110 lines
5.1 KiB
Plaintext
110 lines
5.1 KiB
Plaintext
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"The Adventures of Lone Wolf Scientific"
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An electronically syndicated series that
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follows the exploits of two madcap
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mavens of high-technology. Copyright 1991
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Michy Peshota. All rights reserved. May
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not be distributed without accompanying
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WELCOME.LWS and EPISOD.LWS files.
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EPISODE #14
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A Smart Bomb with a Language Parser
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>>>S-max attempts to thwart The Last Words Bomb's language
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parser, but to no avail. He discovers that program code is
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often more stubborn than human will.<<
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By M. Peshota
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"Whoever heard of a smart bomb with a language parser?"
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he heard him grumble. Austin watched his wild-haired
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officemate, his bull-like features creased into a scowl,
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hunched over stacks and stacks of thesauruses, whipping
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their pages, cursing bitterly. "Only a nudnik programmer
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would think of making a bomb verbally context-sensitive," he
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growled.
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Earlier in the evening, the computer builder had come
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to him, his condescending eyes moist with humility, his
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normally Napoleanic upper lip quivering helplessly, and
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begged the hollow-eyed wizard to recode Andrew.BAS's guided
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missile software. Specifically, he wanted him to recode it
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so that the computer would not screech alarms and its screen
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flash bright red whenever he keyed in at its screen prompt
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the declaration "Gus Farwick is a testosterone-less simp
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with eel toes for brains!" But, as much as the assembly
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language savant would have liked to become involved in such
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a worthwhile project, he was too preoccupied at the moment
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with his many neurotic frets, especially his fear of the
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possible return of the ghost of Alan Turing to his former
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domicile in Austin's office coat closet, to be able to do
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anything but gape zombie-like into the flourescent-white
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night air and drool down the front of his checked shirt
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until eventually the computer builder shuffled away.
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Still gaping, Austin could hear him pawing through the
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section of the thesaurus that listed synonyms for
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"testosterone-less simp." "Ninnyhead. Puddingbrain.
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Knucklenoggin," he recited in his nasal drone. He
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laboriously typed them one by one into the guided missile
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software, then groaned as the screen flashed red in response
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and the alarm bells chimed. "This is what I get for having
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familiarized that twit programmer with my entire range of
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verbal invective," he grunted, flinging open another
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thesaurus. He raised his head and mused, "Maybe if I tried
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some alternate spellings...." After some thought, he typed
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into the machine "Gees...Farwoook...is...a...
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Tusktossturoon-Mess Imp...Wif...Eeeel-Tooeys...4...Brains!"
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The computer responded with a long, slow gag, then flashed
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its screen red and chimed like a maimed pinball machine.
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The computer builder slammed his fist on the desk in rage.
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Tired, the assembly language savant nestled his head on
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the worn ivories of his keyboard and listened to his
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officemate's wild, futile linguistic manipulations until
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late in the night. Eventually he fell asleep. In his
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troubled dreams, he thought he saw the flyblown profile of
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the ghost who dogged him, who terrified him day and night
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with his incessant ravings about long-forgotten computer
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memory registers, the irrepressible ghost of Alan Turing,
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the father of programming. Turing materialized, tweed suit,
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shabby wingtips, cobwebbed copy of <<Byte>>, battered
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bicycle and all, in back of the computer builder's zebra-fur
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cloaked chair. With a devil-may-care glower that was not
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unlike the computer builder's own condescending smirk, he
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extended shadowy hands over the latter's shoulder. He took
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hold of the computer builder's Hanswurst knuckles, and, with
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the impassioned vigor of a symphonic conductor, guided them
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into a manic dance across the terminal's keys.
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The computer builder, unaware of the ghost's presence,
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watched his gamboling hands, aghast. When his finger were
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finally still, lying in an artistically spent, twisted heap,
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like the hands of Beethoven on the numeric keypad, he looked
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at them in surpise, then glanced up at the screen.
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"Omigod!" he gasped. "I have done it! My genius has won
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out again! I have found a way to disable Andrew.BAS's kooky
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language parser!" He smiled with pride at the string of
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inscrutable algorithms marching across the screen. "Gawd,
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how I wish I could understand what those are," he clucked,
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typing into the missile software "testosterone-less simp,"
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adding "with eel toes for brains." He pressed 'enter' and
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listened closely, but heard no warning bells, nor did he see
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the screen flash red. He smiled, "Gus Farwick, prepare to
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read your epitaph in the sky." The ghost nodded with
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approval, got on his bike, and disappeared, and the computer
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builder leaped from his chair and hopped from foot to foot
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like a wound up harlequin.
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<Finis>
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>>Is trouble on the way when Dingready & Derringdo Aerospace
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demonstrates their latest crop of computer-guided weapons to
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military nabobs? Find out in the next episode of 'The
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Adventures of Lone Wolf Scientific.'<<
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