Sfstory Log 005

=========================================================================
Appended 20:48 on 06/28/87 by Andy Robinson:

Subject:  This story is going to the dogs...

Omegas had been walking over the endless dunes of Arziquarzonis for hours,
and his feet were getting tired.  So tired did his feet become that they
stopped working without his knowlege.  Omegas became aware of this fact
when he realized he was face down in the sand.  Suddenly, a thought struck
Omegas... Why couldn't he just teleport?  Then he realized just as suddenly
that he had no idea where he was going or what he was looking for.  He
picked himself up and sat down on the hot sand in a more conventional and
comfortable position.

After a few minutes, Omegas began to realize that he was bored.  This world
had very little to offer in the way of excitement, and the endless stretches
of sand were starting to annoy him.  He rummaged in his pockets for a moment
and presently his hand emerged with two small, oddly colored capsules.  They
were the remnants of the good doctor's pills.  Without further thought,
he swallowed the pills and laid back in the sand.

Within a few minutes he was experiencing a halluicogenic trip that defied
description, his body spasmodically twitching on the sand.  However, no
matter how far Omegas travelled, his recenly acquired bad luck was not far
behind.  When it caught up to him, it pulled a particularly cruel trick and
placed the sub-atomic re-integrator-and-automatic-beet-peeler in the
path of his convulsions.

Omegas fell on the switch of the odd device, activating both operational
modes simulataneously.  The strange energies swirled and intertwined, creating
another of our infamous space-time anomolies.  Suddenly, Omegas vanished
with a flash of light and the sound things make when they are sucked up
by a space-time anomoly.

Omegas' consciousness was gradually returning.  His trip had gone bad, it
seemed... towards the end he kept having visions of being rooted to the
spot, his lower extremeties buried in the ground where nematodes gnawed
on them, and catipillars munched his arms.  When he was completely back
to his subjective reality, he realized with anguish that he was stuck in
the self-same tree that he had so recently escaped from. Worse, it seemed
his energy levels were so low that he was at a loss to do anything about
it this time.

--------------------

Meanwhile, back in Central Park....

Trundle the wonder-dog was looking for something. Not that one could
tell from external appearences that he was a wonder-dog:  In
that respect he most closely remsembled a matted mutt who's genetic
ancestry was as confused as an art student in an advanced computer
architecture course.

However, Trundle was indeed a wonder dog, as you would certainly know
if he decided to show you, and as you WILL know if you read further.

Trundle came upon a large tree, branches reaching to the sky, green
leaves twitching in the slight breeze.  He looked up, smelled the air,
and smiled.  It was a wonderful day, this was a wonderful tree, and
he had found the not-so-wonderful thing he was looking for.  He walked
around the tree until he could see the object of his search:  A
humainoid figure, more or less half embedded in the tree, and muttering
an inexcusable series of curses and epithets.

"Oh *$*#$%#$% just what I  *#&%$# need, a **$%*&* mutt!" grumbled
Omegas.

Trundle the wonder-dog simply smiled, walked up to the tree, and lifted
his leg on it.  Omegas was struck dumb in mute astonishment as the dog
thoroughly soaked his exposed leg.

"Well," said Trundle, "Not much to work with, but I suppose you can
be taught the same way I was taught not to make naughties on the carpet"

Omegas' astonishment changed to incredulity as he stared down at the
Dog, now transformed in his eyes into a glowing, noble beast of not-so-
diminutive proportions.

"You... you... talk??!!?" was the only thing he could get out, among
the rush of confusing thoughts going through his mind.

"No, I'm only pretending to talk just for your benefit" said Trundle,
"and for the time being you can pretend to hear me."

Trundle the wonder-dog paused to see if Omegas had detected the
sarcasm in this remark.  Seeing that Omegas had not only failed
to detect the sarcasm, but was beginning to gibber like some monkey
that had recently fallen out of a tree, Trundle continued.

"I suppose we had better get you out of that tree before a human
comes along and has a seizure at the sight of you.  You do look a
very comic sight.  All the same, I suppose you've been there long
enough"

With a motion of the dog's tail, Omegas appeared whole and intact
beside him.  Omegas ran his hands over his body as if he did not
quite believe he was all there.

"Even an old humanoid can be taught new tricks" said Trundle, "so
let's start the lesson.  Come, let's take a walk."

Omegas, who had regained some composure by this point, was entirely
sure he did not want to accompany this supernatural canine anywhere,
and said as much:

"Hey look, thanks for the lift out of the tree and everything, but
I gotta split" he said, and turned, preparing to dematerialize.

Suddenly, out of nowhere a giant rolled-up newspaper appeared, and
swinging in a wide arc collided with Omegas' posterior with a loud
*whack*, driving Omegas into the grass, face down.  Stunned, he laid
still.

"Your idea of gratitude needs work, and so do your manners.  Don't
think I pried you out of that tree for kicks... You've got some lessons
to learn, and as much as it pains me, I'm going to teach you.  Now come
on, let's take that walk.

Omegas, who had a vague idea that the tables were turned compared to
a normal man-dog relationship, started to feel strangely towards his
new companion.  For the first time in his long life, he felt the
desire to please someone besides himself.  So he happily got up on
all fours, and trotted after Trundle with his tongue hanging out.
Suddenly, he realized how silly he must look with no tail to wag, so
he regained his normal bipedal posture and assumed a position next
to the wonder-dog.

Who is this "Trundle" character?
Have we sufficiently bolluxed Jeff Smith's plot development?
Will Omegas ever learn not to make naughties on the Carpet?
What is the significance of the tree Omegas keeps getting caught in?
Why doesn't Omegas have a tail?
Why can't Omegas use his powers?
Why... *WHAP*

We, the sponsers of this story, have decided that further silly
questions of this sort are deleterious to your mental health, and
have subsequently slaughtered the question-writer with a large,
blunt object.  For more information, you will have to wait for the
next Levi-riveting episode of WOODHOUSE-WAY CSNOTICE...

***** Entry appended 20:48 on Sun, 06/28/87 by ANDY     at MAINE    # 048 *****
=========================================================================
Appended 09:19 on 06/29/87 by Andy Robinson:

Subject:  Third stone from the sun...

"... one of the first things you must learn, Omegas, is that killing
beings is very, very bad.  It is so supremely bad in fact that it is
probably one of the worst things you can do, short of taking away a
being's MTV."

Omegas gasped.  He'd never realized the seriousness of killing before.

"But what difference does it make, your fido-ness, since everyone goes
to heaven (or somewhere) anyway... I mean what's death other than that
great new adventure into the unknown, ya know?" he said.

"Sure, sure, but most beings don't WANT to be killed. They're scared of
it.  It bothers them, you know, because they don't KNOW they'll still
be around after they leave this plane of existance.  They get so scared
they usually soil and wet themselves when they know they're going to die.
Not only is this very messy for the undertaker, but it violates the dead
being's right NOT to be scared shitless, if you take my meaning." replied
Trundle the wonder-dog.

Omegas pondered this.

"Yeah, I suppose it would be kind of nasty from the killee's point of
view.  I sure know how I felt when I got fried... thank god my old
buddy..."

Omegas stopped in midsentence, realizing the information he had almost
revealed to the wonder-dog...

"God had nothing to do with your 'friends' arrival, Omegas.  But then
again, that friend you chose so easily had nothing to do with the fact
you are still here now.  He simply made the best of the situation and
took credit for it." said Trundle casually.

Trundle paused and peered at Omegas with a curious expression.

"The 'big guy', as you call him, saved you from your fate.  He made
you mortal so that you could understand the universe from a mortal's
point of view... and he reversed his descision at the last moment when
he saw you were in danger.  I am beginning the think more and more that
was a mistake." finished the wonder-dog.

"How do you know so much?" queried Omegas.

"I have sources on high" answered Trundle with a strange smile.

The strange pair walked on down the pathway.

"You do realize of course that you are mortal again" said Trundle.

Omegas turned suddenly and started to say something, but the words
died in his throat--his incredulity was almost comical.

"That is why you could not teleport on Aqui... Arci... or wherever
it was... the dusty red small planet or whatever... and that is why
you could not get out of the tree.  Not only are you mortal, but all
of your powers beyond those normally possessed by a human being have
been nullified.  And this time, be careful--I do not see a reprieve
on the horizon if you mess up."

Omegas simply stared dumbfounded at nothing in particular, he jaw
resting on his chest in amazement.  He had no question that what the
wonderdog had said was true--he KNEW it was true.

"You still have a mission to perform for the big guy" continued Trundle,
"and you'd better get cracking."

"You mean, he still wants me to work for him, after I've worked for Satan
and everything?" asked Omegas in disbelief.

"Of course" replied Trundle, "But before I take my leave, remember--
if you are to succeed, you will need friends. And because of your actions
in the past, I see very few beings you can consider friends. However, you
may find that your best friend lies in your worst foe."

He paused to let this last take effect.

"And", continued the wonder-dog, "if you need any clues, the person you
should be worried most about now is St. Peter.  If he finds you, he will
no doubt fry you to a very small flinder, and then stamp that into ashes.
He is, how can I put in gently, "pissed off" at you.  Modifying the book
was not only easily detecable, but stupendously stupid... I think your
best bet is find St. Peter before he finds you, and hope that his kind
spirit will show through his crusty exterior long enough to prevent him
from sending you back to the pearly gates, the hard way.  I hear there's
quite a line there."

"Wait a minute..." said Omeags, "you're no Dog... you're... you're..."
he stuttered

"Shhhhhhh!!!" hissed Trundle.  "I'm afraid it might be embarassing if
you finished that sentence.  Can you see the televangelists trying to
convince their viewers that the second coming has occurred -- in a
Dog's body!!!  Ahh well, It's time to take my leave of you, Omegas...
Remember... this is your last chance... find St. Peter.  And most of
all, BE GOOD!"

God dissapeared as if he had never been there.  Omegas only had the
hint of a memory of the physical events of the past few hours, but
God's last words were stamped indelibly in his mind: "BE GOOD."  It
was almost incomprehensible for Omegas, but he thought he'd give it
a try.

"Oh, by the way..." said a dog's voice out of nowhere, "the holy
newspaper is standing by, should you deviate from the straight and
narrow..."

Omegas whirled but the voice was gone.  He stuck his hands in his
pockets and walked distractedly across the grass.  Behind him, he heard
a loud *whack* and turned to see a mugger (who had incidentally been
stalking Omegas) flat on the ground with a large newspaper hovering
over him.

"I could learn to like this" said the dog's voice again.

------------------------------

Why did God come back to Earth as a doG?
What psychological effect will being hit by a giant newspaper have
    on the poor, underpriveleged mugger?  Will God be liable in a
    civil suit on grounds of mental anguish and distress?
Will Omegas look for St. Peter?
What will St. Peter do when he finds Omegas, or vice versa?
When will.... *WHAP*

Some people never learn.

***** Entry appended 09:19 on Mon, 06/29/87 by ANDY     at MAINE    # 049 *****
=========================================================================
Appended 06:21 on 07/01/87 by Jeff Smith:

    The black shark-ship cut swiftly and silently through space with the
Doctor's ship attached to its belly, looking somewhat like a giant,
green space-lamprey sucking the blood of its host-ship.  Occasionally,
a small sputter of plasma would drool its way out of the large engines
on the rear of the shark-ship and accelerate it accordingly.
    Far ahead of the black ship was another ship, sitting motionless in
space, seemingly waiting for something.  This second ship was oddly
shaped, somewhat like a giant safety-pin, and was evidently under its
own power, yet it did not make any moves to avoid the large shark-ship
as it bore down on it like a penny onto someone's head at the base of
the Empire State Building.
    Within minutes, the shark-ship had pulled up alongside the smaller
ship, and was dragging it toward itself with a powerful tractor-beam.
Soon, the safety-pin ship was attached to the bottom of the shark-ship
next to the Doctor's ship.
    The three spaceships sat motionless in space for hours upon hours
looking ridiculous until finally, the whole clump dematerialized, leaving
a nasty gap in space that clamped shut with a spray of neutrinos.
    Moments later, the shark-ship reappeared, repainted an appealing
shade of orange, next to a gigantic metal frame orbiting a small
white star.  Mounted on the side of this frame was a gigantic sign that
read:

                   DIRK'S SPACE SWAP-O-RAMA AND GRILL.
                        Barter like you oughter

    The orange shark-ship pulled up into a large berth on the bottom of
the frame and was soon being attended by a swarm of smaller maintenance
ships, refueling ships, and repainting ships.  The Doctor's ship and the
safety-pin ship were detached from the bottom and towed through a large
door into the heart of the metal frame.  A few dozen minutes later, a
shuttle-craft jetted out of a hidden orifice on the shark-ship and into
a small opening next to the larger one traversed by the Doctor's ship and
disappeared within the frame.
    "So, Arf, what do you think of our new merchandise?", said one man
to another seated next to him.
    "They should fetch us a new hyper-drive at least.", replied Arf, who
was busy eating the hair off the back of his hand.
    "And maybe a good shield-unit.", said the other one, seemingly
settling the subject.
    Their shuttlecraft soon docked with an iris-valve on the far side of
a large chamber.  The valve opened, admitting the nose of the ship, and
then clamped down upon it, forming a seal.
    "Arf arf!", said the seal.
    "Thlump.", said the seal seconds later as it depresserized
explosively in the vacuum surrounding it.
    "Where the hell did that seal come from?", asked the man.
    "Who knows.", replied Arf, chewing some skin from the palm of his
hand.
    The two men, joined by a crowd of other from the rear of the shuttle,
climbed out through the exit in the nose-cone and entered a large
amphitheater.  Running through the center of the floor of the room was
a huge glass tunnel, roughly five hundred feet in diameter and at
least that tall.  Every now and then, a piece of equipment of would
drift through the tunnel and members of the audience would type, or
not type as the case may be, into the terminals in front of them what
they would trade for each item.
    The men that had just exited from the shuttle sat themselves down
in a box of seats labeled "Boffo Salvage Co.".  Each took out a small
card of plastic, and inserted it into the terminal beside them.  This
had the effect of lighting up the screen with a stream of green numbers,
telling information about a slab of Rel-E-Strong Space Armor or an
occasional Hyper-drive Anti-fouling Screen.
    "So, Arf, what do you plan to do with the, er, occupants of the
ships we salvaged?", asked the man sitting next to Arf.
    "We'll say that they are crew and that they are included with the
ship. That should fetch us another kilometer of superconducting cable.",
said Arf as he busied himself in gnawing the black crud out from under
his finger-nails.
    "Do they know that they are crew?", asked the man.
    "Who cares?", replied Arf who had moved on from his fingernails and
now had sunk one of his fingers up to the third knuckle into his left
nostril.
    "Shhh! Here comes one of our ships!", hissed a man from behind them,
pointing to the safety-pin shaped craft drifting through the glass pipe.
Words scrolled across the screens of everyone in the auditorium.

    Item #1367: Original Starship Disposer.  Perfect condition.
                Comes with working Hyper-drive, weaponry system,
                shield system, food processor, flight computer,
                and heavy-duty storage chambers.  Willing crew
                of one (1) included.
                Asking trade: One (1) Hop-Skip-'n'-A-Jump Hyper-
                              Drive in new condition (less than
                              twenty jumps made) and one kilometer
                              of superconducting cable.

    "Those idiots!", yelled Arf at his terminal, "I asked for *two*
kilometers of cable.  Stupid space-oxen!"  He smashed a large fist up
against the terminal, knocking it from its stand into the seats below,
taking off the head of a seated Lizardoid.
    "Wait!", said the man next to him, "We're getting in some bids!"
Arf tilted the screen of another terminal toward him and watched as
the bids from other spacemen flowed across the screen in green
phosphorescence.
    "Get that one.", said Arf, pointing to a block of text on the screen
that read:

    Bid #14: One Hop-Skip-'n'-A-Jump Hyper-drive, 500m of super-
             -conducting cable and two dozen Deth-To-All pistols.

    The man next to Arf typed in a short command and the screen cleared,
save for the bid typed at the top.  The monitor filled with multi-
-colored static that slowly formed into the face of a large rabbitoid.
    "This is Arf from Boffo Salvage Co., the owner of item number 1367.",
said Arf to the terminal, "We'll take your bid."
    "Great!", said the rabbitoid, "When can I pick up the ship?"
    "In twenty minutes, at Bay Five.", replied Arf.
    "Great!", said the rabbitoid, "See you then.", and the screen filled
again with static.
    "Doop, you and Gorf go down to the holding bay, pick up the ship,
and bring it to Bay Five in ten minutes. Got it?", said Arf to a man
sitting behind him.
    "Righto, Arf.", replied Doop, and left with another man.
    Arf watched the terminal screen next to him as he picked his ear
with a long index finger.

    Doop and Gorf walked swiftly down the hallway toward a door at its
end labeled "Holding Bay."  They entered the door and walked over to a
man standing behind a counter at the far end of the room.
    "May I help you, gentlemen?", asked the man.
    "We're from Boffo Salvage Co., and we're here to pick up item number
1367.", replied Gorf.
    "Mat I see some identification, please?", asked the man.
    Gorf handed him a small plastic card covered with lettering.  The man
behind the counter picked it up, read it twice, and gave it back to
Gorf.
    "Your ship will be ready in a minute.", said the man.  He walked out
a small door behind the counter and came back several minutes later with
a grave look on his face.
    "Sirs?", said the man, "I'm afraid there's been some trouble."
    "Trouble? Like what", asked Gorf, worried.
    "Your 'willing crewmember' has used a plasma-torch and cut his way
through the plating in the room where he was locked up and then through
the hull of the ship.", replied the man with a hint of smile on his lips.
    "Damn!", exclaimed Doop, "Our ass is grass for this."
    "We'll be back.", said Gorf as he and Doop hurried out of the room
and back to Arf.

    Meanwhile, in the holding bay, Bubba was hiding behind a stack of
used lasing tubes wondering if he could get out of this one with a
full complement of limbs.

Would Bubba get out of this one with a full complement of limbs?
If not, which ones will he loose?
Which ones won't he loose?
Why did Andy mess up my plot contortions?
What can I do to mess up his?

To find the thrilling answers to all these and more exciting questions,
stay tuned for the next edition of SFSTORY CSNOTICE; same bat-time,
same bat-channel.

***** Entry appended 06:21 on Wed, 07/01/87 by RPS385   at MAINE    # 050 *****
=========================================================================
Appended 12:34 on 07/02/87 by Jeff Smith:

    The Doctor awoke on the floor of the cockpit of his ship.  He rose
sluggishly to his feet, rubbed his stubbled face, and wandered out of
the cockpit.  He walked slowly toward the bathroom in the rear of the
ship and got as far as the rear of central rec-room before it came to
him in a flash.
    "I'm not dead!", he astutely observed.
    He rushed into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror.
    "Nope.", he restated, "Definitely *not* dead."
    While he shaved, he wondered what this new not-deadness meant to him.
Mostly, it meant that he was alive, but it also meant that he was hungry.
After showering and feeding himself at the now-working food processor,
he walked up to the ship's cockpit wondering why he was not dead.  After
making a cursory inspection of the visual scanner screen, he realized
that he was in a gigantic hanger bay and that, most probably, he had
been scooped up at the last minute by another ship and rescued for some
as yet unknown reason.  He pondered this as he slowly flicked through
the computer log of the last few days.
    It turned out that his guess was very close to the truth, and that
he *had* been picked up by another ship, refueled, and brought here, to
Dirk's Swap-o-Rama and Grill, undoubtedly to be swapped.  Deciding that
he was against his newly not-dead self being swapped for a Osterizer or
a Hyper-Toaster, he activated the control console of the ship, planning
to blast his way out.
    He gave the surrounding area a quick scan with the life-detectors.
After a few minutes of whirring and clicking they reported that there
was only one life-form nearby, and that it was barely sentient. With
the half-hearted rationalization of "Better thee than me", the Doctor
turned on the weapons console and trained the Mega-Laser cannon at the
ceiling.
    He was about to press the "Fire" button when he remembered, with a
flash, that the Automatic Beet Peeler and Sub-Atomic Re-Integrater was
gone, taken by that "Omegas" guy.  He decided, sullenly, that he would
have to build another so with a sigh of despair, he turned off the
capacitor banks, picked up a nearby pistol and exited the ship.
    Unbeknownst to the Doctor, moments after he disembarked his ship
a stealthy figure crept out of the darkness from behind a pile of
equipment and entered the Doctor's abandoned craft.
    Several minutes later, the Doctor returned to his ship carrying an
armload of electronics, wire, and vegetables.  He walked into the
rec-room, dumped his equipment onto a coffee-table, and immediately
began shuffling through the debris, occasionally setting aside pieces
of electronics or bruised vegetables.  After about an hour of this, he
retrieved his toolbox from the cockpit, and began work.  However, before
he could even strip a single wire, the ship trembled as if hit.  The
Doctor rushed to the cockpit and turned on the visual scanners.
    It seemed as though the ship was moving toward a large semi-circular
orifice in front of them.  The Doctor flicked switches savagely, hoping
to activate the engines and fly his way out, but to no avail; the
engines remained dormant.  Remembering the Mega-Laser, he turned to
the weapons console, and pressed the "Charge" button.  He anxiously
waited as the red signal-light slowly turned to green, and as the
hole in front of them grew nearer and nearer until, when the blackness
almost was surrounding them, the "Ready" light flashed.  The Doctor
aimed the Mega-Laser down the tunnel into the darkness before him and
squeezed off a shot.
    The powerful bolt of energy streaked down the corridor, bounced off
a wall, and slammed into an expensive piece of machinery, turning it to
dust.  The Doctor pressed the "Fire" button again and this time, struck
the proverbial jackpot.  The beam punctured the thick wall of the
chamber that he and his ship were in, exposing it to hard vacuum.  With
the sound of a million vacuum cleaners on "Full", the atmosphere of the
gigantic hanger-bay was sucked out into space along with the Doctor's
ship and several others.
    "Bullseye", yelled the Doctor.
    "We're gonna die.", whimpered Bubba who was hiding in the corner.

Are they going to die?
If so, how will they die?
Will it be a fast death?
Will it be a slow death?
What will happen to Arf?
What will happen to Dirk and his Swap-o-Rama and Grill?
Will it lose business?

To find out the startling answers to these exciting questions, tune
in for the next edition of SFSTORY CSNOTICE!

***** Entry appended 12:34 on Thu, 07/02/87 by RPS385   at MAINE    # 051 *****
=========================================================================
Appended 14:36 on 07/05/87 by Jeff Smith:

    Doctor Von Spleen turned on the auto-pilot, arose from his seat, and
walked back into the rec-room where the parts for the new Automatic Beet
Peeler and Sub-Atomic Re-Integrater lay.  He sat down in a nearby chair,
picked up the laser soldering iron, and began work.
    Several hours later, the Doctor got up from the table, set aside the
half-completed device, and walked forward into the cockpit.  He seated
himself at the command console and did a quick sensor scan of the
surrounding parsec.  Finding nothing but the usual interstellar gas, he
got up and turned to go back to his work.  However, he was stopped by
Bubba, who was blocking the door and waving a pistol at the Doctor.
    "Get over there, or I'll evaporate yer kneecaps.", snarled Bubba.
Being from New York, Bubba found it second nature to snarl and threaten.
The Doctor, however, being from Alton, Maine, found it second nature to
go to the bathroom in public, but he resisted his primal urges, and
followed Bubba's instruction.
    "Lie down on the floor.", commanded Bubba.
    The Doctor was lying face down on the hard steel of the floor before
he realized that the gun Bubba was holding was a false one that he had
bought in a train-station in Boston for $1.95.  It was supposed to
shoot out a little sign on a stick that said ""I love Boston"", but
considering the price he paid for it, the place he bought it, and the
startling state of drunkeness that the vendor was in, he didn't even
expect it to do that.
    "Now.  We're gonna fly this ship back to Earth.", said Bubba, turning
toward the command console spread out before him in all it's mind-
paralyzing complexity.  He searched vainly for a ""To Earth"" button and,
not finding it, gave the console a swift kick.
    The Doctor chose this moment to attack.  He jumped up from the floor
and flew through the air at Bubba.  He caught him around the waist, and
the two went flying through the air.  Their short aerial journey was
cut short, however, by the view-screen, which served as a crude
trampoline and ricocheted them back across the room.  Bubba pulled the
trigger of the gun, but all it served to do was split the plastic barrel
down the center, releasing the little rod with the flag on the end that
said, despite rumors to the contrary, "I love Macaroni". The reason
behind this is moot, as the rod, the flag, and the bulk of the gun flew
across the room and landed in the trash-atomizer which quickly did the
job for which it was designed.
    Bubba and the Doctor struggled briefly, but their short-lived
excursion into professional wrestling was ended when the Doctor broke a
clipboard over Bubba's head.  After he had pushed the limp body off of
his own, the Doctor tied Bubba's hands and feet to the command chair,
and returned to his work in the rec-room.
    The Doctor worked steadily, pausing only to get a cup of coffee or
an occasional amphetimine from the food processor, until well past
midnight, soldering wires, testing components and juggling apples.  This
last activity did not directly aid in the construction of the ABPSAR,
but it helped him unwind after all that soldering and testing stuff.
    Several bushels of apples later, the Doctor arose triumphantly
from his seat with the completed ABPSAR on the table in front of him.
He brushed the debris from the top of the device, put it under his arm,
and walked forward to the cockpit.  When he arrived, he set the machine
in a unused corner of the cockpit, whacked the writhing and screaming
Bubba over the head with another clipboard, and crouched beneath the
control console.  Luckily, the cable that he had originally attached
to the ABPSAR was still in place, and by the looks of the amateurish and
crude reprogramming of the circuit boards behind the panel to which it
was attached, his earlier work on the ship had been untouched.
    He plugged the end of the cable into the appropriate socket on his
device, inserted a piece of Neo-spam into the peeling equipment, fiddled
with the knobs, and pressed the "On" button.  Other than a brief honk of
grinding gears, oddly enough, which the ABPSAR had none, there was no
sign that anything was happening.  He turned the Inter-nucleiic flux dial
up to it's maximum reading of "10", adjusted a few more of the fine-
tuning controls, and pressed the "On" button again.
    This time, he was greeted with success. Lights began to flicker back
and forth across the face of the ABPSAR and the lights on the ship
suddenly gained in intensity.  The Doctor leaped for joy, but quickly
settled down and sat himself in the command chair.
    "My first act as commander of my newly rejuvenated ship will be to
eject all strangers out the airlock.", announced the Doctor to the world.
    "Wait!", said Bubba who, under the previously stated order, would be
one of those to experience the mixed pleasures of breathing hard vacuum.
    "What for?", asked the Doctor.
    "You're from Earth, right?", asked Bubba, hoping to arouse a sense of
patriotism and kinship within the Doctor.
    "Yeah. And?", replied the Doctor, his patriotism and kinship
remaining unaroused.
    "So am I!", announced Bubba proudly.
    "What's your point?", asked the Doctor.
    "My point is..", said Bubba, "My point is.. that we are both from the
Earth and both from the 20th century, right?"
    "Uh-huh.", affirmed the Doctor.
    "So we should stick together, right?", asked Bubba hopefully.
    "Uh-uh.", negated the Doctor, "I'm afraid it's impossible for us to
stick together."
    "Why's that", asked Bubba.
    "Because, ", replied the Doctor, "You're going to be outside the
ship, and I'm going to be inside, making it physically impossible for
us to 'stick together'"
    With this, the Doctor knocked Bubba unconscious once again and
dragged his limp body into the airlock where he set it down.  He
stepped back into the ship, closed the outer air-lock door, and was
about to press the "Cycle" button, when something caught his eye.  It
dragged him for several feet before he was able to unhook it, and by
that time he had realized that it was some kind of flying robot camera,
covered with little protective spikes.  He followed it into the cockpit,
where it stopped its motion and hovered, panning across the cockpit,
seemingly looking for something.  Before it could get a glimpse of the
ABPSAR, of which the Doctor had been growing paranoid about,  he picked
a tennis racquet off of the floor of the room behind him, and gave the
flying camera a forehand smash.
    With the high-pitched tinkle of breaking crystal, the broken robot
camera flew across the room, bounced off the computer console, and
lodged itself in the peeling apparatus of the ABPSAR.  The Doctor,
much afraid that something unpredictable could happen, dove for the
ABPSAR, but too late.  In a flash of multi-colored sparks, the little
piece of animated metal disappeared, taking with it the front half of
the Doctor's tennis racquet.  The Doctor frantically tried to find the
"Off" button, but before he could complete his search, the Time-Space
Continuum was torn by the forces being exerted by the ABPSAR, and the
Doctor, the ABPSAR (with it's missing "Off" switch), the ship, and Bubba
all were sucked within the rent in the fabric of space, and disappeared
from the known universe.
    "Clang.", said Space as its rip slammed shut.

Did space *really* say "Clang"?
If not, what did it say?
Does anyone with an IQ in triple digits watch "The Dukes of Hazard"?
Does that last question have any relevance to SFSTORY?

To uncover the amazing answers to these and other amazing questions, stay
tuned for the next amazing addition to SFSTORY CSNOTICE!

***** Entry appended 14:36 on Sun, 07/05/87 by RPS385   at MAINE    # 052 *****
=========================================================================
Appended 22:18 on 08/06/87 by :

    Meanwhile, in a small Boston Apartment, somewhere along Bay
State Road, a remarkably well built woman sat.  She stared
outside the window at the rainy city street.  As with many
women, well built or not, in such a situation, she felt like
shit.
    Everything that had made her life reasonably all right
had fallen apart--she didn't know what to do next.  Even
sex seemed drab now, and if you know this woman, you know that
is next to impossible!
    She stared some more, before the novelty of looking like
one of those movie heroines wore off, and she decided to get back
back to the homework assignment...of course, the entire field
of Spamology had simply fallen into the basement with the
disappearence of the eminent Dr. Von Spleen, so there was little
point.
    Reminding herself of Dr. Von Spleen got her cursing, as she
had so often lately--cursing so utterly vehemetly that she opened
a small quasi-divine portal in the space time continum, with two
net effects.
    First off, the entire planet of Anteres 4, a quiet, peaceful
world of art, literature, and impeccably good hygine, was suddenly
and irrevicobly turned into Strawberry Suger-Free Jello--which
the entire world's population proceeded to drown in.  (The occurance
was first discovered by a young Frond from Maylox V, who marketed
it as the ultimate tourist attraction--the first natural occurance
that not only featured a lost civilization, and also told a tragic
story of a great disaster, but also featured free food that was
also 100% nutrisweet.  By the time the planet was completly
devoured by money and weight consious beings from around the
universe, the frond was a multibillionaire who never ate
nutrasweet again.)
    The second occurence latched onto a different sort of space/time
rip, which held another woman, also well built, who just happened
to be cursing the same exact curses at the universe.  The universe,
stunned at such an unexplained and vulger occurence, decided
upon the only safe and logical thing to do.
    Moments later, the woman in Boston was completly and totally
suprised, when a blond, buxom woman in a slightly singed gray
jumpsuit, appeared in a great roar of fire and light in the
middle of her living room.
    "Holy Shit!" remarked the buxom woman--who was, the owner of
the apartment decided, not an English Major.
    The blond spun and looked at the other woman.  "Who are
you?" she shouted, forgetting all etiquette entirely.
    I'm dreaming all this, the woman decided.
    "Radar Vogel.  Who, pray, are you?"
    "Me?  Oh, I'm Linda."  Linda looked around, "How did I get
back to Earth?"
    "I wouldn't know," replied Radar, who was quite over her shock
and now just plain mad.
    "Hey--what a coincedence," Linda spun around, saying, "the
Captain of our Spaceship's name was Vogel!"
    "Yes, that's nice--please get out," Radar said, going from mad
to completly pissed.
    Linda turned to leave, dejected that the first human she had seen
since being matter disintergated had already thrown her out, when
Radar shrieked.
    "What?" asked Linda, rushing over to help.  Linda was always
a kind person at heart--always consoling or being there for others.
As a result she had lost her Virginity at 14 and twelve different
magazines had published nude pictures of her.
    "Spaceship...Captain?" Radar sputtered out, eyes wildly looking
about the room, sheer hope written on her face in indelible ink.
    "Yeah, Captain Steve Vogel...." Linda said, full blown confused.
    "Steve Vogel's my twin brother!" shrieked Radar--whose voice was
now quite horse.
    Linda stared at Radar, amazed.
    "God--what an incredible coincedence!" Linda murmered.
    It was, of course, a mind-bogglingly amazing coincedence--so
much so, that most great philosophers and scientists decided that
in fact, it had to have been a coincedence--as it was too unlikly
that some divine being might have tipped his hand this way.  The great
council of thought on Aldeberon II decided that radioactive mesons had
pierced the heart of a twinkie, creating a field imbalence.  High
philosopher Priest of Necrophilia I Throwbak Iztuusmal hypothosised
that it was an angry universe revolting against the proliferation
of Three's Company re-runs on American Television.  Finally, the
Golderbugs of Insecticon xxx decideded it was simply the result
of a twelve hit die Astral Deva mating with an oak tree.
    The real cause of the whole thing was a small dog, who saw the
whole affair in heavan, where he happened to be, and, being almighty,
decided to give it a try.
    "NASA called this morning, they said the ship collided with a
of Spam!" Radar sputtered out.
    "Was that what that was?" Linda asked nervously, "Boy, we didn't
have any clue!"
    "You idiot!  Don't you understand--if you're alive--Steve might
be alive!!!  What happened to the ship?"
    "The ship?" Linda asked, "well, its hard to say.  There were
all these spacewarps, you see, and then we hit the Spam, and then
I was on this stage in a sex show, but they didn't like humans, and..."
    "SPACEWARPS????" Radar shrieked.
    "Uh, yeah."  said Linda, who was getting mighty tired of all this
shrieking.
    "Listen--only one thing could have caused those warps--the testing
of a radically new device of such staggering power that reality itself
made no sense at all!!!!"
    "There is?"  Linda asked, excited now, "then we could save the
Captain with it?"
    "Yes...yes of course!  We could reverse polarity and draw him back
through to us completly unharmed," Radar shouted!
    "Great!" shouted Linda, who, underneith it all was loyal to her
Captain--not to mention she had never seduced him but always dreamed
about it.  "Where is the device?"
    Radar looked up sheepishly, "um...its, well, lost."
    "Lost?"  Linda looked at Radar, "How was it lost?"
    "I, um, used it to blow its inventor into nether-space.  The
device went with it."
    "Oh, great--so it could be anywhere in the known universe?"  Linda
frowned.  "Real smooth move, chick!"
    "Hey, look, give me a God Damn break--if I ARRRG!!!!"
    Radar got up off the ground.  She gave Linda a hand up.  "What
hit us?"
    Linda shrugged--it had been too weird a week for her to be suprised
by anything anymore.  "It looked like a giant newspaper."
    Radar looked thoughtful, "you know--I could build a unit that could
detect the unique power eminations coming from the ADMs..AMAS...aw
hell, the spam powered thing!  Then, we could track it down and use
it to save Steve!
    "But," she added, "We'd need a faster-than-light spacecraft, to
mount the tracker and bring us to its source."
    "Well, where are we going to find one of those?" Asked Linda.  "Or
do you expect some intergalactic Space Hero to appear with one to
carry us into space on some intersteller quest?"
    Just then, outside, there was a great honking and the sounds of
metel hitting metel.  The girls stuck their heads out the window
and gawked at the sight.
    Down below, sitting along the corner of Bay State Road and Beacon
street, was a large, four-man fasther than light hypercrusier.
Sitting on top of it was an incredibly handsome man, who looked up
at them.
    "Hi!" he shouted, "I'm Mark Hyperthrust!!!  I'm a High Space
Adnenture hero major at Intersteller U--could you tell me how to get
to Barnard's Star?"
    Radar whistled.  Linda murmered "what an incredible coincedence!"
    Up in heaven, a small dog smiled a dog smile, and proceeded to
wet the pearly gates.

    "So," Mark said, sitting in the command chair of the HMS Goodguy,
"You two want me to take you to find this Spam thingy, to rescue your
brother?"
    "You got it," said Linda.  Radar was busy admiring the view--she
had never been in space before, and watching the Earth in Orbit was
great.
    "What's in it for me?"  asked Mark.
    "Incredible fame!" shouted Linda
    "The adventure of it all!" shouted Radar.
    Mark looked dubious.
    The two girls locked eyes, faced front, and ripped open their
shirts.
    Mark was only a freshman, and therefore didn't get many girls.  He
looked at the suddenly exposed breasts and gave up all sense of
haggling--later, he would only get a C for this heroic feat.  Right
now, he shut down the artifical gavity and lunged for them.

    An hour later, the ship crusied in space.  The three--all in
bathrobes and sitting in the command chair, were watching
the neo-spam detector blink as they locked onto its target.
    Radar was in love.  She had already decided that when they found
Steve, she'd stuff him and Linda in a shuttle--Steve always did like
illiterates--and fly off with her new man.
    Linda was in love.  She had already decided that when they found
Steve, she'd stuff him and Radar in a shuttle--Radar looked like the
incestous type--and fly off with her new man.
    Mark was in love.  He had already decided that when they found
this Steve person, he'd stuff him in a Shuttle--he sounded like
a mastrebater anyway--and fly off with his harem.

WILL LINDA GET MARK?
WILL RADAR GET MARK?
WILL MARK GET LAID?
WILL STEVE GET ANYBODY?
HEY, WASN'T STEVE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD?

    All these and far less relevent questions probebly won't even be
mantioned in the next SFSTORY!!!!!!

***** Entry appended 22:18 on Thu, 08/06/87 by IK70012  at MAINE    # 053 *****
=========================================================================
Appended 00:35 on 08/08/87 by :

    Around a very small planet in the galactic central core is a small
man-made sattelite.  Within that sattelite sits a man, a man who is the
most enightened man in the universe.  He knows all, sees all, hears all,
and accepts most major credit cards.  This is the great,
all-omnipresent Muck-Luck!!!!
    Muck-Luck always hated his name, but when you are that enlightened,
you know that a person's name only attaches himself to the materieal
world instead of the spiritual world in which we all belong.
    Besides, if anyone laughed at it, Muck-Luck had an excuse to
matter-disinteragte him.  For an all-knowing seer, Muck-luck rather
enjoyed violent acts.
    Now then, being enlightened, he was in a quandry.  He knew the
hypergalactic space warps that this story seems to be full of would
cause a lot of damage to the rather fragile universe, and could
destroy everything.  He also knew that only he could intervene and prevent
the horrible occurence from happening.  Even the Lord himself (now
a small dog, remeber)couldn't do that...besides, God had his hands full
right now trying to deal with a sadistic St. Peter, a drugged up
Spamologist, a recently converted right hand man, a New Yorker with
a talent for getting into trouble, a future comp programmer, and two
bimbos and a frosh space adventure major--most of whom were responsible
for the space-warps that were wreaking all the havoc.
    Well, Muck-Luck had to decide to remain professionally detached and
watching all reality bite the big one in a really grand way, or to
intervene and possibly have to explain his actions to the union.
    Muck-Luck sighed.  There was only one course of action.  Only one
way that was truly enlightened.
    He pressed a button on the console in front of himself.  Machines
hummed and prepared for Muck-Luck's desire.
    A panel opened and a mechanical arm extended, holding a 42 ounce
bottle of Brador Malt Liqour, which Muck-Luck promptly shotgunned.
He then activated a hyperspace portal to a nether-world beach inhabited
almost completly by naked nubile nymphomanical females of almost every
species.  If the universe was going to blow, the enlightened way to meet
it was in a wild drunken orgy, thought Muck-Luck.

WILL THE UNIVERSE BLOW?
WILL MUCK-LUCK GROW A THIRD LEG (see previous plots devices)
WILL JEFF OR ANDY EVER CONTRIBUTE TO THIS AGAIN
IS THIS STORY GETTING LESS RELEVENT WITH EVERY PASSING MOMENT?
    How should I know or care about the contents of the next installment
of SFSTORY CNOTICE?  I'm not even getting paid for this!

***** Entry appended 00:35 on Sat, 08/08/87 by IK70012  at MAINE    # 054 *****
=========================================================================
Appended 11:03 on 09/28/87 by Carlo N. Samson:

Natchwald watched in horror as the wave of metallic creatures swept through the
corridor straight at him. He turned and tried to run, but it was no use. The
force-field was still there. He pulled his welding laser from his pocket, and
prepared to die fighting.
Just then, a large blue rectangular box suddenly materialized between him and
the advancing creatures. A man in a very tasteless multi-colored outfit stepped
through the door.
     "EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!" The creatures were very close.
     The tastelessly-dressed man motioned to Natchwald. "Hurry! Get inside!"
Natchwald dived through the door.
     The first thing he noticed was that the inside of the blue box was much
bigger than the outside would lead you to believe. The second thing he noticed
was a pretty short-haired brunette standing by a six-sided console in the midd-
le of the room.
   "Quickly, Peri, close the door! We must be off!" said the man as he raced
around the console, flipping switches and pushing buttons.
   "What is it, Doctor?" asked the brunette (whom Natchwald took to be Peri).
Natchwald got up and started to thank the man (whom he took to be the Doctor),
but at that moment a column in the middle of the console began moving up and
down. There was an explosion, and everyone was jolted to the floor. The lights
dimmed, then came back on.
   "Well, now, I think we're clear of them," said the Doctor as he helped
Natchwald to his feet. "Daleks masquerading as exterminators--absurd!" he
chuckled.
  "Uh, listen, thanks for getting me out of there," said Natchwald.
  "Hmm? Oh, yes, think nothing of it. We materialized quite by accident, in
fact. Now let's see..." The Doctor turned away, preoccupied with the readings
on a console screen.
   Peri approached Natchwald. "So what's your name?" she asked. Natchwald told
her, then said "What kind of ship is this? I've never seen one that can appear
disappear at will."
   Natchwald never got his answer, for at that moment the room was filled with
a blinding white light. Then the image of a man with a raven on his head slowly
faded into view.
  "At last, Doctor, I have found you! Revenge will be mine!!" the man with the
raven on his head snarled.
  "Hyperfarts," swore the Doctor. Taking Natchwald's arm, he shoved the bewil-
dered space officer through a door on the opposite side of the room, saying,
"You're not involed in this--I'll pop you off at the nearest planet. Cheers!"
The door closed. Natchedwald tried to open it, but found that impossible due
to the fact that there was no doorknob. He looked around and realized that the
Doctor had put him into some sort of escape-pod. A computer voice said, "Please
take your seat. Jettison commencing in thirty seconds."
   Natchwald strapped himself into the acceleration couch. "Fifteen seconds,"
said the computer. A shudder rippled through the ship as Natchwald flipped on
the comlink. "Say Doctor, what's going on?" he asked.
  "No time to explain--have a nice landing!" the Doctor's voice came back. The
computer interrupted--"Seven...six...five...four...three...two...one." The pod
burst from its moorings and hurtled into space.

   Mark Hyperthrust sat in the command chair of his cruiser, snuggling with
the two women he had picked up, when the ship's computer came online.
  "Sir, I don't wish to interrupt your, ahem, sexual activity, but I have
detected--"
   "Hey, save it for later, Slave. Can't you see I'm busy?" said Mark, fondling
Rader's behind.
   "Um, I really think you should look at this," Slave persisted.
   "All right, what is it?" said Mark, slightly annoyed.
   "A distress beacon, sir. From a life-pod, I believe."
   Mark leaped out of the chair, dumping Linda and Rader to the floor. "Hot
damn!" he shouted. "A distress signal! Bonus point city!! Good work Slave, plot
an intercept course and proceed full ahead!"
   "Turbo-jerk," muttered Rader, rubbing her ample backside at the point where
it hit the floor.
   Linda got up and peered at the screen. "Can we get a visual?" she asked the
 computer.
   "Coming up, madam. Estimated range, ten thousand hyper-kliks. Voice contact
possible." replied Slave.
   The pod appeared as a tiny dot off to the upper-right corner of the screen.
   "Come, Markie, its just a pod. Doesn't concern us," said Rader.
   Mark switched on the comlink. "We get a 10% bonus on our final grade for
rescuing stranded space-travelers," he said. "This might just save my ass."
He adjusted the comlink to the distress frequency, then said, "This is Mark
Hyperthrust, captain of the HMS Goodguy." He loved the sound of that. "Are
you receiving, space-pod? over."
   "Yes! Hey, boy am I glad you're here! This pod was getting a bit close,"
came the grateful reply.
  "Wait a minute, that's Natchwald's voice!" Linda exclaimed. Seeing the puz-
zled expressions on Mark and Raders faces, she explained, "He was the other
crewmember of the Challenger II." Picking up the microphone, she said,
"Wilhelm? Is that you?"
  "Linda? Hey babe, glad to know that you're still alive! What happened to you
after the space-time rip hit us?"
   "Tell you all about it later," Linda replied, relieved. "Just hang tight,
we'll be there in a few micro-secs."
   Linda smiled. Natchwald was back, and as soon as they found the captain,
they all would be reunited. Life was looking pretty good at that moment.


But what about the next moment? Or the moment after that?
Will this good moment last for a few moments longer, or will
something really bad happen between this moment and the next?
To find out the answer, stay tuned to the NEXT EXCITING CHAPTER
of AMAZING SFSTORIES, er, SFSTORY CSNOTICE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

***** Entry appended 11:03 on Mon, 09/28/87 by U09862   at UICVM    # 055 *****
=========================================================================
Appended 14:27 on 12/31/87 by Jeff Smith:

    Doctor Von Spleen turned on the auto-pilot, arose from his seat, and
walked back into the rec-room where the parts for the new Automatic Beet
Peeler and Sub-Atomic Re-Integrater lay.  He sat down in a nearby chair,
picked up the laser soldering iron, and began work.
    Several hours later, the Doctor got up from the table, set aside the
half-completed device, and walked forward into the cockpit.  He seated
himself at the command console and did a quick sensor scan of the
surrounding parsec.  Finding nothing but the usual interstellar gas, he
got up and turned to go back to his work.  However, he was stopped by
Bubba, who was blocking the door and waving a pistol at the Doctor.
    "Get over there, or I'll evaporate yer kneecaps.", snarled Bubba.
Being from New York, Bubba found it second nature to snarl and threaten.
The Doctor, however, being from Alton, Maine, found it second nature to
go to the bathroom in public, but he resisted his primal urges, and
followed Bubba's instruction.
    "Lie down on the floor.", commanded Bubba.
    The Doctor was lying face down on the hard steel of the floor before
he realized that the gun Bubba was holding was a false one that he had
bought in a train-station in Boston for $1.95.  It was supposed to
shoot out a little sign on a stick that said ""I love Boston"", but
considering the price he paid for it, the place he bought it, and the
startling state of drunkeness that the vendor was in, he didn't even
expect it to do that.
    "Now.  We're gonna fly this ship back to Earth.", said Bubba, turning
toward the command console spread out before him in all it's mind-
paralyzing complexity.  He searched vainly for a ""To Earth"" button and,
not finding it, gave the console a swift kick.
    The Doctor chose this moment to attack.  He jumped up from the floor
and flew through the air at Bubba.  He caught him around the waist, and
the two went flying through the air.  Their short aerial journey was
cut short, however, by the view-screen, which served as a crude
trampoline and ricocheted them back across the room.  Bubba pulled the
trigger of the gun, but all it served to do was split the plastic barrel
down the center, releasing the little rod with the flag on the end that
said, despite rumors to the contrary, "I love Macaroni". The reason
behind this is moot, as the rod, the flag, and the bulk of the gun flew
across the room and landed in the trash-atomizer which quickly did the
job for which it was designed.
    Bubba and the Doctor struggled briefly, but their short-lived
excursion into professional wrestling was ended when the Doctor broke a
clipboard over Bubba's head.  After he had pushed the limp body off of
his own, the Doctor tied Bubba's hands and feet to the command chair,
and returned to his work in the rec-room.
    The Doctor worked steadily, pausing only to get a cup of coffee or
an occasional amphetimine from the food processor, until well past
midnight, soldering wires, testing components and juggling apples.  This
last activity did not directly aid in the construction of the ABPSAR,
but it helped him unwind after all that soldering and testing stuff.
    Several bushels of apples later, the Doctor arose triumphantly
from his seat with the completed ABPSAR on the table in front of him.
He brushed the debris from the top of the device, put it under his arm,
and walked forward to the cockpit.  When he arrived, he set the machine
in a unused corner of the cockpit, whacked the writhing and screaming
Bubba over the head with another clipboard, and crouched beneath the
control console.  Luckily, the cable that he had originally attached
to the ABPSAR was still in place, and by the looks of the amateurish and
crude reprogramming of the circuit boards behind the panel to which it
was attached, his earlier work on the ship had been untouched.
    He plugged the end of the cable into the appropriate socket on his
device, inserted a piece of Neo-spam into the peeling equipment, fiddled
with the knobs, and pressed the "On" button.  Other than a brief honk of
grinding gears, oddly enough, which the ABPSAR had none, there was no
sign that anything was happening.  He turned the Inter-nucleiic flux dial
up to it's maximum reading of "10", adjusted a few more of the fine-
tuning controls, and pressed the "On" button again.
    This time, he was greeted with success. Lights began to flicker back
and forth across the face of the ABPSAR and the lights on the ship
suddenly gained in intensity.  The Doctor leaped for joy, but quickly
settled down and sat himself in the command chair.
    "My first act as commander of my newly rejuvenated ship will be to
eject all strangers out the airlock.", announced the Doctor to the world.
    "Wait!", said Bubba who, under the previously stated order, would be
one of those to experience the mixed pleasures of breathing hard vacuum.
    "What for?", asked the Doctor.
    "You're from Earth, right?", asked Bubba, hoping to arouse a sense of
patriotism and kinship within the Doctor.
    "Yeah. And?", replied the Doctor, his patriotism and kinship
remaining unaroused.
    "So am I!", announced Bubba proudly.
    "What's your point?", asked the Doctor.
    "My point is..", said Bubba, "My point is.. that we are both from the
Earth and both from the 20th century, right?"
    "Uh-huh.", affirmed the Doctor.
    "So we should stick together, right?", asked Bubba hopefully.
    "Uh-uh.", negated the Doctor, "I'm afraid it's impossible for us to
stick together."
    "Why's that", asked Bubba.
    "Because, ", replied the Doctor, "You're going to be outside the
ship, and I'm going to be inside, making it physically impossible for
us to 'stick together'"
    With this, the Doctor knocked Bubba unconscious once again and
dragged his limp body into the airlock where he set it down.  He
stepped back into the ship, closed the outer air-lock door, and was
about to press the "Cycle" button, when something caught his eye.  It
dragged him for several feet before he was able to unhook it, and by
that time he had realized that it was some kind of flying robot camera,
covered with little protective spikes.  He followed it into the cockpit,
where it stopped its motion and hovered, panning across the cockpit,
seemingly looking for something.  Before it could get a glimpse of the
ABPSAR, of which the Doctor had been growing paranoid about,  he picked
a tennis racquet off of the floor of the room behind him, and gave the
flying camera a forehand smash.
    With the high-pitched tinkle of breaking crystal, the broken robot
camera flew across the room, bounced off the computer console, and
lodged itself in the peeling apparatus of the ABPSAR.  The Doctor,
much afraid that something unpredictable could happen, dove for the
ABPSAR, but too late.  In a flash of multi-colored sparks, the little
piece of animated metal disappeared, taking with it the front half of
the Doctor's tennis racquet.  The Doctor frantically tried to find the
"Off" button, but before he could complete his search, the Time-Space
Continuum was torn by the forces being exerted by the ABPSAR, and the
Doctor, the ABPSAR (with it's missing "Off" switch), the ship, and Bubba
all were sucked within the rent in the fabric of space, and disappeared
from the known universe.
    "Clang.", said Space as its rip slammed shut.

    Far away on the remote planet Fwoont, orbiting the wholly ignored
star of Wumbadger, things were happening.  For the first time in seven
centuries of global warfare, the leaders of the opposing armies were
meeting to draft a peace treaty. So far, after a mere twenty minutes,
there had been thirty-seven arguments over topics ranging from the shape
and size of the table to the amount of chlorine in the water, twelve
assination attempts, all on the same leader, and twelve deaths, all of
leaders other than the intended target.  Things, it seemed, were not
going well.
    However, despite the obvious stumbling blocks the mood was still
cheerful.  The (remaining) leaders knew that eventually the assassin had
to get the right target, and in the meantime, he was helping to cut down
on the crowding problem.  The problematical table was eventually burnt in
a big funeral pyre along with the bodies of the dead generals, upon which
the other leaders roasted marshmellows and traded their favorite
pillaging stories.

    "Ripppp..", said Space mysteriously.
    "Smack.", said Space, just as mysteriously.

    The rent in the Space-Time-Spam continuum opened, and for a
nothingith of a second hung like a gigantic cigarette burn in the
upholstry of existence.  In another nothingith of a second, it had faded
away.  However, there has been plenty of between these two events for
the the Doctor's spaceship, the Doctor and Bubba to travel millions of
parsecs through space and time, and for six million gallons of Mazola
corn oil to splash onto the energy-deprived planet of Woopa IV, causing
a temporary lull in the power crisis and a large increase in the birth
rate nine months later.
    The Doctor's ship materialized in orbit around the planet Fwoont,
totally oblivious to the delicate negotiations going on beneath it.
After hanging above the planet's inviting surface for a few hours, the
ship slowly started to descend, it's earlier problems of who belonged
on board and who didn't solved.
    "Will that be all, Your Most Worshipful Greatness?", asked Bubba as
he crawled before the Doctor.
    "No, whale-slime.  Clean out my boots.", responded the Doctor, who
was engrossed with the latest issue of "Playbeing".
    "Yes, Lord.", responded Bubba, as he slithered from the room with the
Doctor's boots perched on his back.

    The Doctor's ship dove toward the surface of the planet at a speed
that, if known to the ship's occupants, would have caused the soiling of
a great many pairs of clothing.  However, the vessels breakneck speed
slackened as it approached the surface and, eventually, was totally still
as it hovered a few feet off the ground.
    "Let's go, slave." said the Doctor to Bubba,"Outside, now!".  The
Doctor rechecked his Lotz-o-deth pistol and slipped it into its holster
slung around his waist.  He pressed the airlock cycle button, and the
outer door slid open, revealing the shocked faces of several dozen
warlords.
    "Hi!", said the Doctor, "any women around here?"


Are there any women around there?
Would they be interested in the Doctor?
Would they be interested in Bubba?
Does anyone with an IQ in the triple digits watch "Dukes of Hazzard"?
What does this last question have to do with the othere three?

To find out the answers to these and more amazing questions, tune in next
time for another edition of SFSTORY CSNOTICE!

***** Entry appended 14:27 on Thu, 12/31/87 by RPS385   at MAINE    # 057 *****