Newsgroups: alt.slack

Subject: New Slack Anti-control Control!

From: (MegaLiz)

Date: Tue, 09 Jun 1998 02:14:48 GMT


Since Slack examined is Slack lost, a problem is presented for those

of us who have our heads perpetually up our ass. If PURSUING Slack is

fruitless, then I think I should just be sure to PAVE for Slack and

try to avoid doing so with more concentration than it takes to scratch

that itchy patch on my thigh when I'm sitting on a chair with a sticky

vinyl seat. Oops. Sorry. Almost got my head in there again.


Anyway, I've been chewing on this, eyes averted and signals scrambled,

and I think I've hit upon a matrix that will produce a boost to Slack

in the most effective oblique manner. Some danger is involved, since

you'll have to do some measurements during various Slack states to

find your Personal Optimal Target Squarish thing (POTS). My POTS looks

something like a little guy skiing down a gentle slope, reaching a

NASTYBAD precipice. I can even hear the little guy scream if I look at

it hard enough. Actually, it could be a kite, but that's not




SAMPLE only:



|X |

| |

| X | Connect the Xs, Higher Values Move Outward

| |

| 0 |

| |

| |

| |

|X X|



To find your POTS, you need to subjectively assess four levels: your

Motivation, Frustration, Opportunity, and Creativity. This will give

you your MoFOCr points. Now, as frequently as possible, ask yourself:

Where is my MoFOCr? Do I need less Mo in my MoFOCr? Am I having a

jagged MoFOCr day?



Once you are certain that your shape is perfected (for the time

being), practice telling others about your new index. For instance, if

someone suggests that it's about time to revisit that bar, because

they're sure to have forgotten you by now, you might offer the

convenient explanation, "I'd do it, but my MoFOCr might get bent out

of shape." You need to protect your little MoFOCr.


Pretty soon, other people will become more considerate of your MoFOCr,

but bear in mind that if ANYONE pays to much attention to it, that

MoFOCr is fucked.




"Iodinate nouvelle love? Doubtfulness!" the dishwashers articulated.