***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ************* ************* ************* ************* ** *** ** ** *** ** ** *** ** ** *** ** ********* ********* ********* ********* ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ***** ***** ***** ***** SBI-Submarine Pens Proudly Presents: ####========================================================#### THE PURPLE THUNDERBOLT OF SPODE VOL 2, 43 ####========================================================#### "One year and REPLIES TO: HailOtis@socpsy.sci.fau.edu still going strong" * PPPPPP U U RRRRRR PPPPPP SSSSSS *** P P U U R R P P S ***** P P U U R R P P S ******* PPPPPP U U RRRRRR PPPPPP SSSSS ********* P U U R R P S *********** P U U R RR P S ***** P UUUUU R R P SSSSSS ***** ***** ***** ***** * **** * *** *** *** **** * ***** ************************************ **************************************** ************************************ **** ***** ***** *** ***** *** * ***** * ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *********** ********* ******* ***** *** * WRITE TO: IGHF/955 Massachusetts Ave., Suite 209/Cambridge, Ma 02139 ####===================================================================#### INTRO ####===================================================================#### An introduction before this is all done. Well, I'm rushing here in an attempt to get all these little fiddly bits done as soon as possible. Anyway, we're late and there are two reasons for it. First: the semester just started here and there is far too much work for one poor soul to do. So instead of working on purps I've been doing important things like sleeping. Second: of course we had a hurricane. I won't bore you with the long and short of it, but it was hell. (If you want the long and short of it write HailOtis@socpsy.sci.fau.edu and ask for it.) Socpsy is located in Boca Raton which is about 30 to 50 miles north of Miami where all the damage was. Mostly around here we had some trees fall over and many power lines down. At the amazing Sea Frolic where I live, our largest palm tree came crashing down and about went through the picture window to our place that looks out on the beach. The other mess was the electric pole we had on our property was at a 45 degree angle for a while, but that's all taken care of. The real harm was done to you dear narrator. In short here's what happened to him. 1. Spent Saturday night moving his stuff to his office. 2. Spent Sunday morning buttoning up his place and chopping down two 70 gallon trash cans full of coconuts along with moving a ton of beach furniture to higher ground. 3. Evacuated and moved his supplies to his office only to be escorted off campus by the police who refused to let him back into his office to get his water and such. 4. Snuck back on campus from the FAU shelter which was sort of on campus. Carried some of his stuff back to the shelter. [While this was going on it was about 100 degrees and 100% humidity.] 5. After two hours the shelter was shut down due to lack of people to man it. 6. Moved to another shelter and spent the night on the floor of a gym. I had a good case of heat stroke as well. 7. At 10 the next day while the Sea Frolic was still out of reach that shelter shut down and I moved to another one. 8. This shelter told me the Sea Frolic was open so I went home. 9. Sometime in the afternoon the power went on. 10. Next day drove through downtown Ft. Lauderdale with half the lights out of commission to pick up Lulu. Yep. As fate would have it, Lulu was up north during the whole mess so she missed out on all the fun. Yes, you should feel sorry for me. It was hell. It was a nightmare of ugliness. I never ever ever ever want to go through that again. In some ways I'm still recovering from that nightmare. Anyway, everything here is back to normal. We are getting some new software in the near future so maybe I can finally get a listserver or an ftp site running. Other than that purps is alive and well and grooving. Lately we've had quite a few new subscribers and I more than welcome them. We need them. It's nice to feel that purps is actually being read by folks. In the news, Doc Simpson seems to have disappeared. His mailing addressing DC is no longer forwarding his mail. I suppose I'll have to use his home address or something. This issue of purps was thrown together with some haste and is a might smaller than the last one. There will be no Messenger of the Gods story, seeing at it wasn't written. However there should be enough to amuse you. Special thanks in this issue goes to GARBETT@utkvx.utk.edu for a continuation of his amazing wrestling business from last issue. Also to ArchBishop Chad who at this time is gearing up for another full semester of Otisian activities and recruiting. He is accepting donations of any way shape and form to help him. He is especially looking for "a large net that's kinda hard to see in the dark" so pass any of those along to him you can find. ####===================================================================#### POST INTRO ####===================================================================#### And now we have the Post Introduction. This is the part I write after being delayed yet again. This time around I had to move. My landlord had been telling me for some time that I'd have to move to this other unit at the wonderful Sea Frolic (yeah I live at the Sea Frolic. Isn't that just ever so quaint?). Well, he hemmed and hawed and kept saying not to worry about moving. Then I saw him a couple Fridays ago and he half mentioned something about knocking down a wall between where he lives and I do. So we (the infamous Lulu and Myself) ended up having to move which was almost as traumatic as the hurricane business. I really don't want to talk about that now, but we're more or less happily settled here at our new place. Sad to say we no longer have a view of the ocean. However we do have more space for important things like the filing cabinet full of back issues of Purps and a sort of office Purps can now be composed in. Also we have plenty of pseudo wood paneling that reminds one of a rumpus room your dad might make in the basement. Well, we've had more news as it were. The Pope--yeah you remember him, the Luminary who started this amazing journal of enlightenment, is back on the internet. His official address is now jstevens@world.std.com. This site gives him real access to the internet so he'll probably be on irc and Otis knows what else. You might want to drop him a line and tell him you're glad to have him back. Otis knows I am. It's no fun to fall asleep at the helm and not have someone to wake you up in an emergency. Maybe now that he's on line he can finally send along that owner's manual to the Purps yacht I'm always trying to lay my hands on. We can't seem to figure out the remote control to the "media center". Nor were the entire collection of Gilligan's Island video tapes labeled "Survival Manuals" very helpful. Since the new school year has started up I've received a ton of petitions for subscription. If you know anyone who wants on the purps list have them drop us a line. Also thanks to everyone who has lately been sending in submissions. Hopefully most of them can get put in the next issue of Purps, which I suspect will be the start of Volume Three. [No I'm not going to start with Number 1 again. It's going to be Volume Three Number 44. Yes, I know that's not the way it's supposed to be but that's the way it has to be because of the way Purps is archived at this time.] If there is anyone out there reading this who wants to set up a Purps archive please let us know. We're especially interested in having a gopher site. Okay I've droned enough. I'm just making more work for Lulu. ####===================================================================#### A DRUG CALLED BOB ####===================================================================#### Date: Fri, 14 Aug 92 09:20:54 CDT From: Reverend John Subject: friend of mine just sent me this From: nuke@reed.edu (Bill Newcomb) Subject: Drugs Date: Sat, 8 Aug 92 13:27:49 PDT Hey ho wha ha hi Howza? Here are the descriptions of the effects of a drug called BOB, by Alexander Shulgin, a PhD organic synthetic chemist, from his book "Phenethylamines I have known and loved". Enjoy... QUALITATIVE COMMENTS: (with 10 mg) I don't know if it was me this day, or if it was the chemical, but I got into a granddaddy of a paranoid, sociopathic snit, without feeling and without emotion. I was indifferent to everything. Later on, there was some improvement, with body tingling (good, I'm pretty sure) and a sense of awareness (good, I guess) but I still canceled my evening dinner company. All in all, pretty negative. (with 10 mg) I had to get away and into myself, so I weeded in the vegetable garden for almost an hour. Then I lay down in the bedroom, and enjoyed a magnificent vegetable garden, in Southern France, in my mind's eye. An extraordinary zucchini. And the weeds had all been magically pulled. In another couple of hours a neurological over-stimulation became apparent, and I spent the rest of the day defending myself. In the evening, I took 100 milligrams phenobarbital which seemed to smooth things just enough. Too bad. Nice material, otherwise. (with 15 mg) The erotic was lustful, but at the critical moment of orgasm, the question of neurological stability became quite apparent. Does one really let go? Everything seemed a bit irritable. The tinnitus was quite bad, but the excitement of the rich altered place I was in was certainly worth it all. Through the rest of the day, I became aware of how tired I was, and how much I wanted to sleep, and yet how scared I was to give myself over to sleep. Could I trust the body to its own devices without me as an overseeing caretaker? Let's risk it. I slept. The next day there was a memory of this turmoil. Clearly the first part of the experience might have been hard to define, but it was quite positive. But the last part makes it not really worth while. EXTENSIONS AND COMMENTARY: This compound, BOB, is the most potent of the BOX series. And yet, as with all of the members of this family, there are overtones of physical concern, and of some worry as to the integrity of the body. There may well be a separation of activity with the two optical isomers, but there is not a tremendous push to explore this particular family much further. They can't all be winners, I guess. What would be the activities of compounds with a sulfur instead of an oxygen at the beta-oxygen position? What would be the nature of action if there were an alpha-methyl group, making all of these into amphetamine derivatives? Or what about both a sulfur and a methyl group? And what about the isomers that are intrinsic to all of this, the threo- and the erythro- and the RDU'S and the RLU'S? All this is terra incognita, and must someday be looked into. It is chemically simple, and pharmacologically provocative. Someone, somewhere, someday, answer these questions! ####===================================================================#### BODY PAINTING ####===================================================================#### From: zaphod@ctrg.rri.uwo.ca (Lance R. Bailey) Subject: body painting Date: 7 Aug 92 20:20:39 GMT A while back we discussed body painting ala goldfinger and whether or not it is fatal. Following is an article from the August 9th edition of the Medical Post. (reproduced without permission 'natch). it has a full back shot and a waist up front shot. man -- this guy (shaved head and all) was BLUE. THWARTED LOVER GETS THE BLUES -- Pippa Wysong New York - When a man covered in tinted lacquer entered a German hospital, doctors knew right away he was feeling blue. In fact, the man had covered himself entirely with blue-tinted lacquer in a suicide attempt after a failed romance. He had heard the gold-covered model in the opening credits in the James Bond movie "Goldfinger" had died from complications of whole-body paint and thought that was the way to go. The 22-year-old latter-day Werther thought he would die of slow asphyxiation, but the doctors were more worried about the lacquer's possible toxic effects. At the recent 18th annual World Congress of Dermatology and Allergology in Augsburg, Germany, Dr. Robert Plier, professor of medicine at the Clinic of Dermatology, outlined the doctors' attempts at treating their blue patient. Even though he was covered in lacquer, the patient was still getting ample oxygen, "Oxygen intake by the skin is only 2% of the whole body's intake," Dr. Plier said in an interview. After tracking down the type of lacquer (an alkyd resin) and the brand, doctors found their patient was in no danger of suffering toxic effects. "The color particles are surrounded by polyesters. Usually they can't be absorbed," Dr. Plier said. Some lacquers, however, contain phenol, a substance that can cause kidney and liver toxicity. "Other possible dangers of this are toxic dermatitis by solvents or other substances inside the lacquer." If the lacquer had contained other irritating or toxic substances, the patient could have ended up with blisters or red skin. In this particular case, the patient wasn't in danger. It turned out the worst thing doctors could have done would have been to try to remove the lacquer. "You could endanger the patient by trying to remove it with organic solvents. they are all toxic," he said. The patient didn't even suffer from hypothermia, something one would expect with overall coating of the skin. Eventually doctors let the patient go, advising him the lacquer would eventually peel off. The patient was "quite satisfied by getting so much attention. He did it a second time two weeks later," Dr. Pleir said. But the second time he decided to sweeten things up a bit and added sugar to the lacquer. Both times the patient refused psychiatric help. ####===================================================================#### A RELIGIOUS TALE 3 ####===================================================================#### (((((((((((((Chapter Three)))))))))))) {As you may last recall, we left our hero in a terrible fix. He had just received a telegram from a divine message disguised as a telegram boy. The message on that telegram had really put a damper on things. It told Wilberforce (for those of you at home who have forgotten he's our hero.) that he had to remain celibate on his quest (which has still not been disclosed owing to the fact that I haven't quite figured out what it is yet.) We now join the story a few minutes after the messenger had departed.} "Come on big fellah give Trixie a kiss," said the leather clad woman with the beehive, batting her eyes. "I....I....can't," stammered the bender of wire. "You're not one of THOSE, are you?" she asked, drawing away from him. "No, you see it's this quest nonsense. I have to...you know..." "Bathe?" "No, I can't have sex..." "Have you seen a doctor about it? I know a good one if you haven't. He's great at taking out bullets." "No you don't understand. I'm on a holy quest and I'm supposed to remain celibate." "That's silly," she said taking a lunge at him and smothering him in an embrace. Wilberforce struggled, but his soft life had left him weak and he could do nothing about it. Soon he was having too much fun and forgot about his holy quest. The next thing Fred knew it was morning. The air was cool and crisp. He found himself lying naked in a tangle of sleeping bags next to an equally naked Trixie. Sudden realization hit him and he leapt to his feet looking around to see if he was being watched. Seeing a sea of sleeping Hell's Angels around him he then looked up at the sky. He couldn't see anyone watching him, so he breathed a sigh of relief. He then gave a start as he realized that there was a small man dressed in top and tails standing next to him wearing pitch black Italian sun glasses. "It's not you is it?" Wilberforce asked, peering at the little man with bleary eyes. "I, my good man, happen to represent... let's just say the Competition," said the little man in an oily voice holding out a bright red business card to Wilberforce. "Competition?" asked Wilberforce taking the card and then dropping it as it burned his fingers. "Hell, foolish mortal." "What do you want with me?" "Well you see my good man, the boss send me over to try to see if I could possibly make some deal with you. We noticed that you really seemed to enjoy last night. How'd you like it if we swung it so you could have that much fun every night?" "Ah...I wasn't supposed to do that. I'm on a holy quest." "Do you mind if I point something out to you dear sir?" "No." " All right then. Now aren't gentlemen on a holy quests supposed to be celibate?" "Well... yes," said the artist scratching his naked belly and beginning to feel a bit silly. "Have you been celibate?" "Well...no I guess I haven't..." "And that means..." prompted the man from hell. "Gee I'm getting cold," said Wilberforce reaching down and wrapping a sweat soaked sleeping bag around himself. "Okay fat head. It means this. You have to be celibate to be on a holy quest and since you aren't celibate you can't be on a holy quest." "Hey that makes sense," observed Fredric. He realized he was free. He could go home now and not have to deal with this silly quest. Back to his lovely home and all its convenience, like his pasta maker. No more worries or cares. Back to bending wire into shapes people paid big bucks for. ####===================================================================#### GULF BREEZE SIX IN THE NEWS AGAIN ####===================================================================#### [For those of you with long memories, a note on this appeared in one of the earlier Purps issues. However, it was lacking in some of the details this one contains.] Date: Sat, 15 Aug 92 13:02:33 MDT Subject: Return of the Gulf Breeze 6 From: Michael.Corbin@p0.f428.n104.z1.FIDONET.ORG (Michael Corbin) Subject: Gulf Breeze Six In The News Again Date: 5 Aug 92 00:56:02 GMT ParaNet Information Services Reprinted from the Rocky Mountain News, Sunday, August 2, 1992, Page 16 EX-ARMY INTELLIGENCE ANALYST SETS THE RECORD 'STRAIGHT' ON TRIP NOW HE TELLS US: GHOSTS MADE 'EM GO AWOL -- NOT JESUS IN A UFO Associated Press Albuquerque -- When Vance Davis and five of his friends went AWOL, it was reported that they had gone to a Florida beach to await the Second Coming of Jesus Christ in a UFO. No way, says Davis. "How ridiculous can you get?" he asks. "Jesus Christ is Jesus Christ. Why would he come in a flying saucer?" No, says Davis, the reason they left their Army intelligence posts was simple: Ouija Board spirits told them they were needed to help lead the world through an impending cataclysm. For two years, since the six turned up in the Pensacola suburb of Gulf Breeze, Fla. -- unleashing one of the weirdest stories of 1990 -- they have remained silent. But Davis now says he wants to tell his story to set the record straight and because, according to the Ouija Board, race riots in Los Angeles were to be a signal the group should go public. The six former intelligence analysts, all with top-secret security clearances, were reported missing from their Augsburg, West Germany, base on July 9, 1990. They were arrested five days later after one was stopped for a broken tail light in Gulf Breeze, a beach town known for reported UFO sightings. Two weeks later, they were honorably discharged from Fort Knox, Ky., after an Army investigation found no evidence the soldiers from the 701st Military Intelligence Brigade had been involved in espionage. As punishment, they were reduced to the lowest rank and forfeited half a month's pay. Military officials refused to discuss the investigation. Davis, originally from Valley Center, Kan., had the rank of specialist. Others in the group, with ranks and ages at their arrests, are: Pfc. Michael Hueckstaedt, 19, of Farson, Wyo.; Pfc. Kris Perlock, 20, of Osceola, Wis.; Pfc. William Setterberg, 20, of Pittsburgh; Spc. Kenneth Beason, 26, of Jefferson City, Tenn.; and Sgt. Annette Eccleston, 22, of Hartford, Conn. It all began innocently in November 1989, Davis says. "We decided to do some experimentation into things," he says. "We wanted to see if there was something actually to it -- ESP, parapsychology, ghosts, Tarot cards." Davis says the members of the group "hit brick walls" until finally they tried a Ouija Board. "Someone showed up," he says. "I'm talking spiritually." In the months that followed, Davis says, several spirits talked to the group, predicting the Gulf War and the 1990 Iran earthquake. What they were destined to do, he says, is teach and prepare people for the coming world chaos. "This will be the changing of the Earth and Jesus is involved," Davis says. "He will come back, and Rapture (the fundamentalist Christian belief that believers will be swept to heaven before the world ends) is real." Davis says that when the group couldn't find a legal way out of the Army, the Ouija Board told them, "Leave, just leave." "We had top-secret clearances and never did anything wrong in our life," Davis says. "Being AWOL was the furthest thing from our mind." But on July 3, 1990, they hopped a flight from Munich to Atlanta, making their way to Gulf Breeze to see two friends -- a psychic and her housemate who would become Vance's wife, Iris. After their arrest and release from the Army, the group split up. Davis, 27, lives in Albuquerque with his wife and daughter, does odd jobs and gives seminars on "self-sustaining lifestyles." "With everything we were told that's supposed to be occurring in the next five years, we want to be here to help," Davis says. The changes, he says, include numerous earthquakes and volcano eruptions -- including a major eruption of Mount Rainier in Washington state -- the devastation of New York City by gas leak, and food and race riots in every major U.S. city that will lead to martial law and economic collapse. "When all this occurs, we'll be gone again," Davis says. END ARTICLE PARANET FILENAME: 080292CO.TXT ####===================================================================#### RECRUITING POSTER ####===================================================================#### [Quick get on this right away! This should have been sent out all by itself. Hopefully it's not too late to draw a few more sheep (or yaks) into the fold of Otis!] From: "COPING IS EASY, NOT PUREEING ONE'S LOVED ONE'S IS THE DIFFICULT PART.- Basil Fawlty" Subject: rant As someone [If things are uncredited about 99% of the time Mal wrote them.] pointed out in a recent issue of PURPS [Hail OTIS!], the new school year is about to start. This raises such questions as how to recruit unsuspecting new students for the IGHF. Well, one could find a soapbox and start ranting on the nearest street corner, write to the Pope and obtain campus/company-wide subscriptions to the Otisian Yellow Pages [Hail SPODE!], or for a less expensive option do the following: laser print this post, and editing out this crap on top, xerox the rant below and post it in prominent places - bulletin boards, above urinals, on stall doors, wherever an unsuspecting Otisian-to-be might look. ********************************************** Join! THE INTERGALACTIC HOUSE OF FRUITCAKES! The only true faith and house of worship left on this pathetic little plant. BE! part of the growing international group that worships OTIS, and other associated deities. SEE! the amazing Pope Geoffe I, Archbishop Chad, and Countless Saints perform untold numbers miracles and other supernatural feats! Must be seen to be believed, folks! For more Information, just write to: IGHF 955 Massachusetts Ave. Suite 209 Cambridge, MA 02139 or Internet users: to receive the electronic newsletter of this dynamic group, PURPS (The Purple Thunderbolt of Spode), write to HailOtis@socpsy.sci.fau.edu Don't Forget to send that love-gift of cash, check, or money order, along with your letter. [All donations are non-tax deductible, but don't let a little thing like that inhibit your needed generosity, friends.] ####===================================================================#### IMPOSSIBLE APOSTLE!! ####===================================================================#### Date: Wed, 19 Aug 1992 14:36:30 EDT From: "COPING IS EASY, NOT PUREEING ONE'S LOVED ONE'S IS THE DIFFICULT PART.- Basil Fawlty" Subject: Impossible Apostle!! For centuries, followers of other so-called religions have referred to themselves as apostles of such-and-such or so-and-so. They use this term, "apostle," to claim a certain specialness or closeness to the object of their misguided worship. WELL, have you ever heard of an OTISian apostle. NO! You have not heard anyone going around, _claiming to be_ an apostle to OTIS. Know why? BECAUSE!, OTIS doesn't have apostles; they remind her of those other churches too much. So, He declared that no one who claimed to be an OTISian apostle could be -- THERE'S NO SUCH THING! Now, in the great heretical tradition of the OTISian faith, there is now an apostle of OTIS! That's right! The Impossible Apostle! The One and Only! ANNALISA, The Impossible Apostle, also the Saint of Tetris! You too can congratulate her on this non-title, just drop her a note at VANHOOK@KENYON.EDU -Archbishop cHAD, Saint of Cynicism and related topics... ####===================================================================#### THE GHOST OF TANGLEWOOD ####===================================================================#### Subject: [garrem@aix.rpi.edu: Re: The Ghost of Tanglewood] From: garrem@aix.rpi.edu (Matthew Olsen Garretson) Subject: Re: The Ghost of Tanglewood Date: Mon, 17 Aug 1992 18:56:06 GMT Here's what the AP had to say about the Tanglewood ghost a couple of weeks ago. (Posted without permission; I won't do it again. Honest). By JEFF DONN= Associated Press Writer= LENOX, Mass. (AP) _ Reports that a music-loving ghost is haunting the Tanglewood Music Festival are proving a magnet for the curious, including conductor and ``E.T.'' composer John Williams. Williams, whose Boston Pops Orchestra appears each summer at Tanglewood, spent a day last week joining in the hunt for a specter that reportedly haunts rehearsal rooms, treads the halls at its photographic pantheon of musical greats, and even scared Leonard Bernstein shortly before his death. Some say the ghost has caressed someone's hair, opened doors and faucets, and rustled around the second floor of a more than 140-year-old house on the festival grounds. Others dismiss it as an old house's normal quirks, playing on some overly sensitive imaginations. One thing appears indisputable: The ghost _ real or imagined _ has played havoc with some people's nerves. ``It spooks me,'' said Beth Francey, who helps run special events from an office inside the house. ``You have to leave when you're here alone.'' Others, tickled by the reports, have prowled around the house and even offered to stay overnight. A week ago, festival spokeswoman Caroline Smedvig took Williams and two others on a one-hour walk through the house. On Tuesday, she told of opening a closet and being met by a mysterious rush of hot air. Marcia Duncan, the house manager, remembered it as a blast of cold air. The women said Williams, who wrote the music for Steven Spielberg's tale of an extraterrestrial visitor, was intrigued by the visit to the house. But he has since left for a national tour and wasn't available for comment. Other reported encounters with the ghost were closer still. Duncan said someone _ or something _ once tossed back her hair. She said it made her a believer. ``I never believed in ghosts,'' she said. ``It isn't that you can see anything or touch anything. It's a creepy feeling.'' She said Bernstein was sitting at a bay window two months before his death in 1990. ``He flew out of that window seat,'' recalled Duncan, who was with the composer at the time. ``He threw his arms toward the sky, saying, `What is it that's here? Who is it?' ``That was it. He left the house,'' she said. Tanglewood workers say the ghostly happenings seemed to multiply this summer after they hung a series of photographs of Tanglewood greats, including Bernstein, on the second floor. Asked if the spirit is moved by classical strains, Smedvig said, ``Why else would it have stayed?'' The exact age of the three-story Victorian home, known as Highwood Manor, is unknown. It was built as a farmhouse and sold to Samuel G. Ward, a New York banker, in 1846. The 58-year-old Tanglewood festival purchased it in 1986. The mystery deepened on Tuesday when groundskeeper Jim Mooney mentioned to Smedvig that his workers moved a stone memorial from a site a couple of hundred yards from the house 2 1/2 years ago, about the time that people started talking about the ghost. The 4-foot-high memorial, styled like a tombstone, marked a spot where 37-year-old Oreb Andrews died in 1822 when a tree fell on him. The memorial now sits propped against the wall of a shed where it was moved to make space for a parking lot. Mooney remains a skeptic about the reported haunting. ``I think it's an old building. It's creaky,'' he said. ``Your imagination plays tricks on you.'' Indeed, imaginations can run wild amid the rich history of the festival and the New England communities around it _ once home to the likes of Nathaniel Hawthorne and Herman Melville. Some even say the spirit of conductor Serge Koussevitzky, the father of Tanglewood, still reigns over Seranak, his house at the festival. ``We're sort of the nouveau ghost here,'' Smedvig said of the Highwood Manor haunting. ``Anything in New England takes a long time being established.'' AP-DS-07-29-92 1125EDT< ####===================================================================#### PHONE CALLS OF THE WEIRD ####===================================================================#### Date: Thu, 20 Aug 92 16:38:09 MDT From: eiverson@NMSU.Edu Subject: weird phone message Last night some oddball called up our lab's answering machine from the UK and left about a 20 minute message. Here's part of it: Date: Thu, 20 Aug 92 14:47:24 MDT From: owhite%NMSU.Edu To: yorick%NMSU.Edu Subject: your message from the machine (or at least the first part... (really from ted)) My name is William Kind. The date is Wednesday the nineteenth of august. I'm phoning from the united kingdom, or England. So it's approaching four o clock in the morning here... reaching nine o'clock on Tuesday where you are there. The message is to Yorick Wilks. I'm asking you to look at the possibility that the brain translates information in terms of the extra sensory, and that's why it achieves intuition and common sense. For evidence of esp, or extra sensory perception, look for coincidences especially within words of significance if I leave you with a few words that are significant to me personally as examples if you write down the word choice, underline the letters of choice, and underneath insert the binary code that's oh 1 of course, you will see that the difference between the i and the 1 is of a number with no head on it. But if consciousness is omniprarent, or just is, or if consciousness shall we say is on open network, we would expect in one or more of the languages the word for choice to contain THE BINARY CODE, but we all also expect in one of the words for reason, the word on representing a consent code in the same way as the ability of on on the computer is a consent code. and you see If we read across the word reason in English, it would say RE AS ON. If you write down the word neuron, and with the same meaning the word neurone [different pronunciation], you will see that the last few letters of the each word neuron is they would say the words 'you are on' by sound using letters as symbols. The word neurone is able to say in the last few letters 'you are one'. if you write the word science, under line the letter i of science, write down the word genius, underline the letter i in genius, and two words, i don't know whether you know in the French, je suis, they spell j e s u i s, the mean 'i am', of course, underline the letter i of je suis, if we read across the word je suis, you see it is able to say 'jeeze, you is'. no it is not about abysmal stupidity of the religions, it is telling you whether the religions like it or not, whether we like it or not, consciousness is omnipresent and on open network that's why we breathe in and breathe out molecules, and that is why we eat drink and excrete molecules. because if consciousness is omnipresent, and on open network, then even molecules achieve an ability to code as do the atoms within them as do sub-atoms within them because they belong to consciousness. so it not only expresses or explains the food chains it also explains fission and fusion or the creation of stars, galaxies, planets, rock ... It's telling us the very gen[i]us of sub-atoms able to code within atoms, the gen[i]us of atoms able to code within molecules. it's not about the stupidity of the religions, but it's telling us, we are always part of consciousness in some form or another. which means, in certainty whatever in a year's time, i have no idea how old you are, incidentally you'll appreciate the extra sensory as by definition extra sensory, all animals, plants, insects, etc, birds, deer, then, ultraviolet or ultrasound etc, infrared, etc, they are of little use in our interactivity on the planet as human beings and so they remain extra sensory. but je suis is telling us when you die assuming you are cremated at the time your molecular systems will finally break down, no bonds will be breathed in by the rest of life. but you will still be part of consciousness. and just as you will want to return to the ones you've loved and associated with, so will the molecules will want to return to the ones they have been associated with and in other words you will have an extra sensory body. and if that is true, to get private information, from the paranormal (and the word normal is in the word paranormal) where we would expect it if we were looking for information in terms of symbols that communicate information that the brain is able to recognize, in other words, in terms of language. you would only need to address the brain of your friend giving information from the paranormal to any on this side, as if you were addressing an audio-visual computer. and in those terms in terms of any form of programming in which the brain takes part, in terms of experience and knowledge, any form of priority, the brain would translate in those terms to thought. your friend would not be aware of your presence, except by looking for coincidence. and you see if we read across the word coincidence it's able to say by sound co, that's the Latin for together, and we have to cross reference from one language to another when looking for information in terms of symbols that communicate information, the word coincidence you have to say co inside ence by sound coincidence. if we remove the letter i from je suis you see it leaves behind the word jesus. if we allow je suis as jeeze you is to identify literal words within je suis, it identifies the word jesus, leaving behind the letter i which itself is identified by the meaning of je suis, i am. so, je suis is able to say jeeze you is jesus. i am i. but it's able to give us a signature, as i am, it identifies the letter i, leaving behind the word jesus, giving as a signature, i am, i jesus. if you look at the letters uis in je suis, the easiest word representing the words you, I and the I within us. by using letters as symbols, of the letters ui, and the i within the word us. ui and the i within us, is telling us we only need to touch one hair of our heads to appreciate an exchange of code, this time between the hair you touch and the brain. ####===================================================================#### WORLD WRESTLING FEDERATION AND 92 CAMPAIGN PLAYOFFS PART II ####===================================================================#### Date: Wed, 26 Aug 1992 14:22 EST From: GARBETT@utkvx.utk.edu "Welcome back to the next part of the World Wrestling Federation and 92 Campaign Playoffs! Tonight's contestants for the title of world champion include: Bouncing Baby Bill, The Gipper, Mad Dog Gore, Wild Man Bush, and last but least Clueless Quayle. Pan in on Wild Man Bush circling Mad Dog Gore and growling like a madman. The camera picks up on Baby Bill making his moves on a woman in the tightest possible mini-skirt. Baby Bill notices the camera watching him and runs over to the camera and looks directly into it and says: "I only stuck it in once, and I never CAME!" and then Bill proceeds to knock over the camera. Cut to camera 2, Having taken a few licks from Mad Dog Gore recently Wild Man Bush is desperately trying to tag out to The Gipper. The Gipper is standing beside the ring alternating between combing his hair and bowing to the audience's cheers. The Gipper finally saunters over to Wild Man Bush as Gore slams him from behind causing him winch up his face in agony. He puts out his hand for the tag and just as Bush about reaches it he pulls it back and straightens his hair. "You know, he wouldn't hurt you so bad if you'd just stand up and face him," mumbles The Gipper. Bush manages to stand up and half-heartedly swing at Gore. Clinton comes in for the tag and says "How much cash you got? You deal with her." Clinton hot and mad runs over and bounces off the ropes to clothes line Bush and the referee runs in for the count as Wild Man hits the pad and starts losing his sushi. Commercial Break Pan back in on the ring with Bush down and the referee counting, when he mysteriously forgets how to count and starts over and over and over. Bush gets up slowly and Baby Bill gets an odd look in his eye. Bush goes over to his manager and bellows out "YOU'RE FIRED!" and jumps out of the ring in an unprecedented manner. He runs out to the front row and grabs his old manager Bad Boy Baker and says "Come on, and show me how to win this thing." As he jumps into the ring, the crowd has started to chant waving their tickets, in an obvious reference to the high fees. "All right, all right I promise if I win to reduce the ticket fees." With renewed vigor he head-butts Baby Bill and they begin trading blows. Quayle finally steps up to the ring after his assistant finishes tying his shoes and Wild Man Bush tags out to the mighty Clueless Wonder. Quayle steps in and after being pointed in the right direction he charges screaming "Momma! Dadda! Family GOOD!". Baby Bill distracted with a waving floozy from the sidelines takes it full force and the wind is blown out of him. Cut to news break about impending apocalypse, signs of earthquakes and hurricanes, oil prices and hurting economy. Cut to two announcers with head gear and over sized mikes. "Well that is quite a match we have going this year." "Sure is, last year was such a disappointment when the contender 2-KaKais turned out to not know how to wrestle." "What is the winner this year going to receive?" "A amazing package we have lined up for him. World travel, especially to the middle east, they love a good match over there. Also a luxurious white mansion situation in the middle of DC not far from the all-you-can-smoke crack house special. Included in this is the amazing amount of debt that the Federation owes which he will be responsible for. If he's smart he can make this higher and have a 4-year free ride." "Wow sounds really impressive, who's going to pay for all this...... Cut to Test pattern. Commercial Starts ####===================================================================#### NATURE'S MISUNDERSTOOD ETIQUETTE ####===================================================================#### From: IO10712@MAINE.maine.edu (Rumpleforeskin) Date: Thu, 27 Aug 92 19:22:23 EDT There's a plague in this society, and I'm a part of it. I'm actively annoying people in churches, elevators, and baseball games. One of my most adept talents is considered repulsive and i am all too often shunned for it. I speak, of course, of Farting. Farting is nature's misunderstood etiquette. The sound is one of the most beautiful in nature, and i need not emphasize the relief it normally brings to the farter. So why does everyone consider it repulsive? Because it's always coupled with that unmistakable odor. My belief is that farting was invented by Otis as a sort of warning device, just as smoke comes before fire, the sound comes before the smell. So the next time you hear somebody fart, remember, they can't hold it in forever, so instead of yelling obscenities at them, just say thank you and politely move somewhere else. It's as easy as that. Thank you. I just moved to the big city and I'm really depressed at how fucking rude everyone is to everyone else. This really doesn't have anything to do with farting, I just thought I'd mention it. ####===================================================================#### A NEW SUBSCRIBER SPEAKS ####===================================================================#### Date: Fri, 28 Aug 1992 03:08:16 -0400 (EDT) From: Subject: PURPS subscription >Having read most of the back issues of PURPS I was intrigued enough to >decide to write to ask for a subscription. Let this be an example to you all. Back issues are important! The create converts! They also help on understand Otisian Dogma and Catma. >First of all, if there was a higher tech way of asking, forgive me, I >missed it completely. Sad to say Purps is trying to move into the high tech world. We are in some ways but in others we're still old fashioned. I suppose some folks like it and some don't. Purps has that old fashioned charm in that you actually get all your mail read and processed by a good old human being, warm body type person who takes extra care in making sure your mail messages are processed in their own special and unique way. As we're always ranting some day we expect to go a bit more automated. But I suspect we'll always have a bit of that old fashioned personal contact here and there. >Second of all, as it is getting quite late, I do not feel nearly >intelligent enough to write anything more interesting than the boring .prose you see above...sorry. Oh wait, here is a question about the name >Mal-3...if Mal-1 is Malaclypse the Elder, and Mal-2 Malaclypse the younger, >the who the hell would Mal-3 be? Mal the even younger than that? Mal the >unborn. Mal the confused? Or maybe just Mal-3, and that's it? This of course is one of those questions we cannot ask. Not even the Pope knows the answer to this and he's been pondering it for years. Treat this as a Otisian Koan. Or maybe you can send enough money to the IGHF for you to get an answer. Of course you can also seek the answer by joining up with say the Ancient Illuminated Knights of Otis or one of Otis' many other service organizations. > Sid the Maladjusted ####===================================================================#### REAL ASTROLOGY ####===================================================================#### Date: Sat, 29 Aug 1992 01:33:38 -0400 (EDT) From: Subject: PURPS stuff Cc: Hello again. I've got a few things you might (and then again you might not) be interested in. First of all, I have here a weakly astrology chart that honest to OTIS really exists. I didn't make these things up myself. Brezsny's Real Astrology For the week of August 27 Stolen without permission Aries : Now that you've decided to get cozier with your fear let's analyze it more closely. I'd say about 24 percent of the noxious stuff results from your reluctance to love as much as you could [ack, not normally so preachy, ah well - Sid]. Another 14 percent originates in a tendency to mistake your teachers for enemies, and 19 percent from your refusal to negotiate with the misunderstood monsters in your closet. But fully 39 percent of your fear is nothing more than free-floating angst you absorb from the 5 billion global village idiots with whom you share this planet. That leaves 4 percent unaccounted for, which is the only portion you have no power to exorcise. Taurus : You're having more fun than it's technically possible to have during a depression, I mean recession. And I mean smart, clean fun, not the carcinogenic kind that requires other people to suffer. I guess this would be a prime time for me to perform the psychic judo that will transform you into a REVERSE PARANOIAC -- that is, a wise fool interprets every evidence that there's a vast conspiracy to make you happy and successful. Gemini : Venus, the planet that rules lust at first sight, is about to bust into your house of Goose Bumps. You're likely, in other words, to turn into a furnace of nuclear love, a blitzkrieg of intimacy, a firestorm of tenderness. To ensure your horniness is fully requited, I suggest you seek divine intervention. Here's some right now, absolutely free of charge, in the form of a love spell. Cut out a small triangle of red paper. Imbue it with your favorite scent and burn a small hole in the center with the flame of a green candle. Write this message on it, "Lust globally, make love locally." Wear it in your underwear for three days. Cancer : Sometimes you make it difficult for me to reach you. You listen but you don't listen. You secretly decide that you don;t want to be influenced by anyone else but yourself. When you shut me out like that, I become a little stupid. My oracles don't flow. My language grows stilted. The magic between us withers. Please don't do this to me now. Don't do it to yourself either. I understand that you need to insulate yourself from the prattling purveyors of white noise. But your true allies need you right now as much as you need them. Leo : I wonder how far you'd be willing to go for money. Would you tattoo an advertisement for Diet Coke on your arm if you were offered $10,000? Would you fake a kidnap of yourself if it would raise $40,000 from your rich uncle? Would you sludge away at meaningless drudge work for a million peanuts a year? All of that's pretty tame compared to what I'm going to ask you to do: formulate a plan that'll put you in the exact job you want by September 1, 1995. Virgo : or your birthday I'm giving you way to much. First of all, you have my permission to blame everything on me until September 22. If anyone growls at you, just growl back, "It's my damn astrologer's fault!" [Now, that seems like an idea! Hmm, keep the poor sane few out there thinking - Sid] I'm also arranging for you to receive several lovely dispensations, including a broken trance, more breathing room, cheaper thrills, a new freedom song, and a wilder heart. Finally, I promise you the chance to experience global warming in your pants. Libra : I can feel the pain your feeling, Libra. I can feel your hurt and rage and frustration now that you suspect that everybody loves everybody for the wrong reasons. But I have the cure for what's eating away your happiness, Libra. I can pull you out of the web of lies and transport you to the suburbs of paradise. Now stand up straight and tall in front of your television, and bend and stretch and reach for the sky. Stick out your tongue and cross our eyes and visualize a big pile of burning money and kick your own ass. And keep kicking your own ass until it starts to work. Scorpio : I won't declare categorically that you'll be mistaken for Balkan royalty and asked to fly to Sarajevo on a dangerous mission of peace. But you might. Nor will I predict unequivocally that behind-the-scenes power-brokers will mudwrestle celebrity VIPs for the right to sign you to a long- term contract. But they might. Just in case I'm even ten percent accurate, prepare yourself for an apocalyptic delight that takes a year to understand. Sagittarius : You'll know you're in tune with astrological forces this week if you: get a strong urge to drink a pint of vodka and go bungee-jumping, but decide instead to correct a relationship snafu; feel possessed by the desire to smash all you furniture, but decide instead to brainstorm about improving your job situation; become inflamed with the fantasy of running naked downtown at dawn while singing the Star-Spangled Banner, but decide instead to sit down and write the letter that'll change your life forever. Capricorn : I pride myself on eating fresh, organic food. Polyester I regard as a crime against my body. Naturally, I hold my breath while riding my bike through polluted air; I ceaselessly think loving thoughts; and I shield myself from the Orwellian plague of omnipresent advertising. I am, in short, a living triumph over the vile corruptions of our ecologically insane culture. Yet, every so often, my purity makes my sick. Then I have no choice but to gobble irradiated Twinkies and memorize Reebok commercials and call radio talk shows to praise nuclear power. If you realize what's good for you, you'll realize you are in a similar phase. You simply must rebel against your fantasies of perfection. Aquarius : Maybe you have a dream of a better life for those you love. Maybe you know exactly how they could stop sabotaging themselves and start harmonizing their subconscious habits with their conscious values. My savvy suggestion is not to nag them with your savvy suggestions. Instead, make it inevitable for them to arrive at your conclusions on their own. Tailing gleefully behind the scenes, rework their environment until every smell, every conversation, every sign lures them towards their redemption. Pisces : Happy Unbirthday! It's that flippy-floppy time halfway between your birthdays when reverse psychology is the only psychology that works. Here are a few techniques to get you in the mood: Brag about what you can't do and don't have. Exaggerate your faults until they become virtues. Heal yourself by giving yourself more of the same germs that make you sick. Confess profound secrets to people who aren't particularly interested. Don't just love your enemies. Love your enemies in case your friends turn out to be jerks. > ACK! That turned out to be a lot longer than I thought it >would be. Sigh, and they managed to fit that on half a tab page. >You've stumbled across one of the great mysteries of Creiza. If you ponder >this mystery you may learn many great things. >Oh well, if you like it I can type out more, and if you don't well oh well. >In addition to that, I had an idea. > You see the problem with most of the stories in PURPS is they are >written by only one person. That means that A) If something happens to >that person the rest never get to see the story anymore, B) It gets a >little boring, and C) you only get one OTISian viewpoint per story. The >solution? Group stories. but not the simple ones you may have participated >in the past! No, group stories that actually have rules (which can, of >course, be broken whenever the story needs it) which might even make for >such things as plot consistency, as much plot consistency as any PURPS >story has that is. Maybe 3 or so people could get together and each take >turns writing one chapter at a time, what do you think? Stupid idea? Not >so stupid idea? Ho hum idea? Actually this is a really good idea. Otis seems have have really blessed you this time around. Hopefully She will continue. Since this seems to be Otis inspired perhaps some of our skilled readers could act on this idea? We are always looking for submissions *HINT HINT PEALS OF THUNDER* > Sid the Maladjusted ####===================================================================#### ODDS AND ENDS ####===================================================================#### Date: Thu, 27 Aug 1992 12:56:18 EDT From: "hi." Subject: odds and ends "..OTIS really is practically everywhere, even at Christian Conference Centers in the middle of Farm Country, Ohio." In submission news, I would like to report that the number of faded plastic deer lawn ornaments in Ohio is on the rise. Should we encourage K-Mart to stock condoms next to the plastic animals, or are they perhaps flagrantly and lasciviously reproducing in the wild?? The Republican Party should definitely look into this, as reproduction doubtless falls under the category of family values and is something else that they can get upset about and blame upon the demise of the Ozzie and Harriet lifestyle syndrome. "We eat the stuff five times a week--elect us, and we will bring broccoli back to the White House!" -Hillary Clinton ####===================================================================#### A RELIGOUS TALE 4 ####===================================================================#### ((((((((((((((((((Chapter Four)))))))))))))))))) {As our viewers may last recall, Fredric Wilberforce, one time artist and now holy quester, was just informed that he did not have to continue his quest thanks to a certain lady friend of his. As this episode opens we join our hero sitting around a fire made out of various pieces of building and benches in the parking lot of a tavern. With our hero is a pack of crazed Hell's Angels and a beautiful seductive leather clad woman known as Trixie who has taken a liking to our over weight hero. "Oh please don't leave me Fred. You're just too precious to lose," crooned Trixie in her beehive hairdo. "This guy gave me a bus ticket and told me I could go home. My quest is over. I can get back to my work. I'd really like to stay but I don't think this is really the life for me," said Fred trying to be gentle. "This is the life for everyone!" roared the leader of the Hell's Angels taking a pull on his beer and gulping some pills to wake him up. "Fred's a wimp!" someone else yelled. "No he's not. He's the best man I ever met!" retorted Trixie giving Wilberforce a knowing smile. He turned red with embarrassment and stood up looking about for his Scooby Doo lunch box, that contained all his possessions. As he looked around, he spotted the crumpled telegram he had tossed away the night before and looked up at the sky worriedly, wondering why the guy with the bull horn hadn't made an appearance yet. He also wondered if he should take the offer of the agent from hell. After all, Trixie had been a real blast and if he could have that all the time for the rest of his life it might almost be worth it. "If you're going to leave, I'm coming with you," said Trixie, also getting up and starting to pack her meager belongings. "Yeah, the rest of us will go with you two. We'll give you an escort home," said someone else. "Gee I don't know..." said Wilberforce hesitantly, not particularly wanting a pack of Hell's Angels to be hanging around his expensive home breaking things. "Well we've got to go. After all, who will protect Trixie?" argued another beginning to pack up his stuff. The whole crowd seemed to be packing now. You could almost feel it in the air. It was as if by telepathic communication everyone agreed that it was the thing to do. They'd go live with this Wilberforce dude for a while. It might even be fun. The overweight bender of wire realized this and appealed to Trixie for help. "If they all come it will spoil everything. We'll never have a chance to be alone." "Well, he is my husband after all," said Trixie pointed to the leader of the angles, "Half the year he's an Angel and the other half he's a computer consultant for IBM." "What?" stammered Fredric, picturing in his mind the divine messenger writing more little things in his book. "Where did that guy go anyway?" wondered our hero. He sort of missed the loud squealing of the bull horn. Could it mean that he was going to burn in hell forever? And now this Trixie wasn't as appealing as she had been before. She was a married woman. What sort of husband put up with a woman like that? This was all too strange for Wilberforce to take and he fainted. ####===================================================================#### THEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHE ####===================================================================#### --Subink 1992 [Special Thanks to Lulu for Proofreading.]