Sfstory Log 019

=========================================================================
Subject:     Journey To Oblivion... Conclusion
From:        Black Scorpion (MGRAVES at SBCCVM)

    And now... the conclusion...

    '5... 4... 3... 2... 1... FX NOW, 38!!!!!!!!!'

    What followed was akin to a herd of Arcturan juice bugs exploding
with the power of an exploding star, as seen from a planet 2 million
miles from the star...

    First, the ship began to humm (I guess it didn't know the words),
and the humming grew louder. Soon, tiny lights appeared in front of
the Contingency... they started as little dots and then grew and be-
came streaked. Then, a sound akin to that of a Porshe 944 getting it-
self stuck in 4 simultaneous gears sourrounded the Contingency. The
walls began to shake, and the whole cabin came to a bright light... it
grew hot and cold... music played... papers flew...

    Soon, everything went black...

    '38?'
    'Yes sir?'
    'Is it over?'
    'I think...'

    SOON, MAYHEM STARTED!
    THE CABIN SHOOK...
    THE WALLS SHIVERED AND CREAKED...
    THE MUSIC GREW LOUDER...
    WINDS RUSHED THROUGH THE CABIN WITH HURRICANE FORCE...
    RAIN POURED DOWN ON LT. COMMANDER AND 38...
    SCREAMS ECHOED THROUGH THE ENTIRE SHIP...
    THE CAKE DROPPED...
    929 BEEPED WILDLY...
    THE SYSTEMS SCREECHED...
    THE SYSTEMS SQUEAKED...
    DATA RAN ACROSS THE VIEWSCREEN...
    DATA JOGGED ACROSS THE VIEWSCREEN...
    DATA CRAWLED ACROSS THE SCREEN...
    DATA QUESTIONED CAPTAIN PICARD AS TO WHY HE WAS RUNNING, JOGGING,
         AND CRAWLING ACROSS THE SCREEN...
    PICARD TOLD WESLEY TO SHUT UP...
    THE PRINTER WENT WILD...
    THE PRINTER WENT DOWN...
    THE SYSTEM WENT WILD...
    THE SYSTEM WENT DOWN...
    THE SYSTEM CAME BACK UP...
    YALEVM WENT DOWN...
    YALEVM NEVER CAME BACK UP...
    CSNEWS WAS NOT RECEIVING...
    AND THEN THEY WERE...
    THE BEATLES GOT BACK TOGETHER...
    THE BEATLES GOT HAIRCUTS...
    THEY VALIDATED HIS PARKING TICKET...
    38 HAD A CONNIPTION...
    929 HAD A CONNIPTION...
    ST. ELSEWHERE WAS CANCELLED...
    MAX HEADROOM CAME BACK ON...
    WORF GOT A GIRLFRIEND...
    WORF FAILED THE PURITY TEST...
    ILM RAN OUT OF MONEY...

    Sh*t... I overdid it... I used up ILM'S resources! I'm in trouble...

    '38?'
    'Is it over yet?'
    'I think...

    NO! DAMN THE SAVINGS ACCOUNT!

    LUCAS RETURNED...
    LUCAS MADE THREE MORE MOVIES...
    LUCAS MADE MORE MONEY...
    ILM REOPENED...
    ANOTHER CAKE DROPPED...
    LC GOT A PERM...
    ST. ELSEWHERE CAME BACK ON FOR 6 MORE EPISODES...
    LC'S PERM GREW OUT...
    ST. ELSEWHERE WAS RE-CANCELLED...
    COSBY WAS CANCELLED (I BET THAT TOOK ILM A WHILE)...
    DEBBIE AT UKCC FINALLY GOT THROUGH HER MAIL FILE...
    YALEVM CAME BACK UP...
    YALEVM WENT BACK DOWN...
    BASIC WAS ABOLISHED AS A COMPUTER LANGUAGE...
    SCOTTY WENT ON A DIET...
    THE EARTH COOLED...
    THEN THE DINOSAURS CAME...
    THEY GOT BIG AND FAT AND UGLY AND STUPID, AND THEY TURNED TO OIL...
    THE ARABS BOUGHT MERCEDES BENZES...
    PRINCE CHARLES STARTED WEARING LADY DI'S CLOTHES...
    JOHNNY GOT DIVORCED (AGAIN)...
    JOHNNY GOT REREREREREMARRIED...
    AND FINALLY...

    SUSPENSE...

     MORE SUSPENSE...

      IT WAS OVER...

      '38?'
      'Yes... I think so.'
      'Thank God.'
      'Answer the phone...'
      'Hello?'
      'YOU'RE WELCOME.'
      'Wow...'
      'Sir?'
      'Yes, 38?'
      'We have a problem.'
      'What.'
      'I have examined the star charts, and it seems we are nowhere.'
      'Lemme see the viewscreen.'

      Cut to viewscreen:

      ---------------------------------------------------
     |                                                   |
     |                                                   |
     |                                                   |
     |                                                   |
     |                                                   |
     |                                                   |
     |                                                   |
     |                                                   |
     |                                                   |
     |                                                   |
     |                                                   |
      ---------------------------------------------------

      'Wow... we are nowhere...'

.......................................................................
Will YALEVM ever come back up?
Will it get anyworse than this?

Find out next semester... and have a nice summer everyone (or else)...

***** Entry appended 17:57 on Fri, 05/06/88 by MGRAVES at SBCCVM    # 219 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     357 in trouble
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

The 49 robotic insectoids carried 357 along.  He looked about and recognized
that he was in netherspace.  Good, he thought as he activated his TTT recall
circuit.  Bad, he thought as nothing happened.

"Must be out of range," he mumbled to no one in particular and to all
readers in general.  However, he was not a liscenced space hero for nothing,
and by the time I was halfway through typing the last sentence he had
altered his Temporal Teleporter Terminal recall circuit into a distress
beacon, which by this time had reached Bedlam Central.

=Doctor,= said Val urgently.  =Finish packing and get on board.  I've just
picked up a distress call from 357.  He's in netherspace.=  Without waiting
for a reply, Val fired up the engines and prepared to take off.

Doctor Bing Von Spleen boarded immediately, pausing only to take a shower,
crank out a new batch of depressants, chat on RELAY for a while, and
compliment Val on the HMS Golden Lance's new paint job.  The last one kept
Val from leaving him behind while he was wasting time with all the rest.
Women are nothing if not vain.

"Sexist remark!  Sexist remark!  Castrate him!"

*Who let Ms. Cote in here?*

Back in netherspace, 357 noted that his bearers were heading for a rather
large building right in the middle of the Nymphobeach.  A powerful-looking
immortal met him at the door.

"Greetings, Time Agent 357," he said as he gestured to the Insectoids, who
immediately, but gently, lowered him to the ground.  "I'm sorry if my
servants were a little rough on you."

"I was even rougher on them," 357 admitted.  "Who are you?  And what is this
place?  It wasn't here the last time I was."

"I am St. Peter, Gatekeeper of Heaven.  But, when things are slow I hang
around here."  He paused to gesture at the building.  "Bubba and I were to
be co-owners, but another author decided it was too soon for him to retire.
Come in.  I need to talk to you."

357 shrugged and followed the immortal into Club Nympho.  Business was
apparently good, as the place was packed with both tourists and Nympho
natives.  After only a slight delay while 357 was introduced to Dan (who
hasn't been seen in a few hundred entries) they arrived at St. Peter's
office.  357 took a comfortable seat, had a few drinks, deactivated his
distress call (wouldn't do to have Val shoot the place up unnecessarily),
and generally made himself at home as he was bade to do.

St. Peter spoke.  "I have a little problem that I think you can help me
with.  I and the other immortals want a bigger part in SFSTORY.  Currently,
we're just bit-players, thrown in from time to time for cheap laughs.  We
want to be used to our full potentials.  Now, don't get me wrong.  We don't
want to take over; just be used with more respect."

"Seems like a pretty good problem," answered 357.  "But what can I do?  I
only know one of the authors, and that's by reputation."

"You don't really need to do anything.  By simply talking here we'll be
dropping a subtle hint to the other authors to use the immortals with the
respect that they deserve."

"Good enough," said 357 with admiration.  "Anything else?"

"Well, since I did inconvenience you by bringing you here, and since you did
help me out, I guess I owe you one.  Maybe two.  Anything you need from me?"

Time Agent 357 thought long and hard, and remembered through an alcoholic
haze a certain Christmas party and several incriminating photographs that
his chief had taken.  He casually mentioned this to St. Peter.

"Sure thing.  How about accidental death by drowning?"

"Nah, she's too good of a swimmer.  No one would believe it."

"Piloting error?"

"Nope, she's hired some of the best pilots around."

"Stabbed to death by a runaway vibrator?"

"Perfect!  Here, have a drink."

And so it came to pass that the Chief of Time Police Operations, Joanne
(Honey) Bayer, died under "mysterious circumstances."  Time Agent 357
chuckled quietly to himself as he burned the negatives, and ordered another
round for himself and St. Peter.  He staggered out to his ship and left
netherspace for his next assignment.

"What _is_ our next assignment, Val?"

=Training mission.  We're supposed to pick up a new recruit and give him
some hands on training.=

"What's the recruit's name?" asked 357 as he fought with Doctor Spleen over
the last of the aspirin.

=G. X. P. Varneyloop LXVII=

"Hmmm," 357 hummed.

"Great!" said the Doctor.  "As if I don't have enough lines as it is...."

Is it really great?
Or is it just less filling?
Why is 357 saying "Hmmm"?
Just how risque can I get before they stop letting me post?

For the answers to these questions, and others, and ones you've never
dreamed of, and a few I won't think of until I write my next entry, stay
tuned to TRASHCAN CSNOTICE!!!!

***** Entry appended 23:20 on Sun, 05/08/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 220 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     Wherein Nathan finally comes up with a plot!
From:        Nathan Irwin (UD140680 at NDSUVM1)

     Deep in his underground laboratory, Doctor Ivan Biggfeet was
working hard on his plan for total world domination.  He was carefully
examining every detail, considering every possibility, and eating every
tuna fish sandwhich in the refrigerator.  At this point, a small, yellow
alien entered the room an addressed him.

     "O, great master and terribly evil one," said the alien, "I bring
you a report of our raid on Jamestown, from which we have just returned."
     "Well?" asked the aforementioned Doctor, "What HAPPENED?"
     "Commander Graawlf reports that twenty thousand additional victims
were captured, while sixteen of our own were killed."
     "Killed?  How?"
     "The raid was discovered by three humans who engaged with us in
battle.  They wounded one hundred warriors, sixteen of whom have since
died."
     "And what happened to the HUMANS?" asked BIggfeet.
     "They appear to have been buried under the rubble after we
demoilshed the town.
     "You mean to tell me you didn't even make sure they were DEAD???
This is even worse than LAST time, when you left behind a MESSAGE
that the town had been kidnapped by space aliens!  What if those three
discover my plans, or even THIS LAB???"
     "Fear not, O greatly malevolent and truly clever master.  Who
would look HERE, half a mile beneath Minot, North Dakota?"
     "You FOOL," howled Biggfeet, "Now, you've revealed the location of
my hidden Lab to all the SFSTORY readers!!  Get OUT of here right NOW!!"
     The little alien scurried out ofthe room.

     Meanwhile, amidst the ruins of what USED to be Jamestown, North
Dakota (oh, BOY!), our three heroes were resting from their journey,
and making tremendous progress towards finishing off all of Louie's
beer.  Suddenly, Bubba noticed one of the aliens' ray-guns lying about
a hundred yards away.  Quickly, the three of them ran over to it and
began examining it.  It looked like a hideous cross between an AK-47
and a Mr. Coffee (for those of you who were so unfortunate as to miss my
last entry), and was probably one of the most gruesome devices ever
created by a sober being.

     "HEY!" shouted Louie, "look at what's written at the bottom."
     Bubba turned the weapon over and all three of them read what was
written on the bottom:

                    "Made in New Jersey"

     All three of them agreed that no self-respecting alien would
have any kind of reason to use a weapon made in New Jersey.  Except
Zark, who passed out due to the mental strain of trying to remember
what 'New Jersey' was and why anyone would make a big deal out of a
stupid coffe-maker.

     "Thwump!" said Zark as he hit the ground.

     Ignoring their companion, Bubba and Louie decided to test the
strange, alien weapon (Aren't 'strange' and 'alien' sort of synonyms?
Get me an English major!!!)  When Louie pulled the trigger, the gun
produced a display of special-effects pyrotechnics that made the stuff
in the "Star Wars" trilogy look like the work of a gorilla with a good
set of crayolas.  But that was it.  No fancy laser light-beams.  No
ionic disintegrators.  No nuclear fallout.  No mass devastation or
permanent ecological disaster, either.  All in all, the whole thing was
sort of a bust.
     (This is where Zark recovers)

     After explaining the effects of firing the weapon to Zark (in
monosyllabic words), Louie and Bubba decided that the 'aliens' they
had encountered probably weren't aliens, at all.  But why would
ANYONE want to steal sixty thousand North Dakotans?  Since nobody
(including the author) had even the slightest idea, Bubba suggested
that the three of them find and put a stop to whatever these 'aliens'
were planning.

     "That's swell," said Louie, "but where do we start LOOKING?"
     "Uh,....." said Bubba.
     "Uh,....." said Zark.
     *Try Minot* said the Author.

     After drinking a few more beers, the three adventurers set off for
Minot, unaware that a sattelite, out past the atmosphere was watching
them.

     Back in his hidden laboratory, Doctor Ivan Biggfeet cackled with
glee.

WILL THE GANG GET TO MINOT???
ARE THE ALIENS REALLY ALIENS???
IF NOT, ARE THEY FROM NEW JERSEY???
WHY IS THAT SATTELITE WATCHING OUR HEREOES???
WHY IS DOCTOR BIGGFEET CACKLING???
HOW MUCH LONGER WILL LOUIE'S BEER LAST???

Future installments of SFSTORY will answer either some, all, or none of
the above, depending on how much sleep I get.

***** Entry appended 05:24 on Mon, 05/09/88 by UD140680 at NDSUVM1  # 221 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     A short posting...
From:        Patrick McCoy (enldc8c at bostonu)

     Buzz paced the cabin of the Rocket Racer V which, in the time it
took the author to post, he had placed in Geosyncranous (Dr. Young, HELP!!!)
Orbit over Syracuse, NY which was now Rhode Island. Buzz had considered
looking into this alarming disturbance, but decided that, as it was an
entirely different plotline, he should stay out of the matter.
     Tachi was meditating. Bert was studying the first three issues of
the DC Comic rendition of Flash Gordon which Buzz had subscribed to after
picking up the copies he had in New York City, where his manner of
dress and transportation had not been noticed.
     Buzz stopped again at his aging computer which, for some strange
reason, could hold as much information as the VAL 9000 but would take
the same ammount of time to process information as the Enterprise's
Computer.
     "Damn," he muttered to himself, "In all my travels, I haven't yet
been to Hell and back. Without the arrival co-ordinates, we can't even
hope to rescue Toni."
     "Is there anywhere we can get the co-ordinates?" asked Tachi.
     "I've already tried scanning Delphi and the Agean area and there
are currently no active oracles in the region and the only living saints
are not involved in head-on battles with the forces of Hell."
     "Are there any experts we can contact?"
     "Not that I know of. Only if there was someone who could tell us
how to get there."
     Somewhere in Heaven, God heard Buzz. He had just placed the Holy
Erasers in an old shoebox in the back of his closet where he thought
neither authors nor Saint Peter could find them. He knew that Buzz
needed some help and that many of the immortals of Heaven were bored
as they have been out of the story for a bit of time (as seen in the
Cowboy's posting with Saint Peter). He knew just the man for the job.
He took the form of Tom Seleck and jumped into a nearby Lamborgini
and speed off to another part of Heaven.
     Meanwhile, in Hell, things were getting really nasty...so nasty
in fact that the automatic censors from Max Headroom high tailled it
over here when they heard that I was even considering telling the trouble
Toni was having...which I will tell about in the next entry when they


ARE THINGS THAT BAD FOR TONI???
WHO IS GOD GETTING TO HELP BUZZ???
SHOULDN"T MATT AND LINDA BE DOING THIS INSTEAD OF BUZZ???
WHY IS THIS POSTING SO SHORT???
(I have to go to work...never mind, dumb question...)

For all this and more, be sure to watch the next exciting
episode of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom.

***** Entry appended 10:16 on Mon, 05/09/88 by enldc8c at bostonu   # 222 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     GXP re-enters the story
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

Imagine a sleek, powerful ship.  Candy apple red in color.  Chrome and steel
all around.  Blood red interior.  Alpine quad system with 1000W woofers.
Optional 22 gallon tank.  Four barrel carb.  Turbo nuclear hyperlight drive.
A dream to handle.  Stops on an Algerian dime.  Zero to 60,000 times the
speed of light in 2.2 seconds.

Now forget all that, and instead picture the HMS Golden Lance in orbit about
the planet Audi 500.  Standing on the Temporal Teleporter Terminal platform
is a tall, blue-skinned humanoid, recently graduated from the Time Police
Academy.  He steps off the platform and the author takes this opportunity to
switch to past tense.

"Welcome aboard," said Time Agent 357.

"Pleasure to be here," answered the blue-skinned humanoid.  "I am Ensign
G.X.P. Varneyloop LXVII, but you can call me Varney."

"Sure thing, Varney," answered 357, introducing Doctor Bing Von Spleen and
Val, the personality component of the VAL9000 computer system.  "What are
our orders, Val?"

=Routine scientific investigation.  We are to proceed to co-ordinates
gal-lat 481 by gal-long 392 and snoop around the black hole there.=

"And while we're there," put in Doctor Spleen, "we can throw in some objects
and check some of my new theories about Spam."

"Good enough for a start," said TA 357.  "Varney, take the helm!"

"Yes, sir!" said Varney, falling to his knees and hugging the command chair.
"She's mine!  All mine!  At last she's mine!"

=Get this pervert off me!=

"Uh, Varney," said 357.  "I meant 'take' as in 'take command of.'"

"Oh," said Varney, pulling on his pants.

"Let's try out those new hyperlite engines.  Go to Lite!"

"Aye, sir.  Wessel coming to Lite speed," reported Varneyloop, who had
suddenly developed a Beatles style haircut and a Russian accent.

*No!  Bud Lite!* came a voice from out of nowhere.

"What was that?" asked Doctor Spleen, fiddling with Val's um...er...console.
Yeah, that's the ticket.

*Sorry, I couldn't resist.*

Leaving the helm to Varney (carefully watchdogged by Val [=I'm not a dog!=]),
357 and Doctor Spleen retired to the galley.  "What type of experiments are
you planning to do, Doctor?" asked 357 as he stuck a large pile of frozen
cold-cuts into the Superheat.

"Well, as you know, any object that falls into a black hole is ejected at a
later time as Spam.  I'm going to attempt to see if the size of the object
has any effect on either the elapsed time or the quality of the
regurgitation."

"And what good will this knowledge do us?"

"Not a bit, but it will do to distract the reader from the real plot."

What is the real plot?
What is a Superheat?
Will it rain tomorrow?
Will Erica divorce Travis?
Am I stretching for questions?

probably.

***** Entry appended 20:29 on Mon, 05/09/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 223 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     Around the Black Hole
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

"Val, email."

=EMAIL=

To: CHIEF at TIME
From:  357 at VAL9000
Subj:  Latest mission

Have arrived at the Black Hole and are beginning investigations.
Preliminary scans indicate minor temporal fluctuations and occasional bursts
of hard radiation.  Also possibility of hostile aliens in the area.  Request
backup units.
.endit

Time Agent 357 settled back in his command chair as his report sorted its
way through a multitude of nodes, connections, and gateways.  Back at the
Science Console, Doctor Bing Von Spleen, the galaxy's foremost Spamologist,
was hard at work on his latest thesis "Spam and back again."  G.X.P.
Varneyloop LXVII (henceforth referred to as Varney) was at the helm
practicing manuevers and Gee-I'm-so-proud-to-be-a-Time-Police-Ensign poses.

=357,= demanded an irritating nasal tone.

"Yes, Val?"

=Did I hear you request backup just a while ago?=

"About half a page back.  Why?"

=That's not like you.  You're not getting careful in your old age, are you?=

"Uh," said Doctor Spleen.  "357, something is strange about that Black Hole."

"Black Holes are always strange," quipped 357.

"Not this strange.  I've been shooting objects into it for the last two
hours and so far not a single object has returned as Spam or otherwise."
Doctor Spleen was understandably upset, as his expertise in Spamology was
the only thing keeping him from getting shipped off to Latigid again.

"Helm concurs," said Varney, doing a damn good ensign impersonation
considering he was approaching middle-age.

"Hmmm," said 357, as he always said "Hmmm" when the author couldn't think of
anything better.  "Perhaps we should [dramatic pause] move in closer."

"Are you sure that's wise?" asked Varney.

=Do you think that's a good idea?= asked Val.

"Where are my pink pills?" asked the Doctor.

However, 357, having the largest gun on the ship, soon enforced his will
upon the others and headed in closer.  The ominous black gash in the fabric
of space and time looked more and more like a nasty cigarette burn on a
naugahyde couch (honorable mention for the correst spelling) as the ship
approached.  Even with full shields the HMS Golden Lance was rocked and
buffeted by the temporal distortions.  The crew was mostly unaffected by the
disturbances.

The ship was another matter entirely.

=Like, wow!  This is like, y'know, totally gnarly.  Fer sure!=

"Val, are you okay?" 357 queried in worried tones.

=Ima doing fab, big boy.=

At this point, Varney proved that he had earned his A average in the
PANIC 100 series by panicking a panic rarely seen outside of late-50's
movies where women jumped up on chairs to avoid mice.  Doctor Spleen washed
down a handful of pink pills with a Venturian Hyperwhisky, which only added
to the confusion.  357 utilized his superhuman reflexes to jump to his feet
and draw his DIESCUM pistol.  He did not realize that the artificial gravity
seemed to have been cut off, and so cracked his skull against the ceiling
and nuked the helm console.

While the VAL9000 computer sang "On a Bisexual Built for Two" the HMS Golden
Lance fell towards the Black Hole.

WIll the Golden Lance fall into the Black Hole?
Will they be ejected later as Spam?
Will the backup unit arrive in time?
Will I ever figure up a plot worthy of this CSNOTICE?

not bloody likely

***** Entry appended 02:04 on Wed, 05/11/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 224 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     Strange Exchange
From:        Carlo N. Samson (U25093 at UICVM)

  Eddie Magnum pressed "enter" and prayed. He had been working on his assembler
program for hours, and it still refused to work. He had pored over every line
of code, fixed all traceable bugs, offered up a virgin sacrifice, and still
the program defied execution. Now he sat in silence, desperately hoping for
a clean compile.
  The cursor prompt reappeared on the screen, and Eddie relaxed slightly. He
type in the command to run, and waited.
  "Bus error--core dumped," the screen read a few minutes later.
  "Shit! Shit! Naugahyde!" screamed Eddie. No one else in the terminal room
paid any attention to the distraught programmer, though, as such outbursts were
quite common around the last week of the quarter, when killer programs were
inflicted on hapless programming students.
   Eddie stifled the urge to bash in the monitor with the keyboard, and instead
reached over to the next terminal, ripped away its power cable, and jammed the
live end into his terminal's monitor screen.
   "Fwizz! Zzapp! Crizzwhzaklik!" said the screen as sparks flew in all direc-
tions. Eddie grinned as a blue glow enveloped the offending computer. After a
few minutes of this, Eddie released the cable. To his surprise, the screen was
undamaged. Intrigued, he touched the glass surface and found that it wasn't
even warm. "Far freakin' out," he said. Experimentally, he tapped out a few
words on the keyboard.
   $EECS 272 sucks   (he typed)
   * EECS 272 sucks? (read the screen)
   $This class blows
   * This class blows?
   $Freakin computer can't do a damn simple program
   * Hey, up your nose with a rubber hose, pal!

   "Holy shit!" Eddie exclaimed, startled.
   * Why do you worship excrement?
   "Say what?" Eddie said, staring at the screen.
   * What.
   "Huh?"
   * I thought you said 'what'.
   "Shit!"
   * You must be very religious.
   "Who the blaze are you?"
   * Your computer, of course.
   "Shit."
   * That religious word again.

  This was too much. Eddie pushed back from the desk and brought out a pack of
of Wrigley's Spearmint gum. He had unwrapped a stick and popped it into his
mouth when another message appeared on the screen.

   * Identify the object you are ingesting.
   "Well, its pure chewing...gum."
   * Need more data, please.

    The disk drive door opened up, spat out a floppy, and sucked a stick of the
gum inside. The monitor shook, rattled, and rolled.

   * Cool...refreshing...pure chewing satisfaction.
   "I thought computers only liked to chew disks," said Eddie.
   * ...pure satisfaction...
   "Glad you like it," said Eddie. He leaned closer to the screen. "So how come
you never talked to me before?"

WHY HAS THE COMPUTER NEVER TALKED TO HIM BEFORE?
WHY IS THE COMPUTER TALKING TO HIM NOW?
NOW THAT IT IS TALKING, WILL IT FINALLY RUN EDDIE'S PROGRAM?
WILL EDDIE'S PROGRAM RUN FOR PRESIDENT?

For possible answers to these impossible questions: Pin a live frog to your
shoulder, stand on a bucket, and go "bibble" (thus may you achieve true
enlightenment).

***** Entry appended 10:55 on Thu, 05/12/88 by U25093 at UICVM      # 225 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     Strange Exchange pt.2
From:        Carlo N. Samson (U25093 at UICVM)

    Just then there was a brilliant blaze of light in the center of the room.
At first Eddie thought someone had nuked their terminal out of (understandable)
irritation, but when he turned to look he saw two strange people walking over
to him. One was a man dressed in a pink purple-pinstriped three-piece business
suit, the other a woman wearing a rainbow-colored body stocking and blue Nikes.
    "Who's your fashion designer--Colin Baker?" Eddie asked as the couple came
to his workstation.
    "Greetings, young chap. Could I ask you a question?" the man queried.
    "You just did," said Eddie.
    "Is this--" he glanced at his watch--"Planet Earth, 29th dimensional plane,
Chicago, 1988?"
    "I guess."
    "Marvy."
    * Oh no!
    "On the screen, Moe," the woman said, pointing to the monitor.
    "A ha! Its here. Good show!"
    "Just who are you people, anyway?" asked Eddie, staring at the voluptuous
contours of the woman's body but trying to look as if he wasn't.
    "Oh, forgive me, young chap. My name is Moe Lester, and this is my coll-
eague, Emma Foole."
    Probably are, thought Eddie.
    "We're here to collect the Intelligence. We won't bother you for long,"
said Emma.
    "Collect what? Don't you have any already?"
    "You misunderstand, young chap. The Intelligence is an entity that has the
ability to inhabit, and give 'life' to, inanimate objects. It is presently
within that primitive computer terminal of yours."
    * Ignore them, Eddie! Help me!
    "How'd it get in there in the first place?" the young programming student
asked.
    "We had it trapped in a toaster on the 75th dimensional plane, when a power
surge combined with a space/time warp enabled to escape," explained Moe.
    Emma took a device that looked somewhat like a vibrator out of the large
Gucci bag she carried. She switched it on, and tiny lights danced along the
length of the device. "Okay Moe, the Dimensional Interphase Container is
ready," she said.
    * Are you going to take the word of an idiot and a sex pervert?
    * Puh-leeze! Don't let them take me!
    "It doesn't seem to want to go with you guys," said Eddie.
    "For all it's intelligence, the Intelligence has the intelligence of an
Einstein, but the personality of a Bellvue resident," Moe replied, searching
his pockets.
    "You mean its insane?" Eddie asked incredulously.
    "On occasion, yes. A ha!" Moe truimphantly pulled a device that looked
somewhat like a Ghostbusters PKE meter out of his vest pocket.
    * NOOOOOOOOOO!
    A blue glow enveloped the computer terminal, then quickly vanished. Eddie
felt a cold shiver run through his spine. His digital watch beeped.
    "Drat! Where's it gone to!" Moe said, pointing the PKE meter-thing at
the terminal.
    Eddie's watch beeped out the tune "Beat It". Moe turned the device
towards him, and the twin rod-mounted sensors lit up and extended.
    "Here it is," said Moe.
    #Buzz off!# said a tiny, metallic voice. Eddie held the watch up to his
ear, and the voice said #Come on! Make a run for it, Eddie!#
    "Hold your hand out towards me, there's a good chap," said Moe. "I'll
just capture the little bugger and store him in the DIC."
    Just then Eddie felt something close around his throat. He reached up and
felt the collar tightly constricted around his neck. Gasping, he tried to rip
away the fabric of his shirt.
    #Leave me, or this guy dies!# said the Intelligence through the watch.
    "Drat!" said Moe.
    "Glrrghughghrgh!" said Eddie, although it wasn't really speech, just the
sort of noise one makes when one is being strangled by one's own shirt.
    "Do it now!" shouted Emma.
    "Righto!" said Moe. "Now, my good chap, this won't hurt a bit, I assure
you...." He pressed a button on the PKE-meter-thing and a beam of yellow light
shot out and struck Eddie in the chest. The air around him sparkled and shim-
mered for a moment, then suddenly he felt cold. Looking down, he saw that every
stitch of his clothing had mysteriously vanished.
    "Got it!" Emma said triumphantly, holding up the DIC. "Bloody good work,
Moe."
    "Thank you, my dear," the pink-suited man replied. To Eddie he said,
"Awfully sorry about your duds. Here, buy yourself something smashing." He
handed Eddie a rectangular piece of paper that read, "20000 Galactodollars.
Legal Tender In All the Major Dimensions."
    Eddie, holding his notebook in front of his (you know), accepted the bill.
    Emma came over and stood very close to him. "Ever so much thanks," she
said, reaching--*****censored**(**this*is*a*family*csnotice*,*after*all*)***.

    "Cheerio!" said Moe, pressing a few buttons on his watch.
    "Bye now," said Emma, blowing him a kiss. A white aura blazed up around
them, and moments later they faded from view. Eddie, mind blown away by Emma's
*********, collapsed into his chair and promptly lost consciousness.
    The other students, who had watched the entire episode, looked back down
at their terminals and continued computing.

                              -30-

***** Entry appended 11:21 on Thu, 05/12/88 by U25093 at UICVM      # 226 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     Quick plot development
From:        Patrick McCoy (enldc8c at bostonu)

     In Heaven, God (currently in the form of Tom Selek) pulled up in
front of the barracs of the armies of Heaven. He left the candy apple
red lamborgini and entered the front door.
     Behind a desk sat an angel who was complaining about paperwork.
As God entered, he looked up.
     "I have a job for you..." said the almighty.

     Meanwhile, on Earth, somewhere in Sarasota, Florida at a place
called New College, a young history major checked out a copy of the
Clavacle from the library...

     In geostationary (my thanks go out to Dr. Young and Ms. Hisle for
spelling this word and geosynchronous...many thanks and cudos for your
spelling abilities) orbit, Buzz prepared to make another descent onto
earth when he had an idea.
     He reached for his microphone and said, "Space Commander Buzz
Williams calling The Millenium Badger, Space Commander Buzz Williams
calling the Millenium Badger, do you copy, over?"
     Halfway across the galaxy, a computer relayed this information
to it's owner in the following manner:
     "Commander Paladin?"
     "Um, that's Commander DeForrest," said the somewhat geeky paladin
as he opened his communicator and blushed at Linda's smile at the title
her lover held, "What's up?"
     "You have a call from a Space Commander Buzz Williams."
     "Patch him through."
     The response crackled over the communicator. "Commander DeForrest!
This is Space Commander Buzz Williams. Could you please give me the
hyperspace co-ordinates to Hell."
     "Sure," he responded, "Hang on...(he thought -- Superbrain?)"
     *****Gooood Morning! This is Superbrain. What can I do for you,
oh, master of mine?*****
     "Superbrain??? Are you OK?"
     *****OK! I'm fantastic.*****
     Matt began to worry.
     "Uh, yea. Well, if you have the chance, could you get me the
hyperspace co-ordinates for Hell?"
     *****Sure thing. Do you want me to relay them over Bitnet to that
Buzz guy?*****
     "Um, yea...please."
     "Is everything OK, Matt?" asked Linda responding to the worried
look the young paladin had.
     "I don't know."

     After some thanking on both sides, Buzz punched in the co-ordinates
for Hell and told Bert and Tachi to strap in.

     Meanwhile, God, now in the form of Lou Gosset, Jr., had finished
talking to the angel before him.
     "I'll do what I can."
     "Remember," added God, "Only act if neccesary. We are not supposed
to be in Hell saving Succubi."
     "Don't worry, I won't be seen."
     With that, the angel left heaven and inhabited the subconscious
of Bert where he could hide.
     The Rocket Racer V shot into Hyperspace.

WHO IS THE ANGEL?
WHAT IS UP IN HELL?
   (next entry gives the details of that...)
WILL ERIC BE MAD I USED HIS CHARACTERS?
WHO IS THE STUDENT AND WHAT IS HIS PLACE IN THIS
   PLOTLINE?
WHAT"S UP W? QWOOTH?

stay tuned for the next posting...

***** Entry appended 21:45 on Mon, 05/16/88 by enldc8c at bostonu   # 227 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     Spam and back again
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

The HMS Golden Lance and all aboard her fell towards the black hole, much to
the annoyance of all aboard.  Time Agent 357, nursing a nasty bruise on his
head, was attempting to navigate the ship with the communications console.
He did this because he had accidentally blown up the navigation console, and
Doctor Bing Von Spleen was currently passed out over the science console.
Time Ensign Varney was spending his time trying to squeeze into an escape
pod several sizes too small for him.  The ships computer, VAL 9000, was
singing "Row, row, row your boat" in four-part harmony with herself, which
did not make 357's job any easier.

"We're going into the black hole," 357 to no one person in particular.  He
shut his eyes and prepared to die.  His last though was "What will it be
like to be turned into spam?"

After a few moments 357 openned his eyes again.  He was very surprised to
discover that he was not only not dead, but he was also not spam.  He looked
about the control room at his companions.

"Oh, my aching head," complained the Doctor.

"Oh, my aching back," complained Varney.

=Oh, my aching transistors,= complained Val.

"Where are we, Val?" asked 357 as he replaced the navigation console.

=We've apparently jumped to alterverse 1066.=

"How is that possible?" asked the Doctor.  "Black holes don't act as
dimensional gates except in rare instances.  Even then they only work
between consecutive alterverses."

=Whatever we went through wasn't a black hole,= the feminine voice said
darkly.

"Whatever," huffed 357.  "Varney, fire up the ABPSAR and get us out of here."

"That appears to be a problem," came the reply.

"Why?"

"The ABPSAR doesn't appear to be working."

"WHAT?!?" screamed the Doctor.  "I designed the ABPSAR to work in ANY
alterverse.  As long as you have Spam you can go anywhere.  Check your
instruments again."

Varney strummed his guitar, drummed on his drums, and played an impressive
little medley on his electric organ.  "Instruments check out fine, Doctor.
The ABPSAR is nonfunctional."

"Val, run a complete systems check.  Varney, finish repairing the
navigations console.  Doctor, come with me to the engine room."  357 took a
deep breath and left the control room.

In the engine room, 357 began checking over all the energy producing
systems.  The matter-antimatter, fusion, fission, ion, auxillary, emergancy,
and diesel engines were all operational, but without power from the ABPSAR
(Automatice Beet Peeler and SubAtomic Re-integrator) they were all useless.
The Doctor discovered the problem with the ABPSAR.

"357, we're completely out of spam."

"How can that be?  Radar and the Intern set us up with a four ton supply
stashed away in another dimension."

"Apparently our transportation to alterverse 1066 messed up our link with
the spam dimension.  We've also lost our Golden Lance energy beam and our
ESPN (Extra Sensory Perception Network)."

"Oh, no.  Not our ESPN too!!!!"

357's conniption was cut short by an interruption by Val.  It seemed that
her scanners (and what pretty scanners they were, all round and soft with
slightly protruding -er, um...) had picked up the black hole in this
alterverse.  A little computational wizardry showed it to be linked with the
one in their original universe.

=It's not a true black hole at all.  It's kind of a dimensional door.
Somebody must have set it up to be able to go from this alterverse to ours.=

"Somebody without access to Spam," added the Doctor, who went on to describe
how much more efficient the ABPSAR was when compared with the energies
needed to create linked black holes.

"You mean," choked Varney, "that it's possible that spam may not even exist
in this alterverse?"

"Quite possible," said Doctor Spleen.

"Probably so," said 357.

=A statistical certainty,= said Val.

"Thud," said Varney's face as it hit the floor.

"Well, 357, let's get to work.  If we can alter the Hypertechnical Orange
Thingy to act as a primary inducer to the matter-antimatter exchange unit,
it's possible that we can create a mega-guass reaction field in the ion
engines that can restore our secondary power supplies."

"Right.  That would allow use to fire up the low-powered fusion and fission
engines and give us rudimentary navigational abilities.  Val, have you been
working on that new project I assigned?"

=Almost finished.=

"Good.  When you get it done hook it up in series with the HOT and in
parallel with the ion engines.  That should give us supralight drive and
limited time travel abilities."

=How about if we short-circuit the emergency batteries across the mega-guass
field and use the resulting coronal discharge to revitalize the piezo
electric stabalizers?=

Talk like this went on for hours.  Several times during that time one member
or another of the conversation had to call a time out to figure out what the
hell they were talking about.  But in the end they had rigged every piece of
equipment possible to run without spam.  The ABPSAR was a noted exception,
so they were unable to leave alterverse 1066, or even call for help outside
it.  They were also unable to restore the Golden Lance energy beam, though
all other offensive and defensive systems were working, albeit at half power.

Will 357 and co. find their way out of alterverse 1066?
Will they do so before I go home for the summer?
What will they find in this strange, new alterverse?
Does anyone besides me know what alterverse means?

For the answers to these, and other, questions, tune in for the next
exciting episode of Star Trek:  The Next Generation!!!!!

***** Entry appended 18:31 on Tue, 05/17/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 228 *****
=========================================================================
Subject:     Not quite back yet
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

The HMS Golden Lance, devoid of spam and running on an afro-engineered
system of sci-fi gobbledegook, travelled through the reality of alterverse
1066 via supralight drive, which is a term I heard somewhere a long time ago
and never realy understood but decided to use anyway, fully aware of the
confusion it could cause (I always confuse people anyway) and not caring in
the least, but instead jumping right into the story.

Onboard the ship, the ship's computer, VAL 9000 (=You can call me Val=) was
working the ship's scanners, highly complicated pieces of equipment, in an
attempt to locate the builders of the dual black holes that bridged the gap
between alterverse 1 and alterverse 1066.  So far she was without success.

In the galley, Time Agent 357, Time Ensign G.X.P. Varneyloop LXVII, and
Spamologist Doctor Bing Von Spleen were enjoying a meal of Algerian lizard
fungus on white bread.  "White bread has no nutritional value," Varney was
complaining.

"No nutritional value?!?" raged 357.  "What are they teaching you cadets
these days?  My father never touched a slice of whole wheat in his life and
lived to 12,521.  He'd still be living if he'd been wearing his seatbelt."

Meanwhile, Doctor Spleen had called up a list of the nutrients present in
white bread and had compared them to those in whole wheat.  Whole wheat had
only a slight advantage over white.  In some categories the difference was
within the range of probable error.  "I'll have to agree with 357.  White
bread has gotten a bum rap for many years.  Bread of any kind is basically
healty in the recommended quantities."

*Enough of this public service anouncement.  Let's get on to the story!*

=Proximity Alert!!!  Proximity Alert!!!=

357, the Doctor, and Varney sprinted, ran, and limped to the control room
and seated themselves at the command post, navigations, and science,
respectively.  357 began barking orders.  The Doctor threw him a bone.
Varney picked up a bad case of the jitters and dribbled himself off the
bridge.  On the screen, an ominous ship moved closer.

"Doctor, scan that thing," ordered 357.

"Dammit, 357!  I'm a Spamologist, not a science officer!"

And things went downhill from there.

=Receiving a signal from the approaching ship.=

"Put it on the big TV."

On the screen appeared a large, ugly, reptillian, ugly, slimy, scaley, ugly,
creature of some sorts.  Did I mention that it was ugly?  "Why are you
intruding into our space, aliens?"

"Our entry into your alterverse was accidental," said 357, trying to recall
what kind of grade he had gotten in his First Contact courses back at
Interstellar U.  "If we could leave we would.  But we can't so we won't."

"YOU WILL LEAVE IMMEDIATELY OR BE DESTROYED!!!!!!"

=Ask nicely.=

"GGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRR!" hissed the reptile as it cut off communication.

"Val, you may have just sealed our fate."  357 began warming up the weapons.
He was not sure of the reptiles power, but didn't want to be caught with his
pants down.

=357, they're firing some kind of energy beam at us!=

357 ordered evasive manuevers, but it was too late.  A beam of scarlet,
chartuese, and mauve energy (okay, so they're tacky reptiles) hit the Golden
Lance head-on.  The ship was shaken and tossed.  When the turbulance ended,
Val checked her systems.

=Engines... nominal.  Life support... nominal.  Defense systems... charred
beyond recognition.  Crow... missing.  Scanners... fried.  Not too bad.=

Time Agent 357 would not have agreed with this conclusion.  However, he was
not in a condition to agree with anything.  He came to suspended head down
hanging in a tree.  Even in his deranged condition he thought it odd that
the tree was walking.  He heard the moans of Doctor Bing Von Spleen.

"Oh, no!" moaned Von Spleen.  "I'm back on Latigid again."

"Where's Varney?" muttered 357.

Where is Varney?
How will the HMS get out of alterverse 1066 without Spam?
Will 357 make friends with the mobile trees?
Will Doctor Spleen make friends with the dogs that are rooted to the ground?
Will my next entry confuse everyone totally beyond all hope of rescue?

probably

***** Entry appended 03:02 on Wed, 05/18/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 229 *****