Subject: The ATM ate my Slack

Date: 02 Mar 1996 00:00:00 GMT

From: megeliz@radix.net (MegEliz)

Organization: Gene Wolfe Library and Family Restaurant, East Wing

Newsgroups: alt.slack

 

I quite simply cannot fucking believe this.

 

For DAYS I have been soaked with Slack. All I have needed to do to

share it is to make dripping noises over the telephone as a blessing.

I should have been a wreck of a girl, I really should, considering

that I've had one of the lowest possible blows to my remaining mental

equilibrium this week. I identified a much loved BODY today and STILL

I had Slack to spare.

 

This weird and persistent Slack-state was beginning to get on my

nerves. Had I somehow managed to kill "Bob" without even noticing? Is

this possible? Had I caused an modest explosion? Had I run him down

without even denting my car? Had he located the rat poison I left out?

Was his pipe carried off by vermin? No sooner did I think about him,

the fucker, than the sucking began.

 

I had a minor brain-cramp at the ATM and refused to believe that it

wouldn't recognize my magic number. Did I check it? NO, of course not!

I just punched it in again and again until the oracle decided to teach

me a lesson and kept my card. The ONE TIME in all my years of tickling

computers that I would have been HAPPY to see, "Are you really sure

you want to do this?" it doesn't nag or prompt me it just spits out a

slip that says I must "notify the institution." Let's play

Bureaucracy: I'll bring the swords. Slluuurp!

 

Unpleasant fury needs to be unleashed so that it does not to go stale,

so I went home and lay down and had a tantrum in my living room.

Reason number 2002 why the pupal uberfemmes are THE BEST: instead of

getting upset by my performance they joined in and kicked and screamed

and rolled all over the carpet.

 

I used to believe that I am not the sort of person who'd do murder

over a tube of toothpaste, a snore, or a slice of turkey. Now I am not

so sure.

 

Slack hangover commences. Stand back.

 

Not-Yet Popette Fucking Meg

 

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My sig is not under construction. It's dead. megeliz@radix.net

 

 

 

Subject: Re: The ATM ate my Slack

Date: 03 Mar 1996 00:00:00 GMT

From: megeliz@radix.net (MegEliz)

Organization: Gene Wolfe Library and Family Restaurant, East Wing

Newsgroups: alt.slack

References: 1 , 2

 

 

bmyers@ionet.net (TarlaStar) wrote:

: This is a beautiful picture of a loving SubGenius family. I am deeply

: moved. You are obviously an excellent mother.

 

I just wanted to quote this. I feel so...so...JUICY! There is a dark

side to our little dears that I should probably mention. They are not

properly afraid of me 99% of the time. They are not cowed by a booming

yeti war cry or threats of cattle prods. We can't get a baby-sitter

(except their Grandma) that they won't rob and skin. We're terribly

close because we must be - there is no choice.

 

The other thing: they are unnaturally huge and strong. You know those

growth charts that the pediatricians doodle on? Wellll, sister,

they've had to tape extra sheets of paper to ours, like this:

 

N=normal X=P.U.

 

X <--off the chart at about 6 months

X NN

H X NN W

E X N E

I X N I

G X N G

H X N H

T X N T

X N

N

N

T I M E ------->

 

They WILL be bigger than me. Soon. All systems must be accelerated

accordingly. They must be taught not to eat their playmates, long

enough to get educated, for instance. Also I'll never have any decent

furniture if they can't learn to quit playing catch with the coffee

table.

: boys usually try to get as far away as possible without anyone

: noticing they are in motion...a sort of deliberate self-erasure. Now

: I'm jealous of YOU, too.

 

Don't be. Just send Western Union.

 

NYP bone tired Meg

 

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