Even More Than Pointy Ozalp Could Rationally Deal With Himself

Brett, Bryan, Callum, Warren

2nd November, 1993

Stunned by the fall, Prunella was hardly aware of the huge object that descended rapidly towards her prostrate body. She willed herself to roll out of the way just before it smacked to the ground. Unfortunately, her lawyer was still tidying up her will, and the sharpened dog with no eyes hit her fair square in the kneebrace. Drunkenly, she hiccupped and fell back into the sodden ditch giggling. Stuart laughed, and began to rummage about on the floor. He picked up the leash draped over an empty bottle of gin and slipped it over Rex's head. Rex accepted this indignity with the serenity of a Zen Master, before reconsidering and eating him whole. Burping gratuitously (as Zen Masters were wont to do occasionally, especially in times of extreme serenity), Rex trundled off down to the local 7-11 to see if petrol prices had dropped recently. When he bumped into Lao Tzu, he obediently followed the Way back home and began practising the gentle art of sagehood, which was the best thing to do.

Soon thereafter, and immediately beforehand, Ozalp ran up to Prunella. ``My Armpit Hair Even Grows!'' he exclaimed. ``You forgot the For,'' she replied, smacking him across the face with a stunned mullet. Stuart laughed. Ozalp wasn't pleased with his place in the story so far, so he did a rm -f story, wiping out an entire Western suburbs family due to a tiny flaw in the plot. (The family later got revenge by haunting Ozalp in the form of a giant stunned mullet). Stuart started throwning his arms around, gesticulating to indicate his complete lack of mental stability. This may have been because he wasn't used to doing much other than laughing, or it may just have been because he had no idea what `throwning' was. Nonetheless, he was soon agile enough to wade into cyberspace, armed only with his bare nostrils, and began the onslaught which everyone had been expecting, so much so that they'd all pissed off down the pub for a quick dozen or two before going home for a round of XJewel. ``Billions of blue blistering barnacles!!'', he hissed, finding cyberspace deserted. By now he was beginning to feel peeved. A virtual thought wandered into his mind and he whipped the ad for Eunuchs into submission. ``Please doan whip me, masser,'' it whimpered. Luckily, no one was watching this at the time so it ceased to exist along with a few insignificant galaxies. The inhabitants of said galaxies were none too happy about this state of affairs, especially the inhabitants of Zeta Blat Blat who were just evolving into a particularly virile form of Swede. The laws of chaos of course (being an anomaly), thought that it would be neat if Patrick would survive for once, but they were overruled by a symbiotic form of the letter `Q', whose fervent desire to be svelte made it wear pink flares with blue beads. Patrick consequently was doomed! Even before he saw the outfit! I would like to say that Patrick faced the onslaught bravely, but in fact he ran away, bravely, bravely ran away, yes he bravely turned his heels and fled ... oops, sorry, that was in a previous life. Now, as the pink flaring blue beads bore down upon him, he saliently strode up to the shopkeeper and ordered a bottle of Clearasil. ``Such a brave person!'' the shopkeeper thought, so he shot him.

Later that millisecond, when all the mice had gone to sleep, Mary's oboe decided for the hundredth time that it was sick of leaning against the wall. The concept of evolution suddenly struck it as a good idea. Realizing that every character in the plot thus far has died, the oboe paniced. Syncing the disks, it gracelessly shut the system down, and went into solipsism mode, which prevented the sysadmin from rebooting it. Luckily, in an adjacent petunia, Ozalp lurked hungrily, waiting for the turkeys with no feet. This made it very difficult for them to escape, naturally, so Ozalp gave them a fighting chance by killing himself first. They immediately set upon him, becoming as hard as concrete in a jiffy. What was this all in essence nobody knew, at least not knowingly. The jiffy (now full of concrete) began waltzing away to the beat of a well-tuned rubber saxophone and impetuously married a fishmonger from Sussex. Aethelfrith agreed and left to seek his fortune. He looked all around and eventually found it in a pile of dirty socks, under his bed. The blind dog meanwhile, after taking up a teaching position in the orient, and changing his name to Hee Nau Pung (which roughly translates to: `Sydney will die! Beijing reigns supreme!') was taken hostage by a passing band of hairy Ishmalites and was never heard of again, except in popular folklore. ``Pok!'' shouted the assembled crowd which had never seen an optimising compiler in that foreboding corner of the land. Indeed, even the small thorny pok-beests avoided them, in the irrational belief that Kate Bush could communicate using SMTP. Of course, that was a wild pipe dream as she was actually a dedicated SLIP line. Mind you, she could slattach with the best of them. To prove the point she attempted a 12Mb NFS file transfer over 2400 baud, then, realising she had several days to waste, she took to tormenting Telecom engineers by randomly NAKing ACKs. ``This line's NAKered'', said a particularly astute technical (he was destined to become a programmer), (but instead became a sales rep), (basically because he didn't know how to program properly), (but he knew how to make lists in Lisp), (which, when you think about it, is a pretty useless skill). His TCP port was bound hand over fist, which is why Weetbix is so important, and Anja was called in to induce an enema. After the explosion, they quickly migrated to the nearby hamlet which was cleaner. Theoretically, worm-holes in the plot were impossible, yet one was approaching/happening/been-and-gone. Anja looked about her, confused as hell. Where was she? What was she doing in this hamlet? She watched as a hunched-over figure eight became apparent in the ice beneath her, and then fell in as her sharpened skates sliced through the surface. Hamlet was rousting with his mates Rosenstein and Guildencrantz, and so failed to hear the wailing, which came again and again, and over and over, until finally it stopped.

Later on it started again and continued on unabated until several K-Mart security guards ran over and pointed out the `No Fishing' sign to the crew of the Japanese trawler. They were also shown a mysterious sign, `This door is alarmed' which impressed them no end until they were shot. Four months earlier, nothing but an tarantella was observed, and they knew such a cute, furry creature wouldn't hurt a fly. The tarantula, however, had hurt several flies in its time but usually went after birds, fish and strange reptilian mammals. The hills are alive with the sound of music, death and silence in the key of F sharp. Needless to say, ergo. It was, of course the grim reaper, stumbling over the landscape on his horse, Blinky. The grim reaper was in fact feeling... well... grim, as he had managed to imbibe quite a bit of sangria at that spanish tavern. He was definitely as sloshed as a piece of toilet paper on its way out to sea off the coast near Bondi. He retched violently at the thought (or maybe it was the case of beer). Wiping pieces of vomit from around his mouth, he noticed the diced mice and called Ozalp. ``Can you remove these before I retch again?'' he gasped. ``No'' replied Ozalp irrationally, and left pointedly in the direction of feof().