***** ****** **** ** ** ** ** ** Submarine Pens Proudly Presents: ** ** ** ** The Summer Version of ***** ***** ** The Purple Thunderbolt of Spode ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ***** ****** **** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ************* ************* ************* ************* ** *** ** ** *** ** ** *** ** ** *** ** ********* ********* ********* ********* ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ***** ***** ***** ***** Yep looks the same but it ain't ================================================================ THE PURPLE THUNDERBOLT OF SPODE VOL 1, 21 ================================================================ "South Florida's Very Own REPLIES TO: barker@acc.fau.edu Non Alien Run Electronic Magazine" * PPPPPP U U RRRRRR PPPPPP SSSSSS *** P P U U R R P P S ***** P P U U R R P P S ******* PPPPPP U U RRRRRR PPPPPP SSSSS ********* P U U R R P S *********** P U U R RR P S ***** P UUUUU R R P SSSSSS ***** ***** ***** ***** * **** * *** *** *** **** * ***** ************************************ **************************************** ************************************ **** ***** ***** *** ***** *** * ***** * ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *********** ********* ******* ***** *** * =========================================================================== INTRO =========================================================================== It's sometime after midnight a day after the great Purps get together on the IRC. Sad to say far too many of our loyal Otisians went berserk over their new found electronic freedom. [Then again maybe they were speaking in tongues.] Still, when one sits back and thinks about it, I suppose we cannot blame them. It's like going to church for the first time in some cosmic godbox type amusement type cathedrals. Instead of sitting around listening to the bozo on the pulpit you go skinny dipping in the baptismal font because it's much more fun. So anyways... I'm a little vague on when the next one of these is supposed to come out. According to my time table, it's this coming Sunday. However, well the Pope put out the his issue just now and I don't know if people can deal with this many Purps in such a short time. Still we will see. I'm most disappointed that no one bothered to respond to that amazing contest of mine. Maybe the print was too small or something. Still I'm new at this and I probably don't know quite how to work the masses up into a fevered pitch the way the Pope can. Stolen Lightning.... Hmm a problem I encountered editing this is the ease of smearing electronic gibberish about. I had to hack out a couple hundred lines of this seeing as the Pope put it all in 20. I suppose this happens when one has parallel distribution channels. Still, this should encourage me to go out and seek more sources of enlightenment and put my nose the to grind stone and churn out some more of my own material. Our Lady of Bloody Pinking Shears... Well the Pope reprinted that St. Tif sent me. Most disturbing that the Otisian Movement has grown to such a point that outside forces have begun to prosecute the innocent masses. Still look what they did to the big J. and see where it got him. It's time indeed to let loose the lawyers and make sure we've got the book and film rights to this incident all taken care of. Perhaps this could be the source of the first Otisian Movie. [Well the first move that a) they let the general masses see and b) the first movie that is actually to be officially announced as Otisian. [Well I suppose you could count the Doc Savage movie but that business about Otis is in very small print. Or "8 1/2" where the clerk at the hotel wears an Otisian Arrow on his lapel.] **** Hmm I got this all cobbled together now. I left out a few things I wanted to include as usual, but there's plenty there as is. This time around we have: Ween Story Viewer Mail More important Disney Land Information Messenger of the Gods Part III News of the Weird Stupid Christian Tricks More News of the Weird Poetry Corner Preach-O-Rama Excerpts My Voyage to the Neatherworld As always if you have any questions, comments or submissions write to: barker@acc.fau.edu and we'll see what can be done. And away we go... =========================================================================== STORY TIME =========================================================================== [Hmm this is a story of some sort about a band that actually exits. The author happens to be one of our newer converts.] Date: Wed, 1 May 91 16:37:57 -0400 From: ecs62697@zach.fit.EDU To: barker@fauvax.BITNET Message-Id: <9105012037.AA15813@zach.fit.edu> The short blue-and-pink Demong whaled away at my screen door. "Hang on a second," I yelled from my vegetative position on the Couch of Moral Relapse. "We've latched the screen doors so that the ZTUPPID KATZ don't get out." I didn't feel like having to reinstall the archaic wooden insectual filter, so I got up from my restful stance and unlatched the door. "Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Boognish, Demong of Musical Duos. You might have heard of my work; the band Ween...no? Ah, I see you have. May I come in?" Yes, I had heard of him. His scrawled visage adorned the cover of _God_Ween_ _Satan:_The_Oneness_. This guy was weird trouble, if the sounds emerging from the album were any indication. The ZTUPPID KATZ wandered over and gave Boognish a perfunctory sniff after ostentatiously licking their rectums. SPAZZ took the trouble to sharpen his claws on Boognish's pants leg while TRALPHAZZ hacked up a flaming hairball (see Weekly World News, February 23, 1991). A normal reaction. Nothing to be afraid of here. Boognish had proferred his business card. He stamped his feet on the Welcome Mat of Misogynistic Catharsis and walked into my Stumble Abode. The card simply said "Boognish". "As you may know, I am the Patron Demong of Musical Duos. It has come to my attention that YOUR musical duo is not registered with my booking/management company. Please correct the situation at once." "Oh man," I countered, "is this one of those sell-your-soul-to-the-devil A & R outfits? Listen: Ten, twenty years, it was cool. Satan had all these great acts signed. The Beatles, the Stones, Dylan, KISS, Nugent; the list goes on forever. So who does Satan sign now? The New Kids on the Block. Styx. Lame-o acts that couldn't drive their audiences into a killing rage if their deaths depended on it. So screw you. Go sign some cheezoid local Top40 act. Your name's dirt around here." I slammed the door on his leering face, but I knew that wouldn't be the last. I would have to enlist Supernatural Help. Author's note: Ween is real. A way cool band; they sound like opening your sock drawer to find it crawling with exotic insects and movie stars. "God Ween Satan: The Oneness" is highly recommended. =========================================================================== VIEWER MAIL =========================================================================== >From: IN%"stevensj@vax001.kenyon.EDU" "JEFFREY L STEVENS" 2-MAY-1991 09:58:00.08 >To: barker >CC: >Subj: Viewer Mail >Date: Thu, 2 May 91 12:28:08 BST >From: M.S.Dow@exeter.ac.uk >Subject: Re: PURPS.19.. TIMING"S bad, I know > >OH MY GOD!!! The aliens got Walt!!! What about the hamsters??????????? > >foole Oh dear. Did I let *that* slip out. Hmm well I am in Florida. Actually it's not really the aliens. Well maybe it is, but not really. It's more of an earthly menace. Actually, a large earthly menace that tends to travel around in a giant evil looking zeppelin with a short of evil grin painted on the front. Usually you can't see the grin, let alone the zeppelin seeing as it's usually in an obscuring cloud bank. Hmm I'm saying to much again. Don't want to give the younger views nightmares. =========================================================================== THE DISNEY NIGHTMARE CONTINUES =========================================================================== [As our loyal readers will no doubt recall, this publication described how Walt Disney took over Kenyon College. In an effort to enlighten loyal Otisians everywhere here is some more information on Disney.] Newsgroups: alt.folklore.urban Subject: Club 33 Date: 6 May 91 13:55:48 GMT I repost the Club 33 information for those who seem to have missed it: The colorful realism and the precise architectural detail of New Orleans Square in DISNEYLAND captures the atmosphere of the nineteenth-century New Orleans French Quarter. Glancing upwards to the second story balconies and the ornate iron railings hung with flowers, one would hardly guess that they surround the little-known but quite elegant Club 33. Years ago, Walt Disney felt that a special place was needed where he could entertain visiting dignitaries and others in a quiet, serene atmosphere where superb cuisine and distinctive decor would complement one another. He asked artist Dorothea Redmond to provide watercolor renderings of what such a place might look like. Accompanied by renowned decorator Emil Kuri, Walt and his wife traveled to New Orleans to select many of the beautiful antiques that are on display. After years of planning, Club 33 became a reality in May of 1967. Sadly enough, it was never seen by its creator because of his untimely death five months earlier. Club 33, so named after its address, 33 Royal Street, is comprised of two dining rooms and several adjoining areas, all of which hold a wide array of magnificent antiques and original works of art. After ascending in the French lift to the second floor, guests enter into The Gallery. Here they find interesting items such as an oak telephone booth with beveled leaded glass panels adapted from the one used in the Disney motion picture "The Happiest Millionaire" and a rare console table which was found in the French Quarter of New Orleans. In The Gallery, as elsewhere in the Club, are many original works by Disney artists and sketches done as design studies for New Orleans Square and the Pirates of the Caribbean attraction. The Gallery leads into Lounge Alley which serves as a vestibule and also the buffet for the Main Dining Room and Trophy Room. One wall displays several conceptual sketches of New Orleans Square, and directly across from these sketches is a custom-designed harpsichord decorated with a hand-painted scene depicting New Orleans harbor in the nineteenth century. The furnishings are a combination of antique and reproduction pieces. The Main Dining Room is decorated in First Empire, recalling the era of Napoleon and the early nineteenth century. Three glimmering chandeliers and wall sconces illuminate the entire room. Much of the framed artwork on the walls is again, the work of Disney artists. Fresh flowers, parquet floors, and antique bronzes create an atmosphere of serenity and warmth. The Trophy Room is the second dining room and offers a more informal atmosphere. The cypress-planked walls provide an excellent background for sketches done as design studies for the Jungle Cruise and Tiki Room attractions. The design of the room incorporates the use of microphones in the center of each chandelier and a vulture with the ability to speak. Walt Disney's intention for this concept was humorous in nature, as the vulture was to converse with guests during dinner. The Trophy Room also contains a number of antiques and it is usually sunlit from a long row of windows. Today, Club 33 functions as an exclusive private club where members or their guests may enjoy a gourmet meal complemented by the finest wines. Tradition, accompanied by gracious hospitality, has been the hallmark of Club 33 since its opening day . . . and will continue to be for many years to come. High above the streets and courtyards of New Orleans Square, hidden from public view and the bustle of a typical day at Disneyland, is a page of old New Orleans that even the proud Creole society might have chosen and cherished as its own. Here French doors open onto balconies that overlook Disneyland's own muddy Mississippi, the Rivers of America. Here in the tradition of the good host, Walt Disney and his staff planned and executed Disneyland's most exclusive setting -- part elegant dining room, part relaxed refreshment center, part distinguished art gallery, part meeting room and part private showplace. Here, away from the general public, adult beverages are available, including the finest of wines to match the house food specialties. This was Walt Disney's concept -- an elegant, exclusive club . . . a place for conversation, and a conversation piece in its own right. Corporate Membership This membership is designed for organizations to make Club 33 available to a number of their executives, and has a membership fee of $20,000. This entitles the corporate member to designate up to nine associate members. Dues for associate members are $1,800 per member per year. All memberships are transferable to other executives in the corporation. Members no longer in the employ of the corporate member's company must surrender the membership cards to Club 33. The corporate members may then designate another member of his company. Limited Corporate Membership This membership is designed for organizations wishing to make Club 33 available to one of their executives, and has a membership fee of $10,000. This entitles the corporation to transfer the membership to another employee whenever necessary. For individual members, credit is extended based upon the membership fee initially paid if a transfer of membership is desired. Dues are $1,800 per year. Individual Membership This particular membership is for individuals and is available at $5,000 membership fee and $1,800 annual dues. These memberships are nontransferable. Members will be billed monthly for all charges. Information All members must have a valid membership card to gain entrance to Club 33. Additional utilization of the card is to spouse only, with reservations accepted only from the cardholder, the spouse or the cardholder's secretary. Use of the membership card is subject to the terms covering membership agreed to by the member in the membership application. The membership card entitles the member and a party of nine to free parking and admission through the Main Entrance of DISNEYLAND (except when special tickets are the only admission to a special event or private party). This privilege is applicable when the members plan to dine at Club 33. If the card is used for admission but the member does not dine at the Club the member will be billed for the regular price of admission. If the member is unable to accompany the guests, the Club will arrange admission for them at no charge. Members may purchase DISNEYLAND passports through Club 33 for pick-up at the Guest Relations Booth. The membership card authorizes the member to receive credit by signing special charge slips when presented at Club 33 and other restaurants and merchandise locations owned and operated by DISNEYLAND park. We reserve the right to approve or disapprove any membership to assure that our high standards are maintained. To remain a member in good standing, dues must be paid annually within thirty (30) days following receipt of invoice. Usage of Club 33 is by reservation only. It is advisable to call for reservations well in advance. Private parties utilizing the entire Club facilities are available upon member's request with the required minimum number of guests. ***** Newsgroups: alt.folklore.urban Subject: More Disneyland ULs ... Evacuation Procedures Date: 6 May 91 22:43:00 GMT A Disneyland story, reported to me as The Gospel Truth by a friend who worked there for a summer, was that there were two songs which the PA system would NEVER play at Disneyland under normal circumstances. One was "Whistle While You Work," which was code for "Evacuate the Park." The other he could not remember, but it was code for "Get Everyone to the Bomb Shelters." (Disneyland has bomb shelters? That can hold an entire Disneylandfull of people?) Anyone else heard this particular story? Also, on the subject of Stupid Disneyland Tricks: Back in my juvenile delinquent youth, we would visit Disneyland, and time how long it took between us dropping trash and a uniformed person appearing to remove it. As I remember, minimum was 1 second (said person was standing behind us) to 1 minute, average about 20 seconds. =========================================================================== MORE STORY TIME =========================================================================== [Hmm looks like this story may take a bit more space and time than I suspect it first would. I was hoping for four parts but I think it may take long to conclude this exciting and informative tale.] MESSENGER OF THE GODS PART III We climbed down below into the control room, lit by dim red bulbs. They were rigged for night running. My eyes not accustomed to the gloom, made out dim shapes standing absolutely motionless. There was a funny smell in the air. Spices and something else. "How do," said a small dark man in a spotless white suit suddenly appearing in front of me from around a bank of equipment. He held some sort of bone rattled in one hand. He wore a black bowler on his head, chicken bones stuck in a blood red scarf tied around it's brim. "Who's this?" I asked out the corner of my mouth to Elvis who was right behind me. "Oh heck! Why this is Dr. Mabuto. I hired him to crew for me and do help with the work on my navy." Mabuto held out his hand. White teeth glinted. I noticed his gums were almost white as well. The name seemed familiar. Then it hit me. I'd heard of Mabuto before. He'd been deported from the U.S. after the National Science Foundation discovered he been using a multi-million dollar grant of their's for research in cross breeding kelp with ganja. He also apparently deemed it necessary to biologically engineer a group of humans to server as underwater farmers for his crop. There had been talk of hideous fishmen behind the close doors of the deportation hearing. His father had been a full blown voodoo priest while his mother was a marine biologist. He'd grown up on a weird blend of science and superstition. His natural genius had managed to blend them together synthesizing a totally new product. I shook the offered hand. He seemed friendly enough. He excitedly took me by the arm and guided me around the control room pointing out this or that control panel. The things he really wanted to show me though were the crew--his pride and joy. They were his supposedly disposed of fishmen. "With the help of the spirits of the deep I was able to free them from their unjust incarceration," he explained to me. The government had been holding them in one of their secret prison/laboratories. The secret facility had been right on the ocean so it was very vulnerable to attack by sea. From Mabuto's account I gathered some great thing all flailing tentacles and sucking mouths has oozed up onto the beach, torn the lab apart and carried off the fishmen and a few others. I asked Elvis about the others later. As it turned out a couple of them were survivors of the Philadelphia Experiment. Their rescue had some how helped Elvis get a hold of that weird green fog dimensional warp device. Now that my eyes were getting used to the red glow I could make out the details of the stock still fishmen. Each stood ready and alert in front of his or her station. They seemed human enough except for the big bulging eyes and modified jaws and throats frilled with gills. Their skin has a fish belly white sheen and looked like shark skin. The hands, and bare feet where heavily modified into fins with long prehensile fingers. Clumps of swimming muscles bulged here and an there. Most reeked of the sea and ganja. Mabuto gave me a short lecture on their design. How they eyes were specially adapted for the underwater, but also their life on land had been taken into account as well. They could see equally well in both mediums unlike earlier experiments of his. He pointed out the clumps of muscle and named each one saying what each one did. It was fascinating but I didn't have time for it. The letter in my pocket seemed to weight 10 pounds. "Look are we going to get his show on the road soon?" "Oh yeah right!", said Elvis jumping off the chart table where he'd been idly strumming his battered guitar. The Man in Black, who'd been standing in the shadows, stalked over and pulled the crash dive alarm. Sirens and hoots filled the air. Mabuto shouted orders at the fishmen who instantly came alive with a sinewy grace, deftly pulling levers and touching switches. The small voodoo priest then yelled into a speaking tube. I gathered there were more crew somewhere else in the submarine. It was big enough to need a lot. Clearly Elvis had just come along for the ride. The deck lurched under my feed at the nose plummeted at a 45 degree angle. A glint of red light flashed off the dark wrap around sun glasses of the Man in Black. He seemed to be enjoying this. "Hey!" shouted Elvis losing his footing and grabbing at the periscope console as he lost his balanced and crashed into the floor. I worked my way over across the slopping deck and helped him to his feet. "Doggone it! Can't we take it easy!" he sputtered with indignation. "You must get used to this might foe of the Antichrist. When the time of reckoning is at hand it will be necessary to perform many maneuvers such as this," said Mabuto. He shook his bone rattle into the speaking tube and shouted down it. Later I learned that the crew at the other end of the speaking tube were back among the reactors. They were all zombies. Mabuto didn't want any of his fishmen getting contaminated. He'd managed some deal with the Man in Black who'd kidnapped him a couple dozen suitable victims. It always unnerves one at first to see such powers working together but bargains such at that has gone on for thousands of years. "We were also on the verge of being attacked by airborne vehicles of an Mayan configuration," said the Man in Black startling us all. So he had pulled the crash dive alarm for a reason besides just wanting to get us underway in a hurry. The question is: How did he know we were under attack when he had been standing there with the rest of us? "Mayans!" I yelled. "Hell some boob was taking about them on the radio last night! I thought the Fropheads were tampering with me and now this!" "It was no doubt a subtle warning," said the Man in Black. "Since when were the Followers of Bob subtle?" asked Mabuto, teeth flashing as he grinned. "And why are they so keen on getting this letter of mine?" I asked. "Well.." began Elvis. He paused a moment as if he forgot was he was going to say, "maybe it's like my rhinestone getups or my sweat. People used to go gagga over it. It really does have magical healing powers you know. Maybe there's some sort of power in the letter." "Probably, damn thing can drive a normal person mad," I replied. "Let us see this letter of yours. None of us are normal human beings. Even my beloved fishmen are resistant to such things. Perhaps if all our intellect is focused on this problem we can ascertain why these Followers of Bob wish this letter." I looked around the control room at each of my companions faces. I wasn't sure it was a good idea. For a moment my paranoia got out of hand. What if they would take the letter away from me? It was my letter to deliver after all. She' given it to me specially to deliver to Otis. I was my job not theirs. I took a step back, and bumped into a railing. I shook my head to clear it. The letter must be getting to me. I walked over to the chart table. Elvis flipped on a bright white light. We all blinked for a second. There was a chart on the table. A course was mapped out on it for the Haystack Monument. Funny thing was the course was plotted right up to the monument. Not just to the coast near it. I slowly traced the line with my finger. "How did you know I was going here?" I asked looking at Elvis. He looked slightly embarrassed. He looked at his feet scuffing them. "Um some lady called and told me were you were going." "Some lady!" "Yeah, she said you'd just called and she'd hear your convo. You'd forgotten to tell me where we were going so she filled me in. She also has some not to pleasant threats about what would happen to me if I didn't get that letter delivered." "Did she say who she was?" "Sounded like Marilyn Monroe. Spooked me pretty bad. I thought she was dead." "Few are," said the Man in Black cryptically. Mabuto was grinning again. He noticed my finger tracking the course right up the to the haystack monument. "Spirits of the deep," he said tapping his bowler with his rattle. I pulled out the letter slowly. It felt hot to the touch and weighted as much as a lead brick. It seemed to vibrate and hum slightly. It hadn't done this before. Something really weird was going on. "That wasn't Marilyn Monroe you know," I said to Elvis, who was now looking at me. "Sounded like her," he argued. "It was HER," I said pointing to the letter. "Don't be too sure." said the Man in Black. From out of a pocket he produced a silvery rod which he slowly scanned the envelop with. The little golden apples on it danced madly in an unholy brownian motion. Mabuto took a close look at the letter and gasped. He crossed himself and muttered spells and formula. Elvis got a glazed look in his eyes and reached forward to touch the letter. "Better not," I warned. He snatched his had back as it were bitten. The perfume off the letter slowly worked it's way through the smell of the control room displacing the reek of ocean and ganja. The fishmen shuffled uncomfortably and muttered among themselves. By now we'd level off. A glance at the big compass said we were heading north. With an abrupt motion the Man in Black slipped the silvery rod back into his pocket. "Well?" I asked. "Damn powerful stuff, like something out of the black heart of old Africa," said Mabuto. He took off his bowler for a second and wiped his sweating forehead with a loud handkerchief. "Woowee. Never seen nothing like that," observed Elvis. "My instrument tells me little. The power of this artifact is not within the bounds of any know science," said the Man in Black he seemed a little intimidated by that fact. "Of course it's not. It's from a Goddess. It's not some super science venusian type postal thingie," I said. We stood for a few moments in silence. The engines throbbed quietly. "Well any ideas?" I finally asked. I needed to move around. I needed action. I had to get to the hay stack monument soon. Dr. Mabuto cleared his throat. Everyone looked at him. "Throughout the ages, men have searched for sources of power. They would pay anything for it. They would do anything for it. I believe we have in front of us such a device. We do not know what it does, but we know it has power. Perhaps the Followers of Bob know it's power. Perhaps they do not but have a use for it." I looked at the doctor skeptically. A thought just crossed my mind. "Wait, it's just a love letter. Look SHE wrote it and SHE wants it delivered to Otis for Valentines day." Dr. Mabuto became flustered for a moment and fiddled with his rattle, adjusting his hat. For a moment I thought he might sick his fishmen on me. Then the Man in Black spoke. "I doubt a simple love letter would draw the attention of a Mayan saucer, which apparently is still following us even though we are a significant distance below the surface of the ocean." "What!" the rest of us yelled. Dr. Mabuto swore. "I would like to point out this that vessel is almost a relic. It is old and outdated. Present technology has far surpassed it," continued the Man in Black. He glanced around at the various instruments about himself as if to stress his point. "Are you saying my submarine is a piece of junk!" said Elvis sounding hurt. "Let me put it this way," I began, "comparing this submarine to the navies present models is like comparing their models to SBI." "Oh shoot!" "Is this vessel even safe to operate?" asked Mabuto worrying for his fishmen. "Would I be here if it were not?" asked the Man in Black, who was now looking up at the ceiling, as if he could see through the hull and water up into the sky were the mayan saucer was following us. We all followed his gaze. We of course could see nothing. For some reason I suspected this looking up business was some sort of act. "I suggest we ignore the mystery of the letter and attend to this saucer," said Mabuto. He walked over to the speaking tube and began to issue orders again. "Hmm maybe we could capture them and find out why the are following us," I suggested. "Boy howdy that's a great idea. We'll get a big net or something and capture it," said Elvis getting excited. He was acting like a little boy who'd just been told he was going on a fishing trip. "And how would you do this?" asked Mabuto. The sound of he engines changed abruptly as we sped up. "No doubt call upon some of those resources you have access to," said the Man in Black as if he did not approve such things. "Hell we don't need any of that!" shouted Elvis. "Let's use the artifact! It's a mighty powerful thingamabob according to the space friends!" Amazingly enough it sounded like a good idea to the rest of us. Though we had our reservations. Dealing with interdimensional technology, none of use know much about was a tricky business. We could end up on the far side of Pluto if we weren't careful. ---MAL 1991 =========================================================================== NEWS OF THE WEIRD =========================================================================== Date: 4 May 91 11:51:00 EDT From: Subject: well, as long as there are only 65 people logged on... From the chapter "Fruits of Research": (some of you have seen this one before but it bears repeating): Tetsuo Sugawara, a 24-yr-old student in information science at Japan's Yamagata University, died of suffocation when he taped up his nose & mouth as part of an apparent experiment to monitor the effects of breathing on body movement. Jesus was probably not celibate, did not advocate celibacy, & had a "special relationship" with at least 1 woman, according to a committee of religious scholars, led by Robert W. Funk of Westmar Institute in California. The participants analyzed 758 sayings of Jesus and judged only 148 to be authentic. Among their findings: Jesus did not preach much of the Sermon on the Mount, did not predict his own death, & did not expect to return to earth. A paper by Peruvian Lutheran scholar Leif Vaage went so far as to call Jesus "a party animal, somewhat shiftless & disrespectful of the Fifth Commandment: Honor your mother and father." Beverly Hills dermatologist Dr. Arnold Klein reported one benefit of pollution is that it can help keep your skin looking young by blocking sunlight that can age it. Researchers at Langley Air Force Base, VA, trying to reduce accidents caused by jets hitting birds, converted a 20-foot-long cannon to fire 4-pound chickens at 700mph into engines, windshields, & landing gear to determine how much damage such collisions can cause. In 1982 Larry Rogers sat in his laboratory in Jacks Valley, CA, experimenting with grain wastes & a bacterium he thought would dissolve explosive materials. It didn't work, but Rogers discovered something better-- bulletproof wheat. He said his compound could be used to manufacture a broad range of products, among them lightweight armor, a wood substitute, & pasta. Brad Coker,whose firm conducted a statewide exit poll in VA's 1989 gubernatorial election, denied that his poll's failure to project the actual closeness of the race-- Dem. L. Douglas Wilder won by fewer than 7000 votes out of 1.5 million-- had anything to do with the way the poll was conducted. Instead, he blamed the 10% error on thousands of Republican voters he accused of deliberately lying to pollsters about the way they voted. And on that note, one from the chapter called "Let's Make a Deal": Saudi Sheik Mohammed al-Fassi offered Midland, Pennsylvania, $3 million if all the town's voters would pledge to vote against President Reagan in the 1984 election. =========================================================================== STUPID CHRISTIAN TRICKS =========================================================================== From: SERVAX::SMTP%"SKEPTIC%YORKVM1.BITNET@pucc.PRINCETON.EDU" 7-MAY-1991 10:49:27.89 Date: Tue, 7 May 91 10:11:47 EDT Greetings! Before I put in my two cents worth on this current thread about Christian schools being allowed to beat their children, I like to tell you a (true) story. There once was a Fundamentalist Christian community in Virginia called Stonebridge. There was a little two-year-old boy living there. One day this little boy took one of his playmate's toys. Of course, the playmate started to cry. The child was told to give the toy back. Now a two-year-old's favorite word is "no" and they can be as stubborn as the proverbial mule. (As the father of three girls I can vouch for that.) So of course the child refuses to return the toy. The minister of the community orders the father to beat the child. For some reason this makes the child even more stubborn. (I suspect that this was not his first beating.) After approx. 3 hours of beating the child collapses, still clutching the toy! The boy died enroute to the hospital. The autopsy revealed that the boy's buttocks were so lacerated and swollen that his entire body's blood supply had accumulated in the wounds and he had died of a lack of blood to the brain! [stuff deleted] =========================================================================== MORE NEWS OF THE WEIRD =========================================================================== Date: 8 May 91 09:32:00 EDT From: Subject: lots of tidbits from the ever-productive Spode From: VAX001::WINS%"" 7-MAY-1991 06:28:26.94 Subj: Maybe the world really *is* coming to an end! [headers deleted] _Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 29 April 1991 _Sounds Crazy_ This is not a piece of lavatorial humour. This is an item about a genuine patented invention, details of which were sent to us by the jovial Elijah Saartori of Cerebe Desing International in Tsuen Wan. The invention is a combined toilet seat and sound studio. The official UK patent, number 2227259, says the invention "comprises a compressible flexible portion configured to seal against the upper rim of the toilet bowl, and an arcuate cantle-like flange projection at the rear of the seat, configured to abut and seal against the lower back of a user sitting on said seat." It is a toilet seat to be used "for sound reading" according to the application by inventor Eytan Posner. We can only think of one explanation for the existence of such an object. The world has gone mad. ************ Subj: Add this on to the previously received 'bad stuff' list, if you have one [headers deleted] _Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 29 April 1991 _More Bad Stuff_ More pocket-sized versions of popular philosophies, modern and ancient, have arrived from Causeway Bay beancounter Tony Nedderman: Animism: We don't need any more bad stuff. Better sacrifice *two* virgins. Cannibilism: That's really bad stuff. But at least we get to eat. Atheism: It may appear to be bad stuff but we don't believe it for a moment. Parseeism: That really is bad stuff. Maybe if we put it on the roof it will go away. Consumerism: If you don;t try it for yourself, how will you know the bad stuff? Moonyism: We need *your* contribution to do something about this bad stuff. Positivism: It only seems like bad stuff until we allow for it. Negativism: Bad stuff? This is just the beginning ... Jonesism: Forget about all this bad stuff and just drink your Koolaid. ********* _Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 7 May 1991 _Bad Vibes_ More pocket philosophies, courtesy of anonymous of Wan Chai. Spiritualism: Bad stuff is just your late Uncle Herbert mucking around. Materialism: You may have more bad stuff than me, but wait till I go shopping. Sexism: Bad stuff is spelt F.E.M.A.L.E. Feminism: Bad stuff is spelt M.A.L.E. Positivism: Bad stuff happens to other people. Pantheism: More bad stuff? Quick, bung a new god on the altar. [stuff deleted. Appeared in last purps] ****** Subj: An innovative business opportunity? [headers deleted] _Lai See_ - South China Morning Post - 29 April 1991 _Safe Bet_ Foreign correspondent Stefan Reisner covers the Far East and China from his Conduit Road base for Germany's _Stern_ magazine. He was mulling over a new business idea in Germany which he thought would be ideal for Hongkong. The company is called Kondonexpress and is a telephone delivery service for people in need of contraceptive devices. He reckons it would work well in Hongkong, which is small, modern, and has world-class and speedy transport services. "The minimum order is 10 pieces," said Mr. Reisner. So you can imagine how impressed your partner will be. ***** Date: 8 May 91 19:40:00 EDT From: Subject: anonymous contribution From: (you'll never know) Subj: news of the wierd material? no, I don't want credit for this: -------------------------------------------------------------------- The following is paraphrased from a recent issue of Car and Driver: In Tennessee, Police responded to reports that a naked woman had been hit on the highway. Actually, the woman, 24, was neither naked nor hurt except for a few bruises. Apparently, she was a passenger in a car doing about 65 mph and had fallen out of the window while attempting to relieve herself. It seems she had misjudged the force of the wind. A lady in a different car witnessed the incident and claims to "have now seen it all." =========================================================================== POETRY CORNER =========================================================================== "RONALD REAGAN IS MY SHEPHERD" Ronald Reagan is my shepherd, I shall not want. He leadeth me beside still factories and abandoned farms. He restoreth my doubts in the Republican party. He anointed my wages with taxes and inflation so my expenses runneth over my income. Surely poverty and hard living shall follow the Republican party and I shall work on a rented farm and live in a rented house forever. 5000 years ago Moses said: "Pack your camel, pick up your shovel, move your ass and I shall lead you to the promised land." 5000 years later Jimmy Carter said: "Lay down your shovel, sit on your ass and light up a camel, this is the promised land." This year Ronald Reagan will take your shovel, sell your camel, kick your ass and tell you he gave away the promised land. I'm glad I am an American, I'm glad that I am free, but I wish I was a dog and Reagan was a tree... =========================================================================== WORDS OF WISDOM/PREACH-O-RAMA SUMMARY/OTISIANS RANTINGS =========================================================================== [Hmm below is various conversations and quotes from that Preach-O-Rama all your folks seemed to have missed out on. This is barely any of it. I chopped out a lot.] {If it seems a bit disjointed, it is. Also some of the conversation bits have been trimmed a bit, I yanked out the superfluous junk in between some bits. On the IRC [for those who don't know] conversations tend to happen in parallel so in between Otisian wisdom you might have a convo about say removing pet stains from a persian rug.] [I was looking over this edition of Purps and noticed it was lacking concrete Otisian Wisdom. [Oh there's plenty of it there, just you have to decode it.] I also figured it might be nice to hear more words of wisdom from the Pope and a couple other Luminaries. I just left the names like they were on the IRC except for the innocent bystanders who's names were deleted out. Anyways thing that is not labeled is what Mal said.] Sex is the END not a reason Frued is the god of Sexual Repression, arch-enemy of Mari-Lynne. Frued's chief saint is Saint Stanley By-the-Brook. (Otis approves of everything.) Thou art dog! Does a dog have Otis-nature? Otis nature. No. Dog nature. Yes. Genuine 100% OTIS certified Pope's Shit! 19.95 and an SASE for a Limited time Pope's shit? Can I get that gift wrapped? Mysterious Scatological Ejaculations! now it's less than just us. we are not ourselves? we are not all here > We are all channeling or something. that's why we are doing this. > we are giving purps a very bizarre rep on here ya know. Mal: Yeah. But it's not my magazine.. anymore hehehe :} Why do you think I got rid of it... >Oh hell it's all in the name of good clean fun. ->pji> we sound like a bunch of missionaries on speed. We awfully silly in here by ourselves > Oh way too silly. (Innocent) I don't know what are you talking about! *PJI* so true... and I'm not on speed... OTIS is an incomphrensible mysteroy we never kill babies. mystery no never. No babies. Or yaks Spelling: an incomprehensable mystery Yeti? Perhaps speeling is mystical. No Yak tossing here. No siree! Spellign? nah pefrectyl esay to understadn (Innocent Bystander) Do you eat ALIVE babies? no. well, if you pay lots of money. No. Dead ones only. (Innocent Bystander) You buy them or what? > Well actually re rely on donations and the kindness of strangers. (Innocent Bystander) I see... > Oh and divine intervention and superior technology. > In this modern age of squabbling religions you need more than just (Innocent Bystander) You guys are just against logic, isn't it? > miracles to get ahead. YOu need electronic counter measures. > Logic? what does that have to do with anything? > The world would be mighty boring if it were logical. (Innocent Bystander) So you're some kind of weird people > Religious People tend to be weird. Every watch sunday morning t.v.? > since there are only a few of us we have to be a bit more concentrated (Innocent Bystander) Are you religious people? (A different Innocent) hmmm? Hi. Who's Otis? Hello Innocent Otis! Otis is the ancient sumerian god of life. > Otis is the God of everything. She's a swell god to worship. The god with NO dog-nature! Dog nature is key, though. From Atlantis. or, williamstown ma. Which is almost the same OTIS LIVES! so, Innocent, how's texas? Set yourself on fire! Set your DOG on fire! > Or if you don't like Otis you can try Heether. She's looking for new > converts. set your voyeur on fire. Watch your dog! Everything forbidden is OPTIONAL! Do what we would not have thou do shall be the exception to the law-- otis 5:23 > Or I suppose we could whisper the occult wisdom of the Mistress of Mayhem. Give them what they want to hear! --- otis 4:4 Heether is what? O disloyal goddess, o rebellious goddess... If I had any fish I would put it back in the water. Otis 2:3 Mal: Hey no ERIS here... and the straight shall be made curvy! > Oh poor Heether always gets eclipsed by the light of Otis. > she's a good Goddess to ya know. I mean look what she's done for me. (Innocent) Don't settle down for my sake, kids, ranting is part of my life +style. (Gruntpig:+purps) I will now rearrange my internal organs from anatomical to alphabetical order... OTIS shines brighter Otis is only 60 wats. Hallogens have so many uses Yes! GP: excel;lent!!!!! > Well if they won't fall for anyone else why not her? Hmm? GP: AMAZING! and really cool. Mal: If they fall for her they'll fall for anyone, true... (Innocent) Don't be afraid, it's JUST AN OVEN. oven? but you can still send him/her money... Money is the important thing. Jock-itch has no dog-nature. <>: A victim of OTIS rage no doubt Jock-itch baked is really dull. Probably after me. I still owe her money... (Innocent) netlag I got bored Ignore the oven reference Otis is mighty touchy these days. > Owe who money? E? Ovens for the masses. Ovens for the rich and poor. > The oven is my friend. Frying innocent bystanders for kicks... Hey, I wasn't the one who put the horse's head in her.his most holy loo! (Innocent) there is no friend in the oven. Ovens for the catholics, protestants, jews, and those who would classify themselves as Other. Not me! Ovens for OTIS! *puts head in oven* Ta-da! > Always room for one more. turns it too broil. YES! Send all your ovens to: IGHF POB 235 Williamstomn, MA 01267-0235 usa Turns it off. *** PJI changed the topic to Out of the Oven and into the Kitchen *** Stuff changed the topic to Out of the Oven and into the Pulpit. topic wars > It's the Nova Oven or the pulpit for you preacher man. *** PJI changed the topic to Out of the Pulpit and into the Oven! (Innocent) Otis for Ovens. Lovin' Ovens. (Innocent) InterGalacticHangingFruit?" So, where to convection ovens come in? Send Otis the bill! *** Stuff changed the topic to Out of the OVEN and into the OVEN. IGHF good in and out motions. Pant! Hat. > Yeah but you'll never get converts at this rate. (Gruntpig:+purps) nothing says loving like a loved one in the oven Intergalactic house of fruitcakes. Or whatever. > Convection.. don't you mean conversion ovens? Innocent: InterGalactic House fo Fruitcakes. Close though Join your own army! Nothing says loved on like giving them an oven. Through the mail. Have your cake and eat it, too! *** PJI changed the topic to Serious Discussion About Religion. > Yes it's the FTD florist gas oven bouquet for that someone extra special. Bake your CAke and eat it too. Non-alienated labor. > Bake your cake and eat it too. If you meet Otis on the road, clap Bob! Remember! all of the chemicals in the human body are only worth $2.08! except on the black market. where they can be made into glue for much + more. Drink Mercury and increase your value... Raise you own value! NOW! Drink Otis! Let Us raise your value! follow the 44 step program to Genkiness! Going once going twice sold to the pope in the red fez for two eternit +ies and one small punishment. Hi. We're the Otisians. We'd like to save you. PURPS in my brain! Otis in my life. No Masons here, I hop? hope? Mason Mason Mason. Me. not recently. you want to tell me what the light of Otis is? > No no masons. I swear by the great architect of the Universe there are no mas +ons here. Otis is the ancient sumerian god of life. > No tracing boards either. Otis saves. Otis lives. Otis rants. Otis raves. Otis saves! Hail Otis! Otis dances! HAIL OTIS! Naked in the moonlight. with the pagans No, no. Not naked. That's gross. So, tell us about your personal saviour, Innocent. Naked is NOT gross. Naked is nice. No illuminati here either I'm naked now. With Otis it is! No-one's told me what the light of Otis is yet. > If if you don't have one have we got one for you. *dies mysteriously* With Otis everything is nice. 60 wats The light of OTIS is embodied in the OTISian dogma! The light is that special something that helps people realize the natur +e of their life. the OTISian Dogma: to serve OTIS. Praise dogma! dogma. 1. We have no dogma yes. 2. Ignore previous dogma 1 a We have lots of dogma/ 2 a if you do not pay attention, we kill you. > Hmm don't forget the 4th commandment. 4. There is no dog in dogma. 3. Send ALL of your money to IGHF: POB 235 Williamstown, MA 01267-0235 US +A 4th: send no money. > Wait how can the pope have ties if he don't get money? 4. Everything forbidden is Optional. Do what we would not have thou do s +hall be the exception to the law Stuff: My personal saviour will be that guy that offers to sell me an Onkyo A8000 amplifier and AAron Quartet speakers for less than $1000!! 4.5 Give all your money to the person on your left. %: Ignore O. he is um silly Innocent: nice choice. I like a little slack in my diet. > Hmm sounds like a Job for B-B or B. Otis. SLACK?!?! B Otis 2!! How can the pope have UNDERWARE if he don't have money? HERETIC!!!!!!!!!! SInister Heretic, thank you. Underwrite the underwear. I have a pair of the Pope's underwear. > underware.. hmm so you do wear something under your popal robes. Can I launch the head of Arnold Palmer here? they don't look good on you. ST: YES!!!!!!! > Hmm this is the Death to Bob channel actually. *** Otodotos changed the topic to Death to Bob Brow kills. Death to Discordia! Underware: looks good on me Death to the Crunchies! Death to the Blue Meanies! Death to Otis. looks light wonder wear. DEATH TO BOB! > Sex: hay now let's not give it all away!!!! this is all over my head Hey, as Junior security birdman I appreciate that! We already tried that. He just popped back up. > There are secrets even these illuminates do not know. you are not a birdman. you are yeti Sheep! Mal: St Bud save me! yer right of course... > Shh!! you'll give the game away. I'd have to have to use the OMC. And behold! The credible shall be hosed! And the hosed shall be sa +ved! --- Otis 44:44 Oh. Park it in your submarine pen. heheh Are the credible saved? Only if they get hosed by Otis. Ah... > what about the incredible? or the Invincible for that matter. I think I've been hosed by OTIS... I'm writing a speculative fiction piece on what America would be like if Abraham Lincoln had been a platypus Cool. ST: wasn't he a platypus? > Hmm how does a platypus wear a stove pipe hat? ST: I think Max Ernst already did that one I once wrote a pornographic novel about if Max Ernst had been a psyc +ho-killer and Adolf Hitler had been a cop. 4 score and 7 quack! quack! quack! *burrows into the ground* (Yet another Innocent) otodotos, that is an unusual nick! > Hitler couldn't be a cop. He was too short. the only egg laying mammal ever to become commander in chief ST: lincoln was farr too dignified to go borrowing into the ground Innocent: why thank you! that's a ravishing number you have on yoursel +f tonight! > Mighty impressive feat for a marsupial I must say. ST: hmmm... but there was an aardvark who made pope... (Innocent) a ravishing number? > Hmm he could make a cameo appearance in 'the good they bad and the ugly' > Hmm that the Ulyses S. Grant scatch and sniff three dee movie? What if McDonald's were NOT run by aliens? Grant was too dignified to be human. What if Thomas Edison had been a wo +man? What kind of creature IS the Grimace, anyhow? Light bulbs might be shaped differently (Innocent) I like the set of Q numbers. (Innocent) Q numbers are quiet. Grimace is the monster. What are those Fry Guys? The grim: and what happened to those two extra arms? are they really ne +xt to Brow's testicles in the oTIS, MA museum? =========================================================================== MORE STORIES!!! =========================================================================== Date: Tue, 21 May 91 22:04:02 CDT From: Reverend John Subject: part the third My Voyage Into The Netherworld or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying And SPODE by Rev. John Tynes uc521832@umcvmb.bitnet uc521832@umcvmb.missouri.edu part the third (and final) Mal regarded me levelly from behind a mass of unkempt hair. He fixed me with a serious gaze, portents of doom swam behind his eyes. I couldn't take him seriously. He was, after all, sitting on the toilet. "So, uh, Mal.. are you Satan now or something?" "Don't be dense, Rev. I'm just sort of holding it in trust." "I'm confused.. I mean, SPODE sent me down here, like it didn't know you were responsible. And what the hell - pardon the pun - are you doing, anyway?" Barker stood up and pushed his hair back some. For a moment it came to life, tying his hand up in knots, twisting about like a garden of dark snakes. I watched in amazement as Mal jerked about, one arm on his head, trying to free himself. "But Mal, you don't have dandruff!" Suddenly his hair relaxed and he pulled his hand free, shooting me another look I could frame and scare Karloff with. "Come on. Gotta show you something." The two demons grabbed me again, crinkling the fine cotton/poly blend of my t-shirt. On it, the Subgenius design flared slightly, and I could feel the sudden heat against my skin. Mal noticed the brief glow and dismissed it - "Stang isn't getting royalties for this story, Rev. He's pissed. Ignore it." We began to walk - well, I was carried, but all the same we moved into a long tunnel, carpeted all around. To my astonishment there were dozens of inflated balloons, of all colors, sticking to the carpet. As we walked, Mal stopped and plucked one down. He rubbed it against the carpet for a bit and it stuck. He giggled a bit. When he noticed I was staring at him he glared again. "I like static electricity, alright?? It's interesting." We pressed on. As we walked, I was slowly aware of a growing sound. It was a strange sort of music, very distant but very clear. It grew louder as we stomped along, Mal refusing to answer my questions. The two demons weren't talkative, either. After a few more minutes, we came to the end of the hall. There before us stood a massive wooden door. Mal leaned against the wall and lifted his foot like a dog taking a piss. I made a smart remark. One of the demons hit me. It hurt. After a moment the heel of Mal's upraised combat boot dropped open and a key fell out. This he picked up, glaring at me again, and unlocked the door. As soon as the door began to open, the everpresent music swelled in a glorious crescendo. Light poured from the crack, and suddenly I understood a bit more about what was going on. Mal opened the door all the way, and then looked at me with a little smile. Within was God. It was him, the big G, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, the Father, the trinity, the whole nine yards. He was right out of Industrial Light & Magic: soft glowing light, flowing robes, cherubim and seriphum swirling around and singing in beautiful voices. The two demons immediately dissipated, the looks on their faces suggesting a sort of cosmic indigestion. God surveyed me from furrowed brows. His hair and beard were long and immaculately grey, and just seeing him filled me with an emotion that is hard to put into words. "Jesus jumping christ on a fucking pogo stick, Mal! What the hell are you doing??" Mal snickered. "Watch your language, Rev. You are in the presence of God, you know." The deity regarded me slowly, but said nothing. "That's GOD in there! In hell! And you've got him locked up?" "Yep." Mal swung the door shut again and locked it, replacing the key in his boot. "Come on back to the throne room. We gotta talk." ------ Returning to the little cubicle, Mal sat down on the ornate toilet seat and gestured for me to sit on the floor. "To put it simply, God was coming back and something had to be done. He's having a big revival now, Rev. You've seen it. Fundamentalists, deranged goverment people, it was his time in the spotlight again." "So what's he doing in hell? And what are YOU doing here?" "Well, nobody really believes in the devil anymore. So, here's hell, just a big abandoned building with a bunch of idiot demons running around. Somebody had to move in and take Satan's place. I thought I was the one for the job." "But SPODE doesn't know anything about you being down here." "Nope. You see, I captured God, and I'm not gonna let him back out again. I can't tell SPODE, though. We puny humans aren't supposed to be able to do that kinda thing. SPODE is a deity you know. He may be a swell guy at parties but when the chips come down he's the one with a key to the executive bathroom, not us." "Okay. Satan ain't around, you took his place, you captured God, and SPODE and the rest aren't supposed to know." I scooted a little closer. "But Mal, what's the point?" "Oh. Hmm. Well, I sort of wanted to see if it could be done." "That's it?" "Kinda. I was fooling around with static electricity, some stuff Nikola Tesla was working on just before his death. He thought that it was the stuff that held the universe together, and that if used properly it could generate a sort of magnetic force." "You're losing me here.." "Well, I came to hell. I figure, like attracts like. So I put a bunch of tormented souls into helium balloons and rubbed them against a big carpeted tunnel, kinda like a particle cannon. And boom, suddenly God's here, stuck at one end of the soul tunnel. So I got him." "Just like that?" "Just like that." "Well, now what? I mean, SPODE wants me to tell it what's going on." "Easy. Tell it that God is dead. Again. At this point, he'll believe anything." "You got a point." "Look, I'll see you back topside. You can make up whatever story you want to go along with this, but leave me out of it. SPODE gets nervous around free agents." ----- A week later I had made a full report. True to my story, the level of God activity simmered down to a tolerable point and SPODE paid me what I was owed. Obviously, Mal was keeping a very tight rein on the old gent down below. The check from SPODE bounced, of course, but I wasn't worried. Karma like this you can't pass up. Mal still appears on the net, and periodically spits out a new PURPS. No one has guessed what that extra extension on his net address really means. But heck, even hell has an internet node. Satan? Well, I part ways with Mal here. I think he's still around, in one form or another. Who knows.. he could be sitting right next to me right this very minute, wearing a pair of Converse All-Stars or something. I've known stranger things to happen. -FIN- Rev. John uc521832@umcvmb.bitnet uc521832@umcvmb.missouri.edu =========================================================================== THEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHE =========================================================================== --Subink 1991