to the uninformed
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masses. Or maybe it's the Black Brothers of Rhotos on one of their campaigns
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again. Knockings in the middle of the night, the bright gleam of a razor
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sharp knife and the urgent whisper of "Sign up to Purps or die!"
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I suppose since we don't have a Papal Pondering, the editor will have to
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take that responsibility. Let's ponder the concept of Thanksgiving in
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America and how it relates to Otis. It actually does boys and girls so
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don't skip over this part. I'm sure most if not all of you have had at
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least one lecture on how those original pilgrims sailed to America in
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search of religious freedom and how they found it here in America. Of course
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they avoid mentions the Salem Witch trials and a few other things or how
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old Johny Trumain burned his hand of the Sabbath because he couldn't take
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proper precautions in ye old silver shoppe due to the fact he'd have gotten
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strung up by his heels if he'd gotten caught mucking about on the Sabbath.
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Still let's not digress to much. Remember how they always stress how coming
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to America offered religious freedom and new beginnings. Where else can you
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have amazing religious freedom? Well maybe in India (look at past articles
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in Purps.) Or perhaps Russia where we were supposed to have the apocalypse
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earlier this week according to some woman who's rotting away in jail now
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because the authorities are afraid of her or something. Or lets not forget
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Waco.
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Well anyway, with the coming to America came the coming of the Haystack
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Monument, which of course all good Otisian know is where the first divine
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revelation of Otis occurred in these modern times. The Haystack of course is
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centered on a set of ley lines and is in a similar shape to the bee hive
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used by the ancient greeks and others as mystical symbols. [If you want to
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know more about these mystical symbols you'll need to pay for your
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initiation lecture-by-mail pamphlets from the IGHF.] The Haystack also
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rested on a much older site of something else, which we can't indiscreetly
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reveal here. Nor can we talk about the street layout of Otis Mass which
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when viewed from the proper angle and elevation reveals one of the most
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ancient and forbidden secrets.
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Of course you're all clammering for some real hard facts instead of these
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vague mutterings, which will some day get in me trouble. One day I'll slip
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and reveal all. So lets have some good hard facts. What should the average
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Otis be thankful for on Turkey Day.
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1. The Haystack Monument of course and the founding of America. Without
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these two events modern Otisanism as we know it would never have come
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about and we'd still be doing silly outdated rituals.
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2. Otis Mass of course. A taylor made mystery spot on our Planet. The only
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spot holy enough to contains the actual Balls of Brow.
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3. Pope Jephe of the Many spellings for his yearly assassination. And for his
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tireless efforts with Otisianism in general. Without him we'd still be
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using those old hymnals we got at that yard sale instead of the 4 color
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ones we use now with many of Doc Simpson's new songs.
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4. Spode, for living in Hong Kong.
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5. Saint Tif, for refraining from using her Bloody Pinking Shears on you.
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6. The house of Holiday Foods. Without their eternal vigil and constant
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lobbying holiday foods would have been outlawed many years ago.
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7. Heether for making fashions interesting.
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8. William Shatner, a role model for us all. Who else can boldly go where no
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man has gone before wearing a hair piece like that.
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9. For Lulu, who occasionally insists Purps gets proofread before sending.
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10. And finally of course for Steph who started who whole made News of the
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Weird business.
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I suppose we should thank Otis too for that matter. In fact that's probably
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the most important thing you can do. Thanking Otis is very simple. Since
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there are so many Otisians now only a small sacrifice by each and every
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Otisian will insure Otis a happy T-day. Simply take the holiday food of
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your choice and place it on a pie pan on your back step or equivalent. In a
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day or two, or even a minute it will simply disappear. If the food does not
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disappear it's probably time you consulted with the Pope about raising your
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annual donation to the IGHF.
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And so on with the show. It's time to mail this!
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####===================================================================####
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Weird Stuff
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####===================================================================####
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From: paganpub@aol.com
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Sender: <paganpub@aol.com>
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Date: Mon, 04 Oct 93 01:48:49 EDT
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Subject: Weird Shit
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* Forwarded by Bruce Baugh (1:105/40.23)
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* Area : DEBATE (DEBATE)
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* From : Russ Wuertz, 1:142/697 (Sunday September 26 1993 20:33)
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* To : All
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* Subj : whats going on?
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----------
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Can anyone tell me whats going on. The TV and radio seems to be talking
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back to me. I heard that this is called basic paranoia. The problem is,
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is that the police seem to be aware of it and make comments like Johnny
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Carson is their Chief of police,and repeat what he says, like its what
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they're all doing. They're trying to wiretap peoples brains and broadcast
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thoughts, and communicate through time, to put down prostitution or some
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damned thing like that. How are they involved? Using a brain wiretap? I
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really can't understand how they can cause a world war and be called public
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servants. Its as thought they are supervising my murder. A broadcasting
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station manager told me that If they gave me any thing I'd want everything.
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they must owe me so much that they are murdering me.
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I'm serious...the police seem to be supervising this. The only sanity I
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have is reading printed comments. They seem to be projecting sounds at me
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24 hours a day, and waking me up at night. this has been going on since
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1986.
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I have no idea how anyone recognizes me, but people make comments on the
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street about what the TV sys when it talks back to me.
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Weird huh?
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####===================================================================####
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Body Art
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####===================================================================####
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Date: Wed, 6 Oct 93 23:35:02 EDT
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From: buglady@bronze.lcs.mit.edu (Aliza R. Panitz)
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Subject: Too weird for my shoes
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From: curtis@snake.CS.Berkeley.EDU (Curtis Yarvin)
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Subject: futurist body art
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Date: 13 Jul 1993 23:30:48 -0700
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Eat lard to enlarge your thighs. When they are the size of tree trunks,
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excavate them and scrape the skin transparent. Fill the left with water and
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goldfish; the right with sand and Gila monsters.
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Buy a one-third-scale bronze statue of Stalin and crucify him with
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molly-bolts to your chest and arms.
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Stretch your lips with guy-wires from nipples and scalp. When they form
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great fans sever their blood supply with rubber bands on the gums and shape
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them into a bullhorn as they dry.
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Graft anaconda to the soles of your feet and never walk alone again.
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[Do you think I would have made this up??? - arp]
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####===================================================================####
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A Deeply Religious Tale
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####===================================================================####
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((((((((((((((((((((((((Chapter Nine )))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
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{As our reader may last recall finally the item of the holy quest was
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revealed along with a whole slue of miracles that were performed to impress
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everyone. Our hero and his companions have gone to bed and were awakened
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bright and early by the divine messenger this time dressed in a pair of
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skimpy swimming trunks and a towel.}
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"RAISE AND SHINE!"
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"Oh shut up!", yelled on of the Angels crawling out of his sleeping
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bag.
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"I'm hungry," commented another. Several other angels looked up at the
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sky expecting it to start raining Captain Crunch and milk. However, this
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did not happen much to the disappoint of many.
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After everyone had woken up and the divine messenger had shooed away
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the chinese peasants who had been collecting baskets of pop corn and beer
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he address the group on last time.
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"Before you go I have to give you my final blessing along with basic
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guide lines for questing."
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"Oh dear," muttered Wilberforce shuffling his feet back and forth in
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the wet grass.
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The messenger gave him a knowing wink and continued. "Ladies and
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gentlemen throughout history there have been people who have gone on
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quests. Now not a single one of these quests have been a Sunday picnic. So
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we can't very well have you having fun now can we?" A moan when up from the
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crowd. "So in order to make things more challenging," said the divine
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messenger grinning as he pulled out a wand topped with a glitter covered
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star, "the panel of experts, the big man upstairs and the chronicler of
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this story have decided to do the following."
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The messenger turned and pointed the wand at the collection of
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motorcycles. Immediately they turn into skate boards. He then pointed the
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wand at the bikers and the clothes were replaced by shiny suits of armor
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decorated with dayglo smiley faces and tutus. Wilberforce and Trixie were
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not affected. The Hell's Angels immediately became very angry and tried to
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rip off their new attire only to fine that they couldn't. They tried to roll
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in the mud of the rice paddy to get them dirty but that didn't work either.
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The messenger ignored them. He spoke directly to Trixie. "Since you're such
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an air head and are more or less window dressing all you have to wear is
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this sombrero." He then spoke to Fredric. "You look stupid enough as is."
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By now the bikers had resigned themselves to their fate. After all
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they had asked for it. However several were crying over the loss of their
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motorcycles.
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"Well there you are. You must use those skate boards instead of bikes
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for this quest. Also you my use grey hound buses and water wings but no
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other form of transportation. I suggest you use violence as much as
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possible when the situation calls for it. Try to avoid intelligent action
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since you are a bunch of fat heads. Now one last thing before I leave. I'm
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going to the beach today after all. Here is your banner that you must carry
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with you at all times as a sign of your faith. Try to get it back to the
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Maceys day parade so as not to disappoint the kiddies."
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With these words overhead the giant Bullwinkle balloon appeared. It
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magically hung in the air just above their heads. "I've modified it a bit
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folks so you don't have to worry about losing it I've made it so it will
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follow you around."
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Everyone protests at these totally silly things as the divine
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messenger started to fade out of existence. Seeing this he snapped his
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fingers and it began to rain valium and then he was gone.
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Wilberforce looked about himself trying not to laugh. What a strange
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sight they were. How could they ever complete their quest now? Trixie was
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not too pleased with her sombrero and already one of the bikers had gotten
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a bloody nose from falling off a skate board. Oh if he had only been born
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poor.
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Now where to begin? The film they had seen last night had not been
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much help really. It had had far to many commercials in it and poorly
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spelled english subtitles hadn't helped either. A chill ran down our heroes
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spine. If this was all the forces of good could put out they surely were in
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trouble. Might as well just give up and sign over his soul. Then a vision
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of the man from Hell entered his mind and he broke out in a cold sweat.
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He attention was brought back to the real world when someone shoved a
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screaming chinese peasant boy into his face. "Look this kid's got a
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beanie," has a fat Angel, looking totally ridiculous in his armor. Mr.
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Wilberforce regarded the child tugging on his blinking bow tie. The young
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child dressed in muddy tattered clothes had a brand new beanie on his head
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with a propeller. It looked like it could be a lead.
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"Put the poor thing down you're going to hurt it," admonished Trixie.
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"This could be a clue," said the artist spinning the propeller on top.
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"Tell us were you got the beanie boy or we'll rip you head off and
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puke down you're neck!", growled the biker holding the kid.
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The child cried louder and wet his pants. The other bikers had come
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over to see what all the commotion was. Suddenly and explosion seemed to
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rip their rants as several of the older chinese peasants came to the rescue
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of the child using some strange form of Judo. The bikers put up a valiant
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fight with chains and bottle openers but soon were reduced to tangled
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masses of unconscious bodies. Fred seeing this ordered the biker to put the
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child down. As as soon as the biker did this the peasants stopped and
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returned to tending field.
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Our hero breathed a sigh of relief and looked down at the piles of bodies.
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Trixie raced over to her husband lying face down in a mud puddle and tried to
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revive him. Wilberforce realizing that this child could be an important to his
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quest wandered over and tried to start up a conversation with the busy peasant.
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This, however, proved futile since the peasants didn't speak english and the
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only chinese word Fredric knew was egg roll.
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Clearly they could not simply take the kid or the beanie without being
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killed. These were one mean set of peasants. He looked around again at the
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sprawled Angels in disgust. What a bunch of worthless human beings. He'd
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never get anywhere with them. No wonder the man with the bull horn had not
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given him any more silly bits of stuff. These clods were twice as bad as
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the electric bow tie. A pang of guild passed through him as he noticed
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Trixie with the biker leader. What had he gotten these poor people involved
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in?
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####===================================================================####
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Out of Body Celebs
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####===================================================================####
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Date: Tue, 5 Oct 1993 13:38:14 CET
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From: <K3016E2@ALIJKU11.BITNET>
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Subject: Gorbi
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Lines: 8
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An Austrian OOBEer claimed in TV that he knows only one person (beside
|
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himself) who can leave the body: Michail Gorbatschow (hope, the spelling is
|
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correct).
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Question: Does anybody know something about that?
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####===================================================================####
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New Literary Find
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####===================================================================####
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[Not since they discovered that the Effiel Tower was a fake has french
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culture been struck such a devastating blow.]
|
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From: V_COCCIA@unhh.unh.edu (Vincent J Coccia)
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Subject: Lemurs in Literature
|
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Date: 7 Oct 1993 22:53:21 GMT
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STARTLING NEW LITERARY FIND IN PARIS
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7 Oct 93- Today, literature professors at the Sorbonne released evidence
|
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that Alexandre Dumas (pere) had lemur assistant writers during the
|
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serialization of "The Three Musketeers". This astounding new evidence shows
|
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that the original names for the musketeers were changed just before the
|
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story went to press. The main character was originally named D'arPTANGian,
|
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and his companions Frinkthos, Frinkamis, and WoooOOOthos.
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Other previously unpublished fragments unearthed by literists at
|
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the Sorbonne detail the birthplace of Milady DeWinter as the Jersey Islands
|
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(a proposed location for the wreckage of a cow-ship) and the original title
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of Richelieu as COW-dinal.
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The prosimian assistant writers were apparently compensated for
|
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their assistance by bulk purchases of some sort of pastry and a very rare
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vintage of wine from the "Grande-K" region of Burgundy. Records show that
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the prosimians were released from service after a night out at the opera
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with Dumas. It seems that several of the writers were ejected from the
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opera after swinging on the chandelier, and stealing the instruments of the
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entire brass section. The resulting chaos caused Dumas to be deeply
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embarrassed and thus the sections written by the lemurs were re-edited.
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|
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####===================================================================####
|
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Thought of the Day
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####===================================================================####
|
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From: Jeffrey Stevens <jstevens@world.std.com>
|
|
Subject: Thought of the day
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A priest asked: What is Fate, Master?
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And he answered:
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It is that which gives a beast of burden its reason for existence.
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It is that which men in former times had to bear upon their backs.
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It is that which has caused nations to build byways from City to City upon
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which carts and coaches pass, and alongside which inns have come to be
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built to stave off Hunger, Thirst and Weariness.
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And that is Fate? said the priest.
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Fate ... I thought you said Freight, responded the Master.
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That's all right, said the priest. I wanted to know what Freight was
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too.
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-- Kehlog Albran, "The Profit"
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####===================================================================####
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Kidney Fat
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####===================================================================####
|
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From: lrudolph@black.clarku.edu (Lee Rudolph)
|
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Subject: Aboriginal "Kidney-Fat" Guards?
|
|
Date: 9 Oct 93 23:47:56 GMT
|
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Yesterday, National Public Radio (here in the USA) aired an interview with
|
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an Australian Aboriginal who's in the States promoting outback tourism.
|
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Besides playing his digeridoo (sp.?) and beating time with a couple of
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boomerangs, he told us about the three kinds of guards his particular group
|
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of people have to keep themselves on their own territory and out of
|
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trouble. The third, and most fearsome, of these guards are the
|
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"kidney-fat" guards, whose job it is, when someone just won't behave, to
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punish him as follows: hypnotize him into a deep sleep ("hypnotize" was the
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word used by the Australian); slice open his back and cut away the
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kidney-fat; sew him back up with human hair.
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####===================================================================####
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The Dangers of Fruit
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####===================================================================####
|
|
From: "P.Harris" <P.Harris@southampton.ac.uk>
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Date: Sun, 17 Oct 93 12:12:23 BST
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Subject: Some dangers of fruit
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Abstracted from The Guardian, Weekend Supplement October 16th.
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* Dangerous Food - In Motion.
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"A maniac who hurls corn cobs at pedestrians from his moving car is being
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hunted," reports Today. "Retired engineer John Snowden, 60, felled as he
|
|
walked his dog, said: 'I keeled over. I thought I'd been shot.' Police in
|
|
Lodden, Norfolk, said: 'Corn on the cobs can be very dangerous when thrown
|
|
out of a car at high speed.'"
|
|
|
|
* Dangerous Food - In Pocket.
|
|
"A banana caused a French passenger aircraft to go on hijack alert and turn
|
|
back in mid-flight on June 18," reports Reuters. "A passenger on board an Air
|
|
Inter Airbus from Paris to Malaga, Spain, mistook a bulge in another
|
|
passenger's trousers for a gun and alerted the crew. After the return to Orly
|
|
airport, paramilitary gendarmes discovered the fruity nature of the bulge."
|
|
|
|
* Dangerous Food - Incredible.
|
|
"Last January, Nigel Hayward was released from a two-year sentence for
|
|
robbery using a banana," records the Daily Mirror. "The next day he walked
|
|
into a bank with a banana under his shirt and a cashier gave him 295 pounds.
|
|
The same trick worked in a building society where he got 1,500 pounds. Later,
|
|
he was arrested for arguing in a nightclub called Joe Bananas in Bristol. He
|
|
was jailed for another six years."
|
|
|
|
* Dangerous Food - In Memoriam.
|
|
"The Mafia Cookbook, just published by Simon & Schuster, was written by
|
|
Joseph Iannuzzi after he spilled the beans about his Cosa Nostra colleagues,"
|
|
records the International Herald Tribune. "When cooking for the mob, he
|
|
writes, he used plenty of heavy sauces because 'any meal may be their last,
|
|
so it better be a good one.' Successful robberies were celebrated with steak.
|
|
'But if they went out and hurt somebody or killed them, accidentally or
|
|
whatever, they didn't want no red meat at all. So I'd make a shrimp scampi
|
|
gambino instead.'"
|
|
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
Automated Phones
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
Date: Sat, 30 Oct 1993 12:35:40 -1812
|
|
From: iverson@crl.nmsu.edu (Eric Iverson)
|
|
Subject: CSP
|
|
>From: rejones@whale.st.usm.edu (Robert E. Jones)
|
|
>
|
|
>>From Information Week, 25 Oct 93
|
|
>
|
|
>
|
|
>AUTOMATED PHONES
|
|
>
|
|
>
|
|
>
|
|
> A First Union Bank customer in Roanoke, Va., infuriated over not reaching
|
|
>a live operator when he called the bank's automated phone system over Columbus
|
|
>Day weekend to complain about an incorrect statement, created a computer
|
|
>program to exact revenge. The program automatically dialed eight First Union
|
|
>phone numbers, played a recording of an "automated customer complaint," and
|
|
>instructed the recipient to press a number to hear a live complaint. When the
|
|
>number was pressed, another recording said the customer was busy but to
|
|
>please wait on hold. The bank later called the customer and apologized for the
|
|
>original inconvenience.
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
Messenger Of the Gods, the next part
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
By Mal 09:41:47 Sat 11-13-1993
|
|
|
|
{As our readers may recall, in our last exciting installment, Otis had just
|
|
appeared in order to save his Valentine from the Goddess Eris that the
|
|
messenger of the gods was bringing to her. Elvis, having just shown up in
|
|
the alternate dimension with his guitar to save the day, had been attacked
|
|
by a pair of inbred beings named Vasoline and Gasoline. He'd been slobbered
|
|
on, bitten, and licked by the brace of unearthly creatures. The Man in
|
|
Black, hoping to keep his sanity, had begun chanting. Our narrator has just
|
|
hosed down Elvis and his attackers like rutting dogs in hopes of separating
|
|
them. The mysterious woman from the Mayan flying saucer lies senseless on
|
|
the floor after being molested by her supposed new husband. Of course Spode
|
|
was off somewhere in yet another dimension reading his paper from Hong
|
|
Kong, knowing matters were well in hand. }
|
|
|
|
Elvis moaned and sat up. With one feeble hand he tried to scrap the oozing
|
|
juices of Vasoline and Gasoline off his naked body. Bite marks oozed blood,
|
|
abrasions from tongues were angry red and bruises began to appear.
|
|
|
|
"Where is my Valentine!" cried the mighty Otis, storming over to tower
|
|
over the dazed Elvis. Otis almost tripped on a slimy puddle of fluid.
|
|
|
|
"What..." muttered the King of Rock and Roll, he was in a bad way. He'd
|
|
have been dead by now, if his body wasn't in as good shape as it was. The
|
|
space friends had done a wonderful job on him.
|
|
|
|
The Valentine, which was actually in my pocket, {For those of you playing
|
|
along at home shame on you if you forgot that detail.} jerked out of my
|
|
pocket like a wild thing and hovered in mid-air, its heady scent making
|
|
everyone in the room dizzy. Even most of our attackers buried under the
|
|
remains of the roof stirred restlessly, causing lumber and slate tiles to
|
|
slip and slide. All eyes were upon it. The Man in Black's chant faltered.
|
|
His prayer wheel clanked to the floor. An unholy lust began to boil up in
|
|
all of us.
|
|
|
|
"My Valentine!" cried Otis, her hands reaching forth.
|
|
|
|
The stars overhead were blotted out. The air grew still. Then came a
|
|
tremendous sound like a million pins being hit in a bowling alley. The sky
|
|
was filled with golden comets that danced around in a strange brownian
|
|
motion. All of us in the ruins of the building paid this amazing event
|
|
very little attention, being mesmerized by the floating letter. Otis took
|
|
a step forward, his fingers writhing in anticipation.
|
|
|
|
"Wait!" sounded out a voice like a thousand glass chimes. Drawn by the
|
|
voice, we looked up into the whirling heavens. I somehow knew that
|
|
voice. It was the same voice that had spoken to me over that T.V. what
|
|
seemed like years ago. The madly dancing sky was too much for the battered
|
|
Elvis, who with a slimy splash fainted, falling into a pool of fluid.
|
|
|
|
"You may not partake of the sacrament of my Valentine for it has not been
|
|
delivered correctly oh Mighty Otis, my one true love," continued the voice.
|
|
On the divine countenance of Otis a mightily pout appeared.
|
|
|
|
"Eris..." I muttered. Out of the corner of my eye I could see beads of
|
|
sweat dripping off the Man in Black's wide pale brow as by sheer force of
|
|
will he tried to rip his gaze from the scene that was unfolding.
|
|
|
|
"What!" whimpered Otis his majestic posture turning into a dejected slouch.
|
|
Then the realization that he was a divine Entity came to him and his
|
|
posture perked back up. She began to glow in an aura that almost
|
|
outshone the whirling heavens of golden comets, but not quite.
|
|
|
|
"I am a god! I don't have to partake in such monkey shines as obeying
|
|
divine voices from on high!" he declared taking another step toward the
|
|
floating letter.
|
|
|
|
"Oh yes you do. You big silly!" said the voice of Eris from the heavens.
|
|
With those words a ring of fire appeared around the letter. Slowly it began
|
|
to close. As we watched in horror the letter began to scorch and its divine
|
|
scent began to be replaced by the everyday boring smell of burning paper.
|
|
|
|
"Stop!" cried Otis meekly, "I yield!"
|
|
|
|
Suddenly there was a blinding flash. When we could see again, Otis was
|
|
gone, the sky was back to its normal sprinkling of stars (or what I assume
|
|
was normal for this dimension), and in my hand I held the slightly scorched
|
|
Valentine of Eris. Damn I'd still have to deliver the blasted thing. I
|
|
thought for a moment that maybe Eris would disappear and I could slip the
|
|
relic to Otis on the sly, but he too had vanished.
|
|
|
|
The Man in Black mopped his forehead with a feminine handkerchief
|
|
monogrammed with E.A. Around us I could hear the rubble of the mystery
|
|
spot house moving. The inbred denizens of this universe would soon crawl
|
|
forth from the rubble and no doubt go back to trying to make Elvis breed
|
|
with them.
|
|
|
|
On the floor lay the rope that had been tied to Elvis' waist. It was soggy
|
|
and bitten in places but it still led off into thin air, into the
|
|
dimensional hole. Hopefully the rope would lead us back to the Submarine
|
|
and we could get this damn quest over with. Nearby, perched on a pile of
|
|
dry rot-filled timbers, was the paper airplane.
|
|
|
|
I went over to see to Elvis, carefully avoiding the puddles of fluid. I
|
|
didn't trust that fluid. It would probably eat holes in my boots. Elvis was
|
|
moaning quietly. I reached out to grab a hold of him but drew back at all
|
|
the gunk that covered him. Luckily, I had some gloves with me. I put them
|
|
on, knowing full well I'd have to burn them later. Elvis looked vulnerable
|
|
in his naked state. His clothes were completely ruined. I'd have given him
|
|
my jacket, but I didn't want it ruined by the crud that covered him.
|
|
Carefully with my gloved hands I propped him up and shook him.
|
|
|
|
"Come on Elvis wake up. We've got to get out of here," I yelled into his
|
|
ear. I looked over at the Man in Black. He'd picked up one of the shot
|
|
guns lying around and was aiming it at something that squirmed under the
|
|
rubble. A head popped up and the gun went off. Brains splattered across the
|
|
shattered roof tiles. The Man in Black swiveled on a heel and emptied the
|
|
other barrel into another pile of shifting rubble. His cold efficiency was
|
|
frightening to behold. Moments ago he'd been as rattled as the rest of us
|
|
and now he was back to his old cold blooded self. I suspected the black
|
|
dressed creature was more than just keeping the enemy at bay for us. He
|
|
was getting his revenge for the embarrassment they'd caused. Men in Black do
|
|
not like losing their cool especially in front of people like me who
|
|
vaguely knows about them.
|
|
|
|
"No, no, no girls," muttered Elvis, "Look, I'll let you all ride in the
|
|
Cadillac if you'll just leave me alone for a few minutes to collect my
|
|
wits." Blearily he opened his eyes. He seemed relieved to find himself in
|
|
the ruins of the mystery spot shack.
|
|
|
|
I helped him to his feet. He was very unsteady and leaned heavily on me.
|
|
"Whoo-wee, for a moment I thought I was being attacked by my loving fans
|
|
instead of those things," said Elvis, shuddering. He ran a hand through his
|
|
soaked hair, shaking it out, and splattered saliva all over the floor. He
|
|
made a face, then realized he was naked.
|
|
|
|
A shot gun boomed again. Both Elvis and I jumped. The Man in Black had
|
|
found another shot gun. "Look will you stop that! Grab the girl and lets
|
|
get out of here," I said.
|
|
|
|
"I need some clothes! And where's my guitar," said Elvis. He seemed to be
|
|
regaining his senses rapidly. Still, he did have trouble seeing with one
|
|
eye almost swollen shut. Elvis lunged for the guitar when he saw it. He let
|
|
out a small cry as he picked it up, seeking to gain energy from it.
|
|
Miraculously enough, the guitar was intact.
|
|
|
|
The Man in Black stalked over to join the two of us. In one hand he
|
|
casually held the still unconscious woman in the leather trench coat. She
|
|
seemed light as a feather tucked under his one arm. He looked Elvis up and
|
|
down as if appraising him.
|
|
|
|
"Hey stop that!" yelled Elvis, trying to hide his nakedness with his
|
|
guitar.
|
|
|
|
"Elvis!" suddenly cried Vasoline and Gasoline as they darted out of the
|
|
ruined door way. Both were naked and very wet from the fire hose. Their
|
|
eyes still gleamed with animal lust. Elvis screamed in terror and swung his
|
|
guitar, solidly connecting with the head of Gasoline, who went down like a
|
|
poleaxed yak.
|
|
|
|
"You know you really embarrassed yourself back there," said Spode from over
|
|
his paper to the pacing Otis.
|
|
|
|
"Yeah I did," agreed the subdued Otis throwing herself into a morris chair.
|
|
|
|
"You're really going to have to start taking notes. I mean how could you
|
|
have forgotten where that Valentine was?"
|
|
|
|
"Well, I got all excited," muttered Otis, playing with the doily on the arm
|
|
rest of the chair.
|
|
|
|
"You should really start using your head, you know. Here you are, supreme
|
|
commander of the entire Sumerians Justice League as it were, and you go
|
|
around acting like a drunken Asian yak salesman. No wonder there's still
|
|
those yak tossing rumors floating around," admonished Spode.
|
|
|
|
The three of us dived into the Dimensional hole grabbing onto the rope.
|
|
That paper air plane was probably instructions from Mamboto but it was too
|
|
late to pick it up. We still had Vasoline on our tail. Her animal lust for
|
|
Elvis was so strong we could feel it boiling off her like steam from a
|
|
kettle.
|
|
|
|
The three of us raced along the rope holding onto it much like a handrail.
|
|
In the tornado green fog it was as stiff as an iron rod. We couldn't see
|
|
anything. I had one arm around Elvis' shoulder to help him along. He was
|
|
still very weak. The Man in Black led, holding the woman. Distantly we
|
|
could hear electronic noises and explosions. The Man in Black also said he
|
|
could hear the two who had led us to the mystery shack cursing. Clearly the
|
|
greys were still around somewhere. From behind we could hear an unnatural
|
|
keening we took to be coming from the slobbering mouth of Vasoline. Elvis
|
|
was very pale and shaking. The keening seemed to be pulling at his mind.
|
|
|
|
"Something's wrong," Elvis said in a fearful voice. "We took the wrong way.
|
|
We should be at the submarine by now." He looked back over his shoulder and
|
|
screamed. Vasoline was catching up to us. She loomed out of the fog gaining
|
|
on us in huge leaping bounds.
|
|
|
|
All three of us tripped and fell. We fell on the leathery mutilated bodies
|
|
of greys, black eyeballs like glass Christmas ornaments crunched under us.
|
|
Vasoline pounced, locking herself onto Elvis again. Elvis feebly clubbed
|
|
her with his guitar. The electric noises in the distance were growing
|
|
closer as were the explosions. The Man in Black and I floundered to our
|
|
feet and waded over to Elvis and Vasoline locked together. Both of us made
|
|
faces as we tried to separate the two. It was no good. Vasoline was locked
|
|
like a boa constrictor around Elvis, who when his mouth was free screamed
|
|
incoherently. No doubt that would attract the greys or whatever else was
|
|
out in the fog.
|
|
|
|
Suddenly two figures loomed out of the fog. One had a large grin on his
|
|
face full of green streaked teeth. The other had on that damn hat with all
|
|
the bobbing spheres. It was the two how'd originally dumped us in the
|
|
mystery spot.
|
|
|
|
With one smooth motion they scooped up Elvis and Vasoline and ran. The
|
|
more human of the pair yelled over his shoulder. "Get your chunks in gear
|
|
and run. We'll deal with this later..." They faded into the fog. The Man in
|
|
Black and I were up and began to run. Each of us grabbed the arm of the
|
|
woman. It was hard going. She really didn't weigh much in the fog but she
|
|
did make running awkward, and under our feet were heaps and heaps of greys.
|
|
Behind us were heard more yelling and explosions along with the crackle of
|
|
machine gun fire.
|
|
|
|
We ran for what seemed like hours, but it was probably only seconds.
|
|
Occasionally we would catch glimpses of the two in front of us. They seemed
|
|
to have very little if any trouble with the greys that were everywhere
|
|
under foot. One of them occasionally would pull out a weird pistol and
|
|
fire off round after round of brilliant energy bursts into the fog at some
|
|
unseen target.
|
|
|
|
On we raced over more chopped up grey corpses. Then underfoot was tile and
|
|
we went sprawling, slamming into a wall. We were in a men's room. Or what
|
|
looked like a men's room. The rope led around the corner.
|
|
|
|
What the hell were we doing in a men's room. The Man in Black and I looked
|
|
at each other. Then without a word we picked up the even more battered
|
|
woman and set out after the rope. Behind us in the stall we'd come out of
|
|
we heard an ear shattering electronic buzz and the lights for a second
|
|
flickered. Neither of us dared look back.
|
|
|
|
Around the corner and out into a carpeted hall. We pelted down the hall
|
|
following the rope. There were scorched marks in the carpet that looked
|
|
like footprints. I assumed the two we were following were making them. Also
|
|
the carpet was soaked in places with saliva and worse fluids. Poor Elvis.
|
|
|
|
We pelted past an open door. It was a computer room full of people.
|
|
|
|
Stewy and the Rev looked up from the their terminals where they were
|
|
working. They saw something small and grey flash by the door, but thought
|
|
nothing of it and went back to what they were doing.
|
|
|
|
On we raced. Around another turn. Behind us we could hear something running
|
|
with an inhuman gait. We looked at each other and tried to run faster. The
|
|
woman was weighing us down now that we were in some supposedly real
|
|
dimension or another.
|
|
|
|
"Cut the rope," suggested the Man in Black. I started rummaging through my
|
|
pockets the best I could. Then I saw a fire axe on the wall. I dropped the
|
|
woman and ran for it. My fist flew and the glass broke. Out came the axe.
|
|
With a whirling slice I hit the rope. It took three whacks. The Man in
|
|
Black grabbed the woman in both arms and ran off down the hall as I did
|
|
this. I dropped the axe and followed only to have my feet knocked out from
|
|
under me by a grey. It hit me in a football tackle. Its weird leather arms
|
|
wrapped around my legs. They were strong. My legs felt as if they were going
|
|
to snap. I yelled and punched at the thing. I flailed around, managed to
|
|
grab the axe. I had to do something quick before any more Greys would show
|
|
up.
|
|
|
|
I chopped and chopped with the axe. It was awkward and once I hit myself
|
|
causing me even more pain. The Grey refused to budge. Its hide was
|
|
incredibly tough. It was like trying to chop up a rubber tire.
|
|
|
|
One of my wild swings connected with the grey's black eight ball like eyes.
|
|
It shattered with a loud bang much like a television tube exploding. For a
|
|
moment its grip loosen. I kicked madly but I couldn't get free.
|
|
|
|
Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement. It was the rope. Someone was
|
|
tugging on it. If I lost that rope I'd lose my way home. I dropped the
|
|
axe and made a grab for the rope. I missed the first couple of times. My
|
|
fingers dug into the carpet and I hauled myself toward the rope that was
|
|
starting to disappear down the hall. I lunged. The grey dug in its feet, or
|
|
what passed for feet. I had the rope in one hand. It tugged. The other end
|
|
tugged about dislocating my shoulder. Luckily the rope was wrapped around
|
|
my hand. I held on for dear life. I flailed with my other hand and it got a
|
|
hold of the rope.
|
|
|
|
The rope started to jerk and I was dragged down the haul. The damn grey
|
|
clinging to my legs. They grey seemed to weight a ton. I doubted if I could
|
|
hold on. Then I realized just how silly I must look. Here I was lying on
|
|
the floor clinking to a rope with this creature from outer space clinging
|
|
to my legs. I could just imagine someone from that terminal room back there
|
|
coming along and finding me in this mess. What would they think.
|
|
|
|
They eye socket on the grey started to leak some glowing bluish fluid. I
|
|
caught a whiff of it and about puked. It smelled like rancid blood. The grey
|
|
looked up at me with its good eye as we were tugged along. I knew it
|
|
wouldn't let go unless I killed it and even then I wondered. I would be
|
|
trapped. Its friends would soon come pouring down the haul wielding their
|
|
electronic boxes and have me off to Nightmare Alley. I was getting scared.
|
|
|
|
"Well there goes the damn Valentine quest," I muttered to the alien. Maybe
|
|
I could make friends with it and it would let go. The rope jerked again and
|
|
I moved along.
|
|
|
|
"Hey look! It's Elvis and he's making out with some chick and they're all
|
|
naked!" cried a high pitched woman's voice from down the hall in direction
|
|
of the rope. The roped stopped its jerking and I heard there came a scream.
|
|
|
|
"Oh now what?" I muttered. I let go of the rope with one hand and rummaged
|
|
around in my coat hoping to find something useful. After a minute my hand
|
|
closed around the barrel of a machine pistol. I managed to drag it out.
|
|
Its clip was empty. The grey wrapped around my legs stirred and tried to
|
|
drag us back down the hall in the direction we came. It was too weak to
|
|
make much progress so I ignored it.
|
|
|
|
A strange noise came from the direction of that woman's scream. I wondered
|
|
what was going on. Perhaps the greys had circled around us or something.
|
|
|
|
I found a clip and some how managed to insert it into the pistol. The rope
|
|
jerked and we were off again. For a second I thought of dropping the gun.
|
|
Then decided to give it one try. The rope jerked again. There went my
|
|
shoulder again. I jammed the barrel of the pistol awkwardly into the empty eye
|
|
socket of the grey and pulled the trigger hoping I'd not chew up my legs
|
|
with hot lead.
|
|
|
|
The pistol ate into the grey head spattering the near by wall with bluish
|
|
fluid, rubbery cartilage and meaty chunks of grey flesh. The grey spasmed
|
|
for a second then relaxed. Its head looked like a donut someone had taken
|
|
a shot gun too. I stuffed the pistol back in my pocket. The rope jerked again
|
|
as I tried to stand up. My legs were too numb.
|
|
|
|
The rope jerked again and I slide down the hall quite a distance. Now that
|
|
the grey was gone the load on the rope was much less.
|
|
|
|
I was up on one knee as I rounded a corner only to go sprawling again at
|
|
the feet of the Man in Black. Slumped on the floor next to him was a woman,
|
|
her eyes glazed over. On her head was the dreaded brain caps of the Man in
|
|
Black. Near by on a bench lay the bodies of Elvis and Vasoline locked
|
|
together still. Occasionally one or the other would give a twitch.
|
|
|
|
The Man in Black looked down at me. I slowly go to my feet.
|
|
|
|
"Through there is the Submarine," said the Man in Black triumphantly, point
|
|
at the rope which disappeared into a blank wall. It looked as though we'd
|
|
made it home at last.
|
|
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
Make Your Own Gold
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
From: John_-_Winston@cup.portal.com
|
|
Subject: Gold In The Pot.
|
|
Date: Sun, 31 Oct 93 06:05:43 PST
|
|
|
|
Subject: Gold In The Pot.
|
|
|
|
If you have got a pot, a fire and some things from any store, then maybe
|
|
you can make gold. Here is how a man says it can be done.......
|
|
|
|
Metallurgist Jeff Arnold has concocted an incredible recipe that allows
|
|
you to make gold in your own oven -- using ingredients found in any
|
|
supermarket!
|
|
|
|
The 38-year old genius says that anyone with a little cooking experience
|
|
and a standard home oven can turn a few dollars worth of readily available
|
|
products like lead into gleaming ingots of gold worth a king's ransom.
|
|
|
|
"It's as easy as turning corn meal into cornbread," Arnold declared.
|
|
|
|
"Anyone can do it. All of the ingredients can be found in any super-
|
|
market or hardware store," he explained as he "baked up" a batch of gold
|
|
ingots in kitchen of his home near Taos, N.M.
|
|
|
|
"However, at this time, I feel I must keep the ingredients to myself.
|
|
|
|
"It's taken me years of hard work to discover the secret of how to make
|
|
gold and I think it only fair that I reap the profits before I share that
|
|
secret with the world.
|
|
|
|
"But as soom as I feel that my financial future is secure, I will make
|
|
the ingredients available to everyone .. free of charge!"
|
|
|
|
Arnold said the only problem is that the amount of each ingredient will
|
|
have to be adjusted to be compatible with several variable factors - the
|
|
age and type of oven, the local humidity, and the grade, purity and
|
|
freshness of those ingredients that have a shelf life.
|
|
|
|
"For example," Arnold explained, "one of the ingredients - hydrogen
|
|
peroxide - will degrade with time. It must be as fresh as possible when
|
|
purchased.
|
|
|
|
"The expiration date on the bottle must be at least three years off.
|
|
|
|
"And be absolutely certain to use 3 percent, antiseptic-type peroxide,
|
|
not the stronger one used for bleaching hair."
|
|
|
|
He added that the amount of each ingredient and the exact temperature and
|
|
cooking time needed to produce gold is the result of much trial and error.
|
|
|
|
"A beginning goldmaker may hit the time and measures right on the nose
|
|
the first time," he said with a smile. "But it's not likely.
|
|
|
|
"All of the ingredients are blended in equal amounts. For example, eight
|
|
ounces of each of the other ingredients.
|
|
|
|
"The problem is that eight ounces - or whatever the starting amount - may
|
|
be too much or too little. The only way to find the proper measure is
|
|
through trial and error. But even that is fun to do.
|
|
|
|
"The ingredients are blended together to make a thick, lumpy but pourable
|
|
gruel," Arnold said. "I bring the mixture to a boil, then simmer it for 30
|
|
minutes over low heat.
|
|
|
|
"The cooked mixture is then poured into a teflon coated aluminum mold.
|
|
Then I pop it into the oven and cook it for one hour on the highest
|
|
setting.
|
|
|
|
"Then I take it to the bank. It's pure gold.
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
News of the Weird
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
[Here's another installed of News of the Weird directly for the nimble
|
|
fingers of Steph the News of the Weird Woman.]
|
|
|
|
From the Chicago Reader, 1/3/92:
|
|
|
|
In June in San Marcos, TX, a man reported he had been injured walking along
|
|
a road when a passing motorist hit him in the back with a bologna sandwich.
|
|
|
|
Police in Kewanee, IL, charged Michael Runyon with drunk driving this
|
|
summer after he accidentally drove a lawn mower into the path of a freight
|
|
train. Runyon, who escaped injury when the train flipped the 5-horsepower
|
|
mower 10 ft. into the air, had used the vehicle for transportation ever
|
|
since his driver's license was suspended for drunk driving 5 years ago.
|
|
|
|
Ernest Ray "Ernie" Lynn, son of singer Loretta Lynn, announced in June that
|
|
the reason he was having a vasectomy was to stop the seemingly continuous
|
|
string of paternity suits ("2 or 3" every year) being filed against him.
|
|
|
|
And from the Chicago Reader, 4/17/92:
|
|
|
|
The German Parliament's commission on children proposed in November that
|
|
its citizens be required to be more loving and affectionate. Suggestions
|
|
included: barring parents from spanking or nagging children, from
|
|
threatening them with the bogeyman, and from withholding affection.
|
|
Germans are already subjected to public-civility requirements, which
|
|
prohibit angry gestures at motorists and insults to civil servants, among
|
|
other things. [Can you imagine all of the above in the States? Especially
|
|
the latter!-- Steph]
|
|
|
|
Edalina Rodriguez, 40, was arrested in Lorain, Ohio, in January for
|
|
stealing from a produce truck. According to a patrolman, Rodriguez and 2
|
|
other men ran away from the truck when the officer approached, but
|
|
Rodriguez was the only one of the 3 to leave a trail of cherry tomatoes--
|
|
leading to his apartment building, up the stairs, and down a hall, stopping
|
|
in front of his door.
|
|
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
Signs of the Times
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
Date: Thu, 11 Nov 1993 11:44:24 -1812
|
|
From: iverson@crl.nmsu.edu (Eric Iverson)
|
|
Subject: More signs of the times
|
|
|
|
From: trowe@uwspmail.uwsp.edu
|
|
From: Ian Chai <spectre@UIUC.EDU>
|
|
Subject: More signs of the times
|
|
|
|
----------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
These are actual signs seen across the USA:
|
|
|
|
In a New York restaurant: Customers who find our waitresses uncivil ought
|
|
to see the manager.
|
|
|
|
On a movie theater: Children's matinee today. Adults not admitted unless
|
|
with child.
|
|
|
|
In a florida maternity ward: No children allowed
|
|
|
|
In the offices of a loan company: Ask about our plans for owning your
|
|
home.
|
|
|
|
In a toy department: Five santa clauses, no waiting.
|
|
|
|
On a Maine shop: Our motto is to give our customers the lowest possible
|
|
prices and workmanship.
|
|
|
|
On military bases: Restricted to unauthorized personnel
|
|
|
|
On a display of "You're my one and only" valentine cards: Now available in
|
|
multi-packs.
|
|
|
|
In a funeral parlor: Ask about our layaway plan
|
|
|
|
In a clothing store: Bargains for men with 16 and 17 necks
|
|
|
|
In a men's clothing store: 15 mens wool suits -- $10.00. They won't
|
|
last an hour!
|
|
|
|
On an Indiana shopping mall marquee: Archery tournament. Ears pierced.
|
|
|
|
In downtown Boston: Callahan Tunnel/No End
|
|
|
|
In the window of a general store: Why go elsewhere and be cheated when you
|
|
can come right here?
|
|
|
|
In a Maine restaurant: Open 7 days a week and weekends
|
|
|
|
In a New Jersey restaurant: Open 11AM to 11PM Midnight
|
|
|
|
In a Pennsylvania cemetery: Persons are prohibited from picking flowers
|
|
from any but their own graves.
|
|
|
|
On the grounds of a private school: No trespassing without permission
|
|
|
|
In a library: Blotter paper will no longer be available until the public
|
|
stops taking it away
|
|
|
|
In front of a New Hampshire car wash: If you can't read this, it's time to
|
|
wash your car.
|
|
----------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
Not a Through Street No U-Turn
|
|
|
|
BUS STOP
|
|
Buses Excepted
|
|
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
Sox
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
From: lrc@netcom.com (Henry O. Farad)
|
|
Subject: Sock conspiracy revealed
|
|
Keywords: Socks, driers, hampers, lemurs
|
|
|
|
It has been revealed to me, by sources which I cannot name, that socks do
|
|
not really disappear from hyper dimensional wormholes in driers. That is
|
|
merely a coverup rumor spread by the real perpetrators, our very own, fun
|
|
loving lemurs.
|
|
|
|
Lemurs, it turns out, are in cahoots with laundry hampers, and steal the
|
|
socks to line transdimensional nests, where they can enjoy twinkies and
|
|
grape soda in comfort and privacy. Laundry hampers, unwilling to have their
|
|
good name besmirched, refused to cooperate until the lemurs started
|
|
spreading the counter rumor about the hampers arch enemies, the driers.
|
|
|
|
They were fairly secure in this deception, since no one ever counts the
|
|
socks when they come out of the hamper or the washing machine, and only
|
|
notice mismatched pairs after they have come out of the drier.
|
|
|
|
There is a way to protect yourself from losing socks this way. Lemurs sense
|
|
of aesthetic dictates that no two socks in their nest be the same.
|
|
Therfore, if you always buy socks of the same pattern (for example, all
|
|
white), it will greatly reduce the number of socks lost in this manner
|
|
because the nearer nests (topologically in a transdimensional sense) will
|
|
soon become saturated by that particular color/style of sock.
|
|
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
THEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHE
|
|
####===================================================================####
|
|
--Subink 1993
|