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========================================================================
Date: Thu, 17 Oct 1991 08:44:01 PDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: JEFFREY
Subject: Yeah, right...
"Liverrrrrrrr...!!! Liverrrrrrr...!!! Liverrrrrr....!!!!!!".
Again and again the strange, agonized, screaming filled
the air, drawing the members of the list from their separate dwellings
out into the street. Now a cadre of node-entities filled the street,
gazing up as the agonized sounds continued.
"What is that sound?", asked Tim, who, as usual, wasn't there.
"Shut up Tim", snapped Quem Queritis, "You're dead anyway".
"Listen to that screaming!", someone said. "It sounds bloody
horrible".
"Liver!!! Liver!!! Liver!!!". The yelling went on and on
and on.
"Where's it coming from", said a faceless voice from somewhere
out in the E-space. "Who's that yelling about liver, for christ
sakes?"
Pat swiveled his head around, unable to find the source of
the mad screaming. He was smiling now. He sort of looked like
this :-). Then he frowned in frustration, not being able
to see the screaming lunatic. Pat sort of looked like this :-( .
"Aaaaggghhhhhhh!!!!". It was a scream from the crowd this time.
"Stop those damn smilies! I HATE those bloody things!". It was
a heart-wrenching cry of anguish that shattered several windows.
Dan stared up thoughtfully. "Sounds like a burned, bleeding,
non-breathing individual", he pronounced, fingering the still
shiny engagement ring that sparkled on his finger. "I wonder if
he has any broken bones?"
"God, look up there", exclaimed Karin, as she frantically tried
to pack another two pounds of flour into her medicine chest. All
heads turned in the direction of Karin's pointing finger, looking
up on the roof of the last house at the end of the road.
It was a lunatic, balanced on the peak of the highest, loftiest,
most treacherous peaked roof in town. Up and down he jumped,
barely keeping his balance, waving his arms frantically as he
threw lump after lump of his own steaming liver down into the street.
A piece hit the ghost of Pavel (Paul Byers). Some of it landed
on the concessionaire, who was busy trying to sell his quota
of 2-ounce trial size Gazelle Vomit samplers. He jumped in
suprise, accidentally letting go of what he held in his right
hand. Bunches and bunches of Piping Hot Rat Baloons drifted
lazily off into the E-sky, never to be seen again.
"Liverrrrrrrr...!!! Liverrrrrrr...!!! Liverrrrrr....!!!!!!"
The idiot continued his screaming unabated.
"What's he on about? Has he bloody lost it?"
"I don't know", growled Wall menacingly, "but he's taking up
Way Too Much Bandwidth with all this shit!"
"Summon the clown", pronounced Tim in a low voice. He droned
demonically, on and on. "Summon the clown, summon the clown,
summon the clown..."
"Be quiet already", QQ said in frustration, "I already told
you, you're dead!"
It started slowly. No one knew who said it first, but soon
the cry was taken up in unison by the listmembers. Slowly it
grew in volume, until it drowned out the screaming. It thundered
across the ether, growing in mass and size as it gradually began
to take over the universe, steadily squeezing out the other
lists as it trebled, then quadrupled in power. The Rill Was
Rolling, and it wasn't subtle.
"Look for the Fnords!! Look for the Fnords!! Look For The
Fnords!! Look For The Fnords!!!! LOOK FOR THE FNORDS!!! LOOK
FOR THE FNORDS!!! LOOK FOR THE FNORDS!!! LOOK FOR THE FNORDS!!!"
The Lunatic stopped throwing Liver. The denizens of PC-INFO-L,
Literary, and Cinema-l all stopped their discussions to look for
Fnords, but being unenlightened, failed to find them. Clarence
Thomas, reaching for the backside of his secretary as she bent
over the filing cabinet, stopped in mid-grab, thinking he may
have seen a Fnord in Ted Kennedy's Whiskey glass, but it was
only an ice cube. People everywhere were trying to find the
Fnords, with the usual mixed results.
Inside the bathroom, a lone voice piped up, but no one heard
it. Even the reflective tile surfaces were no help in amplifying
the muffled words, buffered as they were by the closed lid of the
toilet seat. It was the severed head and he was pissed. "What
about me? I started this! What about me? What about me!!!"
No one heard. There was only a whirling dancing madness as
the list-members rioted in the streets. A terrible tribal
frenzy siezed the community as the literary underground tore
loose from it's moorings, boiling up and over the stew-pot
of hyperbole that was now too small to contain the English
language. Commas and punctuation-marks flowed in the gutters
like blood. Archaic usages and anachronistic expressions
were trampled underfoot as a new means of expression shuddered
and began to move, shaking the foundations of the world.
Cryogenics would never be the same.
========================================================================
Date: Thu, 17 Oct 1991 22:14:00 +0200
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: rivero@
Subject: A interesting document for the members...
This file was accidentally produced on a hard disk of Oxford Univ during a
experience of entropy reversion (which is associatted to the time-arrow,
as all the members know). It was only partially recovered.
==================OXFORD ARCHIVE DATA 000121691XA.
... meros rastros. Solo ahora podemos avanzar una teoria consistente
que explique aquellos acontecimientos.
...
por ello su registro linguistico fue reduciendose y migrando a formas
cada vez mas abreviadas, de manera similar al ideografico oriental o,
por traer un ejemplo mas conocido, al aleman actual. Aunque esta pervivencia
mostraba que la contraccion por si sola no podia ser la causa quebuscabamos,
antiguos linguistas como el profesor Garcia-Fernadez mauntuvieron esta
hipotesis mediante argumentos casi sofisticos, por ejemplo la perviv...
erimentos de magnetismo remanente efectuados en inglaterra por el Doctor
Aguirre nos han proporcionado una valiosa fuente documental al recuperar
ficheros borrados de antiguos discos duros -Solo para que se hagan una idea,
en esos tiempos habia discos de menos de una GP-. En particular los archivos
de la historica EARN/BITNET estan casi completos, y con ellos parte
de una estructura anarquista llamada Usenet. La mayor parte de
los angloparlantes de mediados de los noventa dependia de estas redes,
bien por suscripcion directa o bien por distribucion a traves de las
grandes cadenas de noticias, que habian pasado a utilizar la red como parte
del proceso liberalizador de las comunicaciones electronicas. En 1994, todas
las grandes publicaciones norteamericanas bebian de la red, y el
efecto se propago a la Inglaterra continental tras su separacion de la
comunidad europea en 1996. El Reino se replego sobre si mismo ante la
nueva politica europea; el temor al conflicto impulso la union con
la v...
... net estaba influida por un movimiento literario que se hacia llamar
"Underground" (significando tanto "oculto" como "cloaca"). Este mov...
que mantenian una lengua viva con estructuras complejas...
... la repentina afloracion de estas estructuras supuso el caos: Los
dispensadores de noticias informaban a sus oyentes utilizando giros y
expresiones del UnderGround, y estos las trasmitian a su vez. Pero la
semantica anglosajona era ya incapaz de fijar un significado a estas
frases complicadas, que rayaban el surrealismo...
...especialmente peligrosas, como SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM, cuyos componentes
se identificaban con unos simbolos arcanos llamados "smilies", y
mantenian una correspondencia cargada de giros, alusiones y juegos
de significado...
...incapacidad de entenderse fue pronto evidente a nivel de la calle,
con las complicaciones obvias de la vida cotidiana.
... una rapida migracion a lenguas adyacentes, vivas, como el iberico
sudamericano o el Pidgin de alabama... la caida de la lengua se
acelero pues de forma exponencial, y acabo desencadenando una ira popular
contra los restos escritos y grabados. Los hijos destruian inmisericordes
los archivos de sus padres, frustrados al descubrirse incapaces de
comprenderlos. La Congress Library, en BasIngton, fue quemada y sus
bibliotecarias violadas en publico, segun atestiguan diarios hispanos de la
epoca. Afortunadamente muchas de sus obras han podido ser recuperadas a
traves de traducciones al aleman, el celta, o el hispano.
...
ultimo, decir que queda aun mucho trabajo por recorrer hasta tener un
diccionario completo de este idioma, pero como ellos decian,
" Tis is only the beginning, the way to real English!"
========================================================================
Date: Thu, 17 Oct 91 09:04:17 CDT
From: GR4302
To: Sbrhym-l@SBCCVM
Subject: Poochie
Anastasio smiled and picked up the last tuber, a carrot he intended to add
to the two that had just gone into his stew. He'd diced the others and was
planning on splitting this skinny one up the middle. Though he'd only been
working at dinner for 20 or so minutes, Anastasio was already bored with
the task and therefor slightly anxious and irritated, a trait he'd learned
and quickly perfected in childhood. The temptation naturally arose to not
sufficiently wash this one, ignore the presence of carcinogenic (and worse)
chemicals sure to be one the skin, as he knew too well, or maybe not even
wash it at all. He wavered but then obediently thrust the orange root
under the lukewarm water and began to rub it vigorously through his hand as
the informative pamphlet from the FDA recommended. He thought about just
throwing this skinny carrot out to have done with it, but that somehow
seemed profoundly stupid to his pampered colon and solar plexus (his most
trusted organs) and only renewed his desire to actually clean and split the
beast and add it to his simmering pot. Yet reaching up his spine into
his medula oblangata came the slithering hand of a heinous notion moving to
thwart his efforts, for he was suddenly struck by the immense desire to
take the warm carrot and push it up his butt. Such notions had never
occured before, indded, he'd developed masterful control over nerve and
decision in order to filter out all fivolity and uncomformity (which he, of
course, considered the key the clear and effective thinking.) Yet thisthought
overpowered him and he could see himself dropping his drawers and doing it
right here in the summer kitchen and quickly achieving some hithereto
unknown human delight of immense enjoyment and importance. With a burst
of will he shoved aside such vile promiscuity and speedily scrubbed the
last few prescribed scrubs with long vilent thrusts. The vile anal vision
had been purged, but in his triumph he was alarmed again by a guttural
voice in the back of his head suggesting he complete the purging by
throwing out this unworthy tuber. For the first time in his long life
Anastasio seriously considered that indeed devils exist to tempt and vex
men (though he never would consider the same of any god) and physically
darted his eyes around him in an effort to see that which is too close to
focus on. In seeming answer to his metaphysical consideration he was
assaulted again with the this time many times more overpowering compulsion
to reem his ass with the skinny phallic root; indeed, so great was the
compulsion renewed that his arm spasmodically jumped and brought the
carrot above his still clothed but trembling buttocks in symbolic mimic of
the attitude of such a practice. With a shout and a burst of hormal energy
he jerked the vile tuber up before his eyes, screamed a long and
horrendous internal yell, kicked open the door and threw the offensive
vegetable into the open air. At once from the shadows darted a large black
and mangey dog who with a snarling snap grabbed the orange food product out
of the air before it could even finsih its upward arc. Anastasio fell back
into his summer kitchen in shock and sat trembling on the floor, mumbling
and habitually crossing himself over and over. Poochie munched the tuber
and went on his desperate merry way. He knew that when people shove food
objects up their butts that they can never bring themselves to eat them
afterwards... Now he knew even more.
Guten Tag!
bADcHI
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 18 Oct 1991 19:37:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: "England, whose England" <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: she's filing her nails while they're dragging the lake
Jeffrey is to be commended (and i take upon myself the task) for
having, in his latest acoustic posting, painstakingly gone around
with his rucksack of placards, nailing one to every tree. Nothing
complex or fancy: each sign stating simply "Tree", so that No One
can fail to notice either forest or vegetation. The list of casualties
caused by overhanging branches is bound to slightly reflect this
momentuous labelling enterprise, though some of the placards appear
decidedly crooked from this angle.
Late at night, and now more than ever, i ask myself what it is that i
am doing in the stony brook literary madhouse, watching the (fabricated)
expressions in your inimitable eyes floating thousands of miles out in
space, and have not yet found an answer.
H. Uniatz (feeling, these past few months, the pain of having
no middle initial).
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 18 Oct 1991 18:13:43 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Dan Boyd <consp04 >
Subject: she's filing her nails while they're dragging the lake
In-Reply-To: "England, whose England"'s message of Fri, 18 Oct 1991 19:37:00GMT
>
Yeah, sometimes Jeffrey is a little incomprehensile -- not
'incomprehensible', which means we can't understand him -- but
incomprehensile. 'Not with prehensile', if you want to parse the
Latin. Which means he can't pick things up with his tail, as some
mammals do, I believe.
-- Dan
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 18 Oct 1991 15:42:51 PDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: JEFFREY
Subject: Prehensile, Placards, etc...
((** )) TREE (( ) )) ---- ((( ) ))) / (( (( )) )) / ( ( ( ( )) )))) / ((((( ( ))) )) / (( ( )) ) ))) /__/ ((( (( ) ) ))) \ ( ( )) ))) | | | | |/"\ | --------------> | Though I am | ========= PLACARD | tail-less, I | ------- | CAN pick up | | a pencil w/ | | my toes :) | -------------- | |***************************
========================================================================
Date: Fri, 18 Oct 1991 19:15:47 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Dan Boyd <consp04 >
Subject: Prehensile, Placards, etc...
X-To: sbrhym-l@ccvm.sunysb.edu
In-Reply-To: JEFFREY's message of Fri, 18 Oct 1991 15:42:51 PDT
>
((** )) NUCLEAR EXPLOSION (( ) )) ---- ((( ) ))) / (( (( )) )) / ( ( ( ( )) )))) / ((((( ( ))) )) / (( ( )) ) ))) /__/ ((( (( ) ) ))) \ ( ( )) ))) | | | | | | -------------- | Harry's | <======== BILLBOARD | ATOMIC CAFE | ------- | -- | | No Nukes is | | Good Eats! | -------------- | |*************************** "Tonight, my son," he said with great reluctance, "tonight, you are a dog fisher."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Daniel F. Boyd -- consp04
========================================================================
Date: Sat, 19 Oct 1991 12:29:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: howdoyoulikeyourblue-eyedboy? <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: RE: Whatever happened to...?
Dktr Subtilis,
You still owe me (inasmuch as you owe me anything) a letter, in
which you will please answer my questions, which i shall not bother
to repeat as i have forgotten exactly what they were. Do that, and
i shall (depending on the answers) relate to you a rather pertinent
little anecdote about Norwich (so, so ... typical) Cathedral.
i assure you that i am not challenging the very learned Daniel A. Foss
to anything; i greatly esteem same but would stay miles and miles away
from him through lack of courage. Note that, being a shy and bashful
sort of a person, i stuck to the cheap seats at the back for a long long
time, in spite of the damp and draughts there and the poor quality of the
sound. i am, however, rather worried by Adler's indication of Oct 8th that
he may be slipping into the streets, and i hope and pray that he may find
there a convenient lamp-post to which he can wire his terminal. As i
believe i was vaguely elsewhere on June 9th, i do not know what DAF's
Personal Ad said. But, as always, i take your advice, and shall probably
never speak of him again.
Understand this: if anything Bad should happen to me, ever, it will be
your fault. You, as i keep pointing out, caused this mess. List demeanour
is still mostly unchartered territory, and you are blindly and circularly
chartering in the wrong directions.
H. Uniatz (j'adoube).
========================================================================
Date: Sun, 20 Oct 1991 09:55:00 GMT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: H760 <H.UNIATZ>
Subject: unthankfully yours
For once, M, i unwittingly wronged you: you did try, in your own
feeble way, to provide answers as requested, but somehow, you contrived
to ensure that your note languished in the depths of sbccvm for a week,
just as your last did. If you have managed to figure out how to rig
dates as well as node-names, as seems to be the case seeing as only
_your_ messages behave so strangely, you have my sincerest
congratulations.
i chose M. (bassist) in a rare moment of enlightenment and much though
i may ask, i cannot through your warped mirror darkly discern
accountability. Am i allowed to swop M. (bassist) for M. (something
else)? Can we start over? i have indeed discovered the
nuacvm-origination, through a means cleverer by far than independent
consultation, and hope to one slow day dream up a few telling insults
on the subject of the same institution. Any assistance which The List
might care to offer would be appreciated.
As always, you, victim of residence in an x-hours-late time-zone, finish
your race days too late, both winner and judge long-departed, and
have learnt to spell STANIFHLATHU when that individual no longer
exists. "Oh dear", you remark to self, "wasted days of careful
memorization". Might i gently caution you as to the advisability, in
these tasking times, of having a Good Breakfast, with semi-skimmed milk
and zinc and vitamins, guaranteed to revive the most failing of
intellects? Do-nuts are not at all the thing, appetizing though they
may seem after reading one's daily atrocities.
i have become intolerant. Consider not covenants, assume not covenants,
rather tear up all covenants. Recall that i did not accept yours, even
in the form to which i amended it. Account for every word of mine if
you must (and let me here helpfully, generously inform you that Anything
which you think might by any stretch of the imagination be a dig at you,
and probably some that you don't, most assuredly are) but do not try to
claim that you account for yours. i courteously invited you, in some brief
concise Easy Questions, to account for past words; you chose to ignore
several of the most significant among them and somehow managed to address,
but not answer, the others, at which deft manouvering i confess to have
been quite overwhelmed with admiration. You wish to have "calm hearts"
wrapped in "flaxen threads"; i wish to have you instead conform to an
uncommonly bright idea of your own and send me, mail me, recite to me,
convey to me by carrier pigeon, by choice rather than by prior obligation,
your curriculum vitae. [Delete the final "e" if inappropriate, one (first
pers sing) has lousy Latin.] Assume the air of Inquisition to be still
firmly attached to my persona.
You need not worry about my cat; it is in the care of a most trustworthy
person.
"For what it's worth, the proposal has been reopened", the opening clause
highly significant. You, m'dear m'dear m'dear m'dear m'dear (tra-la!
tra-la!), may go to hell, second time around, clutching at straws, holding
on for dear life to the strings of the chimerical Something lest it should
float away into the polluted skies over your muddled head. Meantime,
observe and reflect upon the consequences of your past actions: Daniel F.
Boyd has somehow found himself betrothed to me: from his viewpoint a most
sorry state of affairs, as he had previously informed us of an exceedingly
excellent preexisting love. Equally, i find myself, an embarrassment to
all, succedaneously promised to Daniel, who deserves better. Relics of
once upon a time, victims of your ineptitude, we are shelved.
As i recall, i requested that the subject of marriage should be dropped,
and, contrarily, you summarily re-open your proposal, so that i am quite
justified in throwing, yet again, a fit of temper. i have tried,
apparently with very little success, to make myself clear on this matter:
whether or not you like it, approve of it, or even believe it, you remain
my fidepromissor and my shelter; as in if an earthquake ever hit town,
unlikely though that is in this part of the world, i'd most likely ask you,
if my terminal still worked, what i was to do and which pieces should be
picked up. And now, you choose to pelt me with a clodded gesture of bad
faith by re-proposing; damn you for that.
i realise this has to show in the ratings: people are already reaching
for their dials, looking for a more user-friendly, less mind-numbingly
boring example of contemporary theatre. No need to fret: there's no
more; the batteries needs changing and my halo could do with re-gilding.
i'm declaring an interval so that you can all push off and buy popcorn.
Check out this season's newest flavour: swordfish and cream in assorted
shades of yellow. TOPIC CLOSED.
Kindly, you state:
>you may commence with "tearing me apart", "to the content of what it
>may please you to call your heart".
Invitation declined, i cannot and shall not; you must deal with your
own body&soul, soul&body, cosmetically wrapped as you divulge them tobe.
And if you deem my entourage to be destroying the wrong suburb, i can only
repeat my question: "who now owns this town?" Do dandelions grow here?
Why were so many american authors ambulance-drivers and why wouldn't
they let one homeofthebraveified Brit be one? (No answers required.)
"Crooked pictures straightened", you affably claim on your visiting-card,
and, not wishing to appear churlish, i thank you for the attempt, and
blithely remind you that you once inadvisedly professed to be dying
to help in any way you could, an offer which may soon be taken up.
Long ago, i declared an impasse, and only now do you accept it. In
time, you may see a pattern, of sorts, beginning to emerge: i am right,
always; you are not, ever.
Claiming dominion as you did, i wonder if, had i not decided to stage
a reappearance, you would have eventually, in your promised guise as
"H. Uniatz", have answered your own letter. If so, i'm sorry i did; it
would have interested me to see you being her. Casting stones at
CHEATING@wherever, she is increasingly reminded of halcyon summers of her
youth spent flinging pebbles at frogs to see if she could make them jump.
The quote i currently fail to cop, but it is, after all, a foggy Sunday
morning, still before breakfast-time GMT, and my thinking abilities are
not at their best. See next letter, when and if i do cop it, for
further details. For now, i find myself plotting revenge for the oddest
perceived (and perpetrated) wrongs. Will anybody join me in drinking to M?
(unsigned).
========================================================================
Date: Sun, 20 Oct 1991 20:59:33 EDT
Sender: SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From: Dan Boyd <consp04 >
Subject: Betrothal and wordishness
Perhaps you should look a little more carefully in the rear-view
mirror before claiming shelter from another! I'm not the jealous type
but I am no johnny-come-lately to the arena of providing shelter
during earthquakes. We're still betrothed, my dear Uniatz. If you
desire to end the engagement, you may do so; you remain a free agent.
One can hardly expect you to remain shackled to a Yank in the Southern
Tier when your heart is roaming the shores of Lake Michigan looking
for NUACVM. But let it be known that I thought our arrangement had
its own certain charm and grace...
Let all ye beware, however, for the missileers of Project
Atlantis are watching, their sweaty palms clutching the keys, their
hands steady upon the lever they hold beneath the track of the train
of history. At any moment the Rapture may arrive -- and you might not
recognize it for its packaging. Step carefully, and watch what you
wear; you could end up running around the afterlife in a pair of
polka-dotted boxer shorts...
All Soviet nuclear weapons have to be enabled with a launch code
before they can be fired. If the Soviet National Command Authority
orders a strike, the launch orders are transmitted through the
military command structure, while the unlock codes are transmitted
through the KGB structure. Both the launch orders and the unlock
codes must be transmitted for a launch to take place.
American land-based nuclear weapons have unlock codes; airborne and
submarine-launched weapons do not. Wings of land-based ICBMs are
controlled by four crews. Any crew can launch its own missiles. Any
one crew can veto the launch orders of the three others in the wing.
Any two crews can concur to launch a strike -- and cannot be vetoed.
US airborne nuclear weapons have no locks -- but you can shoot down a
bomber. Aboard submarines, the captain and the executive officer have
keys to the main safe -- both keys must be inserted to open the safe.
Inside the safe are authentication codes and a firing gun, which the
missile officer must insert in a console to fire the missiles.
It's real and it's there. Tomorrow could be the last day.
Is it any wonder I need an H. Uniatz (or someone like her) to remind
me of the beauty of the world?
-- Dan
========================================================================
Date: Mon, 21 Oct 91 09:11:12 CDT
From: GR4302
To: Sbrhym-l@SBCCVM
Subject: etiam...
you poo-poo face. what gives it a poke? which way to the lavoratory??
i can't tell you more unless you regurgitate. intellectual bulemia is
the life and certain time sequence of the west. and it sucks!
bADcHI
========================================================================
Date: Mon, 21 Oct 91 22:07:43 CDT
From: GR4302
To: Sbrhym-l@SBCCVM
Subject: Dagon and Howard
And now once again beaming to you live from Random House, Ontario, it's the
Take What You Want from Life show, starring Opie Fenogee as the wretched
remains of a child-actor crushed by the Wheels of Industry and theirreplacably
unique watershed ecosystem for which he stood in anthropomorphic symbolism.
And here to tell us all about tonight's the greatest show in the Universeone
Hell of an aquatic diety the Fish God Dagon! Let's here it folks. Now,
tell us, Dagon, why exactly have you awoken from your latest 2000 yearslumber
to vex and harass land dwellers? DAGON: "Kill you crush with big tail you
be a bad batch. Bad pools, bad! Mamma say you poop-balls pop!"
bADcHI (to you & you & you&you&you... and I can see Radom andBaal and the Cth#
%@!/
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