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The Purple Thunderbolt of spode Volume 4 Issue 59
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SBI-Submarine Pens Proudly Presents:
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THE PURPLE THUNDERBOLT OF SPODE VOL 4, 59
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"Three years 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
Pope Jephe: jstevens@world.std.com
Doc Simpson: scott@plearn.bitnet
Editor: mal@sit.sop.fau.edu
Subscriptions: HailOtis@socpsy.sci.fau.edu
Back issues ftp from quartz.rutgers.edu in /pub/journals/purps
HOW TO SUBSCRIBE: send a mail message to the HailOtis address saying
subscribe me and you will be subscribed. It's easy and painless and it's
next to impossible to goof up.
####===================================================================####
INTRO
####===================================================================####
I suppose I should slap an intro onto this and welcome all our new
subscribers. I'm sort of happy with this issue seeing as it contains
perhaps 50% original material rather than mostly stuff that got dredged up
from somewhere or another.
This issue include a few treats including the introduction of the Daughters
of Creiza and the High Priestess of Brow.
I don't know what to say here. I'm a bit tapped out seeing as I just did
the entire intro to another installment of the Messenger of the Gods (I
suppose you could consider that a treat if you were so inclined.)
Anyway, thanks for all the submissions. Please keep them up. Submissions
are what Purps is about. We need participation to make Purps work. The more
contributors we have the more life Purps has and the more pleased Otis is.
Also with participants we tend to generate a lot more material and divine
wisdom. It's easy to participate. Write a letter and complain about how
dreadful the Messenger of the Gods is for example. Or how Purps needs a new
editor who will get things done on time. Write about flushing fruit salad
down the toilet. Guess the Pope's weight! Anything! This is what Purps
needs!
####===================================================================####
Coping with Aliens
####===================================================================####
From: steersdd@msuvx1.memphis.edu
Subject: Alien Support Group
Date: 19 Mar 94 09:49:36 -0500
Los Angeles hypnotherapist Yvonne Smith said in May 1993 that more
than 30 have joined her support group of those who say they have been
abducted by aliens. The group meets at Smith's home once a month to
discuss their problems in coping, for example, with memories of aliens'
sexual assaults, with aliens' planting of tracking devices inside
abductees' bodies, and with abductees' methods of distinguishing between
alien abductions and abductions engineered by the CIA. Said Smith,
"Because [alien abduction] is controversial, there's still a certain
stigma attached to it."
####===================================================================####
BROW'S FEMINIST CALL TO ARMS
####===================================================================####
Date: Tue, 22 Mar 1994 14:21:14 -0400 (EDT)
From: JAP@LASPAU.mhs.harvard.edu
Subject: for Purps
BROW'S FEMINIST CALL TO ARMS
I was watching the Oscars last night, and a Revlon ad came on, which
claimed that they made revolutionary makeup. How did they back up their
claims? Well, here's how:
"what is revolutionary? Spending a day without makeup...just
kidding, Revlon!"
"knowing the sexiest thing you can wear is your wedding ring"
(said by Cathy Lee Gifford - if they could see her now)
"loving like a woman and laughing like a little girl".
At that very moment, I was seized with the urge to smash my television
set, which we all know is a favored activity of Brow, especially on
Smashmas. Therefore, I correctly interpreted my urge as being divinely
channeled to me by Brow.
Brow hates Revlon! Brow urges you not to boycott Revlon, but rather to
purchase large quantities of Revlon products and SMASH THEM! If you like,
you can feel free to send the pieces back to Revlon as a religious
statement.
Brow's feminist call to arms shall not be ignored!
Hail Brow!
Siubhan
####===================================================================####
Recycling Info
####===================================================================####
From: steersdd@msuvx1.memphis.edu
Subject: Important Recycling Information
Date: 19 Mar 94 10:04:03 -0500
Juan Cordova and Jose Guzman were arrested in Lima, Peru, for
fraud in 1989. They had allegedly gathered used condoms from a lover's
lane beach, then washed and resold them as new.
####===================================================================####
Kludge
####===================================================================####
From: thf2@kimbark.uchicago.edu (Ted Frank)
Subject: Kludge/Kluge
Date: Mon, 14 Mar 1994 18:59:13 GMT
While we're on these vowels,
kludge (klu:d3). slang (orig. U.S.). Also kluge. [J. W. Granholm's
jocular invention: see first quot.; cf. also BODGE v., FUDGE v.] `An
ill-assorted collection of poorly-matching parts, forming a distressing
whole' (Granholm); esp. in Computing, a machine, system, or program that
has been improvised or `bodged' together; a hastily improvised and poorly
thought-out solution to a fault or `bug'.
The vowel shown here is the one in "food".
I'm extremely irritated that they have canonicalized this pronunciation,
and do not offer (kl/\d3) even as a disparaged alternative. Yes, I know
that (klu:d3) is promoted as the One True Way by those who have some claim
to be in the know, and I have even learned to say it that way, but it
makes me feel like an Eliza Doolittle hiding the fact that deep inside I
still hear it as (kl/\d3). Those who encountered the "kluge" spelling
before "kludge" probably have an advantage here.
I first encountered it as "kluge" in the following, almost certainly
untrue, story, where the "u" is the vowel found in "food":
Smith was drafted into the Navy in World War II. At some point in the
process, he was asked what his specialty was, and responded "Kluge maker."
Now, no one wanted to admit that they were such a bumpkin that they didn't
know what a kluge maker was, so they invariably wrote the description into
his papers and sent him along his way, and to the bureaucracy his
classification was kluge maker, and was never assigned to any work.
It so happens an admiral was visiting our hero's ship on inspection one
day, and expressed curiosity why Smith wasn't doing any work. The ship's
captain explained, "He's a kluge maker, sir." The admiral didn't know
what a kluge maker was, and wasn't about to admit it, but he would have
none of that. "So why isn't this man making kluges? Give him what he
needs!" And Smith shrugged his shoulders, commandeered one of the
workrooms, and set off on requisition orders for all sorts of variegated
parts. Wires, nuts, bolts, scrap metal, all with no rhyme or reason, were
sent to the workroom, from which frightful hammering and welding noises
could be heard.
The admiral came back onto the ship a few months later, and wanted to see
the kluges in action. Smith was called onto the deck, and there he was,
toting a strange contraption, vaguely ball-shaped, but with wires, nuts,
bolts, scrap metal, all pasted together with no rhyme or reason and
sticking out willy-nilly helter skelter all over the place. The military
brass on hand was taken aback, but again, no one wanted to admit they
didn't know what a kluge was. "So, let's see this thing work," the
admiral commanded.
Smith promptly stepped to the side of the ship and dropped the thingamabob
overboard.
"KLUGE!!!!!!!" it went as it hit the ocean below and sank.
####===================================================================####
Jessica Rabbit
####===================================================================####
[While Disney's frozen away his staff will play...]
From: deca@nyfx63.NoSubdomain.NoDomain (Gerard Decatrel)
Subject: Jessica Rabbit
Date: Tue, 15 Mar 1994 19:05:33 GMT
Paraphrased from todays news (via 92.3 FM KSJO):
The Disney folks are trying to figure out who tampered with the newly
release laser disk of "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" The released version,
some which have been sold (though no exact number was given), contains
several "tampered" frames, including several containing full frontal
nudity of Jessica Rabbit and others containing graffiti that shows the
home phone number of Disney's owner. While not visible when viewed at
normal speed, they are clearly visible when freeze-framed, something laser
disk does much better than tape.
####===================================================================####
Suspicious Bulge
####===================================================================####
From: steersdd@msuvx1.memphis.edu
Subject: Hiding Guns
Date: 19 Mar 94 09:46:50 -0500
Drug-possession defendant Christopher Plovie, on trial in March
1990 in Pontiac, Michigan, claimed that he had been searched without a
warrant. The prosecutor said the officer didn't need a warrant because a
"bulge" in Plovie's jacket could have been a gun. Nonsense, said Plovie,
who happened to be wearing the same jacket that day. He handed it over so
that the judge could see that its material did not make bulges. The judge
discovered a packet of cocaine in a pocket. (The judge laughed so hard
that he required a five-minute recess to compose himself.)
####===================================================================####
Irony du Jour
####===================================================================####
Date: Wed, 23 Mar 1994 10:13:21 -0700
From: iverson@crl.nmsu.edu (Eric Iverson)
Subject: Irony du Jour
Date: Tue, 22 Mar 1994 17:50:05 -0500
From: Steve Strassmann <straz@cambridge.apple.com>
Subject: maybe he should have tried seals
From: rob@inet.research.att.com
Date: Tue, 22 Mar 94 15:25:41 EST
Youth Elixir Promoter Dies At Age 50<
LONDON (AP) - Peter Stephan, founder of a private clinic which
prescribed lamb placenta as an elixir of youth, has died after a
heart attack. He was 50.
Stephan died Sunday at his home, said his friend David Block.
A homeopathist, Stephan injected lamb placenta into patients on
the theory that it would replace dying cells. He sold beauty
products and wrote books promoting lamb placenta.
The Daily Telegraph newspaper said Stephan's Omnigen
suppositories, marketed as a ``treatment to improve the quality of
your life,'' were dismissed by a General Medical Council member as
``a load of old rhubarb.''
####===================================================================####
Phantosmia
####===================================================================####
From: steersdd@msuvx1.memphis.edu
Subject: Excuse to Not Study
Date: 19 Mar 94 10:11:43 -0500
A physician at John Hopkins medical school reported in April 1992
that a 21-year-old college student suffers from a condition ("phantosmia")
that causes her to emit a foul odor so overpowering that she cannot eat or
engage in ordinary school activities because she cannot concentrate.
####===================================================================####
Those Wacky English are at it Again
####===================================================================####
[Remember dear readers how in a previous issue was had amazing sex
students of the english. Well here's another one...]
From: ewan@kirk.demon.co.uk (Ewan Kirk)
Subject: Bestial Sex True Story
Date: Wed, 16 Mar 1994 10:08:35 +0000
If anybody had told me this, I would have been **convinced** it was
an urban legend. However, from Reuters today (16Mar94 Page YJCU)
Wedding Guests See Bestiality Video By Mistake
London (Reuter)
A British Man was found guilty on Tuesday of having sex with a
dog after a video he made of the act was inadvertently shown
to speechless wedding guests expecting to see a reply of a
marriage ceremony.
The 59-year-old lent his video recorder to a friend to film the
wedding, but forgot to erase from the tape scenes of himself
in sex acts with a neighbour's bull terrier named Ronnie.
The man said the 10-minute film shown to the jury had been
an attempt at trick photography and featured only simulated
sex acts. He will be sentenced after psychiatric and other
reports have been made available.
(ENDS)
####===================================================================####
Exactly what was this fellow being initiated into?
####===================================================================####
From: steersdd@msuvx1.memphis.edu
Subject: Why Cement????
Date: 19 Mar 94 10:06:25 -0500
A report in a 1989 issue of *The American Journal of Forensic
Medicine and Pathology* describes a case of surgery performed on a
20-year-old man who walked into an emergency room after his lover had
administered an enema containing concrete mix. The surgeons marveled
after removing the concrete cast of the inside of the rectum - perfect,
they wrote, except for chipping at one end, which, when further probed,
revealed a white plastic ping-pong ball. The surgeons speculated that the
ping-pong ball was used to retain the enema but did not speculate on why
the men thought it would be a good idea to use cement.
####===================================================================####
The Thrills of Big Business
####===================================================================####
From: rudolph@cis.umassd.edu (Lee Rudolph)
Subject: Re: Football players getting off
Date: Sat, 19 Mar 1994 11:30:52 GMT
juanm@clark.net (Juan Molinari) writes:
> I've heard it mentioned that football players (in high school,
>specifically) sometimes get erections and even have orgasms while engaged
>in a game. If this is true, then my theory is that the physical exertion
>combined with the obvious fondling and frotaging that goes on in football
>is the cause of this. Then again, I've never played football.
Dr. Joyce Brothers asserted in a column of hers that I read about 15 years
ago that hugely successful business men sometimes have orgasms when they
close great big business deals.
####===================================================================####
False Advertising
####===================================================================####
From: steersdd@msuvx1.memphis.edu
Subject: False Advertising
Date: 22 Mar 94 18:33:21 -0500
The Memphis (Tenn.) Zoo, in the fall of 1993 kicked off "Dinosaurs
Live!" an exhibit of computerized, mechanical replicas of the creatures
that became extinct 65 million years ago. As of early September,
according to zoo official Ann Ball, six people had asked for refunds of
the $2.50 admission price upon learning that the exhibit did not feature
real dinosaurs.
####===================================================================####
The Daughters of Creiza most happily announce
####===================================================================####
From: LindaHedges <LindaH@ssecmail.ssec.wisc.edu>
Date: Fri, 25 Mar 94 15:01:00 CST
To The One and Only Pope Jephe I, Designated Head of the OTISIAN Faith,
Pointifex Maximus, Titled Glorificus, and Chief Legal Council for OTIS
(The Ancient Sumerian god/dess of Life), et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
Hail OTIS! Hail Creiza!
Sororal greeting from the Daughters of Creiza.
The Daughters of Creiza most happily announce that preparations for our
annual celebration of the anniversary of the recognition of the Patent
Office of the United States of America of the invention of the "pencil
with attached eraser" are proceeding on schedule. On March 30th, 1858,
Hymen L. Lipman's name when down in history as the inventor of this
marvelous device. Proofreaders and editors around the world still use his
writing/erasing instrument. (Well, they don't all actually use his own
personal pencil, but one very similar to it in design and that's close
enough for us.) We honor him each year on March 30th by writing his name
and erasing it as many times as we have pencils with attached erasers to
so do.
Any follower of OTIS is welcomed to join with us in this celebration. The
ritual writing and erasing may be done in groups or in the privacy of your
own ceremonial space. Follow when your pencil leads.
I sign myself,
Creiza-Waterloo
Standard disclaimer: The Daughters of Creiza are incapable of committing
any typos or grammatical errors. We may choose, however, to randomly
create educational opportunities for others to practice their proofreading
skills.
Document C-W/04
####===================================================================####
Free Elvis Detector
####===================================================================####
From: mookie@physics.ubc.ca (Jeffrey Matthews)
Subject: Free Evlis Detector
Date: 3 Mar 1994 00:17:25 GMT
Hey kids! Get a free elvis detector for Windows. It sits in the background
and detects the presence of Elvis or his spirit in the vicinity. It's
available at:
ftp.cica.indiana.edu in the pub/pc/win3/misc directory under the filename
elvisd10.zip.
So far it's gone off a few times on my computer, but it trns out it was
because Harum Scarum was on the tube that night....
####===================================================================####
Will John Bobbitt never learn?
####===================================================================####
Sender: "T.S. Davies" <tsdavies@mailbox.syr.edu>
Subject: [rec.humor.funny] Will John Bobbitt never learn?
Date: Wed, 2 Mar 94 12:20:03 EST
Subject: Will John Bobbitt never learn?
From: rsholmes@mailbox.syr.edu (Rich Holmes)
True item, quoted from a story in today's Syracuse Post-Standard about a
visit from John Wayne Bobbitt:
"He held up a picture of his new girlfriend, Kristina, for the
television cameras. They met two weeks ago in an airport, he said.
"'She's my ideal dream girl, the kind I explained to my wife I'd like
to meet, and I finally met her,' he said.
"She's a figure skater, he said."
####===================================================================####
Weirdness up
####===================================================================####
Date: Sat, 12 Mar 1994 14:11:37 -0700
From: iverson@crl.nmsu.edu (Eric Iverson)
Subject: Weirdness up 7 points in heavy trading
Subject: Weirdness up 7 points in heavy trading
Date: Tue, 08 Mar 94 12:08:47 -0500
From: Michael Travers <mt@media.mit.edu>
From: dm@hri.com
In addition to centerpiecing a story on how Toad Sucking is being
replaced by Toad Smoking, today's _Wall St. Journal_ prints the
following article:
Statistics confirm it: the world is getting weirder and
weirder
By Dana Milbank
LONDON --- These are weird times. In fact, the times are a
full 3.5% weirder than they were just a year ago.
That, at least, is the conclusion of the Fortean Times, a
London-based magazine dedicated to the study of all things
bizarre. The February/March issue of the small journal
compares thousands of zany happenings in 1992 and 1993 and
declares, somewhat arbitrarily, that the overall strangeness
index had risen to 3520 from 3400. Among the curiousities of
1993:
- A trash bin belonging to the London burough of Lewisham was
found beside the Sea of Galilee.
- Sixty lambs in Germany were attacked and killed by hundreds
of crows.
- Swedish doctors cured a deaf man by removing a 47-year-old
bus ticket from his ear.
The Fortean Times Index (not to be confused with the Financial
Times Index, which has been heading the other way) has 34
components. Leading the index upward was the Strange Behavior
component, which includes people who throw birds into cars
waiting at stoplights and the robber who taped two cucumbers
together and pretended he had a sawed-off shotgun.
The Hoaxes and Panics category got a boost from the Chinese
city where people were convinced that a giant deranged robot
from America was killing and sucking the blood of people who
wore red. ``People are more and more erratic,'' says Robert
JM Rickard, the editor. ``There are just such stupid extremes
of behavior.''
The _Journal_ goes on to quote equity an analyst who suggests people
*not* take their investment advice from the Fortean Times, and who
thinks the Index is arbitrary. Perhaps there should be a ``Unesco
definition of weirdness'', he suggests.
Sightings of the Virgin Mary and of highway ghosts are up this year.
####===================================================================####
Face-to-face with the Love of Otis
####===================================================================####
Date: Mon, 14 Mar 1994 15:18:46 -0400 (EDT)
From: JAP@LASPAU.mhs.harvard.edu
I first experienced the divine powers of Otis my first year in college,
only I didn't realize it yet. It took seven years and St. Fawn, the
Patron Saint of Frugality to lead me to Purps and open my eyes.
At the tender age of 16, my parents put me in a small package and sent me
off to Wellesley College to begin my education (and to get me out of the
house). I arrived a young, dewy-eyed virgin, but soon after met
face-to-face with the love of Otis. I and several other young, dewy-eyed
virgins climbed into the trusty old- fashioned Otis elevator (complete
with an inner gate) in my dorm one day and discovered the light switch.
Suddenly, we knew what Otis wanted us to do. We switched off the light,
and rode up and down in the elevator moaning and screaming for a good ten
minutes. We entered the elevator as innocent girls, but when we exited, we
were women.
We quickly initiated other young, dewy-eyed virgins to the tender love of
"good old Otis" (as we called him). We took these trips often, as we had
become quite fond of his erotic powers. He preferred us in groups, but
would go one-on-one with us if we needed him. He was always there for us,
but was good enough to share with anyone who was worthy of his love. We
guarded him jealously from the men who would try to turn us from his love.
I'm sure that they were just insecure that they couldn't compete. Alas, I
moved away the next year to a dorm with a new-fangled elevator that made
your stomach lurch upon acceleration and as it stopped, and I never
visited "good old Otis" again. When I eventually moved back to my first
year dorm, Otis had been replaced by a disappointingly new elevator, and
so I mourned. There was a lovely old Otis elevator in the science center,
but it was too well lit and public for me to feel comfortable expressing
my kindled lust.
Now I realize that I was blessed by the love of Otis when I needed him
most. If only I had realized then that I had been touched by the divine,
I might have visited more often. I will carry the memory of that special
year with me always.
-Siubhan
####===================================================================####
Elvis Food
####===================================================================####
From: branney@aol.com (Branney)
Subject: Elvis Food
Date: 14 Mar 1994 00:39:02 -0500
I recently heard that the King was fond of eating something called Fool's
Gold Loaf. It consisted of a loaf of french bread which is then hollowed
out. The loaf is then filled with peanut butter and a pound of burned
bacon. It is then eaten and washed down with a six pack of lite beer.
I'm curious if any others have tales of the culinary creations that made
Elvis the man he was...
####===================================================================####
Answers to your questions ...
####===================================================================####
From: LindaHedges <LindaH@ssecmail.ssec.wisc.edu>
Subject: Answers to your questions ...
Date: Thu, 17 Mar 94 13:02:00 CST
Hail OTIS! Hail Creiza!
Sororal Greeting, Oh Sincere 1/3 of Creiza, Benefactor of Evil, Leaper of
Frogs, and Lighter of Fires.
After an exhaustive search of the Holy Standards of Creiza I can report
that the answer to your first question (In what century did writers of the
English language begin constructing sentences where an adverb might be
placed between the word "to" and the infinitive which would normally
follow it directly?) is still among the missing parchments.
The answer to your second question is: You. You obviously care or you
would not have asked the question.
Rest assured that we will continue the search, not only for the answer,
but for the missing scrolls as well. In the future, please be sensitive
to the difficulties that arise in answering pop quizzes when the answers
depend on examining documents of which for centuries the Daughters of
Creiza have been so carefully to publicly deny possession. You, of all
beings, realize the importance of their secrecy until all the missing bits
are assembled to reveal the whole caboodle.
I attach a copy of a statement I am preparing to send to Pope Jeffe in
hopes that this will successfully continue the myth of the non-existence
of the Holy Standards of Creiza.
I sign myself,
Creiza-Waterloo
Standard disclaimer: The Daughters of Creiza are incapable of committing
any typos or grammatical errors. We may choose, however, to randomly
create educational opportunities for others to practice their proofreading
skills.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
To Pope Jeffff, of the Infinite Spellings.
Hail OTIS! Hail Creiza!
In keeping with the doctrine of Creiza, the Daughters of Creiza gather to
set the record straight.
Contrary to popular belief and notwithstanding recent rumors spread by
Pope Jephe I, the Daughters of Creiza do not have, nor have they ever had
since the flooding of the library on Atlantis and the burning of various
libraries thereafter, the precious and most revered Holy Standards of
Creiza. As Head of the Daughters of Creiza charged with protecting and
following the principles detailed in those scrolls, I, Creiza-Waterloo,
proclaim that the search for these valuable documents, whether in scroll
or clay tablet form, will continue. As scrolls or shards are found and
entrusted once more to the Daughters of Creiza, their existence will also
be denied.
Standard disclaimer: The Daughters of Creiza are incapable of committing
any typos or grammatical errors. We may choose, however, to randomly
create educational opportunities for others to practice their proofreading
skills.
Document C-W/02
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Subject: Welcome, cheif of 1/3 my daughters
From: reid.carlberg@mwbbs.com (Reid Carlberg)
Date: Mon, 7 Mar 94 17:33:00 -0500
-------------
Hello,
This is to officially welcome you to the pantheon and general list of
important dieties.
Since you will be in charge of editing and what not (without reference to
the dreadful misspelling in the subject line of this note), I have a
question for you: In what century did writers of the English language
begin constructing sentences where an adverb might be placed between the
word "to" and the infinitive which would normally follow it directly?
Furthermore, who cares?
Sincerely,
1/3 of Creiza,
Benefactor of Evil,
Leaper of Frogs,
Lighter of Fires
####===================================================================####
Yak Greetings
####===================================================================####
From: LindaHedges <LindaH@ssecmail.ssec.wisc.edu>
Subject: Yak greetings
Date: Fri, 18 Mar 94 16:32:00 CST
Hail OTIS! Hail Creiza!
Sororal greeting to Pope Jeff and all assembled.
My sincerest apologies for not being with you for the full fledged
celebration of Yak Appreciation Day, the Great and Traditional OTISian
holiday celebrating the Most Sacred of the OTISian Beasts. As I can not
be there in body, please believe I am there in spirit. The Daughters of
Creiza and I who reside in Madison, Wisconsin will celebrate here as best
we can. After finding a yak we will persuade it to walk over an ink pad
and then follow it throughout the city trying to decipher in it's tracks
any messages that might lead us to the mysteriously missing Holy Standards
of Creiza.
Hail OTIS! Hail LOTUS! Hail RHOTOS! Hail SPODE!
I sign myself,
Creiza-Waterloo
Standard disclaimer: The Daughters of Creiza are incapable of committing
any typos or grammatical errors. We may choose, however, to randomly
create educational opportunities for others to practice their proofreading
skills.
Document C-W/03
####===================================================================####
Stuck here in Gambier
####===================================================================####
Sender: "WHEN I BLOW, OUT COME SPIDERS, WHERE I STEP A WEED DIES"
Subject: RE: Yak Day Celebration in Cambridge!
Well, seeing as we are all sort of stuck here in Gambier, College of
popes, saints and apostles, we can't exactly be there. However, As Knight
Protector of the Faith, I will do my damdest to arrange a paralell
celebration herein. Also, we have visitors coming...
"Yeah, and behold, it was as such that the Patron Saint of
Automotive Repairs, and trouble, Ohio Chapter, Drew Dailinger, had set out
to journey upon a quest unto the patron College of Kenyon, in hopes of
finding a miracle. It was his forlorn hope that said miracle would include
his safe arrival and return to his newest home, Umass at the Towne of
Amherst. The most loyal of followers however did chuckle at his hopes.
For it was that a year and a half had passed since his last
appearance in this damp state, and the prophet had prophesied that he
would again have trouble."
And thus I give you the news of gambier.
####===================================================================####
Thou Shalt Not
####===================================================================####
Sender: furlong@cuavax.dnet.cua.edu (will play with power tools for food)
Subject: Thou shalt not
>From a Guide to Mormon Youth
"Guide to Self-Control: Overcoming Masturbation."
:: ENLIST THE POWER OF PRAYER!
Pray daily, ask for the gifts of the Spirit, that which will strengthen
you against temptation.
Pray fervently and out loud when the temptations are the strongest.
When the temptation to masturbate is strong, yell "Stop!" to those
thoughts as loudly as you can in your mind. Then recite a portion of the
Bible or sing a hymn.
:: EXERCISE VIGOROUSLY!
Follow a program of vigorous daily exercise, which reduce emotional
tension and depression.
Double your physical activity when you feel stress increasing.
:: SET GOALS!
Set a goal of abstinence. Begin with a day, then a week, month, year.
Finally, commit yourself to never doing it again.
Make a pocket calendar for a month on a small card. Carry it with you
but show it to no one.
If you masturbate, color that day black. Your goal will be to have no
black days.
The calendar becomes a strong visual reminder, and should be looked at
when you are tempted to add another black day.
Keep your calendar up until you have at least three clear months.
Set up a reward system. Each time you reach a goal, award yourself a
quarter. Spend it on something that delights you.
:: WORK ON SELF-IMPROVEMENT!
Work daily on a self-improvement program. Improve your relationships with
your family. Increase your service to your church.
Be outgoing and friendly. Force yourself to be with others and learn to
enjoy working and talking with them.
Change in behavior and attitude is most easily achieved through a changed
self-image.
Spend time every day imagining yourself strong and in control, easily
overcoming tempting situations.
:: AVOID TEMPTATION!
When on the toilet or showering, leave the door partly open.
Arise immediately in the mornings. Don't lie awake in bed -- start each
day with enthusiastic activity.
Avoid people, situations, pictures and reading material that might create
sexual excitement.
:: USE PHYSICAL RESTRAINTS!
Wear pajamas that are difficult to open, yet loose and not binding.
Put on several layers of clothing that would be difficult to remove while
half asleep.
Hold an object -- for example, a Bible -- even in bed at night.
In severe cases, tie a hand to the bed frame.
:: BE ALERT TO EMOTIONS!
Be aware of situations that depress you or that cause you to feel lonely,
bored, frustrated or discouraged. These emotional states can trigger the
desire to masturbate as a way of escape.
Plan to counter these low periods through reading a book, visiting a
friend, doing something athletic, etc.
Employ aversion therapy. To cancel out the pleasurableness of
masturbating , associate something very distasteful with the act. For
example, imagine bathing in a tub of worms and eating some of them.
####===================================================================####
Conspiracy Unveiled
####===================================================================####
Sender: GARBETT@UTKVX.UTCC.UTK.EDU
Subject: CONSPIRACY UNVEILED
I'm on to one of the greatest conspiracies of our time. Yesterday I was
talking with some of the people in my office when one of them said "Well
things couldn't get worse." I quickly replied "Knock on wood." Then I
tried to find some--everything was VENEER and FORMICA. There was no WOOD
to be found. MINIONS of the OTHER ONE have been slaving to remove all WOOD
from our presence in an attempt to DESTROY the great works of OTIS. It's
so obvious and we've been overlooking this basic FACT. They've been doing
this under our VARIOUS noses. BAD luck will multiply and chaotically rage
through the cosmos without enough WOOD.
People are starting to ask me why I'm piling up LOGS in my office,
I just smile and tell them to go ask OTIS.
Cyber Garp Clone #314
####===================================================================####
Nirvana: the Partridge Family of 1994?
####===================================================================####
Sender: dm745@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Rodney E. Griffith)
Subject: Nirvana: the Partridge Family of 1994?
Comparisons between The Partridge Family and Nirvana:
THE PARTRIDGE FAMILY:
Had a string of catchy, yet commercially-contrived hit records
NIRVANA:
Wait. That was the Nirvana description.
THE PARTRIDGE FAMILY:
Danny Bonaduce arrested for altercation with transvestite prostitute
NIRVANA:
Kurdt Cobain married to Courtney Love
THE PARTRIDGE FAMILY:
Wore tacky plaid clothing and bellbottoms
NIRVANA:
Wear flannel shirts and bellbottoms
THE PARTRIDGE FAMILY:
Recordings largely the work of studio musicians
NIRVANA:
Recordings largely the work of CIA conspiracy
THE PARTRIDGE FAMILY:
Presented squeaky clean "just say no" image
NIRVANA:
Kurdt Cobain developed NyQuil and Heroin highball as flu cure
THE PARTRIDGE FAMILY:
David Cassidy posed nude for _Rolling Stone_
NIRVANA:
Firebombed Canadian adult bookstore
THE PARTRIDGE FAMILY:
Laurie Partidge prone to make sarcastic remarks at Keith's expense
NIRVANA:
Prone to stage catfights with Axl Rose
THE PARTRIDGE FAMILY:
Used dated 1970s pop-art graphics on record sleeves
NIRVANA:
Use dated 1970s pop-art graphics on record sleeves
THE PARTRIDGE FAMILY:
Epitomy of bad hairstyling
NIRVANA:
Part of "grunge" scene
THE PARTRIDGE FAMILY:
Based on the Cowsills
NIRVANA:
Based on a million forgotten late 1970s bands
--Rodney
####===================================================================####
Messenger of the Gods Part What Ever
####===================================================================####
[With someone more or less holding a gun to my head I managed to whack out
another installment of the dread Messenger of the Gods. In the below
paragraphs I try to bring the readers up to date. If you want to know what
really happened (as opposed to my perhaps exaggerated or mis-remembered
summary) look though previous issues of Purps it's all there. Or wait for
the coming of the Great Otisian Book! (then again maybe this won't be in
there seeing as it's not done and didn't meet the dead lines and is sort
of drifting like a airplane with a weasel at the controls.)]
{As our readers may recall from previous episodes,(though we probably have
30 or 40 new subscribers since this torrid tale graced these pages.), the
narrator having received a divine vision over a t.v. set was ordered
(Okay asked nicely with dire threats implied if the geas was not carried
out.) to deliver a mysterious valentine of Eris to the Great God Otis.
(Otis of course being a great goddess and wanted to play along and knowing
full well that if he tried to simply pluck the valentine from the hands of
the messenger it would be destroyed by the sender sits back and watches only
occasionally intervening. [This previous sentence was inserted to allay any
arguments presents by scoffers of Otis who claim that if he really were
divine she'd simply take the valentine and have done rather than sit back
in her morris chair and watch as our narrator gyrates in a most brownian
manner though a byzantine plot which most of our readers have forgotten
this point. Of course the normal Otisian scoffer--that is one who
disbelieves in the divineness of the great Sumeria Goddess Otis-- would
probably not read as far figuring that this paragraph was a lot of clap
trap designed to bamboozle the average joe or cynthia on the street rather
than a lucid explanation of the events as they unfolded in the narrative.]
Okay so our narrator one evening receives a divine valentine that he must
deliver. This valentine occasionally manifests extremely nifty powers
though most of the time rests securely in the pocket of our narrator.
Our narrator realized he's got to get his hinder in gear rushes home to
muster the forces at his command to make the journey north to the Great Hay
Stack Monument. [Of course our narrator did not know where to journey at
first seeing as Eris in her infinitely chaotic scatter brained wisdom
decided not to tell him.]
On his mad rush home the radio in his car acts up and spews forth into his
gray matter all manner of weird radiation and ideas. Also when our
narrator returns to his abode his is harassed continuously by strange
voices on the phone. [All this is important to the story believe it or not
because these spewing may help the reader to explain the strange
statements about aluminium siding which follow.]
The narrator summons the King of Rock and Roll to his aid. The King
having never really died and being snatched by the the Space friends [go
read Tom Swift for that dear readers.] ends up being in charge of a
tremendously invisible navy situated 10,000 leagues below the surface of the
ocean in the waters of the Bermuda Triangle.
The King arrives in his flag ship vessel, an old atomic submarine that
had gone missing at one point. On this vessel besides some other
characters to be introduces in a moment is a weird alien artifact only
Elvis knows how to operate. It was given to him by the space friends, who
always operating on a very low budge hoped the strange off world
contraption might some how turn the tables on the great battle Elvis would
eventually face with he slugs it out toe to toe with the
Anti-Christ, who
even now musters his forces all over the planet. The man in the blue
turban is alive and well. He might even be eating dinner as you read this.
Who knows what time zone he's in. Why Russian alone has 11 of them.
The artifact among other things seems to be able to warp space and time
chopping hoes in the dimensions like a croquette mallet though whipped
cream. A by product of this are great gouts of tornado green fog. This
device is probably extremely dangerous and one slip of the controls could
plunge the earth into the center of the sun. Still on as tight a budge as
the poor space friends have to operate with they have to make due.
Aboard the submarine, besides the King of Rock and Roll himself, who by
the way looks like the young Elvis only his eyes appear very old. Only he
knows all that those eyes have seen. Strange things have happened to him
since his death. Living 10,000 leagues under the sea plays tricks on the
mind. Going door to door begging for money for his invisible navy also has
taken its toll. Perhaps any other mortal would be dead. Not Elvis.
Strange powers protect him. Perhaps it's his ectoplasmic twin brother
Jesse.
Oh I got lost there. Okay, besides the big E. is a Man in Black. Yes the
dreaded Man in Black. Usually men in black travel in braces of two or
trios. I this case there is only one of them. Thanks goodness for that.
One man in black is scary enough. He and the narrator and perhaps Elvis
know each other from way back and often refer to obscure things from the
past. The Man in Black is cold and ruthless considering most of Man kind
some sort of cattle to be carted off to Nightmare Alley. He carries an
arsenal of strange devices and uses them freely, sucking brains one moment
and the next buffing his nails with a beam of neutrons. He knows something
about the artifact of Elvis', but not enough to use it. He seems also
familiar with the strange dimensions our narrators journeyed though.
Next on the passenger of list of this old atomic submarine of Elvis is Doc
Mabuto mysterious witch doctor scientist, considered by many countries to
be a psychotic mad man or worse. Just because he bilked the National
Science Foundations out of millions of dollars to create a race of fish
men and grow aquatic ganja is no excuse to consider him mad. Still when he
waves his bone rattles around and summons up loas and lord knows what else one
has to wonder. Included with Doc Mabuto of course are his fishmen. He'd rescued
them from a secret government lab with the help some sort sea monster of sea god.
The fishmen run the entire submarine and don't do much except follow orders and
smell like fish. Still they I suppose add to the mood of the whole story.
And so our narrators boards the submarine to discover this weird lot of beings
designed to raise the hair and perhaps turn the stomach of the average Joe or
Cynthia on the street.
They head north only to discover they are being followed by a strange flying
saucer. They stop the submarine and decided to investigate using the artifact as
their form of transportation. Basically they walk though the dimensions to stand
next to the saucers which they easily over come.
Inside they discover a strange blonde haired woman in a leather trench coat with
a odd german accident. She is piloting the saucer, which is by the way rather
boxy and made by the Mayans it appears. Also with her are two frop heads who
plagued our narrator in an earlier episode only to end up getting tossed into
the neighbors pool.
The Man in Black, who accompanies the narrator on this walk about to the saucer
puts a brain cap on one of the Frop heads and we learn many mysterious things,
none of which will be revealed in hopes it will encourage our readers to find
back issues of purps. In the process of the interrogation the frop head dies.
Then the greys appear and the narrator and the Man in Black run dragging the
woman. THe other frop head is left for the greys to snatch off to nightmare
alley or what ever they will do.
They run from the greys for quite a time encountering three humans in the
tornado green fog. One is huge, another a priest and the third is nondescript
they seem to be fighting the greys and gleefully run off weidling huge cleavers
and machine guns.
By now our heroes realized they must be lost. They've not found their way back
to the submarine as of yet.
The chases continues. The greys always behind them along with noises of battle.
Finally the come across a pair of what appear to be humanoids in a row boat who
claim to have been sent to rescue them. They all row off in to the green fog
only to the have the boat sink and the greys attack.
The Man in Black, our narrator and the woman from the saucer get dumped
suppose out of harms way in some sort of mystery spot while the two in the
row boat go off to do battle with the greys using some outlandish looking
ray guns.
Our heroes seem to be back on earth but they soon learn otherwise. After a
series of misshapes they find themselves being forced into a shot gun
wedding with two inbred women know as Vasoline and Gasoline who's favorite
past time seems to be popping bubbles in packing material. Elvis appears
suddenly to save the day only to be attacked by the love crazed berserk
Vasoline and Gasoline who insist that they must have Elvis's love children.
The horror only stops when Otis intervenes and saves Elvis, for the moment from
a fate worse than death.
Our heroes once again manage to enter the green fog this time following a rope
that Elvis had brought with him. Vasoline follows and once again wrappers
herself around Elvis. More greys and more mayhem, until they are dumped
into some sort of rest room. They tear through the building following the
rope. Our narrator gets tackled by a grey and ends up chopping it up with a
fire ax and blowing most of it's head off with a machine pistol. Finally he
catches up with the Man in Black who's put a brain cap on another helpless
victims. The rope leads into a blank wall and hopefully beyond is the
submarine. They're almost home...}
The Man in Black looked down at me.
"Through there is the Submarine," said the Man in Black triumphantly,
pointing at the rope disappearing into the blank wall. It looked as though
we'd made it home at last.
Using the wall, I tried to pull myself to my feet. The Man in Black
ignored me for the moment. With an amazing show of strength he picked up
the dazed woman with the brain cap and tossed her at the wall. Her eyes
rolled like drunken ping pong balls. Through she went. From the other
side came a weirdly distorted clatter of machine guns and a yelling
voice. It sounded like Mabuto! We were indeed close.
I was standing now. My legs felt like a couple of soggy q-tips. I was
bleeding from the axe cut. My blood mingled with the bluish alien blood
staining my pants. What a mess.
"Wait! She's important!" I yelled at the Man in Black as he made ready to
toss the woman from the Mayan Saucer though the wall. Mabuto and his
fishmen on the other side sounded a bit trigger happy. I didn't blame them
one bit.
He dropped her like a discarded rag doll. At the rate things were going I
could imagine her ended up dead.
"You are in no shape to help me. What am I to do? Should I toss you
through the the wall as well?" he sneared. He was enjoying himself
chucking people about and scaring them for that matter. I could easily
picture him chucking some little old lady about who'd been visited by
little green men. "You must not divulge your encounter to anyone!" he'd
intone grabbing her by an orthopedic hose clad ankle and flipping her
across the room her over the sofa.
"Look. You grab Elvis and company and I'll manage to woman. Let's get to
the submarine."
The Man in Black surveyed Elvis and Vasoline then gingerly grabbed a limb
that looked the driest and dragged them through the wall. I heard Mabuto
shout and some gun fire.I limped over an grabbed the woman by her collar
and dragged her through. Just as my head went into the wall I heard a
distant electronic buzz. The greys had entered this dimension.
It was like going though one of those old beaded curtains. One second I
was in that building and the next I was on the mess deck of the submarine.
There was blood all over the floor. For a moment I was deafened by gun
fire. Bullets chopped into the deck around me.
"Hold your fire my fishmen!" yelled Mabuto rushing forward. The little man
capered about like a demon happy to have us back. There were flicks of
blood on his white suit.
"Sorry about that. They're a bit blood thirsty," said Mabuto out of the
side of his mouth helping me drag the woman cross the deck. She slid
easily over the floor greased with splattered blood. THe woman who the Man
in Black chucked through the wall had been chopped to death by the gun
happy fishmen. The Man in Black had narrowly missed the same fate. So had
I for that matter.
"We've got to shut this thing down now!" said Mabuto standing up and
dusting his hands. He went over to where Elvis and Vasoline were locked
together. He nudged them with a toe. He was barefoot.
"Bad juju," he said shaking his head. From his back pocket he pulled out
his feathered rattle.
I looked around the mess deck. There bullet holes and blood all over the
place. Each of the fishmen was clad in some kind of flak jacket holding a
futuristic looking machine gun. I later learned Mabuto had gotten those
weapons and armor from the prison where he'd rescued his fish men. It was
a prison for very special prisoners. One time he muttered about old men
with metal boxes attached to their waists that kept fading in and out of
reality. He refused to talk about it much.
I blotted my leg with a fist full of napkins. Damn we were in trouble.
Elvis was all tangled up in the Vasoline thing and couldn't shut off the
artifact. The greys would be breathing down out throats soon. None of the
rest of us dared touch the gift from the space friends. Only Elvis knew
its secrets. Besides, one does not have much confidence in diddle with a
piece of alien hardware powered off a series of old boat batteries. This
meant the submarine had an open door. Those greys would no doubt figure it
out any time and come pouring it. We needed an awake and alert Elvis now.
I asked the Man in Black if he had any ideas. He was after all our
supposed expert on alien devices. He stood to one side using some sort of
electrostatic brush to dust himself off. Great gobs of saliva flaked off
with showers of static sparks.
"Call the Space Friends. Let them deal with it," he muttered clearly not
wanted anything to do with Vasoline.
"Quick!" Mabuto yelled. He's hastily dawned a bowler hat and was painting
ash all over his face. From somewhere he produced a gunny full of lord
knows what. It rattled like it was full of bottles and bones.
Mabuto said something in an unearthly language and the fishmen formed a
circle around the Elvis.
The Man in Black and I looked at each other. "I will go check on the
course of the submarine," said the man in black hastily leaving. Of course
he just wanted out of there. He was probably scared for life after being
killed by those things. The submarine was still at a stop, I could tell.
We would have never found out way back to the submarine if it had moved.
That gave me and idea. I limped after the Man in Black leaving Mabuto to
his task.
As I walked down the corridors an earthly wailing began behind me,
punctuated by a harmonica and sometimes a kazoo or maybe an accordion.
What the hell was Mabuto up to. The corridors were rigged for night time.
Only red lights shown. My damn leg collapsed under me once. I really
needed to attend to it.
I stumbled into the control room. By the door stood one of Mabuto's fish
men. He'd been left as a guard. He eyed the wad of napkins I held to my
leg hungrily. A drop of blood ran down my pants. The fish man licked his
lips.
I limped over to the Man in Black. He stood in front of the diving
controls arms crossed looking over the instruments. As I came closer I
noticed a storm of yellow stickies were pasted up over the entire face of
the controls. Directions were written on them like "Don't let this go red"
next to a dial, or "Don't push this!" next to a button.
"You know how to drive this thing?" I asked the Man in Black. He turned
toward me, the red light glinting off those dark lens covering his eyes.
He looked extremely menacing now. I guess he'd recovered from or little
adventure in the tornado green fog.
"Do you?" he countered. He seemed pleased with himself for the answer. I
heard a shuffling behind me. The fishman drew closer to us, watching me
closely like some vulture waiting for a kill. I was far from dead and told
the disappointed fish man so.
"If Elvis can move this thing why can't we? He's got all the instructions
there," I said pointing at the yellow stickies. I noticed a party hat on
top of one console. Had the fishmen been having a party while we were
gone? That was impossible. We'd only been gone for five minutes. Or had
we? Time mean nothing in the tornado green fog and you certainly couldn't
tell night form day in the damn red light on the sub.
"Can't we turn on a real light?" I asked hunting thought he yellow
stickies for a clue to operating the lights.
"Leave them," intoned the Man in Black. "They remind me of the cloud cover
of Venus."
"Go away!" I yelled at the fish man who was edging closer again. He just
glared at me and returned to his place by the door. He tilted his head to
hear the weird noises coming down the corridor. Who knows what Mabuto was
up to. Hopefully he's save Elvis from the love crazed Vasoline.
The Man in Black had stepped to one side and lifted a panel. There were an
assortment of lights and buttons under it. I limped over to see. Maybe
he'd found the proper controls. Maybe it was an autopilot. It looked
complicated enough. Someone, I assume Elvis had pasted a piece of typing
paper on the inside cover of the panel which said "Boom!" in big letters.
It was the torpedo controls. No help there. Typical of the Man in Black to
find something destructive during an emergency.
I went back to the other controls keeping and eye on the hungry fishman by
the door and hearing the kazoo noise from Mabuto down in the mess deck.
Methodically I started reading the yellow stickies. After a moment I found
a button that said, "start engines". Remarkably enough it looked like an
ignition switch to a car. In fact it was expoxied and duct taped to the
side of the drive plane controls. What strange modifications had Elvis
done? I looked over my shoulder at the fishman and over at the Man in
Black, who was still gloating over the torpedo control.
I twisted the key. Somewhere an electric humming began and the lights
flickered for a moment. Wildly I looked around for some indication of what
was going on. Several gages were moving. The dive plane controls were
moving by themselves like a steering wheel would if no one holds onto them
while a car is in motion. I grabbed at them and flopped down into the
seat. We were moving.
"Hey look out the periscope and see where we're going!" I yelled at the
Man in Black. He ignored me lost in the torpedo controls. I yelled again.
He moved over to the periscope and managed to raise it by flipping some
lever. As soon as it was eye level he looked thought eyepiece knocking off
his black hat. His arm darted down like a cobra and caught the hat in mid
air. Back on his head it went. If I had blinked I would have missed it. I
must have been seeing things because I thought I saw a bald spot. Menacing
killer Men in Black with bald spots like aging used car salesmen? This was
too weird. Still it helped explained why they wore their hats indoors.
Suddenly the sub lurched to one side. I jerked the controls in hopes of it
doing something. Now we lurched the other way. I heard Mabuto's music stop
and some yelling starting. Something crashed and banged somewhere. Some
charts fell out of their racks spilling onto the floor. I guess driving a
sub is harder than it looked.
"Well? See anything?" I asked the Man in Black. I'd found the level
indicator and was trying to hold the sub steady. I'd also found the
compass and had pointed our course north. We were going north after all.
North to the great Hay Stack monument in Mass. to deliver that damned
valentine. Here I was in a leaky old atomic sub when I could be at home
now looking through aluminium siding brochures or checking my bank account
to see if I had enough money to invest in the that Dobbs pyramid scheme
I'd heard about.
Wait! What was I saying? I shook my head heard. Damn that "BoB". His
influence was still with me. In my weakened start of blood loss his
subliminal advertising influence took over.
"Nothing," said the Man in Black. "Too deep" he intoned in his typical
manner. In some ways I was glad to see him back to his normal self.
I guess I'd have to go up. How the hell do you steer a submarine anyway?
On Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea they had a big window to look out of
and all that sonar stuff. That's it! Sonar I thought. "Go look at the
sonar!"
The Man in Black was still looking though the periscope like it was some
sort of peep show. What could be so interesting about water?
"Get away from there and go check the sonar!" I said. "What's so
interesting about water?"
"Greys..." muttered the Man in Black going over to the sonar. Or what I
assumed the sonar since it was making that sonar pinging noise your always
hear. This was insane! Greys! We needed Elvis and he was tied up with that
inbred female thing from another dimension. Still Elvis was some sort of
Super being so maybe he really as necessary. I suppose hero's had to have
faults too. Like I just noticed the old plate of gravy and biscuits slid
under one of the banks of instruments. I could see Elvis sitting at these
control a steaming plate of gravy and biscuits on his lap as he lonely
piloted this outdated atomic submarine though the murky depths of the
ocean biding his time until he would be ready to destroy the Anti-Christ.
It was almost enough to make you believe in an all powerful divine entity.
Luckily the ones we were dealing with here did not rely on human faith and
often showed up on ones door step to make a divine manifestation to insure
eager and loyal worshippers.
"Greys?" I asked.
"Too shallow!" yelled the Man in Black as we ran aground and came to an
abrupt stop. I heard sand grate across our keel. I yanked the key out of
the ignition epoxied to the control board and shut down the engines. What
had I done? Well at least I've moved the submarine and hopefully that
would confuse the greys. THe fishman blundered to his feet and ran off
down the corridor to Mabuto. The Man in Black miraculously had kept his
feet and peered over at me his face light up by the sonar screen. He'd
planned that little scene knowing him.
"We're doomed," he intone. I shudder when down my spine. What had I done?
I must have fainted then because when I woke up I was strapped into a bunk
in what I took to be sick bay. Flanking me was Elvis sans Vasoline and the
woman from the Mayan flying saucer. I had a large bandage on my leg. My
pant leg neatly cut way. Around the bandage were drawn a maze of symbols
that made me dizzy to look at. Elvis, naked, was covered from head to toe
in them. The woman just had them on her face.
"So you awake my friend," said Mabuto coming into my vision. He smile was
enormous. He seemed very pleased with himself. He gave off this strange
smell like ozone.
"What's going on?" I asked jerking against the straps that held me down.
Mabuto placed a small hand on my chest and pressed me back. For such a
small man he was very strong "Stop." he commanded looking me square in the
eye. I did. It felt like I'd been hit by a bolt of electricity.
"We are grounded on the bottom. We have not moved since you put us there,"
said Mabuto chuckling and wagging his over finger at me. He smiled again.
I noticed his gums were almost white. Very weird.
"I have freed the King of Rock and Roll from that thing. We threw it into
the cleansing atomic fires of the reactor. I can do no more," explained
the witch doctor looking at Elvis. He looked at the woman. "She is merely
resting. I've tranqualized her so we can decided to do with here. The Man
in Black and I have been in heated debate. I wish to turn her into a
fishman. I've never done it on a woman before. He insists interrogation
and then a trip to the fiery atomic furnace. I'm sure neither of those
alternative pleases you, but you're strapped to the table at the moment."
The woman stirred in his sleep tossing her blond head as if she could tell
she was being talked about.
"Oh this may be of interest my friend," said Mabuto holding up some sort
of wallet. "This is her's." He gestured at the woman. A fishman came and
whispered his ear then left.
His supple fingers snaked into the wallet and removed a piece of
parchment which he unfolded. It was covered in German. There were little
swastikas all over it for decoration and borders. "It is german and it
looks third Reich. It is, only they didn't have laser printers back then.
This is much newer."
"What! Nazis! Where? They're always cropping up." I said. Mabuto folded
the paper and put it back in the woman's wallet. "I must leave you now.
The Man in Black seems to have tried to use a brain cap on one of my
fishmen."
I was trapped. There was nothing I could do. They'd taken my jacket off so
there was not hope I could get at some tool or weapon and cut the straps.
Elvis was dead out and so was the woman. I shrugged for a few minutes
exhausting myself.I was still weak from blood loss. Occasionally I could
hear a shout or a bang in the distance over the ever present noise of the
air conditioning. What sort of help had Elvis recruited who would
be
fighting over doing dire experiments a Nazi woman? They sounded like a
couple of old movie serial villains. I had a valentine to deliver didn't
they know that.
Desperately I prayed. It was time to get back on our quest. Nothing
happened. No radios switched on and began to speak. No chimpanzees began
to appear. No golden hot pants. No stars or comets.
I waited.
I prayed again.
A fishman stuck his head in to check on me. I yelled at him. He hurried
away. It looked like it had a black eye if it were possible for fishmen to
have such things.
I decided that maybe if I sat here long enough Otis would put in
appearance. Still trying the patience eof a god was not a god idea. I
prayed again.
I sung a tune about a yak I made up on the spot.
More noise in the distance. Suddenly all sound stopped. The lights
flickered in the sick bay. Everything went black. I felt a hand touch my
cheek then I was free and the lights came back on.
I saw up and climbed off the bunk. I thought of freeing Elvis and the
woman but they bother were still dead out.
My jacket was laid over an empty bunk. I put it on and started out into
the corridor. I carefully listened then headed toward the sound. There was
a dull banging and some yelling. It sounded like Mabuto giving orders.
I made my way aft further than I'd been before following the noise. The
engine room grew closer and closer. Radiation warning signs began to
appear on the wall. I tried to ignore them. Mabuto would never take his
fishmen this far aft unless it was safe for them. I figured fishmen could
tolerate radiation as well as I could.
Before me a tremendous water tight hatch was open. Beyond it were the
fishmen and Mabuto. Then I caught a glimpse of the Man in Black. So they
were fighting back here. Cautiously I crept forward and peered around the
build head. They were in the antechamber to the reactor proper and
amazingly enough they weren't fighting. They were staring at the great
lead door to the reactor looking rather worried. A dull pounding was
coming from beyond it.
Since the fighting appeared to be over. I boldly walked over to the Man in
Black. I felt more comfortable talking to him than the small witch
doctor. In some ways he seemed more human. Maybe the voodoo spirits
hanging around Mabuto did it.
"What gives?" I asked. The Man in Black gave a start. I stifled a laugh.
"The creature we threw in there wants out."
--Mal 1994
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--Subink 1994
