Date: 26 Dec 1997 00:00:00 GMT
From: email@example.com (MegaLiz)
Organization: MotPU: Where Binary Moodswings are ALWAYS on the Menu
Newsgroups: alt.foot.fat-free, alt.slack
It was a lovely party, made infinitely more lovely by getting out of
doors and away from all that jolliness and cranberries. I stood on the
balcony and enjoyed the sudden muffling of all that cackling as the
door whooshed closed behind us.
Looking out over the neighboring rooftops, my attention was
immediately snagged by the sight of an ancient blue Buick backing
rapidly toward the edge of the building across the street. With no
hesitation, it roared backwards over the edge of the roof, fell
gracefully, and generated a respectable flame ball before
extinguishing itself with its own force of imploding impact in the
"Wow," I said.
The blase, elfin Jesus at my elbow said, "That damned P-Lil just keeps
giving suicide a bad name."
"Are you sure that was P-LIL!?" I asked, alarmed.
"Yep. Who did you think we were having ANOTHER farewell party for?
"Shit," I smacked him, just because, and emoted briefly before racing
down to the street.
Fortunately, the car had crumpled itself into a cartoon suitcase
shape, which would be very convenient. I needed to get her mDNA and
whatever remained of her brain to the lab as a prophylactic measure,
since I couldn't recall if she had been downloaded recently. No tissue
was visible, but she had helpfully canned herself in steel and I would
just dare to hope that this could work properly.
I hauled P-Lil in her jaws-of-life-defying package to the helicopter.
Already late, I praised the clear weather that would allow me to
rendezvous with the carrier without delay.
You should never, ever rush, I reminded myself, too late. I had
forgotten to check the machine over properly and it was making
alarming grinding noises almost immediately. The idiot lights began to
flash: YOU, IDIOT! LAND ME, IDIOT!
We barely made an emergency island landing. As I grunted and strained
to remove P-Lil's carcophagus, we were surrounded by the native
retards. The all sported too many coats, runny noses and bad haircuts.
"Mewwy Chwwistmahs! Hab sum EGG NOGG!" they chanted. Rather than kill
them outright, I promised them frop nog and encouraged them onto an
historic tall ship where they could crew for me and poor P-Lil.
I didn't dare nap, since the crewtins were liable to land us on the
horn of Africa if I did. Awake and self-hypnotised for three days, I
had the most horrifying and surreal daydreams. Feeding the idiots and
maintaining our course was the only thing that kept me connected with
my present reality. I enjoyed such diversions as announcing that the
menu would feature a lovely botulism, just to see the workers beam
On the fourth day as I was just beginning to fear for the frop nog and
tissue supply, the hulking shape of the seabase came into view.
Lillith The Car looked exactly the same, but I couldn't be sure that
she wasn't too thoroughly blended with the Buick for recloning
without, um, CHROME and all that.
Charlie was very reassuring, but I figured he was lying.
"Nice of you to send your warmest Christmas retards," he said, just
before I shot him.
Spunky: "Lookit all the foot prints! Lotsa people were here!"
Sparky: "OR it was ONE THING with a jillion feet."
* alt.foot.fat-free: where you can collect yummy cheese!