Software Vault: The Gold Collection/Software Vault - The Gold Collection (American Databankers) (1993).ISO/cdr14/misc_hmr.zip/BUCKET.HMR

Text File | 1993-04-01 | 83KB | 1,808 lines

From tamsun!bcm!cs.utexas.edu!wupost!waikato.ac.nz!ccc_spt Fri Feb  7 12:59:35 CST 1992
Article: 15445 of rec.humor
Path: tamsun!bcm!cs.utexas.edu!wupost!waikato.ac.nz!ccc_spt
From: [e-mail] (Simon Travaglia)
Newsgroups: rec.humor
Subject: The whole RED BUCKET
Message-ID: <[e-mail]>
Date: 23 Jan 92 00:35:25 GMT
Organization: University of Waikato Computer Centre
Lines: 1594


            - if you remember last weeks episode -
                you're making it up

So I'm just driving along in my Dodge semi-auto, minding my own business,
watching the suspension collapse, when WHAM, this Weevil's "Chill You RIGHT Out"
Ice Cream truck barrels into the side of the car, and I'm thrown clear as the
seatbelt snaps like the back of a recliner rocker full of Ball Bearings. I look
up from the garden I'm laying in, up through the daze of blood and dirt and
flowers and gardening implements that you buy on someone else's VISA card and
get delivered late at night when they're fast asleep so they can't hear the
courier, OR YOU, with the Matt-Black ute, lights off, idling gently at the end
of the street, waiting, waiting; and I see all these penguins trying to panel-
beat the dents out of the truck's wheel arch so they can get moving, but before
anything can happen, a fat guy a pair of engraved silver collar-studs comes out
of nowhere and blows two of the penguins away with a tyre vulcanizer.

  Apparently the penguins had convinced the Weevils Man to let them hijack the
van at the zoo and were making their way to the nearest intercontinental ice
shelf.  I didn't have the heart to tell them they'd never make it because 1.
the truck probably didn't have antifreeze in the radiator, and 2. the left
front tyre was pretty bald, and would probably only make another 4000 miles
before it gave out on a hairpin bend or something, careering you into the
oncoming traffic... - not that it mattered, because the last two penguins were
obviously upset by the demise of their co-conspiritors and were giving up.  The
Weevils Man was shouting "NOT THE VANILLA, NOT THE VANILLA" at the top of his
voice whilst simultaneously picking his nose and eating it.  A passing lorry
took him to meet his maker as the fat guy starts lining up one of the two
remaining penguins for the big good-bye.  Bounty-Hunter.  Then I thought to
myself "WHAT THE HELL, I may as well do something for the penguins, I never
gave anything to Mother Theresa, the Father Hector Society for Crab Cocktails
or the Steroid-Committee-for-Acne-Control; I'm an ecologically aware person
with potential, it's time I put something meaningful back into the world! -
so I grabbed the nearest thing, a long handled, fully varnished, five foot,
anodised, genuine square mouthed, environmentally over-friendly,
"HOW-MUCH-WOULD-YOU-EXPECT-TO-PAY-FOR-THIS-SHOVEL,NOT-ONE-HUNDRED,NOT-FIFTY"
shovel, and smacked him over the back of the head so hard his teeth popped out
like the runner-up in the "hoik-your-teeth-for-Nicaragua" competition.

                - realisation -

   Then I knew that what they said about my grandfather must be true, that he
really could see into the future, and all those mornings in the garden doing
shovel practice WERE for a reason - so maybe I should'nt have chucked his
shaver in the bath with him, or if I should've, maybe I should have charged the
batteries first or something, I don't know, all I know is that these penguins
are depending on me, so I swing the shovel again and smashed the dent in the van
out, run round the front and gunned the engine.  I can hear the sirens, the cops
weren't far behind me, and all I'm carrying is VANILLA, tons and tons of the
stuff, all white and snowy, (the penguins must have felt right at home), so I
shout to the penguins to hurry it up, and reverse to where they are, only they
weren't any more - the sirens scared them and I hear the pathetic squeal as
they both encounter the down side of a truck of Vanilla Icecream; shit, if only
I'd had Raspberry ripple or something - but the cops are coming, and I've got
to get out of here and ditch this vehicle, but before I can move the Cops
scream around the corner and some other words that I didn't catch, so I have
to abandon the vehicle and make for it on foot.  I shout "If you make it, I'll
meet you at the Ice Skating rink, leave a message with the fat kid by the
peanut machine" to the last surviving penguin, who's only partially crushed by
the truck and might make it with some fancy vetwork, and sprint off.

                - on the run -

I run through this alleyway, looking as fast as I can for somewhere to hide
because the place is going to be crawling with cops soon and I've just realised
that in the front seat of my car is the bag full of vacuum cleaner hoses, at
least 20, well in excess of the legal limit, all different colours too.  Maybe
if I could hide somewhere near I can go back and get them in all the confusion..

                - bugger -

Before I can find a spot, I hear a shout behind me "HALT or I sing the soprano
from Bee Gees "Tragedy"!".   I freeze.  He could be bluffing, but his voice has
that high-whine about it so I don't take any chances.  He yells again "Just turn
round slowly and keep your hands where I can see them, no tricks now, 'cos I'm
hummin' the chorus and could break into verse quicker'n you could blink!"
He's a southern boy, I can tell, so maybe there's a way out of this after all!
I turn, and in the half-light I see a glint of light flicker off his Clint
Eastwood Souvineer Tiepin and know I'm Ok.  He spots my tie pin at the same
time and stops humming and walks over  "Sorry about that Good Buddy" he says,
clapping me on the shoulder, and we greet each other with the Eastwood shuffle.

                - saved -

"You'd better get out of here" he warns, "..we found the hoses"  Shit!  From the
other end of the alley I can hear the shouts as more cops pour in; there's only
one way out and that's the green door - the one with the old piano playing
loud behind it.  I run in and there's this guy standing there with the same
cowboy collar things as the guy who shot the  penguins except he's saying "It's
ok, It's ok" and then I SPOT IT, the CAMCORDER BATTERY, then I know it's a
setup for one of those "funny home video" shows where you run your kids arm
thru a bandsaw or axe someone in the leg to get a years supply of low-grade
Taiwanese VHS Video cassettes, the kind that go all fuzzy when you pirate
X-rated movies onto them so you have to tape boring dull shows like General
Hospital, 'cos then you don't feel so bad that they don't come out very clearly.

 The guy's still saying "IT'S OK, IT'S OK!" but louder now, but I remember the
battery and penguins and it's a setup so I stab him in the eyeball with my
3-colour pen, only it's on red, not blue, which is the sharpest colour, so it
only sinks in up to the pocket clip, so I change to blue and he starts jumping
around like a verticle breakdancer on heat, then I see the battery is smoking,
and so is he!  I realise - HE'S A BLOODY ANDROID!  I thought I'd got rid of
them years ago!

        - there's a camaro in the next paragraph -

     The cops are getting pretty close so I pull my pen out, (Sure enough, it's
covered in oxidised copper) point the breakdancer at the green door and rush
over to a blue Camaro with ski rack and combination barbecue grill that
the android must have arrived in.  It's full of camera gear and a couple of
travel brochures with "Discover antartica" and "Freeze your balls off waiting
for an emergency recovery team in Sunny Antartica" and the penny drops.  Out of
my pocket, onto the seat, then onto the floor of the Camaro.  I bend down to
get it just as the windscreen explodes under the impact of a hail of bullets.
I start the Camaro and floor it without looking, hoping: 1. that the car will go
fast enough to get away  2. that there's nothing in the way, and 3.  that I've
got an extra set of pants in the mobile home...

                - mobile home coming up -

It's too dangerous to go home, the cops will be waiting for me, so I cruise to
the Mobile Home I keep in the heart of a wreckers yard.  No-one knows it's there
except me, my Russian contact, and Batman, who uses it for holidays when him
and Robin are feeling a bit tuckered out.
I entered thru the back entrance (as Batman would say), kick aside the Bat-
Bonker and slide into the velvteen arms of my genuine chippendale plastic
lounge suite.  It's time I was armed, and, like every normal good guy, I have a
big suitcase full of the sort of armaments that make terrorists wet their levis.
I reach into the closet for my suitcase, never opened since I got back from 'Nam
except that it's cram packed with state-of-the-art-arms and anti-personnell
equipment, and the like a flash I remember "THE BAG".

            - violence coming up soon -


OF COURSE, "THE BAG"!!!

I'd almost forgotten about it.  "THE BAG" had been with me for years.  Just
thinking about "THE BAG" almost extruded a bowel motion from my nether regions.
The suitcase was forgotten as my manicured fingers caressed the knurled knob
of the 14 tumbler, Armageddon-Proof, Seriously Black Safe.  14 right, 28 left,
twice past zero right to 51, back left to 17, right to 17, left to 1, right to
99, back to 57, right to 85, left to 0 again, right to 46, left to 78, right to
12, left to 14 and turn the handle.  The stale air smelt of well used odour-
eaters (tm) and Curry Powder and crept up my nostrils like a crippled rat up a
sewer pipe.  My 100% Polyester trousers seemed to grab at my crotch as my groin
quivvvvered in anticipation.  Saliva drooled down my chin as my probing fingers
scraped cross the cracked leather of "THE BAG"  As I withdrew it from the safe,
I could almost swear the world became silent.  My fingers fumbled clumsily with
the buckle & my sphincter spasmed in memory of the last time I'd held "THE BAG"
in my hands.   My eyes scanned the almost forgotten legend  "SimonT, Room 1"
which brought back a cachophony of memories of my childhood.  There, beside
my reading primer, "Dick and Jane go Shoplifting" was the ultimate weapon,
MY LUNCHBOX.
                - shit -

With shaking hands I took it from "THE BAG" and walked carefully to the
window and scanned out.  Sure enough, it was quiet outside; too damn quiet.
I turned the radio on.  That was better.  It was the news.  The police
were surrounding a mobile home in...
"THIS IS THE POLICE.  WE KNOW Y-ALL'RE IN THERE.  COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"
Shit.  They'd found me already.  Batman must have talked.  That's the
problem with superheros, too honest for their own damn good.

"Why should I come out?"  I shouted, stalling while I gingerly pried the lead
lining off the outside of the lunchbox.  "Thank's Ginger"  I said.  (She was
such a good  teacher)

"SO WE CAN GET A GOOD SHOT AT Y-ALL" a copy yelled
"What about my rights?" I said, peeling the insulation from around the edges.
My knees almost buckled under me as a tiny gasp of "air" escaped from the
lunchbox.
"CHILL OUT MAN, THIS IS THE NINETIES. JUST STICK YOUR HEAD UP FROM UNDER THE
WINDOW"
"NO WAY!" I cried indignantly.  "I wanna make a deal!"
"SHORE, WE'LL MAKE A DEAL" the cop on the loud hailer called.
I checked in the mirror just in case "I'm a fuckhead" was tatooed on my
forehead" Nope.  This was the sort of situation that demanded diplomacy.

"Get Fucked Copper, you'll never take me or Elvis alive!"
"ELVIS?!" the cop cried "CAN WE GETTIS AUTO-GRAPH AFORE WE SHOOT Y-ALL?"
"Sure thing!  I'll send him out and then I'll follow him.  Remember what you
said about not shooting me till after he signs the autographs"
"SHORE THING!"
Right, the plan was coming together.  I jumped into my white rhinestone
Elvis-number.  Now to fill it up to Elvis Size.  In with the Suitcase full
of Weapons, 2 pillows, a rubber turkey, 2 pairs of crotchless fishnets and an
Inflatable liferaft.
"I'm sending Elvis out now" I yelled, as I opened the door.
The weapons fell from their hands in amazement as I lolloped over to the
cops.
"IF YORE THE REAL ELVIS, SING THEN!" on of the cops yelled.  (The pus-sucking,
    arse-grabbing, dick-teasing pullthrough!)
"WELL YOU KNOW I CAN'T BE FOUND; A-SITTING HOME ALL ALONE"  I chirped
"YORE NOT ELVIS, HE SINGS LIKE SHIT!"
I dived to the ground and threw the lunchbox.  As it cracked open, I felt
the searing heat and heard the screams.   The 15-year old Egg and Pickled
Cabbage sandwhiches reacted with the atmospere - the mushroom cloud spread and
a horrific silence followed
I could now..  OH NO!  I'D FORGOTTEN.  The last time I'd used the box was a
friday.  Mum always packed a peice of Blue Vein cheese as well.  By now it it'd
be Blue throbbing artery!

I had to get out.  I hit the ejector button.  500 sentences out of
the plot, I landed on my feet, cruching the poor meter maid who'd been
hurredly been written into the story as a bit part.  Or maybe several bit
parts, as she now appeared to be.

I stepped away from the latest footpath tragedy, scraping the remains of the
one-time meter maid from my steel-capped Koala Slippers and moving as quickly
as possible in the direction of the new plot.  It looked quite green from this
angle.  But before that, time for a quick snack.

I entered the spacious rooms of Fungus McFerguson's Turkey palace ("All you can
kill for $17.50") and strode to the counter.  A few seconds later the plot
caught up with me and took a seat in the corner.  I wondered what was going to
happen.

"Waddya wan?"    I looked up.  It was either Fungus McFerguson or the results
of 11 generations of energetic inbreeding.  (Another southern boy!)

I decided to have the house special.
"Turkey" I replied, picking at my teeth with my #2 stainless steel toothpick.

"Sure Mister" he said.  Instant respect.  The toothpick does it every time.
Or maybe it was the .73 calibre Magnum Magnum that I was pointing at his head.
People don't just GIVE you respect, you have to earn it.

"...on a dirty plate" i added, reinforcing my new persona.

I looked over to the mirror.  Yep, I was now the hero-type person that movies
were written about.  The plot was still sitting in the corner, only now it
appeared to be trying to get my attention.  I looked around the room to check
it for potential barroom brawls.  Nothing.  I sidled on over to where the plot
was sitting and joined it.

"What's the story?" I asked, getting straight down to business

"The story's fading"  the plot answered, scanning the room, and adding to it
as it went "We need some action.  I had to pull you from the last scene because
it was getting tedious.  This one is much better, you get to kill someone on
average about once every 2 sentences, plus a bonus of about 35 in the last
sentence, where you die."

"I die?!"

"Yep, sorry about that, but what the hell, we'll reincarnate you in another
story real soon, I'm just about to start in a story about 4 nuns who are
reading in a library for 17 years continuously, you'll be Sister Mary Bible
Browser, and will be reading the bible for the whole 783 pages."

I shot the plot in the head.  No-one toys with this persona and gets away with
it.  I shot someone else too, just to keep up the sentence average.

"Wow, that was more awesome than watching the bus on a 386 laptop during it's
power-up self tests" a computer geek at table 5 exclaimed.

I shot him too.

"Wow, that was more awesome than Amiga's high resolution graphics, even taking
into account interlace mode" the second computer geek at table 5 exclaimed.

Him as well

"Wow, that was more awesome than fitting a 80 meg hard-drive to a Mac-128K,
typing in blonde jokes and pretending that I'm worldly" the third computer geek
chimed in just before I timed him out.

"Wow, that was more.." the deceased smoking corpse number 4 at table 5 sighed.

            - DAMBO More Blood, Part II -

The white hot Magnum Magnum slid back into the greased asbestos holster as I
surveyed the plot's pre-death changes.  17 Motorcycle gang members with auto-
matic weapons, 2 arabs carrying Malay Kris' between their teeth, 12 axe-wielding
Jasons, Fungus McFerguson with a strap-on dildo and Mrs Lime MacCaskill from
Room 1 at my primary school all faced me with death on their minds.

I was always one for a challenge.  I take the toughest on first - Mrs Lime
The trick was to get her in a good mood.
"Still taking it up the arse for cash?" I enquired in my most pleasant manner

                - It can't be the end -

            - cornered -

Mrs Lime MacCaskill came at me with her steel-edged ruler, but I was waiting;
firstly, because she wasn't close enough yet, but secondly, because the plot's
averages said that I was going to kill someone every second sentence.  I shot
her.  I was feeling pretty good by this time, my plate of trukey had arrived
and Fungus McFerguson was faking sex with the strap-on.  I shot him as quick
as I could, then took my gun out of my holder.  Hopefully there was no contin-
uity people involved in the script somewhere.

The arabs were next to go, but I wasn't involved, apparently they said
something about oil prices to the bikies.  The Jasons and the remaining gang
members were duking it out behind the counter, so I decided it was time to
eat.

            - interlude -

I switched on the tv - it was Dr Ruth.

"Eet is perfectly noramel for dee man to wan to do thees to a jar of cheeken
mcnoogits" she expostulated "een fact eet ees far healthier than eating thee
theengs"

I decided to call her up.
Fungus McFerguson was at the "You're the best" stage, so I had a spare couple
of minutes...

It rings three times, and a guy answers:

"Channel four-hundred-and-seventy-seventy" he says, in a voice carefully
modulated to drive away normal people

"I need to talk to Ruth" I say, trying to sound worried

"I'm sorry, but this isn't telephone ti."

I cut in "But I gotta talk to her, you don't know what it's like, I've got a
overlarge penis and the only time I'm sexually satisfied is when I'm covered
in faeces and whistling "My old Man's a dustman" at 78 speed.."

"I'll put you thru" he says, backing down

"Heeeloo, dees ees Dr Rude, how can I heelp you?" she says.

"Doctor Ruth, you're the only one who can help me, I think I'm really sick"

"Go on..."    (She was hooked)

"It's my mother"

"yes"    (I could see her bending over the phone, almost drooling over this one)

"Well, I kinda don't know whether I should talk about it over the TV and
everything, because I've never told anyone about..."

"Eet ees eemportant that you tell mee thees theengs, no matter how embarrasing
eet ees to people - yourself or others" (She was getting really hot for teacher)

"It's her buns" I blubbered "I can't get enough of them"

"What's your first name please?" She asks, wanting the personal approach

"Hernado Richardo Nixono" I say, in my best protugese immigrant voice

"Well Hernando, eets perfectly alright for you to have a fixation for your
mothers gluteus maximus; tell me, have you ever thought of penetration"

"OHmigod, how did you know?!" I sniffled, blowing my nose on Fungus's shirt as
he passed

"Yes, anal sex, the forbeeden froot of zee loins, eet ees very co..."

"ANAL SEX?!!" I scream "ANAL SEX!  What the hell do you mean, anal sex?  I'm
talking about her baking!!!!"

"I zee, eet ees stell quite common for a man to wish to have intercourse weeth
zee pastry that is hees mothers work" she says to me

"Sex with pastry, what kinda cooking show is this?!" I scream, horrified!

"Thees ees doctor ruth, tell me your sexual problem" she says, composing her-
self.

"DOCTOR RUTH!"  I scream  "Is this the same doctor Ruth that said I needed a
penis tranplant when I was 5?!?!?!"

"I'm sorry?" she asks, momentarily running out of "normal" assurances

"You, you two bit hooker, you told my mother I needed a penis transplant when
I started school!" I scream, starting to ramble "two hours a day for 7 weeks
on the vacuum enlarger doc, DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT DOES TO A MAN?!!"

"Give me a clue" she say, hunching over again

I hang up, fun's fun and I've had enough.

The paramedics are here working on the plot with life-support machines, and
there's only two Jasons and one Motorcycle dude left.  I leave.

            - a new scene -

My koala slippers are dirty.

"Hi there big boy" a woman says as she walks up behind me "come here often"

"No", I say "usually at home in bed with the inflatable lady of my choice.."

            - going somewhere else -


                - the woman -
The woman looks at me strangely from behind he Reebok-Oakley-Adidas outfit.

"What's a body like you doing on a street like this?" she asks
"It's my street.." I reply, meeting her gaze.  One-nil.
"Do you know what would look great under your bed?" she tries again
"A  twelve-pack  of Elephant  beer  and  the  complete  works  of  'edward the
fingerpainter on old canvas?" I parry.  2 nil.
She spots me with "I'm a virgin". 2-1
"So am I, this is just a very old pair of pants" 3-1.  I'm breaking clean, 2
more points and I've got the match ("my arse your face")
"Do you live around here?"  She goes for a staunch line, not worth much.
"You call this living?"  I counter.  4-1 and I'm on a roll.  (Egg)
"If you guess what I've got in my pants you can have it" she says
"'Eric Clapton's greatest Hits' on Vinyl" I say, winning - the crowds cheer,
BUT I CAN'T STOP!!!
            - the torso -

"A free-floating, full-torso apparition?   A spelling Mistake?  A 386 laptop
with Lotus 1-2-3 in ROM?  The place next door to the Gettysburg Address?  A
complete home fitness kit minus the barbells?  Sister Mary Mary Mary?.."

The silence is devastating.

            - the uh-oh -

"Excuse me mister" a mean looking guy says "Did you say Sister Mary Mary Mary?"
"Yup!" I say, Gomer Pyling it for charity
"Not just Sister Mary or Sister Mary Mary?" another guy, who's stopped asked.
"Sure did!"

By now a crowd's gathered and the police are cordoning off the street...

An ugly guy with a knife gets in my face "Not Sister Mary Mary, quite contrary?"
"The one with the garden?  Nope.  Sister Mary Mary Mary!"
"He said it again!" the first guy says "should we kill him?"
"Kill him!?  SHIT, WE SHOULD LYNCH HIM!!!"
"Lynching's too good for him!" the ugly guy shouts "Lets burn him!!"
"You can't; it's a friday, and Sister Mary Mary Mary wouldn't like it" I say
    A good point.  The crowd disperses slightly as I pull out my Bowie
    knife with the St Christopher Medal and Holy Communion Rememberance
    plaque on the side.  I show them the legend.  "Simon, you were a
    nasty little shit - I hope St Chritopher guides you well, into the
    nearest articulated vehicle.  Your never-loving Nun, Sister Mary
    Mary Mary"

The crowd moves back.
"THIS IS A SIGN!" I shout, holding up the blade.  "A SIGN FROM ABOVE!"
"Bullshit!" says the ugly one.  The blade drops for an instant.
"DID YOU SEE THAT?!" I scream, as ugly falls to the ground "HOLY RETRIBUTION!"
Now they're really scared.
"I WAS ON MOUNT SAINIA!" I shout, now that I've got their attention
"It's not spelt that way" the mean dude says
Once more the blade dips...
"DON'T LISTEN TO THE DISBELIEVER!" I call - "I WAS THERE!  I SAW IT ALL.  THERE
WERE 14 COMMANDMENTS, BUT MOSES HAD A BACK STRAIN!  I HAVE THE "FORGOTTEN FOUR"
- LOST TO MANKIND AND NOW RETURNED, AND YOURS FOR JUST ELEVEN NINETY FIVE!!!"

            - get in while you can -

They're queueing up to buy, and it looks like I'm in the money.  A woman with
a hairlip fronts me with $12.00.
"Keep the change - What are they"

I look at her for a second.
"11.  THOU CANST COMMIT ADULTERY, BUT ONLY WITH PEOPLE WHOS NAMES ARE CLUFFORD"
"Clufford?" she says "Don't you mean clifford"
"12.  THOU SHALT NOT CORRECT PEOPLE WHO HAVE MADE TYPOS"
"13.  THOU SHALT NOT EAT BEAN AND ONION FILLED TACOS AND GO AND VISIT THY
    FRIENDS AND BREAK WIND ON THEIR NEW SOFA"
"14.  THOU SHALT SHAVE THY FACE"
The woman starts sobbing into her big mac packet, she's been living a life of
sin and only now she realises it.

                - the father -

Father Theodore Maggotpack is next in line.
"Here's the 11.95, Tell me so I can wow the pope out" he whispers
"Before we do that father, can you here my confession?" I ask
"Certainly my son, E nominus patre..." he rambles on
"FORGIVE ME FATHER, I'M A REAL BASTARD" I shout
"IT'S BEEN 4 YEARS, 2 MONTHS, 11 DAYS AND 4 TRIPS TO THE URINAL SINCE MY LAST
CONFESSION"
"This isn't the pee joke is it?" he asks in a manner unbecoming a man of the
cross and black lapels.
"No father it's not" I say humbly
"Continue then..."
"Father, I've done some terrible things since my last confession"
"Tell me about them my son, and rest assured in the knowledge that the good
lord has forgiven you all your sins"
"Well what am I here for then?" I ask
"Looks.  Now continue.  What have you done since you last confession"
"It's terrible father, terrible.  Firstly, I didn't do my penance from the
last time I went to confession.."
"I see.  What was the penance?"
"Say 4 Hail Marys, Attend 2 stations of the cross, and put my hand in a blender"
"Hmmmm.  You realise that you are not forgiven until you have completed your
penance?"
"But father, it's inhuman and unjustified.  How can a forgiving god justify me
doing TWO stations of the cross...?"

                - the not end -

                - the confessional -

The confession when well, Father Maggotpack's sin calculator burned out a chip
after I told him about when I doctored Sister Mary Halitosis's Bible by
blacking out all the NOTs in her 10 commandments.  I missed out the bit about
when she was shot at dawn for adultering the neighbours false Witness (in fact
a Jehovahs False Witness)

He started adding up by hand.  Four pages and two pencils later we had the
bottom line.
"Simon; you've been a naughty boy" he said
"You're not slow are you father?" I say, voice oozing humble sarcasm
He knees me in the groin and I go down.
"For your penance my son, you will say three hail marys and watch 2 B-Grade
movies with Gene Hackman in them"
"Which are they father?" I sob from the floor
"Anything except Mississippii Burning" he says
"Can't I just get the chair?   Anyway, that's not how you spell Mis.."
He stomps me in the face.

                - the afterlife -

Everything goes black.
It's like I'm in another world, all dark, and ahead of me is a bright white
light, and I can hear voices, and I'm warm and... and.. I think I'm in the
afterlife....  It's so beautiful and peaceful here, I don't want to go back
"HEY COMMANDMENT DUDE!"
..A voice seems to overpower the peace and..
"COMMANDMENT DUDE!  WAKE UP MAN!"
I open my eyes and I'm back in the world again, and there's a dope-smoking
long-hairer, ne'er-do-well, benefit-hogging peice of white trash staring in
the general direction of me.
"What?" I ask
"COMMANDMENT DUDE, I JUST SOLD MY CROP, AND I'LL BUY YOUR COMMANDMENTS FROM
YOU FOR 47,053 DOLLARS"
Straight away I realise I was mistaken about this guy.  He's just a lonely,
healthy, good-time person, just like me.  Except he's got body lice.
"It's a deal!" I say, pumping his hand like a gallon tube of K-Y
He hands me over the money in a big plastic deal-bag.
"WOW! "  He turns to the crowd "I JUST BOUGHT THE 4 LOST COMMANDMENTS"
"AND I'M GUNNA GIVE THEM ALL TO YOU FOR FREE!!"
The crowd swells up to the guy just as I leave and he realises I haven't
told him them.
"UH.  ELEVEN.  THOU SHALT EAT LOTS OF FOOD AFTER A JOINT"
"UM.  SEVENTEEN.  THOU SHALT NOT DRIVE BIG CARS TO THE CINEMAS WHEN POOR DUDES
ARE WALKING TO THE SHOPPING MALL TO.."

                - I'm rich -

I've got heaps of time, it's 7pm, I might try and catch an early show.
"ANDY CLAY" the sign reads.  What the hell, how bad can it be??

There's no-one there, so I go stage-side.
"DICE-BABY!" I shout.  He turns.  "How are you, you sexually retarded
mysoginist?"
"PLEASE PLEASE!" he replies "Mysoginist is such a negative word; I prefer to be
called a socially inept person with so little charisma that my mother wanted
money up front before she'd breastfeed me, with so little appeal that the only
lasting relationship I've ever had with a woman was when I had lots of money,
a fact which has left me with a permanent distaste for the opposite sex"
"Oh, I stand corrected!  I'M DOING A SURVEY" I say
"What about?" he asks.  Straight away I know he's hooked.  Everyone likes doing
    surveys, except the ones where they ask your personal "measurements"
"Penis size" I say
"Sorry, no deal" he says hurriedly "my penis is not on the table"
"No" I smile "nothing pencil sized in view at all.  Well, how about women?"
"Sure, I'll do that survey!" he says, brightening up considerably
"What do you look for in a woman?" I ask
"Intelligence"
This comes as a surprise to me.  "Intelligence.  How intelligent?"
"Well, enough to make conversation, but not enough to be threatening"
"How much is threatening to you?" I ask
"Well, If she remembers my name twice in a row"  he mumbles.
"Andy, wouldn't it be better if you just bought yourself a mattress with a hole
in it and talked to yourself?" I ask
"OH! YOU'VE SEEN MY ACT?" he chirps excitedly

It's times like this I just wish my Magnum Magnum was still in it's holster.

But I don't.  It's away getting cleaned near some people who are contesting
the Warren Report.

           - something else I haven't written yet -

I leave.  My house is out of bounds, the cops are probably still waiting for
me with the vacuum cleaner forensic team.  Luckily I remembered to file off all
the serial numbers on the hoses, so they're virtually untracable.  There's only
one place I can turn for sustinance and help - My Ex-Wife Claire.

She's not home.  Things are looking up!

I check round the back where "KILL" the Doberman should be and it's not there.
Which means it's somewhere else.  I feel my crotch - nope, it's not here yet.
Around about now I'm really sorry I used to tease it as a puppy with a long
handled cattle prod set to 'kill'.   It's quiet - Too quiet.  I don't like it.
The dog's up to something.  I knew I should have had it put down as parting
gift.

I think maybe it's time to cut my losses.  I can see the Chevrolada she bought
with the divorce settlement (just to piss me off).  I remember the difference
between a Lada and 2 Jehovahs Witnesses - one's a car and the other is two
people who try and spread the word of their god.  I smash the drivers window
and get in.

Ah, that's where "KILL" was.

                - now that's suspense -


            - what a shitty start -

Inasmuch as a cute 400-pound oversized, overfed, mangy, shit-on-the-carpet
dog can, "KILL" smiled at me.  In it's eyes I could see that it shared the
fond memories of me and forgave me my stinginess in saving $17.50 by home-
nuetering him with a soldering and G-clamp back in `88.  Like hell.
Every quivvering muscle of canine hate remembered me.  And the games we
played.  Games like "Bite the Chainsaw", "Dodge Daddy's car whilst tied to
the Middle of the Driveway" and "Overnight Swim in the Septic Tank".  Yep.
I was history waiting to be made.

                - saved again -

Mental agility had not departed with my bowel contents however; my mind was
ticking over like Libyan Airplane Luggage.  It was a one in a million shot but
I had to take it.  "Good K.." I said, before realising the possible negative
outcome of saying his name.  "Good Doggie!"
KILL's deep throut growl came as no surprise, but it didn't matter to me, my
hand was on the cassette player and it was almost all over.  It was important
however, to not show fear.  Dogs can smell fear.  It occured to me that they
can also smell excretion and put 2 and 2 together, but that was of little
importance to me now, I was saved.  The Cassette clicked into place, and
quicker than you can say "Not the Carpenters!, Not the Carpenters!" the
Carpenters blared from the 40 watt Surround.  It was one of Karens last works,
"How can I love you when I'm stuffing food down my throat and rushing to the
toilet?"
            - Mmmmm mmm mm -

KILL was whining in the back seat, having lost control of most his voluntary
muscular network as the next song started.  I'd just barfed in sympathy with
Karen

    "Just Gimme one more Pot-Roast
    Cat biscuits on Toast
    Then lay with me on the toilet floor
    Puke a bit then Puke some more
    Doing the Bulimia Blues..........

Kill spoke: "That's not how you spell Bu.."  I turned up the volume, switched
the player to Auto Reverse and ran for cover.

                - Ok -

The house was safe now so I raced up the steps and grabbed the key from it's
hiding place in the anus of a Garden Gnome.  (That was my idea - who'd risk
being arrested for molesting a plaster figurine just to break into a house?)
I was on limited time - For a divorced couple Claire and I had a unique
relationship, based on Mutual Trust, Tradition, Sentimentality and the Under-
standing that if Claire caught me here, she'd have Vinnie (her new man) shoot
me.  As luck would have it she still hadn't gotten into the 47 tumbler -
Hell & Damnation Proof, Really-Seriously Black Safe that I'd installed when I
used to live here.  I'll skip the combination, as Claire might be reading this.
(It drives her nuts to know there's something out of her reach in her own home)
The safe opened, and as I thought, the contents were untouched.  A brand-new,
Seriously Black, recoiless, .87 calibre Magnum Magnum with Laser Sighting was
the first to be withdrawn.  I strapped it on.  It was a bit heavier than the
last Magnum Magnum, but as Rambo taught me, if you want to keep the audience,
you've got to get better and better hardware.  I looked deeper into the safe,
grabbed my "Dirty-Diary" then relocked it.  I wouldn't be needing anything
else.
            - you guessed it.  smartass -

"Well, if it isn't the puss-sucking goob-ball himself"  Vinnie exclaimed, from
behind the sights of his favourite hunting sawn-off shotgun.
SHOW NO FEAR.  DEFUSE THE SITUATION.
"Hey Vinnie, still giving it to your vacuum enlarger on a twice-nightly basis?"
    I enquire.  Oh well, I've still got SHOW NO FEAR.
"How did you.."
"The cameras Vinnie, all over the place, recording everything for release in
cheap-peep shows.."  I ad-lib like crazy
"WHY YOU PIECE OF.." he braces himself against the butt, so I reach out and
stick my #5 stainless steel toothpick up the barrel.  A smooth fit.
"Go on Vinnie, pull the trigger" I say, smooth as oiled silk across an upturned
thigh.  As he moves to do so I interject "Pine or Oak?"
"Hunh?" Vinnie asks, confirming my suspicions about a premarital family
    relationship between his parents.  Probably Brothers.
"The coffin Vinnie, Pine or Oak?"
"I doan.."  He extrudes
I explain like he's a five year old.  Mentally, I'm probably not far from the
mark.   "When you pull the trigger, the bullet rushes down the barrel till it
hits the toothpick.  The toothpick shifts the bullet in the barrel slightly,
the gun backfires, turning your cute tatooed chest to mush"

He's a scorpio, I can tell; he loves his tatoo.  He won't shoot.

Vinnie pulls the trigger.
                - Number 1 with the bullet -

The bullet rushes down the barrel of the gun, hit's the toothpick, gets a little
deflection in the barrel, the gun explodes.  Vinnie falls to the floor sobbing
as his "MOM" is miraculously changes to "I hate MOM" under the impact of bits
of barrel.  I kick the gun from his hands and go get some salt.

"Rub this in" I say "It'll save the artwork."   I'm such a heel.

I leave.  Vinnie has most thoughtfully provided me with a vehicle; a 4 cylinder
"sports" car with an exhaust that's supposed to somehow represent the penis
size of the owner.  Vinnie must be a big boy.  I start it and head towards the
interstate; My Dirty Diary has provided me with the information I need to
start a newish life.  "Helga Princess" it reads "1453 West Knob Street,
Arsebandit, Illinois."  Underneath there are three stars and a scribble that
looks like a poorly drawn industrial vacuum cleaner.

            - knocking on a door -

I get there.  I knock on the door.  Helga answers.
"Hello" she says smiling.
"Helga Princess?" I ask
"No, Helga Queen, Princess was my maiden name.."  She smiles again
"SimonT.  I've come about the job"
"What job?"  Her smile dissappears, she's confused
"The one where I earn 100 grand a year plus car"  I smile.
"I think you've got the wrong.." she says closing the door.
"I'm sorry Helga.." I say sadly "...or... was it HELMUT?"
The door freezes mid-slam.  Her eye appears in the crack of the door.
"Vot?" she asks, all pretences dropped
"A surgery in Brazil; secret payments to an Swedish Naval Holiday Home Trust,
Strategic changes in the strength of the Yen; I think you know what I mean.
I know everything - it's no use pretending."
"But how?" (s)he asks, folding worse than a $2 Ironing board
"The Surgeon, Dr Heidel Diddly High.  He kept a diary, you talked under the
anesthetic, he wrote it all down.  You killed him.  I found the tapes and the
diary.  I know everything.  Even the plastic gerbil called FrankReich..."

                - bingo -

Her face gave her away,  she broke down.
"Yes yes, it's true" she bawled "I was trapped in the body of a man, I had to
get out, all the crimes, the violence, it was a pathetic charade, disguising
my true feelings!"
"You tranvesticsm?  Your Eventual Sex Change?" I prompted
"No no, the tranvesticsm and Sex Change was just a stage."
"Yes" I said "Just like all the world.."

    - I watched "Field of Dreams" last night.  A really good movie -

She ignored me, wrapped up in the horrors of her past and continued.
"..I knew some day someone would come for me, it might be you, it might be the
man at the Post Office, even the lady who comes in once a week to eat the
ash-trays - I never knew;  I've been living in Hell" she cried
"What's the temperature like down there?" I asked, making small-talk.

                - Babe Ruth -

She seemed to notice me for the first time.
"Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you a premature ejaculator?" she asked.
"Both," I replied "and I have inverted nipples"
"Somehow I'm not afraid of you" she said
"Why" I asked, "is it my aquiline good looks - My charismatically kindly nature,
My skilfully applied Lady Grecian 2102 or just that I shave my legs like a
state trooper?"
She laughed quietly to herself
"No no" she said "it's because my bodyguards going to bash you over the head
with a softball bat until your head is pulp and then beat the location of the
Diary out of you"
SHOW NO FEAR.  DEFUSE THE SITUATION
I laugh casually, the rippling of my chest muscles popping the dome on the
Magnum Magnum holster.  "Hadn't you better beat the location of the diary
out of me before you cave my head in?" I ask
She gets up in my face, full of confidence now "Don't need to" she whispers
"I know the plot personally..."

                - the plot II -

"It won't work Babe" I say "He's dead, I popped him off a couple of episodes
ago with my Magnum Magnum.  He's history..."
"Hello Simon", a tight nasally voice says from behind me, and I know I'm in
big trouble.
I turn, and sure enough, it's the plot, full torso cast and all.
"I thought you were dead" I said pleasantly
SHOW NO FEAR.  DEFUSE THE SITUATION
"No, just coming apart" the plot said "... and just about to pull myself to-
gether...  No room for you tho, you were supposed to be written out about 4
episodes ago.."
I can see a big bruiser with a softball bat approaching out of the corner of
my eye, which comes as a surprise, as I didn't know there was that much room
in there.  The magnum magnum slides out of it's holster like turds out of an
anus after a homebrew party.  The bruiser raises his bat as I pop the plot one
in the chest, and I notice as he goes down, he presses a button.  I...

            - who turned out the lights? -

                - after the button -

I'm queasy.  The plot's pulled one over on me, I'm sure of it.  It's still
alive too, otherwise I'd be somewhere else.  I put the Magnum Magnum back in
it's holster; if it was of any use, I wouldn't be here.

I'm standing on a long long road in the middle of nowhere.  Sod this!
I get out the Dirty Diary.  I look to the last page.  It's at todays date as it
always is.  I read the last entry.  "Shot the Plot, winged it"

Things are much better.  Nothing like a hole in the plot to make things easier.

                - wrong -

I start walking down the road.  Sure enough a town is coming up.  I'm just
about there when a police cruiser pulls up beside me.
"Rambo?" the fat cop asks me
"Nope, wrong story" I say "Try a different book, M for Morrell"
"Thanks" he says and drives off.

Two seconds later another police cruiser pulls up.  The plot's a real bastard.
I'm in the Andy Williams show!  Shit I hate that.  And "My 3 Sons" too!  I'll
kill Frank McMurray on sight!  That goes for Chip too!

I've got two wishes left from when I was on "I dream of Jeannie"  I waste one
of them wishing my flatmate won't eat the Ham and chips that I bought at lunch
time.  I wish that I wasn't here.

>Pow!<
I look round, and I'm in prison.  My clothes have changed and I'm dressed in
the garb of someone with matching IQ and Waist-Size.  In front of me there's
some paper and a pencil.  I'm obviously in someone else's body because there's
an hours work of their writing in front of me.  The paper says:

"DEAR" in scrawly writing.  I figure I've got nothing to lose, I may as well
play along with this for a while.  I continue in a vein similar to that which
would appeal to the previous occupant of this body.

"FORUM.
    I NEVA THORT I'D BE RITING TO YOU TODAY BUT I DUN SOMETHING THAT REALLY
CHANGED MY MIND BOUT WHAT PEOPLE SAY IN THESE LETTAS.  I WAS JUST TAKING A
SHOWER WITH MY BROTHER JED WHEN HE DROPPED THE SOAP ON THE FLOOR...."

That should do for this week.  By the time the previous occupant of this body
got back, I'd be long gone and he'd be able to finish off from his own past.

I hoped.
            - but no -

Around about then the "little woman" got back.  Judging by her looks, her name
was Bubba, Dumptruck or BrickWall.  I was in biiiiiigg trouble.   I look to
the "bookshelf" of the other occupant.  3 "Bustling Muscles" magazines and a
leather hood.

"Hi cutie" my bride said as he entered the cell.
"Hi Simon" the plot said as it rolled past in it's wheelchair.  I did what any
self-respecting human being in a similar situation, I dropped to my knees and
begged.
The "Mrs" misunderstood my intentions completely, but I realised that the plot
had been saving this scene for a really special occasion....

            - gigadee gig -

I was at home.
For those readers who can't figure out what happened:
    I grabbed on of the little womans steel-caps and threw it at the
    plot's scene change box, but I couldn't mention it before it happened
    otherwise it would have been part of the plot, and it would have known.

So I'm at home.  Time to check the calls.  I push the button of my answering
machine.  "International STD Research Laboratories" my voice chirps out of
the box "Please leave your name and disease after the beep, and we'll get back
to you once we've released your name and medical records to the Media"
For some reason I never get obscene calls...

"Hi Simon, it's Laura here"

Laura.
I thought she was dead.  The androids had got her.


                - laura -

Hearing Laura again did weird things to me.  My Magnum Magnum and clothes fell
from my body (ok, well, Maybe I did tear them off)  I was a new man!  I could
go on TV Game shows, scratch my privates in public and things like that.

   It occurred to me that the police were still after me and that life was
probably still a little complicated.  Sure enough, the street was littered with
unmarked squad cars.

I decide to lay low, and read all the mail that's built up since I've been
away.  The first letter immediately grabs my attention

 "CONGRATULATIONS!  YOU MAY ALREADY HAVE WON 4 DAYS OF THYROID SURGERY AT THE
 HOSPITAL OF ST MARGARET OF THE SAWN OFF SHOTGUN!"

I threw it away without opening it.  They won't catch me out twice

The second one's a postcard from my Uncle Rob.  It's a picture of some cell
bars with "Wish you were here" emblazoned across them.  He tells me pick him up
outside  the  penitentiary  at  Flyshit,  Arizona,  (named  after a spot on a
prospector's map) on the 14th.  That's two days away, so I've got heaps of time.

The next letter is one from Laura >sigh<, the abosolute love of my life.
They named a new strain of herpes after us you know...

                - recr -

I put that aside for my recreational hour and get down to the brown envelopes.
Bills, Bills, Regular Price, Bills.  Hmmm.  There was a white envelope with a
TV insignia on it.  I ripped it open, and sure enough, I'd been invited to
partake in Death Date 100.  TODAY!!!  Now that's what I call LUCK!

I had to fit out for this.  I slipped into my closet and grabbed all my best
white gear.  The shirt, the polyester slacks, the shoes.  I slipped them on.
And, for the "peace of the resistance" io yanked out my outrageous red leather
tie and my outrageous red leather belt.  I left the other outrageous leather
bondage accessories for later.  I opened the trapdoor in the kitchen that lead
to the tunnel the mexicans had built for me.  It came out in the Statue of
Liberties Undergarments and had a ladder leading to another continent.  I
really should have fed those guys more, they deserved it.  Maybe after they
finish the underground football stadium...

            - It's almost lunchtime -

I get to the studio, stare at the goober across the desk, and give him my "I've
just machine-gunned a maternity ward and don't care" look.  He shits himself.
I put out the #2 toothpick and start making indecent gestures at the woman
across the counter.

"Oh, you must be one of those low-lifes for Death Date 100" she cried, "I'm so
PLEASED you turned up!!!"
Something about her manner made me wish I'd brought the Magnum Magnum with me.
"That's me chicky-boo" I call, really laying on the crap; I don't want to get
    bounced at this stage - I've got to appear like every other slime
    choked peice of human refuse that frequents this show.
    I blow her a french kiss to help things along a little.  I can tell she
    likes me.

                - the game -


A fat guy in a security guard's outfit leads me into the studio where we're
going to play.
"I LOVE THIS PLACE!" I shout, waving my arms expansively, bumping into the
    gaurd as I do so.  I recline on my couch as the guard leaves minus his
    gun.  It's a .38 peashooter that probably hasn't been fired since
    Ted Kennedy last told the truth, but maybe I'll get a chance to clear
    that up real soon.

I look round at the other "contestants".  High quality beings all of them.
The first guy's wearing a "Sex Instructor - First Lesson Free" teeshirt,
and buy the looks of him, he's priced right out of his market.  Number #2
appears to have a wrist complaint involving his groin and handkercheif.
The other two contestants are engaging each other in a conversation on who's
got the largest physical size.   The only thing that saved them was the dud
safety catch.  I start working on behind my table to get it loose.  Loser #2
nods at me and smiles.

                - the presenter -

The presenter walks in.  Before he can speak I regret once more that I didn't
bring the M squared.  He speaks.

"Hi and welcome back to Death Date 100, the show where you, the audience, get
to pick which lowlife we throw into our Giant, Piranha-filled Blender!"

Right about now I know why chicky-boo was so pleased to see me.


                - cabbage rolls -

            - the game -

"As you well know" the presenter bubbles "we ask every guest a question which
they will attempt to answer in the tackiest way possible.  You get to vote on
who we kill at the end."

The .38's safety catch comes off with a snick and I decide to play to win...

"Okay, Shauna, read the first question!"

A skinny woman with a past involving horse-riding strides in and pulls a sheaf
of papers from under her miniskirt.  What a high-class move.  I can tell I'm
in a really wholesome community!

            - does anyone read these lines? -

Shauna pouts for the audience and John, our presenter, makes some comments
about what he would like to do in a dark room with Shauna.  I must be psychic,
as I was just thinking about what I'd like to do with John in a dark room,
only my thought involved a Black and Decker Power Saw, three sharpened pencils
and 1200 volt Arc welding kit.

The first question comes at us.

"What is the most exciting thing you have ever done?"
Number 2 goes first as it's in ascending order of penis size, as stated on our
application form.  Around about now I'm feeling really pleased that I used my
bank account number.

    - come to think of it, does anyone read the red bucket -

Number 2 wipes his hand on his shirt and mumbles "When I took out the whole
cheerleading squad and had sex with every one of them."

John butts in: "Sorry number 2, we're after honest answers here.  You'll notice
that we have a lie detector on the wall, and you're past "absoulte bullshit",
and in fact verging on "Nixon".  WHAT DO WE DO WITH LIARS AUDIENCE?!?"

        - this stuff doesn't write itself you know -

"THE BLENDER JOHN, THE BLENDER!" the crowd roars
Number 2 is dragged to the blender and put on a platform above the fish and
whirring blades...
"And here's our guest executioner, Wee Granny Gobble-Gobble from Fingercrotch
Florida!" John warbles, full of himself.
A sweet old lady walks in and stands beside him as he continues
"Well Granny, remember, you control the speed and type of the blades AND the
trapdoor.  What do you want?"
"Superslow Blunt blades please" Granny asks smiling away in her private
    dreamland
"SHE'S GOING TO TAKE THE SUPERSLOW BLADES!!!!"
"Ok granny here's the switch, whenever you're ready...."
Granny pushes the switch and Number 2 becomes red herring milkshake.  I turn
back to the game and Players 1, 3 & 4 have left while everyone was destracted.

    - I'm getting ECT to help me write this stuff you realise -

DON'T PANIC.  LIE YOUR WAY OUT OF IT

"So," John continues "that leaves us with..... oh!.. YOU player 5.  Actually,
you would have been next anyway!"

Shit! I knew I should have added my social security number, birthdate and
internation telephone number!

John continues:  "So SimonT, what's your answer"

"When I took out the whole cheerleading squad and had sex with every one of
them." I cheese, winking and fingering my Y-fronts simultaneously.

    - what a load of crap.  I'll get them to increase the volts -

He looks to the lie detector, it's way down at 0.
"Shit" John says "You lucky Bastard!   WHAT DO WE DO WITH LUCKY BASTARDS
AUDIENCE?!"

"THE BLENDER, JOHN, THE BLENDER" the audience chimes in as one.

Pricks.  I didn't have the heart to tell John I rarely MEET cheerleaders, let
alone get to date them.  Grandad's Lie detector practice sure came in handy
too...  But for now, escape was on my mind.

"BUT WHAT DE WE DO TO JOHN AND SHAUNA BEFORE THAT LADIES AND GENTLEMEN?" I shout

"THE BLENDER, THE BLENDER" the audience screams

    - Mind you, it's probably not the volts but the amps -

John and Shauna dissappear under Granny's trembling finger.

"WHAT DO WE DO WITH THE AUDIENCE NOW?" I scream

"BLENDA!" the audience howl, caught up in the feeling like an arm in a wringer

The audience is rapidly moolied.

I leave.  I've got to get to Flyshit, and Uncle Rob will be waiting.

    - What the hell, I'll ask them to turn up both -



                - two days later -

       Uncle Rob was waiting for me outside the gates of "That'll teach you"
penitentiary.  He had one more arm than when he went in.  This place really
went in for rehabilitation.

"Like the arm" I said "It's really you"
He smiled.  He hadn't smiled like that since before he lost his old arm in
a typing accident at Port Loud-Hailer in '73.  He never talked about it, and
I never asked...
"Yep, Sure is good." he replied

"So what do you want to do now that you're finally out, Go home?  Play Pinball?
Go to "Robbies"?  Rob a Bank?" I ask

            - is anyone reading these? -

I needn't have asked.  In unison we shouted "BANK!"

We pulled up outside Rich-Person Anglo Saxon Internation Bank at 3:30pm, just
before the armoured car was due.  We didn't bother with the ski-masks, Rob
Reckoned they'd know who we were anyway, we always came here just before  he
went to prison.  As always, before we went in Uncle Rob turned to me and spoke
"Ok, this time you really *have* sorted out the getaway?"
My reply was standard "Of course"

We waltzed into the bank, cool as Refrigerated cucumbers, better than men.
Uncle Rob and I waited patiently in line, posing occasionally for a profile
to be shown later on the news.  We get to the counter and Rob leans over the
counter and asks about a bank loan.  We have to see the manager.

The Manager's a large gentleman with burger stains on his shirt where he thinks
the jacket covers.  I can see Uncle Rob's hand shaking, he hates poor personal
hygiene.

    - the ECT blew a fuse, it wasn't getting enough feedback -

We get into one of those sectioned off booths where everyone can hear each
other grovelling for money, making managers feel like some form of demi-god.
Straight away I start sobbing into the desk and blubbering out loud to cover
up what Uncle Rob's whispering into this guy's ear.  We're as safe as Chernobyl
here, no-one will dare look round, they'll just listen to every word we say so
they can repeat it to their friends...

        Me                Uncle Rob

OH SHIT, YOU GOTTA HELP US, ALL WE NEED IS
SEVENTY THOUSAND MORE BUCKS TO PAY OFF THE
HOUSE,   THE  CAR,   MY  EXPLORATORY  ANAL
SURGERY  AND  A TRIP TO VEGAS;  I'VE GOT A
PLAN TO WIN AT BLACKJACK, IT CAN'T MISS.
ALL I DO IS SIT ON TOTALS OF 10, 11 & 12!!
IT'S FOOLPROOF!    AND IF YOU JUST GIVE US
THE MONEY,  I  MIGHT HAVE ENOUGH TO AFFORD
TO GET RUSTY FIXED,  WE'VE  GOT 74 PUPPIES
AND WE'RE RUNNING OUT OF  SACKS FAST!!  WE
NEED FOOD, YOU GOTTA BELIEVE ME,  WE  HATE
EATING  THE  GODDAM  ANIMALS,  THEY'RE ALL
SOFT AND SQUISHY AT THAT AGE,  AND NONE OF
THE NATIONAL FASTFOOD CHAINS WILL BUY THEM
COS THEY'VE GOT RABIES.  I MEAN TO SAY, IF
YOU COULD JUST FRONT US  WITH  SOME  CASH,
ANYTHING,  JUST ENOUGH  TO GET US BY FOR A
COUPLE OF DAYS, WE'RE A GOOD RISK, I ...    Gimme money or I shoot you.

Uncle Rob has a way with words

            - neither am I -

                - On the road again -

    We leave the bank.  The Manager's still crying in the cubicle where we left
him - he didn't even notice Uncle Rob, he sort of glazed over when I told him I
had to sell my mother to the glue  factory  to be rendered into wallpaper paste
(after I'd whacked out her her gold teeth and sold them) to pay for my sister's
testicle operation.   He just handed over the money,  bags  and bags of it.  In
the end we called out for some sedation and left.

                    - Bar -

We go to a bar to celebrate Rob's release and our financial independance.  It's
a nice place, Imitation Veneer on all wooden surfaces, carpeted seats bolted
into a floor with a big cement drain right in the middle of it.  Straight away
Rob starts looking for a fight. He asks some guys if they've seen one, but
they haven't.

We go to the Bar.

"Bloody Mary" I say.
"She's not here today" the barman says grinning - I'm not sure if it's because
he's finally mastered the art of speech or just that he's sexually fulfilled
himself into the icebucket.

I don't ask.

            - The drinks -

"2 Screaming Orgasms"  Uncle Rob butts in.
"Regular, or Stud size?" the Barman chips back.  Hey, maybe that protruding
forehead's just a disguise and the doctor didn't grab the afterbirth by mistake
"2 MULTIPLES Please" Rob says, calmly.  "In a dirty condom"

   Straight away the bar looks at us.  This is a real challenge.  The barman
starts mixing up the drinks in an imitation Caribbean way, and, when he thinks
we're not looking, spits in the shaker.

Like we were born yesterday.

                - drinkie -

He pours us our drinks and we turn back to the bar; Rob grabs the barman's head
and I pour the drinks down his throat.  I hadn't noticed the powdered glass
till then..

The crowd of course, loyal to the drinks server, rushes us.  We leap over the
bar.  Straight away things change.  No we're best friends.

We spot a couple of nice looking transvestites across the bar.  All we've got
to do now is figure out what they are and what they're pretending to be before
we go over.
"It could be a natural moustace.." I whisper to Rob, but he shakes his head
"Nope, it's a plant and no mistaking it.  Hair transplant."
Before we can make a move on them, another couple of the same sex enter - now
these are both definitely women.  Rob tells the elite clientelle that drinks
are on the house.  Someone says that's not how you spell clien.. and Rob hits
him.
                - one brawl later -

Me and uncle Rob are sitting with the new two.  I got out of the fight best
off, I've only got 2 broken fingers and a repressed odeipus complex that
someone hit from behind with.  Rob looks like he's down a couple of ribs and
that turkey dish that I left at Fungus McFerguson's place, but he's still
holding in there.

"It's ESPECIALLY good to meet you" Uncle Rob says.
The two women are obviously thinking he's got the intellect of Dairy Products
but "especially" is our keyword, meaning "Follow my lead"

"November the 22nd, '63" he adds.

One of the women looks slightly disturbed, but says nothing.  The other's just
dreamily

"Dallas, Texas"

Woman #1 is mesmerised by Rob at this stage, #2 is gazing off into the distance
probably wondering what vanilla tastes like.

I help Rob along with the pickup.  "Dealy Plaza" I say

#1 turns to me with wonder and adoration on her face
Now it's a fight to the death with trivia.  Me .vs. Rob.  Winner takes all!

                - rawhide -

"Wasn't that Blues Brothers?" #1 asks
Rob and I look at her in disgust.

"Well, if you're not going to take this seriously!" he says, offended

"But, but, JFK was the greatest!  I take it very seriously"

Rob stares her down.  "So do I, he says.  "I shot him."


                - nice brown buns -

Well, of course #1's all over Rob by now, the "Kennedy Fixation Pickup" rarely
fails.  I'd heard it so many times I could almost recite it backwards;  Yet no
matter how many times I heard it, I almost believed Rob when he said he shot
him.  (Which was crap; back then Rob used to work for a Book Repository)

    I'm the real winner out of the situation, I've got #2, a freshman at
V-NECK-SWEATER UNIVERSITY, with an IQ in the high teens.  She's telling me
about what she did in her summer vacation, looking for identical grains of
sand in the Majabe.  Yep, I'm a real winner.

"But that's enough about me, Simon, what do you do for a living?" She goes

I can't believe I'm here.  She's obviously a hippy - It's time to play
hard-ball!!!

            - connection refused -

"Well, I used to torture household pets with a soldering iron, but there
wasn't much demand for that so I went back into my old trade" I say.

She's going to say "What trade?", I can just feel it

"What trade was that?" she asks, slightly uncomfortable, but covering up by
being uncharacteristically verbose

"Well, I used to drop live fish into a blender to make fish chips.  Of course,
that was after my drift net fishing went bust - what a bunch of bastards those
greenies are, making all that fuss.  Why, I never caught any more than 10 or
12 dolphins a day, there's plenty of them in the sea!  Shit, I'm just pleased
they never found that all those drums I was offloading in Florida for the
Portugese Nuclear Research Coucil."

           - ? Unknown host "cd.purdue.edu" -

By this time she's snuffling into her hanky whispering "Poor Flipper" and #1
has moved over to console her.

So right away I'm the bad guy!  I don't believe it!

Rob's giving me the signals, left eye wink, shrug of the shoulders, finger on
the left ear.  I can't remember whether this is "She's mine, leave now" or
"The Mexican piano player wants to tango all night long with you and your
sheep in fishneck stockings".  I look around.  There's no piano.  I have to
think of an excuse fast.

The old faithful.

"Sorry, got to go!" I shout "I've got baby seals to bludgeon!"

#2 starts bawling out loud, while #1 starts sniffling in sympathy

"I was just joking!" I say "I wouldn't bludgeon baby seals.  Not when I've got
a perfectly good Magnum Magnum in my pocket!"

They're both at it now, But I can't stop myself now, I've lost control.

"Do you know what this is?" I say quietly to #2, pulling out my keys
"This is my lucky rabbit's foot.  There's not another one like it!  And I'm
sure of that cos I've killed thousands of them.  With a claw hammer.  And a
screwdriver...   Don't cry!"

    - connect: %MULTINET-F-ECONNREFUSED, Connection refused -

   So round about now, everyone in the bar is hoping I'll leave, which I do,
setting up Rob as the "Protector" of these two nymphetes.  Works every time
apparently; I don't know, I never stay round long enough to find out.

I step onto the sidewalk, and what do I see?  I'm getting a ticket for parking
in front of a hydrant.  So I go over and start talking to the guy, asking what
the story is, because if there was a fire here they wouldn't try to put it out,
they'd apply for the

He ignores me and keeps on writing out the ticket.  I think what the hell, it's
not my car, and jump on the patrolman's bike.  I've still got the money we made
from the bank job, so I've got money to burn and a party to start!

        - yes- yes- yes! -

                - sound box -

So if I'm going to have a party, I'm going to need some sounds.  My place is
out of bounds, so that's the quad down the tubes.
Hmmm.  Then it comes to me like lost luggage in a rain storm, I can use the
warehouse on the peir!  No-one ever goes there any more, it's the ideal place!
Especially for a party

   With this all sorted out I head to DOWNTOWNSOUNS, as tacky a place as you
can imagine.  A salesman greases up and asks if he can help me while I'm still
in the carpark, so I know they're going to go that extra mile to make a deal.

                - shopping -

I walk into the store, flash one of the bags of money and say I'm looking for
a "Nice Record Player".  Straight away the Salesman's image of me goes from
"Could know his stuff" to "Sitting Duck" whilst mentally counting all the
commission he's going to get off me.   He starts yammering on about CD players
with  47  different  features  including  built-in  foreskin  massager,  as I
"accidentally" step backwards and knock over a glass platter turntable.

                - oopsy -

"I'm terribly sorry" I say "I'm a bit clumsy today, LSD reverberation from
the first Hendrix Revival concert - you know the  onein the back of the
ambulance on the way to the hospital.."

NOW the salesman's thinking how he can take my money, give me an empty box and
still get all the commission and my money and retire to the Bahamas.  I decide
to tease him some more.

"I really think I should just pay for this mess and leave" I say, accidentally
putting my hand through a 15 inch woofer.   "Oh Gee, look, I'd better just pay
for my accidents and go.."

Now this guy's shitting twinkies, because he wants me to stay, but he doesn't
want me to ruin anything else.  He waves aside a fistfull of cash and tells me
it's ok, that sort of thing happens all the time.

"Is that the new Farlando 300 watt per channel Amp and speaker set with sub
woofer, sub-sub-woofer and your wife who's also a woofer?" I say stumbling
towards a rack of expensive gear.

"No no sir" he laughs nervously "That's the shop's DISPLAY Mega-Gamma-Alpha-
Omega-Kill-Me-Quickly-But-Dont-Step-on-my-Blue-Suede-Velvet Eight Dimension
Air Cooled, Turbo-Charged, total serenity sound system."  He tries to guide
me away, but I've got to have a go.  I surrepticiously plug in my earplugs,
tie down my clothes and put on my Oakley Nuclo-Thermier Protective Specs.

"Can I have a play?" I say

The guys teetering on the threshold of telling me no, but he's still got the
bag of money in his mind.  The ugly thought of redundancy clutches at his groin
and he ducks off saying "Hang on, I'll just ask the boss.."

By this time another salesman's beside me.
"Nice manoever with the glass plattered turntable." he says "Sorry that you
couldn't spell pier at the beginning of the chapter tho"

                - refried beans -

"That's great coming from someone who can't spell man.." I stop.  How did he
know what was at the beginning of the chapter?

"Plot's Brother" he says to me.

"Relative?" I ask, warily

"So much so it's almost Einsteinien" he says

Something big's obviously going to go down, I'm sure of it.  Plot's brother
nods.  Something to do with the big stereo perhaps.  Nods again.  I'll take
it from here.  Nods again.

                - power up -

I move over to the machine, the power's still off and I can feel it begging me
to turn it on.  I reach to the button, and pause.  Plot's brother is gone.
I look at the volume knob.  Typical, it's at "Stun".  Kirk tells me to set it
to "Kill".  I do.

I push the button marked ON.


                - click -

There's a humm in the air and several insects that had flown into the back of
the unit are fried like southern tourists on a beach.

There's no turntable!

Salesman #1 runs back a 5 greases per second
"The General Manager says it's ok to.."

He sees me, the Oakleys, the Volume setting.  He dives for cover.

Smart Move.

I click on the CD player, apparently the only peripheral of the whole unit and
search through the shop's CD collection for Judas Priest.  Ah!  Turbo Lover!

                - "knew can't see me" -

The CD slides out like 100s from a billfold and I slip the CD into it's almost
velveteen interior.  Velveteen makes my thoughts turn to my repressed Oedipal
Shopping Complex and how good my mother looks in a full body cast.  Reluctantly
my mind turns back to the job at hand.

[1] [PLAY]     I type, then take a seat behind the speakers.

    The volume is awesome, this has got to be the largest display of public
hysteria since Teddy Kennedy applied to fly Concordes.  Suspicious brown trais
lead out of the store as the few terrified clients who still have a nervous
systems drag themselves from the shop.

                - the damage -

Furniture and Fittings are falling everywhere as I pick at my teeth with the
#2 stainless steel toothpick as the State Anti-Terrorist Squad and SWAT team
rolls up outside.

As I planned, they send in the remote robot to fix the situation.
The sound's so loud by this time the robot's wheels start melting as it enters
the door.  It gets to the unit and commits ritual suicide by falling against
the power cord.  There's a flash.  The sound stops.

Salesman #1 is gibbering about insects, hiding where he'd jumped.  I stroll up
to him.

"I'll take it"  I say.  He says nothing, just shakes his head.  Bowel control
obviously was not one of his strong points.

Before the cops can rush in, I grab the atomic battery of the robot, about the
only thing that withstood the damage.  nyuk nyuk nyuk!  All other plans were
void now, my destiny stood clear ahead of me!

I sprint out the front way.

Bad move.

I was sure the cops would only be round the back, but there's a couple of
SWAT members out front.

"It was hell in there!" I shout, trying as hard as I can to pass water and
make myself fit in.  I think of Rev Jim Baker and the Golden River flows.
I can't help myself, I burst out laughing.
They think I'm hysterical and put me in an ambulance.  I plug into the nitrous
oxide, what the hell, I may as well enjoy the ride.

Halfway to the Hospital I turn to my attendant.
"You know, it's times like this when I'm on the bones of my arse, haven't got
two bent pennies to rub together, I just wish I had medical insurance."

So I'm out on the sidewalk with extensive bruising to my chest and groin.  If
only I hadn't left my Magnum Magnum in the car - Now that would've been a
quick and fair fight.

The atomic battery is intact.  Like an automaton, I head to the one place in
the world I know would be safe.  The bunker.

I'd always planned to launch my last offensive against the NRA here, offering
free bullets to card carrying members, and delivering them via my Magnum Magnum.
Perhaps I still would.  Who knows.

I start hitching, I've got to get out of town fast, especially now the cops
will have discovered who set off the problems at DOWNTOWNSOUNS and linked me
to the penguins etc.

Someone stops.  Zsar Zsar Gabor no less.
"Heeeeeeloo  Daaaaaaaaaaaaarling" she says.
"It's OK, I'd prefer to walk" I say, trying to be pleasant.
"NNo, NNo, I Inseest" she says.
"That probably explains it then" I say, attempting to be witty.
Straight over her head.
"Come on Daaaarling, Get eeen"

What the hell, I think, it can't be as bad as every single appearance she's
ever made in public.  I think Shit, just because every single overemphasised
characteristic of what she calls her life is about as tasteful as an BLT (
Bacon, Lettuce and Turd) Sandwich, doesn't mean to say that she's a nauseous
old over-rated toe rag.  Certainly not!

                - good on me -
I get in.

We drive a bit.

It's like Green Acres in there.  All black and white and..  Plot's brother is
in the back seat....

               - he's right you know -

"I hear this is probably the second to last episode he says"
I say "Hey, you got the speech marks in the wrong place"  He looks back.
Sure enough.  He gives me a sheepish grin.

I get out.   I wish they'd stopped the car first.

I'm at the bunker, a seriously black creation proof case that I bought off a
guy with a halo.  It's a biggie.  I twirl in the 57,342 number combination.
Three days later I'm in.  I close the door on the world.

                - almost the end -


                - Begin -

Before the door could close, my life flashes before my eyes.

"Did I really do that?" I wonder as pictures of me and Katy someone-or-the
other flash by.  The memory of the pain in my groin reminds me that I was.

Me sitting my third year philisophy exam -
The question:
    "In 25 words or less, describe the Universe; give two examples"
My Answer:
  "Everything.  The one we live in, and the one Philisophy Lectures live in."

Me sitting my Biology Finals:
The Question:
    "Create Life using no utensils"
My Answer:
    I hoiked up a great wag of plegm onto the petri dish...

As the images trickled by like shit out of a politician's mouth I started
wondering exactly why I was seeing this without a life threatening situation...

                - Mephistopheles -

The Images stopped as the bunker door sealed shut.  I was in the bunker.

It was obviously the work of plot, so I'd better make plans and fast.  He
couldn't reach me in here, which accounted for the ceasing of the images.  I
got to work.  I backed up my personality onto 5 1.2 gigabyte tapes and all my
memories onto 7 others.  I put all the dirty ones on a seperate tape and
reminded myself to sell them if times got hard.  Katy-someone-or-the-other
would pay!

I dug out Andro-SimonT and plugged in the atomic battery and he and I walked
into another room and came back.  No-one in the reading audience could tell me
apart, not even plot.  Or you for that matter.  I sat at my desk and started
making preparations for a new story.  Not one about nuns, that was for sure.

            - big ploopy ones -

Well, maybe a cameo role, but that was only for Sister Mary Nice-Nun, who never
tortured me with a ruler at a young age.  They broke the mould when they made
her - over my head.  And just for lifting up whats-her-names-dress when I was
ONLY BLOODY 8 YEARS OLD!  Anyway, back on with the story.  She was ugly too,
so I didn't think I deserved it!  Anyway.

Maybe it wasn't me at the table; maybe it was me practising rude signs in front
of the mirror.  I always said that rude signs don't make themselves.  As an
excuse for making a rude sign, the last sentence was an A-, I know, that's what
I got in my first year rude signs exam.

Ok, so my android and I are in the bunker.  We mix up again, just in case I
gave something away, like the way I was standing.   But I usually sell that.

            - the decision -

Well, I could sit here all day and wait, but I'm not that sort of person,
sooner or later, plot was going to catch up with me.  I reached up to the
weapons rack and pulled down my 1.0 calibre Magnum Magnum.  My android did
the same.  Or maybe I was the android and I was doing the same.

One of us went to the door and pulled the release catch, while the other 2
of us hid behind the desk.

Three shots rang out.  Me, my android, and my android's clone (with a 12v
motorcycle battery) fell to the floor.

Dead.

        - Sounds like The End to me -
--

______________________________________________________________________________
 [e-mail] - Simon P Travaglia   Voice: 064 7 8384008  "Hello?"
Computer Services, Waikato University, Private Bag 3105, Hamilton, New Zealand
 -- Elvis Presley is alive and writing my signatures at Waikato University --
Disclaimer: Elvis would agree with me, but he's got dirt in his mouth.
______________________________________________________________________________

The problem-solving process will always break down at the point at which it
 is possible to determine who caused the problem.


From tamsun!cs.utexas.edu!wupost!waikato.ac.nz!ccc_spt Fri Feb  7 12:52:48 CST 1992
Article: 15275 of rec.humor
Path: tamsun!cs.utexas.edu!wupost!waikato.ac.nz!ccc_spt
From: [e-mail] (Simon Travaglia)
Newsgroups: rec.humor
Subject: THE PURPLE BUCKET #2
Message-ID: <[e-mail]>
Date: 20 Jan 92 21:57:28 GMT
Organization: University of Waikato Computer Centre
Lines: 85

Where we left off last week

...
"Hey Babe" I croaked, flicking her badge "I lost 12kgs and a boyfriend, ask me
how"

She stared through me like the mist on a windscreen - I meant nothing to her.
After all we'd been through, at last I knew it was finally all over.  She was
no more in love with me than me with the with the Rubbish bin in the corner...

. . .

But who gave a shit, unrequited love was the best kind!  (Except for small
woodland creatures of course!)

I winked at her with my good eye, and she laughed in that way she had; you
know: "HA HA HA HA HA HA", and all I could think of was Brazil.  Brazil and
what Raoul was probably doing to the Pope's toilet.

Days later, when we were back together as we had been, Elsie told me of her
life since me.  She'd tried everything, but she still couldn't convince her-
self that she was the one for her.  She wanted me.  We consumed each other
in our love, and our passion was boundless, perhaps because all the springs
in the bed gave out, I don't know...

But even as the sweet waters of love washed over me, I knew it was soon all
to be over.  We were opposites in everything, she loved Dire Straits, I loved
NWA, she ate at Pierre's, I ate at Denny's, she crapped in the toilet, I
shat my pants; it was doomed from the restart...

But that didn't stop me enjoying myself while I could - it may just be a
momentary taste of paradise, but I was going to bottle some to take home with
me...

That night we ate Mexican, an ugly little bastard who tried to sell us two
tickets to Whitney Houston live from the Vatican.  Aparantly her and the Pope
were teaming up for "That's what friends are for" and a rehash of Sade's
"Feels like the first time" in Latin.  We roasted him over the white hot
engine of her Ferrari Tosser and ate him with sour cream and brown rice.
Amazing how such an unappetising person can change for the better.

I decided it was time we talked.

"You remember Rio?" I asked ".. When we took all our clothes off and ran
naked through the streets, singing the soprano from Un Bel di Vedremo?"

"Nope."

  She was just being diffcult, in that way that makes a young woman so
attractive, and an old woman the latest statistic in redneck household
violence.  She knew what I was talking about all right - she was just toying
with me.

I loved it when she did that.

"Sure you do; and you told me that if there's one thing you'll always remember
it's the sound of your father's pacemaker stalling when I demonstrated my new
electro-magnet"

"But my father's still alive!"

"That's right, that wasn't you; I'm sorry my dearest.  Come to think of it,
I don't think it was me either.  It must have been Johnny"

"You promised you'd never mention his name to me again!" she cried.

"I'm sorry once more dearest, I didn't mean for things to go this way, it
just slipped out, like excretion out of a presidents mouth."
I should have known, I knew, but it was done now.  Ever since we had first
met it had been the same, never mention Johnny Carson to her.

I didn't have the full story, all I knew was that it was something oral.

--


-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Simon P Travaglia,   || Kia Kaha E Hoa!
University of Waikato|| PSI:0530171000004::, Intr: [e-mail]
Private Bag, Hamilton|| Disclaimer: No-one here but me can read and write,
New Zealand          ||             and I can only write.  What did I say?
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
The difference between science and the fuzzy subjects is that science
 requires reasoning, while those other subjects merely require scholarship.
                                        -- Lazarus Long


From: [e-mail] (Simon Travaglia)
Newsgroups: rec.humor
Subject: THE BLUE BUCKET #4 - Caged fury
Date: 21 Jan 92 00:27:37 GMT
Organization: University of Waikato Computer Centre
Lines: 93


            - Just when you thought it was gone -

I woke up in an alleyway.  It was dark, I was sore.

I decided to go home.  It had to be safe, after all this time.

Sure enough, no-one was watching the place, and all appeared to be well.
After my "death" it seemed that I was persona-nonexistanta, or however you
spell it in greek.

I went in, the place had been stripped by my ex-wife, she'd obviously wanted
to make up for the projected loss of alimony by taking everything of any value
from my estate.  She'd obviously contested the will and won damnit, I'd really
wanted to leave everything to the Nebraska Testicle Replacement Foundation, to
fund their extensive research into stainless steel ball-bearings.  Ah well,
there was only one thing left, collect the false passport and papers and leave
once and for all.
                - Clean up -

         I headed to the den and twirled in the combination on my 53 tumbler
Who-would-shoot-the-President-Seriously-Black Safe and opened the door.   As
cool as a chilled cucumber, I defused the nitro-bomb inside the door and
extracted the papers for the new persona I had created 3 episodes back.  I
stashed my old persona backup tapes and disks in the safe (in case of any
emergency) and left my house, probably for the last time.

I jumped in the corvette stingray that I had conveinently written into the
plot and stoked it up for my interstate trip.  I figured I should be in my
new persona by 7am tommorrow.  (I'd prepared perfectly by sending guys in
black suits and dark glasses to check out my house weekly for about 7 weeks
and interview the nieghbours.  Then I had one of them "accidentally" drop
the words "Witness Protection Programme" into conversation.  By the time I
got there, I'd be more well known than the Jimmy Hoffa Cement Pouring award.

            - So, I made a mistake -

At the border, there's a couple of state troopers stopping people.  I slow and
they wave me over to the side of the road.

"Are you carrying any weapons sir?" they ask me

I can't understand this, but what the hell...

"Uh, let's see, two Magnum Magnums, one .44 and on .63"

"Uh-huh"

"A pump action lead slug cannon, 3 school-issue Uzis"

"Yeah, no worries"

"One Nuclear Reactor, as used in `China Crisis'"

"Nice!"

"and Liza Minelli's `Caberet' on VHS"

                - aaaaaaaaAAAAGH! -

"Step out of the car sir, and place your hands behind your head." he says,
turning nasty

"It's the edited version" I plead

"How edited?" the other trooper asks.

"They cut out everything but the previews of other movies..."

"Sounds ok, what do you think Dave?"  Trooper #1 asks #2

"Has it got the cover sleeve?" #2 asks me

I decide to lie
"No"

"Ok, then, you can travel on sir, but you should realise that there's harsh
penalties for possesion of that sort of stuff in this state.  We've got taste
here, and we'd like to keep it that way..."

--

       _______________________----------------------------------* >splutter<
  ____/  This trailer will almost certainly self-destruct in a  given,  finite
 /    \  amount of time.   It  contains  a secret message disguised as drivel.
| BOMB | Disclaimer:  Yep.  I should have known better.
 \____/  Simon Travaglia, [e-mail]  Ph: 064-7-838-4008  Fax: [phone]
         University of Waikato, Private Bag 3105, Hamilton, New Zealand.

Absolute freedom is being able to do what you please without considering
 anyone except the except the wife and kids, the company and the boss,
 neighbors and friends, the police and government, the doctor and the
 church.