> America was in mourning. *Everyone* loved Sugien - probably even the dirty
> little coward who shot the bullet up his arse, from the basement of the
> Chillicothe Bullshit Depository!

> I was in the States to bring the would-be assassin to justice. And
> although I'd have taken the job anyway - the man saved my life *many*
> times during the Second World War in France, North Africa and the Pacific,
> and I'd have fought tooth and nail just to be in the investigative loop -
> the fact was, that twenty-four hours earlier at London Heathrow, I'd
> boarded
> a 747 bound for the USA at the behest of *none other than the Prime
> Minister
> of England!*

> Well, it was no secret the PM had been elected, back in '97, thanks mainly
> to Sugien's eloquent speechwriting - I wasn't really surprised by his
> interest! To my mind the only puzzle was the silence from Buck House; it
> would only be a mater of time before the conspiracy theorists were
> implicating the Royal Family. The similarites between Sugien and Diana
> were
> unsettling, to say the least, though Diana never got to be a screaming old
> queen.

> Unfortunately the Rt. Hon. Tony Blair MP's involvement meant my impending
> arrival had been leaked to the American press, and the story had been
> running Stateside for several days by the time I deplaned at LAX. As a
> consequence, at Customs I was handed a loaded semi-automatic pistol, a bag
> of marijuana, and a tearful invitation to "stay just as long as you damn
> well want, y'hear!"

> I would have gagged on the saccharine sentimentality, but Sugien -
> America's
> Sweetheart - was comatose in a hospital bed in a barn in Ohio, with the IQ
> of a Brussel Sprout! For loyal Americans it was almost beyond enduring!

> So I absently accepted - without looking - what I took to be the requisite
> evidential release documentation. By the time I realised it was actually
> an
> A4 sheet of LSD blotters, I'd absorbed enough acid through a cut on my
> finger from the in-flight magazine, to find myself, twenty minutes later,
> cart-wheeling down an imaginary moving-walkway, out into the
> chromium-yellow
> LA afternoon and into the Hertz office, where, as I was informed by the
> maudlin staff, my Civic had been upgraded to a Viper...

> ...Well, while I was not in the habit of driving under the influence, I
> was,
> equally, not about to spend the rest of the day in the Los Angeles
> Interplanetary parking lot waiting to come down. I took the pistol from my
> pocket and put it in the glove, removed the bag of Mary Jane. Though the
> letters kept hiding behind one another, I was able to make out the writing
> on the evidence bag. It was, apparently, two ounces of "Blueberry."

> It put me in mind of a muffin, but there was plenty of time for female
> company between now and Chillicothe. So I put the pot with the gat, fired
> up
> the massive Dodge power plant and kangaroo-hopped out onto the freeway
> where
> swooping Police officers in giant black-and-white bumble bees instructed
> drivers to clear the Southbound lanes, so I could head North towards Santa
> Monica and, ultimately, pick up the old Route 666.

> Sure, I could have flown to, maybe Akron, but it wasn't like Sugien was
> going anywhere. Now, as I drove, my mind reeled back in time to when I
> first
> met him, a Prince among men for whom the epithet 'My Old China' was never
> more apt, the kind of a guy you just wanted to set alight to show you were
> there for!

> It was late-Summer, 1940, and though I was - to paraphrase Sugien - a
> disgusted look in my father's eye when he was looking to have relations
> with
> my mother, the situation was pretty desperate and the age of Conscription
> had been lowered to Pre-Foetal. Being, frankly, invisible, I joined the
> Special Operations Executive and was posted to France (in an envelope).

> Meanwhile, Sugien had explained the concept of the computer to Tommy
> Flowers, broke the German Naval Enigma code (without mechanical aid) then
> fingered his protégé Alan Turing. Now he was being transferred out of
> Bletchley Park under a veil of secrecy on Winston Churchill's shoulders,
> through an honour guard of British parliamentarians cheering and throwing
> their top hats into the air: "Hoorah...Hoorah for Sugien!" went the
> refrain.
> Next stop was Paris, to set up a Resistance cell, operating out of the
> cellar of the Café Wa La! about four metres below Pont Neuf, by the Iles
> de
> la Cité where, co-incidentally, I stopped one morning for coffee.

> The sound of the offside wing of the Viper scraping along the Armco
> brought
> me out of my reverie, so I stopped and got out to take a whiz. The
> blue-rinser at the nearby picnic table started to remonstrate with me, but
> an unmarked sedan pulled up and bundled her away and, constant racket
> aside,
> silence reigned once again. I wondered if she'd been one of the detractors
> Sugien had once told me about? That was when he'd won me over with his
> self-effacing, down-home philosophy. A stranger, he said with the
> endearing
> leer that was to inspire Keith Moon's Uncle Ernie in "Tommy", is just a
> detractor I haven't met yet!

> Next week: Sugien stymies Field Marshall Rommel, meets The Three Sooges,
> and
> writes his first Visual Basic virus!

>> America was in mourning. *Everyone* loved Sugien - probably even the
>> dirty little coward who shot the bullet up his arse, from the
>> basement of the Chillicothe Bullshit Depository!

>> I was in the States to bring the would-be assassin to justice. And
>> although I'd have taken the job anyway - the man saved my life *many*
>> times during the Second World War in France, North Africa and the
>> Pacific, and I'd have fought tooth and nail just to be in the
>> investigative loop - the fact was, that twenty-four hours earlier at
>> London Heathrow, I'd boarded
>> a 747 bound for the USA at the behest of *none other than the Prime
>> Minister
>> of England!*

>> Well, it was no secret the PM had been elected, back in '97, thanks
>> mainly to Sugien's eloquent speechwriting - I wasn't really
>> surprised by his interest! To my mind the only puzzle was the
>> silence from Buck House; it would only be a mater of time before the
>> conspiracy theorists were implicating the Royal Family. The
>> similarites between Sugien and Diana were
>> unsettling, to say the least, though Diana never got to be a
>> screaming old queen.

>> Unfortunately the Rt. Hon. Tony Blair MP's involvement meant my
>> impending arrival had been leaked to the American press, and the
>> story had been running Stateside for several days by the time I
>> deplaned at LAX. As a consequence, at Customs I was handed a loaded
>> semi-automatic pistol, a bag of marijuana, and a tearful invitation
>> to "stay just as long as you damn well want, y'hear!"

>> I would have gagged on the saccharine sentimentality, but Sugien -
>> America's
>> Sweetheart - was comatose in a hospital bed in a barn in Ohio, with
>> the IQ of a Brussel Sprout! For loyal Americans it was almost beyond
>> enduring! So I absently accepted - without looking - what I took to be
>> the
>> requisite evidential release documentation. By the time I realised
>> it was actually an
>> A4 sheet of LSD blotters, I'd absorbed enough acid through a cut on
>> my finger from the in-flight magazine, to find myself, twenty
>> minutes later, cart-wheeling down an imaginary moving-walkway, out
>> into the chromium-yellow
>> LA afternoon and into the Hertz office, where, as I was informed by
>> the maudlin staff, my Civic had been upgraded to a Viper...

>> ...Well, while I was not in the habit of driving under the
>> influence, I was,
>> equally, not about to spend the rest of the day in the Los Angeles
>> Interplanetary parking lot waiting to come down. I took the pistol
>> from my pocket and put it in the glove, removed the bag of Mary
>> Jane. Though the letters kept hiding behind one another, I was able
>> to make out the writing on the evidence bag. It was, apparently, two
>> ounces of "Blueberry." It put me in mind of a muffin, but there was
>> plenty of time for
>> female company between now and Chillicothe. So I put the pot with
>> the gat, fired up
>> the massive Dodge power plant and kangaroo-hopped out onto the
>> freeway where
>> swooping Police officers in giant black-and-white bumble bees
>> instructed drivers to clear the Southbound lanes, so I could head
>> North towards Santa Monica and, ultimately, pick up the old Route
>> 666. Sure, I could have flown to, maybe Akron, but it wasn't like Sugien
>> was going anywhere. Now, as I drove, my mind reeled back in time to
>> when I first
>> met him, a Prince among men for whom the epithet 'My Old China' was
>> never more apt, the kind of a guy you just wanted to set alight to
>> show you were there for!

>> It was late-Summer, 1940, and though I was - to paraphrase Sugien - a
>> disgusted look in my father's eye when he was looking to have
>> relations with
>> my mother, the situation was pretty desperate and the age of
>> Conscription had been lowered to Pre-Foetal. Being, frankly,
>> invisible, I joined the Special Operations Executive and was posted
>> to France (in an envelope). Meanwhile, Sugien had explained the concept
>> of the computer to Tommy
>> Flowers, broke the German Naval Enigma code (without mechanical aid)
>> then fingered his protégé Alan Turing. Now he was being transferred
>> out of Bletchley Park under a veil of secrecy on Winston Churchill's
>> shoulders, through an honour guard of British parliamentarians
>> cheering and throwing their top hats into the air: "Hoorah...Hoorah
>> for Sugien!" went the refrain.
>> Next stop was Paris, to set up a Resistance cell, operating out of
>> the cellar of the Café Wa La! about four metres below Pont Neuf, by
>> the Iles de
>> la Cité where, co-incidentally, I stopped one morning for coffee.

>> The sound of the offside wing of the Viper scraping along the Armco
>> brought
>> me out of my reverie, so I stopped and got out to take a whiz. The
>> blue-rinser at the nearby picnic table started to remonstrate with
>> me, but an unmarked sedan pulled up and bundled her away and,
>> constant racket aside,
>> silence reigned once again. I wondered if she'd been one of the
>> detractors Sugien had once told me about? That was when he'd won me
>> over with his self-effacing, down-home philosophy. A stranger, he
>> said with the endearing
>> leer that was to inspire Keith Moon's Uncle Ernie in "Tommy", is
>> just a detractor I haven't met yet!

>> Next week: Sugien stymies Field Marshall Rommel, meets The Three
>> Sooges, and
>> writes his first Visual Basic virus!

>     Thank you *very* much for proving my point of how I can and do
> *make* people pay homage to me.  I had thought I would have had more
> trouble getting you to pay homage what with all your talk of "taking
> the piss out of me" ; but no you were a pantywaist and quite easy to
> make to paying homage in the form of  what looks to be bits and
>     pieces of  *stolen* prose. If I had the time and inclination I
> could probably find the several books you stole word for word your little
> story about and to me.  I
> would but you are not worthy or worth it.  Your next task will be for
> you to create a web page like what I have made the twit poof make
> that way you homage to me will reach a much wider audience.
>     You have made my day, shoot you have made my week and maybe my
> month, expressly after all your "do you want me to take the piss out
> of you" talk. I can't stand it I am laughing *AT* you so much.  I
> know my victory will even be sweeter after all the others here jump
> in and say what a good story you have written about me, and depending
> on how many of them do so I may just take the time and trouble to
> look up your pilfered prose.  Then again maybe it isn't pilfered;
> because after all you know that I won't stand for one of my puppets
> to write something with my nic in it using anything pilfered; because
> I would not want those here to say that I had a hand in writing it. They
> may just try and say that if you used pilfered prose. I
> would have liked however for it to have been a better story; because it
> falls off in the middle and looses the readers attention.  Shoot
> if it wasn't for it being something paying homage to me, I probably
> would not have read it to the end; because of it lacking a sort of
> how should I say it? oh it's is almost pitifully in it's attempt at
> being biting and it's innuendo lacks luster; but all in all, I would
> give it a C-.  I will allow you to continue being one of my puppets
> and paying homage to me; but as I said earlier, your next task is to
> create a web page in my honor.  Make it funny, and try and get the
> readers to laugh at Sugien as much as what you meager writing talents
> allow.  Maybe I will get the twit poof seeing as how you both live in
> the same country to help you with the web page.  Even though the twit
> poof is not a very good web page author he can give you some
>      pointers.  Shoot maybe he can even get you some free web page
> space. So in conclusion, almost well done my true and faithful
> servant and  puppet, but you are here by commanded to do much better in
> your next
> attempt.

> btw, I didn't consider myself as an international puppet master what
> with only one puppet creating web pages and prose in homage to me;
> but now with at least 2 puppets in another country I think I will
> consider myself an international puppet master.

>>> America was in mourning. *Everyone* loved Sugien - probably even the
>>> dirty little coward who shot the bullet up his arse, from the
>>> basement of the Chillicothe Bullshit Depository!

>>> I was in the States to bring the would-be assassin to justice. And
>>> although I'd have taken the job anyway - the man saved my life *many*
>>> times during the Second World War in France, North Africa and the
>>> Pacific, and I'd have fought tooth and nail just to be in the
>>> investigative loop - the fact was, that twenty-four hours earlier at
>>> London Heathrow, I'd boarded
>>> a 747 bound for the USA at the behest of *none other than the Prime
>>> Minister
>>> of England!*

>>> Well, it was no secret the PM had been elected, back in '97, thanks
>>> mainly to Sugien's eloquent speechwriting - I wasn't really
>>> surprised by his interest! To my mind the only puzzle was the
>>> silence from Buck House; it would only be a mater of time before the
>>> conspiracy theorists were implicating the Royal Family. The
>>> similarites between Sugien and Diana were
>>> unsettling, to say the least, though Diana never got to be a
>>> screaming old queen.

>>> Unfortunately the Rt. Hon. Tony Blair MP's involvement meant my
>>> impending arrival had been leaked to the American press, and the
>>> story had been running Stateside for several days by the time I
>>> deplaned at LAX. As a consequence, at Customs I was handed a loaded
>>> semi-automatic pistol, a bag of marijuana, and a tearful invitation
>>> to "stay just as long as you damn well want, y'hear!"

>>> I would have gagged on the saccharine sentimentality, but Sugien -
>>> America's
>>> Sweetheart - was comatose in a hospital bed in a barn in Ohio, with
>>> the IQ of a Brussel Sprout! For loyal Americans it was almost beyond
>>> enduring! So I absently accepted - without looking - what I took to be
>>> the
>>> requisite evidential release documentation. By the time I realised
>>> it was actually an
>>> A4 sheet of LSD blotters, I'd absorbed enough acid through a cut on
>>> my finger from the in-flight magazine, to find myself, twenty
>>> minutes later, cart-wheeling down an imaginary moving-walkway, out
>>> into the chromium-yellow
>>> LA afternoon and into the Hertz office, where, as I was informed by
>>> the maudlin staff, my Civic had been upgraded to a Viper...

>>> ...Well, while I was not in the habit of driving under the
>>> influence, I was,
>>> equally, not about to spend the rest of the day in the Los Angeles
>>> Interplanetary parking lot waiting to come down. I took the pistol
>>> from my pocket and put it in the glove, removed the bag of Mary
>>> Jane. Though the letters kept hiding behind one another, I was able
>>> to make out the writing on the evidence bag. It was, apparently, two
>>> ounces of "Blueberry." It put me in mind of a muffin, but there was
>>> plenty of time for
>>> female company between now and Chillicothe. So I put the pot with
>>> the gat, fired up
>>> the massive Dodge power plant and kangaroo-hopped out onto the
>>> freeway where
>>> swooping Police officers in giant black-and-white bumble bees
>>> instructed drivers to clear the Southbound lanes, so I could head
>>> North towards Santa Monica and, ultimately, pick up the old Route
>>> 666. Sure, I could have flown to, maybe Akron, but it wasn't like Sugien
>>> was going anywhere. Now, as I drove, my mind reeled back in time to
>>> when I first
>>> met him, a Prince among men for whom the epithet 'My Old China' was
>>> never more apt, the kind of a guy you just wanted to set alight to
>>> show you were there for!

>>> It was late-Summer, 1940, and though I was - to paraphrase Sugien - a
>>> disgusted look in my father's eye when he was looking to have
>>> relations with
>>> my mother, the situation was pretty desperate and the age of
>>> Conscription had been lowered to Pre-Foetal. Being, frankly,
>>> invisible, I joined the Special Operations Executive and was posted
>>> to France (in an envelope). Meanwhile, Sugien had explained the concept
>>> of the computer to Tommy
>>> Flowers, broke the German Naval Enigma code (without mechanical aid)
>>> then fingered his protégé Alan Turing. Now he was being transferred
>>> out of Bletchley Park under a veil of secrecy on Winston Churchill's
>>> shoulders, through an honour guard of British parliamentarians
>>> cheering and throwing their top hats into the air: "Hoorah...Hoorah
>>> for Sugien!" went the refrain.
>>> Next stop was Paris, to set up a Resistance cell, operating out of
>>> the cellar of the Café Wa La! about four metres below Pont Neuf, by
>>> the Iles de
>>> la Cité where, co-incidentally, I stopped one morning for coffee.

>>> The sound of the offside wing of the Viper scraping along the Armco
>>> brought
>>> me out of my reverie, so I stopped and got out to take a whiz. The
>>> blue-rinser at the nearby picnic table started to remonstrate with
>>> me, but an unmarked sedan pulled up and bundled her away and,
>>> constant racket aside,
>>> silence reigned once again. I wondered if she'd been one of the
>>> detractors Sugien had once told me about? That was when he'd won me
>>> over with his self-effacing, down-home philosophy. A stranger, he
>>> said with the endearing
>>> leer that was to inspire Keith Moon's Uncle Ernie in "Tommy", is
>>> just a detractor I haven't met yet!

>>> Next week: Sugien stymies Field Marshall Rommel, meets The Three
>>> Sooges, and
>>> writes his first Visual Basic virus!

>>     Thank you *very* much for proving my point of how I can and do
>> *make* people pay homage to me.  I had thought I would have had more
>> trouble getting you to pay homage what with all your talk of "taking
>> the piss out of me" ; but no you were a pantywaist and quite easy to
>> make to paying homage in the form of  what looks to be bits and
>>     pieces of  *stolen* prose. If I had the time and inclination I
>> could probably find the several books you stole word for word your little
>> story about and to me.  I
>> would but you are not worthy or worth it.  Your next task will be for
>> you to create a web page like what I have made the twit poof make
>> that way you homage to me will reach a much wider audience.
>>     You have made my day, shoot you have made my week and maybe my
>> month, expressly after all your "do you want me to take the piss out
>> of you" talk. I can't stand it I am laughing *AT* you so much.  I
>> know my victory will even be sweeter after all the others here jump
>> in and say what a good story you have written about me, and depending
>> on how many of them do so I may just take the time and trouble to
>> look up your pilfered prose.  Then again maybe it isn't pilfered;
>> because after all you know that I won't stand for one of my puppets
>> to write something with my nic in it using anything pilfered; because
>> I would not want those here to say that I had a hand in writing it. They
>> may just try and say that if you used pilfered prose. I
>> would have liked however for it to have been a better story; because it
>> falls off in the middle and looses the readers attention.  Shoot
>> if it wasn't for it being something paying homage to me, I probably
>> would not have read it to the end; because of it lacking a sort of
>> how should I say it? oh it's is almost pitifully in it's attempt at
>> being biting and it's innuendo lacks luster; but all in all, I would
>> give it a C-.  I will allow you to continue being one of my puppets
>> and paying homage to me; but as I said earlier, your next task is to
>> create a web page in my honor.  Make it funny, and try and get the
>> readers to laugh at Sugien as much as what you meager writing talents
>> allow.  Maybe I will get the twit poof seeing as how you both live in
>> the same country to help you with the web page.  Even though the twit
>> poof is not a very good web page author he can give you some
>>      pointers.  Shoot maybe he can even get you some free web page
>> space. So in conclusion, almost well done my true and faithful
>> servant and  puppet, but you are here by commanded to do much better in
>> your next
>> attempt.

>> btw, I didn't consider myself as an international puppet master what
>> with only one puppet creating web pages and prose in homage to me;
>> but now with at least 2 puppets in another country I think I will
>> consider myself an international puppet master.

> You fucking idiot.

> Sorry. You fucking, *chickenshit* idiot.
Whiner

>> ...Sugien - America's
>> Sweetheart - was comatose in a hospital bed in a barn in Ohio, with
>> the IQ of a Brussel Sprout!

> Whew! That first statement had me worried, but that last statement
> indicates that he is his normal intellectual self and the references
> to diminished capacity must be a mere cover-up for some covert
> operation soon to be released under his pseudonym. Yah Sugien! The
> Brussel Sprout extraoidinare!

>>> ...Sugien - America's
>>> Sweetheart - was comatose in a hospital bed in a barn in Ohio, with
>>> the IQ of a Brussel Sprout!

>> Whew! That first statement had me worried, but that last statement
>> indicates that he is his normal intellectual self and the references
>> to diminished capacity must be a mere cover-up for some covert
>> operation soon to be released under his pseudonym. Yah Sugien! The
>> Brussel Sprout extraoidinare!

> That makes me wonder - is Chillicothe, Ohio anywhere near a nuclear power
> plant or bomb testing facility? Is this an explanation that's been
> overlooked?