Sfstory Log 010

=========================================================================
Subject:     Back at the Apartment
From:        Eric, Lord Sabre -}-------------- (enll6ac at bostonu)

     Satan Vogal was singing a merry little tune as Radar and the Intern
emerged from their room.  Radar had a starry look in her eyes and the intern
looked for all the world like a young bachalor in love.  Natchwald sat in
her easy chair, right next to where the wall once was.
     "Alright, did you get the SSR?"  Radar asked.
     "Sure didn't, got anypopcorn?"
     "What?  Why not?"
     "Simple, Bigboobs, it wasn't there.  Linda's also gone and flown the
coop and I want some popcorn!"
     "Hey, mellow out on the girl," said the Intern, pointing his lightsabre
shaped flashlight at him .  "Or you'll have me to answer to."
     Natch wisly shut up.  The Intern was a fully licensed Space Hero who was
working on his Masters.  If he felt like it, he could easily smoke Natch.
     "Gone?  Then we're all in terrible, terrible danger!  We have to do some-
thing!" Radar shouted.
     Satan Vogal frowned.  The old Radar would have dissmissed the whole thing
and forgotten about it.  Unfortunatly, God had made her fall in love and she
was useless to him.
     "Great, first Linda spouts that crap, now you do!  Oy!"
     "Where is Linda," asked the Intern, feeling someone had to take charge.
     "She got all antsy and took off.  I saw her driving a red Mack truck."
     Radar looked at Natch.  "Driving a truck?"
     "WOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!"  Shouted Satan!  "I'M A PLANE!!!!!!!!!"
with that he swooped out and ran off.
     "Steve," shouted Radar, "Oh no--we have to get him!  In his condition,
he could hurt himself!"
     "Come on, we have to get the Captain," shouted Natch.
     As the two ran off, the Intern paused.  Why was Natch concerned about
Steve, and not anything else?  Perhaps Steve was involved in more deeply
than he had originally thought....
     {As a side note, the Intern, like time agent 357, was an actual Space
Hero, and was lisenced.  He actually was intelligent enough to figure
things like this out.  Make no mistake about it, The Intern and 357 are
perhaps the only really smart people in this.  Oh, and God, sorry}
     Meanwhile, on interstate 95, heading towards Bangor, Maine, Linda
relaxed in the Mack truck.  She had had just enough happen to believe in
the existance of Optimus Prime of the TransFormers.
     "So, why do you want me?"  She asked.
     "Well," said Optimus, "I need you.  Soon enough, we're going to get the
other Paladin and the two of you will be my front line in the battle."
     "Paladin?  Battle?  I don't understand?"
     "You will, child, you will."


I agree with the Cowboy, no more Taglines

***** Entry appended 20:12 on Tue, 03/01/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 115 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     Subplots in Heaven
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

In a flash of light and a roll of thunder, a very startled, very badly
burned, and very dead Lisa Bonet appeared in front of the Gates of Heaven.
She looked up and took in the glory and splendor.  "Wow," she said, as it
was physically impossible for anyone to look upon the magnificent sight for
the first time without saying "wow."  "Wow," she said again, and tried to
open the Pearly Gates.

She was stopped by an effeminate looking angel, who slapped her hand saying,
"Now stop that.  Surely you don't think you can enter Heaven looking like
that.  Come with me."  And he walked off.

"Where are we going?" whined Lisa.

"To the plastic surgeons, of course."

"Why?"

"Because you can't get in until you've had you plastic surgery.  It in the
union rules.  Besides, you don't want to enter Heaven looking like that," he
said, indicating the burnt condition of her spirit.

After a quick visit to the plastic surgeon's, and very quick but thorough
surgery, Lisa was lead to the Pearly Gates once more, where she was left in
the care of an old man.

"But I can't be dead," Lisa whined.  "I've got a contract to uphold."

"No you don't," St. Peter said, writing in The Book he had just set on the
huge pedestal placed just there for just such an use.  "The series was just
cancelled."

"NO!!!!" shouted Lisa as she was dragged yelling and screaming off into the
land of eternal happiness.

St. Peter muttered to himself, "Y'know, I could rewrite The Book ever so
slightly so that she could return to the plot of SFSTORY....."  He leafed
through The Book.  "Jes kiddin', Eric."

Meanwhile, in another universe known as The Bend, Time Agent 357, liscenced
hero and champion of truth, justice, and the ability to drink large amounts
of alcoholic beverages, with his two companions, Zark Flyby (Second
Lieutenant of the Interstellar Time Police) and Mark Hyperthrust (Student of
Interstellar U), was just coming into orbit around the flarst (that's first
or last, depending on how you look at it) planet when they saw an alien
spaceship blasting out of orbit.  (Deep breath.)  357 immediately switched
on the telecom.

The answer was almost immediate.  On the viewscreen were the figures of a
grasshopper-like alien and man half the galaxy would have recognized as
Omegas.  357 was in that half of the galaxy, and thus did recognize him.
Mark Hyperthrust and Zark Flyby were also in that half, but they were
practicing their underwater basket weaving again, and were not on the bridge.

"Omegas," 357 called out, hoping to find out what the hell was going on.

"357," shouted Omegas.  His hands went through the reflexive actions that
would have normally produced a large Megablaster to materialize on the front
of his ship.  However, he had lost a lot of his power, so instead a large
hood ornament in the form of a naked female humaniod copulating with a pink
flamingo appeared.  Omegas decided wisely not to stick around and continued
his course away from the planet.

357 revved up his ship to pursue, when suddenly he was rocked by energy
beams coming from the planet surface.  "This is Police Central," came the
voice over the telecom.  "Land at once or be destroyed."

"Wait a minute," said 357.  "How is it that you're speaking English?"

"I'm not," stated the policeman.  "The writer slipped up and forgot to tell
the reading audience that you activated your universal translator.  Now pull
over!"

But by this time, 357's once again damaged ship had limped out of the range
of the energy guns.  He once again ordered the ship to repair itself and set
to work on miniturizing his universal translator so he could wear it as an
earphone.

Meanwhile in the Galley, Zark Flyby and Mark Hyperthrust were fighting over
the last piece of Spam, each wanting it for his dinner.  Zark Flyby, in an
excellent display of his skill as a supple infighter, slipped and cracked
his skull on the refrigerator.  Humming to himself, Mark ate the last piece
of Spam on the ship, not realizing that the ship was powered by Spam.

In the fuel bay, the tiny piece of Spam that was currently powering the
ABPSAR, which was in turn powering the ship, was slowly being used it....

***** Entry appended 19:10 on Wed, 03/02/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 116 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     where Matt discovers the mess he is in
From:        Eric, Lord Sabre (enll6ac at bostonu)

     Matt slowly got up off of the ground.  He looked around himself, wondering
for just a few seconds if he were dead.
     After being reasonably certain he saw neither fire and brimstone nor the
pearly gates, he settled down, pulled a three musketeers bar from his pocket,
and munched on it while taking stock of where he actually was.
     He realised he was sitting next to a moose, on a large rock, near some
very nice rapids--nice to look at anyway, they'd be murder to go over in a
canoe.
     The air was pretty cold, depite it being march.  If it was march--a
moment ago, he'd been in a TARDIS with little navigational control.  He
could be anywhere, anytime....
     *****TIME IS WEDNSDAY, MARCH 2, 1988, 3:47.334443222 pm*****
     "Where the flying fig did that come from??????"  Matt shouted.
     "I'm certain I wouldn't know, would you mind moving a bit, I'd
like to step over that rock you're sitting on." said the Moose.
     "Uh, sure," said Matt.  "Um, how come you can talk, you're a moose."
     "Well, I can't.  You're understanding the natural communication
of Mooses."
     "Oh.  I see."  said Matt, who of course did not see at all.
     "So, if you'd move...."
     "Right."  Matt moved, and the moose stepped over the rock.  "Hey,
how come you aren't as shocked as I am,here?"
     The moose shrugged a moose shrug.  "Mooses are pretty dumb.  You
know how easy it is to hit them on the highway, after all."  He plodded
away.
     "All right, WHERE am I?"
     *****WALLAGRASS, MAINE*****
     "Oh, good.  Is that near Fort Kent, Maine?"  Matt had friends in Fort
Kent.
     *****Fort Kent, Maine is approximatly five point two miles away*****
     "Great.  Hey, who are you?"
     *****Superbrain at Oracle2*****
     "What?  Isn't that--"
     *****Muck-Luck's Omnicsence account?  Yes, it is*****
     "Then how--"
     *****Upon TARDIS electrocution, my compumind link with Muck-Luck was
transferred to you*****
     "Great, so, how do I use you to be omniscent?" asked Matt, who wondered
if Eric would ever learn to spell Omniscent.
     *****No opertating information available*****
     "What?  You mean, you can tell your user anything except how to use you?"
     *****Yes*****
     "Why?"
     *****I'm not user friendly*****
     Matt paused.  "Oh.  All right.  Um...where is the nearest transportation?"
     *****The Llama is a quadroped*****
     "What?"
     *****It has four legs, a fin for swimming, and a beak for eating honey*****
     "Oh, great.  JUST what I need!  Hey, author, pick on someone else for a
while!!!!!"
     *****Eric, Lord Sabre -}----------, enll6ac at bostonu, burns at maine*****
     "What?"
     *****drop back ten and punt*****
     "Oh, shut up!"
     *****remote disconnect*****
     "Huh, oh, never mind."  Matt began to make his way along various twists
in the path.  "Omniscent, huh?  Omniannoying is more like it...."
     Meanwhile, Natchwald, Radar, and the Intern ran along twists and bends
in the streets of boston, trying to catch up with the man they thought was
the very confused and somewhat addled Steve Vogal, but who in reality was
Satan, Lord of evil and Duke of smelly feet.
     Satan himself had transported himself to the Ritz-Carlton in New York,
and watched their progress through the eyes of his agent, Natchwald.  His
power was severly limited by being in Steve Vogal's body, and he tryed again to
free his own immortal form from the huge pile of spam it was buried benieth.
     He checked on the SSR, off in nether-space.  No one had touched it--but
to be certain, he surrounded it completly with evil looking slime from
the deepest pits of hell.
     "That outta protect it," he said, grinning.

***** Entry appended 22:49 on Wed, 03/02/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 117 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     Back in Boston....
From:        (enll6ac at bostonu)

     Radar ran down the length of the narrow alleyway, barely dodging the
panda sized rats that didn't so much scurry as stumble along the pathway.
She was certain this was the path Steve had run down, in his delusion that he
was an airplane.
     What Radar didn't realise was, Steve was not deluded, did not think he was
an airplane, didn't run down the alley, and wasn't Steve.  He was in fact
Satan, in Steve's body.
     Behind Radar ran the Intern--Timelord on his first regeneration, fully
liscensed space hero, master of the strange martial art known only as
hyper-belcho, certified "calm under fire" by the intersteller board of
people with entirly too little to do in their lives, and old drinking buddy
of Time Agent 357, in the Cowboy's sections of SFSTORY.
     (It is worth noting that the only major argument that the Intern and 357,
other than those relating to women, money, or sports, was over the Intern's
decision to continue his education onto graduate school for Heroism, where
357 (his classmate) had decided to use his Bh.D (Bacholars of Heroic Deeds)
in the Time Police directly.  The two never mended that particular rift--
mostly because neither has seen the other since, and neither have been in
the same century except by coincedence.  It is also worth noting that the
Intern knows 357's real name, and vice versa, but the Intern already knows
enough not to reveal it--telechronal classified information revelation
carries the only known quadriple death sentence.)
     Behind both of the above was Natchwald, once an officer aboard the
Challanger II (The starship Steve Vogel was originally captain of) but
now an unwitting puppet of Satan's.
     Radar stopped at the dead end of the alley.  "He's...he's gone!  We
have to find him!"
     "Gone?  C'mon, Bigboobs, where could he have gone?  There are no exits
to this alley!"  Natchwald was looking around himself warily, not at all sure
he liked the hungery looks all of the rodents were giving them.
     "Maybe...maybe the SSR transported him away!  Like it did...er, um, well,
whatever his name was...."  Radar was notorious for short memory in the
paramour department.
     "Well, if it did, your computer account would have noted it," said the
Intern.  The Intern remembered Mark Hyperthrust--he was the Intern's
latest assignment--to find him, complete any messes he had begun, and haul his
tail back to Intersteller U, where he'd been missing for a while, along with
the HMS Goodguy.  Of course, the Goodguy was toast, which did not look good
for the rather stupid Freshman.  However, the Intern had figured out there
was more than meets the eye to the whole case, and had secretly sent a
duel communique--to Intersteller U...and to the Time Police.
     He very carefully had not mentioned the communique to Radar, and
especially not to Natchwald, whom he suspected was actually a spy.
     "Great then," said Radar, who not having read the last two paragraphs,
was still responding to the last thing said.  "We'll head over to the BU
Academic Computer Center, and check the stuff out there."
     The three stepped out of the alley, much to Natchwald's relief.
     Meanwhile, back in Portland, Maine (currently travelling through
space at warp 4), the natives realised they were getting close to a planet.
     One of the natives murmered, "Gee, you think we'll destroy ourselves
hitting that thing?"
     "Nope"
     "Why not?"
     "Simple, I figure we's headin' here for a reason," please note this man
was not a Portland native, so no Portland people should flame me, Jeff, or
CSNEWS.  Thank you.  "So, assumin' we's headin here for a reason, the
authors o' this here story should apply some breakin' trust so's to slow us
down a little.  Got a quarter?"
     At this point, Portland hit the planet at full Warp four, completly
obliterating it, Portland, and the entire peaceful civilization that had
been there.  I had every intention of saving Portland, but I HATE to be
second guessed.
     Please note Freeport Maine is still traveling at Warp Two and is not
toast yet.

***** Entry appended 17:35 on Fri, 03/04/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 118 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     Muck-Lucks trials
From:        Eric, Lord Sabre -}------------ (enll6ac at bostonu)

     Linda, whose last name unfortunatly seems to have been lost to antiquity
(anyone who actually knows it, please e-mail me directly), was curled up,
happily asleep in the cab of the giant TransFormer Optimus Prime.
     Actually, Optimus Prime was God, the all being master of time, space, and
dimension.  However, God, for reasons that were completly his own, chose not
to wield any of his divine forces.  Indeed, he had little intention of
remaining in SFSTORY as anything more than a bit player for very much longer.
His reasons for adopting the form of Optimus Prime, carrying Linda the unnamed,
or manually rolling to his destination instead of teleporting, were completly
his own, and only someone as all knowing and omnipresent as Muck-Luck could
possibly learn them.
     Unfortunatly, Muck-Luck was not so omnipresent any more.  His omniscient
account, superbrain at oracle2, had been transffered electrochemically to young
hero-type geek Matthew DeForrest, noted for his boyish good looks, his
irrepressable good nature, his seemingly unlimited pocket space in his bomber
jacket, and his inability to get any member of the female persuasion to give
him the time of day.
     ********SIDE NOTE TIME HERE CAMPERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Hey, we'll get
right back to the adventure and fun in S...F...STTTTTOOOOORRRRRYYYYYYYY right
here on CSNEWS but first, hey, a rollicking Sabre thank-you to Dr.
Abigail Ann Young, at node UTOREPAS, for furnishing the correct spelling
of Omniscient!  OK, Dr. Young, remember, you have exactly ten minutes from
the moment this chapter of the story gets post-confermation to bitnet send me
a message and become eligable for the wild CSNEWS grand prize!  To all the
rest of you campers, be sure to bitmail me, Eric Lord Sabre, your corrections,
comments, complaints and compliments and you too might get YOUR name mentioned
in SFSTORY...and here's that address....ENLL6AC at BOSTONU!   So lets get
writing, campers!  And now, back to that wacky Muck-Luck in the TARDIS********
     Muck-Luck looked at the ceiling.  "If you interuppt our story for those
silly promotions onw more time, I'll either kill you, or ressurect Lisa
Bonet!  I'm not kidding!  Now then, get back to the narration!"
     Right, well, anyway...Muck-Luck was really beginning to get annoyed.
He had realised that without his omniscience (thanks again, Dr. Young), he had
no idea how to operate the mind-bogglingly complex controls of the TARDIS.  Of
course, without the crucial missing element to the jury-rigged repair of the
HOT (Hypertechnical Orange Thingy), it really didn't matter whether he could
drive it or not--he simply  had to get it going.
     After examining the controls and logically deducing for a good twenty
minutes, he screamed and threw every switch he saw.
     The time rotar column in the center of the hexagonal control panel began
to rise and fall, and with much wheezing, the TARDIS lurched towards its next
destination.  A destination Muck-Luck could only hope was Radar Vogel's
apartment.
     The column stopped, and Muck-Luck opened the door.
     Stepping out of the TARDIS, still locked in the shape of a beer keg,
Muck-Luck realised instantly that he was not in Radar Vogel's apartment.  He
was in a city square, full of tourists and shops and factory outlets, that
seemed to be in the middle of hyperspace.  He sealed his TARDIS, locked it, and
slipped the key into his right sock.
     "Hello there," said a young, very cute, very rich girl.  "Wanna go to
Ben'n'Jerries with me and get some ice cream?"
     Muck-Luck looked at her.  Even without his Omnisciense, he knew she was
about sixteen and either a Doctor Who nut or a nymphomaniac.  "Sure,"
he said.  "By the way, where am I?"
     "Freeport, Maine," she said.  "I'm Trudy--I LOVE Doctor Who--that's a
TARDIS isn't it?  I recognise the noise...hey, are you a Timelord?"
     The two were now in line at Ben and Jerry's.  "Hm?  Well, no, I'm a
Companion--and I'm trying to find my Timelord."
     "OOOOOO!" she giggled.  "What's your name?"
     "Muck-Luck," he said, relaxing a little with a White Russian Ice Cream cone
     "What a really COOL name," Trudy Giggled.
     Muck-Luck stared.  Back when he was the most enlightened being in the
universe, he had always hated his name and everyone agreed with him, but he was
too enlightened to kill them.  Now he was willing to kill them.  This girl LIKED
it?
     "Tell me, Trudy, would you like to take a trip in a TARDIS?"
     "WOULD I?  Oh boy!  Sure be great to get outta this town too!  'Specially
since we're probably just gonna hit something, just like Portland did!"
     "Well then," he said, rising, "lets get hopping, all right?"

***** Entry appended 18:39 on Fri, 03/04/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 119 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     in which 357 has problems
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

(Warning: this entry contains sexist humor which may be objectionable to
some readers.  Don't say I didn't warn you.)

Time Agent 357 had just dozed off when the alarms sounded.  Dozens of
contradictory reports showed up on the cockpit screens.  The ship began to
shake and moan.  357 reached forward to query what was wrong, when the main
viewer displayed "DON'T TOUCH ME!"

"Come on," shouted 357.  "Don't tell me it's that time of the month again!"

After quieting his crying main computer, he got it to admit between sobs
that the ship was out of fuel.  "No problem, honey," 357 said in a gentle
voice not at all like his usual growl.  "I'll just go back to the fuel bin
and break out another case of Spam."  This brought about a fresh crop of
tears, which confused 357.

In the galley, Mark Hyperthrust was just finishing off his Spam sandwich
when 357 walked in.  He followed 357 to the large bin located at the rear of
the compartment, wondering what was going on.  "What's going on?" he asked.

"Out of fuel," said 357.  "But luckily I carry some in reserve."

357 opened the fuel bin.  After his jaw stopped doing push-ups, he turned to
face Mark.  "Where did all the Spam in the fuel bin disappear to?!?"

"F-f-f-fuel bin?" stuttered Mark.  "I thought it was the pantry.  I was
wondering why you didn't have anything to eat but Spam."

357 began foaming at the mouth, so Mark decided to leave hastily.  The other
member of this trio, Zark Flyby, was still practicing the ancient art of
Klin-Klone, characterized by loud snoring.  This pertains to the story only
because Mark tripped over him in his haste to leave the compartment.

Luckily, 357 was prevented from murder by the arrival of another ship.  As
his ship's safety was very important to him, he put justifiable homicide on
the back burner and went forward to see what kind of ship was approaching
them.

After quieting his again crying computer, he activated the telecom circuit.
Clearing his throat, he began "Attention unknown vessel.  This is the PMS
Golden [the computer breaks into tears again]-er, This is the HMS Golden
Lance.  Identify or be destroyed."

"Attention Golden Lance.  This is the Interstellar Space Patrol.  You are
blocking traffic.  Please move your vehicle or we will blow you out of the
sky."

"Take this, you damn Space Trooper."  And with that, 357 threw caution to
the wind and opened fire.  However, wind caught caution and threw it right
back into 357's face.  He suddenly realized he was fighting not one, but ten
Space Trooper ships.  He also noticed that without Spam to power them, his
ship's weapons would soon cease to funtion.  Feeling a feeling akin to panic
(as he was a liscensed hero and did not actually panic) he dashed to the
galley and made a hasty search for a Spam substitute.

Lacking a degree in Spamology, he had no idea what he should use.  He opened
the refrigerator and saw a plate of Algerian lizard fungus.  "What the Hell,
I'm dead anyway."  He hurried to the engine room and dumped it into the
Automatic Beet Peeler and SubAtomic Reintegrator, activating both operating
modes simultaneously at the same time together.  He also prayed to God, but
God was busy.

Up in Heaven, St. Peter was just closing The Book when he heard the prayer.
Glancing forward a few pages, he saw how boring things would be without the
likes of 357 in the galaxy, and decided to break out the Holy Eraser once
more.

Onboard the HMS Golden Lance, reality was distorted in ways that can't be
described in print.  But, if you're female and between the ages of 18 and 30
and happen to be visiting Middle Tennessee in the near future, you're
welcome to drop by and experience it first hand.  The main effect of this
reality distortion was that the HMS Golden Lance was propelled forward at a
very large velocity.  Other minor effect were the reversal of time aboard
the ship, the switching of bodies between the various occupants, the loss of
sanity by the computer, and the miraculous reversal of all of the above
shortly after.  However, the sturdy ship rode out the storm without injury.
As for the occupants, well that's another ball game....

pain... dark... pain and dark... why dark... eyes closed... open eyes...
already tried... need beer... good idea...  what's beer...

[The preceding dream sequence was brought to you by the producers of "Pink
Floyd The Wall."]

Needless to say, all were in bad shape.  Time Agent 357 lay on the deck,
knowing better than to attempt to stand.  Zark Flyby did not lay.  Neither
did he know he couldn't stand.  The curse he shouted when resuming a prone
position awakened Mark Hyperthrust.  He awoke thinking of Spam.  357 had
awoken thinking of his old drinking buddy, the Intern, whose parties had
left him in a similar condition many a time.

"Apsirin," gasped 357, as a dying man would ask for water.

"Beer," gasped Mark, as 357 would ask for aspirin.

"Water," gasped Zark, just for the Hell of it.

Upon hearing the requests, the ship automatically placed a small bottle of
aspirin next to 357, a bottle of beer next to Mark, and a bucket of water on
top of Zark.  The water glubbed as it ran over the sputtering Time Police
Lieutenant.

"Glub, Glub," said the water.

"Sputter, sputter," said Zark.

At that same time, the ship's communications equipment received and
automatically recorded a message.  This message would have interested 357,
as it was from his old drinking buddy, The Intern.  It had been forwarded
from the Interstellar Time Police, along with orders reinstating him in the
force.  I say it would have interested him because he did not read it at
that time, but rather chose that particular moment to duck into the bathroom
holding his hands over his mouth.  He was followed by Zark and Mark.

After a great amount of retching and heaving, Time Agent 357 and Mark
Hyperthrust moved up to the cockpit to discover exactly what had happened,
while Zark Flyby remained behind, fascinated by the literary genius
displayed on the walls of the restroom.  "There once was a man...."

357 soon found that the great burst of speed had propelled the HMS Golden
Lance all the way through The Bend, somehow missing the stars, asteroids,
and planets along the way.

"Well, Mark," he said.  "We have two choices:  Turn around and go back into
The Bend, or go to the other end and start through again."

"What happened to choice three?" Mark asked.  "Y'know, give up and go home?"

357 noticed the blinking red light on the console, signalling a message.  He
reach out and flicked the "Playback" switch and sat back to enjoy himself,
as he was sure it was the latest entry on TIME_TRAVEL CSNOTICE.  However, it
was not.  Instead, he read a message from the Intern, which we won't go into
great detail about right this very moment.  It will suffice to say that 357
gained enough knowledge to get a great desire to journey to the planet
Earth, and to take Mark Hyperthrust with him.

Mark Hyperthrust was not quite pleased, as he knew that if he had messed up
so badly that they had sent a grad student to fix it, his grade was not
going to be good.

"We're going to Earth and that's final," 357 growled in a voice that only a
graduate of Interstellar U could manage.  357 had scored second only to
Muck-Luck in Growling 201 back in college.

"Okay," conceded Mark, still an undergrad.  "But how are we going to get to
Earth will no fuel?"

How will they get to Earth with no fuel?
Will 357 be glad to see the Intern again?
Will the Intern be glad to see 357 again?
How will Omegas and Quooth get out of the Bend?
When will this all end?

Well, it won't end in the next exciting episode of SFSTORY!!!!!

***** Entry appended 20:01 on Fri, 03/04/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 120 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     Wherein Matt finally meets people who are glad to see him
From:        Eric, Lord Sabre -}----------- (enll6ac at bostonu)

     It was not Matt's best day.
     Oh, it had started normally enough...Matt had gotten up, gone to class,
went to a Council of Presidents meeting (Matt being President of Danielson Hall
at Boston University), propositioned a number of girls, been refused by them
all (Matt suffers from a rare condition--Niceguyness--in which any female who
meets him is compelled to tell Matt her life story and all her troubles--forveve
marking Matthew as a potential source for advice, and placing him in the
same romantic department as their Borothers--ie NO!!!!!!!!!  It is worth noting
Radar Vogel herself refused Matt DeForrest--a precedent setting event,
especially since Radar has more than once thought about and attempted to seduce
her twin brother Steve.  However, Steve is a bit too upright for that and
besides, his mind is missing.  It is assumed Radar had a prior engagement with
the New England Patriots the time she refused Matt.) right up to and NOT
including a very pretty girl by name of Heather.  Heather, after a bit
of reluctance, and armed with about 20 vodka martinis, had been more than
willing to teach Matt a few lessons of sexual gyrations.  Unfortunatly,
a TARDIS in the form of a beer keg had scared heather away by materilerizing.
Then, just when it seemed everything was bad enough, Matt had accidentially
triggered off the TARDIS while it was damaged, leaving its Timelord owner
(the Intern) far, far behind.  In order to replace the essential missing
Hypercosmic Systematic, Bright Orange Thingy, (usually abbriviated
Hyperimportant Orange Thingy, or HOT), Matt and Muck-Luck flew throughout
the omniverse and managed to find (in adventures not found in SFSTORY)
fifteen feet of fiber optice cable (stolen from the US SPRINT telephone
company--forcing them ultimatly into banckrupcy), a touch tone telephone
(also stolen from Sprint), a hairpin (from David Hasslehoff--come on,
you always suspected it), a 1958 penny (from a pug-nosed little kid
Muck-Luck pushed off his bicycle, laughing all the time), a blender (from
a suberban couple who divorced over its disappearence--they were dull
people), four pounds of plutonium (from the same pug-nosed kid above).,
and a twinkie (from a nuclear physicist who was chasing the pug-nosed kid
to get back his 1958 penny.)
     In a chronicled adventure, they also kidnapped and killed Lisa Bonet,
specificlly to gratify the author.
     After that, Muck-Luck's omniscience account (spuerbrain at oracle2) was
accidentally transffered to Matt.  However, as it was not user-friendly,
(indeed, it was user-belligerent), it was not really very much help.
     And now, at the end of this very-adventure filled day, Matt was
hopelessly lost in the Maine woods.
     "Come on, Superbrain, which way to the nearest house!  I've alerady
missed tonight's Danielson Government meeting, and I have to tutor someone
in the morning!"
     *****Pepsodent will remove those ugly tarter stains*****
     "Gee, thank you.  How did Muck-0Luck ever handle you?"
     *****He had Annialation at destructionvax5 to threaten me with*****
     "Oh, can I use that?"
     *****No.*****
     "Aha.  Say...what does ol' Muck-Luck plan to do with me, noe that I
Have his omniscience acct?"
     *****I believe I already mentioned annialation at destructionvax5*****
     "Uh, yeah, you did."
     A truck pulled to the side of route 11 (two hundered yards away) and
began honking.  Matt followed the sound to the highway.
     The large Red Mack Truck's door opened, and a female voice said "Hop
in!"
     Matt smiled, "well thank you very much," he climbed in.  "I'm
Matt DeForrest, president of Danielson Hall at Boston Univ--eeerk!"
     The woman (sitting in the passenger seat, although Matt hadn't noticed)
was the most beautiful Matt had ever seen, with a kind smile, full lips,
honeyed hair, green-blue eyes you could lose yourself in, and a form-
fitting NASA jumpsuit that was rather soiled and ripped in places.  He
immediatly blushed a shade not usually found in nature (as Matt does
in the presence of any female, or any male you might mistake for female.)
     "Hi!  I'm Linda!  And this is Optimus."
     "Hello," said the truck.  "I'm glad to see we've finally found you Matt."
     "You--you were looking for me?"
     Linda nodded.
     "What a wonderful day this has been," Matt whispered, while his
computer account made obsene comments he didn't notice.
     Optimus rolled out.

***** Entry appended 22:36 on Fri, 03/04/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 121 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     Out of the Bend
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

Time Agent 357's ship, the HMS Golden Lance, fell into a sloppy orbit around
an uncharted planet.  Or perhaps it was charted, but since 357 had no idea
where he was, it didn't help him to have the best charts in the known
galaxy.  (If you don't believe me, go to New York City [or to L.A. if you're
from New York] and buy a map.  Without looking at the streetsigns, locate
your position.  Impossible, right?  No, asking the natives IS considered
cheating.)  357 sat back and thought over the events that had brought him here
(some of which may or may not have been sent to CSNEWS before the system
failure here last week, which resulted in the loss of my copies of my
entries.)

As a young boy he had always been fascinated with time travel, and had
majored in it at Interstellar University.  There, he had met a young fellow
he would later call the Intern.  Seeing the mess the universe was in, when
he graduated (Bh.D. in Heroics, strong minor in Time Theory, Honors in
Markmanship, Growling, and Drinking Large Amounts of Alcoholic Beverages) he
decided to skip graduate school and go straight into the forces of the
Interstellar Time Police.  But his friend and drinking buddy, the Intern,
decided to go to grad school, and so they parted company, each mad at the
other for not sticking together.

Over the years, he learned that there was more wrong with the universe than
he could ever hope to fix, and so decided to retire.  He bought his own Time
Machine from Doctor Bing Von Spleen, the cleanest-complexioned Spamologist
in the known universe, and had left the local reality altogether, where he
waited for the End of the Universe in a drunken stupor.  However, the
Universe did not End, and so he came back to find out why.  Just before
returning, he had a run in with Satan, Price of Darkness and Duke of Smelly
Feet, and managed to get that immortal very ticked off at him.

Back in the real universe, he ran into Bubba, (Death Merchant from Hell and
all around good egg), Ralph (Giant Weaseliod from Anthrax V), and Joe (Mailman
to Heaven, Valhala, and points East), whom he rescued from Nether-space.
Later, they left him, willingly or otherwise, and he travelled with Mark
Hyperthrust (student of Interstellar U) and Zark Flyby (Second Lieutenant in
the Interstellar Time Police).  In 357's quest to find his ex-partner
(G.X.P. Varneyloop LXVII) he managed to put himself into a sub-universe
known as The Bend, in pursuit of another immortal known as Omegas, whom 357
had had a previous run in with.

During that pursuit, 357's ship ran out of fuel, and in a search for a
substitute to Spam, he had tried Algerian lizard fungus, which had not only
freed him from The Bend, but had also propelled him an unknown distance in
an unknown direction through and unknown dimension.  The only thing he did
know was that he was lost.  It had also somehow removed Zark Flyby and Mark
Hyperthrust from his ship.

357 was beginning to consider attempting to singlehandedly drink every bit
of alcohol on the ship when he received a message from the planet he was
orbiting.

The face that appeared on the telecom screen was by no means human.  It was
not even especially good looking.  It belonged to a large, furry, quadroped,
whose name was Ralph.  "Hi," said Ralph.  "Welcome to weasel heaven."

"Hi," said 357.  "Mind if I come down?"  Actually, he was coming down
whether Ralph minded or not, as he was out of fuel and his orbit was
decaying fast.

"Not at all," replied Ralph.  "In fact, I could use your help.  I'm trying
to keep the Doctor from killing G.X.P. Varneyloop, who's trying to keep Zark
Flyby from killing the Doctor, who's trying to keep Bubba from killing Mark
Hyperthrust, who's trying to keep G.X.P. Varneyloop from killing Bubba."

It took a few seconds for it to sink into 357's head (it had been a rough
day, so don't be too hard on him.  After all, Zark would've gone brain dead
after that last paragraph) that the weaseliod had mentioned the name of his
ex-partner, G.X.P. Varneyloop.

"I'll be right down," said 357, whose ship was heading toward the surface of
the planet with considerable velocity.

Will 357 be able to save his ship?
Will he be abvle to save himself?
How did everybody end up on the same planet?
Is this a side effect of the SSR Satan has placed in Nether-space?


Will Linda and Matt be able to stop Satan's plan?
Will 357 and his ex-partner Varneyloop be able to stop Satan's plan?
Will 357 and his old buddy the Intern be able to stop Satan's plan?
Will the Intern and Radar get married, or just live together in sin?
Have I totally confused everyone by referring to entries that may not have
been posted due to hardware failure here, and yet that I'm too lazy to
rewrite?
Does anyone else think my writing is sexist?

Sorry for all the questions, but I've been saving them up.

***** Entry appended 20:32 on Sun, 03/06/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 122 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     Muck-Luck with a perky blond in space, and the gang in Boston
From:        Eric, Lord Sabre (enll6ac at bostonu)

     Muck-Luck was sitting in the TARDIS, happily lookin at Trudy's long
thin, legs.  Trudy was not at the moment wearing any pants, although
she was wearing underwear.  Muck-Luck realised she was without a doubt
the world's greatest Dr. Who fan--she had Tome Baker's picture on the
front of her panties and Jon Pertwee's picture on the rear.  She had
removed her pants when Muck-Luck explained that all females had to do
so to insure proper TARDIS operation.  He was working on her sweater
now.
     "Gee, Muck-Luck, this wasn't in any of the episodes," she said,
apparently a bit nervous.
     "It's all right--here," he got her a Venturian Hyperwhisky added
wine cooler.  "Drink this, you'll understand."
     "It tasts just like classic coke!"
     Muck-Luck smiled.  This was one of the great unexplained mysteries
of the universe--just why Venturian Hyperwhiskey fortified wine coolers
tasted just like coke was beyond the greatest thought processes of all
mankind, but it is hypothesised it is so Venturians can get easy sex
from sixteen year olds.
     The effects of the hyperwhiskey hit Trudy bodily, and she immediatly
launched into the Radar Vogel special striptease, as popular on Hyperbox
III.
     Please, do recall the Muck-Luck is under the influence of Satan--
he doesn't have to be nice.  Indeed, he can be scummy.  Don't start
making accusations about ME.
     Back on Earth, Radar, Natchwald, and the Intern walked into the
Boston University Academic Computing Center.  There were several confused
and somewhat inebreated (15th party school in the nation) girls sitting
in front of a series of really nice 3278.5 terminals that, for no
explicable reason, had been enslaved to the VMS computer "system" in
use at BU.
     Natchwald grinned, set his Ultideath Blaster to "decloth", and began
checking to see if he could help himself to...er...help the girls.
     Radar beelined for the vt-220s along another wall and began typing
into one of them.  The Intern, in love with Radar and not in love with
Natchwald, followed Radar.
     Radar punched up bitnet, and asked for her e-mail.
     The Intern read over her shoulder.  Most of the mail was from
"colligues" in her "field", describing what they planned to do with
Radar in deep vats of spam.
     Radar blushed a blush normally seen only on young Matt DeForrest.
     She saved her copys of Startrek, Sfstory, and Spamology Csnotice
and printed them off on the laser printer (clearly marked "for official
use only").  She then opened the files on the SSR readings and began
to read....
     There was a scream. Natchwald ran past them, being chased by
several young ladys (completly declothed) who did not appreciate Natch's
"assistance."
     "Oh great," muttered Radar, who got up and ran after him.
     The Intern paused, thought for a second, and printed the file to
the Student Cluster Printer (never used) before running off too.
     A stranger stepped up to the terminal, and systematiclly deleted
any and all files in directory.  He then used Radar's account to send
obsene messages to all the School of Theology students and he logged off.
He then vaporised all the printed sheets in the laser printer bin and
faded away.
     The two walked back up, Natchwald unconsious and being dragged.
"Hey," Radar said, "who logged me off?"
     Logging back on, she shrieked.
     "I thought you only did that in your apartment, Bigboobs," Natch
said woozily.
     "The SSR file--ALL my files!  They're gone!"
     "Its all right, I printed it on the laser printer," said the Intern,
lying very well (he was top in his class in Lying 114).
     "All the laser printer output's been destroyed, too!" Radar shrieked,
"We've lost track of it!!!!!"
     The Intern shook his head, escused himself, and went to the bathroom.
On his way, he picked up the single file printed off on the cluster printer.
He tucked it away in his jumpsuit.
     Once in the bathroom, he slipped a module out of his pocket, attached
it to the lightsabre shaped flashlight he always carried, and checked his
messages.
     Intersteller U acknowledged reciept of his message to them, and
made a plea for cash.  The Time Police also acknowledge reciept.  They
indicated the agent they had assigned to aid him.
     "Well, well, well.  357.  I wonder if he's still mad at me.  Hm,
thought he had retired."
     He flushed and left, rejoining the others.  "We'd better leave,"
he said, "We might be in some danger."
     "Right," said Radar.
     "Okay," said Natchwald.

ARE THEY IN SOME DANGER?
WILL THEY BE ABLE TO AVOID IT?
WILL SATAN REALISE THE INTERN OUTSMARTED HIM?
DOES THE COWBOY REALISE HIS POSTINGS DID GET OUT, AND NO ONE IS CONFUSED?
IS *MY* WRITING SEXIST?
WELL, *VERY* SEXIST?
WELL, MAYBE THIS WHOLE *STORY* IS SEXIST!
OH, YOU AGREE WITH THAT.

These topics and many many MANY more will be brought up in length on
the next OPRAH WINFREY SHOW!!!!!!

***** Entry appended 22:19 on Sun, 03/06/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 123 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     Well, most of them got through....
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

Time Agent 357 was not a happy man.  He was not anywhere near happy.  For
that matter, he was not exactly a man, as his nonhuman and unknown race had
developed idependently of man, though virtually identical.  The reason for
this (for him not being happy, not for him not being a man) is because at
this very moment he was falling very quickly toward a planet.  He might have
been made a little happier to know that many people would read of his
exploits, all except for that one little entry that explained how Zark Flyby
and Mark Hyperthrust were removed from his ship and placed on the planet he
was rapidly apporoaching.

But 357 did not know that, and in actuality would not have been made any
happier.  He wrestled with the controls.  The controls wrestled back.  The
viewscreens showed scenes from various Radar Vogel movies, which only served
to distract him.  He glanced at the altimeter, which showed a number growing
smaller by the moment.  He finally made the only decision he could.

He ran back to the engine room and examined the ABPSAR.  A small amount of
Algerian lizard fungus remained.  He was hesitant to activate it again.  The
first time he had activated it, he was propelled out of the Bend.  The
second time, he was propelled into orbit around this planet, and Zark Flyby
and Mark Hyperthrust were transported down to it.  Would third time pay for
all?  He had no choice.  He activated the ABPSAR.  The ship's engines roared
in a way that ship's engines were never meant to roar.  As a safety
procaution, he decided to put as much space between him and the ABPSAR as
possible.  He was just leaving the engine room when the ship rocked
violently from a large explosion.

On the planet, Ralph, Doctor Bing Von Spleen, G.X.P. Varneyloop, Mark
Hyperthrust, Bubba, Zark Flyby, and 500 female weaseliods all stopped what
they were doing to look up.  The sleek and deadly-looking craft that had
been descending towards them suddenly stopped in mid-air.  Then, with a
rainbow aftereffect not often seen outside of Star Trek movies, it shot off
into space.

Time Agent 357 slept.  He attempted to woke up.  After eight hours he
succeeded.  After opening his eyes, he decided to rest a moment and slept
for another sixteen.  Upon finally awakening, he attempted to stand, proving
to any would doubt that anyone, liscenced space hero or not, simply cannot
stay upright on the first try after sleeping for 24 hrs.

357 rolled over, spitting the carpet fuzz from his mouth, and decided that
his head was not going to go flying off his neck any time in the near future
though it sure as Hell felt like it.  After much personal effort and a great
deal of cursing, he managed to make his way to the bridge.

Looking out of the main viewer, he saw that his ship was located in the town
square of a small town somewhere in Tennessee.  At least, the Welcome to
Tennessee sign on the corner would give one that impression.  Having never
been to Tennessee, or for that matter Earth, he quickly ordered up the data
file for 20th Century rural America from the computer.  He then ordered his
ship's chameleon circuits into activity.

After several minutes his ship had transformed itself into an exact
duplicate of the antique Chevrolet El Camino it had found itself parked
beside.  Placing an old baseball cap on his head, he headed north on I-64.

357 was delayed along the way, as the towns of Benton, Parksville, and
Etowah are all known for their speed traps.  But usually a show of his badge
(fake) or his Temporal Displacement Blaster (real) was sufficient to
convince the local constabulary to let him be along his merry way.

He also had to stop for gas several times, as his ship was still lacking
Spam.  (A tiny flaw in the ship's data banks had caused it to not tell him
that the convenience stores at which he purchased his gasoline also sold
Spam.)  But, he eventually arrived in Boston, whereupon his real adventure
began...

***** Entry appended 00:08 on Mon, 03/07/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 124 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     Matt and Linda get to know each other
From:        Eric, Lord Sabre |-}---------- (enll6ac at bostonu)

     Linda gently shhok Matt's shoulder to awaken him.  He was
slumped in the corner of the cab of Optimus Prime.  He didn't awaken.
She shook again.  Again.  Harder.  She began to pinch.  She shoved, hit
cajoled, and beat at him.
     From one of the pockets of the bomber jacket, analarm rang.  Matt's
eyes opened.
     "Morning, Linda," he said, blushing (Matt always blushes when he
first sees agirl in a day.  In fact, Matt always blushes.)
     Matt reached into his pocket and turned off the alarm.  He pulled
out two carnation Breakfast Bars.  "Hungery?"
     "Jeez--how much stuff do you have in that jacket?"
     "Uh, I dunno, actually.  I never seem to run out of pocket space."
     "Wow," said Linda, who was more impressed with that than anything
that had happened so far in the whole SFSTORY.  Linda leads a very
sheltered life.
     "Optimus," she said, looking at the dashboard.  "Where are we?"
     "I'm not sure," said the divine TransFormer. 1 "I got lost during
the night."
     *****He is lying, he is not lost***** Superbrain at Oracle2 said
to Matt though their tele-psychic link.
     "What?"
     "What, Matt?"
     "Oh, nothing."  Matt thought as hard as he could.  "Then who
the heck," Matt never thought nasty words, "is he?"
     *****Trust me, you're better off not knowing*****
     "Oh no you don't," yelped Matt.  "Tell me, NOW!"
     "Tell you what," said Linda, turning.
     "Uhhhhh, uuummmmmmmm," said Matt, te blush reaching critical.
He franticlly tryed to think of something--ANYTHING to ask her.
     *****Are you really a D cup, or do you stuff your bra?*****
     "Are you really a D cup, or do you stuff your bra--oh SHIT!"
     "WHAT???!!!!"
     *****hee hee hee*****
     Matt's blush hit critical, giving Linda a sunburn and forcing
her to look away.  "You could light a prison camp with that blush,
Matt," she said, giggling.
     Matt was amazed--she wasn't mad?
     *****Ask her what color panties she wears!*****
     "Oh, do shush," Matt mumbled, sounding just like Danger Mouse.


WILL SUPERBRAIN SHUSH?
HAS MATT KILLED HIS CHANCES WITH LINDA???
IS GOD REALLY LOST?
WHY IS HE LYING?
HOW BRIGHTLY CAN MATT BLUSH, ANYWAY?
IS LINDA A D CUP, OR DOES SHE STUFF HER BRA?
WHAT COLOR *ARE* HER PANTIES?
WHAT DOES GOD THINK ABOUT ALL THIS, ANYWAY?


(insert favorite tag line here)

***** Entry appended 22:25 on Mon, 03/07/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 125 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     On a strange planet...
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

On a strange planet where trees walked around and sniffed at dogs that were
rooted to the ground, a group of people stood.  Through various mishaps in
the space-time continuum, most of them involving Spam, they had come to find
themselves here.  The group looked up at the rapidly fading light that had
sprung into existance just a short time before.  Satisfied that it presented
no danger, they went back to what they were doing.  Namely, killing each
other.

"Now hold on," said Doctor Bing Von Spleen, the galaxy's foremost
Spamologist.  "Let's behave like civilized human beings."

"Shove it!" responded Zark Flyby, tightening his grip on the Doctor's throat.

Nearby, Bubba (Wanton Death Merchant from Hell and all around nice guy) was
having no trouble at all pommeling Mark Hyperthrust the Interstellar U
student, Ralph the Giant Weasel from Anthrax V, and G.X.P. Varneyloop the
free-lance ego inflator and name maker.

However, the stangely mobile trees had finally had enough, and bodily picked
up the entire group and carried them out of the forest.  This effectively
ended the fight, as it is difficult to throw a punch when held head down
twenty feet above the ground.

Brushing himself off, Doctor Spleen made a speech.  "My friends, we are all
in this together.  I suggest we stop this petty bickering and blah blah
blah...."

"What's all this 'blah blah blah' business?" whispered Zark.

"He doesn't want to bore the reading audience with a long speech," answered
Bubba.

In the end, all agreed to set aside their differences until an escape could
be made from the planet, which, unbeknownst to them, but knownst to the
writer, was name Latigid.  Since they didn't know the name, they usually
referred to it as "this stupid planet," or as other things I can't print in
a familiy CSNOTICE.

The group soon came to the conclusion that only Doctor Spleen's ABPSAR
(Automatic Beet Peeler and Sub-Atomic Re-integrator) could save them.  It
was, however, out of Spam, and therefore currently useless.

"That's okay," said the Doctor.  "For the short spacial hop that we will
require, we can use one of any substitutes."

"Like what?" asked Ralph, tuning his ukulele.

"Well, we could use any of the following:  Six feet of nylon rope, one of
Radar Vogel's black lacy bras, a penny from 1950 or later, six grams of
Algerian lizard fungus, or the G-string from a Earth-made ukulele."

This last was said while the Doctor eyed Ralph's ukulele.  Ralph followed
his gaze and looked on the back of his pride and joy.  "Made on Altair IV,"
he read there.

"I suggest," said Bubba, "that we all pray feverently and then spread out in
search of Spam or one of the substitutes."  With that Bubba, who had been in
Heaven most recently of the group, led them in a rousing prayer of such need
and sincerity that it would have caused the Pope to become a Baptist had he
heard it.  This great and divine message travelled upwards to Heaven, where
it reached St. Peter, who was amusing himself with an in depth study of the
insides of his eyelids.

"What?  Huh?" said the immortal as he came awake.  He hit the playback
button of his answering machine and listened to the great and divine request
for assistance.  Any other immortal would have taken pity on the group.
However, St. Peter was not in the greatest of moods, having just been awaken
from his nap.  "Let's make them work for it," he mumbled, groping for a pen
and opening up The Book....

***** Entry appended 15:04 on Wed, 03/09/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 126 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     wherein 357 makes contact
From:        Eric, Lord Sabre |-}--------- (enll6ac at bostonu)

     357 (on loan from Cowboy) drove the HMS GoldenLance onto Bay State
road--thereby being the first person in recorded history to find the place
he was looking for on the first time when driving in Boston.
     He stopped next to a Brownstone.  "Hey, computer," he muttered,
"Is this the place?"
     {I told you once,} printed on the computer screen.
     357 looked down.  "No, you didn't."
     {Oh yes I did.}
     357 pulled and pointed his telechronal displacement blaster at the
hapless screen.  "You don't want me to shoot this."
     {Oh, alright, we're here.  You just go and party with your friends,
never you mind me--slave all day trying to do your every whim, then do
WHATEVER you say, all night long, and--}
     357 left the petulant computer and climbed up the stairs into the
BU apartment building.  The inner door was locked, like all BU doors
tend to be when you don't know the phone number of the apartment you're
trying to reach.
     Well, one thing was certain.  If an Intersteller U graduate with
the instincts of the Intern was involved, and if an Intersteller U
freshman with the noted lack of intellect like Mark Hyperthrust HAD been
involved, there were probably few enough doors left in this place, anyway.
--CCCCCCCCCCCRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCKKKKKKK--
     Upstairs, hearing the noise but ignoring it, Radar was sitting in her
room reciving a very nice backrub from the Intern.  Natchwald was cooking
rice krispies in the oven for dinner--he had been feeling strange lately.
     357 leapt into the room, pulling his Temporal balster on the hapless
satanic servent.
     "Alright, you toady looking little fuzz-ball!  Where's the Intern?"
     "Gggggghhhhhhaaaaaahhhhhgggg" said Natch, far too panicked to respond
     "What's going on out here?" said Radar, storming into the ruins
of her living room.
     357 spun, then stared as his jaw hit the floor in amazement.
     "Clunk!" said his jaw.
     Natch jumped 357, trying desperatly to wrest his weapon from him.
However, 357 didn't become a legend by being a push over, and he began
to force feed Natch his ankle.
     "What's going on here?" demanded the Intern, pulling his shirt
on as he left Radar's bedroom.
     He then stopped and stared.  "357?  HOW HAVE YOU BEEN????!!!!!"
     357 dropped natch and saluted.  "Bygones be bygones?" he asked,
smiling.
     "You bet," said the Intern, and they launched into their old
frat handshake.  I really can't describe it here, but suffice it to say,
to do it correctly you must be quadriple jointed, open minded, and have
the services of a rather large hippo.
     Natchwald picked up the telechronal blaster while they were
shaking hands, and shot them both in the back.  Unfortunatly, he was a very
bad shot, and only succeeded in sending Radar's computer to 347 BC,and
the hippo to the 57th century, somewhere in the vicinety of a McDonalds.
     A moment later, Natch lay on the ground, unconsious, with several
bruises, and the Displacement blaster lay next to him, in several pieces.
     "Who is this guy, anyway," asked 357, "my mother, 221, gave me that
blaster!"
     "Maybe he thought the twoof you were fighting," said Radar, "Lord
knows I thought you two were...and what you were doing to that poor hippo--
oh hell that turned me on!"
     357 looked at her.  "Its true--you ARE Radar Vogel!  I've seen all
of your movies!"
     "Movies?" asked the Intern.
     Radar blushed a blush one would not ordinarily mistake for skin color.
"Er, I'll tell you about it after we're married, dear."
     "Married?" asked 357 in disbelief.
     The Intern smiled and swept her up into a huge, gradiose kiss, while
sweeping winds tore though their hair, and the theme from Born Free
echoed around them.
     "Oh, fantastic," mumbled 357, now completly forgotten, in the
background.  "I finally meet little miss Olympiian sex machine, and
she's engaged to a Timelord working on his masters!  Needlewarp!"

WHAT DOES NEEDLEWARP MEAN?
WILL 357 MAKE MOVES ON RADAR ANYWAY?
WHAT WILL SATAN DO NOW THAT HIS AGENT"S BEEN BEAT ON?


these questions and some like them will be shot with temporal displacement
weapons in the next edition of SFSTORY

***** Entry appended 20:58 on Wed, 03/16/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 127 *****