Title: Eating Altered Delicious Putrid Peel Scrapings
Authors: Warren, Mark, Brett, Callum
Date: Mon Aug 12  8:55:53 1996


The cool wind blowing on Fred's bikini left him with chattering teeth and
a rather blue protruberance. He realised that Moscow wasn't as warm as Perth
A realisation that enlightened him, and henceforce, he decided, he
would be known only as Buddha. This resolve was only to continue 
until the next paragraph, when the story would once again be mutilated
to a pulp, suitable for use in the recycled paper industry. But before he
could continue, he thought it would be prudent to disrobe and chant loudly
while hopping on one foot. It wasn't long before people with large pointed
spheres began to cycle to work in light bulbs and sing `Ali dem beobpla' in
another language, which makes it sound even weirder. The foot pulp grunge
scene was soon superceded by the food pulp gothic scene, which caused
bad bananas to be the most envied of the fruit set. A director
by the name of Pearantino released a movie called 'Pulp Fiction' which
strangely never got as far as the art-house goatie crowd. This pleased 
the bananas no end of mirth as yet again they felt vindicated and not a 
little smug. B1 lent over to B2 and they rubbed rough ends briefly. 
"Damn", said B1. "That's a fine
mess we've just been written into. By implicating 2 pieces of fruit in a
kinky sexual relationship, noone will ever again be able to look at a pair of
striped pajamas with a straight face." They continued down the stairs, then
stopped suddenly. They realised, with mounting horror, that they
had left the negatives of the sordid affair posted on the fridge
with a piece of moldy blue-tack. Even the negatives of the salad
dressing were there for the world to discover. They looked in anguish,
and they were in fact in anguish. The juxtaposition of the negatives
made the background/foreground problem stand out, and in doing so left
the blue-tack dangling precariously over the edge of a vertiginous
meat pie. Never mind that the ranting and raving of various world leaders
had bored everyone to tears, nor that the world had been abruptly taken
over by aliens early last year without anyone even noticing, it would take
more than mere death to keep Patrick from completing his mission. He firmly
thrust his hand forward and seized the guitar from the embarassing three 
eyed buffoon and launched into a passable rendition of "Help Is On It's 
Way". The assembled group looked somewhat bewildered until a sharp 
and unpleasant scraping sound drew their attention NW21.3c. Jaws droppeed 
at the
dumb stupid porgram that was used to do all of the work. It was written
in ODDBALL, a language not unlike COBOL, Algol-68 and PL/I combined, with
an unhealthy dose of BLISS on top. It made Ozaly queasy, and as he brought up
his last supper over the stack of manuals that were the so-called
'documentation', Ozaly summoned his faithful Emacs daemon. There
was a 'pop' and a small 6" high goblin with a shirt pocket full of pens
didn't appear. Instead, a large 6 metre high dragon named Puff appeared,
holding Julie Anthony in his jaws and humming the national anthem.  He was
stunned to find such an unappetising morsel in his mouth, and promptly spat
it out into the cauldron sitting squatly on the floor. Puff considered arcane
antics something of a speciality of his, and quickly thumbed (`clawed')
through his copy of the Necronomicon to check what you can do about
punishing particularly inedible things for being inedible. Puff found 2
dollars on the footpath which he picked up and deposited in his favourite
building-society-turned-bank. This was twice the amount of the minimum
deposit so the banking officials immediately closed up shop and
moved to the Bahamas. The residents of the Bahamas, delighted with
the new influx of wealth and capital, immediately closed up shop and
looted it with pickaxes. Once the insurance came through, they moved to
the Bahamas to live a life of luxury, and set themselves up in business as
consultants for royal-family-members-recently-divorced-and-caught-naked-by-
hidden-cameras. The new self-help group "Toe Suckers Anonymous" was growing in
manure down at the end of the garden, and should start bearing fruit around
October. Ozalp yawned and stretched as he fell into a black hole, fragments of
email skirting its event horizon. He quickly realised that boredom and eternity
are one, only to be divided by a particle accelerator, or the 11th
glass of beer. Ozalp saw beams of light shattering on the edge of the
black hole, and the twisted fragments of stories swirling around him.
He felt sick in the pit of his stomach as he was reminded of his wild days
in the '60s experimenting with various chemical substances. The experience
had left him scarred for life and suffering permanent vertigo. He grabbed one
and then another, but felt his grip on reality slipping. He was falling,
falling, falling into the void with nothing but a sense of perversity to help
slow his descent. At the bottom, the white rabbit (still running late) waited
tapping his paw impatiently on the ground, and glancing nervously
at his pocket watch. "You're late, you're late, and you've got a VERY
important date", cried the white rabbit as he seized Ozalp and
stuffed him into a small sack for later. You never know when a pointed dog
with no eyes might come in handy. Ozalp struggled at first but drew upon his
own skin with a texta in order to add colour and depth to his character, which
was the thorn symbol from Old English. He pought pat it was a nice symbol, with
a cute little loop in it, but unfortunately it was often confused with a p
and as a result many people were subjected to needless (but nonetheless
enjoyable) torturing.  The last time someone had tried to reintroduce this
, the snow was falling in the valley, and the ski season was underway. Anja
was heavily employed as a search and rescue volunteer, with a medical kit
strapped on her back and a small keg of elderberry juice under her arm. From
all appearances she was pissed as a newt. An American who was casually
reading the last sentence paused and wondered why a newt should be
so angry. The newt wondered where to get the grog. They looked at each
other and shrugged. "Geronimo" she cried, launching herself into
get back into the previous one, but only temporarily before falling back
the next paragraph. Once there she realised that she wanted to go back as
this paragraph was pretty boring so with great effort (and a couple of escape
sequences) she managed to ... into the next one. Whew, all that jumping was
nearly enough to beat the longjmp() record set in the Atlanta UlyNpIX, which
is jointly owned by Coca-Cola, McDonalds and AT&T. Other events scheduled
are the Java ln, the disk fs and the fsck. The last gold platter to be
awarded to an OSie in Java ln was in 1984, and so it was great to
see an OSie throw() an exception for a silver. Unfortunately the
scheduler broke down, and kept assigning itself maximum priority
until a hardware bug caused infinite silicon oscillation syndrome (ISOS).
In the inevitable explosion which followed an inbred family of pygmies, 
living in the small hamlet of Westborough, caught the "Good Times" virus and
went on to live in Carroll, which is an even smaller hamlet east of Gunnedah.
In fact, large mail items cannot be delivered to Carroll as they are larger than
the hamlet itself. This strange item of postal trivia has been brought to you
by the letters `P' and `S', and the number `splon'. A large bomb descended
rapidly upon all those who stood under it. At the last moment, they moved
their bowels in an effort to expuge the putrid peel scrapings that been
altered from their original delicious state. After the great effort, nobody
had any energy left, and the universe suffered heat death. Bon appetit.