This Week in Alt.Religion.Kibology -- An Hmas Carol
E Teflon Piano
W E E K I N
A L T VOL.4 NO.2
R E L I G I O N Hmas Edition
K I B O L O G Y Dec. 22, 1998
[Twark is the official journal of the proceedings in
alt.religion.kibology, and is published weekly on
whichever planet has 90-day-weeks compared to Earth
by the Institute for Misapplied Psychometry, under a
grant from the National Silica Gel Council. All opinions
expressed herein are a product of the Hivemind. All
trademarks are the property of their respective owners.
This product has been proven effective when used by people
who report a significant improvement in symptoms.]
AN HMAS CAROL
There are those questions that, when asked, ask a lot more than the mere
words convey. Those are the questions that portend. Questions that bode.
Questions like:
"Say, fellow Pompeiian, do you smell the burning flowers of sulphur, by
any chance?"
"Excuse me, General Custer, sir, do eagle feathers grow out of the bare
rocks of canyon walls, or what?"
"What's that water-rushing noise?" asked Francesco Benvenuto.
On a craft like The Ark, where the word "seaworthy" is wackyparsed to
mean "an article of furniture suitable to support the fundament of even
the heaviest cheeze-doodle addict", a question like this raises panic,
eyebrows and trouser cuffs. And, of course, such a question always arrives
like a Seventh Day Adventist knocking at the front door while you're
conducting foreplay on the living room carpet -- at an inconvenient time.
This occasion could scarcely have been less vulnerable to interruption:
it was the Eve of the big Hmas Science Faire -- the annual celebration of
the triumph of rational thought over base superstition, when the mystical
King of Science would arrive on a golden bicycle and judge Arkers by their
contribution to Science and fill the pockets of the pants of the winner
with a Mixture of Lard and Sugar. All over the Ark, preparations were
feverishly underway, even if the actual Ark seemed to be wallowing
somewhat. Taking a cue from Ensign Benvenuto, Nick Bensema ran to tell
Kibo.
Almost immediately, Bensema's errand was interrupted by Terri Willis,
obviously cranked up on a high-grade Viewmaster reel and preparing a
display on ballistics, who need help thumbtacking her sign to the metal
walls.
"I got this brane storm like you know how some people used to play
Dungeons 'n' Dragons on their college campuses for, like, real and roamed
all down in the steam tunnels and administration building cellar and
sorority house dropped ceilings -- no wait that last one is from Revenge
of the Nerds but you get the idea. Well, what if you played Quake like
that, huh, with real shotguns, would that be cool or what? Only we
wouldn't use *real* shotguns, we'd use like *soft* shotguns, which are,
well, real shotguns and all, but loaded with those funny-smelling,
individually-wrapped little round sponges the bad girls are always buying.
Does this look infected?"
"Urp," disavowed Ensign Bensema, making a dash for the corridor.
Along the way, Bensema paused to admire David Pacheco's booth. Against a
backdrop of the famous painting of Poker Playing Dogs (an obvious forgery,
says Louis Nick Jr.Jr.) is the "Are Dogs Really Man's Best Friend"
display. The display is composed of an Amiga emulator running on a
Commodore 64 with a Lite-Brite monitor and Radio Shack robot arm that
Ensign Pacheco got Bensema and Stacia Guacamole to network with a web-cam
installed in a 14th floor room of the Matt Irvine Marriot on the other
side of I-449, which commands a strategic view of Taco Bell World
Domination Headquarters. "We'll just see if that damn dog really speaks,"
said Ensign Pacheco. Ensign Guacamole and Ensign Bensema huddled briefly
to discuss how to write a newsreader in Pig Latin for the system that
would automatically download porn, unencode it and recode it in PGP to run
through a laser projector to paint the side of the Medical Marijuana
Buyers Club to teach them a lesson for using drugs, the big bunch of
unfriendly, selfish, stuck-up, snob loosers who think they're better than
everybody just because they have glaucoma and sex all the time. Bensema
and Guacamole made a date to see _Real Genius_ again (that movie is so
*us*, sighed Guacamole), and Bensema continued on his errand.
Continuing through the transitional bridge, Bensema heard Lleah
Verre practicing her presentation.
"Bread plus beaten eggs plus heat equals French Toast. Cheese plus heat
plus Bread equals Fondue. These are the tenets of Kibological Food
Science. Using the Jimmy Doohan Pie Chart, eg., how many pies it would
take to make the average person as wide as Jimmy Doohan, we can
demonstrate that one food element plus another food element equals a third
new element, like corn chips plus cheese plus heat equals Nachos," Lleah
explained.
"Similarly, any food plus a toy equals a Happy Meal and El Paso Extra
Mild sauce can be used in an emergency to wash pepper spray out of your
eyes," added Ensign Verre.
Pausing on the Exposition, Bensema reflected that he hadn't realized the
narrative was going to be this long.
"Amen, brother," said Roger Douglas, polishing his Kibological Writing
Mower -- an ingenious meld of Cuisinart and The History Channel, which at
a trice could produce vast volumes of Alternate History. "I'm just waiting
for another shipment of raw narrative from my sources in the Alps of New
South Wales. Then I'll beable to fire this baby up, and Bob's your uncle."
When Ensign Bensema found Kibo, Kibo was logging his latest experiment in
an effort to genetically-engineer "Fire Bees" by exposing test-insects to
radiation. "Fire Bees," as disclosed by Kibo on his U-Patent-it form,
would either have butts that glowed like lit cigars and they would burn
instead of sting; or the bees would be pretty ordinary except instead of
honey, they would produce hives of Sterno encapsulated in stuff like
bubble-wrap.
Either product, Kibo believed, would be an invaluable aid to beach-side
picnickers who were trying to start a bar-b-cue. On his U-Trademark-it
form, Kibo had already settled on the name Bee-Bee-Q, despite cautions
from counsel that the name was dangerously similar to that of Blues Rights
Performer Rev. B Bee King.
Kibo was still bitter that the people at Target Drugs wouldn't let him
buy 60 smoke detectors, like he wanted to, so he could excavate the
radioactive Plutonium-6 material inside with a mascara brush and apply it
to the bees. Kibo was sure that Target was in league with the powerful
wastepaper and paraffin fire-lighter lobby to retard his development
efforts. Kibo said that Target's excuse that the smoke detectors could not
be purchased with the Visa card included with Lisa Pea's Barbie Shop'n Fun
Set was an obvious cover story, because why would Barbie lie? So Kibo was
using microwave radiation.
Perhaps because of this bitterness, Kibo made a big show of pronouncing
his successes, claiming as evidence small charred patches on his lab coat.
However, the test-insects in question were a firefly and dead Yellow
Jacket that Kibo found on the window sill, and the only signs of
engineering consisted of the two bugs being taped together. The burns on
the lab coat looked suspiciously like those suffered by Louis Nick when he
tried to study the sun with a magnifying glass.
Snapping off an unnecessarily sarcastic salute, Ensign Bensema informed
Kibo of Ensign Benvenuto's misgivings. "We need a damage-control party.
Joe Bay, Alex Suter, Sean Smith -- with me," Kibo ordered.
Hastily assembling a crude stethoscope out of a portable highgain
amplifier and shotgun microphone with laser-guided infrared ranging
equipment, Kibo and the damage-control party set out to find the source of
the water-rushing sound. After inspecting all of the Ark's 23 sun-deck
toilet facilities marked "Men" "Women" and "Other" in turn, each
mysteriously occupied by the voice of Wang Pi Pez, which shouted
"Dondtcomein wait dondtcomein!" when the handle to the door was tried,
Kibo nervously giggled and remarked, "on a boat these are called 'heads'.
I don't get it."
But the water-rushing noise was obviously emanating from far below
decks. A brief look of panic troubled Kibo's visage. Irritably swatting
the creatures away from the massive clamp that held his meme set together,
Kibo led the damage-control party through a hatch and down a flight of
steps.
"We seem to have a dampness problem," Kibo said, the water lapping at his
knees.
"What do you think is causing it?" asked Ensign Smith.
"If we're really, really lucky, Lee's Message ID has gotten out of its
box in the hold and poked a hole in the scuppers," Kibo said
"And if we're just plain lucky?" asked Theresa Willis, shuffling down
the corridor in bunny slippers, poking into odd corners with a
blunderbuss. The panics playfully batted at her ammo belt.
"Then Tom Richardson poked a hole in the hull to give Lee's Message ID
some air," Kibo said. "Also, when I said 'scuppers' back there, I meant
'bulkhead', of course."
"Oh, Ok; anybody seen my sort of good shoes?" asked Ensign Willis. "Also,
are you supposed to take the bunny out of the slippers before you wear
them? These feel all mushy and gooey inside. That can't be right. I think
Lisa Pea was just being really, really mean, and she's not going to be
able to zip the bunnies back inside these things like she told Joe Bay."
The damage control party probed deeper into the bowels of The Ark. Joe
Bay wielded a "dowsing rod" made out of a pair of TV rabbit ears to find
the source of the water-rushing noise. Kibo scanned the area with the nose
of the stethoscope, occasionally pointing it at his own midsection to
listen to the gurgling.
"Ow, watch it with that thing, buster," cried Alex.
"Oops, sorry," said Joe Bay.
"Yow!"
"Uh-oh, slipped."
"Waw!"
"Oh, was that you?"
"Yaaagh!"
"My bad. Put some salve on that."
"Give me that thing," Kibo demanded, snatching the equipment away from
Bay and giving it to Michael Straight, who knows how to get along with
others. At last the damage party arrived in the bottom of the Ark.
In the hold, Ensign Bensema's inflatable chair and inflatable lamp and
inflatable desk bobbed mournfully, the chair ballasted by John Cleese. An
inflatable girlfriend floated by.
"Valerie!" cheered a chorus of voices.
"This is far worse than I imagined a couple of paragraphs ago," Kibo
said. "We've been pierced by a Spamprey!"
Froggy, in a voice-over, explained: "The Spamprey is a fearsome
hydra-like beast which drives its stingers through even the most
redoubtable firewalls and injects organisms that seem to have a life of
their own."
Indeed, the bilge was awash with horrible thrashing mutants, with the
bodies of serpents and the heads of old message headers. The Longest
Thread Ever writhed in gay abandon with Experimental Proof of God."
"Eeewww," said Ensign Smith.
"Perhaps we can use the combined knowledge of all our science projects
against the intruder," said the ever-helpful Dean Lenort, neatly resolving
the plot with the subplot.
"That's it!" cried Kibo. "Also, I don't recall including Ensign Lenort in
the damage-control party," Kibo scowled, glancing to many paragraphs
supra.
"Sorry, continuity problem," said Ensign Va-va-va-Verre. "You know how
it is; these stories get written over the span of a couple of months...
paragraphs get moved around ... characters get deleted, then
re-introduced, then bumped up in importance. If I hadn't sent out that
Hmas card, I probably wouldn't have been awarded the attribution on this
long dialogue," Vverre ssaid. "Honestly, he's such a petty little weasel."
"And it's not like he doesn't edit these things intensely," said Tom
Scudder. "He *knows* there's faulty punctuation at the end of this
sentence2"
"Ahem," coughed Kibo. "Could we maybe get away from the post-modern irony
here and get back to the story. I mean, there's only a vicious mutant clam
gnawing on my knee. If you don't mind."
"No, that's a nudibranch, I'm sure of it," said Lleah. "Believe me, I
know," she muttered.
"Perhaps we can use the combined knowledge of all our science projects
against the intruder," prompted the still-helpful Dean Lenort, nudging the
errant plot with a 10-foot pike.
"Ta-da," chimed Terri Willis, brandishing her blunderbuss.
"Terri, see if that weapon is effective against the Spamprey," ordered
Kibo, sensing which way the wind was blowing.
BLAM! [SPLOOGE!] BLAM! [SPLOOGE!] BLAM! [SPLOOGE!] BLAM! [SPLOOGE!],
spoke the mighty semi-automatic muzzle-loader. Ensign Willis' aim was true
and every shot found its target. Soon the hull was once again
impenetrable and reeking of spermicide.
"Yes, well done. But we have actually now got a cargo of still-writhing
mutants to get rid of. Ideas, anybody?" asked Kibo.
"Kibological Food Science!" exclaimed Lleah.
"Mmmm?" replied Kibo.
"We use Kibological Food Science against the mutants to turn them into
sushi. Sea creatures plus death equals sushi," explained Lleah.
"I see, so we just kill the mutants, call it sushi and..."
"And FedEx the whole kit-and-kaboodle to Taco Bell World Domination
Headquarters," said David Pacheco, arriving with a scowl on his face.
"It'll serve those bastards right. That dog doesn't talk; it's really just
a small horse in a dog suit. As I suspected."
"David, honey, are you still running a fever?" asked Lleah.
"How do we kill the mutants," Kibo hurriedly asked, foreseeing another
rambling aside.
"I think I might beable to help you there," said Ensign Douglas, pulling
on the starter cord of the Writing Mower's engine. "It occurs to me that
mutant Spamprey toxin might be just the thing to blow out the Writing
Mower's pipes."
The Writing Mower roared to life, quickly shredding the mutant Spamprey
tentacles and packaging them for their trip to Irvine.
"Wow," said Stephen Will Tanner. "I'm gonna get me wunna those."
"Well," said Kibo. "That appears to tie up all the plot points; deserving
people got mentioned and Lee's message-ID is still confined to the box. We
can get on with the Science Faire and await the tinkling that signals the
King of Science. Any concluding words?"
"I've got just two," said Louis Nick:
THE END.
--
Institute for Misapplied Psychometry fellow E Teflon Piano is founder of the
Internet 'Lectronic Legal Society. Teflon is a mark owned by duPont. E is E
poly(TFE) Piano Enterprises' [dibs] for ironic hyperbole and elitist satire.
ŠE[dibs] 1994-1998
The Avocado Avenger
>T H I S
>W E E K I N
>A L T VOL.4 NO.2
>R E L I G I O N Hmas Edition
>K I B O L O G Y Dec. 22, 1998
> Along the way, Bensema paused to admire David Pacheco's booth. Against a
>backdrop of the famous painting of Poker Playing Dogs (an obvious forgery,
>says Louis Nick Jr.Jr.) is the "Are Dogs Really Man's Best Friend"
>display. The display is composed of an Amiga emulator running on a
>Commodore 64 with a Lite-Brite monitor and Radio Shack robot arm that
>Ensign Pacheco got Bensema and Stacia Guacamole to network with a web-cam
>installed in a 14th floor room of the Matt Irvine Marriot on the other
>side of I-449, which commands a strategic view of Taco Bell World
>Domination Headquarters. "We'll just see if that damn dog really speaks,"
>said Ensign Pacheco. Ensign Guacamole and Ensign Bensema huddled briefly
>to discuss how to write a newsreader in Pig Latin for the system that
>would automatically download porn, unencode it and recode it in PGP to run
>through a laser projector to paint the side of the Medical Marijuana
>Buyers Club to teach them a lesson for using drugs, the big bunch of
>unfriendly, selfish, stuck-up, snob loosers who think they're better than
>everybody just because they have glaucoma and sex all the time. Bensema
>and Guacamole made a date to see _Real Genius_ again (that movie is so
>*us*, sighed Guacamole), and Bensema continued on his errand.
You laugh now, Mr Paino, but just you wait. Whent he Y2K bug hits and
everyone wigs out because they can't rent movies or call 900 numbers or
buy Furbies, Nick and I will be the only ones on the Internet, posting
from our Vic-20s and making fun of all the lusers who can't check their
e-mail.
Also, I think WarGames is more me, mainly because Kyle McLaughlin uses a
Commodore to take over the world.
Stacia * The Avocado Avenger * Life is a tale told by an idiot;
http://www.io.com/~stacia/ * Full of sound and fury,
Remove the guacamole to reply! * Signifying nothing.
Teg Pipes
> eyebrows and trouser cuffs. And, of course, such a question always arrives
> like a Seventh Day Adventist knocking at the front door while you're
> conducting foreplay on the living room carpet
More oboe! Ooooh, yeah, more oboe!
ARRGH! LESS TYMPANI! LESS TYNPANI!
-Teg
Nick S Bensema
The Avocado Avenger <sta...@io.com.guacamole> wrote:
> You laugh now, Mr Paino, but just you wait. Whent he Y2K bug hits and
>everyone wigs out because they can't rent movies or call 900 numbers or
>buy Furbies, Nick and I will be the only ones on the Internet, posting
>from our Vic-20s and making fun of all the lusers who can't check their
>e-mail.
Does that mean we'll get^H^H^Hhave to repopulate the species?
--
Nick Bensema <ni...@primenet.com> 98-KUPD Red Card #710563 UIN: 2135445
~~~~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
</BLINK>
E Teflon Piano
(Richard S. Holmes) wrote:
}In article <etp-221298...@ppp227.bcpl.net> e...@The-Institute.org
(E Teflon Piano) writes:
}
}>deserving
}>people got mentioned
}
}Shotgun. Check.
}Ammo. Check.
}Steak sauce. Check.
Oh, you baby. And just how many Hmas snails did *you* send to the
Institute? If you change your name to Spot, though, we think we can
guarantee a mention in Kibo's Yule screed.
David Delaney didn't get mentioned, either, and do you hear him
complaining? No, of course not, because the Hmas Carol won't get to his
server until Boxing Day, but that's beside the point.
Baby. Baby,baby, baaaaaaaybeeeeee.
Smooches,
NATO Felon Pie,
Taunting you from the Front Window
twi...@sound.net
ni...@primenet.com (Nick S Bensema) wrote:
> In article <75p99n$amp$1...@hiram.io.com>,
> The Avocado Avenger <sta...@io.com.guacamole> wrote:
> > You laugh now, Mr Paino, but just you wait. Whent he Y2K bug hits and
> >everyone wigs out because they can't rent movies or call 900 numbers or
> >buy Furbies, Nick and I will be the only ones on the Internet, posting
> >from our Vic-20s and making fun of all the lusers who can't check their
> >e-mail.
>
> Does that mean we'll get^H^H^Hhave to repopulate the species?
>
> --
>
Great. A whole planet full of green-skinned people with white hair.
"You maniacs! You went and did it! Yes, "it", you know what I mean! God Damn
you to Hell!".
--Terri
.
-----------== Posted via Deja News, The Discussion Network ==----------
http://www.dejanews.com/ Search, Read, Discuss, or Start Your Own
The Avocado Avenger
>In article <75pvoh$sq2$1...@nnrp02.primenet.com>,
> ni...@primenet.com (Nick S Bensema) wrote:
>> In article <75p99n$amp$1...@hiram.io.com>,
>> The Avocado Avenger <sta...@io.com.guacamole> wrote:
>> > You laugh now, Mr Paino, but just you wait. Whent he Y2K bug hits and
>> >everyone wigs out because they can't rent movies or call 900 numbers or
>> >buy Furbies, Nick and I will be the only ones on the Internet, posting
>> >from our Vic-20s and making fun of all the lusers who can't check their
>> >e-mail.
>>
>> Does that mean we'll get^H^H^Hhave to repopulate the species?
>Great. A whole planet full of green-skinned people with white hair.
>"You maniacs! You went and did it! Yes, "it", you know what I mean! God Damn
>you to Hell!".
You know what? I don't think I could do `it' because I honestly don't
even know what a Furby is, and you can't procreate while on Usenet unless
you know what a Furby is. I even looked for them while shopping; I asked
a salesperson where the Furbies were, and she looked like she was going to
pound me into sausage.
David DeLaney
e...@The-Institute.org (E Teflon Piano) says:
> Oh, you baby. And just how many Hmas snails did *you* send to the
>Institute? If you change your name to Spot, though, we think we can
>guarantee a mention in Kibo's Yule screed.
If he changes his name to sPot, the universe will immediately not notice.
> David Delaney didn't get mentioned, either, and do you hear him
>complaining? No, of course not, because the Hmas Carol won't get to his
>server until Boxing Day, but that's beside the point.
I get the feeling you guys can't hear _me_ all that well sometimes too.
But then once in a while I read from here instead [and boy are my arms
stretched] and here I are, and there _you_ are. None of us wearing pants.
And what does it get me?
>Baby. Baby,baby, baaaaaaaybeeeeee.
...Well, okay. Just this once.
Dave "nonenantiogrammatically" DeLaney
--
\/David DeLaney d...@panacea.phys.utk.edu "It's not the pot that grows the flowe
It's not the clock that slows the hour The definition's plain for anyone to se
Love is all it takes to make a family" - R&P. VISUALIZE HAPPYNET VRbeable<BLINK
http://panacea.phys.utk.edu/~dbd/ - net.legends FAQ/ I WUV you in all CAPS! --K