1402 lines
60 KiB
Plaintext
1402 lines
60 KiB
Plaintext
***** ****** ****
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** ** ** ** ** Submarine Pens Proudly Presents:
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** ** ** ** The Summer Version of
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***** ***** ** The Purple Thunderbolt of Spode
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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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Yep looks the same but it ain't
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================================================================
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THE PURPLE THUNDERBOLT OF SPODE VOL 1, 21
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================================================================
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"South Florida's Very Own REPLIES TO: barker@acc.fau.edu
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Non Alien Run Electronic Magazine"
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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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===========================================================================
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INTRO
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===========================================================================
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It's sometime after midnight a day after the great Purps get together on
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the IRC. Sad to say far too many of our loyal Otisians went berserk over
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their new found electronic freedom. [Then again maybe they were speaking
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in tongues.]
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Still, when one sits back and thinks about it, I suppose we cannot blame
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them. It's like going to church for the first time in some cosmic godbox
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type amusement type cathedrals. Instead of sitting around listening to
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the bozo on the pulpit you go skinny dipping in the baptismal font
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because it's much more fun.
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So anyways... I'm a little vague on when the next one of these is
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supposed to come out. According to my time table, it's this coming
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Sunday. However, well the Pope put out the his issue just now and I don't
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know if people can deal with this many Purps in such a short time. Still
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we will see.
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I'm most disappointed that no one bothered to respond to that amazing
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contest of mine. Maybe the print was too small or something. Still I'm
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new at this and I probably don't know quite how to work the masses up
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into a fevered pitch the way the Pope can.
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Stolen Lightning....
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Hmm a problem I encountered editing this is the ease of smearing electronic
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gibberish about. I had to hack out a couple hundred lines of this seeing
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as the Pope put it all in 20. I suppose this happens when one has
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parallel distribution channels. Still, this should encourage me to go out
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and seek more sources of enlightenment and put my nose the to grind stone
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and churn out some more of my own material.
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Our Lady of Bloody Pinking Shears...
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Well the Pope reprinted that St. Tif sent me. Most disturbing that the
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Otisian Movement has grown to such a point that outside forces have begun
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to prosecute the innocent masses. Still look what they did to the big J.
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and see where it got him. It's time indeed to let loose the lawyers and
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make sure we've got the book and film rights to this incident all taken
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care of.
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Perhaps this could be the source of the first Otisian Movie. [Well the
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first move that a) they let the general masses see and b) the first
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movie that is actually to be officially announced as Otisian. [Well I
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suppose you could count the Doc Savage movie but that business about Otis
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is in very small print. Or "8 1/2" where the clerk at the hotel wears an
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Otisian Arrow on his lapel.]
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****
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Hmm I got this all cobbled together now. I left out a few things I wanted
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to include as usual, but there's plenty there as is.
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This time around we have:
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Ween Story
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Viewer Mail
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More important Disney Land Information
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Messenger of the Gods Part III
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News of the Weird
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Stupid Christian Tricks
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More News of the Weird
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Poetry Corner
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Preach-O-Rama Excerpts
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My Voyage to the Neatherworld
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As always if you have any questions, comments or submissions write to:
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barker@acc.fau.edu and we'll see what can be done.
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And away we go...
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===========================================================================
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STORY TIME
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===========================================================================
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[Hmm this is a story of some sort about a band that actually exits. The
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author happens to be one of our newer converts.]
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Date: Wed, 1 May 91 16:37:57 -0400
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From: ecs62697@zach.fit.EDU
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To: barker@fauvax.BITNET
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Message-Id: <9105012037.AA15813@zach.fit.edu>
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The short blue-and-pink Demong whaled away at my screen door.
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"Hang on a second," I yelled from my vegetative position on the Couch of
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Moral Relapse. "We've latched the screen doors so that the ZTUPPID KATZ
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don't get out."
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I didn't feel like having to reinstall the archaic wooden insectual
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filter, so I got up from my restful stance and unlatched the door.
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"Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Boognish, Demong of Musical
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Duos. You might have heard of my work; the band Ween...no? Ah, I see you
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have. May I come in?"
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Yes, I had heard of him. His scrawled visage adorned the cover of
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_God_Ween_ _Satan:_The_Oneness_. This guy was weird trouble, if the
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sounds emerging from the album were any indication.
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The ZTUPPID KATZ wandered over and gave Boognish a perfunctory sniff after
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ostentatiously licking their rectums. SPAZZ took the trouble to sharpen
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his claws on Boognish's pants leg while TRALPHAZZ hacked up a flaming
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hairball (see Weekly World News, February 23, 1991). A normal reaction.
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Nothing to be afraid of here.
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Boognish had proferred his business card. He stamped his feet on the
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Welcome Mat of Misogynistic Catharsis and walked into my Stumble Abode.
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The card simply said "Boognish".
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"As you may know, I am the Patron Demong of Musical Duos. It has come to
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my attention that YOUR musical duo is not registered with my
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booking/management company. Please correct the situation at once."
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"Oh man," I countered, "is this one of those sell-your-soul-to-the-devil A
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& R outfits? Listen: Ten, twenty years, it was cool. Satan had all these
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great acts signed. The Beatles, the Stones, Dylan, KISS, Nugent; the list
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goes on forever. So who does Satan sign now? The New Kids on the Block.
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Styx. Lame-o acts that couldn't drive their audiences into a killing rage
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if their deaths depended on it. So screw you. Go sign some cheezoid
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local Top40 act. Your name's dirt around here."
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I slammed the door on his leering face, but I knew that wouldn't be the
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last. I would have to enlist Supernatural Help.
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Author's note: Ween is real. A way cool band; they sound like opening your
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sock drawer to find it crawling with exotic insects and movie stars. "God
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Ween Satan: The Oneness" is highly recommended.
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===========================================================================
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VIEWER MAIL
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===========================================================================
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>From: IN%"stevensj@vax001.kenyon.EDU" "JEFFREY L STEVENS" 2-MAY-1991 09:58:00.08
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>To: barker <barker@ACC.FAU.EDU>
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>CC:
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>Subj: Viewer Mail
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>Date: Thu, 2 May 91 12:28:08 BST
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>From: M.S.Dow@exeter.ac.uk
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>Subject: Re: PURPS.19.. TIMING"S bad, I know
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>
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>OH MY GOD!!! The aliens got Walt!!! What about the hamsters???????????
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>
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>foole
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Oh dear. Did I let *that* slip out. Hmm well I am in Florida. Actually
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it's not really the aliens. Well maybe it is, but not really. It's more
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of an earthly menace. Actually, a large earthly menace that tends to
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travel around in a giant evil looking zeppelin with a short of evil grin
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painted on the front. Usually you can't see the grin, let alone the
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zeppelin seeing as it's usually in an obscuring cloud bank.
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Hmm I'm saying to much again. Don't want to give the younger views
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nightmares.
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===========================================================================
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THE DISNEY NIGHTMARE CONTINUES
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===========================================================================
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[As our loyal readers will no doubt recall, this publication described how
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Walt Disney took over Kenyon College. In an effort to enlighten loyal
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Otisians everywhere here is some more information on Disney.]
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Newsgroups: alt.folklore.urban
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Subject: Club 33
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Date: 6 May 91 13:55:48 GMT
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I repost the Club 33 information for those who seem to have missed it:
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The colorful realism and the precise architectural detail of New Orleans
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Square in DISNEYLAND captures the atmosphere of the nineteenth-century New
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Orleans French Quarter. Glancing upwards to the second story balconies
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and the ornate iron railings hung with flowers, one would hardly guess
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that they surround the little-known but quite elegant Club 33.
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Years ago, Walt Disney felt that a special place was needed where he could
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entertain visiting dignitaries and others in a quiet, serene atmosphere
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where superb cuisine and distinctive decor would complement one another.
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He asked artist Dorothea Redmond to provide watercolor renderings of what
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such a place might look like. Accompanied by renowned decorator Emil
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Kuri, Walt and his wife traveled to New Orleans to select many of the
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beautiful antiques that are on display. After years of planning, Club 33
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became a reality in May of 1967. Sadly enough, it was never seen by its
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creator because of his untimely death five months earlier.
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Club 33, so named after its address, 33 Royal Street, is comprised of two
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dining rooms and several adjoining areas, all of which hold a wide array
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of magnificent antiques and original works of art. After ascending in the
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French lift to the second floor, guests enter into The Gallery. Here they
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find interesting items such as an oak telephone booth with beveled leaded
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glass panels adapted from the one used in the Disney motion picture "The
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Happiest Millionaire" and a rare console table which was found in the
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French Quarter of New Orleans. In The Gallery, as elsewhere in the Club,
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are many original works by Disney artists and sketches done as design
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studies for New Orleans Square and the Pirates of the Caribbean
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attraction.
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The Gallery leads into Lounge Alley which serves as a vestibule and also
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the buffet for the Main Dining Room and Trophy Room. One wall displays
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several conceptual sketches of New Orleans Square, and directly across
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from these sketches is a custom-designed harpsichord decorated with a
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hand-painted scene depicting New Orleans harbor in the nineteenth century.
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The furnishings are a combination of antique and reproduction pieces.
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The Main Dining Room is decorated in First Empire, recalling the era of
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Napoleon and the early nineteenth century. Three glimmering chandeliers
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and wall sconces illuminate the entire room. Much of the framed artwork
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on the walls is again, the work of Disney artists. Fresh flowers, parquet
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floors, and antique bronzes create an atmosphere of serenity and warmth.
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The Trophy Room is the second dining room and offers a more informal
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atmosphere. The cypress-planked walls provide an excellent background for
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sketches done as design studies for the Jungle Cruise and Tiki Room
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attractions. The design of the room incorporates the use of microphones
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in the center of each chandelier and a vulture with the ability to speak.
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Walt Disney's intention for this concept was humorous in nature, as the
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vulture was to converse with guests during dinner. The Trophy Room also
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contains a number of antiques and it is usually sunlit from a long row of
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windows.
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Today, Club 33 functions as an exclusive private club where members or
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their guests may enjoy a gourmet meal complemented by the finest wines.
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Tradition, accompanied by gracious hospitality, has been the hallmark of
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Club 33 since its opening day . . . and will continue to be for many years
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to come.
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High above the streets and courtyards of New Orleans Square, hidden
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from public view and the bustle of a typical day at Disneyland, is a page
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of old New Orleans that even the proud Creole society might have chosen
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and cherished as its own.
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Here French doors open onto balconies that overlook Disneyland's own
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muddy Mississippi, the Rivers of America. Here in the tradition of the
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good host, Walt Disney and his staff planned and executed Disneyland's
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most exclusive setting -- part elegant dining room, part relaxed
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refreshment center, part distinguished art gallery, part meeting room and
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part private showplace.
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Here, away from the general public, adult beverages are available,
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including the finest of wines to match the house food specialties.
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This was Walt Disney's concept -- an elegant, exclusive club . . . a
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place for conversation, and a conversation piece in its own right.
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Corporate Membership
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This membership is designed for organizations to make Club 33 available
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to a number of their executives, and has a membership fee of $20,000.
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This entitles the corporate member to designate up to nine associate
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members. Dues for associate members are $1,800 per member per year. All
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memberships are transferable to other executives in the corporation.
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Members no longer in the employ of the corporate member's company must
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surrender the membership cards to Club 33. The corporate members may then
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designate another member of his company.
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Limited Corporate Membership
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This membership is designed for organizations wishing to make Club 33
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available to one of their executives, and has a membership fee of $10,000.
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This entitles the corporation to transfer the membership to another
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employee whenever necessary. For individual members, credit is extended
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based upon the membership fee initially paid if a transfer of membership
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is desired. Dues are $1,800 per year.
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Individual Membership
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This particular membership is for individuals and is available at $5,000
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membership fee and $1,800 annual dues. These memberships are
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nontransferable.
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Members will be billed monthly for all charges.
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Information
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All members must have a valid membership card to gain entrance to Club
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33. Additional utilization of the card is to spouse only, with
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reservations accepted only from the cardholder, the spouse or the
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cardholder's secretary. Use of the membership card is subject to the
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terms covering membership agreed to by the member in the membership
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application.
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The membership card entitles the member and a party of nine to free
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parking and admission through the Main Entrance of DISNEYLAND (except when
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special tickets are the only admission to a special event or private
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party). This privilege is applicable when the members plan to dine at
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Club 33. If the card is used for admission but the member does not dine
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at the Club the member will be billed for the regular price of admission.
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If the member is unable to accompany the guests, the Club will arrange
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admission for them at no charge.
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Members may purchase DISNEYLAND passports through Club 33 for pick-up at
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the Guest Relations Booth. The membership card authorizes the member to
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receive credit by signing special charge slips when presented at Club 33
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and other restaurants and merchandise locations owned and operated by
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DISNEYLAND park.
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We reserve the right to approve or disapprove any membership to assure
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that our high standards are maintained.
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To remain a member in good standing, dues must be paid annually within
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thirty (30) days following receipt of invoice.
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Usage of Club 33 is by reservation only. It is advisable to call for
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reservations well in advance.
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Private parties utilizing the entire Club facilities are available upon
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member's request with the required minimum number of guests.
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*****
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Newsgroups: alt.folklore.urban
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Subject: More Disneyland ULs ... Evacuation Procedures
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Date: 6 May 91 22:43:00 GMT
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A Disneyland story, reported to me as The Gospel Truth by a friend who
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worked there for a summer, was that there were two songs which the PA
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system would NEVER play at Disneyland under normal circumstances.
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One was "Whistle While You Work," which was code for "Evacuate the Park."
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The other he could not remember, but it was code for "Get Everyone to the
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Bomb Shelters." (Disneyland has bomb shelters? That can hold an entire
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Disneylandfull of people?)
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Anyone else heard this particular story?
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Also, on the subject of Stupid Disneyland Tricks: Back in my juvenile
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delinquent youth, we would visit Disneyland, and time how long it took
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between us dropping trash and a uniformed person appearing to remove it.
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As I remember, minimum was 1 second (said person was standing behind us)
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to 1 minute, average about 20 seconds.
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===========================================================================
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MORE STORY TIME
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===========================================================================
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[Hmm looks like this story may take a bit more space and time than I
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suspect it first would. I was hoping for four parts but I think it may
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take long to conclude this exciting and informative tale.]
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MESSENGER OF THE GODS PART III
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We climbed down below into the control room, lit by dim red bulbs. They
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were rigged for night running. My eyes not accustomed to the gloom, made
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out dim shapes standing absolutely motionless. There was a funny smell in
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the air. Spices and something else.
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"How do," said a small dark man in a spotless white suit suddenly
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appearing in front of me from around a bank of equipment. He held some
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sort of bone rattled in one hand. He wore a black bowler on his head,
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chicken bones stuck in a blood red scarf tied around it's brim.
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"Who's this?" I asked out the corner of my mouth to Elvis who was right
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behind me.
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"Oh heck! Why this is Dr. Mabuto. I hired him to crew for me and do help
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with the work on my navy."
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Mabuto held out his hand. White teeth glinted. I noticed his gums were
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almost white as well. The name seemed familiar. Then it hit me. I'd heard
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of Mabuto before. He'd been deported from the U.S. after the National
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Science Foundation discovered he been using a multi-million dollar grant
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of their's for research in cross breeding kelp with ganja. He also
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apparently deemed it necessary to biologically engineer a group of humans
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to server as underwater farmers for his crop. There had been talk of
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hideous fishmen behind the close doors of the deportation hearing.
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His father had been a full blown voodoo priest while his mother was a
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marine biologist. He'd grown up on a weird blend of science and
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superstition. His natural genius had managed to blend them together
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synthesizing a totally new product.
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I shook the offered hand. He seemed friendly enough. He excitedly took me
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by the arm and guided me around the control room pointing out this or that
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control panel. The things he really wanted to show me though were the
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crew--his pride and joy. They were his supposedly disposed of fishmen.
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"With the help of the spirits of the deep I was able to free them from
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their unjust incarceration," he explained to me. The government had been
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holding them in one of their secret prison/laboratories. The secret
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facility had been right on the ocean so it was very vulnerable to attack
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by sea.
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From Mabuto's account I gathered some great thing all flailing tentacles
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and sucking mouths has oozed up onto the beach, torn the lab apart and
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carried off the fishmen and a few others. I asked Elvis about the others
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later. As it turned out a couple of them were survivors of the
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Philadelphia Experiment. Their rescue had some how helped Elvis get a hold
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of that weird green fog dimensional warp device.
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Now that my eyes were getting used to the red glow I could make out the
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details of the stock still fishmen. Each stood ready and alert in front of
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his or her station. They seemed human enough except for the big bulging
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eyes and modified jaws and throats frilled with gills. Their skin has a
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fish belly white sheen and looked like shark skin. The hands, and bare
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feet where heavily modified into fins with long prehensile fingers.
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Clumps of swimming muscles bulged here and an there. Most reeked of the
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sea and ganja.
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Mabuto gave me a short lecture on their design. How they eyes were
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specially adapted for the underwater, but also their life on land had been
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taken into account as well. They could see equally well in both mediums
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unlike earlier experiments of his. He pointed out the clumps of muscle and
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named each one saying what each one did. It was fascinating but I didn't
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have time for it. The letter in my pocket seemed to weight 10 pounds.
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"Look are we going to get his show on the road soon?"
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"Oh yeah right!", said Elvis jumping off the chart table where he'd been
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idly strumming his battered guitar. The Man in Black, who'd been standing
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in the shadows, stalked over and pulled the crash dive alarm. Sirens and
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hoots filled the air. Mabuto shouted orders at the fishmen who instantly
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came alive with a sinewy grace, deftly pulling levers and touching
|
|
switches.
|
|
|
|
The small voodoo priest then yelled into a speaking tube. I gathered there
|
|
were more crew somewhere else in the submarine. It was big enough to need
|
|
a lot. Clearly Elvis had just come along for the ride.
|
|
|
|
The deck lurched under my feed at the nose plummeted at a 45 degree angle.
|
|
A glint of red light flashed off the dark wrap around sun glasses of the
|
|
Man in Black. He seemed to be enjoying this.
|
|
|
|
"Hey!" shouted Elvis losing his footing and grabbing at the periscope
|
|
console as he lost his balanced and crashed into the floor. I worked my
|
|
way over across the slopping deck and helped him to his feet.
|
|
|
|
"Doggone it! Can't we take it easy!" he sputtered with indignation.
|
|
|
|
"You must get used to this might foe of the Antichrist. When the time of
|
|
reckoning is at hand it will be necessary to perform many maneuvers such
|
|
as this," said Mabuto. He shook his bone rattle into the speaking tube and
|
|
shouted down it. Later I learned that the crew at the other end of the
|
|
speaking tube were back among the reactors. They were all zombies. Mabuto
|
|
didn't want any of his fishmen getting contaminated. He'd managed some
|
|
deal with the Man in Black who'd kidnapped him a couple dozen suitable
|
|
victims. It always unnerves one at first to see such powers working
|
|
together but bargains such at that has gone on for thousands of years.
|
|
|
|
"We were also on the verge of being attacked by airborne vehicles of an
|
|
Mayan configuration," said the Man in Black startling us all. So he had
|
|
pulled the crash dive alarm for a reason besides just wanting to get us
|
|
underway in a hurry. The question is: How did he know we were under attack
|
|
when he had been standing there with the rest of us?
|
|
|
|
"Mayans!" I yelled. "Hell some boob was taking about them on the radio
|
|
last night! I thought the Fropheads were tampering with me and now this!"
|
|
|
|
"It was no doubt a subtle warning," said the Man in Black.
|
|
|
|
"Since when were the Followers of Bob subtle?" asked Mabuto, teeth
|
|
flashing as he grinned.
|
|
|
|
"And why are they so keen on getting this letter of mine?" I asked.
|
|
|
|
"Well.." began Elvis. He paused a moment as if he forgot was he was going
|
|
to say, "maybe it's like my rhinestone getups or my sweat. People used to
|
|
go gagga over it. It really does have magical healing powers you know.
|
|
Maybe there's some sort of power in the letter."
|
|
|
|
"Probably, damn thing can drive a normal person mad," I replied.
|
|
|
|
"Let us see this letter of yours. None of us are normal human beings.
|
|
Even my beloved fishmen are resistant to such things. Perhaps if all our
|
|
intellect is focused on this problem we can ascertain why these Followers
|
|
of Bob wish this letter."
|
|
|
|
I looked around the control room at each of my companions faces. I wasn't
|
|
sure it was a good idea. For a moment my paranoia got out of hand. What if
|
|
they would take the letter away from me? It was my letter to deliver after
|
|
all. She' given it to me specially to deliver to Otis. I was my job not
|
|
theirs. I took a step back, and bumped into a railing. I shook my head to
|
|
clear it. The letter must be getting to me.
|
|
|
|
I walked over to the chart table. Elvis flipped on a bright white light.
|
|
We all blinked for a second. There was a chart on the table. A course was
|
|
mapped out on it for the Haystack Monument. Funny thing was the course
|
|
was plotted right up to the monument. Not just to the coast near it. I
|
|
slowly traced the line with my finger.
|
|
|
|
"How did you know I was going here?" I asked looking at Elvis. He looked
|
|
slightly embarrassed. He looked at his feet scuffing them. "Um some lady
|
|
called and told me were you were going."
|
|
|
|
"Some lady!"
|
|
|
|
"Yeah, she said you'd just called and she'd hear your convo. You'd
|
|
forgotten to tell me where we were going so she filled me in. She also has
|
|
some not to pleasant threats about what would happen to me if I didn't get
|
|
that letter delivered."
|
|
|
|
"Did she say who she was?"
|
|
|
|
"Sounded like Marilyn Monroe. Spooked me pretty bad. I thought she was
|
|
dead."
|
|
|
|
"Few are," said the Man in Black cryptically.
|
|
|
|
Mabuto was grinning again. He noticed my finger tracking the course right
|
|
up the to the haystack monument. "Spirits of the deep," he said tapping
|
|
his bowler with his rattle.
|
|
|
|
I pulled out the letter slowly. It felt hot to the touch and weighted as
|
|
much as a lead brick. It seemed to vibrate and hum slightly. It hadn't
|
|
done this before. Something really weird was going on.
|
|
|
|
"That wasn't Marilyn Monroe you know," I said to Elvis, who was now
|
|
looking at me.
|
|
|
|
"Sounded like her," he argued.
|
|
|
|
"It was HER," I said pointing to the letter.
|
|
|
|
"Don't be too sure." said the Man in Black. From out of a pocket he
|
|
produced a silvery rod which he slowly scanned the envelop with. The
|
|
little golden apples on it danced madly in an unholy brownian motion.
|
|
|
|
Mabuto took a close look at the letter and gasped. He crossed himself and
|
|
muttered spells and formula.
|
|
|
|
Elvis got a glazed look in his eyes and reached forward to touch the
|
|
letter.
|
|
|
|
"Better not," I warned. He snatched his had back as it were bitten. The
|
|
perfume off the letter slowly worked it's way through the smell of the
|
|
control room displacing the reek of ocean and ganja. The fishmen shuffled
|
|
uncomfortably and muttered among themselves.
|
|
|
|
By now we'd level off. A glance at the big compass said we were heading
|
|
north. With an abrupt motion the Man in Black slipped the silvery rod
|
|
back into his pocket.
|
|
|
|
"Well?" I asked.
|
|
|
|
"Damn powerful stuff, like something out of the black heart of old
|
|
Africa," said Mabuto. He took off his bowler for a second and wiped his
|
|
sweating forehead with a loud handkerchief.
|
|
|
|
"Woowee. Never seen nothing like that," observed Elvis.
|
|
|
|
"My instrument tells me little. The power of this artifact is not within
|
|
the bounds of any know science," said the Man in Black he seemed a little
|
|
intimidated by that fact.
|
|
|
|
"Of course it's not. It's from a Goddess. It's not some super science
|
|
venusian type postal thingie," I said.
|
|
|
|
We stood for a few moments in silence. The engines throbbed quietly.
|
|
|
|
"Well any ideas?" I finally asked. I needed to move around. I needed
|
|
action. I had to get to the hay stack monument soon.
|
|
|
|
Dr. Mabuto cleared his throat. Everyone looked at him. "Throughout the
|
|
ages, men have searched for sources of power. They would pay anything for
|
|
it. They would do anything for it. I believe we have in front of us such a
|
|
device. We do not know what it does, but we know it has power. Perhaps the
|
|
Followers of Bob know it's power. Perhaps they do not but have a use for
|
|
it."
|
|
|
|
I looked at the doctor skeptically. A thought just crossed my mind. "Wait,
|
|
it's just a love letter. Look SHE wrote it and SHE wants it delivered to
|
|
Otis for Valentines day."
|
|
|
|
Dr. Mabuto became flustered for a moment and fiddled with his rattle,
|
|
adjusting his hat. For a moment I thought he might sick his fishmen on me.
|
|
Then the Man in Black spoke.
|
|
|
|
"I doubt a simple love letter would draw the attention of a Mayan saucer,
|
|
which apparently is still following us even though we are a significant
|
|
distance below the surface of the ocean."
|
|
|
|
"What!" the rest of us yelled. Dr. Mabuto swore.
|
|
|
|
"I would like to point out this that vessel is almost a relic. It is old
|
|
and outdated. Present technology has far surpassed it," continued the Man
|
|
in Black. He glanced around at the various instruments about himself as if
|
|
to stress his point.
|
|
|
|
"Are you saying my submarine is a piece of junk!" said Elvis sounding hurt.
|
|
|
|
"Let me put it this way," I began, "comparing this submarine to the navies
|
|
present models is like comparing their models to SBI."
|
|
|
|
"Oh shoot!"
|
|
|
|
"Is this vessel even safe to operate?" asked Mabuto worrying for his
|
|
fishmen.
|
|
|
|
"Would I be here if it were not?" asked the Man in Black, who was now
|
|
looking up at the ceiling, as if he could see through the hull and water
|
|
up into the sky were the mayan saucer was following us. We all followed
|
|
his gaze. We of course could see nothing. For some reason I suspected this
|
|
looking up business was some sort of act.
|
|
|
|
"I suggest we ignore the mystery of the letter and attend to this saucer,"
|
|
said Mabuto. He walked over to the speaking tube and began to issue orders
|
|
again.
|
|
|
|
"Hmm maybe we could capture them and find out why the are following us," I
|
|
suggested.
|
|
|
|
"Boy howdy that's a great idea. We'll get a big net or something and
|
|
capture it," said Elvis getting excited. He was acting like a little boy
|
|
who'd just been told he was going on a fishing trip.
|
|
|
|
"And how would you do this?" asked Mabuto. The sound of he engines changed
|
|
abruptly as we sped up.
|
|
|
|
"No doubt call upon some of those resources you have access to," said the
|
|
Man in Black as if he did not approve such things.
|
|
|
|
"Hell we don't need any of that!" shouted Elvis. "Let's use the artifact!
|
|
It's a mighty powerful thingamabob according to the space friends!"
|
|
|
|
Amazingly enough it sounded like a good idea to the rest of us. Though we
|
|
had our reservations. Dealing with interdimensional technology, none of
|
|
use know much about was a tricky business. We could end up on the far side
|
|
of Pluto if we weren't careful.
|
|
|
|
---MAL 1991
|
|
|
|
===========================================================================
|
|
NEWS OF THE WEIRD
|
|
===========================================================================
|
|
Date: 4 May 91 11:51:00 EDT
|
|
From: <kleinsr@vax001.kenyon.EDU>
|
|
Subject: well, as long as there are only 65 people logged on...
|
|
|
|
From the chapter "Fruits of Research":
|
|
|
|
(some of you have seen this one before but it bears repeating): Tetsuo
|
|
Sugawara, a 24-yr-old student in information science at Japan's Yamagata
|
|
University, died of suffocation when he taped up his nose & mouth as part
|
|
of an apparent experiment to monitor the effects of breathing on body
|
|
movement.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Jesus was probably not celibate, did not advocate celibacy, & had a
|
|
"special relationship" with at least 1 woman, according to a committee of
|
|
religious scholars, led by Robert W. Funk of Westmar Institute in
|
|
California. The participants analyzed 758 sayings of Jesus and judged
|
|
only 148 to be authentic. Among their findings: Jesus did not preach much
|
|
of the Sermon on the Mount, did not predict his own death, & did not
|
|
expect to return to earth. A paper by Peruvian Lutheran scholar Leif Vaage
|
|
went so far as to call Jesus "a party animal, somewhat shiftless &
|
|
disrespectful of the Fifth Commandment: Honor your mother and father."
|
|
|
|
Beverly Hills dermatologist Dr. Arnold Klein reported one benefit of
|
|
pollution is that it can help keep your skin looking young by blocking
|
|
sunlight that can age it.
|
|
|
|
Researchers at Langley Air Force Base, VA, trying to reduce accidents
|
|
caused by jets hitting birds, converted a 20-foot-long cannon to fire
|
|
4-pound chickens at 700mph into engines, windshields, & landing gear to
|
|
determine how much damage such collisions can cause.
|
|
|
|
In 1982 Larry Rogers sat in his laboratory in Jacks Valley, CA,
|
|
experimenting with grain wastes & a bacterium he thought would dissolve
|
|
explosive materials. It didn't work, but Rogers discovered something
|
|
better-- bulletproof wheat. He said his compound could be used to
|
|
manufacture a broad range of products, among them lightweight armor, a
|
|
wood substitute, & pasta.
|
|
|
|
Brad Coker,whose firm conducted a statewide exit poll in VA's 1989
|
|
gubernatorial election, denied that his poll's failure to project the
|
|
actual closeness of the race-- Dem. L. Douglas Wilder won by fewer than
|
|
7000 votes out of 1.5 million-- had anything to do with the way the poll
|
|
was conducted. Instead, he blamed the 10% error on thousands of Republican
|
|
voters he accused of deliberately lying to pollsters about the way they
|
|
voted.
|
|
|
|
And on that note, one from the chapter called "Let's Make a Deal":
|
|
|
|
Saudi Sheik Mohammed al-Fassi offered Midland, Pennsylvania, $3 million if
|
|
all the town's voters would pledge to vote against President Reagan in the
|
|
1984 election.
|
|
===========================================================================
|
|
STUPID CHRISTIAN TRICKS
|
|
===========================================================================
|
|
From: SERVAX::SMTP%"SKEPTIC%YORKVM1.BITNET@pucc.PRINCETON.EDU" 7-MAY-1991 10:49:27.89
|
|
Date: Tue, 7 May 91 10:11:47 EDT
|
|
|
|
Greetings!
|
|
|
|
Before I put in my two cents worth on this current thread about Christian
|
|
schools being allowed to beat their children, I like to tell you a (true)
|
|
story. There once was a Fundamentalist Christian community in Virginia
|
|
called Stonebridge. There was a little two-year-old boy living there.
|
|
One day this little boy took one of his playmate's toys. Of course, the
|
|
playmate started to cry. The child was told to give the toy back. Now a
|
|
two-year-old's favorite word is "no" and they can be as stubborn as the
|
|
proverbial mule. (As the father of three girls I can vouch for that.) So
|
|
of course the child refuses to return the toy. The minister of the
|
|
community orders the father to beat the child. For some reason this makes
|
|
the child even more stubborn. (I suspect that this was not his first
|
|
beating.) After approx. 3 hours of beating the child collapses, still
|
|
clutching the toy! The boy died enroute to the hospital. The autopsy
|
|
revealed that the boy's buttocks were so lacerated and swollen that his
|
|
entire body's blood supply had accumulated in the wounds and he had died
|
|
of a lack of blood to the brain!
|
|
|
|
[stuff deleted]
|
|
===========================================================================
|
|
MORE NEWS OF THE WEIRD
|
|
===========================================================================
|
|
Date: 8 May 91 09:32:00 EDT
|
|
From: <kleinsr@vax001.kenyon.EDU>
|
|
Subject: lots of tidbits from the ever-productive Spode
|
|
From: VAX001::WINS%"<LBSPODIC%USTHK.BITNET@YALEVM.YCC.Yale.Edu>" 7-MAY-1991 06:28:26.94
|
|
Subj: Maybe the world really *is* coming to an end!
|
|
|
|
[headers deleted]
|
|
_Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 29 April 1991
|
|
|
|
_Sounds Crazy_
|
|
|
|
This is not a piece of lavatorial humour. This is an item about a
|
|
genuine patented invention, details of which were sent to us by the jovial
|
|
Elijah Saartori of Cerebe Desing International in Tsuen Wan.
|
|
The invention is a combined toilet seat and sound studio.
|
|
The official UK patent, number 2227259, says the invention
|
|
"comprises a compressible flexible portion configured to seal against the
|
|
upper rim of the toilet bowl, and an arcuate cantle-like flange projection
|
|
at the rear of the seat, configured to abut and seal against the lower back
|
|
of a user sitting on said seat."
|
|
It is a toilet seat to be used "for sound reading" according to the
|
|
application by inventor Eytan Posner.
|
|
We can only think of one explanation for the existence of such an
|
|
object. The world has gone mad.
|
|
************
|
|
Subj: Add this on to the previously received 'bad stuff' list, if you have
|
|
one
|
|
|
|
[headers deleted]
|
|
_Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 29 April 1991
|
|
|
|
_More Bad Stuff_
|
|
|
|
More pocket-sized versions of popular philosophies, modern and
|
|
ancient, have arrived from Causeway Bay beancounter Tony Nedderman:
|
|
Animism: We don't need any more bad stuff. Better sacrifice *two*
|
|
virgins.
|
|
Cannibilism: That's really bad stuff. But at least we get to eat.
|
|
Atheism: It may appear to be bad stuff but we don't believe it for a
|
|
moment.
|
|
Parseeism: That really is bad stuff. Maybe if we put it on the roof
|
|
it will go away.
|
|
Consumerism: If you don;t try it for yourself, how will you know the
|
|
bad stuff?
|
|
Moonyism: We need *your* contribution to do something about this
|
|
bad stuff.
|
|
Positivism: It only seems like bad stuff until we allow for it.
|
|
Negativism: Bad stuff? This is just the beginning ...
|
|
Jonesism: Forget about all this bad stuff and just drink your
|
|
Koolaid.
|
|
*********
|
|
|
|
_Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 7 May 1991
|
|
|
|
_Bad Vibes_
|
|
|
|
More pocket philosophies, courtesy of anonymous of Wan Chai.
|
|
Spiritualism: Bad stuff is just your late Uncle Herbert mucking
|
|
around.
|
|
Materialism: You may have more bad stuff than me, but wait till I go
|
|
shopping.
|
|
Sexism: Bad stuff is spelt F.E.M.A.L.E.
|
|
Feminism: Bad stuff is spelt M.A.L.E.
|
|
Positivism: Bad stuff happens to other people.
|
|
Pantheism: More bad stuff? Quick, bung a new god on the altar.
|
|
[stuff deleted. Appeared in last purps]
|
|
******
|
|
Subj: An innovative business opportunity?
|
|
|
|
[headers deleted]
|
|
_Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 29 April 1991
|
|
|
|
_Safe Bet_
|
|
|
|
Foreign correspondent Stefan Reisner covers the Far East and China
|
|
from his Conduit Road base for Germany's _Stern_ magazine.
|
|
He was mulling over a new business idea in Germany which he
|
|
thought would be ideal for Hongkong.
|
|
The company is called Kondonexpress and is a telephone delivery
|
|
service for people in need of contraceptive devices.
|
|
He reckons it would work well in Hongkong, which is small, modern,
|
|
and has world-class and speedy transport services.
|
|
"The minimum order is 10 pieces," said Mr. Reisner.
|
|
So you can imagine how impressed your partner will be.
|
|
*****
|
|
Date: 8 May 91 19:40:00 EDT
|
|
From: <kleinsr@vax001.kenyon.EDU>
|
|
Subject: anonymous contribution
|
|
From: (you'll never know)
|
|
Subj: news of the wierd material? no, I don't want credit for this:
|
|
|
|
--------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
The following is paraphrased from a recent
|
|
issue of Car and Driver:
|
|
|
|
In Tennessee, Police responded to reports that a naked woman
|
|
had been hit on the highway. Actually, the woman, 24, was
|
|
neither naked nor hurt except for a few bruises. Apparently,
|
|
she was a passenger in a car doing about 65 mph and had fallen
|
|
out of the window while attempting to relieve herself. It seems
|
|
she had misjudged the force of the wind. A lady in a different
|
|
car witnessed the incident and claims to "have now seen it all."
|
|
|
|
===========================================================================
|
|
POETRY CORNER
|
|
===========================================================================
|
|
"RONALD REAGAN IS MY SHEPHERD"
|
|
|
|
Ronald Reagan is my shepherd, I shall not want.
|
|
He leadeth me beside still factories and abandoned farms.
|
|
He restoreth my doubts in the Republican party.
|
|
He anointed my wages with taxes and inflation so my expenses
|
|
runneth over my income.
|
|
Surely poverty and hard living shall follow the Republican party and
|
|
I shall work on a rented farm and live in a rented house forever.
|
|
5000 years ago Moses said: "Pack your camel, pick up your shovel,
|
|
move your ass and I shall lead you to the promised land."
|
|
5000 years later Jimmy Carter said: "Lay down your shovel, sit on
|
|
your ass and light up a camel, this is the promised land."
|
|
This year Ronald Reagan will take your shovel, sell your camel, kick
|
|
your ass and tell you he gave away the promised land.
|
|
I'm glad I am an American, I'm glad that I am free, but I wish I was
|
|
a dog and Reagan was a tree...
|
|
===========================================================================
|
|
WORDS OF WISDOM/PREACH-O-RAMA SUMMARY/OTISIANS RANTINGS
|
|
===========================================================================
|
|
[Hmm below is various conversations and quotes from that Preach-O-Rama all
|
|
your folks seemed to have missed out on. This is barely any of it. I
|
|
chopped out a lot.]
|
|
|
|
{If it seems a bit disjointed, it is. Also some of the conversation bits
|
|
have been trimmed a bit, I yanked out the superfluous junk in between some
|
|
bits. On the IRC [for those who don't know] conversations tend to happen
|
|
in parallel so in between Otisian wisdom you might have a convo about say
|
|
removing pet stains from a persian rug.]
|
|
|
|
[I was looking over this edition of Purps and noticed it was lacking
|
|
concrete Otisian Wisdom. [Oh there's plenty of it there, just you have to
|
|
decode it.] I also figured it might be nice to hear more words of
|
|
wisdom from the Pope and a couple other Luminaries. I just left the names
|
|
like they were on the IRC except for the innocent bystanders who's names
|
|
were deleted out. Anyways thing that is not labeled is what Mal said.]
|
|
|
|
<PJI> Sex is the END not a reason
|
|
|
|
<Otodotos> Frued is the god of Sexual Repression, arch-enemy of Mari-Lynne.
|
|
<Otodotos> Frued's chief saint is Saint Stanley By-the-Brook.
|
|
|
|
<Stuff> (Otis approves of everything.)
|
|
|
|
<Otodotos> Thou art dog!
|
|
<Otodotos> Does a dog have Otis-nature?
|
|
<Stuff> Otis nature. No. Dog nature. Yes.
|
|
|
|
<PJI> Genuine 100% OTIS certified Pope's Shit!
|
|
<PJI> 19.95 and an SASE for a Limited time
|
|
<Stuff> Pope's shit? Can I get that gift wrapped?
|
|
<Otodotos> Mysterious Scatological Ejaculations!
|
|
|
|
<PJI> now it's less than just us.
|
|
<PJI> we are not ourselves?
|
|
<PJI> we are not all here
|
|
> We are all channeling or something. that's why we are doing this.
|
|
> we are giving purps a very bizarre rep on here ya know.
|
|
<PJI> Mal: Yeah. But it's not my magazine.. anymore hehehe :}
|
|
<PJI> Why do you think I got rid of it...
|
|
|
|
>Oh hell it's all in the name of good clean fun.
|
|
|
|
->pji> we sound like a bunch of missionaries on speed.
|
|
<PJI> We awfully silly in here by ourselves
|
|
> Oh way too silly.
|
|
(Innocent) I don't know what are you talking about!
|
|
*PJI* so true... and I'm not on speed...
|
|
|
|
<PJI> OTIS is an incomphrensible mysteroy
|
|
<Stuff> we never kill babies.
|
|
<PJI> mystery
|
|
<PJI> no never. No babies. Or yaks
|
|
<Otodotos> Spelling: an incomprehensable mystery
|
|
<Stuff> Yeti?
|
|
<Stuff> Perhaps speeling is mystical.
|
|
<Otodotos> No Yak tossing here. No siree!
|
|
<PJI> Spellign? nah pefrectyl esay to understadn
|
|
(Innocent Bystander) Do you eat ALIVE babies?
|
|
<Stuff> no. well, if you pay lots of money.
|
|
<Otodotos> No. Dead ones only.
|
|
(Innocent Bystander) You buy them or what?
|
|
> Well actually re rely on donations and the kindness of strangers.
|
|
(Innocent Bystander) I see...
|
|
> Oh and divine intervention and superior technology.
|
|
> In this modern age of squabbling religions you need more than just
|
|
(Innocent Bystander) You guys are just against logic, isn't it?
|
|
> miracles to get ahead. YOu need electronic counter measures.
|
|
> Logic? what does that have to do with anything?
|
|
> The world would be mighty boring if it were logical.
|
|
(Innocent Bystander) So you're some kind of weird people
|
|
> Religious People tend to be weird. Every watch sunday morning t.v.?
|
|
> since there are only a few of us we have to be a bit more concentrated
|
|
(Innocent Bystander) Are you religious people?
|
|
|
|
(A different Innocent) hmmm? Hi. Who's Otis?
|
|
<PJI> Hello Innocent
|
|
<Otodotos> Otis!
|
|
<Stuff> Otis is the ancient sumerian god of life.
|
|
> Otis is the God of everything. She's a swell god to worship.
|
|
<Otodotos> The god with NO dog-nature!
|
|
<Stuff> Dog nature is key, though.
|
|
<Otodotos> From Atlantis.
|
|
<Stuff> or, williamstown ma.
|
|
<PJI> Which is almost the same
|
|
<PJI> OTIS LIVES!
|
|
<Stuff> so, Innocent, how's texas?
|
|
<Otodotos> Set yourself on fire!
|
|
<PJI> Set your DOG on fire!
|
|
> Or if you don't like Otis you can try Heether. She's looking for new
|
|
> converts.
|
|
<Stuff> set your voyeur on fire.
|
|
<Otodotos> Watch your dog!
|
|
<PJI> Everything forbidden is OPTIONAL! Do what we would not have thou do
|
|
shall be the exception to the law-- otis 5:23
|
|
> Or I suppose we could whisper the occult wisdom of the Mistress of Mayhem.
|
|
<Otodotos> Give them what they want to hear! --- otis 4:4
|
|
<PJI> Heether is what? O disloyal goddess, o rebellious goddess...
|
|
<Stuff> If I had any fish I would put it back in the water. Otis 2:3
|
|
<PJI> Mal: Hey no ERIS here...
|
|
<Otodotos> and the straight shall be made curvy!
|
|
> Oh poor Heether always gets eclipsed by the light of Otis.
|
|
> she's a good Goddess to ya know. I mean look what she's done for me.
|
|
(Innocent) Don't settle down for my sake, kids, ranting is part of my life
|
|
+style.
|
|
(Gruntpig:+purps) I will now rearrange my internal organs from anatomical to
|
|
alphabetical order...
|
|
<PJI> OTIS shines brighter
|
|
<Otodotos> Otis is only 60 wats.
|
|
<PJI> Hallogens have so many uses
|
|
<Otodotos> Yes!
|
|
<Stuff> GP: excel;lent!!!!!
|
|
> Well if they won't fall for anyone else why not her? Hmm?
|
|
<PJI> GP: AMAZING!
|
|
<Stuff> and really cool.
|
|
<PJI> Mal: If they fall for her they'll fall for anyone, true...
|
|
|
|
(Innocent) Don't be afraid, it's JUST AN OVEN.
|
|
<Stuff> oven?
|
|
<PJI> but you can still send him/her money...
|
|
<Stuff> Money is the important thing.
|
|
<Otodotos> Jock-itch has no dog-nature.
|
|
<PJI> <<Some other Innocent>>: A victim of OTIS rage no doubt
|
|
<Stuff> Jock-itch baked is really dull.
|
|
<PJI> Probably after me. I still owe her money...
|
|
(Innocent) netlag I got bored Ignore the oven reference
|
|
<Otodotos> Otis is mighty touchy these days.
|
|
> Owe who money? E?
|
|
<Stuff> Ovens for the masses.
|
|
<Stuff> Ovens for the rich and poor.
|
|
> The oven is my friend.
|
|
<Otodotos> Frying innocent bystanders for kicks...
|
|
<PJI> Hey, I wasn't the one who put the horse's head in her.his most holy loo!
|
|
(Innocent) there is no friend in the oven.
|
|
<Stuff> Ovens for the catholics, protestants, jews, and those who would
|
|
classify themselves as Other.
|
|
<Otodotos> Not me!
|
|
<Stuff> Ovens for OTIS!
|
|
<PJI> *puts head in oven*
|
|
<Otodotos> Ta-da!
|
|
> Always room for one more.
|
|
<Stuff> turns it too broil.
|
|
<PJI> YES! Send all your ovens to: IGHF POB 235 Williamstomn, MA 01267-0235 usa
|
|
<PJI> Turns it off.
|
|
|
|
*** PJI changed the topic to Out of the Oven and into the Kitchen
|
|
*** Stuff changed the topic to Out of the Oven and into the Pulpit.
|
|
<Otodotos> topic wars
|
|
> It's the Nova Oven or the pulpit for you preacher man.
|
|
*** PJI changed the topic to Out of the Pulpit and into the Oven!
|
|
(Innocent) Otis for Ovens. Lovin' Ovens.
|
|
(Innocent) InterGalacticHangingFruit?"
|
|
<Stuff> So, where to convection ovens come in?
|
|
<Otodotos> Send Otis the bill!
|
|
|
|
*** Stuff changed the topic to Out of the OVEN and into the OVEN.
|
|
<PJI> IGHF
|
|
<Stuff> good in and out motions.
|
|
<Otodotos> Pant!
|
|
<Stuff> Hat.
|
|
> Yeah but you'll never get converts at this rate.
|
|
(Gruntpig:+purps) nothing says loving like a loved one in the oven
|
|
<Stuff> Intergalactic house of fruitcakes. Or whatever.
|
|
> Convection.. don't you mean conversion ovens?
|
|
<PJI> Innocent: InterGalactic House fo Fruitcakes. Close though
|
|
<Otodotos> Join your own army!
|
|
<Stuff> Nothing says loved on like giving them an oven. Through the mail.
|
|
<Otodotos> Have your cake and eat it, too!
|
|
*** PJI changed the topic to Serious Discussion About Religion.
|
|
> Yes it's the FTD florist gas oven bouquet for that someone extra special.
|
|
<Stuff> Bake your CAke and eat it too. Non-alienated labor.
|
|
> Bake your cake and eat it too.
|
|
|
|
<Otodotos> If you meet Otis on the road, clap Bob!
|
|
|
|
<PJI> Remember! all of the chemicals in the human body are only worth $2.08!
|
|
<Stuff> except on the black market. where they can be made into glue for much
|
|
+ more.
|
|
<PJI> Drink Mercury and increase your value...
|
|
<Otodotos> Raise you own value! NOW!
|
|
|
|
<Otodotos> Drink Otis!
|
|
<PJI> Let Us raise your value!
|
|
<PJI> follow the 44 step program to Genkiness!
|
|
<Stuff> Going once going twice sold to the pope in the red fez for two eternit
|
|
+ies and one small punishment.
|
|
|
|
<Otodotos> Hi. We're the Otisians. We'd like to save you.
|
|
|
|
<Stuff> PURPS in my brain! Otis in my life.
|
|
|
|
<Otodotos> No Masons here, I hop?
|
|
<Otodotos> hope?
|
|
<Stuff> Mason Mason Mason.
|
|
<Stuff> Me.
|
|
<A different Innocent> not recently.
|
|
<Innocent> you want to tell me what the light of Otis is?
|
|
> No no masons. I swear by the great architect of the Universe there are no mas
|
|
+ons here.
|
|
<Stuff> Otis is the ancient sumerian god of life.
|
|
> No tracing boards either.
|
|
<Stuff> Otis saves.
|
|
<Stuff> Otis lives.
|
|
<Stuff> Otis rants.
|
|
<Stuff> Otis raves.
|
|
<PJI> Otis saves!
|
|
<Otodotos> Hail Otis!
|
|
<PJI> Otis dances!
|
|
<PJI> HAIL OTIS!
|
|
<Stuff> Naked in the moonlight.
|
|
<PJI> with the pagans
|
|
<Otodotos> No, no. Not naked. That's gross.
|
|
<Stuff> So, tell us about your personal saviour, Innocent.
|
|
<Stuff> Naked is NOT gross.
|
|
<Stuff> Naked is nice.
|
|
<PJI> No illuminati here either
|
|
<Stuff> I'm naked now.
|
|
<Otodotos> With Otis it is!
|
|
<Innocent> No-one's told me what the light of Otis is yet.
|
|
> If if you don't have one have we got one for you.
|
|
<PJI> *dies mysteriously*
|
|
<Stuff> With Otis everything is nice.
|
|
|
|
<Otodotos> 60 wats
|
|
<PJI> The light of OTIS is embodied in the OTISian dogma!
|
|
<Stuff> The light is that special something that helps people realize the natur
|
|
+e of their life.
|
|
<PJI> the OTISian Dogma:
|
|
<Stuff> to serve OTIS.
|
|
<Otodotos> Praise dogma!
|
|
<Stuff> dogma.
|
|
<PJI> 1. We have no dogma
|
|
<Stuff> yes.
|
|
<PJI> 2. Ignore previous dogma
|
|
<Stuff> 1 a We have lots of dogma/
|
|
<Stuff> 2 a if you do not pay attention, we kill you.
|
|
> Hmm don't forget the 4th commandment.
|
|
<Otodotos> 4. There is no dog in dogma.
|
|
<PJI> 3. Send ALL of your money to IGHF: POB 235 Williamstown, MA 01267-0235 US
|
|
+A
|
|
<Stuff> 4th: send no money.
|
|
> Wait how can the pope have ties if he don't get money?
|
|
<PJI> 4. Everything forbidden is Optional. Do what we would not have thou do s
|
|
+hall be the exception to the law
|
|
<Innocent> Stuff: My personal saviour will be that guy that offers to sell
|
|
me an Onkyo A8000 amplifier and AAron Quartet speakers for less than $1000!!
|
|
<Otodotos> 4.5 Give all your money to the person on your left.
|
|
<PJI> %: Ignore O. he is um silly
|
|
<Stuff> Innocent: nice choice. I like a little slack in my diet.
|
|
> Hmm sounds like a Job for B-B or B. Otis.
|
|
<Otodotos> SLACK?!?!
|
|
<Stuff> B Otis 2!!
|
|
<PJI> How can the pope have UNDERWARE if he don't have money?
|
|
<Otodotos> HERETIC!!!!!!!!!!
|
|
<Stuff> SInister Heretic, thank you.
|
|
<Stuff> Underwrite the underwear.
|
|
<Otodotos> I have a pair of the Pope's underwear.
|
|
> underware.. hmm so you do wear something under your popal robes.
|
|
<sextrash> Can I launch the head of Arnold Palmer here?
|
|
<Stuff> they don't look good on you.
|
|
<Stuff> ST: YES!!!!!!!
|
|
> Hmm this is the Death to Bob channel actually.
|
|
*** Otodotos changed the topic to Death to Bob
|
|
<Otodotos> Brow kills.
|
|
<sextrash> Death to Discordia!
|
|
<PJI> Underware: looks good on me
|
|
<sextrash> Death to the Crunchies!
|
|
<Otodotos> Death to the Blue Meanies!
|
|
<Stuff> Death to Otis.
|
|
<Stuff> looks light wonder wear.
|
|
<PJI> DEATH TO BOB!
|
|
> Sex: hay now let's not give it all away!!!!
|
|
<Innocent> this is all over my head
|
|
<Stuff> Hey, as Junior security birdman I appreciate that!
|
|
<Otodotos> We already tried that. He just popped back up.
|
|
> There are secrets even these illuminates do not know.
|
|
<PJI> you are not a birdman. you are yeti
|
|
<Otodotos> Sheep!
|
|
<sextrash> Mal: St Bud save me! yer right of course...
|
|
> Shh!! you'll give the game away. I'd have to have to use the OMC.
|
|
<Otodotos> And behold! The credible shall be hosed! And the hosed shall be sa
|
|
+ved! --- Otis 44:44
|
|
<PJI> Oh. Park it in your submarine pen. heheh
|
|
<PJI> Are the credible saved?
|
|
<Otodotos> Only if they get hosed by Otis.
|
|
<PJI> Ah...
|
|
> what about the incredible? or the Invincible for that matter.
|
|
<PJI> I think I've been hosed by OTIS...
|
|
<sextrash> I'm writing a speculative fiction piece on what America would be
|
|
like if Abraham Lincoln had been a platypus
|
|
<Otodotos> Cool.
|
|
<PJI> ST: wasn't he a platypus?
|
|
> Hmm how does a platypus wear a stove pipe hat?
|
|
<PJI> ST: I think Max Ernst already did that one
|
|
<Otodotos> I once wrote a pornographic novel about if Max Ernst had been a psyc
|
|
+ho-killer and Adolf Hitler had been a cop.
|
|
<sextrash> 4 score and 7 quack! quack! quack! *burrows into the ground*
|
|
(Yet another Innocent) otodotos, that is an unusual nick!
|
|
> Hitler couldn't be a cop. He was too short.
|
|
<sextrash> the only egg laying mammal ever to become commander in chief
|
|
<PJI> ST: lincoln was farr too dignified to go borrowing into the ground
|
|
<Otodotos> Innocent: why thank you! that's a ravishing number you have on yoursel
|
|
+f tonight!
|
|
> Mighty impressive feat for a marsupial I must say.
|
|
<PJI> ST: hmmm... but there was an aardvark who made pope...
|
|
(Innocent) a ravishing number?
|
|
> Hmm he could make a cameo appearance in 'the good they bad and the ugly'
|
|
|
|
> Hmm that the Ulyses S. Grant scatch and sniff three dee movie?
|
|
<Otodotos> What if McDonald's were NOT run by aliens?
|
|
<PJI> Grant was too dignified to be human. What if Thomas Edison had been a wo
|
|
+man?
|
|
<Otodotos> What kind of creature IS the Grimace, anyhow?
|
|
<PJI> Light bulbs might be shaped differently
|
|
(Innocent) I like the set of Q numbers.
|
|
(Innocent) Q numbers are quiet.
|
|
<Stuff> Grimace is the monster.
|
|
<Otodotos> What are those Fry Guys?
|
|
<PJI> The grim: and what happened to those two extra arms? are they really ne
|
|
+xt to Brow's testicles in the oTIS, MA museum?
|
|
|
|
===========================================================================
|
|
MORE STORIES!!!
|
|
===========================================================================
|
|
Date: Tue, 21 May 91 22:04:02 CDT
|
|
From: Reverend John <UC521832@UMCVMB.missouri.EDU>
|
|
Subject: part the third
|
|
|
|
My Voyage Into The Netherworld
|
|
or,
|
|
How I Learned To Stop Worrying And SPODE
|
|
|
|
by Rev. John Tynes
|
|
uc521832@umcvmb.bitnet
|
|
uc521832@umcvmb.missouri.edu
|
|
|
|
part the third
|
|
(and final)
|
|
|
|
Mal regarded me levelly from behind a mass of unkempt hair. He fixed me with
|
|
a serious gaze, portents of doom swam behind his eyes.
|
|
|
|
I couldn't take him seriously.
|
|
|
|
He was, after all, sitting on the toilet.
|
|
|
|
"So, uh, Mal.. are you Satan now or something?"
|
|
|
|
"Don't be dense, Rev. I'm just sort of holding it in trust."
|
|
|
|
"I'm confused.. I mean, SPODE sent me down here, like it didn't know you were
|
|
responsible. And what the hell - pardon the pun - are you doing, anyway?"
|
|
|
|
Barker stood up and pushed his hair back some. For a moment it came to life,
|
|
tying his hand up in knots, twisting about like a garden of dark snakes. I
|
|
watched in amazement as Mal jerked about, one arm on his head, trying to free
|
|
himself.
|
|
|
|
"But Mal, you don't have dandruff!"
|
|
|
|
Suddenly his hair relaxed and he pulled his hand free, shooting me another
|
|
look I could frame and scare Karloff with.
|
|
|
|
"Come on. Gotta show you something."
|
|
|
|
The two demons grabbed me again, crinkling the fine cotton/poly blend of my
|
|
t-shirt. On it, the Subgenius design flared slightly, and I could feel
|
|
the sudden heat against my skin. Mal noticed the brief glow and dismissed
|
|
it - "Stang isn't getting royalties for this story, Rev. He's pissed.
|
|
Ignore it."
|
|
|
|
We began to walk - well, I was carried, but all the same we moved into a
|
|
long tunnel, carpeted all around. To my astonishment there were dozens of
|
|
inflated balloons, of all colors, sticking to the carpet. As we walked,
|
|
Mal stopped and plucked one down. He rubbed it against the carpet for a bit
|
|
and it stuck. He giggled a bit. When he noticed I was staring at him he
|
|
glared again.
|
|
|
|
"I like static electricity, alright?? It's interesting."
|
|
|
|
We pressed on.
|
|
|
|
As we walked, I was slowly aware of a growing sound. It was a strange sort of
|
|
music, very distant but very clear. It grew louder as we stomped along, Mal
|
|
refusing to answer my questions. The two demons weren't talkative, either.
|
|
|
|
After a few more minutes, we came to the end of the hall. There before us
|
|
stood a massive wooden door. Mal leaned against the wall and lifted his foot
|
|
like a dog taking a piss.
|
|
|
|
I made a smart remark. One of the demons hit me. It hurt.
|
|
|
|
After a moment the heel of Mal's upraised combat boot dropped open and a
|
|
key fell out. This he picked up, glaring at me again, and unlocked the door.
|
|
|
|
As soon as the door began to open, the everpresent music swelled in a
|
|
glorious crescendo. Light poured from the crack, and suddenly I understood
|
|
a bit more about what was going on.
|
|
|
|
Mal opened the door all the way, and then looked at me with a little smile.
|
|
|
|
Within was God. It was him, the big G, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, the
|
|
Father, the trinity, the whole nine yards. He was right out of Industrial
|
|
Light & Magic: soft glowing light, flowing robes, cherubim and seriphum
|
|
swirling around and singing in beautiful voices.
|
|
|
|
The two demons immediately dissipated, the looks on their faces suggesting
|
|
a sort of cosmic indigestion.
|
|
|
|
God surveyed me from furrowed brows. His hair and beard were long and
|
|
immaculately grey, and just seeing him filled me with an emotion that
|
|
is hard to put into words.
|
|
|
|
"Jesus jumping christ on a fucking pogo stick, Mal! What the hell are you
|
|
doing??"
|
|
|
|
Mal snickered. "Watch your language, Rev. You are in the presence of God,
|
|
you know."
|
|
|
|
The deity regarded me slowly, but said nothing.
|
|
|
|
"That's GOD in there! In hell! And you've got him locked up?"
|
|
|
|
"Yep."
|
|
|
|
Mal swung the door shut again and locked it, replacing the key in his boot.
|
|
|
|
"Come on back to the throne room. We gotta talk."
|
|
|
|
------
|
|
|
|
Returning to the little cubicle, Mal sat down on the ornate toilet seat
|
|
and gestured for me to sit on the floor.
|
|
|
|
"To put it simply, God was coming back and something had to be done. He's
|
|
having a big revival now, Rev. You've seen it. Fundamentalists, deranged
|
|
goverment people, it was his time in the spotlight again."
|
|
|
|
"So what's he doing in hell? And what are YOU doing here?"
|
|
|
|
"Well, nobody really believes in the devil anymore. So, here's hell, just
|
|
a big abandoned building with a bunch of idiot demons running around.
|
|
Somebody had to move in and take Satan's place. I thought I was the one for
|
|
the job."
|
|
|
|
"But SPODE doesn't know anything about you being down here."
|
|
|
|
"Nope. You see, I captured God, and I'm not gonna let him back out again. I
|
|
can't tell SPODE, though. We puny humans aren't supposed to be able to do
|
|
that kinda thing. SPODE is a deity you know. He may be a swell guy at parties
|
|
but when the chips come down he's the one with a key to the executive
|
|
bathroom, not us."
|
|
|
|
"Okay. Satan ain't around, you took his place, you captured God, and SPODE
|
|
and the rest aren't supposed to know." I scooted a little closer. "But Mal,
|
|
what's the point?"
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"Oh. Hmm. Well, I sort of wanted to see if it could be done."
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"That's it?"
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"Kinda. I was fooling around with static electricity, some stuff Nikola
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Tesla was working on just before his death. He thought that it was the stuff
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that held the universe together, and that if used properly it could generate
|
|
a sort of magnetic force."
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"You're losing me here.."
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|
"Well, I came to hell. I figure, like attracts like. So I put a bunch of
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tormented souls into helium balloons and rubbed them against a big carpeted
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tunnel, kinda like a particle cannon. And boom, suddenly God's here, stuck
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|
at one end of the soul tunnel. So I got him."
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"Just like that?"
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"Just like that."
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"Well, now what? I mean, SPODE wants me to tell it what's going on."
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"Easy. Tell it that God is dead. Again. At this point, he'll believe
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|
anything."
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"You got a point."
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"Look, I'll see you back topside. You can make up whatever story you want
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to go along with this, but leave me out of it. SPODE gets nervous around
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|
free agents."
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-----
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A week later I had made a full report. True to my story, the level of God
|
|
activity simmered down to a tolerable point and SPODE paid me what I was owed.
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|
Obviously, Mal was keeping a very tight rein on the old gent down below. The
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|
check from SPODE bounced, of course, but I wasn't worried. Karma like this
|
|
you can't pass up.
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|
Mal still appears on the net, and periodically spits out a new PURPS. No one
|
|
has guessed what that extra extension on his net address really means. But
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|
heck, even hell has an internet node.
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|
Satan? Well, I part ways with Mal here. I think he's still around, in one
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form or another. Who knows.. he could be sitting right next to me right
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this very minute, wearing a pair of Converse All-Stars or something.
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I've known stranger things to happen.
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-FIN-
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Rev. John
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uc521832@umcvmb.bitnet
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uc521832@umcvmb.missouri.edu
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===========================================================================
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THEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHE
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===========================================================================
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--Subink 1991
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