Short stories by Kibo
These may quite well be duplicated in
alt.religion.kibology archives all around the world, but that
is a Good Thing.
From kibo@world.std.com Sun Sep 27 12:29:58 1992
Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology
From: kibo@world.std.com (James "Kibo" Parry)
Subject: schwas from hell
Organization: Two rooms filled with typography, in downtown Boston
Date: Sun, 27 Sep 1992 04:26:41 GMT
In article <1992Sep27.014834.8178@dartvax.dartmouth.edu> csquared@coos.dartmouth.edu (C Squared) writes:
>In article <1a2tubINN4h3@golem.wcc.govt.nz> hobbs_a@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz writes:
>>If we're going to be like that, I instantly declare myself Schwaibo.
>>
>> *** * * **
>> * * * *
>> **** * *** * *
>> * * * * * * *
>> ** * *** **
>
>Never mind the font, what I want to know is why the 'o' is capitalized.
Because the schwa is, you dunderhead.
Another greatest hit fro mthe forthcoming (eventually) book. (C) 1992.
SPOT AND THE SCHWA
==================
"Uh," said Spot, rolling out of bed and onto his thumbtack collection. One
of his contact lenses fell out into the pile of tacks. With blurred
vision, he grabbed what he thought was it and shoved it back in. It was
shaping up to be a very bad day already, and what was worse, the only vowel
Spot seemed to be able to say today was the schwa! "Wuh!" cried Spot.
"Nuw uh wull nuvur buh ubul tuh tulk luk uh nurmul puppuh ugun!"
Yes, Spot's phonetics had undergone The World's Greatest Vowel Shift,
and Spot would never again be able to stress ANY syllables! "Hulp muh!" he
yelled into the telephone after dialing 9-1-1. "Uh huv uh spuch
umpudumunt!"
Moments later, a team of paramedics arrived, along with a camera crew
and William Shatner. Spot saw him and his eyes lit up. "Cuptun Kurk!
Wuw! Yuh und yur hurpus ur un muh luvung rum!"
Shatner, shocked that someone had realized his hair wasn't his hair,
panicked and fled. The camera crew and medics rushed after him, as he was
much more interesting than some puppy with bad phonetics. "Suh," sighed
Spot. He turned on the television.
The news was on, with an interpreter doing sign language in a corner of
the screen, for people with hearing impediments. But there was no service
for puppies with speech impediments! "Wunnnnnnnnnn," Spot whined, and
switched it off with his remote control.
He tried to write a letter to _Time_ to compain about this, but all the
"e"s kept coming out upside down and backwards! Apparently it affected his
writing too--all the normal vowel cells of his brain had burned out
overnight, leaving him with only the schwa. He could probably survive this
way, he realized, as he worked on his schwa-filled letter. However, he
stopped, when he couldn't figure out how to capitalize a schwa.
Poor Spot! He had been dealt a humiliating blow by the nose of life!
He felt like one-ply Kleenex. And then... inspiration struck. Spot could
have a wonderful career ahead of him--teaching people to speak Schwahili.
He grinned as he made schwaghetti for dinner.
-- K.
From kibo@world.std.com Sun Sep 27 12:33:56 1992
Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology
From: kibo@world.std.com (James "Kibo" Parry)
Subject: Re: Sometime after the Wars
Organization: Two rooms filled with typography, in downtown Boston
Date: Mon, 21 Sep 1992 06:24:34 GMT
In article <1992Sep21.164828.1@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz> quirke_a@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz writes:
> [excellent sci-fi story elided]
Just for that, now I'll have to post some of my stuff, to prove that I
Can Write Real Goodly Too.
These are from the rough draft manuscript for my forthcoming book (Andy,
when do we start on the layout for "Gather"? Hint hint.) Said stories
are Copyright 1992 by Me, and may or may not still contain typos. And
they're all science-fiction, too. Can anyone suggest a better title for
the untitled one? If you do, I'll write you into it. :-)
FOR THE HARMONY OF THE DOGS
===========================
In the very, very distant future, a Dog spoke of mathematics and religion.
The speech was delivered with cheerful wit, which was not lost on his
audience, even though most of them were human. Only the Dogs got the best
jokes, though.
After Lord Bowser's oration, the Council unanimously voted that the Men
would be put to sleep, with very few exceptions. Simon would be spared, as
would Sheila and Tennyson. They would be left alone until they were needed
for spare parts.
The rest of the human race was buried in the back yard.
ATTACK OF THE SIXTY-FOOT WOMAN
==============================
"Yikes!" screamed Herman as he turned and saw her. She was almost as tall
as he was, but was wearing forty-eight more shoes than he was. They were
all stiletto heels. She kicked him to death within seconds.
UNTITLED SCIENCE FICTION STORY
==============================
Captain Zipp Lockon stepped out of the rocket ship onto the alien soil of
the purple planet. "You can come down, Cadet Nifty, the air here is okay!"
"Jeepers!" said Nifty, emerging from the hatch. "You're right,
Captain, this air sure is swell! Almost as swell as the swell air back on
Earth!"
They looked up at the little Earth suspended in the sky like a
ping-pong ball on a string. The stars twinkled cryptically.
Suddenly, from over the horizon, came a massive horde of strange alien
organisms. Each one had a mysterious mark somewhat like a giant dot.
"Criminy, Captain," shrieked Nifty, "we've landed on the planet of the
Spots!"
The happy little puppies swarmed over them, slobbering as usual. The
Captain reached for his glom-ray gun, but one of the Spots had swallowed
it.
Nifty panicked. "Captain, one's in my shorts!"
The Captain put Nifty out of his misery by picking up the Spot who
contained the gun and squeezing him: a death ray shot out of Spot's mouth.
Spot yapped, as did Spot and Spot and Spot and Spot and the other Spots.
Kicking his way through the dense mass of fluffy puppies, the Captain
took the dead Nifty's wallet (it contained nearly one hundred Galactic
Currency Units) and climbed back into the spaceship. He blasted off.
"Whew," he said, "I'm glad that's over!"
Suddenly, there was a yapping behind him. He froze. One of the Spots
was in the cockpit! He had been hidden under the packets of Tang.
Ever so carefully, the Captain moved his left arm gradually to the red
lever, while the Spot made annoying noises. The Captain grasped the lever
and pulled. The airlock opened and Spot was sucked out, falling into the
Sun to a fiery fate. The Captain slammed the airlock just in time to
prevent his lungs from exploding.
Captain Zipp Lockon was free at last. He reached for a packet of Tang.
Inexplicably, he began to sneeze repeatedly. He couldn't control the
spaceship in this state. At least he realized what it was--his
overexposure to Spot had made him allergic to the lack of puppies!
Sneezing his Kleenex to bits, he managed to turn his rocket back towards
the purple planet of the puppies.
Unfortunately, by the time he got there, radiation (from the Sun Spot)
had mutated all the puppies into giant Spots. He cried as they drooled on
him.
IN A WORLD OF THREE SEXES, WOULD GRAVITY MOVE IN SPIRALS?
L. Ron Hubbard, Philip K. Dick, and Isaac Asimov were fighting over the
last typewriter ribbon in the world. There had been a nuclear war.
"Gimme!" shouted Dick. Asimov stopped to explain the linguistic
processes which had caused "give me" to lose a consonant during hasty
speech, and Hubbard sucker-punched him. Dick hit Hubbard over the head
with his typewriter, grabbed the ribbon, and shoved it in. As he began to
type, an unexploded nuclear bomb outside exploded.
Everyone was blasted to bits. The ribbon, of course, survived, down to
the negative images of the words ONCE UPON A TI burned into it.
The paper-clip death robots had succeeded in exterminating humanity.
One rolled into the building and picked up a burnt fragment of Dick's
manuscript. Another fastened it to a coupon for fifteen cents off Gucko
refried beans (fifteen-ounce can only.) A third rifled L. Ron's pockets
and made a tidy profit.
Just then, the invasion of Earth was complicated by an invasion of the
invasion of Earth. Flying eggplants from Jupiter attacked the paper-clip
droids, blasting them with antimatter spitballs. The eggplants conquered
the world.
Then, the goosebumped eyeballs from Planet X conquered the flying
eggplants from Jupiter, and the crawling Spam from Saturn conquered the
goosebumped eyeballs, and the little green giants from the Valley of Mars
conquered THEM, and the invisible carrot-smelling creatures from the Planet
of the Bunnies conquered THEM, and the atomic tse-tse flies from Pluto
swallowed them whole.
The Solar System was a mess.
Little did they all know, however, that one Earth life form had
survived. His name was Fred, and he lived in a verb at the edge of the
Forest Of The Incorrectly Grammatical. Actually, his name wasn't
originally Fred; before his sex change he had been Isaac Asimov's evil twin
sister, Badpunzel. Now he was just Fred, living at present in a split
infinitive.
Fred rolled out of bed and put on his bunny slippers. "Why," he
exclaimed upon looking out the window, "it looks like it's going to be a
nice day if you don't count the extermination of all humanity with that
nuclear winter!" Fortunately, he had a large supply of Sterno to protect
his verb against the gathering snowstorms. He made a diary entry.
Dear diary, today the human race was destroyed, except
for me. My goldfish Tippy has learned to work the TV
remote control, too! Later the two of us will go
shopping for the hardest Rubik's Cube we can find, so
that we'll have our hands on something for the duration
of the nuclear winter.
The last man on Earth closed his diary, and then the doorbell rang. It
was Carl Sagan.
"Good evening, Fred," intoned Sagan, "we are now witnessing the
consequences of unchecked nuclear proliferation. This is similar to the
time Blitherus of Alexandria, around 3500BC, tried to build a perfect
dodecahedron from animal dung, according to the principle of--"
Fred hit him with his waffle iron, swinging it like a
fraternity-initiation paddle. Sagan disintegrated into a fine ash. Fred
was again the last name on Earth. The doorbell rang.
It was Rod Serling. "Picture of a man in a house which is a verb, a
verb with glass walls. Mr. Fred Asimov is about to find out that when in a
glass house, you should throw only glass stones. For now the last citizen
of the human race is about to discover that he is also the last citizen
of... The Twilight--" *BONK*
Fred set down the waffle iron as Serling dissolved into a puddle of
liquid. The doorbell rang. He picked up the waffle iron.
It was Alfred Hitchcock. "Forgive me for intruding, but I seem to have
lost my way. Perhaps it is this map a kindly stranger gave me." He held
up a wacky map. "Oh, such drollery. Tonight's story is equally droll, as
it concerns three ghaaaastly murders committed with a common kitchen
implement, two of which were committed in fits of passion, the third about
to be committed by a man who should be comm--" *BONK*
Hitchcock faded to half of a pen-drawn outline and winked out. The
doorbell rang and a trombone sounded four ominous notes.
It was Jack Webb. "Okay, buster, talk. We know you did it. Killed
them. In this verb. Verbs not allowed. California Penal Code, the middle
section. Scum like you deserves to come with me." As he reached to put
the leg irons on Fred, Fred bonked him, and he broke up into static.
The doorbell did not ring.
Fred was again the last person on Earth. It was then that Tippy held
up an Uzi with his little orange fin. "So, Freddy-poo, it all comes down
to THIS! The world is MINE now!" Tippy blew Freddy away, climbed out of
the bowl, and into Fred's RV. As snowflakes the size of cats and dogs
fell, Tippy drove off into the last sunset.
-- (C) James "Kibo" Parry
From kibo@world.std.com Sat Dec 5 14:49:48 1992
Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology,alt.prose
From: kibo@world.std.com (James "Kibo" Parry)
Subject: Random Spot, Einstein, & Tensity stories (was: I'd buy that for a dollar)
Organization: Two rooms filled with typography, in downtown Boston
Date: Sat, 5 Dec 1992 06:29:37 GMT
In article <CS430117.92Dec4022533@armagnac.ucs.usl.edu> cs430117@ucs.usl.edu (Castor Christian A) writes:
>
>Kibo, you are no longer my idol!
>
>Well... If you apologize and post a Spot(tm) short story, I _might_
>reconsider.
Here are some I wrote back in August when my toilet was flushing
continuously for 48 hours. Copyright 1992 by moi, etc., etc.
To appear in the tentatively forthcoming book once a certain person gets
the PKD book out of the way, etc.
-- K.
SPOT'S BRIEF HAPPY PARENTHOOD
=============================
Spot awoke to find himself covered with heavy cream sauce, which was
crushing his legs. The giant laughed and raised his fork. "No!
Please!" cried Spot. "Don't eat me! I have a wife and puppies!"
The giant frowned. "That's odd, teensy puppy. You don't have kids
in the other stories in this book." He ate Spot's tail. "I don't
believe in your children."
"But I do believe in my children! I do believe in my children!"
shouted Spot, clapping his paws. A shower of fairy dust passed through
the room, and because of Spot's faith, it became true! Spot was now a
father of eleven, so the giant let him go. Spot made a witty pun at a
retail store and went home.
Mandy, Binky, Sammy, Laxxy, Fizzy, Clunky, Sissie, Dissie, Gorby,
Wobbly, and Fleabag were waiting for him. "Hi Pop! Whadja bring me?"
they yelled.
Spot turned his pockets inside out to prove he hadn't brought
anything, so his eleven wonderful kids beat him to death. Suddenly,
they ceased to exist.
UGGLE
=====
"Uggle," said Spot.
"What?" said the audience in unison, leaning forward in their
seats. Spot began to sweat under the hot auditorium lights. He
cleared his throat and tried to resume his speech on the quantitative
assay of celery strings.
"Vognob blemp," said Spot. Oh no! thought Spot. I've started
barking in tongues again! The last time this had happened, his chum
Terlie the Toad had taken cruel advantage of Spot, much to his
embarrassment. Well, Terlie's not here, so at least I can't be
embarrassed!
"Plomux," said Spot as the audience of dignified celericians began
to throw rotten vegetables at him. Most of them were celery. One was
a stick of celery filled with peanut butter and decorated with a row of
raisins, which was a snack called "Ants Climbing A Log", Spot's
favorite, or it would have been if it wasn't moldy and squishy. Spot
was soon covered with decaying produce.
"Zxcvbnm!" wailed Spot in tears. The audience had no sympathy.
Some of the celericians had come on stage to senselessly kick Spot
senseless. Soon, audience and dog alike were senseless, and they all
stumbled home. Some were run over by fire trucks, being unable to hear
the siren or see the flashing lights. Spot made it home okay, because
though he couldn't really tell, being senseless and all. He flopped
down on where he estimated the bed was and wondered if he'd missed.
Slowly but surely, Spot's sight and hearing came back. He was
indeed in his bedroom. Some bits of the rotten celery had taken root
in his fur, so he tweezed them out and flushed them. The phone rang.
"Hello, this is Wendy Anson from WWCS radio, the all-Christmas
Carol station! If you can identify the following tune, you win ten
thousand dollars!" The phone began to play "Jingle Bells."
Spot thought for a moment. The tune was oddly familiar, but he
couldn't quite place it. Was it "Turkey in the Straw"? Beethoven's
Ninth? "Shaft"? Time was running out! At the last possible second,
the answer came to Spot.
"Wubjuk glonk!" he barked.
"No, I'm sorry, it was `Jingle Bells'. You lose the $10,000.
Please present us with a check for the amount by the morning or we'll
sue. Bye!" She hung up.
Spot cursed his cursed tongue. He tried to curse a blue streak,
but it came out a gross shade of avocado-pink. Finally, in
desperation, he ripped out his tongue with pliers and stitched in a
prosthetic one made from plastic.
He tried to look into the mirror to see if it was installed
correctly, but his face smashed into it! He slammed against the far
wall and then bashed his head on the cast-iron stove repeatedly.
What's wrong with me? he wondered. Poor Spot didn't realize that his
new tongue was made of high-impact polystyrene! His tongue pulled him
across the room and his face went through the TV screen.
Little electrically-charged stars and birdies and squiggles raced
around Spot's head, which was now encased by shattered glass and
high-voltage television parts. A shock went through him from ear to
ear, and suddenly, he saw every channel simultaneously.
Lucille Ball fell into a vat of bugs. Larry and Balki were
standing on a window ledge trying to shoot the President because Balki
mailed the wrong envelope. Bob Saget laughed at a guy who took a
wrecking ball in the crotch. Murphy Brown bit her secretary. Allen
Funt wouldn't go away, and Vanna White was wearing a sequined glob of
Lycra. It was too much, too fast, too stupid! Spot screamed and tried
to pull his head out of the picture tube, but there was no use. Tony
Danza and Scott Baio continued their bare-knuckle boxing match, while
Mr. Rogers ate paste. Spot wished he were still senseless.
"Wish? Did somebody say wish?" said Jambi the Genie, appearing in
a "Pee-wee's Playhouse" rerun.
"I wxsh thxt chwob fnim erlop wonk!" yapped Spot.
"Your wish is granted! Long live Jambi!" said the genie, returning
to his box. Now Spot was chwob fnimmed erlop wonk! He cried in
garbled silence.
Meanwhile, Laverne and Shirley threw erlop wonk at each other.
EINSTEIN'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT
==================================
No, Einstein wasn't dead. He was just writing out his will.
I, Einstein, being of sound mind and body, do hereby write this
Last Will And Testament. I leave everything to me. In the event that
I am dead, give it to someone else. The End.
Einstein folded it up into a little ball and hid it where nobody
would ever find it.
TENSITY THE AMEBA LEARNS A LESSON
(a Very Special Episode)
=================================
Tensity was visiting his friend, Gorpley, who was also an ameba.
Gorpley was confiding.
"Say, Tensity, did you ever notice I don't really ooze around at
all?"
"Well, uh, now that you mention it..."
"You see, I'm a thalidomide ameba. I was born without pseudopodia.
I'm just a nucleus with a limp membrane. That's why I just lie here on
my vibrating bed."
Tensity accepted his friend as a person, even though he was just an
ameba. This was because Tensity, too, had been discriminated against
by society, because he was overly wet.
"Hey, you're dripping on my stamp collection!" said Gorpley.
Tensity tried to wipe the stamps off, but they all stuck to him!
Gorpley laughed.
A piercing shriek filled the air! It was the smoke detector
whining about the smoke and flames and explosions coming up the
elevator shaft of their burning high-rise. They had to get down twenty
flights of stairs, and fast! Tensity oozed out of the room at top
speed.
When he got to the lobby, he waited a while for Gorpley, and then
remembered that Gorpley couldn't ooze. Tensity oozed back up the
red-hot stairs, engulfed Gorpley, oozed back down, and disgorged him.
"Wow, thanks, Tensity! You saved my life!"
"Aw, 'twas nothing. Any ameba could've done it."
"Yeah, but you did it, Tensity! To repay you, I'll be your slave
for the rest of your life!"
And so hilarity ensued, standard sitcom plot #4, with Gorpley being
so omnipresent that Tensity decides to get him to stop being his slave,
by setting up a near accident that Gorpley can save him from so then
they'll be equal. Unfortunately, Gorpley, who had to stay in his
vibrating bed, didn't save Tensity from the non-near accident. Tensity
lost his cytoplasm and required a tenth of a stitch. He was confined
to the spare vibrating bed in Gorpley's room.
"You're a weiner!" complained Tensity. "I'm standing there, under
the falling ladder, and you just lie there!"
"Well, excuuuuuuuuuuuuuse me!" said Gorpley. He was being
sarcastic as only an ameba can.
The two got on each other's nerves, and then the fun began--wacky
sitcom plot #2: bickering roommates paint a white stripe down the
middle of the room. Unfortunately, Tensity and Gorpley were in bunk
beds, so Tensity got the top half of the room. Also standard sitcom
filler #7: zany malapropism, when Gorpley referred to Beethoven's
"Eroica" symphony as "Erotica".
Eventually, Tensity's wound healed and his cytoplasm re-jelled, so
he was able to leave the bed. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to leave
the bed, because of the white stripe. He couldn't even ooze out the
door, because it was entirely in the bottom half of the room, being a
standard 1/10mm tall ameba door. Tensity eventually suffered
malnutrition. and shrivelled up into something like a transparent
prune. Gorpley took pity, and asked their wacky neighbor and
maintenance man Lazlo to erase the white stripe. Then they hugged. It
had been a Very Special Episode, and Tensity had learned a lot. Of
course, he forgot it all by next episode, so that the episodes could be
shown out-of-order in syndication.
TENSITY THE AMEBA DOESN'T LEARN A LESSON
(an ordinary, non-didactic wacky episode)
========================================
Tensity's identical twin cousin, Felicia, was visiting. (She was
identical to him because they were both asexual, being amebas. Of
course, all amebas are more or less identical, but even Tensity and
Felicia couldn't tell each other apart.) Of course, a hilarious mixup
happened, and when subplot #3 (Tensity sells everyone hair tonic that
makes their nuclei turn purple) occurred, Felicia was wrongly beaten up
by Tensity's suckers.
This gave Felicia a zany idea for getting even: she would lock
Tensity in the giant freezer in her soundproof kitchen, but
unfortunately, they both got locked in. They had to apologize to each
other and cooperate to get out, and then the audience said "Awwwwww!"
as they hugged. Unfortunately, Tensity and Felicia were covered with
sharp icicles, and they punctured each other, and cytoplasm splattered
the front row.
EINSTEIN'S SECRET
=================
Einstein stopped the elevator between floors and got out. Suddenly, he
realized he was walking through solid walls and someone's ceiling.
Exposure to his Ecto-Ray had made him rather insubstantial! He also
noticed that with a little concentration, he could become invisible.
With his newfound freedom, he went to a topless bar.
(C) 1992 James "Kibo" Parry
From kibo@world.std.com Tue Dec 8 16:12:03 1992
Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology,alt.fan.warlord
From: kibo@world.std.com (James "Kibo" Parry)
Subject: Highlights From Kibo's Outgoing Email, #2--A Spot Story
Reply-To: kibo@world.std.com
Organization: Two rooms filled with typography, in downtown Boston
Date: Tue, 8 Dec 1992 06:05:32 GMT
This is the first known work of fiction to be based on a .signature.
-- K.
>
> -- O The thrill is Eric J. Lorenzo
> --- </\_ not just in winning, lorenzo@Rintintin.Colorado.EDU
> ---- -\/\ but in the courage also @UCSU
> --- /_ to join the race -? & @Spot
^^^^
"WORLD'S LONGEST HAIKU"
by James "Kibo" Parry [(C) 1992][like you care]
Poor Spot! He woke up one morning to discover that Eric J. Lorenzo
lived on him. He felt very flat today. In fact, Eric's golf shoe
cleats were causing severe pains in Spot's tender belly, as he slept on
his back. But these severe pains were nothing compared to the much more
annoying momentary minor pains which occurred at random intervals, FOR
NO REASON whatsoever! Spot cried.
Then, Spot remembered that he had forgotten to leave the subway
train he was riding last story, and this meant that Eric The Impaler was
also on the train, so he decided to call for help through the little box
labelled "Passenger Emergency Intercom / Intercom Para Pasajeros En Caso
De Emergencia". He pressed the big red button... and a big blue spark
zapped him! Spot was flung backwards, howling in pain! The intercom was
short-circuited and had been charged with the 70,000 volts that were
supposed to be powering the train.
Spot figured the train crew needed to know about this, so he decided
to tell them on the intercom. Of course, every time he tried, the shock
erased his memory of the previous attempts. He kept this up until he
passed out. Then Eric, bored, left to watch Star Trek. He ran home in
a strange, stiff pose, hyphens streaming from his elbows.
(gee, I better post it so everyone can enjoy it.)
-- K.
From kibo@world.std.com Fri Jan 1 18:15:54 1993
Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology,talk.bizarre,alt.slack,alt.tasteless
From: kibo@world.std.com (James "Kibo" Parry)
Subject: SPOT'S SECOND FIRST CHRISTMAS (story)
Followup-To: alt.religion.kibology,alt.good.news,alt.sex,alt.prose.d
Summary: Poor Spot! Christmas 1992 is WORSE than Christmas 1991!
Reply-To: kibo@world.std.com
Organization: Two rooms filled with typography, in downtown Boston
Date: Fri, 25 Dec 1992 19:49:09 GMT
Here's Spot's yearly Christmas story, actually written on the holy day
itself. So there. -- K.
SPOT'S SECOND FIRST CHRISTMAS
=============================
Written 12/25/92
(C) James "Kibo" Parry
Spot was celebrating Christmas again for the first time, because his parents
had forgotten his birthday this year and so he was _still_ one year old. Poor
Spot! Anyway, he was looking forward to opening his Christmas presents, which
might, just _might_, be wonderfunful niftadacious zowie-wowilicious enough to
make up for the span of misery he'd endured this extended year. He stared at
the tackily-decorated tree his parents (Spom & Spop) had erected in the family
doghouse, and at the stack of present that was under it. True, a stack of one
was probably the sturdiest form of stack when it came to topple-resistance,
but Spot sort of wished he were getting more than one present.
Last year, Spot's Christmas had been ruined because he'd unwrapped Tater
twister after Tater Twister, and then some other dumb ol' present that had bit
his face off or something. He couldn't quite remember, because it had been
very traumatic, and it varied randomly every time he re-read his diary entry
for that bleak day. As he unwrapped his sole present for _this_ year, Spot
had a shimmering fear that perhaps this holiday season he would again be at
the whims of Fate as some mythical, godlike presence overseeing his life
chose a number from one to six.
PLEASE CHOOSE A NUMBER FROM 1 TO 6 AND PROCEED TO THAT ENDING.
//// 1
Spot tore off the Care Bears wrapping paper and found--
An Amputator Twister(R). Spot cried as it sucked in his thigh, blowing
out fur at supersonic speeds!
THE END
//// 2
Spot tore off the Return of the Jedi wrapping paper and found--
A pair of solid magnesium boots just like those worn by people who lugged
gold bars around in the basement of Spot's local Federal Reserve Bank. The
boots had to protect against the crushing force of a gold bar accidentally
dropped on someone's toes, but magnesium was the only metal light enough to
make such a sturdy boot. These boots were all the rage in the postmodern
circles in which Spot orbited!
Spot smiled happily as he put on his new boots. He was _cool_ now! Spot
lit his first-ever cigarette. A tiny bit of ash immediately flaked off and
landed on his left boot! It burst into white-hot flame, like a motorists'
emergency flare only _MUCH_ brighter! Spot screamed and tried to stamp it out
with his other boot, which also--
WHOOSH.
Spot's ashes were placed in a safe deposit box at the Federal Reserve Bank.
THE END
//// 3
Spot tore off the Energizer Bunny wrapping paper and found--
An Energizer Bunny.
"Wow! Neat-o! Thanks, Spom and Spop!" Spot yapped as he pressed the
button to power up the little pink drummer rabbit.
*PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* went the bunny.
"Gosh, I really love this keen bunny you got me! Thanks again! Well, I'm
overstimulated from all this excitement, so I'd better go to bed now. 'Night,
folks. Hey, how do I turn this thing off?"
*PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK*
It's too bad for Spot that the West Korean factory had neglected to supply
an "off" button. Spot was not able to get to sleep until the Energizer(R)
batteries ran down eleven weeks, seventeen hours, fifty-one minutes, and
thirty-eight seconds later. But, by then, he was hallucinating from lack of
sleep, and for the rest of his life he had a certain auditory hallucination
and thus _never_ got to sleep:
*PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK*
THE END
//// 4
Spot tore off the Transformers wrapping paper and found--
His new baby sister Spamela.
"Waah!" Spot cried in the arms of his dear parents Spom and Spop. "This
means now you can only love me _half_ as much since there are two of us!"
Spom smiled. "Why, no, Spot. We still love you just the same as we
always have," she stated as she slapped him around for no reason.
Their parents decided to give the wonderful new baby Spot's bed, and Spot
could sleep in the crib for now. Then they went to the market and bought
Baby's First Spring Water for Spamela and some dented generic cat food for
Spot. Spot whined about this. "Poor _baby_," sneered Spop.
THE END
//// 5
Spot tore off the Cabbage Patch Preemies wrapping paper and found--
The only happy ending of the six! Yes, Spot's special mystery gift was--
--empty!
Spom and Spop had given Spot the most precious gift and parent can give a
child: the incentive for the child to use his or her imagination. Spot stared
at the box and imagined that it contained a gift.
THE HAPPY END
//// 6
Spot tore off the ALF wrapping paper and found--
Satan Claws's evil devil dog, Xpot! Xpot vaporized Spot with a twitch of
his laser-firing wet nose. Spom and Spot didn't notice, of course, and so
Xpot took Spot's place for the rest of his life. Eventually, using Spop's
political connections, Xpot pulled a few strings and became the first dog
President of the United States. Then he pushed the button that made the world
blow up.
In Hell, Spot whined as six billion new arrivals fell on him.
THE END
From kibo@world.std.com Fri May 7 10:02:59 1993
Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology
From: kibo@world.std.com (James "Kibo" Parry)
Subject: Re: TIME HAS INERTIA - EQUIVALENCE OF TIME AND MASS
Organization: Two rooms filled with typography, in downtown Boston
Date: Tue, 4 May 1993 05:09:05 GMT
Alexander Abian, who is what Einstein would be if he burned out all his
brain cells posting to sci.physics instead of learning about physics, wrote:
In article <abian.736390726@pv343f.vincent.iastate.edu> abian@iastate.edu (Alexander Abian) writes:
> Now, let me once and for all tell you that anyone who calls someone
> crackpot is a
>
> S... POT in short, S-POT
>
> where "..." stand for a well known permutation of the letters T,H,I.
>
> AND those people who have initiated a CRACKPOT INDEX they all
> belong to an S-POT INDEX, and they are all S-POTS themselves.
Poor Spot! He used to hang around with Einstein, and now he hangs
around with Abian!
I wrote the following in February 1992. [(C) James "Kibo" Parry.] For
extra fun, replace "Einstein" with "Abian" everywhere.
-- K.
EINSTEIN'S THEORY OF PUPPYTIVITY
================================
With one last stroke of his chalk stub, the equation was finished, and
just in time, for it had reached the edge of the blackboard.
RE=mc^dLt," he muttered, "therefore j/2 is less than 16xy^3 plus the
square root of 3, ergo: .=0!" Einstein had just proved that Spot did
not exist!
Just then, Spot ambled into the room to see if Einstein had
remembered to feed him today. "Hiya, Professor," he chimed.
Einstein gave him a funny look. "You shouldn't be here. You're
just a figment of my imagination. A Gedankenexperiment that failed."
"What?" said Spot as he began to vaporize. He changed into a cloud
of neutral particles and began to float to the ceiling. He passed
through it and ascended into orbit.
He was rising faster and faster now. The Earth dwindled to a blue
speck. Stars and galaxies rushed past. Soon, Spot was outside the
entire Universe. He passed beyond the edge of Reality and entered the
Zilch Zone.
Spot rematerialized on the surface of Planet X, surrounded by items
that--like him--had been banished to the Zilch Zone because they did
not exist: a bottle of wet dog flavored Coke, Betty Crocker, fluorescent
brown, good TV programs, zeppelins made of Swiss cheese, cubical
eyeballs, cheap but tasty TV dinners, Serious Putty, and Ted Danson's
hair.
"Waah! I wanna go home!" cried Spot.
"Don't cry, nonexistant puppy," hummed a wonderful-sounding
harmonica, "you are home. You belong in the Zilch Zone now."
"But--but--there's no such place as the Zilch Zone! It doesn't
exist!"
Suddenly, the Zilch Zone was whisked out from under them as it was
sucked into itself. The Zilch Zone was now inside the Zilch Zone, and
Spot and the harmonica were also sucked into the vortex as the entire
Universe collapsed about them. They had broken the laws of physics, and
now they would be sorry, for they had annihlated the entire cosmos.
Everything ended, including the concept of endings, therefore this story
has no
From kibo@world.std.com Fri May 7 10:03:21 1993
Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology
From: kibo@world.std.com (James "Kibo" Parry)
Subject: Re: TIME HAS INERTIA - EQUIVALENCE OF TIME AND MASS AVE.
Organization: Two rooms filled with typography, in downtown Boston
Date: Tue, 4 May 1993 05:12:18 GMT
[more fun from sci.physics.]
In article <abian.736390726@pv343f.vincent.iastate.edu> abian@iastate.edu (Alexander Abian) writes:
> First of all I will not call any such person a crackpot. In fact,
> I will not call any person a crackpot unless that person calls me a crackpot.
> Now, let me once and for all tell you that anyone who calls someone
> crackpot is a
> S... POT in short, S-POT
>[...]
> Secondly, Einstein had performed NO (fundamental) EXPERIMENT whatsoever.
Well, lookie here. I found another Spot story in which Einstein
experimentally disproves Spot. [(C) 1992 James "Kibo" Parry. One of
these two will likely be in the forthcoming Spot compendium, but
probably not both.]
-- K.
EINSTEIN MEETS DALI
===================
Einstein met Dali at the railway station at that place whose name begins
with P and he couldn't spell it either.
When they shook hands, Dali slipped him a five-dollar bill.
"What's this for?" asked Einstein.
"I want you to prove that I don't exist."
"Oh," said Einstein. "And why do you have those drawers sticking
out of your forehead?"
"Oh, I don't know. Something about double coupons at the
Stop'N'Shop, I guess."
Einstein was befuddled, but he got to work on proving Dali's
nonexistence. Two days later, he had finished the proof. It showed
conclusively that if Dali were to exist, he would be a small puppy named
Spot, and since Dali was actually a person, he did not exist. He showed
the proof to the great painter, who appreciated it.
"I like it," he said. (His accent had disappeared last month due to
corrective surgery.) "But... what is the connection between me and
Spot?"
Einstein pointed to a ninety-pound three-foot chain that attached
Spot to Dali's Keds. Spot was exhausted from having been dragged around
all day at Dali's supersonic speed. Dali reached down to unhook the
little doggie's chain, and as he did so, they both ceased to exist.
"Hush, puppy," Dali said as they faded away.
Einstein wandered off to spend the five dollars on a gourmet TV
dinner, not realizing that a gerbil was tied to his Buster Browns.
From kibo@world.std.com Tue Dec 28 12:19:25 1993
Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology
From: kibo@world.std.com (James "Kibo" Parry)
Subject: Repost: Story: "Spot's First Christmas" (1991)
Reply-To: kibo@world.std.com
Organization: A place with really big letters taped to the walls
Date: Fri, 24 Dec 1993 12:47:21 GMT
[whatever posessed me to sign this 'Manly Rooney'? Oh well, here's a
repost of the first in the annual series--I'll be writing the third
story in 24 hours.]
A VERY SPOT CHRISTMAS
-or-
WE'VE GONE BEYOND THE KNUCKLE!
by Manly Rooney, 12/25/91
-Here incipits a Tale of Spot-
Bzzzzzzzzt! Spot's three alarm clocks simultaneously stunned him out of
bed at 12:01am on Christmas. He ran down the stairs and began to tear
wrapping paper off presents with his teeth.
The first thing Spot unwrapped was a Tater Twister, which was an
appliance that could slice potatoes (only potatoes) into spirals (only
spirals) while taking up valuable kitchen-counter real estate. Spot
chucked the Tater Twister over his shoulder and grabbed another present.
It was another Tater Twister. He tossed it in the general
direction of the first one and unwrapped a third. "Waaaaaaah!" screamed
Spot, "I asked for all sorts of NEAT STUFF for CHRISTMAS and I was EXTRA
GOOD and I all got were STUPID TATER TWISTERS!"
Just then, Spot's parents, Spom and Spop, wandered down the stairs
into the living room, to see what the racket was. Spop saw Spot crying.
"Why, Spot, what's the matter? I bet you'd like the Tater Twisters a
lot better if you'd just try one of them."
Spop plugged in Tater Twister #1. It started up, sucked in Spop's
tail, pulled him in, and shaved him corkscrew fashion. The Tater
Twister exploded, leaving a bald, scorched Spop lying on the floor
under a halo of little asterisks. Spot cried even louder!
"There, there, dear," comforted Spom, "your pop'll be all right in
a while. Why don't you open your BIG gift?"
Spot noticed a large box that he'd overlooked, as it was the same
color as the wallpaper. He ripped it open, and
PLEASE CHOOSE A NUMBER FROM ONE (1) TO SIX (6) AND GO TO THE RELEVANT SPOT.
(1)
inside was a twelve-foot ball of Silly Putty. "Wow! Silly Putty!"
yapped gleeful Spot. "Just what I wanted! And lots of it, too!"
"I'm glad you liked it, Spot," beamed Spom. "It was all my idea."
Spot tried to knead the Silly Putty with his paws, but the glob was
just too darn big! He shoved against the side of it with all his might
and it didn't budge. Then, calamitously, it rolled over onto him. With
a soft slurping noise, Spot became embedded in the huge ball.
Spot spent the next six weeks whimpering as the ball was stretched
in various ways as the paramedics tried to free him. Eventually, they
gave up, telling Spot's parents that from now on all he would be able to
do would be to pick up pictures from the Sunday funnies. Yes, Spot was
a Silly Puppy.
THE END
(2)
inside was a huge serving, steaming warm, of Spot's favorite food,
that delicacy known as lutefisk. And--joy of joys--there was ALSO an
enormous quantity of Spot's second favorite food, tutti-frutti bubble
gum! But--horror of horrors--the two had been mixed together!
Christmas was ruined! Spot cried.
THE END
(3)
inside was a pair of wax lips. Spot tried them on.
"Mmm mmmmm mm MMM mmm mmmmm mm MMMM MMMMMM!" he said. Spop winked
at Spom as he hid the tube of Krazy Glue(TM).
THE END
(4)
inside was a pair of tweezers.
"I thought you'd like some nice tweezers," said Spom, "since you
can't pick small things up with those paws."
Spot tried to check out the tweezers, but he couldn't pick them up
with his paws. "Waah! They're too small!" He made a mental note to
ask for tweezers again next year, because then he'd have something to
pick up this pair with.
THE END
(5)
inside was a vacuum Kleenex. Spot wished he'd never need to blow
his nose... somehow knowing that maybe, just maybe, his wish would come
true....
THE END
NOTE: YOU HAVE SELECTED THE HAPPY ENDING FOR THE STORY.
(6)
inside was a mosquito on a leash.
"Oh, boy, my very own pet! I'll name him Winer," said Spot.
With Spom's help, the end of Winer's leash was soon hooked onto
Spot's collar. Spot went out to take his new pet for a walk.
At first it was fun, with Winer humming along behind (and above)
him. However, soon Spot found out the hard way that pet mosquitoes need
to be fed every five minutes. Soon, he was covered with itchy red
marks. Spot stifled a sob. It was a nuisance, but he'd always love
Winer. Winer was his pet and his pal. The mere though of their eternal
friendship made Spot's tail wag happily.
Unfortunately, the tail mashed Winer. His corpse resembled a
punctuation mark of indeterminate variety. Oh, how poor Spot cried! He
tried to unhook the late Winer's leash from his collar, but with his
puppy paws, he couldn't undo the spring clasp. For the rest of the day,
he ran around sobbing, dragging dead Winer behind all the while.
Eventually, a friendly undertaker buried Winer for Spot. Spot
stood by his friend's grave all night. He had to, since the leash on his
collar ran down into the packed earth.
THE END
(C) James "Kibo" Parry 1991
From kibo@world.std.com Tue Dec 28 12:19:35 1993
Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology
From: kibo@world.std.com (James "Kibo" Parry)
Subject: Repost: Story: "Spot's Second First Christmas" (1992)
Reply-To: kibo@world.std.com
Organization: A place with really big letters taped to the walls
Date: Fri, 24 Dec 1993 12:49:43 GMT
[The second of the annual series, the third of which will come tomorrow.
The new one will have not just six but sixteen endings. -- K.]
SPOT'S SECOND FIRST CHRISTMAS
=============================
Written 12/25/92
(C) James "Kibo" Parry
Spot was celebrating Christmas again for the first time, because his parents
had forgotten his birthday this year and so he was _still_ one year old. Poor
Spot! Anyway, he was looking forward to opening his Christmas presents, which
might, just _might_, be wonderfunful niftadacious zowie-wowilicious enough to
make up for the span of misery he'd endured this extended year. He stared at
the tackily-decorated tree his parents (Spom & Spop) had erected in the family
doghouse, and at the stack of present that was under it. True, a stack of one
was probably the sturdiest form of stack when it came to topple-resistance,
but Spot sort of wished he were getting more than one present.
Last year, Spot's Christmas had been ruined because he'd unwrapped Tater
twister after Tater Twister, and then some other dumb ol' present that had bit
his face off or something. He couldn't quite remember, because it had been
very traumatic, and it varied randomly every time he re-read his diary entry
for that bleak day. As he unwrapped his sole present for _this_ year, Spot
had a shimmering fear that perhaps this holiday season he would again be at
the whims of Fate as some mythical, godlike presence overseeing his life
chose a number from one to six.
PLEASE CHOOSE A NUMBER FROM 1 TO 6 AND PROCEED TO THAT ENDING.
//// 1
Spot tore off the Care Bears wrapping paper and found--
An Amputator Twister(R). Spot cried as it sucked in his thigh, blowing
out fur at supersonic speeds!
THE END
//// 2
Spot tore off the Return of the Jedi wrapping paper and found--
A pair of solid magnesium boots just like those worn by people who lugged
gold bars around in the basement of Spot's local Federal Reserve Bank. The
boots had to protect against the crushing force of a gold bar accidentally
dropped on someone's toes, but magnesium was the only metal light enough to
make such a sturdy boot. These boots were all the rage in the postmodern
circles in which Spot orbited!
Spot smiled happily as he put on his new boots. He was _cool_ now! Spot
lit his first-ever cigarette. A tiny bit of ash immediately flaked off and
landed on his left boot! It burst into white-hot flame, like a motorists'
emergency flare only _MUCH_ brighter! Spot screamed and tried to stamp it out
with his other boot, which also--
WHOOSH.
Spot's ashes were placed in a safe deposit box at the Federal Reserve Bank.
THE END
//// 3
Spot tore off the Energizer Bunny wrapping paper and found--
An Energizer Bunny.
"Wow! Neat-o! Thanks, Spom and Spop!" Spot yapped as he pressed the
button to power up the little pink drummer rabbit.
*PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* went the bunny.
"Gosh, I really love this keen bunny you got me! Thanks again! Well, I'm
overstimulated from all this excitement, so I'd better go to bed now. 'Night,
folks. Hey, how do I turn this thing off?"
*PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK*
It's too bad for Spot that the West Korean factory had neglected to supply
an "off" button. Spot was not able to get to sleep until the Energizer(R)
batteries ran down eleven weeks, seventeen hours, fifty-one minutes, and
thirty-eight seconds later. But, by then, he was hallucinating from lack of
sleep, and for the rest of his life he had a certain auditory hallucination
and thus _never_ got to sleep:
*PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK* *PLONK*
THE END
//// 4
Spot tore off the Transformers wrapping paper and found--
His new baby sister Spamela.
"Waah!" Spot cried in the arms of his dear parents Spom and Spop. "This
means now you can only love me _half_ as much since there are two of us!"
Spom smiled. "Why, no, Spot. We still love you just the same as we
always have," she stated as she slapped him around for no reason.
Their parents decided to give the wonderful new baby Spot's bed, and Spot
could sleep in the crib for now. Then they went to the market and bought
Baby's First Spring Water for Spamela and some dented generic cat food for
Spot. Spot whined about this. "Poor _baby_," sneered Spop.
THE END
//// 5
Spot tore off the Cabbage Patch Preemies wrapping paper and found--
The only happy ending of the six! Yes, Spot's special mystery gift was--
--empty!
Spom and Spop had given Spot the most precious gift and parent can give a
child: the incentive for the child to use his or her imagination. Spot stared
at the box and imagined that it contained a gift.
THE HAPPY END
//// 6
Spot tore off the ALF wrapping paper and found--
Satan Claws's evil devil dog, Xpot! Xpot vaporized Spot with a twitch of
his laser-firing wet nose. Spom and Spot didn't notice, of course, and so
Xpot took Spot's place for the rest of his life. Eventually, using Spop's
political connections, Xpot pulled a few strings and became the first dog
President of the United States. Then he pushed the button that made the world
blow up.
In Hell, Spot whined as six billion new arrivals fell on him.
THE END