Okay. New technique. Keyboard abuse with random spacing followed by
spell checking yields:
asked flack accused jackscrew earflap naphtha treatment action
latently afflicts aficionado knuckle jubilate far jacobean fireman
vinaceous lecturing ionospheres oilskin wefts owls relevant chance
makes fiendlike easing went momentums domestic uvularly kinda
evidence woodlot farmland oilers leanings oinked tv avalanche
viewable small oinks zoologic juxtapositions molehill astroid
reasonable amble moistness oxcart asteroids landfall asexuals
mellowed isomorph talking amass
These are arranged into a "story," which is hopefully as melodramatic
as possible. The trick is to keep the words IN ORDER and IN TENSE and
so on. The only trouble for ME was that my poundings repeatedly
suggested the word "oink." Go figure.
Good thing I don't sound like a retarded russian. Heh.
Isaac Ashe had asked for flack. He'd been accused and had, in fact,
used the jackscrew. He'd given the asshole an earflap naphtha
treatment, but it was a necessary action.
He was not pestered with the guilt that latently afflicts an
aficionado of the knuckle-bending exercise. He would usually jubilate
far into the week, spouting like a jacobean, whenever he had served
such justice. This idiot, this fireman, deserved his vinaceous rage,
deserved to be stomped like a big sour grape.
Now, he was certain, the dolt imagined he was lecturing to the
ionospheres, while he the executioner, had escaped with his oilskins
and left to study the wefts of dark foreign clouds and listen for the
occasional call of busy owls. His exit was considered relevant to many
by now. Many who would search and would not chance upon him here.
At times, the wind makes fiendlike noises on such a night, easing the
approach of uneasy imaginings for a traveler without a destination. He
went on with no more than the momentum of a man about his domestic
routine. Occasionally he stopped to uvularly proclaim his superiority
to the children of the night. The frogs were not impressed with this
kind of evidence.
He passed through a large woodlot and then onto unused farmland, glad
again that he had one of his oilers as a soft rain began to patter
around him. His leanings had always been a bit warlike, and he
remembered fondly the time that he'd finally silenced the talking pig.
It had oinked on his tv one too many times and was crushed in an
avalanche of his hate. The television was never again viewable, but he
would never again be bothered by small oinks, barely zoologic or
As he came into another cleared lot, he studied a profusion of mounds
in the earth. The juxtapositions of these molehills in a series
suggested that the moles here were unusually disturbed. Perhaps they
were using some form of astroid detection. It seemed reasonable.
He continued to amble toward a worn outbuilding. His hat had been lost
in the fight, and as the rain increased, he was discomfited by the
moistness under his collar. Inside the building he found an ancient,
smashed oxcart, possibly a victim of the asteroids, he speculated. It
didn't matter. Getting under a roof on this night was nearly as
exciting as landfall after a year at sea.
He would need to rejoin civilization soon, he thought. He would not
become one of those asexuals that built and used oxcarts until they
and the oxen were extinct. Thinking of sex always mellowed him. He
might be an isomorph of a human male, but that comparison would always
fall apart upon closer examination. Anyone who spent more than a
moment talking to him could see the difference. That was how he had
begun to amass so many warrants in the first place. Just like tonight.
* Free Rev Matthew Carey so HE can free Malcolm Jamal Warner!
alt.foot.fat-free: where you can collect all six Moment Toes