Never Eat Windswept Martians More Than Twice With Tricyclico Herbivores

Bryan, Callum, Doug, Warren

19th August, 1991

Mark your name before you send.  Trim any inane comentary that hasn't been
seen by all -dr.

That's what I said to do the first time, but no, everyone didn't want to do that, they wanted to leave them there and remove them the second time, but now you've gone and changed your minds again! Well, see if I care that you ignore my suggestions and then rediscover them yourselves as if some large stellar objects were emitting massive photonic forces from your collective alimentarial terminator!!! - cg.

Shut up Callum! - wt

Callum, you're falsely implicating us in this horrendous act. Warren Did It, without consultation. - dr

Oh, bum - now I've gone and stuck it in the wrong place. Isn't this all a bit tedious? I mean, I don't know about you, but I'm capable of remembering a 4 element random sequence of names in my head! - cg

I'm Not! - bb

Yeah Callum, just who do you think you are anyway? You haven't even fixed your silly mailer yet, so there! And it wasn't my fault, Doug caused the US link to go down and bribed OTC to not fix it - wt

I am the supreme ruler of everything, so there! And if you don't bow down and worship me, I'll take my toys and go home! AND there's nothing wrong with my mailer. You're reading this aren't you? - cg

I like the title better last time it came past here. - dr

Stop complaining - there are starving Computers in Africa that would give anything for a title like that! -bb

Fearful, hungry, wet and muddy, the Goglic stalked dark windswept plains! In a fit of pique, he had altered the shape of reality. Now, as a button appeared on the X screen, he pushed the button with his mouse, who wasn't very happy about it, and suddenly there were two lines per person. Other idiots crowded around to see if they could get on television. They were all shot by Ozalp with the samurai sword. Little did he know that an extra line of idiots was already forming behind him, and were plotting to a small laserprinter on the table behind them. As it fell on them, they twisted and squirmed until only an insignificant amount of dirt was left. So began the sorry saga, dirty, twisty, fearful, hungry, Windswept plateaus, darkened tunnels, Golgics stalking through the moors!

As the light of the triple Suns began to break over the lands Mary was preparing the Super Glue, broken suns just wouldn't do, and she was determined to fix them. Pug was so sick of her stupidity he shot her gracefully through the broken light; the glue of Mary never touched those broken orbs. The Golgic smiled. No matter that the night was cold, nor Mary's bullet glued in blood, the Golgic smiled and stroked his gold toothbrush. Holy Mary, meek and mild, soon to become the greatest serial killer in history, grinned evily as she thrust the tube down the Golgic's throat, ramming down with the toothbrush with all the force she could drain from her host. The host died. Mary died (Holy). Later in a completely different part of the world a new chapter was about to begin.

But it didn't. In a chaotic and subliminal quark event, the preceding paragraph break was converted into ten backspaces, three umlauts and sundry diacritical marks. ``Hand me that shovel'', urged Patrick as he calmly cleaned the steaming Golgic. Greenous Golgic marked young Patrick, soiled him sadly so Pat stank. Gribjous gnawings end Pat's calling, after shooting the previous author, who had taken a nasty poetic turn. As the styrofoam solution slowly set upon Stephanie's head, her navel army set sail for her chin. They would need some luck to cross the by now, very sticky styrofoam sea spreading rapidly toward her ears. Her family wailed in mourning. The rain had continued unabated since it started early last century, and then again only 5 minutes ago. Luckily, Ozalp found the switch buried under one of his bones and turned it off. But the relay was stuck on, and in the process, Ozalp was electrocuted by the 100 Amp current that flowed through his body. As Synthia and Olga sat chewing on the nicely fried corpse, a scintillating usurper slithered slimily forward: the Golgic, indefatiguable, morbid, absolutely indescribable - so the author stopped describing. However, feeling somewhat obliged to continue, he continued typing furiously only to discover that someone had forgotten to turn the volcano off. Who can tell what natural disasters await the cast of the story - and who really cares anyway - Enya Died - Ha! so there!

At this point the publishers became sick of the petty fighting over `#' placement and ignored the fact that one author had rambled on over the normal allocation of lines, and shot the whole cast. Undaunted by this waste of paper, Enya came back to life in a blaze of glory, her kneebraces shining auspiciously in the green moonlight, and her ovoid ova ovulating overtly. Who was she anyway? Noone seemed to know so she disappeared into story-legend and is only now mentioned in hushed voices around campfires late at night. Not to be deterred by this, she grabbed a Golgic by the campfire, grasped and grabbed the Golgic's hand. She did not feel the night-chilled wind, nor the dew upon the sand, but only Golgics soft edged gurgling, by the campfire, on the sand. At this point one of the authors vomited violently and so he decided she and the Golgic should be hit by a bus while crossing over the road that wasn't built yet on the planet that didn't exist yet, but yet.. but yet they wander happily seawards, down the road way, hand in hand, Enya dreaming thoughts of Mary, Golgic murm'ring of the land - misty moors by wind-swept plains, and Golgics snurgling where they stand.