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Aug 23, 1995, 3:00:00 AM8/23/95
[Continued from Part 6]

[Back on the SOL]

Gypsy: Why do you guys all look so sad?
Mike: I wish I were illiterate.
Tom: I wish Jim Theis were illiterate.
Crow: He's halfway there already.
Mike: Every time Jim describes someone as "staring blindly" I think, you're
so lucky.
Tom: I named the rat! You want to know what I named it? I named it Jim
Theis. And when Grignr pulped it I laughed and laughed and laughed--
Gypsy: I didn't hear anything.
Tom [glazed expression]: That's 'cause you don't live inside my head,
Crow: I'm not reading it now. For this brief moment, I'm free. But I
can't enjoy it. Because that light's gonna go on, and then it'll be story
sign, and I'll be back reading THE EYE OF ARGON, and how am I supposed to
enjoy myself with that hanging over my head?!

[Lights flash]

Crow: It's the end, I tell you! The end!


Mike: Where are we? Chapter Seven?
Crow: No, Mike.
Mike: Then where are we?
Crow: You want to know where we are? We're in Hell, Mike. We're in Hell.

> With wobbling knees and swimming head, the priest that had lapsed into
>an epileptic siezure rose unsteadily to his feet.

Tom: You mean we're supposed to have been keeping track of which of Grignr's
countless victims weren't really dead?

>While enacting his choking fit

Mike: --for "Rescue 911".

>in writhing agony, the shaman was overlooked by Grignr.

Crow: As was the big sign that said "CAUTION: Priests sprawled on floor
may not actually be dead."

>barbarian had mistaken the siezure for the death throes of the acolyte,
>allowing the priest to avoid his stinging blade.

Tom [Grignr]: So I messed up! Shut up!

>The sight that met the priests inflamed eyes

Mike: See, it's that Visine thing I was talking about.

>nearly served to sprawl him upon the floor once more.
>The sacrificial sat it grim, blood splattered silence all around him,
>broken only by the occasional yelps and howles of

Crow: --Alanis Morissette.

>his maimed and butchered fellows.

Mike: They wailed, "Get the Bactine! We need Bactine!"

>Above his head rose the hideous idol, its empty socket holding
>the shaman's ifurbished infuriated gaze. His eyes turned to a stoney glaze

Tom: I had that on a doughnut once. It wasn't very good.

>with the realization of the pillage and blasphemy. Due to his high
>succeptibility following the siezure, the priest was transformed into a

Crow: Jet plane? Cassette player?

>raving maniac

Mike: He turned into Bob Dornan!

>bent soley upon reaking vengeance.

Tom: He's got the reeking part down already.

>With lips curled and
>quivering, a crust of foam dripping from them, the acolyte drew a long,
>wicked looking jewel hilted scimitar

Mike: But he got the perspective wrong and it just didn't look right.

>from his silver girdle and fled
>through the aperature in the ceiling uttering a faintly perceptible
>ceremonial jibberish.

Crow: Rhubarb, rhubarb, ceremonial rhubarb.

> -7 1/2-

Tom: By Federico Fellini.

> A sweeping scimitar swung towards Grignr's head

Crow: Whoa! That last part was all a big flashback?
Mike: Jim must've just finished watching "Reservoir Dogs" again.

>in a shadowed blur of

Tom: Jim decides that if he couldn't see it, he doesn't have to describe it.

>With Axe raised over his head, Grignr prepared to parry the blow,

Tom [Grignr]: Okay, the first thing I need is an enormous shield or
something. Have I got any cash on me?

>while gaping wideeyed in open mouthed perplexity.

Mike: It's a pretty safe bet he was drooling, too.

>Suddenly a sharp snap
>resounded behind the frothing shaman. The scimitar, halfway through its
>fatal sweep, dropped from a quivering nerveless hand, clattering harmlessly
>to the stoneage.

Crow [Pauly Shore]: Whoa! Major stoneage for the Wea-sel!
Mike: If you ever do that again it'll just be me and Servo, got it?

>Cutting his screech short with a bubbling, red mouthed
>gurgle, the lacerated acolyte staggered under the pressure of the released

Tom: Luckily, he was a majority shareholder in Curad and within moments
was good as new.

>After a moment of hopeless struggling, the shaman buckled,
>sprawling face down in a widening pool of bllod and entrails, his regal
>purple robe blending enhancingly

Crow: Enhancingly? Are you sure it didn't blend whimsicoracally?

>with the swirling streams of crimson.
> "Mrifk! I thought I had killed the last of those dogs;" muttered
>Grignr in a half apathetic state.

Mike: He doesn't even care enough to be fully apathetic.

> "Nay Grignr. You doubtless grew careless while giving vent to your

Crow [falsetto]: Or maybe you're just not very bright.

>But let us not tarry any long lest we over tax the

Tom: --voters and they kick us out of Congress.

>fates. The
>paths leading to freedom will soon be barred. The wretch's crys must
>certainly have attracted unwanted attention," the wench mused.

Mike [Grignr]: I thought I told you not to muse here.

> "By what direction shall we pursue our flight?"
> "Up that stair and down the corridor

Crow [3rd grader]: Up yer butt an' around the corner!

>a short distance is the concealed
>enterance to a tunnel seldom used by others than the prince, and known to
>few others save the palace's royalty.

Tom: That would be the prince and the, uh, the prince.

>It is used mainly by the prince when he wishes to take

Mike: --a leak.
Crow: Mike! And you get all over me for saying "Gas"?
Mike: Mine was clever. Yours was just crude.

>leave of the palace in secret. It is not always in the
>Prince's best interests to leave his chateau in public view.

Tom: That's why he makes sure to put a big dropcloth over it every time
he goes anywhere so no one'll know it's there.

>Even while
>under heavy guard he is often assaulted by hurtling stones and rotting

Crow: In fact, the townspeople carry rotting fruit with them everywhere
they go just in case they happen to see the prince.

>The commoners have little love for him." lectured the nerelady!

Tom: Hey, Jim, can you keep it down?

> "It is amazing that they would ever have left a pig like him become
>their ruler.

Mike: Oh, it's not that amazing. Even Bob Dornan manages to get himself
elected every two years.

>I should imagine that his people would rise up and crucify
>him like the dog he is."

Tom: As I'm sure you know, crucifixion is the #2 cause of death in dogs

> "Alas, Grignr, it is not as simple as all that.

Crow [falsetto]: But you are.

>His soldiers are well
>paid by him. So long as he keeps their wages up they will carry out his
>damned wished.

Mike: I guess that makes sense... that's their =job=.

>The crude impliments of the commonfolk would never stand up
>under an onslaught of forged blades and protective armor;

Crow: That's why we gotta get our cities pumping out more lightbulbs so
we can get Mechanized Infantry!

>they would be
>going to their own slaughter," stated Carthena to a confused, but angered

Mike [Grignr]: I don't understand what you're saying, but I'm pretty sure
it pisses me off.

>as they topped the stairway.
> "Yet how can they bear to live under such oppression? I would sooner
>die beneath the sword than live under such a dog's command."

Tom: This must be Jim Theis's idea of subtle political subtext.

>added Grignr
>as the pair stalked down the hall in the direction opposite that in which
>Grignr had come.

Crow: That's good. If they'd gone the other way they would've slipped
on the--
Mike: You just lost your waffle-iron privileges.

> "But all men are not of the same mold that you are born of,

Tom: They're born of bread mold, while Grignr's more a bleu cheese kind
of guy.

>they choose to live as they are so as to save their filthy necks

Mike: Wisk does a brisk business in Noregolia. These people have got
ring around the collar like you wouldn't believe!

>from the chopping block."

Crow: The fools! Why, they're passing up an ideal opportunity to explore
the wonders of sweet, sweet death! Choose death! This message brought
to you by the Death Council.

>Returned Carthena in a disgusted tone as she cast an
>appiesed glance towards the stalwart figure at her side whose left arm was
>wound dextrously about her slim waist;

Tom: Jeez, what are her measurements? 56-14-35?

>his slowly waning torch casting
>their images in intermingling wisps as it dangled from his left hand.
> Presently Carthena came upon the panel, concealed amonst the other
>granite slabs and discernable only by

All: --RADAR!

>the burned out cresset above it. "As
>I push the cresset aside push the panel inwards." Catrhena motioned to the
>panel she was refering to and twisted the cresset in a counterclockwise
>motion. Grignr

Mike: --didn't realize she'd been talking to him, and blew the whole thing.

>braced his right shoulder against the walling,
>concentrating the force of his bulk against it. The slab gradually swung
>inward with a slight grating sound.

Tom: It reminded him of Pavement's last album.

>Carthena stooped beneath Grignr's
>corded arms and crawled upon all fours into the passage beyond. Grignr
>followed after easing the slab back into place.
> Winding before the pair was a dark musty tunnel,

Crow [falsetto]: I know there's some Lysol around here somewhere!

>exhibiting tangled
>spider webs from it ceiling to wall and an oozing, sickly slime running
>lazily upon its floor. Hanging from the chipped wall upon GrignR's right
>side was a half mouldered corpse, its grey flacking arms held in place by

Mike: --a guard, whose job was to stand there day and night and hold the
corpse's arms there.

>rusted iron manacles. Carthena flinched back into Grignr's arms

Crow [Grignr]: All right! His untimely demise equals some major action
for the Grigmeister!

>at sight
>of the leering set in an ugly distorted grimmace; staring horribly

Mike: And blindly. Don't forget blindly.

>at her
>from hollow gaping sockets.
> "This alcove must also be used by Agaphim as a torture chamber.

Tom: Or maybe as a breakfast nook.

>I wonder how many

Crow [falsetto]: --roads must a man walk down?
Mike: I know, but I'm not going to tell you.

>of his enemies have disappeared into these haunts never to
>be heard from again," pondered the hulking brute.

Crow: Even Jim's turned against Grignr!

> "Let us flee before we are also caught within Agaphim's ghastly
>clutches. The exit from this tunnel cannot be very far from here!"

Tom: I guess that depends on whether you consider 7,927 miles "far."

>Carthena with a slight sob to her voice, as she sagged in Grignr's
>encompasing embrace.
> "Aye; It will be best to be finished with this corridor as soon as it
>is possible. But why do you flinch from the sight of death so?

Crow: Why, little is as beautiful as sweet, sweet death! This message
brought to you by the Death Council.


Mike: Oh, dear God. It actually bothers me that "Mrifk" has been
misspelled. I need help.

>You have seen much death this day without exhibiting such emotions."

Tom: But not as much death as she'd have seen by watching a comparable
amount of TV.

>Exclaimed Grignr as he led her trembling form along the dingy confines.
> "---The man hanging from the wall was Doyanta.

Crow [Grignr]: Doyanta?? NO! NOOOOOOO!!! ...uh, who's Doyanta?

>He had committed the
>folly of showing affections for me in front of Agaphim --- he never meant
>any harm by his actions!"

Crow [falsetto]: I mean, he sorta did -- that's what the whips and chains
were for -- but that's fun harm, not harm harm!

>At this Carthena broke into

Mike: --maniacal laughter!

>a slow steady whimpering,

Tom: Slow and steady wins the race, you know.
Crow: That's Jim Theis's philosophy on pacing stories, anyway.

>chokking her voice with gasping sobs. "There was never
>anything between us

Crow: --except a thin layer of latex--

>yet Agaphim did this to him! The beast! May the
>demons of Hell's deepest haunts claw away at his wretched flesh for this
>merciless act!" she prayed.

Tom: I'm guessing she's a Quaker, maybe?
Mike: Seems like more of a Unitarian to me.

> "I detect that you felt more for this fellow than you wish to let on

Mike: When I think of deep psychological insight, I think of three names:
Freud; Jung; Grignr.

>but enough of this, We can talk of such matters

Tom: You mean Family Matters?
Crow: Yeah! Mike, quick, do your Urkel!
Mike: Maybe after the story.

>after we are once more free to

Tom [singing]: --be you and meeeeee!

>do so." With this Grignr lifted the grieved female to her feet and
>strode onward down the corridor, supporting the bulk of her weight with his
>surging left arm.
> Presently a dim light was perceptibly filtering into the tunnel,
>casting a dim reddish hue

Tom: Oh, no! They've been down there so long that the sun has gone into
its red giant phase and is about to swallow the earth!
Crow: Not even Superman can save us now!

>upon the moldy wall of the passage's grim
>confines. Carthena had ceased her whimpering and partially regained her
>composure. "The tunnel's end must be nearing. Rays of sunlight are
>beginning to seep into ..."

Mike [falsetto]: What's that burning sensation? I feel... oh, that's
right! Now I remember! I'm a vampire! Aieee...


[Concluded in Part 8]

Mike Czaplinski

Aug 23, 1995, 3:00:00 AM8/23/95
to wrote:

[MiSTing snipped to avoid undue PAIN]

You know, I normally don't read the MiSTings (no offense folks, but
they take a bit more brain power than I can muster at lunchtime).

But I saw this and it made me do a Danny Thomas spittake!

For those of you who aren't into SF Fandom, 'Eye of Argon' is a
legendary example of BAD FAN FICTION. Every year at Phrolicon, they
have a midnight 'Read EYE OF ARGON' contest, where they let people
read the story out loud as it is written on paper (typos galore, which
may not have made it into the online MiSTing) without laughing. The
minute you laugh, it gets passed to the next person and so on. The
farthest they've gotten in 10 years is page 3, and the person who can
read the longest gets a prize (I won a DICK TRACY mug for reading
a page and a half with an Arnold Schwartzenegger accent, but even
that couldn't keep me from losing it).

Thank you, a.cadre1, for letting us laugh at bad prose.


Mike "Now, where can I get parts 1-6?" Czaplinski

M Sampo

Aug 23, 1995, 3:00:00 AM8/23/95
I'd like to second the "thank you" for this MSTing. I may need a new
spleen from laughing so hard.....Great work!

I've undergone a complex personal evolution wherein painful confusion has
given way to what I like to think of as some degree of wisdom, culminating
in my current Zarathustrian sense of self. Is that it?

Aug 28, 1995, 3:00:00 AM8/28/95
In <41fsgb$> writes:

> I'd like to second the "thank you" for this MSTing. I may need a new
> spleen from laughing so hard.....Great work!

I'm weighing in with a third thank you for the brilliant MSTing. The
EYE OF ARGON has been a favorite with not only Bay Area fans but all
lovers of mangled genre attempts: those who read the slush piles for
science fiction publishers, for instance, and fans of L.R. Fanthorpe
as well as the many pathetic fanfic attempts that show up online.

I've had a copy of the EoA for 10 years now and I've never seen such
a funny interpretation of it, even at convention readings. Thanks for
making my day!

--Lucy Huntzinger

Tom Smith

Aug 28, 1995, 3:00:00 AM8/28/95
BART...@ctrvax.Vanderbilt.Edu wrote:
: In <41fsgb$> writes:

: > I'd like to second the "thank you" for this MSTing. I may need a new
: > spleen from laughing so hard.....Great work!

I, on the other hand, have only just acquired decent Usenet access,
and missed in completely <snif>.

So... who do I have to bribe, and with what, to get an e-mail copy of the
whole friggin' thing sent to me at ;)

Thank you for your time and trouble.

Tom Smith
The World's Fastest Filker

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