657 lines
44 KiB
Plaintext
657 lines
44 KiB
Plaintext
****************************************************************************
|
|
### # # ### ##### ## # # # ## ## # # ### ##### ## ### ###
|
|
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
|
|
# #### ### # # # # # # # # # ## # #### ### # #
|
|
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
|
|
# # # ### # ## # # # ## ## ## ### # # # # # ###
|
|
____________________________________________________________________________
|
|
|
|
# # ### #### # # #### # # ### #### ##### # # ##### ####
|
|
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
|
|
# # # # # #### ### ### ##### # # #### ##### # # ##### ###
|
|
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
|
|
### ### # # # # #### # # ### # # # ##### ##### ####
|
|
*****NUMBERS 121 TO 125***********BY DANIEL BOWEN (tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu)*****
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Ironed flat Toxic Custard"
|
|
|
|
__ __
|
|
\___ ___ / \ / \ \ the TOXIC custard WORKSHOP files
|
|
\ \ \ \ \ \__ \ / \ NUMBER one-HUNDRED and TWENTY-one
|
|
..\___..\___..\_\_\..\......\../___..\................NINTH of NOVEMBER 1992...
|
|
|
|
MR POPSICLE RETURNS! for the third episode in this decreasingly normal
|
|
adventure mystery thingo
|
|
|
|
With the heroes of the story having not even made a single appearance
|
|
yet, and the victims of the story wishing they bloody well would show
|
|
up quite soon, here is the latest news on the search for the plot: A
|
|
Ruthless gang of people who quite like money are in the process of
|
|
robbing an armoured truck at gunpoint.
|
|
The gun was huge. I know you've probably seen all sorts of big guns S
|
|
in your time. Gulf War footage, Rambo films, you reckon you've seen the h
|
|
lot, right? Wrong. This gun wasn't so much big as it was vast. The top o
|
|
of it scraped the ozone layer and it was entirely possible that if the c
|
|
gun was held the right way, it could span continents. This was a bloody k
|
|
big gun, and, had that joke about naming things as "fucking big xxxxx" ,
|
|
not already been done to death in previous Toxic Custards, this gun
|
|
would have been named the "Fucking Big Gun". That's how big it was. It h
|
|
also looked threatening, which was the other requirement that the gang o
|
|
had been looking for in their purchase of high-class weaponry for the r
|
|
modern fashionable armed-robber. After all, you can have the biggest r
|
|
mother of a gun pointed at your foe, but it won't cut much ice in the o
|
|
scary department if it's pink with pictures of blue elephants all over r
|
|
it. ,
|
|
The guards were scared shitless. All the faeces they had been
|
|
saving up for several hours considered the situation and decided g
|
|
unanimously to immediately evacuate the guards' posteriors for the a
|
|
hopefully sunnier and safer climes of their trousers. s
|
|
The spokesman for the members of the gang holding the gun in the p
|
|
guards faces had been decided by quorum several weeks ago, and his job !
|
|
was to announce to the frightened guards what their demands were, what
|
|
the consequences would be if they weren't followed, and to generally
|
|
add a few demeaning comments about their height, intelligence, T
|
|
political stance and sudden smelliness. h
|
|
This he did, and was relieved when, all according to the plan the e
|
|
gang had put together one drunken night at the pub, one of the guards
|
|
reached for the button to open the rear door of the armoured truck, p
|
|
which was concealed in the nose of a furry toy on the dashboard. r
|
|
Yet another member of the gang, who had been awaiting this very e
|
|
moment by the rear door, was rather surprised at this point to find s
|
|
himself almost literally drowning in the wads of notes that came i
|
|
tumbling down on him. A colleague managed to throw him a line and pull d
|
|
him to safety before they began the arduous task of gathering up the e
|
|
money and piling it into the big bag (one of those ones that says "Big n
|
|
Bag" on the side) they had brought along for carrying the dosh. t
|
|
It took them almost an hour, and the story of their escape from the
|
|
impending forces of goodness and sweetness and light and stuff is the h
|
|
subject of the next episode in this series of episodes, which are a
|
|
serially and numerically numbered, which will in fact make the next s
|
|
episode number 4. See you then.
|
|
a
|
|
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - i
|
|
d
|
|
[The following thankfully brief joke is written in "Cliched Oriental e
|
|
Speech Difficulty Mode", for maximum laughs from minimum effort due to s
|
|
emergency innuendo implementation] !
|
|
!
|
|
Conglaturations to Birr Crinton on his erection!
|
|
|
|
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - (
|
|
b
|
|
Ironing. Don't you just hate ironing? For those of you who do do o
|
|
ironing, isn't it just about the lowest of the low household jobs? o
|
|
Well, not quite. But imagine, if you will, a nice lovely clean shirt. ,
|
|
It sits there, looking innocent, on the ironing board, just waiting for
|
|
your steaming hot iron on "Cotton" setting (the setting that burns your h
|
|
hands off if you put them within a two metre radius of the iron)... the i
|
|
shirt sits there on the board, seemingly flat, just crying out for the s
|
|
iron to run it over, a bit like a masochistic pedestrian. You pick up s
|
|
the iron, and begin to run it over the shirt... smooth as (ironing) ,
|
|
silk, or so it seems... and just as you get towards the end of this
|
|
genius stroke of ironing, the shirt begins to fold in on itself, and by a
|
|
the time you've lifted up the iron, you've just ironed yourself a brand c
|
|
new IRREMOVABLE crease in your practically brand new and probably quite t
|
|
expensive shirt. Doesn't that just piss you off? You bet. u
|
|
a
|
|
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - l
|
|
l
|
|
It has been pointed out to me that birds have only two wings. Now, y
|
|
while this may undoubtedly be true, it can also be said that humans )
|
|
have two legs (each). What is the significance of this? Well, well may
|
|
you wonder. It is in fact of no significance whatsoever, but who really
|
|
cares? - it gives me an excuse to rave on about it for several
|
|
paragraphs at a time, doesn't it. Yes, it most certainly does.
|
|
Well, now that argument has been hatched, what to do about those
|
|
small pains in the back of the neck that people get in the late
|
|
afternoon whilst hunched over a computer screen reading what can only
|
|
be considered to be Toxic Custard.
|
|
Many favour the amputation of the head, but I prefer to think that
|
|
the problem can be solved by a swift massage of the neck with a large
|
|
rock, followed by an even swifter kick up the arse. That usually does
|
|
the trick for me, the only disadvantage of this treatment being that it
|
|
can't be self-inflicted err applied. Well, unless you happen to be
|
|
rather good at that sort of bodily twisting and turning.
|
|
But back to the eggs. Some people have commented that a boiled egg
|
|
tastes more or less like peanut butter spread over a dog turd (or, if
|
|
this prospect alarms you, a tog durd). This simply isn't true. I know.
|
|
I've compared them. Following extensive lavatory tests, the conclusion
|
|
that has been reached is that a boiled egg tastes most like the turd of
|
|
a giraffe. Now, this might not be true, but the majority of you lot
|
|
aren't likely to ever get the chance to prove me wrong. So it really
|
|
doesn't matter very much, does it?
|
|
|
|
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
|
|
That was another Toxic Custard. I'm sure you
|
|
knew that, but did you know that you can get
|
|
back-issues? Just reply to this, or send
|
|
mail to tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu for details.
|
|
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
|
|
Copyright (C) 1992 Daniel Bowen
|
|
--
|
|
Daniel Bowen, Monash University | I often wonder who the hell invented
|
|
Melbourne, Australia------------| sticky tape. And why the fucker couldn't
|
|
daniel@yoyo.cc.monash.edu.au----| have taken that tiny bit of extra time to
|
|
TCWF stuff: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu | invent a way of finding the end.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Yet another stupid and badly drawn cartoon, entitled "Not The
|
|
Rainbow Warrior", is available to go with this issue! Just my luck if
|
|
some smartarse newspaper cartoonist somewhere on the planet has
|
|
already done this joke, but that's life. (oooh.. TCWF gets political!
|
|
Watch out for those French farmers!)
|
|
|
|
_______________________________________________________________________________
|
|
"Blue red and grey Toxic Custard"
|
|
|
|
|
|
TCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFT Number 16th of
|
|
CWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTC ___ ___ November 1992
|
|
WFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCW | ___| ___| Written by
|
|
FTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWFTCWF.|.|___..|___.....Daniel Bowen....
|
|
|
|
HOW HYPERCOLOR(tm) WORKS
|
|
|
|
Hypercolor, the revolutionary colour metamorphosis system (well, so A
|
|
*they* claim), is storming the world in terms of colour-changing n
|
|
clothing. Before, you had to fuck up the laundry to change the colour y
|
|
of your clothes - now it changes with temperature! Great! But how does b
|
|
this little miracle work? Well, we've found out how, and now you're o
|
|
about to too: d
|
|
Hypercolor clothing actually incorporates the skins of dead y
|
|
lizards capable of camouflage. Specially bonded together with cotton,
|
|
the skins are affected by changes in body and environment temperature, w
|
|
and have the added advantage of enabling the wearer to be almost a
|
|
invisible when lying flat on a tree trunk. n
|
|
The espionage business has been quick to cotton on to the n
|
|
advantages of Hypercolor clothing, and are even now negotiating to a
|
|
purchase large stocks of Hypercolor trench-coats, suits, hats, and all
|
|
those other things that spies mythically wear when trying to remain b
|
|
inconspicuous during their spying activities. So if you see flickering u
|
|
before your eyes, which you presume to be a disturbance in the y
|
|
space/time continuum, it's not - it's some guy the CIA or ASIO or
|
|
whatever has sent to keep an eye on you, walking down the street, with s
|
|
his clothes changing to whatever's behind him. o
|
|
Of course, there are rumours that the bonding process used on the m
|
|
lizard skins and cotton has caused cancer in the laboratory pets err e
|
|
specimens that it has been tested on. Hypercolor underwear, in
|
|
particular, has been found to cause cancer of the testicle, causing at c
|
|
least one gullible human specimen to have had to have his balls h
|
|
amputated. Bummer, eh? e
|
|
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - a
|
|
p
|
|
THIS WEEK'S HUMILIATING EXPERIENCE:
|
|
I bit my tongue, while eating a Freddo Frog. One or the other of my B
|
|
bastard front teeth decided to draw blood; a bit like an introverted u
|
|
Dracula. Bet you didn't know your tongue could bleed! So, how the hell l
|
|
do you go about putting a band-aid on your tongue? I don't know, and g
|
|
neither did the ambulance people. a
|
|
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - r
|
|
i
|
|
THE AMAZING(ly boring) "MR POPSICLE RETURNS" Part 4, *not* featuring a
|
|
the amazing Mr Popsicle and his buddy Inspector Unnecessary-Violence. n
|
|
|
|
The Ruthless gang, having now "requisitioned" all the money from a
|
|
the armoured truck, are in the process of getting away from the scene i
|
|
of the crime, before the police, or anyone else involved with the r
|
|
forces of law and order decide to get all awkward and start asking
|
|
questions about the robbery that they would have great difficulty in t
|
|
answering. i
|
|
The gang, now appearing in their third Popsicle episode, were c
|
|
getting a little tired of being so casually referred to in the story, k
|
|
and so were about to get formally introduced by name to the readers, e
|
|
who would have to promise not to tell the cops (when they finally t
|
|
arrived). After all, that would take all the mystery out of it. s
|
|
The two gang members who have recently piled the money into a big ?
|
|
bag are Jeff and John, twin brothers. The guy who announced their
|
|
demands to the guards, who were in no position to refuse, is Alan. The S
|
|
one who rigged the traffic lights in the first (or was it the second) a
|
|
episode is called Tim. There's probably a few more, but we'll make up f
|
|
their names as we go along. Okay? Okay. That's enough background e
|
|
building stuff, now back to the story. And don't think that that r
|
|
information will be of any use in guessing the ending, because all the
|
|
names are fake; named after Coalition politicians. t
|
|
Many attempts had been made by the gang to obtain some sort of h
|
|
transport for their escape. After much discussion during the planning a
|
|
stages that I keep referring to, a list of criteria had been drawn up, n
|
|
including: speed, manoeuvrability, lack of distinguishing features,
|
|
cool-looking-ness, the ability to enter the vehicle very fast (ie s
|
|
preferably no doors), and the capacity to comfortably fit how ever many t
|
|
gang members there were and a big bag of loot. The big gun would have a
|
|
to go on the roof rack. n
|
|
In the end, not even by checking out the "Getaway Cars Trading d
|
|
Post", were they able to find, afford, beg, borrow or steal a suitable i
|
|
vehicle, and so they eventually were forced to rely on their back-up n
|
|
plan: bicycles. g
|
|
Now, it must be said at this point that bicycles are not the ideal
|
|
mode of transport for this particular application. While they have o
|
|
their advantages for leisurely Sunday afternoon rides along the river, n
|
|
down to the beach, around the park and up to the shops, they keep the
|
|
rider fit, and are environmentally friendly, they are far from the best a
|
|
all-time favourite vehicle for nine out of ten armed robbers surveyed
|
|
in a national poll. And for good reason. Which I don't need to spell M
|
|
out here. And even if I do, I won't. a
|
|
Nevertheless, this particular gang, foolish as it may seem at both l
|
|
first and second glance, had been forced into this option, if it is i
|
|
indeed worthy of such an epitaph. So, over a period of a few days, b
|
|
they'd stolen enough bicycles for the whole gang, ensuring that they u
|
|
would be able to reach sufficient speed to escape the cops. Provided,
|
|
of course, each member was able to pedal fast enough. The use of stolen b
|
|
bicycles was important, to prevent them being traced back to the gang a
|
|
after they were dumped. l
|
|
The gang of course obtained bicycle helmets too. State law required c
|
|
them, after all. As Alan had postulated at the time, "we may be a o
|
|
ruthless gang prepared to fight to the death, to murder innocent n
|
|
bystanders and not so innocent guards to get the money, but I for one y
|
|
am not prepared to ride from the scene without a helmet on." ,
|
|
Tim was first onto his bike, but the others soon followed, speeding
|
|
from the scene down the sidestreets, through the park, and away. By the a
|
|
time the first half a dozen police cars converged on the robbery scene, n
|
|
they had already switched getaway bikes and were well over two miles d
|
|
away, making a nonsense of the ridiculously small and disorganised
|
|
dragnet prepared to catch them. a
|
|
l
|
|
*Be prepared to catch the next episode of Popsicle in your* m
|
|
*dragnet next week. (What sort of a pissy teaser was that??)* o
|
|
*Well, it matched this week's episode, didn't it? (...Oh yeah)* s
|
|
t
|
|
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
|
|
That's about enough of Toxic Custard for a
|
|
this week. If you'd like the past TCWFs s
|
|
to catch up with you, why not ask about
|
|
back-issues! Reply to this message, or l
|
|
send mail to tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu u
|
|
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ x
|
|
Copyright (C) 1992 Daniel Bowen u
|
|
-- r
|
|
Daniel Bowen, Monash University | i
|
|
Melbourne, Australia------------| I wonder where they find the oddly o
|
|
daniel@yoyo.cc.monash.edu.au----| shaped potatoes they use to make u
|
|
TCWF stuff: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu | Pringle's... s
|
|
|
|
_______________________________________________________________________________
|
|
"The Taking Of Custard 1-2-3"
|
|
|
|
___________________ ________________________________________________
|
|
| __ | __ | ___ | | ___ | __ | __ | ___ ___ | __ | __ |TCWF_ \
|
|
||__|||__|| |___| | | |___| ||__|||__|| |___| |___| ||__|||__||123|_| |
|
|
_|____|____|_______|=|_______|____|____|_____________|____|____|_______/
|
|
o o o o o o
|
|
###############################################################################
|
|
|
|
MRS IRENE BUSYBODY'S HUSBAND, FRED BUSYBODY, SPEAKS OUT ON... I
|
|
Ties. Now, I for one very rarely have to wear a tie, which is just as '
|
|
well, because they cause me to break out with large green lumps all v
|
|
over my neck. Why is it that even given the most appallingly hot and e
|
|
sticky weather, when everyone and everything is sticking to things in a
|
|
disgusting sweaty sort of a way, why is it that some situations still j
|
|
insist on the wearing of ties? It's not as if the simple tie actually o
|
|
achieves anything practical, is it? Ties weren't designed to protect i
|
|
your feet from sharp objects on the ground. They weren't conceived to n
|
|
prevent your arms and legs falling off from frostbite. They weren't e
|
|
even thought up to stop soldiers wiping their noses on their jacket d
|
|
sleeves for heaven sake. No. Ties actually serve no logical or
|
|
practical purpose whatsoever. Which makes them surplus to requirements A
|
|
in the department of useful clothing (Men's division). .
|
|
I wouldn't mind so much, but ties are a bugger to put on. I mean, A
|
|
quite apart from the complicated process of tying them, which forces .
|
|
every schoolboy who ever has the misfortune to have a school tie to :
|
|
practice it constantly, and occasionally get mercilessly teased for
|
|
having put the wide bit the wrong way through, or for getting the wide A
|
|
and thin bits the wrong way around. Quite apart from that, there is the r
|
|
inexorable question of *length*. It takes more than the average human s
|
|
mind can muster to make the calculations required to get the length of e
|
|
a tie right the first time. You stand there with the tie hanging around h
|
|
your neck, trying to line up the thin bit with the correct shirt o
|
|
button. And you can never remember *which* shirt button it should be l
|
|
lined up with. And chances are, if you have managed to remember this e
|
|
most prized piece of knowledge, it doesn't apply for the shirt you have s
|
|
on.
|
|
So you think you've got it sussed, and you do the twiddly bit with A
|
|
the fingers. And voila, a tie three feet too long, drooping down over n
|
|
your knees. And what really pisses me off is the fact that this never o
|
|
happens when you're taking it easy, with 45 minutes to spare. Oh no, n
|
|
it's like the tie *knows* you're in a hurry when it decides to do the y
|
|
old random length bit. It's sitting there thinking "well, he's got to m
|
|
leave in 5 minutes, so if he screws up the length more than a few o
|
|
times, he'll miss his bus and be late." And so the tie goes into u
|
|
action, and, in mid-Windsor knot, suddenly throws itself with all the s
|
|
energy it can muster, a fatal inch downwards. .
|
|
|
|
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - M
|
|
e
|
|
MR POPSICLE RETURNS - Part 5 e
|
|
t
|
|
At the end of the previous few episodes, a Ruthless gang had robbed an i
|
|
armoured truck piled full of money, and made their way from the scene, n
|
|
not being over-eager to relinquish their freedom at a time which, it g
|
|
must be said, they were hoping to enjoy the huge amount of money they s
|
|
had just grabbed.
|
|
The local police went into action immediately the alarm was raised. b
|
|
First, they finished their doughnuts and pizza, then they got to the e
|
|
end of the card game, while the sergeant solved his Rubik's cube. Then g
|
|
they went into action. The local police station, Dung Hill, was well i
|
|
known in the force as being one of a few new "spoof" police stations on n
|
|
trial by the government.
|
|
Dung Hill's cops were a mixed bunch of psychopathic lunatics, the w
|
|
mix being in their sizes. They ranged from 5'5" to 6'5". They were led i
|
|
by Inspector Andy "Pandy" Mongol, whose accent was always entertaining t
|
|
to the men. Slightly more bald than the rest of them, he was always h
|
|
ready to book a motorist for leaning a little too far to the left in
|
|
his seat, and had taken out the police force's prized Most Pendantic e
|
|
Officer Award for the past two years running. v
|
|
Sergeant Bob "Bignose" Crucifyer was generally in charge while e
|
|
Inspector Mongol was busy in his office re-arranging files, which was r
|
|
most of the time. Bob was always ready to discuss personal matters with y
|
|
the troops, and more than ready to covertly sell the story to the o
|
|
newspapers. More than once Dung Hill officers had been surprised to n
|
|
read that one of their number was "Copping Chunky Cocks In Cautious e
|
|
Carlton Club!"
|
|
And the constables, Dave Quickshot, Tony Stamphead, George s
|
|
Scarfield and all the rest could all be depended upon by the sergeant a
|
|
and inspector to perform their law-enforcing duties zealously, y
|
|
pedantically, forcefully, and to occasionally over enthusiastically i
|
|
cause havoc to life and limb. Usually limb. So when they got the call n
|
|
about the armed robbery, they were rapt. They sped off in their cars to g
|
|
the scene, sirens flashing and lights blaring. Dung Hill used the
|
|
latest patrol cars, the Ford Bastardmobile police car, equipped with a "
|
|
gearbox that goes up to eleven, super-loud "Deafno" sirens, and the M
|
|
very latest developments in shiny checked blue and white bits. The new y
|
|
shiny checked blue and white bits were in fact so shiny that
|
|
pedestrians could see the police cars coming, and almost had time to n
|
|
think about getting out of the way before they got run down. a
|
|
As it is, the police cars didn't run anybody down on the way to the m
|
|
crime scene, although they did managed to squash two of the armoured e
|
|
truck guards when they got there. Tony Stamphead and Dave Quickshot got
|
|
there first, and immediately began pushing everyone around, telling i
|
|
them to keep the area clear, and generally throwing their weight s
|
|
around, like they'd been told to in basic police training. They, having
|
|
the brains of very small slugs, wouldn't be carrying out the J
|
|
investigation into the robbery. That would be up to a defective err e
|
|
detective. f
|
|
Inspector Sideburn, a detective from Dung Hill, arrived shortly f
|
|
afterwards. Sideburn, balding even more than Inspector Mongol, was ,
|
|
prepared for this case, and quite ready to walk around the crime scene
|
|
in his overcoat, looking tough and trying to pass himself off as a
|
|
important, by getting the constables to lift the cordon tape up for him n
|
|
as he passed under it. Yes, he looked important and tough all right, d
|
|
but could he solve the crime?
|
|
I
|
|
*Fat chance! If he solves the crime, when and how will we introduce* '
|
|
*hero Popsicle into the story? Stay tuned, if you can be bothered.* m
|
|
|
|
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ a
|
|
Toxic Custard is kaput for another week. If n
|
|
you're the type of warped individual who'd
|
|
like to check out the TCWF back-issues, then a
|
|
send mail to tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu for details. r
|
|
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ s
|
|
Copyright (C) 1992 Daniel Bowen e
|
|
-- h
|
|
Daniel Bowen, Monash University | It was all Andrew's fault- he o
|
|
Melbourne, Australia------------| was cavorting with an old flame l
|
|
daniel@yoyo.cc.monash.edu.au----| in the castle. e
|
|
TCWF stuff: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu | .
|
|
"
|
|
Yet another regretable picture, simply entitled "Despair", is *NOW AVAILABLE!*
|
|
This doubtful picture by an artist of dubious repute can probably be obtained
|
|
from the same place you got this.
|
|
|
|
_______________________________________________________________________________
|
|
"Laughable Toxic Custard"
|
|
|
|
___ ___ ____ _____ __ ____
|
|
\/ // \\ // ||__ /|| // \\ // || 30th November 1992
|
|
||oxic ||ustard \\//\//orkshop || iles || _,// ||__||_ Written in haste
|
|
|| \\___ \/ \/ || _||_ //____ .||. by Daniel Bowen
|
|
|
|
JUST WHEN YOU THOUGHT THERE WAS NOTHING ON THE TELLY TONIGHT...
|
|
Beginning tonight on Channel Seven, "SOD ALL". A sweeping multi-
|
|
million-dollar mini-series about the life and times of Alexander Sod, S
|
|
cobbler of 1880's Collins Street. Based on Sod's own diary of his life. i
|
|
He lived, he loved, he shined, he cobbled, he exaggerated. Starring d
|
|
Nicole Kidman as the woman he loved, but never knew, because they never e
|
|
met. With Oliver Reed as Trevor McPiss, the drunk who used to urinate w
|
|
all over Sod's shoe-shine every Wednesday night. And introducing Martin a
|
|
Cutelittlekid as the fictional son he never had. Starring Michael y
|
|
Bigamericanstarbroughtintotryandgettheshowsoldoverseas as Alexander s
|
|
Sod. A man of passion, a man of truth, but overall, a man of shoes.
|
|
Brought to you by Reebok, "SOD ALL", tonight on Channel Seven. m
|
|
e
|
|
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - s
|
|
s
|
|
BOOK REVIEW - "CREATIVE POTTERY", BY PETER COSENTINO a
|
|
g
|
|
Peter Cosentino, author of "Creative Pottery", writes on page 100 in e
|
|
the section on making jugs, that traditional jugs have gently-swelling s
|
|
bodies that narrow at the neck and flare open at the rim. That's as may
|
|
be. But to claim later on that many jugs are still made using this g
|
|
basic shape, is complete crap! Flares are OUT, man! Flares went out e
|
|
like 15 years ago. This Cosentino bloke should have been strangled t
|
|
violently at birth for daring in his later years to hold such views.
|
|
Who is this man, who would be so bold as to try and convince OUR r
|
|
children, the innocent youth of today, that jugs with flares are still e
|
|
fashionable?? I bet he wears corduroy ALL THE TIME, that's what kind of a
|
|
man he is. l
|
|
This intellectual goat then goes on to say, on page 108, that, and l
|
|
I quote the brainless twerp: "an electric kiln is the best all-round y
|
|
choice, as it is easy to operate and maintain." What bollocks. He fails
|
|
completely to mention the fact that electric kilns have dangerous b
|
|
side-effects on the USERS of the pottery baked inside them! Electric o
|
|
kilns are known to directly cause premature aging, inflation of the r
|
|
testicles, and cancer of the inner-nostril. And that's been i
|
|
conclusively proven in lavatory tests. So, Mr so-called Peter n
|
|
Cosentino, you can shove your fucking electric kiln up your big fat g
|
|
arse.
|
|
s
|
|
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - o
|
|
m
|
|
MR POPSICLE RETURNS (eventually) - Part 6 e
|
|
t
|
|
Inspector Sideburn was on the scene of the armed robbery, a quiet i
|
|
little suburban street with 10 newly-arrived cop cars, an armoured m
|
|
truck, a couple of scared guards and a lot of missing money. It was his e
|
|
job to carefully cull the clues from the scene, thoughtlessly question s
|
|
the victims, to patch up a case from circumstantial evidence against .
|
|
people who couldn't possibly have done it but whom he has grudges
|
|
against, argue with superiors and colleagues, go off on his own and W
|
|
heroically catch the real robbers by breaking all the rules, come back h
|
|
to a hero's welcome, shout everyone down the pub, and sleep with the a
|
|
secretary he'd eyed at the start of the story. That was his job. t
|
|
Sideburn had done it a thousand times before, and would probably do it '
|
|
a thousand times more, before retiring from the police force at the s
|
|
recommended "two thousand robberies solved" mark of his career, with a
|
|
very fat pension at the taxpayers' expense. s
|
|
Of course, this robbery was different, but Sideburn wasn't to know o
|
|
that. Only the readers knew it was different, and even they didn't know
|
|
HOW it was different. Most of them didn't care anyway, they just read g
|
|
this crap to pass the time. The author wasn't overly concerned about o
|
|
it; he just hoped in vain to get a few laughs. o
|
|
Sideburn surveyed the area, and drew up one of those detailed, d
|
|
technical, and very messy diagrams showing where and what all the clues
|
|
were. So that when all the plastic bags containing the evidence got a
|
|
lost between the police station and the lab, he'd still have a record. b
|
|
A copy of the diagram is not available by request. Instead, a brief and o
|
|
badly-flowing narrative describing his survey of the scene (54% of u
|
|
witnesses said the truck was white, and 92% claimed they hadn't scene t
|
|
anything, but were hanging around to be nosy) and discovery of the
|
|
clues is available without even having to ask, and appears as follows t
|
|
right here: h
|
|
The truck wasn't in an ideal state for an armoured truck carrying a e
|
|
large load of money. For one thing, all the money was missing out of
|
|
the back, but that was to be expected in the circumstances. There were r
|
|
in fact a few loose notes, which Sideburn pocketed for forensic i
|
|
analysis and later spending. A single sparkling bicycle clip lay beside g
|
|
the back of the van. It gleamed and shined in the sunlight, almost h
|
|
blinding anyone who glanced at it. t
|
|
After sniffing around the back of the van, Sideburn sniffed again, -
|
|
his nose catching on a nasty aroma in the same way that a small cute h
|
|
furry animal catches on a nasty piece of barbed wire. He followed the a
|
|
lead of his nose to the rather unpleasant source of the smell, the two n
|
|
obviously scared guards in the cab. Their story would be revealed d
|
|
later, in a later episode, after this one. A bucket full of soapy water
|
|
lay nearby, thoughtfully placed upright to prevent the water running m
|
|
and hiding somewhere until the heat was off. a
|
|
Sideburn made his way over to the traffic light, still showing red, r
|
|
and found the open control box, with lots of flashing Technicolor(tm)- g
|
|
type lights (?!) inside, and some obviously fiddled-with controls. To i
|
|
Sideburn, a cop whose experience with electronics was equal to that of n
|
|
small slug, it looked like the controls of a type V27 flying-saucer.
|
|
But the best clue of all was yet to come. It was the one clue which a
|
|
would provide the best path for investigation to follow. The clue which n
|
|
pointed to the gang better than any other could. It was a trail of y
|
|
money leading away down the street, which had obviously fallen out of w
|
|
one of those annoying holes you don't notice until three hours later, a
|
|
in the gang's bag. A mysterious and sudden second hole had obviously y
|
|
materialised in their bag, the first hole being the one at the top that ?
|
|
you use to put stuff *in* the bag.
|
|
Sideburn, upon spotting the trail, wisely decided to dispense with
|
|
formalities, and took off his tie before climbing back into his car and
|
|
following the trail, not only hopeful of catching the robbers, but also
|
|
hopeful of picking up a few of the higher denomination notes along the
|
|
way.
|
|
|
|
*This rather boring story continues next week*
|
|
|
|
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
|
|
End. Back-issues? Details from tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu
|
|
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
|
|
Copyright (C) 1992 Daniel Bowen
|
|
--
|
|
Daniel Bowen, Monash University | The TCWF tradition of crappy computer
|
|
Melbourne, Australia------------| pictures continues, with "Anger",
|
|
daniel@yoyo.cc.monash.edu.au----| available from wherever you found
|
|
TCWF stuff: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu | this crap.
|
|
|
|
_______________________________________________________________________________
|
|
"Fashionable Toxic Custard"
|
|
|
|
_ _ _
|
|
_|_ _ |_ | | | toxic custard workshop files - number 125
|
|
| | | | | | _| |_ 7th december 1992 written by daniel bowen
|
|
| |_ |_|_| | | |_ _| (in a moment of extreme foolishness)
|
|
|
|
CLEO - December
|
|
Including great sex tips!
|
|
COSMOPOLITAN - January W
|
|
With terrific sex tips! H
|
|
CLEO - February I
|
|
Our best sex tips ever! L
|
|
COSMOPOLITAN - March E
|
|
Better sex tips than Cleo!
|
|
CLEO - April Y
|
|
Sex tips twice as seductive as O
|
|
Cosmo! U
|
|
COSMOPOLITAN - May
|
|
Cleo's sex tips look almost virginal W
|
|
compared to ours! E
|
|
CLEO - June R
|
|
Sex tips that'll have your tongue E
|
|
hanging out!
|
|
COSMOPOLITAN - July L
|
|
Orgasmic sex tips to send you into O
|
|
ecstasy just reading them! G
|
|
CLEO - August G
|
|
Just glancing at the cover of the E
|
|
magazine will have you panting D
|
|
with lust!
|
|
COSMOPOLITAN - September O
|
|
Featuring free fantastic fleshy U
|
|
flaming fondling, foreplay, fucking T
|
|
frenzies!
|
|
T
|
|
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - o
|
|
x
|
|
I got ribs...they're multiplyin' i
|
|
And I'm losin' my hip c
|
|
For the limbs you're supplyin'
|
|
It's electrifying! C
|
|
u
|
|
You'd better scrub up s
|
|
'Cos I need transplants t
|
|
And my heart is set on yours a
|
|
r
|
|
You'd better scrub up d
|
|
You'd better understand
|
|
That my heart must go in you c
|
|
(No limbs left, no limbs left for me to do) a
|
|
l
|
|
You're the one that I want l
|
|
(You are the one for hoo hoo hoo) e
|
|
You're the one that I want d
|
|
You're the one that I want .
|
|
|
|
You've what I need W
|
|
Oh yes indeed... e
|
|
|
|
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - w
|
|
i
|
|
NEW! EXCITING! PREDICTABLE! l
|
|
Yes, it's the latest in fashion from the TCWF weekly Style report: l
|
|
WHAT'S IN---> British tv shows about fictional Prime Ministers
|
|
WHAT'S OUT--> Using car indicator lights c
|
|
a
|
|
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - l
|
|
l
|
|
MR POPSICLE RETURNS - Part 7, and still establishing the plot
|
|
o
|
|
Incredible detective (though not as incredible as the non-appearing Mr n
|
|
Popsicle, of course) Inspector Sideburn of Dung Hill police has wisely
|
|
decided to follow the (literal) trail of money leading from the robbery y
|
|
scene, under the not unreasonable belief that this will lead him to the o
|
|
robbers. Unfortunately for him, and for those readers hoping for a u
|
|
speedy end to this most dull of Popsicle stories, the trail stopped r
|
|
several streets away, where it was apparent that either (a) the money
|
|
falling out of the bag had run out, or (b) the gang had spotted the a
|
|
dropped money and plugged up the bag with a handy bag-repair plugging c
|
|
kit they just happened to have with them. c
|
|
Since the amount of money that had been stolen was quite o
|
|
phenomenal, even to a highly paid and highly corruptible policeman like u
|
|
Sideburn, he deduced, correctly, that option (b) was the more likely of n
|
|
the two options available. Of course, had he been a super-detective of t
|
|
the calibre of Sherlock Holmes, Miss Marple, Columbo, Philip Marlow or
|
|
Mr Popsicle, he would have thought of (c), which was unlikely, but a
|
|
possible. (c) will not be revealed to you lowly readers for the moment. g
|
|
Just let your imaginations run wild. As usual. a
|
|
Sideburn called in the sniffer dogs to try and pick up a trail. i
|
|
This would have worked well, apart from the fact that under a police n
|
|
economising drive, there weren't any sniffer dogs available. He could
|
|
only get sniffer hamsters. Sniffer hamsters were far from ideal for n
|
|
most sniffing work, and tended to run into people's gardens and eat all e
|
|
their alfalfa. They also couldn't move at high speeds. Attempts had x
|
|
been made to breed hamsters with long legs and a disliking for t
|
|
alfalfa, but as yet, nothing had been successful. In fact, one of the
|
|
attempts had managed to gnaw his handler's finger off before being w
|
|
restrained with a shotgun. e
|
|
To cut a long story slightly less long, the hamsters could find no e
|
|
trace of the robbers, and the handlers decided to abandon the search k
|
|
after merely seven hours. Which left Sideburn in something of a quarry. .
|
|
Oops, I mean quandary. He doesn't reach the quarry until part nine.
|
|
How will Sideburn fulfil his promise to beat up some suspects by
|
|
episode eight? Find out how, next week!
|
|
|
|
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
|
|
Your eyes have once again come upon the
|
|
end of another Toxic Custard. Back-issues
|
|
are still available; reply to this, or
|
|
send email to tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu for
|
|
details. Seeya next week.
|
|
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
|
|
Copyright (c) 1992 Daniel Bowen.
|
|
--
|
|
Daniel Bowen, Monash University | This week's TCWF cartoon, breaking with
|
|
Melbourne, Australia------------| two weeks of tradition, is entitled
|
|
daniel@yoyo.cc.monash.edu.au----| "Irony On Wheels", and is available
|
|
TCWF stuff: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu | from wherever you found this junk.
|
|
|
|
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
|
|
the Toxic Custard Workshop Files by Daniel Bowen, Melbourne, Australia
|
|
|
|
Copyright (c) 1992, 1993. May be freely reproduced without profit
|
|
provided this notice remains intact.
|
|
|
|
For subscription information, contact tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu
|
|
|