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