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SBI-Submarine Pens Proudly Presents:
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THE PURPLE THUNDERBOLT OF SPODE VOL 2, 33
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"One year and REPLIES TO: HailOtis@socpsy.sci.fau.edu
still going strong"
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WRITE TO: IGHF/955 Massachusetts Ave., Suite 209/Cambridge, Ma 02139
####===================================================================####
INTRO
####===================================================================####
Welcome to yet another issue of Purps. Once again it's late. It always
seems to be late. Oh well these things happen I suppose with school and
all, with the coming holidays and such.
In an effort to get with the rest of the planet, I managed to slip in a
holiday thing or two. This is not a real Christmas Issue sad to say. At
least we have an Otisian story though.
As of late submissions have been rather dreadful to say the least, hence
the output of Purps has been a bit low. Couple that with a continuing
nightmare of ugliness here and well we're not doing as good as we used to.
Still, it's not my place to cry doom and gloom from the bridge of the Purps
yacht. There are better things to do. Otis is still alive and growing. New
subscribers still continue to pop up from mysterious unidentified sources
and slowly through the snail mail the word gets spread.
Maybe these low times are a test of our faith or perhaps a sign that we are
not sending in enough money to the IGHF. Fear not the blue light does not
grow dim!
Actually the latest amazing Otis type thingie is "By the Balls of Brow", a
compilation of the first 20 issues of Purps. It's all printed on nice paper
with a real cover and inside original art. It's a distillation of various
words of wisdom and stories about Otis. For those of you who joined up
later than the first few issues, it's a must read. It contains many
important facts and clues to the origins of Otis. No doubt some day it will
be ranked up there with the "Initiation By Mail" materials from the IGHF.
I'm not sure exactly what the conditions/costs are for obtaining "By the
Balls of Brow." Hopefully at a future time we can have a real announce
about it. If you are interested and just have to have a copy now, send mail
and we'll work something out.
For those of you who have been wondering about the Pope. He's still alive
and well. He's been in hiding lately I assume, pounding out a fresh set of
OTIS material, or perhaps steeling himself for the upcoming elections in
'92. [Remember VOTE OTIS]. I still continue to receive submissions from him
so all is not lost.
Rumor has it that due to some mess up somewhere in the freedom of
information act, several documents from pre-WWII have made their way into
the hands of Dr. Simpson regarding certainly objects found in the Gobi
desert during the Chinese Communist Revolution and the Japanese invasion.
Reports also show that special emphasis has been placed this year on
scheduling those Burl Ives Christmas Specials in prime slots so more of
America can view them. If you have not already you might want to video tape
these for later study.
Meanwhile, why does the president if the United States shop at JC Pennys
when the government still pays $600 for a toilet seat?
On with the show.
####===================================================================####
"The best buck I ever spend was on Otis" --B Ives
####===================================================================####
COMPLAINT LETTER
####===================================================================####
From: cjdn@cc.curtin.edu.au
Subject: Classic complaint letter
Date: 8 Nov 91 02:34:59 GMT
The following travel complaint letter was reproduced in
an Australian Legal Guide, as a genuine example of problems
that can occur in the package tour business.
While it appears to be written with some feeling, I smell a con.
Has anyone seen this letter before?
Quote [Sic]
"I am forwarding this letter to you to officially register
our complaint and seek compensation.
The first day out there was no gas in the coach. The coach was
dirty, driver totally incompetent and the guide neurotic.
The driver side-swiped two cars, killed two chickens, knocked
over a sign post, ran over an open culvert, bumped a toll way
office, scraped a tree and was on the footpath almost as much
as he was on the road.
We were approximately 5 hours late arriving and all nervous
wrecks.
The following day - Paris city tour - he side-swiped a truck
and smashed the mirror, bumped a sign and scraped the wall of
a road tunnel and was lost for two hours, plus two passengers
were forced to forgo the sights so they could direct and map
read.
The owner of the bus company was contacted and introduced to
us, and he informed us that owing to our guide's inexperience
and our driver's incompetence, the driver was being replaced.
On the third day out we received our second driver. From the
start he and our guide fought, argued, spat, cried and
gossiped about each other. It was most nerve-wracking,
embarrassing and unpleasant. This atmosphere continued and
indeed worsened throughout the tour. The driver got us lost
every day. It got so bad that he was instructed to get a taxi
in all towns to our hotels, this he did twice, the time lost
was dreadful.
We expected not first class accommodation but clean and comfortable
tourist class - our complaints are as follows - Hotels -
some not in the towns advised, in fact one instance 45
minutes by public transport to the major centre. No door
on bathroom or toilet, dirty sanitary pad in bathroom, stale
confectionery in drawers, vomit on carpet and up walls,
threadbare carpet, wire bed frame that was almost dragging
on to the floor, no mattress or pillow covers and the mattress
covered in blood and semen.
In another hotel we were forced to wait four hours before we
given our rooms, on several occasions there was no porterage
and the continental breakfasts were awful, stale bread or
buns, in many places no butter. In another hotel no private
facilities.
The guide fought consistently with the driver, refused to sit
in the front of the bus at times, covered her face, laid on
the seats, and believe it or not, the floor, screamed at
the driver and passengers alike, used the Lord's name in
vain, used extremely bad language and too many more things
to mention.
She and the driver had a punch up in the foyer
of our hotel in Florence and the following morning she came
to our room at 6.30am and informed the four of us that she
thought our driver was going to commit suicide and kill us
all by driving our bus over the Alps. She was often
inebriated, most unreliable, rude, abusive and found to be
an atrocious liar.
Description of the driver: Neurotic, incompetent, excitable.
We had a young woman on the bus and after he declared himself
married he immediately flaunted his affair with her to all
and sundry, this again caused more tension and upsets.
On the motorway he left his seat while doing approximately
100 km/h and adjusted the air conditioner. He would miss a
turn off on the motorway and reverse sometimes several
hundred metres. He drove through all intersections at top
speed and slowed down on all motorways and was lost every
day. He drove down the mountains in top gear, refusing
to change his gears, mainly I would say to upset our guide
which he managed to do regularly plus all of our passengers.
He was most erratic and excitable, we would get on the
coach some days and he would be crying, this of course made
it impossible to relax and enjoy our long awaited for and
very expensive trip.
The driver and guide were refused entry in St Peters as he
was wearing shorts and long socks. We were never told the
Vatican had dress rules. We missed the Sistine Chapel as
it was not open on the day we were in Rome, this is dis-
gusting and the travel company's fault. We missed so much
through bad management and incompetence and we blame the
travel company entirely.
We had been waiting for our trip overseas for 20 years,
indeed our lifestyle and business commitments will
probably never allow us this extended amount of time to
see Europe again."
####===================================================================####
SEX-TRAP
####===================================================================####
From: mike@ap542.uucp (Mike Hoffmann)
Subject: Sex & Cannibalism
Date: 7 Nov 91 15:04:27 GMT
From a german Tits&Bums rag:
SEX-TRAP! WOMEN SELL MEAT OF MURDERED MEN
Tiflis. [Tbilis, Soviet-Union - me]
With offers of love women on the Georgian Black-Sea coast snared men into
their house. A deadly sex-trap, the Soviet press says: beautiful Ella and
her grandmother killed their victims and sold their meat on the market! One
young man from Central Russia was also lured by Ella. Victor watched
boredly, as the grandmother fed the dogs with meat scraps. Terrified the
man noticed that a tatooed human hand was sticking from a bucket! It was
the hand of his missing friend. Viktor fled to the police. Both women have
now confessed their horrible murders.
Mike "what an ecstatic death" Hoffmann
####===================================================================####
STUMPY SPEAKS!
####===================================================================####
Stumpy has revealed to me today that it's VERY important to orient the star
at the top of your Christmas tree correctly. Usually the Star contains
metal which is influenced by the earth's magnetic field. If this star is
oriented wrong the magnetic field will cause the tree to tip over because
of the magnetic pull.
In order to fix this problem, you need to orient the star so the narrowest
portion of it faces toward magnetic north--not true north, but magnetic.
You'll need a compass to do this. By facing the narrowest side not the star
will essentially become "streamlined" in the magnetic field and thus be
less likely to be influenced by it.
####===================================================================####
OTISIAN QUESTIONS ANSWERED
####===================================================================####
>Date: Mon, 28 Oct 91 13:08:59 CST
>From: C552270@UMCVMB.missouri.edu
>Subject: Oh, that CRAZY God/dess!!
>Mal, got a few more questions.
>1) I know Otis and Spode, but who/what are Lotus and Rotus?
Lucky for you the infamous "By the Balls of Brow!" just arrived on our door
step so I can quote directly to you from it.
These of course are in the sacred words of Otis related to Pope Jephe. At
the end of each sentence be sure to say an appropriate "Hail Otis".
"LOTUS: The ancient Taiwanese god of Peace, Lotus has been worshipped
almost as long as OTIS."
"ROTUS is the god of Death. Rotus has no history because we made him up. He
was worshipped rather extensively in a small liberal arts college in the
North East before we borrowed him."
Of course both these quotations could be considered Koans, or perhaps
"faith Challenging Questions" (TM) similar to the widely admired "Skill
Challenging Question."(TM)
>Do these beings have anything to do with the Lotus Super 7 the Prisoner
>drove, and the current kit version called Rotus Super 7? If not, an
>interesting connection, eh?
Yes indeed they do. In fact, most of not all of the Prisoner Television
series contains allegories to Otisian Wisdom. A careful watcher will have
noticed the total absence of toilet facilities in the Village. This shows
the view just how secret the "Toilet Mysteries" are.
Careful examination of the crowd scenes will also reveal the occasionally
Four Pointed Otisian symbol. You may need a stop motion vcr to find them.
These symbols have been purposefully hidden unlike the Four Pointed Pin
on the label of one of the clerks in the movie "8 1/2".
You will also note how the Prisoner's Lotus had FOUR wheels touching the
ground giving it a firm solid base. It was next to impossible to tip it
over. The Village on the other hand used the symbol of the bicycle which
has only two wheels and as many of us know can easily tip over if one is not
careful.
Finally one more hint of the four pointed nature.
In the opening scenes an 'X' is placed though Number 6's picture. An 'X'
has four arms just like the Otisian arrow. In fact they were marking the
Prisoner as an Otisian with that opening scene.
>[Question deleted for security reasons]
>3) If the Zakanthians have dream-control technology, who do they work for?
Ah the Evil Zakanthians are the minions of that totally Evil yet snappy
dresser B. Otis. Careful reading of the various bits from that ancient
Otisian manuscript published in past Purps would have revealed this to you.
>4) Finally, do you ever feel...you know...not so fresh?
Not so fresh? That only happens when one is not filled with the true
light of Otis. As the ancient dogma says and has said for thousands
of years, "Set yourself on Fire".
This not so "fresh" concept is also one of the marketing ploys to make you
buy all manner of strange odor filled products to coat your body with.
Many of these substances leach through your skin into your nervous system
and do untold damage or make you susceptible to those Franklin Mint
commercials. If you'll check carefully you'll discover that each and every
owner of a supposedly valuable Franklin Mint product, whether it's a
replicate of Abe Lincoln's baby shoes, or the amazing Star Trek chess set,
uses some manner of "freshening up product."
Now not only do these products effect your body, but they effect your home.
Certain chemicals--the ones they never bother to list on the label-- allow
evil spirits into your household. These "freshening" products attract
spirits and negative vibrations just like a dead skunk on the road
attracts tires. Once again, I'm sure with a little checking you'll discover
that in each and every haunted house, or poltergeist incident some sort
of cleaning product had been used in them.
Finally, if you'll recall a previous article from one of the summer issues
about welcoming visitors from other planets, you'll remember that one of
the important factors in making the little green men feel welcome is
hygiene. Ah, another "freshening product."
>'Til Ragnorak joins us in Holy Abominitude,
>Cool runnings...
>Morphius.
####===================================================================####
NEWS OF THE WEIRD
####===================================================================####
[Nope. Sad to say Steph, is not on the Net. She just gave me a whole bunch
of NOTW submissions, so I'm slowly releasing them so we can savor each
one.]
Date: 27 Oct 91 15:31:00 EDT
From: "STEPHANIE R KLEIN" <kleinsr@vax001.kenyon.edu>
Subject: NOTW
From the Chicago Reader, 11 October 1991:
Last August Robert Elliby, 32, awaiting arraignment in New York City on a
larceny charge, wandered out of the courtroom and burglarized a judge's
chambers.
Last August a 36-year-old man leapt to his death from a bridge over the
Warrior River in Alabama. His sister told police, "He had a habit of jumping
off bridges."
From the Chicago Reader, 4 October 1991:
Samford University debate coach William Slagle was sentenced to life in
prison in Alabama in March. He had been found guilty of stabbing to death a
20-year-old debater who was unprepared for a match.
Among the museums in Japan, according to a recent Associated Press story,
are a safe-and-key museum, a parasitological museum that contains among other
things a king-sized tapeworm, a cleaning museum with laundry artifacts, and
a sock museum, among whose prize items is the 12.4-inch, bright red sock of
pro wrestler Giant Baba.
A Chinese man known only as Mr. Chang mailed $1,920 (his life's savings) to
the U.S. embassy in Beijing last fall, earmarking it for the Persian Gulf war.
President Bush had the money returned in June.
####===================================================================####
AN OTIS TALE
####===================================================================####
A long time ago in ancient Sumeria, Otis the great and most ancient god was
disturbed from a quite pleasant bath in his favorite yak shaped tub by his
high priestess.
She looked most depressed with tears rolling down her ivory cheeks, her
gown disheveled, her girdle tied in a granny knot.
"What seems to trouble you, oh ivory checked priestess mine?" asked Otis
scrubbing his back furiously.
"Oh great and wondrous Otis, God of most things worth Worshipping, I, your
high priestess, must report that our coffers are empty and the bills are due
at the end of the week."
"Bah! I'm a goddess and I'm taking a bath. Bother me not with such mortal
troubles."
"Oh most blessed Otis, I, your ivory cheeked priestess, must point out to
you, that if your temple cannot pay the wood collectors bill there shall
be no wood for the fires, which heat that holy yak shaped tub of your's."
"Gadzooks! That is a problem," cried the God sloshing soapy water all
over the floor in alarm.
Just then, in walked Spode in all his chaotic glory, one hand behind his
back holding a pair of scissors. He'd been hoping Otis would be wearing a
tie so he could snip off the tip, for no doubt some dastardly joke.
"What's this I hear about the bills," said Spode, his eyes twinkling with
mischief. Quickly he cast the scissors away into the ether with a magickal
wave of his hand, and began to feel about is robe in attempt to find some
sort of aquatic gag device to hurl into Otis' yak shaped tube. Maybe some
gag ink would to the trick.
"Oh alas!" began Otis, standing up in the tub, striking a dramatic pose and
waving her scrub brush around, showering his ivory cheeked priestess with
soapy water. "My High Priestess bares evil tidings. It seems our coffers
are empty and the bills are due."
"What the hell do gods care about bills," muttered Spode. Then an idea
struck him. "By the pointed tips of the Mother Yak's Horns something must
be done. Bills must be paid. Why they could repossess your temple!"
"Repossess my temple! But it's mine!" cried Otis striking another dramatic
pose, slipping on a bar of soap, and landing in the tub with a titanic slash
showing the room with water. Mysteriously enough Spode remained dry while
the ivory cheeked priestess ended up looking like a contestant in a wet
t-shirt contest.
"Ah well you know how bill collectors are," said Spode coughing to hide a
smile.
"What shall be done?" asked Otis of the soaking, sobbing, ivory cheeked
priestess.
"Perhaps," she began, wiping away her tears and brushing a wet lock from her
forehead "we could be like other churches and hold a White Elephant sale."
"What do white elephants have to do with the great worship of Otis?" asked
Spode, clearly trying to lead the conversation somewhere. He carefully
picked his way through the puddles of soapy water to stand by the yak
shaped tub.
"I could cause this white elephant to have horns and a yak like tail. Even
some shaggy yak like fur," pointed out Otis.
"Oh most holy Otis, I beg your pardon but a White Elephant sale is just
--," began his ivory cheeked high priestess as she wrung water out of the
hem of her now transparent robe.
"--Just absolutely ridiculous," finish Spode, who hastily continued. "Who in
the right mind is going to buy a white elephant. Why the only one I know of
who'd be interested is Hannibal and he won't be born for a couple thousand
years yet. And I'm quite certain even Hannibal would not buy a white
elephant that has been doctored up to look like a yak, even if you, oh
Otis, had done it yourself."
The high priestess glared at him for a moment through soggy hair, then
realizing Spode was a God stopped.
"Oh well what will we do then! The bill collectors will take away my temple
and where will I bathe?" moaned Otis motioning for Spode to hand him a big
fluffy towel.
"Perhaps you worshippers would chip in," suggested the high priestess.
"Nah," said Otis, her voice muffled by the towel that completely engulfed
her. "They're starting to get wise to that trick."
"Then perhaps you can invent a new way for them to get money," suggested
Spode his eyes twinkling.
"That's it!" cried Otis throwing off the towel and shrugging on a robe
offered by Spode. "I'll use that ceremonial pine tree you gave my two
centuries ago. I knew I'd find a some use for it."
And so Otis began to detail to his high priestess exactly what rituals and
ceremonies would be needed. Spode wondered off to create more chaos
smirking to himself over the "Kick Me Please" sign he'd managed to stick on
the back of Otis' robe.
####===================================================================####
MORE QUESTIONS
####===================================================================####
Date: Mon, 21 Oct 91 21:45:29 CDT
From: C552270@UMCVMB.missouri.edu
Subject: Purps
Thanx for getting me in yet another issue of Purps, but I do have one
question: What happened to the Black File? Too controversial, next issue,
or did it just suck? Well, let me know, please.
[Black file? What black file? Why there's no such thing as the black
file.]
Also, if you may recall, I said there would be more on the Tinfoil Experience.
I discovered that the amplitude of my rigged system just wasn't cutting the
mustard when I had yet another 'vision.' This time the Zakanthians didn't even
bother to try to deceive me. I was dreaming about Albert Fish, my personal
hero, when suddenly I just appeared in a stark white chamber. I had been
strapped to a chair, with nothing but a mass of electrodes stuck to me to hide
my nakedness. Four strange beings,(I can't remember what they looked like
they had pit-like eyes and big, smelly mouths) came into the room and started
asking me questions. Whenever I told the truth, I would receive a short, sharp
shock, like sticking my toe in a light socket. I realized that something was
wrong with this, so I lied my head off. Told them Otis was entirely fictional
and that SOG stood for Silly Organic Goodies. I told them that Temple of Otis
was run by a bunch of clapped-out hippies who sold pop-culture health food,
hence Silly Organic Goodies. Eventually I woke up. I guess these Zakanthians,
if that is what they were, aren't very bright. Anyway, I was getting tired of
not getting a decent night's sleep, so I decided to retaliate.
I patched two military-surplus field radios into the Helmet, and waited until
the next night. When I fell asleep and found myself in the white room again,
a post-self-hypnotic command was activated in my brain, and I awoke, alert and
on the go. Quickly I switched on the power to the radios and transmitted 'OTIS' over and over again. Nothing appeared to happen at first, but five minutes
later, sirens were heard approaching campus.
The next day, the papers were full of how there was a mysterious explosion in
an 'abandoned' lab in the Physics Building. Four unidentified people were
injured and taken to University Hospital, to be held for questioning the next
day. Here's the kicker: all four of the 'victims' disappeared the following m
morning, along with the confiscated lab equipment. At 3am that morning, a
large glowing sphere had been sighted above the Hospital by several homeless
people. Finally, for the last four days, I have had no returns of the 'visions' except for one incident involving Elvis and a large cheese (however, I'm
inclined to chalk that up to indigestion.
Cool Runnings....
Doctor Morphius.
####===================================================================####
PAPAL PONDERINGS
####===================================================================####
Papal Ponderings #5: Pope Goephe I of the IGHF, 955 Mass. Ave.,
Suite 209, Cambridge, MA 01239, net address: pji@well.sf.ca.us:
This week, the gripping, exciting, and at times mouth-watering
conclusion to the Official Story of Archbishop Chad's Ascension,
plus: How to "pop" grapes
"The Rum Tum Tiger is a Curious Cat:/ If you offer him
pheasant he would rather have grouse/If you put him in a house he
would much prefer a flat/If you put him in a flat then he'd
rather have a house"-- T.S. Eliot, "Old Possum's Book of
Practical Cats"
"In 1976 Dr. T Healy (Science 93, 477) conjectured that
contraception was playing its role in the spread of venereal
disease in Scandinavia. The incidence of gonorrhea had declined
in Sweden, but not in Denmark. Dr. Healy noted that while the
Swedes have a simple word 'kondom', the Danish equivalent is
'sangerskabsforebyggende middel', and hence the Danes buy fewer
of them"-- William Hartston, "Drunken Goldfish and Other
Irrelevant Scientific Research"
In the late fall of 1,988 (Year of the Carpenter), Mr.
Christopher M. Myott ("If Gund, Inc., made people, they would
make Christopher Myott"), who would be an OTISian (and is
probably an honorary one) were he not so dedicated to more
conventional forms of Neo-paganism (an attitude, no doubt,
developed as a direct result of a long and determined escape form
the Catholicism of his youth), turned to me and offered the
proposition that the Kenyon College campus (on which all of the
action of this little drama has taken so far), high upon a hill
in central Ohio and nearly perpetually surrounded in mist, is, in
fact, really the mythical land of Brigadoon (a la the 1940's
musical 'Finnegan's Rainbow'). Probably everyone on the Kenyon
campus thinks this; there is something about Kenyon which
strongly suggests that it may be a separate reality. The fact
that it sits alone on the only real hill for about 100 square
miles certainly enforces this impression, as does the fact that
the entire campus is done up in collegiate gothic a la Oxford and
Cambridge (a little out of place, to say the least, in America's
midwest). However, there is something less tangible about Kenyon
that makes you feel that it exists in a reality at least slightly
detached from our own. At least I had that feeling as, just a
few short weeks ago, I, accompanied by Dr. Scott Simpson drove
through the gates at up the hill to Kenyon's center, on a
surprise visit to the college that had recently handed me, in
exchange for my $80,000 investment, a piece of paper with latin
words on it, and a purple ribbon. But enough of this mood
setting patter. Back to the snappy dialogue.
"Well," said I, "here we are."
"Indeed," said Dr. Simpson, looking up from a large Arabic
tome (bound in an uncomfortably familiar vellum), which he was in
the process of translating, "we are here."
I looked at my watch, which read 10:59pm, "Who first?"
"Caples, I would think. Seems to be where everyone we know
still is. Roll the window down a crack, would you? Ah! I love
the smell of this place in the fall."
I thought better of mentioning at that moment that they were
still composting behind the biology building, which was slightly
upwind of us. At any rate, something else caught my attention.
"Parking Space!" I maneuvered the car quickly but deftly
into the space available, hopped out and started to get our
things.
"Right," I said picking up the last of them, "off we go!
Scott? Scott?"
"Just digging my, umph, fingernails out of the dashboard.
Nice parking job. You know, I didn't know pedestrians on
crutches could move that fast."
I swallowed my pride. "They just need proper motivation."
"And even a small car like this one was enough. Imagine.
Listen, Jeffe, could I volunteer to drive home, all the way home,
all eight hours, on my own. Please?"
I handed him his bags and trundled off. Several minutes
later and the two of us stood facing the service entrance of
Caples dorm, the highest building in all of greater Knox County,
OH, and, by Kenyon standards, primo housing.
"Inspiring, isn't it?" I suggested, looking up. "So... tall,
so... red, so... imposing, so..."
"Phallic." Dr. Simpson cut me off.
"Phallic. I was getting to that. Think they'll be
surprised to see us?"
"I think," said Dr. Simpson, his trade mark, a jet black
trench coat, which hung down nearly to the top of a set of black
Spanish riding boots, billowing behind him as he strode past,
"that such a reaction could be easily arranged."
"Dr. Simpson!", said a mutual friend in the lobby, "Dr.
Simp-- no way! What the hell are you doing here? Aren't you in
Pittsburgh? Why are you here? Scott! It's so good to see you."
Having tried waving at the mutual friend for the last five
minutes, I abandoned the strategy in favor of making unpleasant
faces in his direction.
"Scott! My god! Hail OTIS! It's so GOOD to see you again.
How have you been? How long are you staying? Where are you
staying? Have you seen Zecchin and Analisa and Wombat yet? Are
you employed. Wow. This is so weird..."
I used my right thumb and index finger to push my upper and
lower lips into a particularly unpleasant position and wagged my
tongue at the Mutual Acquaintance. No response. I tested the
tangibility of my being by rapping my knuckles against the wall.
I _seemed_ to be there.
"Pinch me," I suggested to a random passer-by.
Ow. Not a dream either...
"Well, anyway" the Mutual Acquaintance (named Justin Hill,
by the way, a fact it would be in bad taste to mention) "it's
good to see you, Scott! Are you alone? Oh, well.. I have to go?
Will you be around?"
And he wandered away.
"'Are you alone?'" I wondered as we stepped onto the
elevator and pressed the button for fourth floor.
"Ready?" asked Dr. Simpson, as we stood, poised, outside a
door which read "4C-- Living Quarters and Grub Farm HAIL OTIS!!"
I nodded and he swung the door open.
"Ooops, sorry," he said, poking his head in the door and
staring at the various residents assembled in the common room,
literally all the closest of friends, "wrong room." He closed
the door and we collapsed into silent giggles.
"I LOVE doing that!"
"Did you see their faces?"
"'Wrong room!' Heheheheheheh!"
"Surrealism in the service of the revolution! Hail OT--
ooph."
Something wrapped around my stomach from behind and clamped
hard. Apparently the occupants of 4C had weighed the facts and
decided that, however wildly out of place, we probably weren't a
hallucination.
"JEPHE!"
"Zecchin!" I gasped, "You're breaking my ribs!"
St. Zecchin dragged the two of us into 4C were virtually all
of the cast of the previous episode were assembled. Gee, I bet
you wish you'd read a little more carefully, huh? At any rate,
I'll spare you the details of the encounter (suffice it to say
they we're wowed), save for one.
"Wombat!" I said, so happy to see everyone, "St. James!
Eileen! St. Analisa! Rev. Rhob! Christopher Myott! Cha---
Wait a minute.... Rhob? Christopher? Aren't you supposed to be
in Kansas?"
"We're visiting."
"You don't say."
"I did say."
"He said."
"You know," I said, "this is precisely the type of truth
that I put in my accounts that people don't believe. I mean, the
entire cast conveniently assembled like this, all in suite _4_c.
It's almost as if I planned it, even though I didn't."
"True enough," said Rhob. "It's almost Dickensonian."
"Not really," said Charles Dickens, "My coincidences usually
had to do with relationships."
"Well, if you keep doing that," Dr. Simpson put in, "you
shouldn't wonder that no one believes you."
"Still," I said, "here we all are. Look."
Standing in the room were Chad, Analisa, Eileen, the others
mentioned, and Rhob and Christopher Myott.
"Now they have to believe."
"Why? You could write whatever you want." said Wombat, a
sometimes English major "There's no way for an author of fiction
to establish his or her own credibility within the context of a
closed narrative. Like it or not you rely on the gullibility of
your chosen audience."
We sat in silence for a moment.
"Advance the plot," suggested St. Zecchin, "the story's
bogging down."
"Chad" hissed St. James in my ear, "tomorrow. After dinner.
Archbishophood."
These saints. They never forget.
"Evening, all."
"Evening," said Dr. Simpson.
"Evening, Pope." Said St. James.
"We're taking a survey" said Dr. Simpson, "what color do you
think the carrots are?"
I starred for a moment.
"Puce?" I suggested.
"No, no. The carrots... See? On the left."
"Ah. Still puce."
"'Puce', hm." The doctor wrote it down.
"People."
"Wombat. Hello."
"Space?"
"Oh, plenty. Try that chair. It's one of our finest."
"Thanks."
"A survey" tried the Doctor again. "The color of the carrots
are...?"
"Brown."
"'Brown'. Hm."
"Good evening, all you bushy tailed campers."
"Eileen!"
"Folks."
"Zecchin!"
"Now," I said, all we need is Chad.
"Color of the carrots," Dr. Simpson said to Zecchin.
"Blueish brown."
"What are you doing?" Eileen said looking at the sheet where
Scott was writing everything down, "No, on second thought don't
tell me. I don't even want to know."
"The carrots," said a voice behind me, "are decidedly off
green."
"Chad!"
"Chad!"
"Chad!"
"And how is the Chadster this evening?" asked Zecchin.
"The 'Chadster', huh? I'll ask him if I see him. How are
you, Pope? Enjoying the stay?"
"Ever so. Anything... new in your life?"
"Not really."
"Oh," said Scott quietly, "We'll have to work on that."
"What? What are you all smiling about? ... Pope, you up to
something?"
"Me? Never."
"Scott?"
"Obviously you're uptight Chad," the good doctor responded,
"how about a nice manly game of pool to take your mind off
things?"
"Eileen," said Chad, "Mom. My friends are acting weird. Do
something."
"Go play pool, dear," said Eileen with a condescending pat.
During its lifetime, the Gund commons game room has
witnessed some strange events. My first year, for example, saw
it become host to a lecture by one of the world's most prominent
experts on reincarnation, and it was within its walls that the
remarkable infrequent meetings of the Sacred Earth Alliance
(Kenyon's neo-pagan cabal) were held. Neither of these, however,
could quite compare to the spectacle that unfolded that evening,
as I, dressed in full regalia, and accompanied by Saints Zecchin,
and James, as well as Eileen, and later Wombat (who just wanted
to watch, she'd probably like you to know) strode up to the table
where Chad and Scott were engaged in a heated pool game, grabbed
Chad's cue from him, sat him down, and with a melodramatic
flourish touched him on either shoulder with it and announced in
an impressive voice--
"No, no," said Dr. Simpson. "That's not right at all."
"Excuse me?" I said, my pre-planned speech going right out
of my head.
"Hold it like this," he said, relieving me of the cue, "like
its a sword, see? Now bring it down quickly, trying not to chop
off his ears... See?"
"Ah." I said. "Um, OK. Well... (athem!).... er.... that
is.... (sigh)... um... oh, yeah! (Cough!) St. Chad of Sarcasm,
by the powers conferred upon me by myself as the only Pope of the
Most sacred OTISian faith, and in the presence of these, some of
its most important Saints, I hereby declare you... ARCHBISHOP OF
KENYON COLLEGE AND THE GREATER GAMBIER, OH AREA, entitled to all
the rights and privileges that this rank confers. HAIL OTIS!" I
tapped him on one shoulder "HAIL OTIS!" I tapped him on the
other. "ARISE! Archbishop Chad the.. um... the..."
"Unwilling," suggested St. James.
"Unwilling," said I, smiling at the various spectators that
had assembled, particularly the members of Kenyon Security "Well,
folks. Pick him up and carry him around the room a bit."
"I'm... overwhelmed" said Chad a few minutes later.
"So are we," said St. Zecchin, hoisting the new Archbishop
up a little higher on his shoulders, "You know, Pope, you're not
helping."
"Brow's testicles, no." I said, "I'm in charge."
END: THE OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPT OF THE MAKING OF ARCHBISHOP
CHAD, THE UNWILLING.
NOTES FROM "BILL", A HOUSE SCRIBE.
1. Apparently the Pope lied about the grapes.
####===================================================================####
THE TEETHE
####===================================================================####
From: Jeanne B Schreiter <shark@csd4.csd.uwm.edu>
Subject: The teethe
Date: Mon, 2 Dec 91 11:30:22 CST
I mentioned to oh Mal, that I'm going insane, becoming an atheist and giving
up my life to plummet back into the sea for about three weeks in January,
which upon then I'll lose net access, I figure.
The tide drew closer to the bent up piles of dead rats lying on the shores
of Santa Monica, dredged up by the storms over Afrikan territories on the
eerie isles of Peru. I saw him there, alone in his white purely gold robes,
he heard me walking towards him, in this reawakening dream. He didn't need
an introduction, he had this child in his eyes, I knew he was a Kate Bush
fan at some point. I felt his touch on my skin, lightly fanning over my
dorsal fin, smoothing out the creases that seem to have grown in the past
year, bringing back the youthful glow.
You need your wisdom teeth pulled, Shark.
I know. I'll have them done soon.
That was a few weeks ago, the dawn red sun draping into the cool blue mist
of El Segundo, CA., where the sun sets in animal shaped clouds encircling the
sky just before the rain. Forty days and forty nights of clear blue skies
to see the rain, falling down on my skin, my chin to the sky, taking in the
salt water passions befalling upon me, loving me to life.
They came out quickly, the pull and grind, like a hooker's slow swaying in
the dim light on the Boulevard, offering a quick one for mega money.
Pleasure for pay, no pain no gain baby. The blood soaking the tissues they
give you, the numbing feeling lost in destitute of the bill that needs to be
paid ASAP.
Come with me, Shark, come to Disneyland with me..come and see the oceans
with me, let me take you away to the never neverland where I think you'll
find your true spirits.
Therefore, I have to leave in a little bit. The journey that had begun, is
just starting, the child in her eyes, sparkling blues and white capped
waves, lapping at the shores of CA...her mind in the clouds with Otis.
####===================================================================####
SPODE'S AMAZING WORLD
####===================================================================####
Date: Mon, 2 Dec 1991 22:28 HKT
From: "Spode, God/ess of Chaos!" <LBSPODIC@USTHK.BITNET>
Subject: A few more for you all... :)
_Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 28 November 1991
_Air conned_
Unlike the purse-holders of the new University, some government
departments are extremely careful with their money.
A government servant we know moved from Tsim Sha Tsui to Hongkong-
side five years ago.
His employers worked out his family's allowances extremely
carefully, right down to the cost of air-conditioners.
We found him staring wide-eyed at a letter from the Government
yesterday.
"As your youngest son has turned 21, you owe us $19.38 [US$2.49]
in respect of his air-conditioning," said the letter. "This will be
deducted from your salary."
This is a one-off [one time only -Ed] payment signifying the boy's
portion of the air-conditioner, after five years' depreciation.
How impressive. They are thinking of sending a couple of rivets
and a sliver of metal to the accounting department, with a note saying:
"This was his bit."
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
_Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 28 November 1991
_Alarming clock_
Reggie Bosman of Stanley was all excited about a new clock, made
by Casio and now being imported to Hongkong by Onflo and Javy's.
This is the Casio Melody Fair Beatles Collection Clock. It
magically plays *Yesterday* on your wedding anniversary.
Reggie will gaze romantically into the liquid eyes of Mrs. Bosman,
and sing along:
Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away,
Now it seems as if they're here to stay ... "
Hang on a minute.
"Sing that to her and I really will need a place to hide away,"
said Reggie.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
_Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 24 October 1991
_Cash and carry_
Stock market consultant Barry Livett nipped into another marker
with volatile prices - Wellcome supermarket at the Forum in Exchange
Square.
The cashier was packing his groceries in a bag when she suddenly
realized she had overcharged him.
"I thought she'd just deduct it," said Barry.
But no. She ordered him to choose some more goods to bring the
value up to the correct amount.
"It was rather embarrassing to start shopping again with a queue
of people waiting for me. So I just bought the nearest thing - crisps
from a nearby display," he said.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
_Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 28 November 1991
_Squeeze play_
Marty Jetton, a banker from Happy Valley, asked us a question
yesterday about the MTR [Mass Transit Railway - the subway system -Ed]
Corp's advertisements inside trains. These are the ones with a word
square game. Hidden among the letters are all the things you can get
from travelling around on MTR trains - fashion, wigs and so on. "But why
does it so prominently include the word 'GROPE'?" Marty asked. (End of
the second line from the bottom.) [photo left out] Well, Marty, it's
because it's really hard to get the word "frotteurisation" into a word
square.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
_Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 24 October 1991
_Rubbed Blind_
A contribution to charity please, or we will reveal the name of
the bank products marketing executive from Hongkong who recently had an
interesting time in Manila.
She asked her hotel for a massage, and staff introduced her to a
gentleman wearing sunglasses who they said was a blind masseur. After he
had thoroughly pummelled her body, she told him that her husband, waiting
outside, would pay.
The masseur walked straight to the husband and peered intently at
his wallet as each note was taken out, and then grabbed the loot with
perfect precision.
Remarkable. Must have been blind *and* psychic.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
_Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 4 November 1991
_Read all about it_
Another product for the incredibly dumb consumer is an American
cleaning product called Formula III. The label says, in English:
"To the User: If you cannot read English, do not use this
product until the label has been fully explained to you."
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
_Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 17 August 1991
_Vital Statistics_
Brokers gasped yesterday morning when a new stock exchange flashed
up on their screens.
The "SEX Index" was highly active on a Monday morning, which came
as a surprise to many.
"How is it measured? And how do I buy into it?" an excited broker
asked us.
What was not surprising was that it was based in Bangkok.
Brokers will be disappointed to find that the Sex Index is
unlikely to appear on your screens again today - apparently it was a mis-
print for SET (Stock Exchange of Thailand) Index.
Freud would have nodded sagely.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
_Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 21 November 1991
_Hanky banky_
Citibank in Hongkong is offering a new in-house training scheme
called "SExSkills" (that's the way they write it).
Several staff have already been put through this scheme, we hear,
and it is being repeated this month.
According to _Citipost_, the internal newsletter, SExSkills is "a
newly developed course focusing on handling customers, such as
interpersonal skills and communication techniques. The pilot sessions
'wowed' participants and received a 96 per cent satisfaction rating."
The magazine prints a list of service attributes (impenetrable
jargon to outsiders) and asks staff to circle the three best ones.
The copy sent to us has three attributes circled: Love Evaluation,
Reverse Triangle and Lateral Service.
Two urgent questions spring to mind.
What is going on behind the scenes at Citibank?
Are there any vacancies?
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
_Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 26 September 1991
_Sore Point_
On the bus from Seoul's Kimpo Airport, they have installed a small
box, we heard yesterday from a Kowloon businessman who has just returned
from there.
If the driver speaks rudely to you, you can write a complaint and
stick it in the box.
Unfortunately, not many people like to be seen putting information
into a box labeled:
"Intercourse Discomfort Report Centre."
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Does anyone else get the impression I am becoming fixated?
-Spode
####===================================================================####
READER FEEDBACK
####===================================================================####
Date: 5 Dec 91 17:41:00 EST
From: "JAMES H CARROTT" <CARROTT@vax001.kenyon.edu>
Subject: the false and EXTRAORDINARILY heretical account of The Vic...
obviously, in a blatant attempt to corrupt the minds of healthy and
brainwashed OTISians everywhere, the utterly slanderous attack of the Evil
Vic-Woman is a pimple upon the buttocks of the great yak of OTIS.
the Evil One admitted her heresy by openly claiming that she had cavorted
with CHRISTIANS (of all people!) at a CAMP (a well known meeting site for
heretics of all sorts... especially those who advocate a non-yak tossing
dogma!)
also... as to her FALSE claims of presence at the determination of the
ordination of his eminence...
SHE LIES!!!!
at the time, she was most likely cloistered in the LIBRARY doing such
subversive anti-OTISian activities as STUDYING and WORK!!!!
Saint Zeck's beret is a spiritual presence, which does not need to be given
by other silly saints,
and everyone knows that the Archbishop is single! as are most who avail
themselves of the service of a pimp!!!!!
Saint James of Nothing Yet, Deacon of Cluelessness, PIMP(!!!!!) and translator
to the Archbishop (duly accredited and appointed by the same!)
####===================================================================####
YES FOLKS, IT'S THAT TIME AGAIN
####===================================================================####
It's the holiday season. A time for giving. Have you given? Still have a
few dollars left over after buy all that good stuff for all those people
you are giving gifts to? Well, I'll bet you forgot to include one item on
that Christmas shopping list. Did you remember to include your Holiday
Donation for the Intergalactic House of Fruit Cakes? Quick act now before
you forget. Surely you have a few extra Christmas Cards lying around. Just
pop one out and write on the inside: "HAIL OTIS. Here's my donation of:
_______" and slip your contribution inside the card and send it off.
Remember if it's going to be a Holiday Donation, it has to be there before
the 25th. It would help it if there there a few days before as well, so
that it can be spent in time.
####===================================================================####
THEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHE
===========================================================================
--Subink 1991
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