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