textfiles/stories/fred.txt

    Once upon a time (all good stories start with "Once upon a
time") there was a man adrift upon a sea of troubles. He'd set
sail upon the sea trying to escape from his clinging wife, a
dead-end job, and a bunch of pistol-waving accountants, but the
third day out his ship was sucked to the bottom of the sea by the
power of the same unknown force that causes strange occurrences
in the Bermuda Triangle. After drifting in a life preserver for
19 days, 12 hours, 15 minutes, and three seconds he washed up on
the shore of the Island of the Topless Screaming Librarians. Only
seconds after coming ashore he encountered the Librarian they
call Sheila.
    "Where am I?" croaked the man, whose name was Fred.
    "YOU RE ON THE ISLAND OF THE TOPLESS SCREAMING LIBRARIANS!"
shouted Sheila at the top of her lungs. "WOULD YOU LIKE A BOOK TO
READ?"
    Now this was quite amazing to Fred.  For starters it hurt his
ears, for all he had heard for 19 days, 12 hours, 15 minutes, and
three seconds was the lapping of waves and a slow leak in his
plaid life preserver. As his mental facilities began to wake (and
quickly with all the screaming) he found an odd conflict.
Screaming librarians? Aren't they the ones who are always shush
ing innocent folks in public places?  My this is unusual.
    Now, as the librarians nurtured him to health, and talked his
ears off, he began to appreciate the change.  His sad life had
lead to a dismal escape, and was starting to turn up, yet for the
one thing.  The librarians were topless (that one's good),
screaming (you can always find one), and fast.  What was that?
Fast.  He couldn't catch a one.  By the time he was healthy and
fit and in need of a little compassion (nice word, eh?) they were
all fleet footed.  Now Fred is no idiot.  Matter of fact he's not
to ignorant either, so he devised a plan...
    Fred decided to build a mountain bike out of bits of moun
tain. Not just an ordinary mountain bike however, but one that
Pee-wee Herman would envy. He dug a mine, found ore, started a
steel mill, a machine shop, a rubber plantation (for the tires,
of course), and a factory for horns that go "TOOT!". After 25
years of hard labor, Fred finally completed his bicycle so that
he could chase the topless screaming librarians and nurses around
the island. Of course, by this time Fred was too old to get up
much speed, or even get up for that matter.
    By this time Fred started thinking "If only I'd built a red
Cadillac convertible instead, then I wouldn't even have to chase
the screamers down, they'd just pile in as I drove by."
    Lacking a catalytic converter, Fred decided that instead of
the Caddy, he'd just attach a rocket engine to his bicycle
instead. He had plenty of rocket engines, since they kept falling
off the space shuttles that flew overhead. After two more years
of tinkering, Fred finally had the engine attached and ready to
burn.
    He was all set for a trial run when Sheila went screaming by,
boobs bouncing this way and that.
    "Thar she blows!" Fred yelled as he hit the fire button, shot
up the side of the volcano, and launched himself into a beautiful
parabolic trajectory, completely missing Sheila in the process.
    "Must have used too much kerosene." muttered Fred as he
roared off into the night, only to find himself heading straight
for another island. This bothered Fred. He had spent much time
building his bike and contemplating those topless bearers of
books. Another thought bothered Fred, the thought of being
smashed into a sticky and slightly pulpy mess somewhere in the
middle of nowhere. Fred had thought it would be painful, but he
actually liked the feel of his body being smashed onto a little
rock ledge overlooking a lovely lake. It reminded him of his
childhood when he would cheerfully grind little garden snails
into the sidewalk by his house.
    Fred was shocked out of his past memories by a firm hand
implanted on his toosh. It managed about three firm squeezes
before he could swing around and take a look. She was the most
lustful item Fred had ever laid eyes upon. He could feel pure sex
emitting from every portion of her sleek, firm, and nude body.
Her skin tone was a deep red, and two cute little horns were
perched on top her head. This did not seem odd to Fred, for he
was too mesmerized by this mass of pure lust. She squeezed three
more times before she slowly opened her sensuous mouth to speak.
    Da plane! Da plane!
    And out from behind the only palm tree evident on the island
steps a small, annoying midget followed by a tall, dark man who
looks like he'd be more at home selling Luxury cars on TV.  He
whips out a Ceti Eel and is starting to argue the relative merits
of this eel--the only indigenous animal on this island--over the
Babel Fish presently interned in Fred's right ear, while simulta
neously muttering epitaphs about someone named Kurt who sup
posedly stranded him on this island 15 years ago, when Marla sud
denly releases Fred's backside and falls screaming into the lake.
Meanwhile, Fred wastes no time in taking this sudden opportunity
and follows her; but just as he is about to hit the water, he
suddenly sees his lost, plaid, almost spent life preserver float
ing on the surface and is so distracted that he misses hitting
the water, and finds himself bobbing several feet above the sur
face of the lake.
    Suddenly, a shot rang out!  Fred fell into the water, scream
ing in pain.  His screams were short-lived, as was he, when the
crocodile came out and started to gnaw on his... well, we won't
say what it was for the record (it was in fact, his left big
toe).  He grabbed hold of the illustrious green creature by the
jaws and pushed them wide apart.  The big croc was struggling to
get out of his new masters hold when all of a sudden Fred rea
lized he really wasn't very manly and let the croc shut its jaws.
The shutting of the jaws was at such a force that it caused the
croc to propel itself backward at many miles an hour.  So here's
Fred.  All alone underwater, with nothing else around him, except
lots of water.  So he sat down on a rock that was behind him and
started to whistle (as hard as it is underwater).  His whistling
caused the rock to open up. Fred crawled inside the opening and
sat amazed as the water drained out, leaving him in a small, damp
room with green stucco walls and portraits of Jerry Falwell.
    As soon as Fred regained his senses from his incredibly
hazardous bike ride he looked around and checked out his sur
roundings.
    The first thing he noticed was a large green door with a
large green handle set into the small green wall between two
medium-sized pictures of Jerry Falwell. Fred opened the door only
to find a long winding staircase, which he started to descend.
    After travelling several hundred yards straight down, Fred
heard a voice, and the voice said "No parking in the red zone."
    Fred puzzled over this for many years without ever figuring
out what it meant.
    Finally the passage opened out into a huge underground cavern
filled with old beauticians eating TV dinners and watching reruns
of "Laverne & Shirley" on the 106 televisions scattered about the
cavern. He looked into the eyes of one old crone and she said
"What the hell are you doing here?" very loudly and pulling out a
macaroni & cheese TV dinner.
    Fred found that TV dinners can be painful, if thrown at high
velocities. At the very moment Fred screamed in pain, all the
hags in the room jumped up and ran over to him. All the women
piled on Fred, licking up the macaroni & cheese. Fred thought
this was all fine and dandy until he noticed that his cloths were
now being consumed. In an attempt to get back at these wenches,
he started taking bites of every skirt that came close to his
mouth.
    "Pop! Fizzzzzz...", one of the ladies was zipping around the
room as she deflated. "Ooops," thought Fred, "must of bit too
hard".
    But then, being in this precarious situation, and being in
need of a solution, he continued biting until all the ravenous
rubber replications had all but spun and spurted and shot about
the room, coming to rest on rocky protrusions.
    Now, more fully at rest, he demanded an explanation from the
remaining live beautician, but not too surprising, she disap
peared in a cloud of evil, magic smoke with a cackle and a
chortle, leaving nothing save green brush and some Evergrip Hair
pins (TM).
    Given a moment to collect his thoughts, a task he has often
enough been called upon to perform lately, he became hungry and
feasted on the many dinners piled around him.  They were fair to
middlin, if one ignored all those sharp edges that had dealt him
such a wraith.
    After his TV dinner feast, every one of the 204 TV's (he
found more) had suddenly changed to a new station which was in
3-D.  A commercial featuring Max Headroom advertising for Pepsi
(Max had finally tasted it and found how much better it was and
defected) reached out to Fred and dragged him into the 23 inch
TV.  He then found himself in an angry state.  "Max, what's go
into you, you meathead."  Having said the secret password, Max
began spouting off confidential Soviet information, along with
Pepsi jingles.
    "Holy Grail!" exclaimed Fred, realizing that Max had been
brainwashed.  He began the tedious process of bringing Max back
to his senses, while a voluptuous librarian (with a minor in ste
nography) took notes on the secret data.  When Max was recovered
he became flushed with embarrassment at his belief in the Soviet
system, and then at the full realization of his sin of promoting
Pepsi, immediately left the picture.
    Fred found himself alone, with a brilliant background of par
allel lines in constant motion.  Unfortunately the librarians
became bored, and Fred was forced to keep the entertained (for
fear of them changing the channel) by zapping himself with the
current with ran through the TV sets.  The hair stood on end, the
eyes bugged out, the clothes turned black, and the apple in his
pocket started moving.  Not knowing how he ever got such an apple
into his pocket in the first place, he pulled it out of the
decaying pocket.  To his surprise the apple had arms and legs
that were squirming this way and that.  Away from his surprise
and to his horror though, the apple showed the face of Tammy Faye
Bakker.
    "Aaargh!", he screamed.  The agony was horrible.  He tried to
rid himself of the 'Strange Fruit', but it seemed to be STUCK to
his hand.  He grabbed it with his other hand in an attempt to
pull it off, but that hand stuck as well.  He could neither pull
his hands nor his gaze from the unholy visage.
    Tammy called to him,"Fred," in that dreamy gospel singer
voice, " Fred, eat me and you shall know wonders unseen to any
other man."
    "No shit," said Fred, "I heard all about Jim's extra-marital,
homosexual, bestial relations."
    But Fred knew he was doomed unless the calvary...  wait!
There it was, that unmistakable sound of bugles and hoofbeats.
Up charged Donna Rice and Fawn Hall on silver stallions (OK, they
were just well hung lawyers)  They wupped out their silver 45's
and with infinite finesse, they cleaved the apple in two.  They
dismounted.  And speaking of mounting...


          As related by Jeff Hunter, Bos, Midnight Programmer,
                        Chris Moritz, Dr. Science, Stimy,
                        and Murphy Smoot
LAYOUT 000
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