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========================================================================
Date: Sun, 14 Nov 1993 20:32:23 -0500 (EST)
Subject: Armadilloman
Sender: "Riding the same donkey as you." <00bcpalmer>
To: Donkey
Launched Into Glory -- A Story
They all paid to be among the first ordinary people to orbit the Earth.
They came to Executive Spaceways on the same day to board their ship of
the
fleet of six rocket ships designed by the renowned rocket scientist Onassis
Slaughter. And it was Doctor Slaughter who would push the buttons to launch
each ordinary, albeit wealthy, person to glory.
Among those at Executive Spaceways was Maxine Tern. Her very wealthy
husband had bought her ticket. During her several days of orbiting Earth,
there was a sumptuous procession of the finest foods and most expensive
and
remarkable beverages. But as she sipped a Saintsbury Merlot 1988 and chewed
on a tender wedge of filet mignon, she realized that she was short of breath.
And indeed there was less and less air in ship one until she suffocated.
The second ship launched contained Texas oil magnate Jeffrey Elroy
Howe. Mr. Howe had a lovely voyage surveying the big blue balloon bursting
with oil. He orbited for several months without food or water. He died
of
starvation.
Spaceship three was the only ship on which the passenger lived in zero
G. Carter Taylor, on this third ship, had a perfect voyage in every respect.
Except that every day, a new heavy piece of equipment came unglued from
the
walls of his ship until, weary of dodging space junk, Mr. Taylor was crushed
in a fantastic way.
Eloise Trumble in ship four walked about from portal to portal as
though in the gravity of Pearl S. Buck's "good Earth". She was
similarly
brained by a heavy piece of equipment, however.
Zazana, the Spanish supermodel, for the sake of publicity was sent
up nude. The ship (ship five) got progressively colder until she froze
to
death -- as frozen as though on the cover of a very chic magazine, forever.
Last of all, a man who had sold all he owned, Jason Fleming, found
himself exposed to radiation in deathtrap ship six.
But even though all ships disintegrated as they lost their orbits
and swam as though through fire, through the friction of our atmosphere,
Jason
Fleming's skin, via mutation caused by the exposure to radiation, had become
as hard as some sort of astral armadillo, and Onassis Slaughter, who had
apologized to the world press for all the commas in this sentence, had
not
counted on this.
Fleming AKA Armadilloman, a bizarre breed of hero, found Dr. Slaughter
and, curling his long tongue around Slaughter, bunching up Slaughter's
white
labcoat a bit, sucked up the mad scientist like eating a little pickle.
A waitress, Velma, who was an agent of the YinYang Oriental Star System,
witnessed this killing and reported news of Armadilloman back to her native
galactic empire.
Several centuries later when the YinYang's received word from Velma,
they sent a fleet of six ships to destroy the Earth. But a Doctor Onassis
Slaughter had designed these ships, and they never completed their mission.
brent <pollux>
p.s. Hello Armadilloman!
=========================================================
Date: Mon, 15 Nov 93 12:54:50 EST
From: <townsley>
To: Donkey
Subject: We interrupt your regularly scheduled broadcast
This just in...
Robert Douglas Holder will be appearing in municipal court
tomorrow morning at 10:00 am. He is hopeful that his new
lawyer will be able to get the charges reduced and possibly
dropped. Stay tuned for developments as this saga continues.
_
Do
(aka, Rob's sowul-brudda Bill)
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 16 Nov 1993 08:43:20 -0500 (EST)
Subject: The *real* PUPPET SHOW
Sender: "Riding the same donkey as you." <00bcpalmer>
To: Donkey
My patience is wearing thin with the Laurels (laurels) sans (without)
Hardys (hardies) a la Bobbitt (sp?) on F---- -L Continental Trailways.
Even though I am heavily tranquilized on a medication named after the
computer of Kubrick's 2001, I can not abide even the youthful "Daisy,"
daisies
of the young uns remaining in Fnordsville. O that I were the prophet that
Mer-
ciful Lee was when he packed up his locusts and honey and got the hell
out of
the desert. I stayed for dessert.
But what have I witnessed? Sweet pastries? No, the Claw, the bear claw,
is mit
allen here, nein ist it mit FNORD-L. So much for phony German. Such are
the at-
tempts however of the for-the-most-part seemingly brain-damaged, wait a
second
-- *I'm brain damaged* -- that must mean that these young folk are with
it.
Yet their antics seem a hollow PUPPET SHOW sans Popeet of what we were
all about
like Cuthbert, for example, General Cuthbert, is now more of a King Friday
--
sad but true. And Mr. Roger's wrist is showing up King Friday's gown. Yes,
this
rivals the Emporer With No Clothes [tm]. And Ron Popeet is the emporer.
O Renegade Gatoraders, I am with you.
Yet I must stay the spy. Perhaps mutation will occur.
new -L idea name. How 'bout MIT-L?
thass german for "With"
Donkeyman b<p>
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 16 Nov 93 10:52:27 EST
From: <LIBALP>
To: Donkey
Subject: re: The *real* PUPPET SHOW
In-Reply-To: "Riding the same donkey as you." <00bcpalmer>
----------------------------Original message----------------------------
>But what have I witnessed? Sweet pastries? No, the Claw, the bear claw,
is mit
>allen here, nein ist it mit FNORD-L. So much for phony German. Such
are the at-
>tempts however of the for-the-most-part seemingly brain-damaged, wait
a second
>-- *I'm brain damaged* -- that must mean that these young folk are
with it.
>
>Yet their antics seem a hollow PUPPET SHOW sans Popeet of what we were
all about
>like Cuthbert, for example, General Cuthbert, is now more of a King
Friday --
>sad but true. And Mr. Roger's wrist is showing up King Friday's gown.
Yes, this
>rivals the Emporer With No Clothes [tm]. And Ron Popeet is the emporer.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
--------------Comments from FEAR OF SALES:----------
Hollow Puppet Show Theatre presents a pantomime about Popeets, against
a backdrop of exciting retail, with a fine selection of jesii.
"Not too many places'll carry a 4x6 Jesus, 'cause most folks don't
have
room for it, but if you do, it's all the Jesus you'll ever need."
"I got room, 'cause I'm gonna take down my old Jesus on account of
it's
gettin' thin."
"Yeah, see, that's what happens when you buy an inferior quality
Jesus. This Jesus here is mighty thick, and won't need replacing until
the millenium. Hell, then somebody probably replace it for you!"
"It'll be a blessin'."
"Now frankly, I'm glad you're interested in this big Jesus, because
I got no time for people who want a little-bitty Jesus to stick in
a corner someplace. Every week I get some white-shoed snowbird wanting
to buy a little old piece-of-shit half-assed Jesus to put in they
motor home! It's all I can do to be courtesy."
"I know that's right, Mr. Popeet."
FIN
Next week: Mr. Popeet solves another difficult case when the Coke machine
takes a customer's dime.
==========================================================
Date: Tue, 16 Nov 1993 10:45:12 -0400 (EDT)
From: Scott Lesser <LESSER>
Subject: head cold or deadly virus?
To: Donkey
the subject -- our fearless leader and transient, occasional thinker --
is
currently attempting to stay awake despite a massive head cold accompanied
by
extremely raw, sore throat. an angel just alighted from high, came nigh,
and
nurtured him with some mushroom quiche... but that isn't what he stepped
up to
the mike to talk about today. was it an announcement of the fact that he'd
shaved his goatee and cut his hair, drastically altering his appearance?
(melanie, stay tuned for the gifs of pictures taken in texas, modelling
shots
from his almost-post-adolescent prime, and up-to-date pictures to be taken
at a
later date.) no, no, that wasn't it... (these are the artfags, not the
faghags,
scott, dahling.) a resonse to foss' recent post to fnord? natch; that got
started and stopped; trashed and deleted; unfinished and forgotten.
maybe he just wanted to talk? yes, that was it.
those of you who have been following the soon-to-be-forgotten, pseudo-
professional career, please add to your files a note received today from
peon's
manager. excerpted: "This is a note of appreciation for all of your
hard work
and contributions... I think that this year, more than ever, you have proven
to
be a valuable team member... thank you for your unique contributions to
the
team and department... Diane" (plus a lot deleted.)... very amazing,
as i've
been testing how little i could do, and how much i could get away with,
these
last few months. literally have accomplished half of what i've done in
the
past, with absolutely no effort. oh, and i've been cheating on overtime
reports and getting more money for it, too... i have just been covering
my
bosses' asses more, solving complex problems for them that they're too
dim to
figure out, and acting a lot more laid back.
how would you like my ego served? scrambled, fried, or over-easy?
until a better moment,
sore neutered lump
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 16 Nov 93 15:13:14 EST
From: townsley@)
To: Donkey
Subject: Will the defendant please rise...
This is the news...
The charge of assault against Robert Douglas Holder was dropped.
He was found guilty of disturbing the peace and forced to pay a
fine of $50.00 plus court costs for a total of $73.00.
His lawyer cut his fee of $500.00 in half since it was all over
so quickly.
Rob got back his bail money in the amount of $125.00.
Let's see...73 plus 250 minus 125 means that in Denver, CO you
can get drunk, attack 4 bouncers, and call a small crowd of
black police officers slaves to the system for the reasonable
price of $198.00.
Unfortunately, Rob now feels that there is nothing holding him
in Denver anymore and is very sad that his time with Janice is
now definitely coming to an end. He is debating between 2 plans
of actions...he could go to San Fran and stay with his friend
who also just lost a wife, or he could come to Tampa and hang
out in a familiar setting or a while.
Stay tuned for further developments
_
Do
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 16 Nov 1993 15:41:41 -0500 (EST)
From: LIBWCA
Subject: Will the defendant please rise... (fwd)
To: Illuminati-L
>Let's see...73 plus 250 minus 125 means that in Denver, CO you
>can get drunk, attack 4 bouncers, and call a small crowd of
>black police officers slaves to the system for the reasonable
>price of $198.00.
This, I think, is what makes Denver one of the most exciting cities
in the country, and a top convention center. In my own town, for
instance, calling any police officer a slave to the system, in and
of itself, can cost a fun seeker up to $325.86, including doughnuts.
Getting drunk is relatively inexpensive, the price of sterno being
what it is; but attacking bouncers has become, for the most part,
the perogative of the idle rich. A family of four, when the cost of
refreshments is factored in, can spend up to $500 for a single evening
of bouncer-attacking, leaving precious little pocket money for life-
threatening drugs. And yet a wealthy Hollywood star like River
Phoenix, just by virtue of the fact that he knows Johnny Dep, considers
an evening of drug consumption ending in death a minor expense. The
ironic part? The drug with which Mr. Phoenix, young scion of the
privileged classes, and a host of wealthy friends consider a mere
bauble expense, is known colloquially as "Georgia Homeboy";
and yet, according to reliable sources, an actual Georgia homeboy
would have to spend the equivalent of *four years pay* to obtain
a fatal quantity of this drug. My friends, this is not justice.
While the poor toil their lives away in obscurity, struggling from
paycheck to paycheck, forced to resort to brutal murder-suicides
in fetid, rat-infested trailer parks just to raise the money for
an occasional three-day anti-freeze jag, the wealthy tools of our
capitalist masters think nothing of collapsing in torpor and
expiring on the sidewalks in front of the oppulent sin-dens from
which the people who manufacture their designer drugs are excluded.
Men and women who love freedom will not sit idly by and watch as
our pleasure-loving rulers continue to withhold from us the god-given
human right to die horribly from the ingestion of drugs which might
net us a little time on Geraldo, or even get us more column-inches
than Fellini. Rise up, my comrades! Throw off the chains that
shackle you to the sexless drugs with which the Oligarchs would
have you be content. We are the small, nameless cogs without
which the machine does not work, and we demand that our embarrassing
mistakes in dosage be treated with respect - nay, honor!
Field Marshall Malibu von Skipper
and his sunshine friends
=========================================================
Date: 16 NOV 1993 15:37 -06
From: <DICKENS>
Subject: Just Heard From Whip
To: Donkey
Whiplash just called me here at work.
He was easing into his regularly scheduled dilemma, having put the
sidecar of his extreme unction into permanent reverse - whatever the
fuck that means. What I'm trying to say is that the lad was in good
spirits (and INTO good spirits - relaxing at his crib with a tall vodka
and Clamato juice (tm) cocktail) and wanted to let me know that all was
Relatively Well (patent pending). He will be hitting the road in the
next few days and driving, in true Then Comes Bronson mindset, until
the money runs out.
I extended an invitation to visit me in scenic Parallel Hell. He's
not really certain which direction the wind will blow him, but he
promises to stay in touch. More details as in they come.
Merciful Lee
P.S. - he got a good laugh out of Townsley & Bill's posts regarding
his tribulation. Wait a minute - or was that trial?
Anyway,
Be Sweet
========================================================================
Date: Wed, 17 Nov 1993 13:52:18 -0500 (EST)
From: LIBWCA
Subject: Whewee! What IS that smell?
To: Illuminati-L --
Anybody here able to hazard an educated guess as to why nobody on
that there FNORD list can punctuate a damn sentence? I was planning
on blaming it on the slothful, cavelier attitude of Today's Pampered
Youth, but hell, a lot a y'all are Today's Pampered Youth, and for the
most part you seem to avoid comma splices and hideous, grating run-ons.
What's wrong with these people? If they can't write a comprehensible
or aesthetically pleasing sentence in their native language, why must
they afflict innocent bystanders with their persiflage? Would it be
worthwhile to forward their missives to their Comp 101 instructors,
so that they might be properly rent limb from limb? Is this what the
sages mean when they speak of curmudgeonliness?
And what of this other topic, huh? What I mean is this: when the
rest of you write an actual letter and send it off via snail, do you
feel cheated when you don't receive a reply within a couple of hours?
Is this sane? What about those fellas that allegedly went to the
moon? Do you believe it? Sure, it looked like the moon, what with
those rocks and all, but where were the Moon Men? Another thing -
just look at the moon. It's bright. It's real bright. If it weren't,
you couldn't see it, but those boys up there were walking around in the
dark. Don't you think the government could have coughed up for a
couple of big ol' towers, just to make it seem more real?
Is there a place where I can get these Deutschmarks turned into real,
American money?
Your man on assignment,
Malibu Skipper
========================================================================
Date: Thu, 18 Nov 1993 15:23:40 -0500 (EST)
From: LIBWCA
Subject: I am not Ed Vedder, not was meant to be
To: Illuminati-L --
>that band all kids are crazy about, pearl jam, well, their last album
>sold over 5 million copies.
You sure that wasn't Sound Garden? Whatever happened to Sound Garden,
anyway? Weren't they a band? Are all those kids still wandering
around Seattle, dressing like Matt Dillon and shooting heroin? Wasn't
that an amusing little cultural interlude? Look what we're left with
now, though: Pearl Jam.
I've been watching a lot of MTV lately, account of there's this video
I helped to produce which is allegedly on there. There's these two
guys who kill cats and say "suck" a lot. Often, they are pursued
by
a small girl in a bee costume, but she always gets sidetracked by a
a bunch of hippies. One of the hippies, possibly the retarded one,
is named Dando, but Dando can never help the bee-girl to catch the
two genetically deficient teenagers. Instead, he must disguise himself
as either Robert Plant or Roger Daltrey, and dance about on the beach
swinging a large sword while someone else, also pretending to be either
Robert Plant or Roger Daltrey, torments him by singing a Very Bad
Song.
We are introduced to the narrator; a brainless, charmless, rather
ugly young man with long hair, who possesses no visible eccentricities
or physical deformities which might account for his being displayed
on television.
There is a brief interlude, during which an amusing video is shown
to accompany They Might Be Giants' _Ana Ng_.
When we return, Dando and the Bee-Girl have vanished. A woman who
might be Kate Bush, but might also be Yoko Ono, is dancing with
a number of muscular men. They enter a letterbox seascape, and
are treated to a few minutes of embarrassing faux-arabian synthesiser
squealing while they inspect the dental work of various picturesque
third-world denizens. In another part of the world, a very pretty
young lady sings an ode to vanilla ice-cream in a bland, sweet voice.
Dando is aroused, and attempts to follow the bee-girl in order to request
sexual favors, but he is interrupted by another group of hippies,
who role about in a field. Following this, they unaccountably mount
a stage and pretend to be musicians, perhaps in tribute to a frequently-
recurring theme from the television show about the demonic dinosaur
who eats children while encouraging them to use their imaginations.
There is another brief interlude, and an amusing video is shown to
accompany the Breeders' song, _Cannonball_.
Dando and the bee-girl have been reunited, and have gained possession
of a powerful automobile, equipped with devices which go "choing choing"
whenever a certain button is pressed. They enter some sort of road rally,
during which everyone else is killed. Be default, they are the winners,
and there is much rejoicing, along with a subplot involving a small boy
with a nasal voice and unexplained Japanese cadences, and his pet monkey.
Elsewhere, there is a moment of angst, as a man with very short hair recalls
his betrayal and subsequent abandonment by a beautiful spokesmodel. A
subplot is played out, involving Billy Joel, who sang all those songs about
himself back in the late seventies, and the fat guy from the Rocky Horror
Picture Show. Dando and the Bee-Girl walk the streets playing their
guitars and confronting various halloween creatures, but can find no sign
of the two mutant boys. They are overcome by sadness and loss, and hurl
themselves into an elegant apartment in a large urban center, where a
number of frightened post-adolescents are taking far too many drugs. Years
later, they all rename themselves after former presidents and go to the
beach.
All in all, a compelling narrative, fraught with just the right combination
of naked ambition, fuzzy-wuzzy social criticism and scantily-clad young
vixens. Not enough bondage, though.
Malibu Skipper
if not for the courage of the fearless crew...
==========================================================
Date: 19 NOV 1993 13:39 -06
From: Merciful Lee Dickens<DICKENS>
Subject: poem #1
To: Donkey
*** Original Author: DICKENS; 11/19/93 13:05
MEXICAN YOKO RHYME SCHEME
by Dana Rollins
There she stood
Like a Mexican Yoko
Resplendent in her serape
Yet sublime in her kimono
I'd like to give her just
the tiniest little poko
in my jalopy,
noble bono for the cause.
Date: 19 NOV 1993 13:41 -06
From: Merciful Lee Dickens<DICKENS>
Subject: poem #2
To: Donkey
GEOLOGICALLY WHIPPED
by Dana Rollins
Her face erupts
In a hot volcanic kiss
Lava tongue upheaval
Pushes down to my extreme
I feel her plate tectonics
Begin that sultry subduction
I go down feeling igneous
But metamorphic in the end
==========================================================
Date: 19 NOV 1993 13:42 -06
From: Merciful Lee Dickens<DICKENS>
Subject: poem #3
To: Donkey
PARKBENCH PHILOSOPHY
by Dana Rollins
I offer handfuls of breadcrumb
Existence
To the pigeons in the park
Who then shit
Upon the statue
When they're through
How we're all like that statue
Looking bravely to the future
All covered in shit
All covered in shit
Date: 19 NOV 1993 13:43 -06
From: Merciful Lee Dickens<DICKENS>
Subject: poem #4
To: Donkey
LOVE JOCKEY IN THE SADDLE
Don't misspell bridal
On your way to the altar
Put the bit between the teeth
And ride Baby ride
He's a love jockey in the saddle
Of his Equesterian betrothal
And a groom of great devotion
In the stall
==========================================================
Date: 19 NOV 1993 13:43 -06
From: Merciful Lee Dickens<DICKENS>
Subject: Poem #5
To: Donkey
THE REFRIGERATOR DOOR TO MY HEART
by Dana Rollins
Beknighted stitzels
In the Coors for Manly
Breakfasthood would
You rather drink your
Bear's piss from the stream
Or share my pomegranate
Halve a box of Lucky Charms
My Pepsi poopsi popsicle
of Love?
==========================================================
To: Donkey
From: EJFORD
Date: 19 Nov 93 17:27:29 EDT
Subject: Ah, the end of another exciting
Week for the denizens of this other list that Has No Name.
What happened? I finally got pictures of some of you pugs. Dana
started posting again <YAY!>. I exchanged mail with Dr. Foss, hope
to
do more in the future. And Malibu Skipper called me Monty Hall. I
guess that's a compliment. And I think everybody is finally off of
Fnord-L now, right? Except for the Cobra, who is lying in wait for
signs of weakness.
By the way, in as much as Scott is trying hard to get this big ugly
bird online, I would like to take a moment to mention some of our
fine premiums offered to reliable (read: "deep-pocketed")
subscribers. This year we have several lovely options, from: pictures
of me (coming soon: pictures of the Wife), the Cobra, Cynthia (aka:
"Beancy"), and the inimitable Natasha; to: Skipper's inciteful
commentary on Music TeleVision (I agree about the Breeders and
the TMBG videos; did I mention the strong correlation between
those videos and the enjoyment of psychoactive substances? ehy,
who can tell me what band the Deal sisters were in before the
Breeders?); to: Dana's fine poetry (aren't you glad we sent the
little nipper to finishing school?); to: Rob's acquital and a price
list for performing similar acts in other cities.
Any of these premiums is available for a small premium of just
$8,715,897.43! Yes, just $8,715,897.43 for another great season of
programming!
By the way, I am still doing Jack Benny as I write this. You just
can't tell because I stopped doing the mannerisms. I'm just doing
the voice, see?
there was one other thing I wanted to mention...
drat, gone. As I will be after I try to annoy Lesser again!
EJ
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 19 Nov 1993 11:17:39 -0500 (EST)
From: LIBWCA
Subject: GREEK PHILOTASTERS (fwd)
To: Illuminati-L --
EJ walks on stage and says <stuck in Jack Benny mode today>:
Oh, Cuthbert. Any progress on this? We are ALL TERribly curious...
------- Forwarded Message Follows -------
The best group for discussion of Greek philosophers is, of course,
Fnord-L. It takes newcomers a little time to catch on to this, but
each and every one of the regular players on this list is, in fact,
presenting a subtle, nuanced portrayal of one of the great Greek
thinkers. It is left as an exercise for the reader to match the
various actors with their roles, and I'll post the correct answers
as soon as I make them up.
This should get you started: Robert Holder is not Protagorus.
Cuthbert
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Well, Cuthbert doesn't live here anymore, and I think this particular
message should make the reasons for his absence clear to everyone. It
was easy to miss, at the time, the pure, viscous bile that pretty much
defined the man's character; but here, in this abominable misspelling
of the name of one of our most beloved Greeks - well, let's just say
everything kind of clicks into place, okay?
In one respect, though, he was right - Robert Holder is not Protagoras,
although he may be Demosthenes. Cuthbert was Ryujin, admittedly not
a Thinker at all, but rather a Shinto Thunder God. Foss, of course,
is Hephaistos. Dana is Br'er Fox. You, EJ, are pretty much Monty Hall,
the Hindu God of The Box That Carol Merrill is Holding. Everyone else
is the god of his or her choice, although I may assign roles at a
later date, depending on the opening night notices.
Malibu Skipper
God of the Rock 'n' Roll Dream Van
==========================================================
Date: Fri, 19 Nov 1993 18:58:13 -0500 (EST)
From: <LIBWCA>
Subject: Well, Kim was a Pixie...
To: Illuminati-L --
...but I don't know about t'other one. Throwing Muses? Something
like that?
But that's not why I called...
>drat, gone. As I will be after I try to annoy Lesser again!
Scott, it occurs to me that you're an authority figure now, or
at least on the verge of becoming one. You're aware, I trust,
of the absolutely ironclad and unbreachable rules concerning
authority figures?
Personally, I'd like to give you a break on this, cause hey -
I like you, homeboy. You're tall and thin and your heart is
pure, and once you had a beard. Yeah, was it up to me, I'd
get up in front of the whole frothing throng, and I'd tear
down the black banner spattered with the blood of other
listowners, and I'd bellow (I'd sound a lot like Henry Fonda
in _The Grapes of Wrath_, so everybody might want to go rent
that and watch it before reading the rest of this)
...
Ready? Good. I'd bellow, "Stay your hands, comrades!"
That's what I'd bellow, good and loud. But there are higher
principles at stake here, Scott. If we let you off the hook,
then Dana would probably become a listowner, and then EJ and
Pam and maybe even Palmer, and then finally I'd get me a list,
and you know what kind of fetid sinkhole that would be. No,
I'm afraid we can't bend the rules here. What would the world
be like if we bent the rules every time we happened to think that
the intended victim was a pretty good fella, and knew a lot of
stuff about beat poets and cool music? The whole damn edifice
would come crashing down around our pointy little heads, that's
what. Now, granted - that's sort of the point, but all the same,
I hope you don't mind my saying that, even though I like you and
we're all in this together and yaddah yaddah yaddah, I really
feel honor bound to ask you to take off your clothes and dive into
this vat of...
Oh, wait. Call coming in. Hold on.
...
Scott? Still there? Scott, that was the governor. You're a very
lucky young man, Scott. Now, get back up into the big chair there,
and don't mind the occasional piece of rotten fruit, and don't let
me catch you acting like a grup, my friend. You know what happens
to grups.
Arthur, work him over a little, just for the hell of it.
Gotta go now. Jesus wants me for a sunbeam.
Malibu Skipper
Working on the Swingin' Dream Tan (tm)
========================================================================
35
From: townsley@
To: Donkey
Subject: Developments in the West
Good Morning,
At 3:00 am Friday morning, Robert Douglas Holder quietly slipped from
the apartment he shared with his wife Janice and began to drive off.
Janice stopped him at the edge of the parking lot and he quietly,
sweetly said goodbye. He is headed for San Francisco to see his old
college chum Matt. I expect him to make phone contact with me sometime
today. We return you now to your regularly scheduled broadcast,
already in progress.
_
Do
==========================================================
Date: Mon, 22 Nov 93 17:29:17 EST
From: <LIBALP>
Subject: the lamentations continue
To: Donkey
There's yet more wailing and gnashing of teeth on Fnord over our
absence, one by some guy I never heard of and one by Tom Nelson, whom
we fondly refer to as Tom Nelson RD. Tom's caught my attention b/c
he referred to the old days when I would spell everyone's name backwards.
Tom's is pathetic, full of 20-something misspellings (not to intimidate
Dana's pal Eegah, go ahead buddy, show us how you can spell), but
he means well, as his kind often do.
"Flaming" just isn't the same as "setting fire to".
Thanks, Do, for the update.
arthur
==========================================================
Date: Mon, 22 Nov 93 13:28:09 EST
From: <LIBALP>
Subject: SMALL EPIPHANY
To: Donkey
After a brief bout of confusion at the grocery store, I realized
why I sometimes think that 60 cents=1 dollar: all my life I've heard
that time is money.
Also, please note that Einstein erased the distinction b/w space and
time with the notion of "spacetime", and, and we all know, space
is the final frontier. Ergo, money is the final frontier.
I'm still on Fnord, and I just got another of those "Hey what happened
this place used to be cool" posts. We should take names to use for
donkey fodder. Maybe I'll write that guy privately.
regards,
ap
==========================================================
To: Donkey
From: "Allison Freeman" <AFREEMAN>
Date: 22 Nov 93 16:37:45 EDT
Subject: Re: I love you, I'm not gonna crack (fwd)
Dear Malibooby:
I haven't a clue what the question was, but I'm sure that more than
answers it.
Sorry about that whole lack of sex thing. I'd never deprive you of
anything. Why don't you latch on to one of those 25-year old virgins
and go for a spin?
Allison Freeman
Internet: AFREEMAN@
========================================================================
Date: Mon, 22 Nov 1993 15:13:09 -0500 (EST)
From: LIBWCA
Subject: Re: I love you, I'm not gonna crack (fwd)
To: Illuminati-L --
The Cobra opines:
>As a devoted Heinlein-ite, I can't say if I'm much better. At least
>the books smell good though. What's in those mildew spores?
No, no, no - you've misunderstood me. I don't expect these kids to
be reading all the swell stuff that red-blooded, sweaty intellectuals
like myself were reading in college, when we should have been out
headbanging and having sex with as many different people as possible
before the aids thing hit, but who knew? - and anyway, we were really,
really in love, and what difference does it make if she's married to
a marketing executive now? Just what exactly are you implying - that
I couldn't have whored around if I'd wanted to? Hey, listen - I had
plenty of chances, but there's this thing called commitment, which is
especially important for the mental stability of anyone whose one true
love is secretly plotting to leave him on the shucked pea pile and
hook up with some clean shaven nine-to-fiver who doesn't even know
who De Kooning is. It would have served her right, the devious little
climber, but I didn't know that; and I sure as hell didn't know they
were going to clamp down like this. I mean, sex was what you did in
those days. It was like racquet ball, for god's sake. If somebody made
a
bad left turn and clipped your right front quarter panel, instead of
exchanging driver's licenses you'd climb into whichever car was most
intact and have sex. People were doing it in class, I'm telling you.
Everybody.
Except me, because I didn't want to dull the potential dramatic impact
of what I knew was going to be a great big fucking bad scene, although
I couldn't have predicted the little bean-counter guy, now could I? And
I certainly couldn't have predicted that everybody was just going to
stop before I even got through setting myself up for the punch. These
days, there are actual twenty-five year old virgins walking around on
this very campus, probably right in this room where I'm typing this,
and they don't even bother to lie about it. That's not the kind of
thinking that made this the greatest nation in the world, we know that,
but it is the kind of thinking that leads fresh-faced, impressionable
nineteen-year-olds to buy books about washing their underwear, and
THAT is what scares the living shit out of me. Hope that answers
your questions.
Malibu Skipper
From the Hollywood Glamour Brothel
==========================================================
Date: Mon, 22 Nov 1993 18:45:53 -0500 (EST)
From: <LIBWCA>
Subject: the lamentations continue (fwd)
To: Illuminati-L
There's yet more wailing and gnashing of teeth on Fnord over our
absence, one by some guy I never heard of and one by Tom Nelson, whom
we fondly refer to as Tom Nelson RD. Tom's caught my attention b/c
he referred to the old days when I would spell everyone's name backwards.
Tom's is pathetic, full of 20-something misspellings (not to intimidate
Dana's pal Eegah, go ahead buddy, show us how you can spell), but
he means well, as his kind often do.
"Flaming" just isn't the same as "setting fire to".
Thanks, Do, for the update.
arthur
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tom RD's plaintive elegy to a past he never understood left me feeling
very sad. I almost reposted it here, so that everybody could feel sad
with me, but then I thought what a shame it would be if everyone in this
jolly company was feeling sad, and the brass ring came by and we all
missed it, cause we were feeling sad. Still, the poor yokel was trying
so hard, and I thought I should do something for him - have him kneecapped,
or something sweet and personal like that, but then it occurred to me
that I really ought to spend a little time each day feeling sorry for
myself; I mean, here I am, the third or fourth avatar of a Shinto
Thunder God, and not only can't I even get anybody to insult me like
they used to, now the Cobra is going about telling all her central
Florida trailer trash buddies that I can't even get laid, and when I
go down there for the wedding, they'll probably all beat me at pool,
because I can't even afford a new knife to shave my cue properly. So
I decided to have myself kneecapped, instead. Ah, if only Melanie
could figure out how to set up a distribution list, I might have
been spared all of this theatrical posturing. If only. If only.
Malibu Skipper
Tears on the Malibu Dream Pillow
==========================================================
Date: Mon, 22 Nov 1993 22:22:24 -0500 (EST)
Subject: Meeting Reagan
Sender: "Riding the same donkey as you." <BCPALMER>
To: Donkey
When Ronald Reagan was running for the Presidency he visited Meadow's Field,
the local airstrip. Many blue haired old ladies wearing "Ronnie's
Angels"
T-shirts we're all a-flitter. He stepped off the plane and walked like
the
Mickey Mouse balloon at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. It was like
the
secret service dudes were holding the tethers or the helium would just
carry
the big guy up. He was facing the other way, shaking hands. I beat on his
back
and it felt like a side of beef. I could see where six or seven bullets
could
riddle through him and he'd just keep going. I felt like Rocky in the meat
locker [period referent]. When a secret service dude told me to stop beating
on Gov. Ron, I started my verbal attack: "There's a baby here who
wants to
kiss you." "There's a feeble old woman over here!" Ronald
Reagan turned around.
He took my hand, shook it, stared at me straight in the forehead (where
my
third eye would be) and said "Hi there".
I'll never forget it. 'Shook Ford's hand too.
Brent <Pollux>
NOTE: Two important messages to follow
==========================================================
Date: Tue, 23 Nov 1993 07:35:47 -0500 (EST)
Subject: Dear Mr. Foss
Sender: "Riding the same donkey as you." <BCPALMER>
To: Donkey
Thankyou thankyou for mentioning my name to all of colleagues in anthropology!
I just can't thankyou enough! thankyou thankyou thankyou thankyou thankyou!
to quote you, sir:
>not a single member of the list or anti-list claims to understand it
>with conviction.
All of colleagues must surely love this treat.
With Conviction and Understanding, ... okay, and forgiveness
(by the way, why me???)
Brent <Pollux>
=============================================================
Date: Wed, 24 Nov 1993 10:47:11 -0500 (EST)
Subject: Grant Proposal <fiction>
Sender: "Riding the same donkey as you." <00bcpalmer>
To: Donkey
To: Dept. Chair, Small Midwestern University
From: Bertie Biggs, Ph. D.
Grant Proposal:
Research On The Effects of "New Age" Music
Abstract
This project researches the effect of "New Age" music
on self-described "born again Christians".
A preliminary study was done using two control
groups. Control group A was made up of 100
self-described "born again Christians". Control
group B was made up of 100 nonbelievers.
This preliminary study showed a response of
73% of group A manifesting the predicted
"Jesus headache". Interestingly, a full 91% of
the group B participants exhibited an unpredicted
psychophysical response, what could
only be called "Satanic Nausea".
Moneys for the further study of this phenomenon
are hereby requested.
=============================================================
Date: Wed, 24 Nov 1993 08:56:21 -0500 (EST)
Subject: music program <fiction>
Sender: "Riding the same donkey as you." <00bcpalmer>
To:Donkey
Ball State University School of Music
Graduate Student Composers' Recital
Program Notes by The Students
Sonata in G
V. Lenski (1964-present)
This solo piece for violin is my non-linguistic warning of the impending
plans
of ghosts and space aliens to mate with humans.
Chords Are Us
Joseph Winker (1973-present)
This electronic piece occured to me when I was taking a piss at the men's
bathroom at the bus station. Something about the acoustics in there. The
barking
dogs represent the barking dogs I heard recently, but a friend of mine
said i
t
is like they are our animal selves, if that means anything to you.
Form No Here It Forget
Stephanie Serranzo (1962-present)
insisted i no form be that was ever. out sonata totally form "it forget".
Concerto in A Minor for clarinet, flute and oboe, K. 133 [revised]
W.A. Mozart (1756-1791)
revised: Walter Lemkin (1972-present)
During his wife's visit to the baths in Prague, Mozart wrote this amusingly
sad
trio in honor of King Leopold's first birthday as king. I took out the
clarinet
part.
"Too Much Tea" -- a song
David Nickey (1969-present)
This is the "bring down the house" number from my musical "American
Revolution".
Etude Meow Meow
Marsha Dwanha (1968-present)
This piece for piano is a reaction to the recent trend in popular music
toward
destroying musical instruments and live animals while on stage. The piano
is
treated very gently with the right hand while the performer's left hand
pets my
cat, Biggs.
--
b<p> 00bcpalmer
=============================================================
Date: Fri, 26 Nov 1993 22:20:55 -0500 (EST)
Subject: How to put me on your distribution list
Sender: "Riding the same donkey as you." <00bcpalmer>
To: Donkey
I have seen the mermaids singing each to each, and they're not singing
to me
on occassion (sp?) Do I dare to eat a peach?
In response to the sjjgv fdgrh stuff, I would like to recommend the following
*English language* products which I picked up from EJ. Here's what they
are &
how much I paid:
Scottish Plant Cartridges -- $19.95 each
Original Penalty Ointment -- $14.95 per jar
double-bent bowler cannons -- $299.00
synthetic apple mazes -- $6,000.00 (these are crunchy)
white hopscotch hooks -- $0.06 each
sexy weedgumming kissers of noise -- $10,540.63 (very large)
Yummy Nabisco<tm> Adjective Dip -- $5.00 (quite a value!)
fried girliegraph -- $400.00 (cheaper than the apple mazes)
delicious coated decade crunch -- $4.99 per 16 oz. cannister
lyrical melon pendant -- $69.99
shoplifting corn rings -- $12.50 each
provacative tested candy paste -- $1.99 per tube
clerical doubt bombs -- $50.00 (well worth it!)
tasty gene noodles -- $30.00 per package (very PK Dick-esque)
silky ant milk -- $19.00
civilized god chewers -- $6,000,000.66 (includes free subscription to ANTHRO-L)
galactic brain beavers -- $39.95 (these are *cute*!)
beastly yellow plug ostriches -- $345.00
ostensible Gobi Desert missiles -- [ask for "timmy"]
terrestrial hypocrisy majorettes -- $795.00
Iwo Jima slave bottlers -- $995.00
Cool mime goblets -- $15.00 each (a bargain!)
hairy culture lubes -- [ask for "aaron"]
fatal Caribbean moose judges -- $1,000.00
and be sure and get some
sugar free bed paradise -- $20.00
b<p>
more accessible than you are
========================================================================
Date: Mon, 29 Nov 93 15:20:05 EST
From: townsley
To:Donkey
Subject: i have crawled drunk in alleys
yo yo yo yo yo!
ROBERT HOLDER IS LIVE AND ON THE AIR.
well, that's pretty much all i have to say.
i'm going to live in tampa. apparently, i
get the priviledge of meeting allison and
ej this thursday. right now i'm going to go
back to that pub at the university across
the way from my old job and get drunk.
it's weird to be back here. i'll send a more
detailed REPORT in a few days.
i hope this string of bits finds you all well.
how is h? i hope she's ok. much love to you
all.
oh yeah! the next time you are in nevada, stop
by Puckerbrush. get a six pack (or the
medicine of your choice) and visit thunder
mountain, a religious monument constructed over
many years by an indian who lived out there in
the desert out of concrete and railroad axles
from the 1800's. it's a gas. at least it was
for me.
four more days with janice... gotta savor them
suckers.
well, my old buds from my old job are waiting
for me to go to my old lunchtime pub and drink
some of the old beer that the old barkeep gots
dere.
love,
rob
=========================================================
Date: Tue, 30 Nov 1993 10:41:05 -0500 (EST)
Subject: Phone Interview with the Government Psychiatrist by Anne Rice
Sender: Now more accessible than ever! <BCPALMER>
To: Donkey
Well, it helps that the fellow had read my very very thick medical records
from Le Asylum in gay Paris and that he had a predisposition toward believing
that I would be rather offbeat in my comments. (Moi?)
I think the course I chose was the best course. I told the truth. No space
aliens, except the part about their plan to mate with humans. No ghosts,
except the cloaked figure and the wolf with red eyes. And about how I thought
that *loving* the dark figure was the best way.
Anyway, I was really pretty middle-of-the-road and honest (I know you're
all
planning to forward this to him). Just the stuff about how if I think of
peo-
ple as fictional characters, then I can deal with talking to them.
Do I cook? Well. I wish you could see the burn the size of a silver dollar
on
my arm ... all *true*. I am not Prince Hamlet nor was meant to be.
And of course the entirely true story about my boss at the record store
who
was really a big time mafioso. Well, he *was*!
It may have helped me that I cried. It was the pharmakos factor. Thass
Greek
for "pride," not "pharmacy". Paul killed 'imself by
jumping over the Falls
Niagara, because he was too proud to take medication. Whereas I am too
whacked
out to drive, etc. Paul's death made me cry, which was a genuine thing
but also
probably helped my "case"/case. And, mind you, pharmakos is the
reason that my
wife won't get help either (she's the one who originally saw the red-eyed
wolf)
I *spoke* to the wolf, but we only had a handful of conversations. My wife
gad
had scores of encounters with ol' Fenris. (Norse wolfgod dude).
And I need help doing the laundry. But I can use a toaster oven.
Nothing gloriously feignedly loonie.
Paul is dead. Be my pauls, won't you?
Oops, that wasn't meant to be a pun..
Did you notice I'm still lining up?^^
The guy said to read right away the stuff I got from SS.
SO that's good news right?
Next step is to let y'know how much (mas).
time for mass
END OF UPDATE
mass
Brent <Pollux> <-- not my real name!
00bcpalmer
==========================================================
Date: Tue, 30 Nov 1993 15:31:23 -0500 (EST)
From: <LIBWCA>
Subject: >Brent, be a dear and repost that message I just sent you.
(fwd)
To: Donkey:
>Thank you for your compliance in this matter.
>
>EJ "Holiday Lad" Fnord
Yeah, you'd like to think so, wouldn't you? You porntaneous bastard.
Um... what were we talking about? Can I get somebody to read that
back? Arthur?
In Urdu, okay? There's a good lad.
Malibu Skipper
Not a Real Skipper, But I Play One on Whatever the hell This Place Is
==========================================================
Date: Tue, 30 Nov 1993 16:11:14 -0400 (EDT)
From: scott lesser <LESSER>
Subject: interview with solipsist nascent lodestar, rotting corpse
To: Donkey
>Can't swing with "EJ Expunge," huh? Whatsamatta, too porntaneous
>for you? Well, all right. If that's what's holding us up, I'll
>go ahead and vot for "Donkey-L". Far be it from me to play
the
>proverbial Mutant Monster Fly O' Death in the equally proverbial
>buttermilk. Nuh-uh, buster. Not me.
>
>If, on the other hand, we're on this slow track because our Mighty
>Leader is out looking for his erstwhile beard, or bird-dogging that
>little LIthuanian number - why, in that case, I announce my intention
>to support the "Fambustulous-L" faction, upon the receipt
of certain
>gratuities. If it's due in some way to Brent's fertile madness, I
>suggest we placate him by calling ourselves "Haldo-l".
the beard has established it's own little personality cult
downtown, having absconded with my address book and best
pair of english shoes. but, it didn't get the lithuanian
lass, as i hadn't had the chance to write her number down yet.
i'm still carrying it my head.
and she's not lithuanian, anyway.
the problem is this fellar off studying in madrid, let's call
him harry, who reminds said lass of me, and vice versa. only
he got there first, see? and me, i'm reduced to spending all
my minimal resources on wooing her, cuz she's 5'1" or so and
has blue eyes and red hair, along with having been raised on
an island -- the self-same island i lost EVERYTHING on.
so, we're all on the ferry to that island, skipper, malibu, and
i'm navigating. but i keep running to the john, and you know
i'm not really going to the john. but, you forgive my wayward,
wicked ways.
speaking of wayward, ej's no fairy, even though he's getting the
fairy business as a karmic thing. (i'll vouch that he's not hanging
around any johns, porcelain or hourly.) don't you all know that
fairies can't type? so let the boy have his masculinity back.
joe and me, we're getting together real soon to talk about
your fate. don't fret. that's where leah fits in. and he
doesn't know it, yet.
in the mean time, i just gotta convince stephen g. wadlow that
you're all geniuses waiting to bring glory to castle perilous.
i'm not so sure i am a worthy vessel for this business, but i'm
what you get at the low wages i'm paid for the service. (that
false uncertainty, creeping up here and there, is what keeps this
fucking business so tied up.)
if you follow the chain of how it all hooks in together, we'll
call it "expunge", if that will please you. no "l's",
though.
okay?
can i get you a soda and bitters, while you're waiting?
yours,
The Rotten Fruit of a Barren Womb
ps. dana, you ever read AND THE ASS SAW THE ANGEL?
send me your address and i'll try to find you a copy for your
birthday.
========================================================================
Date: Tue, 30 Nov 1993 15:14:53 -0500 (EST)
From: LIBWCA
Subject: Phone Interview With Rex Dart, Eskimo Spy
To: Donkey
>Unless a serious effort is made to change the name of this list-like
>venture to Ford-L, Fnord-L, or, dare I say it, Donkey-L, I cannot,
in
>good faith, assume the role of Title Character, as i so rudely did
in
>the past.
Can't swing with "EJ Expunge," huh? Whatsamatta, too porntaneous
for you? Well, all right. If that's what's holding us up, I'll
go ahead and vot for "Donkey-L". Far be it from me to play the
proverbial Mutant Monster Fly O' Death in the equally proverbial
buttermilk. Nuh-uh, buster. Not me.
If, on the other hand, we're on this slow track because our Mighty
Leader is out looking for his erstwhile beard, or bird-dogging that
little LIthuanian number - why, in that case, I announce my intention
to support the "Fambustulous-L" faction, upon the receipt of
certain
gratuities. If it's due in some way to Brent's fertile madness, I
suggest we placate him by calling ourselves "Haldo-l".
Or did somebody already say that?
Miss Dickens, is that you lurking out there in the foyer (foi-YA)?
Get in here and kick EJ in the head for me. I ain't feeling up
to it; I got a bone in my leg.
Malibu Skipper
Long on Textiles, Short on Sense
=============================================================
Date: Tue, 30 Nov 1993 11:10:28 -0500 (EST)
Subject: After Mass, ... Confession!
Sender: Now more accessible than ever! <00bcpalmer>
To: Donkey
Dear gents,
I have a confession to make, but I suspect that some of you had
already caught on to my ruse. I am not a workaday fellow with mental problems
at all. I am a very wealthy man, perpetually with a lowball glass of gin
in his hand. I am always saying thing like, "Oh, really?" and
"Well, I'll be,"
and I speak in a long faux country-club-drawl.
I kiss all the ladies when I meet them, and the men get a firm hand-
shake. I mean milkskake, I mean /ESC oh damn
xxxxxx &ath damn editor.
Okay, so I work at McDonalds. Fuck you all.
Would you like a Rio Suerte Pinot Noir 1987 with that Big Mac?
brent <pollux>
p.s. there. three is a charm.
==========================================================
Date: Tue, 30 Nov 1993 18:39:07 -0500 (EST)
From: <LIBWCA>
Subject: interview with left femur, dragon variation
To: Donkey
if you follow the chain of how it all hooks in together, we'll
call it "expunge", if that will please you. no "l's",
though.
No, that's fine. I gave up on "Expunge-L" weeks ago. I'm not
even bitter anymore.
Except when it's real dark, and the crickets shut up all at once,
and I wake up real fast in the certain knowledge that something in
my brain has just exploded and I have maybe fifteen seconds before
it shuts down like a wounded sparc station, not even enough time
to scrawl a feeble last message in the blood that should be spurting
from my ears but, inexplicably, isn't. Times like that, I remember
what you bastards did to me, spitting on "Expunge-L" as if it
were
some sort of pestiferous INSECT, fit only to do cute little TRICKS
in a lillipudlian CIRCUS that some GEEK set up in a matchbox in
his mold-ridden basement because people like you wouldn't let him
play STICKBALL.
But then I get over it. After all, most of these episodes have turned
out to be delusional and, not dying, I've had no pressing need for
progeny. Besides, I know where most of you live and can subscribe
you to FOSS-L anytime I want to, and Daniel will know what to do with
you when you get there. If I didn't believe that, I couldn't go on.
Me'n Arthur are gonna go to the Cobra's wedding, provided we can
steal a ragtop with a four-fifty Cleveland and fuelie headers by then,
and our invitations don't get lost in the mail. I'd suggest the rest
of you do likewise. I really would.
Malibu Skipper
Not Given To Idle Threats Except In Months without An Are
==========================================================
Date: Tue, 30 Nov 1993 21:29:46 -0500 (EST)
From: <LIBWCA>
Subject: Humor: A letter home (fwd)
To: Donkey
I think this is the saddest thing I've ever seen. Would one of you who
hasn't taken a vow of silence please go over there and turn this little
rodent into a generous portion of charred flesh?
It's like, when you move out of the apartment where you made your first
really big scag score because the landlord is a dick and you found a
baby rattlesnake in your dresser drawer and your girlfriend won't stay
over because the shower drain is two inches higher than the floor and
the gap is rapidly being filled with an interlocking net of really ugly
microorganisms: you still don't want a bunch of little fuzzy-bunny types
to move in and have theme parties on the lawn.
Am I right?
Malibu Skipper
A seething volcano of irritation
---------- Forwarded message ----------
Date: Tue, 30 Nov 1993 19:56:33 -0600
From: MATTHEW WHITEMAN <WHITEMAN>
To: Multiple recipients of list FNORD-L
Subject: Humor: A letter home
Dear Mother and Dad:
Since I left for college I have been remiss in writing and I am
sorry for my thoughtlessness in not having written before. I will bring
you up to date now, but before you read on, please sit down. You are
not to read any further unless you are sitting down. Okay?
Well, then, I am getting along pretty well now. The skull
fracture and the concussion I got when I jumped out of the window of my
dormitory when it caught on fire shortly after my arrival here is pretty
well healed now. I only spent two weeks in the hospital and now I can
see almost normally and only get those sick headaches once a day.
Fortunately, the fire in the dormatory, and my jump, was witnessed by an
attendent at the gas station near the dorm, and he was the one who
called the Fire Department and the ambulance. He also visited me in the
hospital and since I had nowhere to live because of the burnt-out
dormitory, he was kind enough to invite to share his apartment with him.
It's really a basement room, but it's kind of cute. He is a very fine
boy and we have fallen deeply in love and are planning to get married.
We haven't got the exact date yet, but it will be before my pregnancy
begins to show.
Yes, Mother and Dad, I am pregnant. I know how much you are
looking forward to being grandparents and I know you will welcome the
baby and give it the same love and devotion and tender care you gave me
when I was a child. The reason for the delay in our marriage is that my
boyfriend had a minor infection which prevents us from passing our
pre-marrital blood tests and I carelessly caught it from him.
I know that you will welcome him into our family with open arms.
He is kind and, although not well educated, he is ambitious. Although
he is of a different race and religion than ours, I know your
often-expressed tolerence will not prevent you to be bothered by that.
Now that I have brought you up to date, I want to tell you that
there was no dormatory fire, I did not have a concussion or a skull
fracture, I was not in the hospital, I am not pregnant, I am not
engaged, I am not infected, and there is no boyfriend in my life.
However, I am getting a D in history and an F in science and I want you
to see those marks in their proper perspective.
Your loving offspring,
XXXXXXX
==========================================================
To: Donkey
From: EJFORD
Date: 30 Nov 93 15:39:46 EDT
Subject: Re: Phone Interview With Rex Dart, Eskimo Spy
Bill, that bone in your leg is called the femur, and I think it would
be a bad idea to take it out yourself, unless you wash the grapefruit
knife first. Put a lot of butter on the opening you create.
I, personally, my own bad self, would be more than happly to call the
list FATINGLY CONGINGLI-L, for reasons that are of interest only to
me and Ak-ven-horus.
EJ "I'll take Manhattan, here are $26.00 in beads" Donkey
--
==========================================================
Date: Tue, 30 Nov 1993 17:25:56 -0500 (EST)
Subject: The Vampire's Name
Sender: Now more accessible than ever! <BCPALMER>
To: Donkey
Dear souls, lost, found, detained, or otherwise occupied:
It is my sincere belief that the DONKEY was this This (as our
Nietzschianly absent Foss might say) which we rode from FNORD-L to EXPUNGE.
Some may have noted that I have changed my personal name from
the "donkey" referent, to the EXPUNGesque "Now More Accessible
Than Ever.",
Damn the trouble I go through to get these things to line up!
b<p>
co-listowner HALDO-L
==========================================================
To: Donkey
From: EJFORD
Date: 30 Nov 93 15:29:21 EDT
Subject: Mr. Foss and the Opposition
I hear, today the nacent whinings of a bright democracy, eager to
crown one Dr. Foss the King. This is fine by me, assuming that Elvis
is through with the title and Dr. Foss can pay the rent, but let's
just examine those conditions in detail, shall we? Dr. Foss, the
athletic, ruggedly handsome devil capable of scads of verbal mischief
all on his lonesome has made a home for himself snearing at the
ordinary assumptions of a world, his, gone wonky. His tough, film-
noir personality is a strong guiding light to wayward youths, such as
myself who are beyond hope and certainly beyond revolution. His
crafty, revolutionary fervor is the magnet which makes the dollies
craaaaaazy, like GONE, man, and don't you forget it.
But let's look at the MAN behind the the Fossade. Ther he is, hiding
behind the mayonaise in the back of the fridgedair. Why? I don't
know. Third base. I know, I barely know the little nipper, asside
from the fact that he must be good for El Zeek to dig his groove-
thang, let alone such Fleer Ultra Hipsters like Spot Leslie and
Mersey-Beat Lee Dickens. Let alone Bill and Arthur, for godsake,
they've suffered enough. It's all well and good to sneer willingly
at the foibles of others, but I mean it this time, goddamnit.
Say, since we're on the subject of pointless diatribes, who is
comming down for the Cobra's wedding. There really will be an Elvis
impersonator conducting the ceremonies (sorry, Dana, Old Carb-Ridden
Elvis, not young Pelvis Elvis), and I will be there, and I am a Laff
Riot in person, if I am interested enough in comming out from under
the buffet table.
Waaaaaalllll, that's enough for me for the moment. Just got Dana's
latest, so I may be back soon!
Johnny "Oh, please just SHUT UP, EJ" Longtorso