[Mnesymone]

Chapter Pi: The breakfast of leeks.

Thousands upon thousands of soldiers marched towards the front line, looking for all the world like a column of ants who were standing up, wearing armour and uniforms and carrying guns and also humans.
They were going to fight a terrible war against a charming yet nasty enemy.
Peter Cushing raised his field glasses, and saw the enemy battletronic cybertanks rolling towards them he motioned to Christopher Lee, who stepped forward out of line and was shouted at by a random sergeant-major for being out of line but looked at him with puppy-dog eyes and the sergeant-major yelped in terror, deserted the army and went to fondle cheerleaders. He picked up a clipboard and baton since no one stops a man with a clipboard and baton out of fear that they might be hit with the clipboard and their names be written down on the baton. The sergeant-major, his chevrons and ailerons gleaming in the sunshine reported to the chief of staff.
"Nothing to report, Sah!"
Sah saluted the sergeant major, and went to whisper this message to the general. The general nodded gravely at this new and troubling message and leapt upon a horse, his silk stocking blazing in the moonlight and he rode to a good observation position. He could see the battletanks and droidekas rolling towards his army of nineteenth-century British soldiers and ground his teeth in fear. Then he realised he was safe as the suspension of disbelief failed and the enemy forces disappeared in a puff of pixels. However behind this decoy force was an army of fourteen million Zulus, which were genuinely scary and also genuine. The General realised that he would need the services of a terrible warrior to stop them.
Meanwhile the sergeant-major strutted out past the supply lines at the rear of the army and stepped onto the train station where he hailed a bus to take him to Sunnydale, but Spike's sacrifice had destroyed the Hellmouth and the town had collapsed. So he hopped in a Mercedes-Benz E350 that Jebus Crust had left idling while he burned down a Cyberdyne factory and gunned it to Blue Bay, a possibly fictional town in Florida. He walked in and saw a group of cheerleaders, led by Denise Richards, practicing pom-pom moves and encouraging chants. He walked up to Denise Richards and invited her to a nice house he knew on the beach. They walked up the stairs and Denise Richards said for some strange reason "We used to come here for school retreat, we'd swim in the lake and lie on the sand and let the sun dry us."
He doffed his hat and said "I don't like sand... its coarse and gets everywhere... not like here... everything here is smooth."
And with that they started lip-wrestling voraciously while John Williams and the London Philharmonic started practicing some song or other. Lip wrestling as a sport was developed by Theseus, but owing to typographic errors we now play boxing, where contestants of the same gender get in a ring and beat each other stupid rather than lip-wrestling, where people who liked each other make out and are awarded points for stuff. While the sergeant-major and Denise Richards were making out, he slipped his hand in her pants and was arrested by police officers and suddenly found himself standing in a qeue for something behind two Catholic ministers and Michael Jackson even though it was an accident, or so he said.
Denise Richards however actually liked making out with the sergeant major, and hadn't mind his hand resting on her bare buttocks and nadgered the police officers who took him away. After their vicious nadgering they retreated and ran up a tower, where they confronted the Blob and were duly eaten.
Meanwhile the general ordered his men to face the Zulu army. Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing gathered their company and prepared to triumph over adversity before a deus ex machina came to their rescue. It seemed Jake Lloyd had blown up a ball in a ring and the Zulus had fallen asleep. Either that or they were going to crush Nigel Powers and Doctor Who at the battle of Rorke's Drift.
But Denise Richards had been passionately making out with the sergeant-major and her lips were still tingling. However the only person nearby was Keira Knightley, wearing a long flowing white gown to Denise Richards short sport top and lycra trousers. They sat down beaneath a tree and starting kissing. First slowly and then as fast as they could with doses of tongue. Then Michael decided he would try the Kimchee. And some kids playing Grandma Melt Controls the Ponies ran down the hill and suddenly saw the two women making out - one slightly older, more fiery and energetic and the other calm and sensuos - and both kids were never seen again. Some people claim that one lived in the ventilation shaft of a paper tissue manufacturer forever honouring the memory of that which he had seen to such extent that the company was bankrupted by the missing stock and that the other took that image and duplicated it over and over again using different women and the ocassional computer technique and became very rich from the proceeds. Others claimed that they went fishing after they saw the women enjoying themselves and went fishing, and one caught a very big fish, fell in, grabbed a ring and the other killed him for it and took to the shadows like a bird to the wind.
Both are wrong.

Michael had to triumph over adversity by eating an entire packet of chewing gum after deciding he didn't like kimchee.

[J m HofMarN]

Fuckin eh! That was completely insane. It's terrible how difficult it is to comment on some of these because theres very little that you can say for htem thats good (which is, of course, the idea) but yeah I loved the references. I'll post a new chapter as well.

[J m HofMarN]

I met Aunt Marshpole on the freeway train to Belfast. We sat together and began a conversation. She told me she had never had chili and so I bought her some. She was angry because it had mushrooms in it and went off on a lengthy tangent.

"There's just some things that don't have any business being in certain foods, there really are. Sometimes it comes from textural differences. Sometimes it's due to incompatibility between different kinds of quisine. For this article I, being a chef and one with a supreme aesthetic sense, would like to share with you some of my knowledge of bad experiences I've had.

First of all, the subject of chili. Chili, contrary to what some believe, is NOT Irish quisine. You cannot just throw anything you want in. Beef stock, onion, pepper, beef, chili powder, cumin, maybe some cheese or something- these are acceptable ingredients in chili. Traditional Mexican chili dosn't even contain beans, but is served with the beans on the side so they can be mixed in. However, I have been subjected to find celery and even mushrooms in my chili.

If anyone you know is guilty of either offense let this be proof- there is no excuse for putting mushrooms or celery in chili. Mushrooms grow in dark moist places, and the desert southwest is neither dark nor moist. Celery is chiefly used in more refined and sophisticated (nothing against Mexican quisine) culinary divisions, such as contemporary American and French. It may not be overpowering in this dish, but it still reduces the texture, adds unwanted color and serves no purpose in the chili. The mushrooms are simply wrong and should never ever be in chili.

And now on to another thing that people seem to have problems with: salads. Everyone knows that a traditional salad only requires tomatoes, lettuce or other greens, cucumber and carrots. So where does celery get into the mix? Celery dosn't belong in a salad. It overpowers every other flavor. If you want to put celery in a salad you may as well just give people a bowl of celery. There are plenty of things that can go in salads besides the four basics, but celery is not one of them!

Also, this is something that really bothers me. If you're going to go to a restaurant that serves wine and you know nothing about wine, order a coke. If you absolutely have to have wine, DO NOT MIX DARK MEAT WITH LIGHT WINE! For goodness sake people. Order a red with red meat and a white with white meat. If you hate dry wines than a ruby port or perhaps a shiraz will do just fine for red wine, not all reds are dry. If you hate sweet whites you can rarely go wrong with a sauvignon blanc or a chardonnay.

Oh, and one final note. If you make the mistake of ordering a steak without the house's sauce on it, and you find it dry due to the fact that you made a silly mistake, do not go asking "Hey, can yall give me some A1?" Because I'll hurt you. Rather, get the house sauce. We make it to go on that steak. We know more about steak than you do. Shut up, bastard."

I told her that if that was how she felt we could duel to the death tomorrow and so she backed down. Instead we went to the message board for a popular humor site. We read a very bad book and decided we would write our own and we called it a dinner of leeks because we were eating leeks at the time.

We got a bunch of our friends together and put their online names into the chapters that they wrote, but I put all my writing first. My friends all did a grand job and I wanted to thank them sincerely, especially since they gave all the writing to me. And so I bought them a very nice dinner and we were all very happy. But then people started to ask why I wrote all that stuff and I told them it was just to be silly and show what sort of nonsense could be produced and put out by unscrupulous people.

Then Aunt Marshmello helped me to a seat and we had a delightful dinner, with each leek being more better than the last. It was the night I will always remember when I think of eating leeks. It is also very symbolic of how our family triumphed over the stygma facing Irish Americans who are of Asiam descent.

[J m HofMarN]

Ok I'm going to say that we're coming close to being about half way done. We still need a lot more work though but shorter weorks are ok I'll just combine them into chapters. We have maybe five days left so anyone who wants one in this needs to move zig for great justice. Tell your friends and harass Slade if you see him.

[SimeSublime]

What I really like is that you don't have to waste time fixing mistakes. For example, I couldn't remeber what the Aunt's name was supposed to be, so I instead wrote it different everytime, getting stupider as the chapter went on. Whenever you're not sure, just improvise. It's great.

[Voodoo Dog]

Actually, people thinking Mr. Sentient Sponge being a fairy is absurd when you think about it. Maybe it'll work.

Call me pessimistic, but I don't think we'll make the deadline in time. Still, it's a fucking laugh right? I'm considering submitting "The Darkness Of The Elves" here instead. Would that be appropriate? It's dark and serious like the other one, but it's kinda absurd too. Just like the other one. Like Ninteen Eighty Four, I intend to make it surreal but leave the audience with the impression that this could possibly happen. And it's fuckin long too. Might even be a four poster. If you include it, could you reverse the order so that that The Darkness Of The Elves comes before Darkness Of Humanity? I wanted the Elves title to appear funny at first and sinister after. This might be spoiled if they read Humanity first.

Oh yeah, I WILL write at least one Adamesque story. I'm thinking of extending that meteor meets bollocks thing I did on FR to a full story. And I'll try to make it as long as possible without being boring. Kay? Kay.

[J m HofMarN]

Voodoo Dog - It dosnt matter if its boring, we're here to horrify, not entertain. Have your characters list their favorite foods and all of their ingredients in great length for all I care just as long as it brings the word count up.

[Emu]

Chapter Hen.

Susan lumbered gracefully down the stairs, sporting an inverted umbrella with half a pint of lobster bisque in it balanced precariously upon her head.

I frowned resignedly. I heard a slight "blip" as Roxanne, our teleporting goldfish, spontaneously materialized inside of a stale glass of water that Aunt Marmalade will have left out on the veranda tomorrow afternoon.

"But it is a silly hat!" Susan protested.

"No, no it's not," I retorted impatiently, "It's just an inverted umbrella with half a pint of lobster bisque in it balanced precariously upon your head."

Outside the stars swirled furiously. The face of adversity stuck over the fireplace leered at all of us. I felt a sudden sense of deja-vu as time dilated unexpectedly.

Susan thought for a moment, petulantly twirling her handlebar moustache. "I suppose you're right," she murmured, before climbing back up the ladder. The airplane hit some turbulence, startling Roxanne, who leapt out of the carton of orange juice and lunged for my left ankle.

"AAAGGGHHH!!!" I hollered, "When are we getting rid of this cursed piranha?" I lamented, picking its teeth from my wounded shoulder. With a slight whistle, it teleported back to its bowl, where it engaged in a staring contest with the face of adversity, which glowered and wiggled its ears at us.

The train lurched and swayed, catapulting a commuter out a window. Across the street, a Civil-War-era ghost was awakened from his slumber, unleashing an ancient Egyptian curse on all the neighbors, but that doesn't concern this story. The washer-dryer in the cockpit intoned, "Resistence is futile. You will be assimilated."

"Shut up," said the toaster.

The toaster had evolved from a small pile of metal and old circuitry wire. Perdro, our morally-ambiguous stewardess, trying to relive his past life as a disco opera star, had cared for those scraps of wire as he would his own third nephew twice removed, and gradually it grew into the toaster, which we were all very happy about, especially Roxanne, who flipped her minnow tail with glee before unexpectedly apparating with a vague buzzing noise about three and a half inches above Alice's right ear, who was still waiting for the elevator so she could change her hat to something more suitably silly.

So then we all went back inside to play a game of Grandma Melt Controls Five Eighths Of The Ponies, which was really fun until we all got eaten by the lion, except for Roxanne.

This post has been edited by Emu: 25 May 2005 - 08:58 PM

[J m HofMarN]

ehehehe! excellent stuff! I wonder what Roxanne will do now that hes the last man left alive? Speaking of which a chapter set in a post apocalyptic wasteland sounds like a good idea.

[Mnesymone]

Might do that... much of my best work is in a post apocalyptic world.
But I am regrettably busy so no more leeks from me for at least 24 hours.

[Voodoo Dog]

THE STORY OF DAVE

As we came charging along Church Street, Athlone, County Westmeath, Republic Of Ireland, ripping apart innocent organisms into their component parts while laughing hysterically as we did so, we came to a sudden stop. We came to a sudden stop because we had seen something. We had seen a collection of carbon-based molecules pain-stakingly shaped by the Divine Lord’s Right Hand into a complex mechanical system. This complex mechanical system is what is technically known as a “human being”. These “human beings” are given assignations known as “names”. They use these “names” to “differentiate” themselves from other “human beings”. This particular specimen was known to the rest of the world as Dave, or David Reykjavik Springleflute to be more precise. This is his story.

Dave has lead rather a sad life. He was born into poverty, his father having left with all of the money his mother had worked her fingers to the bone for by selling heroin and prostituting herself to the gentlemen of the night. His mother had been both raped and murdered by an escaped panda when he was two, so Dave was left to the mercies of an unsympathetic society in the form of an orphanage, or “workhouse” as they are known in the ghetto. Dave had no friends at school, serving as the punchbag, the toilet brush, and the toilet itself to the other children. At the age of eleven he attempted to commit suicide. He failed because nobody told him it was impossible to overdose on orange juice. He did not have the courage to try again which doomed him to an existence of unremitting misery. His first sexual experience was at the age of thirteen. It involved his penis, some lubricant, his right hand, and a sexual fantasy involving Margaret Thatcher coated with strawberry jam. For a little while, Dave was happy. This was the first time he had ever been happy in his life, so it took him some time to place the feeling. Then disaster struck. It turned out the lubricant had not been mayonnaise as he had originally thought, but was, in fact, battery acid. This lead to permanent sterility, agonising pain, and a rather humiliating trip to the hospital.

However when Dave entered the adult world, things finally started to look up. He discovered a previously unknown talent for pole-vaulting, and became a pole-vaulter. He also met a nice girl, called Stacy Neeshmork. The two of them met at a Star Trek convention, started going out, had a hilarious misunderstanding involving the nature of cheese which caused them to split up, discovered individually that cheese does go well with chutney, and got back together again. They now love each other with the burning intensity of a thousand white-hot suns.

One particular day, Dave was walking home from work looking for a well-earned rest. He had just received a raise, having proved to his coach that he was the best pole-vaulter it is possible to be without having been dunked in radioactive waste as a child. This day was a Friday. Dave was planning to spend the weekend relaxing, enjoying life, and trying to convince his girlfriend to sleep with him, thus finally exorcising the demon known as virginity. Dave was feeling very happy. Dave liked life. Dave loved life. In fact he started to whistle a merry tune as he pranced down the street, cheerily waving to passers-by and handing out candy to children on the way to his abode and the sweet angel currently visiting who was his only reason for existing.

At about this point, an asteroid entered earth’s gravitational field, fell screaming through the atmosphere at a velocity of 95 metres per second, and hit Dave smack in the bollocks.

When Dave awoke from his asteroid induced coma, he was lying strapped to a bed with wires inserted into his head, chest and urethra. Apart from an incredible pain in his genitals, he felt more or less normal. However, not being used to lying strapped to a bed with wires inserted into his head, chest and urethra, Dave started to feel rather worried. “Um…hello?” Dave called timidly. “I appear to be lying strapped to a bed with wires inserted into my head, chest and urethra. Could someone please help me?” These words caused a humanoid figure to emerge from the shadows. This was when Dave first met…The Man. The Man was middle aged, dressed in a business suit, and had the manner of a kind, caring elderly nun. What was most interesting about The Man was that nothing about The Man was interesting whatsoever. If Dave had seen him on the street he would have forgotten about him in less than two seconds and continued on his merry way. The Man had only one distinguishing feature. At some point in the past, his nose had been surgically removed and replaced by a rectangular piece of steel on which the archaic phrase “I like chocolate” had been engraved. The Man was carrying a dog under his left arm. The dog was wearing a teatowel over its head and an exp​ression of sheer calculated evil in its eyes. “Welcome Dave.” The Man held the dog aloft reverentially. “This is the Voodoo Dog. Worship it, for it is both Creator and Destroyer, both Alpha and Omega. Your life from now on resides in its Almighty Paws. Your existence on this planet depends on its Infinite Wisdom.”

“Who the hell are you? Where the hell am I?” screamed Dave trying to fight off panic. “Calm yourself, young Springleflute” replied The Man with the manner of a kind loving father talking to a wayward child. “You have been brought here for a reason. Many years ago, our organisation discovered through our study of ancient manuscripts that humanity was about to reach a crossroads in its destiny. It has long been prophesised that various omens would tell of a forthcoming saviour. A conjecture of the planets, an alignment of the stars and the fact that George Lucas has raped the childhoods of millions, all point to one thing. You are the Second Messiah, and you will guide humanity to its intended goal. You will undergo training carefully planned by professionals to test both your physical and spiritual endurance in order to fulfil your destiny. Goodbye Mister Springleflute…and good luck.”

At this, The Man disappeared from Dave’s life as mysteriously as he had entered. Dave was understandably confused. He continued to scream for help, but no one came to his aid. After about three days, Dave’s patience was finally rewarded. About thirty masked goons ran screaming into the room, ripped the restraints off his arms and the wires out of his body, and proceeded to beat the living shit out of him. After about two hours of this, they stripped him naked, hosed him down, and somehow threw him into a room without windows or doors. After the worst of the bleeding had stopped, Dave managed to drag himself onto the bed in the corner of the room and curled up into the foetal position.

When he had begun to recover somewhat from his horrific ordeal, Dave sat up and looked around the room that was apparently his new home. It was completely white, including the bed, washbasin and toilet. The walls were padded. Other than this there were absolutely no distinguishing features whatsoever save for one small red dot on one of the walls. Curious, Dave went to take a closer look. It turned out to be a button. Dave pushed it. This caused a small bowl full of an unknown green substance to materialise in the middle of the room in a flash of light. Dave picked up the bowl and, since he was rather hungry and thirsty by now, drank the liquid. It was completely tasteless, but it did seem to make his hunger abate somewhat. The bowl then dematerialised as suddenly as it had materialised. Over the next few days Dave realised that the lights were constantly left on in this place, that he had no means of telling the time whatsoever or to even know if it was day or night, and that he was in a situation carefully designed to leave him with no physical or mental stimulus no matter how small it might be. This room was to be Dave’s prison for the next fifteen years, 2 months, and six days.

This post has been edited by Voodoo dog: 25 May 2005 - 11:28 PM

[Voodoo Dog]

After about a year, Dave decided to pass the time by screaming. It got rather boring after a while, but he continued nevertheless. After all, what else was there to do? He had tried to imagine his beloved Stacy in the cell with him. He had tried to imagine her sweet delicate hands gently stoking his hair and her soft lips whispering into his ear not to worry, everything would be all right, there was a God, he would be saved. But flights of fancy had never been David Springleflute’s strong point. He had tried to keep himself amused by praying, reciting poetry, singing songs, dancing silly dances and making amusing hand gestures, but they all lacked a certain something. He had tried barking like a dog, meowing like a cat, and braying like a zebra, but none of these things satisfied the aching in his soul. He had decided to kill himself, to rip out his jugular vein with his fingernails, but the second he began his attempt, something rather curious happened. A section of the wall slid up, revealing a vent which started to pump a yellow gas. Dave tried to hold his breath for as long as possible, but eventually his will gave out and he inhaled the foul substance. Interestingly, this caused the room to start wavering like a mirage in the desert and for Dave to fall asleep. When he awoke, he was fitted in a straitjacket. Dave stood up and immediately began to dance a rather amusing version of the Macarena. This was because the floor had been electrified. Somehow, the bed, toilet and washbasin had also been mysteriously removed, leaving Dave alone with about 50 volts of electricity. The floor remained electrified for two days. When the gas finally came again, Dave welcomed it. He woke up unrestrained, with his beloved bed, toilet and washbasin to keep him company. That was Dave’s second attempt to end his life. There was not another one.

After about 3 years, Dave decided to take up art. He dipped his finger into one of the bowls that provided his nourishment, and started to draw on the walls. The second he did, the bowl dematerialised. This time however, it took all of the green soup with it, including what Dave had scraped across the wall. Dave was slightly put out for a moment, but being a rather intelligent chap, he came up with a cunning plan. He started to gnaw on his right index finger until he drew blood. Dave then used the blood to draw some really rather good pictures, including an almost exact replica of the wondrous being of light known as Stacy Neeshmork. Dave looked on his work and held it to be good. Dave looked on the surrounding atmosphere and held it to be full of a certain yellowish gas. When Dave awoke, he was again the guest of Mister Electron, without any annoying furniture to interrupt the conversation with pleas for him to climb on them to get away from unendurable agony. To tell the truth, Dave was not all that fond of Mister Electron. However, whenever he got bored of Mister Electron’s conversation, he would look up at the wall and behold his masterpiece and smile a smile full of joy. He was again in the company of his angel, and all was good in the world. After four days, Mister Yellow Gas decided to call again. When Dave awoke this time, he found the sanitation department had visited. The wall was bare. Stacy was gone. Dave wept.

After about 5 years, Dave noticed something growing on his chest. Something akin to a small blackish-brown lump. Dave was no medical expert, but he knew a tumour when he saw it. Dave began to laugh. Unable to rid himself of this hell, it turned out that Mother Nature had provided the perfect means of escape. The perfect means of escape until it was thwarted by the vile demon referred to by experts as “Yellow Gas”. When Dave awoke, it was to a mild pain in his chest. His tumour had been surgically removed. Dave laughed. Dave wept. Dave laughed and wept at the same time.

After about 10 years, Dave decided to eat his left foot. An amusing diversion, but one with predictable consequences. Consequences that involved gassing, straitjacketing and torture. The silly boy should really know better by now, don’t you think?

After about 15 years, Dave heard the voice of God. God confirmed that he was indeed the chosen one and that he had to save humanity from a demonic entity that was even now threatening the world. God wanted to know what Dave had learned from this experience. Dave replied that he had learned not to take things at face value. He had learned that a place of unending light was just a disguise for a place of unending dark. He had learned that some things are worse than death. He had learned that of all the miseries a human being could experience, loneliness was at the top of the list. He had learned that love was the most precious thing in the universe and that no man should be allowed to wipe it from the face of the earth. If such a man existed Dave reasoned, then they should be stopped by any means necessary. Dave now knew why he had to undergo this treatment. Dave had realised that his eyes had been opened to see the dark threat ahead. Dave was now ready to fulfil his duty. Dave thanked God The Father, Jesus The Son, Mary The Holy Mother Of God and Voodoo Dog the Creator and Destroyer for this glorious experience. Dave collapsed into a gas-induced coma.

[Voodoo Dog]

When he awoke, he was in Stacy’s house. He was in Stacy’s bed. Stacy was lying next to him. Dave started to cry. Stacy awoke. When she saw him, she turned as pale as milk. “You…you…oh my god I thought you were dead!”. Dave leapt into Stacy’s arms, his tears running down his cheeks and into her beautiful hair. He didn’t have to ask. He knew. He knew that she had never found anyone else, that she had been prepared to die alone if she could not live her life with him. No matter what the future holds in store for mankind, he was grateful to have this moment with her.

Both Stacy and the police were to hear accounts of what had happened to him, but of course all attempts at investigation proved fruitless. Dave began to recover with the aid of nice therapists and the love of Stacy, the fair and radiant angel whom the angels themselves harboured secret desires for. Dave had become a bit of a celebrity and appeared on various talk shows and news programs. Dave didn’t mind. He had already completed his duty while has was away filming an interview with Oprah Winfrey. God had told Dave exactly what to do and because of the treatment, it had been easy. A certain American politician had been destined to take the office of president in about ten weeks. He would have aggravated an already delicate international situation, thereby causing World War III in about three months, resulting in the death of half the world’s population in about 5 months. Security had been a bit tight, but Dave had God’s guidance and was now immune to mere mortals. He had managed to enter the man’s house and killed him with a spatula he found in the kitchen. Dave then kicked the body until he broke his foot and the politician had no recognisable features left on his face. When he got home, he told Stacy he had broken his foot falling down one of those ridiculously large stairways you sometimes get in American hotels.

Dave and Stacy were finally engaged to be married. Having waited this long, they decided they may as well hold from consummating their physical relationship until after the ceremony, for it would be all the sweeter. Their wedding day was a glorious event. Doves flew through the air, kids ran and played in the fields outside the church. When Dave kissed Stacy in front of the altar, they both experienced feelings of happiness and joy that simply cannot be put into words. On their honeymoon, as Dave carried Stacy over the threshold of their hotel room, they both began to giggle like little children. Dave watched with incredible arousal as Stacy slowly and sensuously undressed. “You want it? Then come and get it…stud.” She purred. As they both leapt into bed, Dave realised that now he would finally be complete, he would finally be one with someone he had loved and worshiped for more than a decade.

At about this point, every nuclear reactor and missile on the planet individually experienced the exact same malfunction and exploded, thus ending the reign of humanity in a horrendous nuclear holocaust. It was probably for the best.

This post has been edited by Voodoo dog: 25 May 2005 - 11:44 PM

[Mnesymone]

Yay! More leeks! Good one, VD. great ending.

Well thats one way to miss out.

[floppydisk]

I've got a huge one to put next post. 3 Word pages, all typed last night when I was terribly sleepy. I might make another huge one today.