From: owner-fegmaniax-digest@smoe.org (fegmaniax-digest) To: fegmaniax-digest@smoe.org Subject: fegmaniax-digest V8 #50 Reply-To: fegmaniax@smoe.org Sender: owner-fegmaniax-digest@smoe.org Errors-To: owner-fegmaniax-digest@smoe.org Precedence: bulk fegmaniax-digest Wednesday, February 10 1999 Volume 08 : Number 050 Today's Subjects: ----------------- Re: Fegtopia [Capuchin ] Re: Fegtopia, Math, and whatnot [mrrunion@palmnet.net] Re: fegmaniax-digest V8 #49 [edoxtato@ssax.com] Re: Killer Apps... ["JH3" ] Re: Fegtopia [Tom Clark ] Re: Economics and geekstuff. [Aaron Mandel ] tale the first: the multiverse of megafania [Bayard ] Re: Fegtopia [VIV LYON ] Re: frightening [Mark_Gloster@3com.com] Tom [VIV LYON ] Re: tale the first: the multiverse of megafania [Danielle ] Re: you gotta love these guys! (jeme and eddie?) [Capuchin ] Re: Fegtopia [Tom Clark ] Re: Fegtopia ["Bret" ] Re: Fegtopia [Capuchin ] Rock n Roll Toilet [Joel Mullins ] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 12:51:43 -0800 (PST) From: Capuchin Subject: Re: Fegtopia Vivien and Gnatalie premonisced: > Natalie will be Officer in Charge of Women`s Health and Tin Foil > Creatures. Vivien will be the lexicographer. Eddie can organize the > masses and Jeme can criticise him and keep him in line. Bayard can be > the frog-breeder. James can sit in a rocking chair and order us about > at his whim (it is, after all, his backyard). Dlang will come calling > every Sunday to regale us with nonsense while Eb roasts.... > everything, including some food for us to eat. The Quail shall be the > Post-Modern Librarian. Michael Wolfe will make sure everyone gets paid > an equitable wage and Joel will make sure they haven't been loafing. > Susan will be the Administrator of Positive and Negative > Reinforcement. Tracy will be the Minister of Toast. Woj can be the > benign dictator. Mark Gloster will be the bestower of happies, while > Dolph shall simply dolph. Randi (in satiny ballgown) we will crown > Miss Feggy, with a globe of frogs and holding a bouquet of squid. Mike > Runion shall be known as the Cone Curator. The Cone Museum will be > kept in a special part of James's backyard, surrounded by elaborate > security devices. Brewer Tom will supply us with our liquid > refreshment and firewood. Every so often, Martin Phillipps and Lucy > Lawless will come round for tea and Vegemite, and all will be well. > And once a year, one very special day, Robyn will come visit us, as > though ministering to a colony of lepers. (Dear lord! I laughed harder at this than anothing the list has produced since... well, since I laughed that hard at the list last.) This is pretty much what happens at feg gatherings. I don't see why it wouldn't work on a larger scale. But some people will point out that I don't see too much when it comes to social systems. But I also get to be the story teller around those Brewer Tom buildin', Eb roastin' fires. I still have three or four that eddie hasn't heard. And I'm a little confused. Brewer Tom. he's just this friend of some peole and distinct from out good friend Tom Clark. So where's Tom in the Grand Scheme? > I suppose we should let the rest of you decide what niche you'd like > to fill. Oh yeah, and... Mr. Dignan? Can we come over? Hey, yeah... can we? Three cheers for Gnat and Viv... but no more, lest they abuse their power and become overcompensated for their chores. Je. ________________________________________________________ J A Brelin Capuchin ________________________________________________________ ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 13:57:59 -0800 From: mrrunion@palmnet.net Subject: Re: Fegtopia, Math, and whatnot VIV and gnat said: > Brewer Tom will supply us with our liquid > refreshment and firewood. Henceforth, Brewer Tom shall be known as Ecolab Salesman Tom. While I can attest that his brewing and wood-gathering skills are still rapier sharp, the products of his efforts now have the faint taste of industrial soap and the smarmy smell of finally being "in the money!" > Math I guess I should shamedly admit to being one of those Physics/Math majors myself, though thankfully I remember very little. VERY little... My romp through the anals of higher math went something like: Calc1, Calc2, Vectors & Matrices, um...let's see..., Diff EQs, Partial Diff EQs, Modern Algebra, and... uh...hell, just forget it. I did. Ah yeah, a Prob & Stats and an Operations Research in grad school, which thankfully now is beginning to fade into nothing as well. > Regarding the ever broadening feg-cult My wife last night was learning and listening to Dylan's "Love Minus Zero/No Limit" over and over and over. Her comment? "It almost sounds like something Robyn Hitchcock would write, doesn't it?" I though silently to myself. Oh hell, I'm outa here... Runion __________________________________________ Sent using WebInbox. "Your email gateway." Check us out at http://www.webinbox.com ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 14:58:35 -0600 From: edoxtato@ssax.com Subject: Re: fegmaniax-digest V8 #49 >Unfortunately, he also got behind McCarthy, which was part of his downfall- >that, and the rise of television. A lotta folks did that. Not cos they wanted to, but cos they hadda eat. Lot like the DEA, really. - -Doc ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 15:14:19 -0600 From: "JH3" Subject: Re: Killer Apps... >>Anyway, I've been thinking about the Killer App for other technologies. >>Those that came before the term itself. TECHNOLOGY: KILLER APP Fire: Cooked food Printing Press: The Bible Gunpowder: Cannonballs/Bullets Modern Medicine: Cannonball/Bullet removal Voodoo: Zombies Photography: Porn Asphalt: Automobiles Dynamite & TNT: Canals Automobiles: Making out in the back seat Earth Movers: Canals & railway lines Gramophones: Rudy Vallee (who else? Oh yeah, Robyn...) Nuclear Fission: The Axis Chainsaws: Trees (and movie co-eds, if you're from Texas) Electric Guitars: Rock & Roll Videotape: Porn Synthesizers: Prog Rock (not much roll there, sorry) Modern Journalism: Princess Diana Maybe I could think of a few more... - -John "Okay, so I'm bored" Hedges ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 13:06:55 -0800 From: Tom Clark Subject: Re: Fegtopia On 2/10/99 12:51 PM, Capuchin wrote: >And I'm a little confused. Brewer Tom. he's just this friend of some >people and distinct from our good friend Tom Clark. So where's Tom in the >Grand Scheme? Yeah, where am I? Well, I guess i wouldn't mind admin'ing a network of multicolored iMacs. We do need to be well connected. Yeah, that's it. We could earn a living by designing web sites while we wait for the comet to come by. No, wait - scratch that... - -tc ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 16:17:00 -0500 (EST) From: Aaron Mandel Subject: Re: Economics and geekstuff. On Wed, 10 Feb 1999, Capuchin wrote: > I've more or less decided that The Bible was > the printing press' killer app. Indoor toilets were the killer app for > running water (fuck baths and handwashing, I'm sure the people of the day > said). Are there other examples? electricity - lighting VCRs - porn CD-ROM drives - either Myst or porn Game Boys - Tetris Playstation - Final Fantasy 7 (at least for the past year or so) was there one for record players? a ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 16:19:57 -0500 (EST) From: Bayard Subject: tale the first: the multiverse of megafania Friends, Fegs, countrymen, lend me your eyes. I have a story of glory and gory lore, a tale true and bad, and it badly needs telling. You have received transmissions before from my colleage, one Dr. Oswald Fane, Professor of Reknown. There is not much call for this field anymore these days and I fear he had entered into an uneasy retirement and may have died. He has left it to me to complete his dire warning and select a Champion who might vanquish the horror that threatens to destroy us all. I was made aware of him, as a wizard might, by a strange combination of magic and technology. Or was he made aware of me? I was never sure... in any case, this Champion, whose name I cannot reveal for fear that this manuscript be discovered by the Enemy, contacted me from a land far distant. "O great wizard," he said to me, "I yearn for an Adventure, for exotic lands and deeds of valor and great Reknown." At these words I startled and wondered if this stranger was in fact my friend Fane, for who else would seek Reknown in these dark days? "Why do you trouble me?" I replied, for I am something of a curmudgeon. "I know quite well that your land has its own wizard, who would be better put to the scut of providing such entertainments." "Great one, our wizard is but a charlatan, a fraud, a single-band wiener in comparison to your mastery of Space and Time," the man replied. "Mmmm.. I *do* have intimate knowledge of the curvature of Time, the spherical nature of Space..." I mused, accidentally speaking aloud. "Then you will help me!" the stranger cried. "...Or is it the other way around? Oh, bosh. Very well!" I shouted. "I will provide you with a quest. But it is not without peril. You will very likely perish. For you will be seeking the Greatest of All Evils, which can only be found in the Worst of Both Worlds, or should you go very far afield, the Worst of All Possible Worlds." "This I shall do, and gladly." "So be it. Your journey begins... now!" ________________________________________________________________________ L'HOTEL DE VERRE WAS, or rather is, a saloon and boarding house on the edge of the West, that is to say, the Frontier. Our Traveller entered the customary swinging doors and a passel of gunfighters whirled guiltily to face him, much like people checking their email at work. "Er.... Howdy, y'all," said the Traveller. "Howdy, Stranger," said the leader of the gang. "My name's Runyin, but they call me Mike the Viking - I don't know why." "I'm D--" "SHH!" hissed another cowpoke. "Your name you must not reveal, lest it be discovered by the Enemy!" "Oh. Yeah." "My name's Lem," said the cowpoke. "Lem Stanislaw. This here's Terry the Mark of Normalcy, Dignan Graves, and Tommy Clarkson and Shark Holster from the Apple Plumping Gang. The Viking you've met. Behind the bar is 'Topher Biggs, the barkeep." "Please to meet you," the Stranger replied. "I come from a distant land on a vital quest. In interstellar burst, I'm here to save the Universe. I seek the Greatest of All Evils." A wince shuddered through the gathered throng. "Greatest - that'd be the Shirriff, that would," offered Dignan. "Crooked as a shadow on a broken mirror, or my name's Eric Broome. Rode up into town with the Posse many a year ago, broke off from them and set to ruling this town with an iron claw. It's never been the same since!" "The Posse? Who is this Posse of which you speak?" The throng creaked back in their chairs. "Ah, the Posse," sighed Clarkson, whose chair seemed to have wheels and an entirely anachronistic jetpack on the back. "There was a wonderful bunch. The tales, the dirty jokes, the all-night revels! The Posse really knew how to party." "Indeed," agreed Terry of Normacy. "I've the marks to prove it." "If only the Posse would return, and rout that foul Shirriff," lamented Shark Holster, so named for his sharp teeth and glassy flesh. "The Posse is headed up by one Eddie West, also called Wild Eddie," offered barkeep Topher Biggs. "A true Re-Evolutionary, that one, though a bit over-sell-us." "Why don't you confront the Shiriff yourselves?" inquired the daring Stranger. The cowpoke looked shocked. "Never!" he gasped. "He has a terrible bodyguard and thug in Ebony Bill, progessional gunslinger, mudslinger and Insulter. Not to mention certain, ah, photos..." The cowpoke reddened. "The Striped One would make short work of us all," explained the one called the Viking. "There is none who can best him, save perhaps Wild Eddie, who is long gone. And, of course, the legendary Jay, who perhaps was never here at all." "The Jay could do it," agreed Dignan Graves. "The Jay and none other. Even Douglass the Cutlass, Thane of the Pirate nation of Pathetica, whose blunderbuss fires bullets of pure pathos, met with disaster when he tried to defeat Mr. Ebony. Seems Ebony Bill's emotions were just too strong..." "Pah," spat the overconfident Stranger. "I will challenge this Ebony gunfighter and defeat him handily." The saloon doors creaked open behind him and a striped shadow filled the dusty room. The Traveller felt a chill from within. "Will you now," came the gunslinger's mellow tones. "Many have tried, but none so far have done so -- not handily, nor leggily, nor with any other part of the body." The Stranger turned to face this nemesis. Ebony bill wore a black hat, and a black vest over a garish yellow shirt. His boots were studded with the bones of wild Newbies. He was indeed a frightening sight! "Now choose the manner of your demise," he offered kindly. "Will it be a contest of quick-draw, insults, or knowledge? How about insults? I'm quite good at those..." "Er... not really my thing, I'm afraid," the Stranger replied. "And I am unarmed... how about knowledge?" "Fine," answered Ebony Bill. "I'll be back at High Noon to defeat and kill you." He departed hastily, bones clinking on his fegskin boots. "Well, at least I have until then," the Traveller sighed. "It's 11:42," someone informed him. "The Ebony One is undefeated in all areas of erudition," said the Viking Runyin. "He ate (for breakfast) even our buxom School Marm, Danny El, who was a kind and most knowledgeable soul, despite bring cursed with a boy's name." "And she quite enjoyed it," quipped Tom Clarkson. Terror beginning to set in, the Traveller begged his newfound companions for help. "This world is completely new to me," he implored them. "How can I ever hope to answer Ebony Bill's challenge?" "As the Visitor, you will ask first, so we need only think of a question Ebony Bill cannot answer," answered Terry of the Mark. "Still a daunting task," added Dignan. "But we will help you," promised Shark Holster. For the minutes that remain'd they conferred feverishly, frantically. Finally Ebony Bill returned, wearing a smile and that accursed shirt. "Well? What feeble question have you for me?" he smirked. The Traveller stood and faced his adversary. "Draw a link between Carl Palmer and Robyn Hitchcock," he said, --Ah! Easy, began Ebony Bill, "...using only albums with three or less letters," finished the Stranger. The gunfighter was confounded. He wracked his mighty mind to find the answer, to know avail. He stared at his boots and muttered "I'll have to consult the datab..." He looked up, startled, as if he had not meant to speak. "You've won this round, Stranger. But mark me well: we shall meet in the next world. The Next of all possible worlds!" He turned on his spurs and left the Hotel de Verre. The Traveller was soundly congratulated all around and Mr. Biggs poured free drinks all the rest of that day. They made grand plans to storm the Shiriff's hideout, now that his guardian was out of the way, but alas, the strong drink made any more heroism, or even HeroSim, completely unlikely. "Cheers to the gunslingerslayer!" they cried, and raised a glass of seven grain ale. "Cheers to the Goddess, who provides us Boose!" they shouted, and raised a glass of Pumpernickel Porter. "And Cheers to Boose!" they laughed, and drained another pint of Egyptian Cream Stout. _________________________________________________________________________ epilogue I neglected to tell the hero that with each sleep would come a new world, until finally he reached the Worst of All Possible Worlds. Of course, after this drunken revel, he soon was in a fine state of unconscience. When he awoke, he was in the Next World, leaving the old one unsaved. But fear not, the prodigal Jay returned and liberated the town from its captors. "El Jay," as she was known south of the Pecos, employed a number of wiles and revealed to the world that Ebony Bill was Nice, and she also used this power called "The Nice" on the Evil Shirrif, and I'm told she is living with him in sin and great happiness to this very day.... NEXT WEEK: The Dark Enchantment of King Quail (and the answer to the Stranger's challenge!) ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 13:22:26 -0800 (PST) From: VIV LYON Subject: Re: Fegtopia It has been inquired: > So where's Tom in the > >Grand Scheme? > > Yeah, where am I? Wherever you want to be, son. How about The Soup Vendor? Or the Fiend before the Shrine? I'm thinking the shrine could be that aforementioned shed. You could just sit outside of it, bobbing and weaving, whistling and grinning. > Yeah, that's it. We could earn a living by designing web sites while we > wait for the comet to come by. No, wait - scratch that... Yeah, that right there. Oh, that's nice. Vivien _________________________________________________________ DO YOU YAHOO!? Get your free @yahoo.com address at http://mail.yahoo.com ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 13:43:45 -0800 From: Mark_Gloster@3com.com Subject: Re: frightening >You know I love you, Mark. Of course I know that. >Here's my last word on the subject for a month or so, I promise: >I just think it'd be a whole lot nicer if all of the pressure to DO >something about it was social and none of it legislative. I think it can >be done. I don't think it's a big leap to turn leisure time into >community improvement time. If there's time to sit on your ass, there's >time to help out. If there's money for twenty percent bonuses company >wide, make it ten grand per person and give everone at the bottom a raise >for actually doing the fucking work. But you can't legislate morality. >We've found that time and again. I think you stated that better than I did. It is annoying that "we the people" don't get off our butts and demand more social justice. Maybe everybody is just waiting for everything to get crappy, so they can make some sort of revolt. We as a culture are pretty pathetically apathetic. We need the Eddies to stand up and actually do a fucking thing while the rest of us lounge in the land of ennui. I don't agree with all the tenets of the eat the state stuff, but dammit, there are so few holding up a side what should be part of real discourse (in the USA, anyway.) >And I'm going to write to Michael privately (or just sit down at >McMenamin's and chat with him) and try to clear up some of the things I >said in passion. Don't overdo the cranberry juice coctails. You know how you get. You nearly got us thrown out of the place when you were playing Helicopter Assault from the ceiling fan. They had to get you down with a spritzer bottle and a broom. >And yeah, I replied to Joel's bit to clear up anyone's thoughts that I was >a cold, Randian sociopath. Jeme is actually warm Jemeian Jemeopath, but we love him. Everybody should meet Jeme. That crabby Cartmanish character that we might think of from his occasional cranky post is really one of the kindest and funniest people who walk this earth. He is also somebody with whom you can disagree, and of which you don't think less after doing so. Happies, - -Markg ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 13:45:57 -0800 (PST) From: VIV LYON Subject: Tom - ---VIV LYON wrote: > > It has been inquired: > > > So where's Tom in the > > >Grand Scheme? > > > > Yeah, where am I? > > Wherever you want to be, son. How about The Soup Vendor? Until she recanted. Yon GQ did gallantly but firmly remind me that The Soup Vendor is yet another Tom, one T. Jenkins. Will the Toms never end? Dear God, it's a deluge! It's raining Toms! Vivien Hallelujah _________________________________________________________ DO YOU YAHOO!? Get your free @yahoo.com address at http://mail.yahoo.com ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 13:48:03 -0800 (PST) From: Danielle Subject: Re: tale the first: the multiverse of megafania Bayard, that was *superb*! However: > "The Ebony One is undefeated in all areas of erudition," said the Viking > Runyin. "He ate (for breakfast) even our buxom School Marm, Danny El, who > was a kind and most knowledgeable soul, despite bring cursed with a boy's > name." I think Danny El would probably have won *several* private arguments with Ebony Bill, and didn't want to humiliate him in public. Just a hunch. ;) > "And she quite enjoyed it," quipped Tom Clarkson. Goodness gracious me - such innuendo! I'm still tossing up a marriage proposal from Dolph, you know! And there's this Robyn-liking Texan who seems to be hanging around rather a lot lately... In other areas, I join Gnat in the 'annoyed by Terry Pratchett' school. I'll read his stuff if it's lying around - it's light and mostly entertaining - but it's awfully smarmy, and Douglas Adams has him beat by *miles*. Are you guys *sure* you want to move to Dunedin? I mean, it's a lovely city, but it gets awfully cold there in the winter, and James would probably force you to watch cricket matches... Danielle, who'd absolutely *love* to be in Dunedin right now, actually - - can I volunteer as, um, Official Handbag Collector and Freelance Historian? Every commune needs one! NP Volume One of Have a Nice Decade, currently on that bizarre 'one toke over the line, sweet Jesus' song _________________________________________________________ DO YOU YAHOO!? Get your free @yahoo.com address at http://mail.yahoo.com ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 13:50:51 -0800 (PST) From: Capuchin Subject: Re: Fegtopia On Wed, 10 Feb 1999, Tom Clark wrote: > Well, I guess i wouldn't mind admin'ing a network of multicolored iMacs. > We do need to be well connected. Can Stewart and I run MkLinux? And can you rig the USB ports for us? Gads... a geek among geeks. J. ________________________________________________________ J A Brelin Capuchin ________________________________________________________ ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 13:53:41 -0800 (PST) From: Capuchin Subject: Re: you gotta love these guys! (jeme and eddie?) On Tue, 9 Feb 1999, Bayard wrote: > > Now now... while "site" for "cite" can be considered a typo (by my > > admittedly fucked-up definition), > What is your definition? Seems liek a Dvorakian slip! (Didn't I just say this to someone a day or two ago?) I was always told that a typo is a single misplaced/replaced letter or a single transposition of letters. More than one is a mispelling. And for the record, I quit using Dvorak at work a while back. It just bothered other people too much. > > > EXCELLENT newsletter, Counterpunch. > Allow me to give you some anagrams: > CIA PUNCH > A CHIN CUP > A CHIC PUN > CHINA CUP CHIA PUNC PAIN CUCH PANIC HUC CPU CHAIN AN HICCUP ACHIN' CUP ACUPINCH > and only one real good one for counterpunch: > CUTE PORCH NUN EUNUCH PORN COT Words words words. Je. ________________________________________________________ J A Brelin Capuchin ________________________________________________________ ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 14:00:25 -0800 (PST) From: fred is ted Subject: Re: purple & triangles (long & no RH) - ---amadain wrote: > >On the news this morning, I saw a story about how Jerry Fallwell is> >sending out a warning to parents that one of the Teletubbies, Tinky > >Winky, is gay. > Oh dear. First Bert & Ernie, now a Teletubby. Who next, Sifl & Ollie? > I mean really, what is WITH all these gay puppets anyway? We must put a> stop to all this homosexual >puppetry ASAP. Hey, if some guy had his hand up my ass for 12 hours a day, I'd raise a pink flag too! (I'll let my participle dangle in a post about gay puppets). Falwell's been in the zone lately He claimed last week that the anti-Christ was among us, in the form of a Jewish man. Nice. So what have we learned? Be on the lookout for Jewish puppeteers in purple. Good call! And if purple is a gay color, the that must mean that the Minnesota Vikings are positively raving. The Viqueens? Well, their old nickname was the Purple People Eaters, and we know they were eating other football players. Naw, can't be. There's nothing homoerotic about a bunch of muscular men huddling together and chasing each other in pursuit of leather. Ted, Woody, Ernie and Bert "Yeah, we get high on music" Kim Deal _________________________________________________________ DO YOU YAHOO!? Get your free @yahoo.com address at http://mail.yahoo.com ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 14:04:13 -0800 From: Tom Clark Subject: Re: Fegtopia On 2/10/99 1:50 PM, Capuchin wrote: >Can Stewart and I run MkLinux? And can you rig the USB ports for us? > Deal! >Gads... a geek among geeks. Welcome home, son... - -tc ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 16:18:49 -0600 From: "Bret" Subject: Re: Fegtopia >On 2/10/99 1:50 PM, Capuchin wrote: > >>Can Stewart and I run MkLinux? And can you rig the USB ports for us? >> > >Deal! > >>Gads... a geek among geeks. hehehe right on man........ I want green, anyone have any problems with that? (or maybe I should take the purple one.......nevermind......) why is the entire image so vividly clear?....scary thought...... - -b ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 14:21:10 -0800 (PST) From: Capuchin Subject: Re: Fegtopia On Wed, 10 Feb 1999, Tom Clark wrote: > >Can Stewart and I run MkLinux? And can you rig the USB ports for us? > Deal! That, of course, would be LinuxPPC. I am shamed. > >Gads... a geek among geeks. > Welcome home, son... It's good to BE home, pops. J. ________________________________________________________ J A Brelin Capuchin ________________________________________________________ ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 16:17:12 -0800 From: Joel Mullins Subject: Rock n Roll Toilet Hey, I thought I'd pass this stroy on to you guys. Five friends and I wrote it last spring. We did it tandem-style via email. One person would write a little bit, then mail it to the next person, who would add to it and mail to the next person, who would add to it and so on and so on. It was a crazy experiment with some pretty weird results. Anyway, have fun.... - --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ROCK 'N' ROLL TOILET written by six people who have all bent over one Reginald slammed another beer. And another. And as the hours collided with the stench of tomorrow, he found himself in a tailspin to oblivion. Reg, as his closer friends call him, lost his train of thought, but then forgot that he had lost it, and then forgot where he was and why he was screaming. "Hey," he yelled to the man on the stage. "Will you play 'Butterflies and Coconuts?" This song was one of Reg's favorites. "I can't," the man on the stage replied. "It's in the bathroom." A theater full of fans shouted at the drunken Reginald. "Sit down, you asshole." - "Shut the fuck up, jerk!" Reginald sulked and went back to his seat. The twisting curtain of hops and barley smothered his mind. Later, he again asked the man on the stage to play "Butterflies and Coconuts." This time the famous musician just laughed at the poor little Reginald. Oh, how it royally sucks to make a fool out of yourself in front of your idol and all his other followers. Reg whimpered in his sleep that evening. In the morning, he was no longer there. Some say he was flushed down a rock 'n' roll toilet. And others don't care. I. A cold wind slammed the screen door shut, waking Reginald and his band of merry men and women. A golden puppy, half husky and half crazed, chewed nervously on Reginald's foot - saliva dripping on his fluffy Superman sleeping bag. "Son of a biscuit!" Eukalalie stated. "Why does it take you folks so damn long to wake up?" A sigh of exhaustion rippled through the sleeping burrow. "Another beautiful day filled with drinking and sunshine," Jewels smiled with smoke wafting out of her nose in oh-so-sexy wisps. Eukalalie looked at the clover patches and jumped with merriment into the full greenness of leaves. Still, her heart felt discontent. She mused quietly in the open countryside of the stillness she felt in her heart. Would a drum start beating soon? "Awww shit, brother," Jewels mentioned. "Let's race to the haystack!" Eukalalie smiled and broke into a run, laughing like a child and giggling like a madman. All the while, the men slept inside like content babies suckling a full breast of milk. Except Janes - he was busy tending the cats. They were all like him and he like them. Janes loved his cats as birds love to fly. It was who he was, and how he acted. As he watched Jewels and Eukalalie sprint across the field, he could not help but wonder if there were a needle to be found. And if so, who did it belong to once? Janes snickered to himself as he thought how silly it may seem to see a strange person, the owner of the needle perhaps, out there looking for it someday. A cigarette was in order. "Where's my fucking lighter?" "I flushed it down the fucking toilet!" the faint voice of Reginald replied. "What? Shut the fuck up if you can't bring me Alaska!" Reginald stumbled out of the house, and next to Janes sat on a rock that Leonardo had schlepped there earlier in the week. "Leonardo's dog fucking chews on my feet when I'm asleep. My socks are all wet!" "We'll hang 'em up to dry later. Can I see your lighter?" "Only if I can bum a smoke. I smoked all of mine last night around the yardfire." "Here, have my last one." "It's your last? What are we going to do? Leonardo's out, too! We're out here in the middle of nowhere. I don't want to drive to town! The Texaco doesn't have my cigarettes, and the Diamond Shamrock is all out. God dammit!" "Chill dude! I'm sure somebody has some." And so Janes and Reginald fell silent and enjoyed each other's company and that of their skinny little white friends', too. Suddenly, a loud crashing sound pierced the soothing silence. The four of them turned in horror, only to see what none of them ever wanted to see. Twelve beers came crashing off the porch where they had been waiting patiently to be put into the cool fridge, and shattered on the hard earth. Eukalalie and Jewels were still by the haystack wondering about things - thoughtless of needles - when they heard the horrible crash. They turned to see the first startled looks of Janes and Reg fade into shock then pure fear. The cats had leapt back but were now curiously approaching the shattered glass and life blood of 12 beers whose lives had ended much too soon. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Shrieked Janes, "SAVE THE CATS!! SAVE THE CATS!!" Eukalalie and Jewels took off in a dead sprint in the direction of the accident. Jewels hoped beyond hope that Eukalalie would know a way to bandage up this mess, but as they drew closer, Jewels could see the full extent of the disaster and knew all hope was lost. Janes was still shrieking about the cats, waving his arms like a mad man trying to scare his precious felines away from the horrid scene. Jewels came to a crashing halt at the shattered bottles and fell to her knees. "No....no....not the Shiner...." She whimpered. Eukalalie was standing silently awe struck over the shards of glass. Reg was pacing around the whole scene murmuring, "No beer, no smokes, fuck this shit, what are we going to do? What are we going to do?" Then a noise came from inside - a puppy's bark. Out came Leonardo peeved by the racket his friends were making while he was trying to sleep. He observed the shrieking, pacing, whimpering, and awe of his companions. "What the FUCK are you all freaking out about?" shouted Leonardo. "We're screwed," said Reginald. "All the beer's gone and we're miles from the nearest store." "Who's gonna drive?" asked Eukalalie. "Not me," said Janes. "I always drive." "I'll do it," said Jewels, who was always trying to keep things together. "Why don't we all go," said Leonardo, "The store's probably not as far as you think, and besides, we need to stock up on a few other (cough, cough) necessities." So the heroes of our story jumped into Jewel's green and white striped, purple poke-a-dotted groovy van and took off down the road to fetch a pail of beer (I mean case). Janes and Eukalalie sat in the back and got high. "Why, oh why, do we ever get high 'cause we feel like birds that fly in the sky, or is it to bring relief when we sigh and cry over someone else's lie meant to try to keep us high 'till the day we die!?!" "Ditto," said Reg, "now pass me that there left-handed cigarette, so's I can also try and get high." The Groovy green and white striped purple poke-a-dotted van pulled off the road at a little store which had a sign that read, "Stop here for beer." "This must be the place," said Leonardo "that sign back there said..." "A hundred miles? Damn, we better buy a shit load of beer!" said Reg as he hopped out of the van and ran into the store. "Hope they got Shiner; all those cheap ass beers make me spray the bowl in the morning," said Leonardo. "Don't be so disgusting," said Jewels, "and besides, we may not have a choice." Our heroes confidently strutted into the Quickie Mart. When they entered the store, however, they walked right into the stench of sweat and sour milk. A large man sat behind the counter - Reg later said his name had to be Bubba-drinking a milk shake. A plastic jar labeled "Weight Gain 2200" sat behind him by the zigzags and prophylactics. Leonardo, always the smart ass, greeted him with, "Wassup, fat boy?" Jewels snickered. Reg went straight to the coolers to find his liquid lover, also known as Shiner Bock. "This shit is expensive," Leo whined. "You have to pay for quality," Reg replied. "Whatever, I'm gonna use the ol' five finger discount." Leo winked. "Don't get us busted," said Jules. "That fat boy could do some damage to your skinny ass." "That fat boy won't be able to catch my skinny ass," Leo shot back. Leo shoved two Miller High Life quarts under his shirt and began to walk nonchalantly towards the door. Bubba eyed the bulge in his stomach suspiciously and got off of his stool. "What's under your shirt, skinny ass?" Bubba asked. "Nothin' man," Leo said nervously. "Let me see." Bubba demanded. "Hell no!" exclaimed Leo as he bolted for the door. Bubba, in an unexpected burst of speed, got to the door before Leo. He grabbed Leo by his shirt collar and violently raised him a few inches off of the floor. Jewels swiftly grabbed her switchblade and ran towards Bubba and Leo. "You don't steal from me you mother fucker!" screamed Bubba. Jewels slid to the ground, grabbed Bubba's leg, and raked the sharp blade right across his kneecap. Bubba screamed as blood began to pour onto the floor. "Let's get out of here," Reg yelled. But it was too late. The local sheriff had just pulled up to the front of the store, probably to get some stale coffee. He immediately noticed the commotion inside and drew his pistol. Meanwhile, Eukalalie was still in the van looking for change to pay for smokes. "This fucking van eats all my shit!" Finally she found the quarter she needed stuck to the floorboard with a piece of pink bubble gum. Ignoring the germs and the bacteria, she snatched up the coin in delight and leapt out of the van chirping "WooHoo!" Before her feet even hit the ground she caught sight of the cop pulling his gun on her friends. Not entirely unlike the characters of her favorite Loony Tunes, she came to a complete stop in midair, spun one hundred eighty degrees around, and accelerated back into the van. She ducked behind the steering wheel peering over the dash board enabling her to observe unnoticed. Jewels knocked Bubba to the floor and put the knife at his throat as she screamed, "Don't come any closer, pig, or this fat fuck's gonna get it!" Cletus, as the local sheriff was named, then began to back away from the front door. "What are we gonna do?" asked Janes. "I'm scared of prison." "Don't worry Janes," said Leo. "We're not going to any fucking prison." Leo walked over to Bubba, pinned by Jewels. "Hey Bubba, is there a back way out of this place?" "There's a back door in the stock room," replied the frightened man, who had just soiled himself. "All right guys," said Leo. "I'm gonna get us out of this mess. Everyone head to the stock room." Everyone did as they were told and walked towards the back exit that was hidden by boxes of beer and chips. Eukalalie was paralyzed with fear for her friends. She took the advice of Graham Chapman and ran away, ran away. She justified her action by stating to herself that she would be of no use to her friends by keeping them company in jail, but rather to be at the house preparing to bail her friends out of this mess. She just drove away. "Jewels, hold onto that fat bastard for just a few more minutes." But before anyone knew what had happened, they were all surrounded by cops. There must have been 10 or 12 of them, all with their guns pointed straight at these foolish kids who just wanted a beer. They dragged Jewels off the fat bastard and proceeded to handcuff the four delinquents. One of the cops even grabbed Jewel's right tit. He received a hefty "thank you" from the back of Jewels' hand! One by one, everyone was put into patrol cars and read their rights. The day was beginning to fade now and it looked as if our friends would be spending the night in jail - maybe even longer. "Fuck!" said Reg. "I never did get any Shiner Bock!" II. There was something unusually comforting about a cold hard slab of cement but not the smell of excrement on cement. That was the first whiff that Reginald got. "Holy Shit," Reginald stated, looking around the fine gray interior of the well-built solid wall, topped with a black, iron slammer. "This is not exactly Graceland." "No shit Sherlock," Janes muttered from the corner of the cell. "I told you I didn't want to go to prison, but noooooo, we had to try to steal some fucking beer!" "Hey," Reginald smiled with a twinkle in his eyes, "at least we're roommates again!" "Reg, this is NOT the place I would like to have you as a roommate, dig it?" A rattling noise came from across the hall. It was Leonardo, the thieving madman who tried to shirk the responsibility of paying for some good ol' honest brew! "I wanna make a phone call! Don't I get a phone call? I wanna make a fuckin' phone call! Geeez! What the hell do you have to do to get a phone call around here?" "I don't know man," Jewel's voice answered from the side cell. "I just wanna have a cigarette. If I don't have a smoke in about 5 minutes, I'm going to go from blonde to bitch and heaven help the justice system for pissing me off!" They were all quiet. The nicotine craving ran through their bodies like the need for a urinal after 5 beers and the realization of a long, long line for the bathroom. They all started fidgeting. Reginald started pacing back and forth, rubbing his bald head, recently shaved by Janes. Janes started tapping his fingers and mumbling mathematical equations while rocking back and forth. Jewels started tapping her foot impatiently while flipping her hair back and forth. All the while, Leonardo picked his ears, relishing the feelings of warmth and fuzziness that the sensations brought to his stomach. "All right," a gruff voice called from the dark interior. It was Cletus, the brave heroic policeman who foiled the young hooligans' plans for brew domination in the tiny convenient store. "Who's the ding-dong that's cryin' for a phone call?" "HE IS!" Everyone cried, pointing to Leonardo. "Hey!" Leonardo started, feeling a bit awkward for being put on the spot. "I...I...uh...need to make a phone call." Cletus opened Leonardo's slammer. He sized up Leonardo's tall, lanky frame, dark curls, and strong brown eyes. He was looking for a bitch. Leonardo knew it. "Uh uh," he stated, his fists balled up ready for a fight. "I ain't gonna be anybody's bitch today unless I make that phone call, get a couple of cigarettes for my friends here, and get a big-ass dooby!" Cletus smiled, rubbing his belly in anticipation. He, too, liked to get high. "Well, get on the bus boy! Today's your lucky day! We just seized a shipment from some punk on the freeway. Can you believe the bastard had a pound of Northern Lights and tried to claim it as Jasmine Tea? Did he think I was a moron?" Everyone looked at each other and shrugged. Leonardo followed the officer to the pay phone where he dialed the only number he knew. "Hello?" Eukalalie answered. She was beginning to wonder what happened to her trusty friends whose solid reputations shone like untarnished silver in an afternoon sunshine. "Eukalalie, we're in deep shit. How's Max?" "What kind of deep shit? Did it have something to do with that cop and his gun?" "We're sittin' in the slammer. How's Max?" "What happened? Where are you?" "We got arrested for stealing. Now please tell me how my dog is doing." "This just isn't your day. After I got back, I took the dog for a walk over by the river. I thought that he might like to run around without the leash. But running isn't what he wanted to do. He wanted to swim in the river. Before I knew what happened, Max jumped into the river. He was swept away." (A long pause.) "Is ... is he dead?" "I don't know. I couldn't find him." Meanwhile, in the holding cell, Janes proudly announced, "You know, I'm gonna quit." "Quit jerking off?" said Reg. "Never. I'm going to quit smoking. I don't crave them unless they are around. And I don't see any cig's around here!" "Why stop now?" asked Jewels. No reply. "Hey! I asked you a question. Why won't you answer me?" "I'm pissed at you. It's all your fault that we're in this mess. If we weren't the heroes of some stupid adventure, I could be sitting at home choking my chicken, I mean baking one." "Don't blame me; blame Leo." "That bastard couldn't even steal expensive beer." "Yeah, there's one consolation. After Leo finishes his phone call, I think the guard is planning on getting both of them high, and then fucking him up the asshole so hard that cum spews out his nose," snickered Reg. "That's a mean thing to say," said the guard laughing. He stepped up to the cell and pointed at Reg. "You're next, and I'm gonna make you squeal like a pig. Ha ha ha." Reg's jaw dropped to the floor. "What kind of fucking sick hick hillbilly fagot jail is this?" he mumbled as the guard started heading off to see Leo. A few minutes later a gun shot echoed off the walls of the jail cell. Then Leo came running and screaming. "Mother fucker tried the old cryin' game, but homie don't play that. Ha! I got the keys. We's bustin' outta here!" "What's going on?" asked Jewels. "Let's go find my dog!" "... and get cigarettes." They all stepped out of the cell grateful for the freedom. Heading out of the building, Reg smelled something sweet and familiar - nicotine. He looked down at dead officer Cletus' desk to find a treasure, a pack of smokes. Reg squealed in delight as he picked up the pack and opened it only to find a single cigarette there. Everyone turned to look at him, and he knew by the hungry look in everyone's eyes that the only way to get out of there alive would be to share the smoke. He picked up the box of matches lying there and lit up and inhaled the little piece of heaven. Before he shook out the match he noticed the paperwork on the desk with their names on it. "Well, they won't be needing this." Reg said as he dropped the match on the paperwork and handed the cigarette off to Jewels. The papers lit up like a Friday night bonfire. "Are you fucking insane!" screamed Leo. "What is it with you and burning shit?" Reg just smiled and watched the flames stretch across the desk, and reach for the ceiling. With that, Leo rushed to the backroom where the confiscated weed and the remains of Cletus were. He came running back out with his arms full of dope. "Now, let's go find my dog." He gasped over the smoke building up in the room. They ran out of the small burning building. "Shit! I don't want to go BACK to jail!" wailed Janes. Jewels handed him the cigarette just as the groovy green and white stripped purple poke-a-dotted van screeched off of the highway and into the parking lot. Leo had redeemed himself as he explained that he had called Eukalalie after killing Cletus. They all hopped in the van and hauled ass out of there as quick as the green and white striped purple poke-a-dotted van would go. "What the hell happened back there?" asked Eukalalie. "They let you go? You didn't say on the phone. You just said to get here fast, so I did." "Shit no" replied Reg, "But we better move it 'cause the ol' cop shop's gonna be frying bacon." "Literally." said Jewels. "You're one crazy mother fucker, Reginald!" "Is anyone following us?" shouted Leo desperately. "I don't think so," said Janes, "but we need to get off the highway A.S.A.P.!!!" The fugitives finally reached the turnoff that lead down to the river. After driving down the twisted dirt road, they parked by the bank and covered the van with bushes and brush. "Where did you last see Max?" asked Leonardo, staring frantically at the rushing water. "He jumped in right over there, but he must be farther down river by now." Eukalalie replied. "Well, duh." Janes mumbled. "Lets go," said Jewels, and the group headed downstream calling out for Max as they went. "That was just too fucking much for me back there," said Janes. "We're all going to the fucking electric chair!" "Only if they catch us!!" said Reg as he cooly lit up a smoke. "And besides, no one saw us, and all the evidence has been destroyed!!" "You just think no one saw us!" yelled Janes. "For all you know, there might've been security surveillance cameras up on the roof, you know, to watch the cars and stuff." "Not in that town," said Jewels as she ducked beneath a low hanging branch. "That was a back-assward po-dunk town if I ever seen one!" After searching over two hours for the dog, the group decided to stop and rest. "Whatcha think?" asked Reg. "Shit man, I don't know," Leo frowned. "I hadn't taught him how to swim yet." Just then Eukalalie heard something. "What's that?" she asked. "Sounds like thunder, no....I think it's....drums," said Janes as he headed into the forest toward the sound. As the adventurers moved deeper into the forest, the noise grew louder. They had just rounded a large thicket when "AHHHH!!!", a naked man bolted from the underbrush and hurdled down the trail screaming. "What the fuck... did you see that!?!" puzzled Jewels. "Sure did, but who do you think it was?" asked Janes. "I don't know," said Reg, "but he sure had a white ass to be some long lost native!!" "Let's follow him," said Leo. "There's some funny shit goin' on." The sound of the drums grew almost trance-like and deafening. Everyone walked slowly with growing anticipation, to see the source of the beating. Then they saw. Set in a large clearing in the woods were a bunch of people sitting in a circle, beating drums, and chanting indecipherable sounds of nonsense. Everyone in the circle looked really fucked up. Full grown men and women were dancing within the circle mostly naked and looking pretty filthy. To the left, near a small group of trees, burned a large fire surrounded by people cooking and what appeared to be a keg. A dog barked. "Max!" Shouted Leo as the dog leapt out of a topless young woman's arms and raced to meet his best friend and master. "Keg!" shouted Reg as he raced across the clearing toward the big silver barrel, only to trip and bust his ass on the ground. The drumming stopped. Everyone in the circle turned to look at the heros of our tale. One extra big, burly, and very much naked monster of a man stood up and spoke: "Ooga Booga! Ooga Booga!" (To be continued)...... ------------------------------ End of fegmaniax-digest V8 #50 ******************************