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The Purple Thunderbolt of spode Volume 2 Issue 40
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SBI-Submarine Pens Proudly Presents:
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THE PURPLE THUNDERBOLT OF SPODE VOL 2, 40
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"One year and REPLIES TO: HailOtis@socpsy.sci.fau.edu
still going strong"
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WRITE TO: IGHF/955 Massachusetts Ave., Suite 209/Cambridge, Ma 02139
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INTRO
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This time around I'm writing the intro before I put together purps. It's
been a while so I thought I'd ramble on and mention some of the stuff
I'm attempting to do at my end to make Purps better.
We still are experiencing mailer problems. In order to fix that I'm
going to start doing two things. First, Purps will be mailed out VERY
SLOWLY. I take all the purps and put them on a queue. They get mailed
out over a long while. This means that if someone you know got purps and
you didn't, your's is probably still in the slow queue somewhere. Of course
you could get this person to mail you a copy and then you could just dump
the copy that comes to you door step.
Second, I'm going to try to keep purps down to some reasonable size. It's
summer time and I hope that means I'll have more time to work on purps
thus making bigger and more purps. For example, with this issue I have about
3 times as much material for a smaller issue. So I'm saving the other
stuff for next time. Essentially, the policy is 1000 lines of stuff and then
what ever Otisian hand made submissions I have laying around. This issue
should contain a couple or three stories and another installment of the
glossary.
Right now I have enough material for at least one more issue so another
one should be out soon. I still need lots of submissions though. Purps is
at its finest when loads of submissions come pouring in.
Anyway this will all be good news to you. Purps hopefully is
going to emerge from whatever slump it was in and come out once every two
weeks like it is supposed it. I may make it come out even more often
depending on how much inspiration and spare time I have.
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SQUIRREL CONSPIRACY
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From: cla04@seq1.keele.ac.uk (A.T. Fear)
Subject: Re: squirrel conspiracy
Date: 19 May 92 10:43:09 GMT
>
> I think the squirrels are up to something!
You tell 'em Ken, I agree. Our campus is crawling with the little grey
vermin, and that shifty way they look at you and then run away means
there's got to be something going on. And where do they go in winter, don't
believe all that hibernation nonsense they're plotting something alright.
Is there something about about the NWO we don't know, like it's the
squirrels that'll inherit the earth. Act safe I say, defend humanity, shoot
a squirrel (or two) today.
Andy Fear
####===================================================================####
THE "STATE" OF IDAHO: THE CASE FOR OPEN DEBATE
####===================================================================####
From: alu@cbnewsk.cb.att.com (Alan Lustiger)
Subject: THE "STATE" OF IDAHO: THE CASE FOR OPEN DEBATE
Date: 19 May 92 20:43:49 GMT
THE "STATE" OF IDAHO: THE CASE FOR OPEN DEBATE
If you would ask any schoolchild how many states there are in the United
States, you will get the same answer: 50. Fifty states in the Union. It is
simply an accepted "fact." If you would disagree with this supposed "fact,"
you would be branded insane or worse.
However, mounting evidence shows that there are in fact only 49 states in
the US, and the "state" of Idaho is a baseless myth.
We have been trying to distribute and publish this information for over
*two years*, but our scholarship has not been given any respect. We have
been censored, vilified, ridiculed and spat upon by the "traditional"
geographers and historians, but WE WILL NOT BE SILENCED!
All we ask is that the existence of the state of Idaho be debated, as every
other historical and geographic "fact" can be debated. Time after time, our
opponents have refused to debate us on the FACTS. This alone should tell
you something about the people who support the "existence" of this "43rd
state."
Please read the following evidence VERY CAREFULLY, and you will be
astonished at the veracity of our cause.
THE POPULATION MYTH
Do you know anybody from Idaho? Do you know anybody *who knows anybody*
from Idaho? According to the 1990 "census," there are over one million
(1,000,000, or 1 x 10^6) people living in Idaho. But if there are so many
Idahoers, where are they?
Some people have come forward and claimed that they were born and raised in
"Idaho." But *every single person* who made this claim have been shown to
be frauds and charlatans. These "Idahoan wannabes" are invariably
inconsistent with each other about the size (in square miles or square
kilometers) of "Idaho," about various town and village names, and even
about the names of "Idaho's mighty rivers."
THE SIZE FARCE
According to traditional geographic sources (created entirely by people who
believe in the existence of Idaho, and probably the Tooth Fairy, also) the
"State" of Idaho is more than twice the size of Maine, Vermont, New
Hampshire, Rhode Island, Connecticut and Massachusetts *combined.* Isn't it
strange that a state with such vast land resources has so few people? And
even of you look at a map (created by the Idaho-centric cartographers) the
"State" of "Idaho" is dwarfed by its much larger neighbor, Montana.
SATELLITE EVIDENCE
Recently declassified weather satellite information, showing the entire
continental United States, shows absolutely *no evidence* that there is any
state where "Idaho" is supposedly located. Noted experts in the field of
interpreting these pictures unanimously agree that, from outer space, it is
impossible to determine the borders of this elusive "state." Yet
meteorologists and cartographers routinely overlay these satellite pictures
with the outline of states that would seem to indicate Idaho's existence.
PHOTOGRAPHIC "EVIDENCE"
Many people, skeptical of the clear evidence that Idaho does not and never
did exist, point to photographs that they've seen in encyclopedias and
postcards seeming to show parts of the state of Idaho.
It is important to note that a photograph without a caption is often
meaningless. A picture of people in boats surrounded by mountains could
have been taken in Colorado or Nevada, but when the holy *caption* says
that this is a picture of the "Salmon River" in "Idaho," gullible readers
tend to swallow this information whole *without any further examination.*
We have examined literally hundreds of these "photographs," and the ones
that are not outright fakes are all clearly taken in other parts of the
nation.
ASK THE JAPANESE
It is well known that Americans are woefully ignorant about geography,
which is one reason why it is so easy to fake an entire state here. Not
surprisingly, most of the effort to create the illusion of Idaho has been
expended in the USA.
But if you would ask a typical Japanese or French schoolchild about what
he/she knows about Idaho, you will usually get a blank stare. People who
are much better at geography than Americans have never heard of this "great
state."
THE POTATO MYTH
Any given supermarket in the United States has sacks of potatoes clearly
marked "Idaho Potatoes." People make the assumption, that when they are
buying these potatoes, that they were *grown* in the "state" of "Idaho."
Actually, "Idaho" is a type of potato, just like "McIntosh" is a type of
apple. The FACT is that *many* states have potato crops, as well as foreign
countries, and potatoes that say "Idaho" on them are no more from Idaho
than Baltimore Orioles all come from Maryland.
SO, WHAT'S THERE?
Nothing. THERE IS NOTHING THERE. We have been so brainwashed by the
traditional mapmaking community to think that if Idaho doesn't exist, then
there must be some sort of vacuum there instead. This is nonsense.
The very shapes and positions of the states, and indeed of every nation on
the planet, is only known through "information" provided by cartographers.
It is akin to asking "if Santa's house isn't at the North Pole, then what's
there instead?"
THE CARTOGRAPHER CONSPIRACY
The *only evidence* that there is a state called Idaho comes from maps.
Everybody has maps, in almanacs, in encyclopedias, and on the walls of
every elementary school classroom in America.
Astonishingly, *over 99%* of all maps are created by *cartographers!* If
any clearly defined set of people would control any other important
industry to that degree, everybody would be up in arms about the undue
influence given to a meager few. However, for some reason, Cartographers
are immune to such criticism. Any mention about the Cartographer influence
over the mapmaking industry (and, as a natural extension, OUR VERY
THOUGHTS!) is dismissed as "lunacy."
As an indication of how insidious is this influence, just think: have you
ever questioned a map? Maps, being graphical objects, require much less
effort to assimilate into our very psyches. Behavioral studies show that
people can much more readily understand maps than printed descriptions of
geographical areas; in fact, the images on maps tend to go directly into
the subconsciousness of Man (Homo Sapiens) without the critical thinking
that accompanies reading. In a very real way, Cartographers are the *real*
Thought Police.
But they do not work in a vacuum. There are much too few of them to do
their real damage unaided. Mapmakers have conspired with the editors of
almanacs and encyclopedias to create a fantastic illusion of space where
there is none, people where there aren't any, and ski resorts where none
exist.
ONLY THE BEGINNING
This is only the tip of the iceberg. We have much more material on this
conspiracy, and we have yet to uncover one iota of evidence that Idaho has
ever existed. All of the so-called "evidence" is a mixture of
falsifications, coercions, lies and exaggerations.
The Cartographers would like nothing better than to silence us. If you do
not see any more postings on this subject, then you have clear evidence
that their Conspiracy of Silence on Idaho has succeeded, and that Freedom
of Speech has been curtailed by the Cartographical Thought Police.
What can you do? All we ask is that you be open minded. Of course, you
cannot trust any of the second-hand evidence that you would find in
libraries, maps (!), airline schedules or street signs. All you can trust
is what we have written here. We are confident that once you evaluate all
of the valid evidence, you will be angered by this conspiracy, and
motivated to do something about the scum who perpetrated this hoax.
####===================================================================####
OTIS IN MIRRORSHADES
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OTIS IN MIRRORSHADES
by trudy rucker
The thick smoke in the canteen created a dense, close atmosphere. The
sweat on the bodies of violently dancing people and the vitriolic stench of
watered down $12 tequila sunrises combined to form the smell of panic, the
smell of desperation.
The smell of the city.
From across the sea of faces, I saw HER. Her hips were swaying to the
throbbing beat, but her eyes were businesslike as they passed over the
crowd. I saw the thin wire attached at the base of her skull, running down
her neck and down the back of her jumpsuit. The suit appeared to have some
sort of large multicolored amoebas with curlicued flagellum all over it. I
was intrigued. Slowly I sidled over to her. I would have to think of some
subtle way of drawing her out. I leaned over and gently whispered in her
ear,
"Hey, baby. What's your sign?"
She looked at me inquisitively. I could tell she was interested.
"Sign?" she asked. "Sign? What the hell are you talking about? I am
Heether, Goddess of Paisley-and you're standing on my foot."
I looked down to observe that I was, indeed, crushing the goddess'
instep. Quickly, I stepped back.
"Uh...pardon me,"I stumbled out. "'Scuze me. Heh. Sorry 'bout that."
She waved away my apology. Her eyes were back on the crowd.
"Looking for somebody?" I hypothesized aloud.
"Yeah," she muttered. "Yeah, I am. You'd better beat it outta here
quick, while you still can. This place is REALLY gonna be jumpin' soon."
I set my jaw rigidly. I squinted my eyes defiantly. I flared my
nostrils furiously.
"Then I'd just as soon stay right here," I informed her.
She glanced at me, then continued scanning the crowd.
"Suit yourself," she shrugged.
I drew myself up to my full height of 5'6".
"See, in MY line of work, I deal with death on a daily basis. I've
learned to laugh in the face of the Grim Reaper. I thumb my nose at the
Angel of Death. I-"
"What line of work are you in?"
She was looking at me, now. At last, a connection.
"Well, Heather, let's just say I-"
"It's HEE-ther."
"Huh?"
"H-E-E-T-H-E-R"
"Oh. OK, HEE-ther."
"Some call me GOP, short for Goddess of Paisley. You may call me that
if you wish. But please..no elephant jokes."
"Wouldn't dream of it. Anyway, Heether...have you ever given any
thought to your future?"
She lowered her eyelids suspiciously but remained silent. I plunged
on.
"Because what I offer is peace of mind. Protection from the
unforeseen. Tragic accidents occur all the time, taking lives...why should
they also RUIN so many others? Have you ever thought about what would
happen if, God forbid-"
"Dammit!" she practically spat out, venomously. "I knew it! You're
a-"
"-an insurance salesman," I finished. "An Angel of Mercy offering
comfort to people in their time of need. Why, the low monthly premiums are
a small price to pay for the comfort that comes from knowing that-"
It was all I had time to say before I was interrupted by a loud
barrage of gunfire. Heether and I turned simultaneously to see a man
cutting through the crowd of the canteen with his fire. He was of tall if
not imposing stature with dark hair cut short and conservatively. What I
noticed first about him was not his old fashioned yet extremely tasteful
three piece suit. Nor was it the oily Vitalis like stuff he had combed
into his hair until it glistened. The thing I noticed first was his unlit
pipe clenched between gleaming white perfect teeth, forming the most
glorious smile known to man. As he mowed down more and more screaming
people, the smile stayed glued in place, seeming to mock the charred
smoking corpses on the floor before him.
Eventually he stopped, and the silence was deafening. He handed his
weapon to a man on his left, presumably a flunky. The flunky wore a ten
gallon hat and cowboy boots, and looked a bit like a Texan cattle ranger.
The man began walking towards us, and it was then that I noticed that he
had made a path of bodies between us and him. He wasn't picking his way
carefully along, but rather striding purposefully upon the cadavers as if
they weren't there. Finally he was standing next to us. Ignoring me, he
stretched his hand out to Heether. This must have been the man she was
looking for. Thanks to me, he now had the drop on her, instead. I knew if
we both got out of this alive, there'd be hell to pay.
"Why, hello there, Heether!" he exclaimed, polite as could be.
"Spode help me," she muttered through clenched teeth, then stretched
out her hand in return and shook his, her eyes brimming with hatred as she
greeted him with,
"Hello, BOB."
TO BE CONTINUED IN THE NEXT EXCITING INSTALLMENT OF
"OTIS IN MIRRORSHADES"
####===================================================================####
GULPED TO THE KNEES
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From: dw@unislc.uucp (Dan Wright)
Subject: Gulped to the knees by a grouper
Date: Tue, 19 May 1992 23:16:21 GMT
Here's a deep sea diver legend. My friend Dave Browning worked as a diver
in the Gulf of Mexico for a couple years and he says this story is told
among the seasoned pros, though rarely attributed to a particular person or
place.
A diver was tightening bolts at the base of an oil rig. He noticed a huge
grouper nearby, 10 or 11 feet long. Groupers are territorial, and the big
fish was probably thinking the diver was trespassing on HIS oil rig. The
grouper approached, and knowing which end was the "head", slurped the diver
into its mouth by brute force, all the way down to the knees. The diver
still had electronic communication with the surface. You can imagine what
he said into his mike, "What the f*ck! Diver emergency! Get me out of
here!" etc.
The crew sent another diver. When the second diver got to the bottom all
he could see were legs and air hoses sticking out of the monster's mouth.
At first he couldn't imagine what to do. Then he spied the yard-long
Crescent wrench which the first diver had been using to tighten bolts. He
took up the big wrench, hauled off, and bopped the grouper on the nose.
The beast startled, spit out the diver, and slowly backed off. As they
watched, it seemed to them that it retreated in disgust and indignity
rather than in fear.
####===================================================================####
WHO NEEDS POLITICS WHEN YOU CAN HAVE SCARY VAMPIRES
####===================================================================####
Date: Fri, 29 May 1992 02:46 -0500
From: MATTHEW GREENWOOD <ICMX500@INDYVAX.IUPUI.EDU>
From: IN%"ACC00LTR@UNCCVM.BITNET" "Leonard T Roberts" 8-MAY-1992 15:58:19.85
Subj: Vampire News
INTEREST IN VAMPIRE NEWS OUTWEIGH UPCOMING VOTE
MANILA, Philippines (AP) - Filipinos will choose a new president and
thousands of elected officials next week. But in the squalid barrios of the
capital, the big news is there's a vampire on the loose.
For weeks, the slums of Manila's Tondo district have been abuzz with
rumors that a "manananggal", a supernatural creature similar to a vampire,
has been terrorizing the area.
According to Filipino folklore, a "manananggal" (pronounced
Ma-na-NANG-gal) appears as a woman who can cut her body in two. The top
half flies around at night searching for babies to devour.
The top half must return before daybreak to rejoin the rest of the body
and move around like regular folks.
Occult activities, including faith healing, fortune-telling, and rampages
by spiteful ghosts, enjoy a wide following in the Philippines and are often
taken seriously.
No one knows how the latest rumor got started, but it was picked up by
most of the tabloids, which titillated readers with the demon's latest
exploits.
Soon, the manananggal had replaced the May 11 presidential election as
the hottest topic of gossip in local public markets, where housewives and
vendors trade stories.
"It's scary," one housewife told a vendor in the crowded Divisoria market
as she paid for fresh fish. "That's why I don't sleep alone at night."
The largest circulation tabloid, People's Journal Tonight, even published
what it said was an interview with Martina Santa Rosa, who purportedly
battled the demon last week.
"She attacked me. I was just lucky I was able to get free. I saw half of
her body. It was naked. She had long, scraggly hair, long arms, nails, and
sharp fangs.
The newspaper reported that the woman's account was "corroborated" by her
neighbors.
####===================================================================####
BEST OF THE WORST
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Date: Fri, 29 May 1992 02:48 -0500
From: MATTHEW GREENWOOD <ICMX500@INDYVAX.IUPUI.EDU>
From: Davis Farnsworth <Davis.Farnsworth@EBAY.SUN.COM>
From Melinda.Cheung@Corp Thu May 21 12:10:37 1992
Date: Thu, 21 May 92 12:14:15 PDT
Subject: best of the worst
>From the San Jose Mercury News (5/20/92), reprinted without
permission -
BEST OF THE WORST RECOGNIZED IN ANNUAL BAD FICTION CONTEST
by Alan Garthright
Like a humongous fungus, oozing across the land, word of the winner of the
10th Annual Bulwer-Lytton (Bad) Fiction Contest slithered 'round the globe
Tuesday.
Sacramento's Laurel Fortuner triumphed as the best of the worst opening
sentences: "As the newest Lady Turnpot descended into the kitchen wrapped
only in her celery-green dressing gown, her creamy bosom rising and falling
like a temperamental souffle', her tart mouth pursed in distaste, the
sous-chef whispered to the scullery boy, `I don't know what to make of
her.'"
"I must've been hungry when I wrote that," said Fortuner, 35, an interior
design student at Sacramento State University.
Asked for other inspiration sources, she cited a teen-age obsession for bad
Gothic novels and raising four young sons. "I read too much and I don't get
enough sleep. It's warped my brain."
San Jose State University sponsors the contest in honor of Edward
Bulwer-Lytton, that Victoria peddler of ponderous prose who penned the
infamous opening salvo: "It was a dark and stormy night..." Fortuner will
be given "a cheap word processor," said Professor Scott Rice.
Winning in the Purple Prose category was this entry by Cynthia Baran of
Cambridge, Mass.: "The sun crept up into the crack of dawn like cheap
underwear."
Melinda 8^)
####===================================================================####
OFF WITH THEIR HEADS
####===================================================================####
Date: Sat, 30 May 92 20:03:37 MDT
From: eiverson@NMSU.Edu
Date: Sat, 30 May 92 19:31:45 MDT
From: sabbott@NMSU.Edu
From: mathew@mantis.co.uk (mathew)
Date: 28 May 92 15:28:49 GMT
Organization: Mantis Consultants, Cambridge. UK.
Off with their heads!
by Terry Jones [ Yes, *that* Terry Jones ]
Guardian 1991-03-09 [ Reproduced without permission ]
Since President Bush announced the dawn of the New World Order, there
has been universal agreement that it has dawned, but a certain amount
of uncertainty as to what, exactly, it is.
Our job, here at the New World Order Advice Centre, is to help World
Leaders, Heads of State, Presidents, Prime Ministers, Sheiks, Tin-Pot
Dictators, Tyrants and Power-Crazed Usurpers of whatever nationality,
to understand better what President Bush has in mind.
The first principle of the New World Order is clear. In place of the
old, discredited methods of "negotiation" (in which men and women
suffer the torture of hour after hour of tedious discussion around an
uncomfortable table), President Bush now offers us the exciting new
concept of "Blowing People's Heads Off". The idea couldn't be simpler.
Two teams called "armies" are lined up on either side and, under the
direction of "generals" (so called because they generally keep out of
harm's way), the two teams or "armies" try to see how many of each
other they can kill. The side that succeeds in killing the most is
deemed to be "morally superior" and to have shown that "force cannot
succeed".
The second important principle enshrined in the New World Order is
each nation's inalienable right to kill as many innocent people as it
thinks fit. This right is demonstrated by the fact that when Pol Pot
killed one and a half million Cambodians in the Seventies, he went on
to receive $85 million in aid from the United States in the Eighties.
Similarly, when, in 1988, Saddam Hussein disposed of 5,000 inhabitants
of the village of Halabja, with hydrogen cyanide and mustard gas,
President Bush opposed Congress cutting off aid to him. Indeed, if the
right to kill people had not been enshrined in the New World Order,
how on earth could the US itself justify the fact that it killed some
7,000 civilians when it got rid of Noriega in Panama?
We at the NWOAC would emphasize that the only alternative to President
Bush's visionary initiative is sanctions, and as well all know
SANCTIONS DO NOT WORK. What's more, they must be seen not to work!
After all, if sanctions were seen to work there might be a temptation
to use them instead of military action. Indeed, even American voters
might start to question their spending 30 per cent of their national
income on warfare. They might even begin to doubt the wisdom of
spending fourteen times as much of their national budget on Blowing
People's Heads Off as they do on educating their young. The plain
truth is that sanctions are a real thread to the survival of military
spending as we know it today.
Back in 1986, the argument against sanctions was put fairly and
squarely by Mrs Thatcher: "There is no case in history that I know
of," she said, "where punitive, general economic sanctions have been
effective to bring about internal change."
Of course, she wasn't to know that by 1991 Apartheid would have
apparently crumbled, and that, according to Pik Botha, this would be
due to two factors: (1) that it was morally wrong and (2) that "we
could no longer afford it".
The other argument, which we at the New World Order Advice Centre have
used to some effect, is the humanitarian one that sanctions create
unemployment - as Mrs Thatcher continually had to remind those who
wanted to intensify sanctions against South Africa no matter how many
poor black men would be put out of work.
Blowing People's Heads Off, on the other hand, actually creates work.
This could not be better illustrated than by President Bush's surgical
strike. First there is all the work created by the need to rebuild the
shattered remains of Kuwait City, of Baghdad, Basra and so on (a lot
of which will hopefully go to American companies). Then there is the
massive amount of work involved in clearing the Gulf oil slick that
Saddam promised to unleash if he were attacked, and duly did.
There is even more work created in capping all the oil-well fires that
were yet another result of the engagement. Then there will be all the
work created for the relief organizations in helping people as far
away as India, whose lives may be wrecked by the pollution from the
oil fires of the failure of crops due to the clouds of smoke. And on
top of all that there will be all the work available in burying the
6,000 civilians who, according to the Red Crescent, died in Baghdad
from bombing - not to mention the 6,000 who died from disease after
the collapse of the sewage and water systems.
None of this work would have been created if President Bush had simply
relied on sanctions.
All this finally brings us to the real beauty of President Bush's New
World Order. Any nation is now free to sell as much weaponry as it
possibly can to potential aggressive dictators. Then, once these
dictators have been built up into a Real Threat, the same nations can
bomb the shit out of them, and destroy everything they sold them in
the first place, all ready to start again... It is, in its way, a kind
of perfection.
One word of warning, however. It is essential not to rush in and save
a country from the evil despot, whom you've helped to create, until
you are sure that the country in question can pay for being saved. The
principle is exactly the same as in road accidents in the States,
where the first thing the ambulance men check is the victim's wallet
or credit card - so they can see if he can afford medical treatment or
not.
So there you have it. At the New World Order Advice Centre we try to
make clear the start choice between Sanctions and Blowing People's
Heads Off. With the one you have the horror of year after year of
argument and economic frustration - with only empty order books and
job losses to show at the end of it.
Whereas the other gives you a minor economic miracle and at what cost?
A mere 145 allies dead and probably no more than one or two hundred
thousand Iraqis. If you were a World Leader which would you choose?
mathew
[ "Can you say 'Serbia'? Can you say 'U-turn'?" ]
####===================================================================####
A RANT
####===================================================================####
I've also bought this book called _From Sphinx to Christ_ by Edouard
Schure. It's essentially an "Occult History" I.E. the creation of the world
up until the time of Christ. Take angles, Bible quotes, and the theory of
how the universe was formed from clouds of gas and you've got it. I'm
fascinated how this guy drew it all together. It was written around 1900 or
so. They talk about such things as "Solar Back Rays" and "Ether". Oh yeah,
they have the war of Heaven in there with Lucifer and his archangels.
Pretty neat stuff. Hmm, they also tie in the tarot. No mention of Otis
though.
Well, Otis still has been popping up in my life. Take for example the
movie "The Cocanuts"(I think). The main character, a hotel owner played by
Groucho Marx, is named Otis P. Driftwood. Also I believe a while ago on the
Andy Griffith show Otis the Drunk was trapped in a cell in the jail and
some kid had to open it for him. He was the son of a lock smith and Andy
made him do it to give him confidence. By the way, as a historical note,
this child was also one of the various monster children in the old Star
Trek. I think the one on the planet where all the adults had died.
I suppose this ties into the Peter Pan syndrome. I just saw that movie and
I was quite amused by how irresponsible Peter Pan really was. Or maybe he
had brain damage or something because he'd keep forgetting to carry through
with this or that task. I suppose he was a likable enough fellow
considering he had pointed ears just like Mr. Spock. There must be some
connection there. Mr Spock connected with Peter Pan you say? Well, both are
someone that people want to be. Both are sort of alien entities. While
Peter Pan has Captain Hook (a father figure of sorts since he has the same
voice as Wendy's father.) and Mr Spock has Dr. McCoy. Mr. Spock has his sort
of conscience or secret guilt of being partially human while Captain Hook
has a more visible form of conscience in the form of the crocodile who
announces his presence with a ticking noise. The eternal grinding and
ticking of time.
Still making another leap in logic Pinocchio had Jiminy Cricket. A small
insect.
In all three cases, the character has a guardian angel or sorts. Or perhaps
a spirit guide. Granted they are not always the most positive forces, but
they are still there as more or less constant companions. They all fulfill
the function of guiding the character on their destiny.
How does this fit into Otis you ask? Well, let's go back to Otis the drunk.
He has his guardian angel. Actually he had two. Andy Griffith and his
bottle. I suppose in this case he has a sort of Mutt and Jeff or Good Cop,
Bad Cop, or Devil and Angel kind of spirit guide set up. With the bottle
doing evil and Andy doing good.
Still looking at Andy closer we see he is more like an archangel since his
influence tended to be over all of Mayberry rather than just one person. In
other words Andy was a more powerful being, than say the crocodile of
Captain Hook or the bug of Pinocchio.
Then again, we could compare Andy Griffith perhaps to the "Blue Faerie" in
Pinocchio who was also a much more powerful being than Jiminy Cricket.
On a side note let's examine the "Blue Faerie". Why exactly did the "Blue
Faerie" help Gepetto and/or Pinocchio? Did Gepetto in some early time
render some service unto the Faerie? Perhaps this is something Disney
should look into for a later movie. Or perhaps Gepetto has to perform some
task during the movie for the Faerie. Did he? The only thing he did was get
caught in a whale and twaddle about until Pinocchio came along.
What is so important about Gepetto? Perhaps he is a far more powerful
figure than we are lead to believe, as in a similar sense is the supposed
"swine herd" Odysseus meets when he returns to Syracuse. Occasionally
stories get translated wrong after all. Perhaps Gepetto and his puppets
make him a high priest. Perhaps even of Otis. Perhaps Pinocchio is yet
another allegory of the four main deities of the Otisian Pantheon. Gepetto,
Figaro, Cleo (the fish), and of course Pinocchio.
Now back to Andy Griffith. We've yet to take into account the Don Knotts
figure. If we examine this relationship we can see the classic Hero and
side kick archetype. Andy and Don Knotts, Don Quixote and Poncho, The Lone
Ranger and Tonto, Batman and Robin, Holmes and Watson, etc. We also need to
take into account here the fact that it has been documented that Don Knotts
was a one time consort of Eris. Perhaps Don Knotts is the hero and Andy is
the side kick.
####===================================================================####
EVIL PRO-DRUG PROPAGANDA
####===================================================================####
Date: Sun, 25 Feb 90 11:36:31 MST
From: <eiverson@NMSU.Edu>
From: spluge@athena.mit.edu (Nigel from Hell)
Subject: Truth is stranger than I am
Date: 25 Feb 90 04:33:26 GMT
>From the New Musical Express, 17 February 1990 :
Launching a campaign that has shocked the music industry, a top BBC disc
jockey is claiming that pop groups like New Kids on the Block are spreading
"evil pro-drug propaganda".
Chris Morris - who has a show on both the BBC's Greater London Radio and
BBC Radio Bristol - had his attention drawn to "backward masking" by a
Manchester clergyman who played him a backwards recording of Queen's
'Another One Bites the Dust'. Chris claims that the words "smoke
marijuana" were clearly audible.
This led him to check out records on the current BBC playlist. The
results, he says, are "horrifying".
He now plays backwards recordings of chart hits on his show and asks the
audience to make up their own minds as to whether or not the songs contain
"drug messages".
"The real danger is that these messages are being put into the heads of
young kids," he claimed. "If you play certain segments of Madonna's 'Dear
Jessie' backwards you can hear her say quite clearly 'Have another sniff,
you'll like it'. This is clearly a cocaine reference."
Morris claims that hidden messages - common practice amongst overtly
Satanic heavy metal bands for over a decade - are now increasingly common
in pop singles.
"You know at the end of the chorus on New Kids on the Block's 'Hangin'
Tough' where they go 'Ruff ruff ruff'? If you play that backwards it
sounds like 'Hurry hurry hurry' - getting louder. And when they sing 'Hang
Tuff' - spin that backwards and it sounds like 'I snigger' or possibly 'Ice
Nigger'. This betrays the intelligence behind the hidden messages because
it's a phonetic pun. 'Ice' is the new form of smokable meta-amphetamine,
and 'nigger' is clearly either a gratuitous racist insult or a code word
for dealer. Originally the 'Ice Nigger' was the black dealer who sold you
the stuff on the block."
'Block' is also slang for the drug Beta-blockers. Morris also claims that
the single contains the hidden message "Your days go whizzing by when
you're on heroin".
"Did you know," asks Morris, "that Madonna's name backwards is Annodam?
And that Annodam is pig-Latin for The Year of Damnation?"
Other acts that are dabbling with hidden messages, according to Morris, are
Jason Donovan and Kylie Minogue.
Morris's campaign has proved popular with listeners - many of whom have
sent him records which he intends to smash up on the air. His refusal to
play those records which he claims to be "tainted" has, however, brought
him into conflict with the management at GLR.
"It's limiting my field of choice as a DJ. I don't think I could ever play
the Carpenters again for instance."
On last Sunday's GLR show Morris claimed that he was visited in a dream by
Karen Carpenter who warned him that the song 'On Top of the World' contains
the backwards message "See that dog. Bite its head off. Ha ha ha."
"The human brain is capable of picking up these messages," claims Morris.
CBS press officer Graham Hill was outraged at the DJ's attack on New Kids
on the Block.
"He should keep his lying, straw-sucking yokel mouth shut!" he said. "New
Kids on the Block were launched at an anti-drugs party and were solid
supporters of Nancy Reagan's 'Just Say No' campaign. The group are totally
opposed to drugs."
Nigel from Hell
I can't make up stuff this good
####===================================================================####
AN ANCIENT STORY
####===================================================================####
[The following text has been translated by Doc Simpson for your
edification. I'd like to specially thank Doc Simpson for sending this
along to us. As always his submissions are of the highest caliber and very
enlightening. Here is an ancient Otisian story.]
In the days of King Demopo[Demopo is said to be the grandson of Qasireu the
Great and therefore probably flourished c. 11340 BCE.] a great plague fell
upon the land. So the King sent his wisest ambassadors to the shrine of
Nepha on the summit of Mount Dubedubedu. They implored the Goddess to give
them a sign so that they might end the plague. And the Goddess sent four
butterflies to spell out the name of the herb that could cure the people.
But Spode, quickest of the Gods, sent a raven that gobbled up the
butterflies and defecated upon the ambassadors.[See Ars Otiosa XXIII.6.1
were a pig sent by Spodos Kulikon defecates on the ambassadors of
Choireokopros.]
And when the soothsayers had interpreted this new sign they told King
Demopo that the Goddess had decreed that a girl of noble birth must be
sacrificed each year to the Housecleaning Gods. But in fact, this was a
lie, for the soothsayers were confused by the oracle and had just made
something up so they would not get in trouble. And Spode was greatly
pleased.
And King Demopo decreed that a lottery should be held amongst the girls of
noble birth to decide which was to be killed. But he declared that his own
daughters were exempt. And Duke Maseturuqate, who had a beautiful
daughter, Ereketija, complained that this system was not fair and declared
that his daughter would not participate unless the daughters of the king
did too.
And King Demopo was greatly angered by Duke Maseturuqate and caused the
beautiful Ereketija to be sacrificed without the lottery. Duke
Maseturuqate hid his anger and pretended resignation to the King's will.
But in his heart, Duke Maseturuqate prayed to Rhotos to turn His Mighty Eye
upon the King.
And so Duke Maseturuqate let four years pass without showing his anger to
the King. And on the fourth year he declared to the King that he would be
having a dinner party at his estate on the plain of Leng. But the King
sent his daughters ahead for he had pressing matters to attend to.
On seeing the King's daughters unattended, Duke Maseturuqate chopped off
their heads with an axe and poured their blood into an amphora that Otis
had once stuffed Brow into when he got too rowdy at a bar-mitzvah. And when
King Demopo arrived, Duke Maseturuqate invited him to sample some of his
most recent vintage.
The King drank the blood but when he learned what had happened his was
mightily pissed off and had Duke Maseturuqate and the amphora tossed into
the ocean. Because of this, the sea turned wine-dark for many years and
this portion of ocean was named "Atlantic."[In the language of Ancient
Atlantis the words for wine- jug (ojinoko) and the Atlantic Ocean (ujikuji)
were pronounced similarly.] The Gods were so offended by Duke
Maseturuqate's deed that they blasted the plain of Leng so that no life
grew there for four thousand years. But Spode took the heads of the
daughters of Demopo and invented the sport of bowling.
And it came to pass that Arani thirsted after the great kingdom of Rhotos
and spake "I thirst after the great kingdom of my brother, Rhotos, and do
greatly desire to rule that dark and cold land." And so Arani took leave of
the other gods and journeyed below the surface of the earth.
At the outer gate of the Kingdom of Rhotos, Arani was approached by
Gurzakizukigak who appeared unto Arani as a very large blue earthworm,
covered in eyes, and spake unto Arani thusly, "O Arani! Woe to thee for thy
pride! To pass this gate thou must surrender thine outer garment unto me."
And Arani spake, "Yea, though I am loath to part with it, I will give mine
outer garment unto thee."
At the second gate of the Kingdom of Rhotos, Arani was approached by Liz
who appeared unto Arani as a very large purple frog with no eyes and spake
unto Arani thusly, "O Arani! Woe to thee for thy pride! To pass this gate
thou must surrender thine crown and sandals unto me." And Arani spake,
"Yea, though I am loath to part with them, I will give mine crown and
sandals unto thee."
At the third gate of the Kingdom of Rhotos, Arani was approached by
Paddiwak who appeared unto Arani as a silver fish with six legs and spake
unto Arani thusly, "O Arani! Woe to thee for thy pride! To pass this gate
thou must surrender thine rings and jewelry unto me." And Arani spake,
"Yea, though I am loath to part with them, I will give mine rings and
jewelry unto thee."
At the inner gate of the Kingdom of Rhotos, Arani was approached by
Hhuhuhuhhohi who appeared unto Arani as a glowing red bat with three eyes
and four noses and spake unto Arani thusly, "O Arani! Woe to thee for thy
pride! To pass this gate thou must surrender thine frilly undergarments
unto me." And Arani spake, "Yea, though I am loath to part with them, I
will give mine frilly undergarments unto thee."
####===================================================================####
THE BEAK TEXT
####===================================================================####
From: pb1p+@andrew.cmu.edu (Peter Glen Berger)
Subjec: BEAK <-> SLACK
Date: 2 Sep 89 17:25:30 GMT
BEAK
Book 1
CHAPTER 1
In the sunshine of time, mankind says to refresh the clouds in the banks
and care child in hand using thine eyes and beak for dirt which thine lips
for water which may run and tumble in the fields of life and sky to thou
papyrus sirens to keep in thine own grasp.
All boundaries in my life are not affected or moved. For when history is
performed or foretold, flamboyant artisans in villages, known mainly as
fiber are transformed and strained from material, objects which are more
complicated and bright that a complete story: rolling, tumbling, and
irrational.
Though goals are not possible and have control, cloth compressed and folded
are present. This can be only a symbol for things like this as stated in
wisps of clouds. As the darkened skies ward a group of futuristic youths
into the sheltered vents of yesterday. As life and time moves on: blinded
sands, too thoroughly engulfed and completed with rains where holders of
dark are found, known as space and clouds. Of animals and drink is the
full history, the pages in mind which scramble and come as though fidelity
is the prophet in his eyes.
Hard to think is darkness as the screen covers the projected soundbox, and
because metal specks are nothing but attracted in a large complement of
weeks do the leaflets wind up into the spools of his property. Deleted is
the day as it ends, or it is real. As sophisticated as it can be, flushed
virtues in the lands of media are quiet and impatient. Dried can be mud,
from the spokes to the dish container which holds light and immediate
thoughts. The section of flesh draws one color and the philosophy of it
radiates a unit of sound.
CHAPTER 2
A CANISTER OF EVERYTHING
The prospect is a base of wire, formed, and it is engraved in thin, light
cloths burning on the stake of life. For it is the sky. For it is a
stick.
Unoccupied and uneducated are the leaves in the pond, for they nothing but
a canister of everything and that makes it all clear to the eye.
CHAPTER 3
LOOK THROUGH A TREE
"I can't find it but when," he never did say as he locked a stump from a
beach onto the bank. "It could only be it," he could have whispered, "for
sands of mankind are unto the stream which refreshed child to man with
grace which animal eyes for ciphering, unto you with fine days."
Isn't it curious that dust can encounter movements in life. Isn't it
curious that the child was never involved or never told of the virtues in a
planet. Isn't it curious that varying demands in subordinate cultures set
themselves upon sound which flexes from the pond in a year, which can only
be found in the breast of man.
The work is fun, but in sacred days of the tree do we separate the desolate
sky from the boundaries of ink. This compatible statement has only one
real statement, and that is the spot. Counting the fertile sands in
nonrkable forests is like a floating bell in that tree, translated and
disposed of.
These figures are foretold in nonexistent papyrus sirens, a material
grouping in the annals of the column. To find these programmed outputs in
beginning, he must not begin an operation, but rather screen out the
complex matter is soil. Mystery it is, but finding nothing in place where
it isn't also.
CHAPTER 4
DUST INTO RELIGION
With sands of a bright day, the brook with banks shall refresh in its own
eyes and that fields of time and please shall touch the rolling clouds unto
man to child in his very own grasp, which is a part of it too.
Questionable variables in our space are minutes printouts of the hand. It
can be said hat individual complements in time cut off the end of the path.
That is not included, like dust into religion and numerical terms found in
the findings.
CHAPTER 5
SOPHLICH IS NINE
So do we meet the kind. So we can't.
CHAPTER 6
JOINING A MIDDLE
The topic recorded in the dark casket of truth is not only predictable, but
convincible in every way. The person expressed the afterthought but cannot
fulfill the length of time given to him as gratitude confides with thought
and foretells questions of the ground, the strange yet fortunate virtues
peeled and wasted away in his grasp, a story of the encounters, which don't
exist anyway.
With nothing submerged and nothing vaporizing, the thoughts of his shelter
seem to come at hand. The time of marriage or family strokes in whips by
the rolling clouds of virtues that shall be refreshed in ways that grass
only can foretell. Something in the key of this has no steadiness, which
it never was anyway. Never is proportions. Same as to the light on the
stand. Not to be is the only answer.
CHAPTER 7
THE PROPELLED BACKUP
Is there a simple barrier on covered creeks of the man? Continuing
structures in forgotten beats are nothing of the sort, just like smoke
emerging in forms of washed writing of yesterday. Child is into the man as
all saturated beings in earth are.
What is strange is not the question but so is every sound and hope.
Torn is now beak but nothing exists.
Book 3
CHAPTER 1
THE HYPHEN
As I circumvent the substance of time I remember the thrill of the weeping
clouds in the crazed impressions of a cave. In these disputable talents of
the child, a man can foretell creatures in the abiding employment often
mentioned in three of the malevolent phrases.
Curious enough, each white leg of the rolling book does not master the
papyrus sirens. Instead, it creates an intensified chore, a mass only
which can be strained from the rocks in life. Not only can man be into the
child, he can find the path in foggy eternity.
If the tight greens can't blow through the brook, everybody will be afraid
of the mean, yet amusing catastrophes in wooden floor found only in the
book of a back yard of an also preserving shield, known as the cup. Since
most were terrified, the aromatic minutes in the lawn were achieved, as
they are today. "So is it as of tomorrow," the hyphen will have said,
"Funny, yet fortunate," he could have added. I didn't.
CHAPTER 2
KING IN THE CLOTH
"Wait," I said. "In the progressive sand boxes of the future, can the
paint in his life rewrite the scriptures more than once? The numbness of
this fact can be placed almost entirely in the wood. Though worked and
redone several times the original story is nowhere but in the chairs of
tomorrow. `Am I binded?' he asked himself. If every child is, can he be
conditioned from it? A rubber or plastic tunnel will be the dangerous
heights of a lesson, but is it day in the sound of metal or is it corroding
in general that leaves us yesterday in the jar surrounded with the sky
holding our enemy?"
CHAPTER 3
THE CRATE WITH I
Two more days is the bird, a subsiding picture in the fortress of the
sirens. Because of the cage, the wool is not possible or likely to hit tis
part of the path. But as the time light flies past the minute hand, so do
the long strands for they are what actually cause the mistakes. If the
heed is not told within child when born is torn, I will never maybe be
told. His grace for the rope lingers on.
The discolored page soaked on the floor is of particular if the considered
key is churned out of the cloth. So is the crate. Why should man fright
for food and drink in a field of dark in sky? Time can queen fun unto
bread which refreshed the sands in beaches, and streams expert smoke by the
downfall of child and man for miles in years is plagued in silence for
infinite and on in thine own eyes and fists.
For while the mirror prepares the mind in sky, the roof conceives initial
patterns from the river, for when continued structure forms, the aggravated
one dissolves, leaving chambers found where the leaves, positioned with
bulk, stay in hearing when man is onto chid, because an absolute standing
will remain after the achievement of the animal.
CHAPTER 4
FOLLOWING IN DISC
To foretell is the part of strain, for it is the thought of mankind which
brings the ship from water. It is that, is it, that it is it, which tells
which that it tells.
CHAPTER 5
THE HAIR IN SAND
Only the box is considered clear for the ground flows. It is the main
holder in the cause and every siren is the box though none can be seem,
nothing will tell in the legend except for the grass, which frames the bank
and holds insight of the bearable man. So holds the child, for illusions
are kept, which makes that easy.
CHAPTER 6
SILENT FENCE
"Strangely enough is the color of trees," he is whispering as the figures in
the glass call the envious ink, fortresses scattering the sea. "She is
two," it will say yesterday. "And I am not." it already did.
These creatures smash water as does the yellow moss in years. Humorous
that beak nine; foretold two hairs, expressing the mirror, which could not
be as do the lungs in senile but furious greetings. Can it be it isn't the
question, which is very material anyway, but nature flying can spread is
the question, even when the statement is fictional and stationary.
True enough, can it be, that it is true. "I said yes yesterday," the
photograph displayed in a yell. Just when enlarged, is the notion of hate
the prophet though. So is the finding of beak.
CHAPTER 7
A PEDAL EAR
The form of beak is it, but why can't it be? Found, yes, but not solid is
the symbol. A statue is the possible time, place, and motivation if it is
so. Altered is a paper, burnt and terrified, as is collar (The coated liars
in the blue winds, imagined by man), inlaid with soil, only the covered
ind in its heart, which a variable of the rock, a strange formulation for
smoke, is complete in every way. Unfortunately it is, but what is?
If and when thrice the reasons are performed over the age of man can we
review the cause, which may seem imaginary but has a solid base, just like
earth in yesterday; to be remembered as long as the papyrus sirens are into
the child.
Is that beak of sustained columns, or of complete cloth? It is both. So
is beak.
####===================================================================####
QUESTIONS ABOUT SPODE
####===================================================================####
Date: Thu, 4 Jun 1992 08:48 EST
From: GARBETT@utkvx.utk.edu
Subject: SPODE
Dear Otis,
I have an interesting question for the great almighty Otis of the fuzzy
elevators. I recently got a new dog and in an inebriated state named him
Spode. Since then the dog quit sleeping and runs in circles biting his
tail. When I go to bed he is waiting at the door. When I wake up he is
still waiting at the door. He also developed the habit of rolling in
excrement at every chance. Curious, I looked up Spode in the Dictionary,
Spode is a china pattern, but more interestingly Spodium is dried excrement.
How does all this relate? Where is the connection? What should I do with
the dog???
confused
HAIL OTIS!!!!
[It sounds to me oh seeker of wisdom as you have misnamed your dog. You
have essentially cursed this canine with a name which is far above it's
lowly station. Its soul knows this and so causes the outside organic dog
body to rebel. To fix this problem I suggest you rename your dog to a name
more suitable of its station.
Of course it's not so simple as renaming the dog. You'll need to perform a
ceremony to do it right, or the dogs name will never stick. There are
several methods to make the dogs new names stick. I'll give you one, and you
can write to the IGHF for others.
What you'll need is a large wash tub big enough to submerge your dog in, a
compass, enough fruit salad to fill the tub, white clothes, four
candles, and straight razor.
First use the compass to determine four cardinal points. At each point
place a candle. Be sure to light the candle at BOTH ends. You'll probably
need to make stands out of something. I suggest you try your hand a soap
carving. Next use the compass to test the washtub. If the tub is magnetic
you'll need to get a new tub. You need a metal tub however so no cheating
with a california redwood hottub or something of that nature.
Now that you've got the area set up. Put on those white clothes. These will
be your ceremonial robes. If you wish, you may write in crayon on the
robes any official Otisian sayings. If you wish, you may also first send
your white clothes to the address listed at the top of Purps for a
blessing. Blessed clothes are much more powerful than the nonblessed kind.
You may need all the power you can get with the symptoms your dog is going
through.
Now take your dog and walk it 4 times around the circle made by the candles
with the tub placed in the middle. It is VERY important at this time NOT to
put any of the fruit salad in the tub yet or the dog may get the idea that
something is up and run away.
Now lead your dog to the tub. You should begin the consecration chant you
were taught in your introductory lessons of Otisian initiate. (If you
haven't gotten those you'll have to get them from the IGHF.) Your dog
should become very calm and docile and may even smile. It is a good sign if
it tries to pee on your leg. Let it. It will consecrate the robes more and
possible save the fruit salad from contamination.
Now that you have calmed your dog. Begin the second convocation chant. You
dog should go into a trance and you should be able to do with it what ever
you want. Now place the dog in the tub.
Take the straight razor and carefully all the dogs fire off covering it's
backbone. Try to make the shaved line as neat as possible. After all
divine forces will be making a visit to you and they appreciate such
things. Also ragged edges along the shave may snake any astral energy that
will go shooting into the dogs spine. If this happens could end up with
something worse than what your dog is experiencing now.
Finally begin the naming chant. Use the catch all chant provided in the
auxiliary mystical wisdom booklet. Substitute in the word dog where
necessary and the dogs new name where necessary. Since this is a chant for
a dog. Chant to the tune of "How much is that doggie in the window."
Be sure to concentrate on what you are doing, or you will have to do the
whole thing all over again. If you are doing things right you'll know.
You'll have some sort of divine visitation. Don't be surprised if it's in
the form of an angry neighbor or a law enforcement officer. Divine forces in
these modern times can be very whimsical.
After you have done the chant, run around the tub anticlock wise four
times then fill it to the rim with fruit salad. If the dog floats, push it
under. The dog must be totally immersed. Then pull the dog out and give it
a hug.
That's the end of the ceremony. Be sure to clean up the mess. Also keep in
mind throughout the ceremony the idea is to name the dog, not to get rid of
it. So no harm should come to it. The fruit salad should be divided up
among all those who attended the ceremony and eaten. If any of the divine
appearances want any be sure to give them as much as they want. Above all
the fruit salad must be eaten or disposed of in a similar manner.
If, after the ceremony your dog continues to experience the symptoms you
mentioned chances are it didn't work. You may wish to repeat the ceremony
several more times. If this still doesn't work, you'll have to contact the
Pope.
As for your question about Spodium. That word was originally invented by
the enemies of Spode to describe what the missionaries of Spode were
preaching. They actually date of it's invention is shrouded in mystery but
goes at least as far back a pre-Hellenic times.]
####===================================================================####
EXPLODING CACTUS
####===================================================================####
From: AXM22%PSUVM.BITNET@VM1.NoDak.EDU
Subject: Re: Scorpions and Cactus?
Or how about this version:
"The colossal cactus Maxine Wood bought for her new home turned into a
Stephen King-size nightmare. Just days after it was planted in the atrium
of her $400,000 house outside San Bernadino, California, the trunk of the
15-foot monster began heaving and slowly moving from side to side. And, as
the 46- year-old divorcee watched in horror, it EXPLODED . . . showering
out thousands of squirming TARATULAS."
It turns out that Maxine noticed the moving plant before it was too late,
called 911, and told the police dispatcher the problem. The dispatcher
warned her to get out of the house right away. An accompanying photograph
shows someone who is supposedly Maxine kneeling in front of a cactus.
Caption: "Maxine feels safer sticking to plastic plants."
Source: "Tarantula Horror as Cactus Explodes!" _National Examiner_, April
14, 1922, p. 5. (Those unacquainted with this publication may want to know
that it's one of the weekly tabloids commonly found near the check-out line
in supermarkets here in the U.S.)
Any other versions out there?
Alan Mays
Penn State Harrisburg
####===================================================================####
PRESIDENTIAL ANAGRAMS
####===================================================================####
Date: Tue, 30 Jun 92 12:05:05 MDT
From: eiverson@NMSU.Edu
Date: Tue, 30 Jun 92 13:31:22 -0400
From: rdonahue@ursa-major.spdcc.com (Bob Donahue)
Subject: onefor you
From: monty@proponent.com (Monty Solomon)
Subject: the environmental president?
Keywords: topical, smirk
Date: 26 Jun 92 08:30:03 GMT
>From my friend, Mr. Machine Tool, here are his latest anagrams:
environmental president
panders to lenient vermin [best of the bunch]
pander to silent, riven men
reminder: planet isn't oven
Mr. Nineties: don't ever plan
miser: "Don't intervene; plan"
I pretend: lament environs
ponder: Neil or investment? [sell your own son?]
even lend Nips "Terminator"
I spend: alert environment!
Mr. Pretend-intensive-loan
development: inner strain
planet interred: venom, sin
intend prior enslavement
spend, enliven terminator
prevention: men slander it
I slander prominent event [Rio?]
preserve land... in ointment
the environmental president
never planned to interest him
please vomit dinner, then rent [deal making, J
apan-style?]
Rio: investment planned there
native rodent replenishment
darn the simpleton, intervene [Competitiveness Council?]
ponder "earth investment" line
intention: halt, mend, preserve
developer sentiment ran thin
drier planet: hone investment [profit from desertification]
rent planet; horsemen invited [four of them, perhaps?]
dental hint: see Mr. Prevention
North Vietnam led in pretense
entertainment: proven shield [bread and circuses?]
transient Rhine development
don't even plan his retirement
Yrs for a "new word order"
####===================================================================####
MORE ENTRIES IN THE OFFICIAL OTISIAN GLOSSARY
####===================================================================####
Ancient Illuminated Rosicrucian Anti-Masonic Elder Knights of OTIS: one of
the most dangerous and frightening of all of the Secret Societies who are
really running the world today. The Elder Knights now have agents in
virtually every major government on Earth, and have recently become the
real power behind the Gnomes of Zurich.
"And a large Orange Drink": A phrased used in a similar way to "Amen."
AntiChrist: A being of immense power who will one day rise up and attempt
to take over the Earth for its unearthly pleasures. The only thing that
stands in its way is Elvis.
Aliens: A general group of non-human, non-terrestrial entities who have
played both major and minor roles in the history of Otis. Throughout the
ages, various government agencies have attempted to intercept them before
they contacted one Pope or another. [Refer to the Roswell incident for more
detail.]
Bill: An important and symbolic character in Banquet of the Gods.
Bonanza: A T.V. program space aliens use to learn English with.
Bowling: According to the Ancient Sumerian balag lamentations (see
Rhienhart) Otis was a fantastic bowler.
Brown Bucket: An Otisian heresy or off shoot, or perhaps something all
together new. They hold the Brown Bucket sacred and refuse to discuss that
which was contained therein when they found it. The bucket is also Fez
shaped. [Refer to the Brown Bucket Papers for more detail.]
Cicciolina: Otisian Patron Saint of bringing good clean fun to politics.
Clem: A maverick Otisian Missionary. Also an intelligence agent.
Confused: Something the typical Otisian usually is.
Diller, Phyllis: A suspected Knight of Otis.
Doc Savage: A crime fighter who has mysterious ties to Otis. Some believe
his very existence in every shape and form carries the word of Otis.
Dogma: It cannot be a whole without its Catma. That which is shrouded in
secrecy by the Otisian Elders. That which is whispered across the desert
sands by the Knights of Otis. That which requires the sending of money to
discover.
Eight: A sacred number of Otis (2 X 4).
ELF: Elvis Lives Forever. The motto of the Society of the Love Children of
Elvis who carry his dna. Their aim in life is to continue his spawn forever.
Frop: An unspeakably toothsome herb of the Tibetan mountains.
Gentle Persuasion: A book by OTISian Preacher Tim Howland.
Gem Stone File: The document containing the real truth about the JFK
assassination. Remarkably, to this day all references to Otis have been
omitted.
Geoffe, Pope: See Jeffe, Pope.
Gilgamesh: One of Otis' drinking buddies from the old days.
Goofy: Otisian symbol of economics.
GRA: Gastronomic Road Accidents. Every year over 15,000 people are involved
in Gastronomic Road Accidents (GRA's), many seriously damaging their
vehicles or persons.
Groundhog Love Hodgepodge Extravaganza: A radio show of Otis that preached
dogma to the masses and saved many individuals.
Haystack Monument: Site of Pope Jeoffe 1 of the Infinite Spellings and
Preacher Tim of the House of Blue Light's first vision.
HEETHER'S HERNIA: An Otisian Oath.
Ho-ho: An ancient Otisian greeting for times of crisis and sorrow. This was
at one time a secret until leaked to the general world by the traitor Nik
who to this day must suffer the "Curse of the Red Suit" because of his
crime.
House of Blue Light: A mysterious structure of no real defined purpose.
Sacred to Otis as Mecca is to Islam. Mentioned in a novel by Mick Farren.
House of Holiday Foods: A temple of Otis where one must know certain
mysteries to enter. Spode is said to have been part of this House.
Isis: A model goddess who through her divine powers ended up having her own
Saturday morning t.v. show.
John: God/dess of mediocrity
John, Rev.: Otisian Luminary and presidential candidate. Official Keeper of
Humpy the Stumpy Bear. Spoken of in the Ancient Otisian Prophesies.
Kalighat: Temple in Calcutta. Otis manifestations have been seen here
during the Durga Puja. Manifestations always wear a big white hat and an
apron. In one hand Otis sometimes hold a long metal scepter with a wooden
handle at one end and a large metal plate connected to the other.
Kenyon College: Location of the Gates of Hell. Property of Disney. A land
similar to Sumeria. Otis flourishes here.
Knots, Don: One time consort of Eris Esoteric.
Lingam: Ancient religious symbol seldom used in modern times. Its keepers
supposedly showed it to the founders of America.
Madonna: A symbol that appears in visions.
Marmota Monax: An important church elder.
Nan Shan Mountains: Site of an ancient Hun burial. Among the plunder that
was buried here were a set of clay tablets containing a number of
prophecies by Onomacritus the Seer which were made just before his execution
by Darius of Persia. These prophecies are written in a cipher only the
Ancient Knights of Otis can understand.
Net, The: The newest realm of Otis' influence. The trail was blazed into it
by Pope Jeffe who will go down in history for it.
POPE'S B-DAY PARTY: The most important celebration of the OTISian year.
Usually a good opportunity to witness an assassination attempt on the Pope.
Robb, Reverend: Keeper of the Lemur Spirit
Screaming Prophets of Otis Triumphant: A sect of Otis who shun the House of
Holiday Foods.
Spontaneous Human Combustion: One of the Otisian mysteries or sacraments.
Subliminal neckties: Looks just like an ordinary tie until you put it under
the magnifying glass and see the subliminal messages imbedded in the weave.
You'll be subliminally testifying for Otis every time you walk up to a
heathen.
Sumeria: Ancient land where the worship of Otis flourished. Some consider
this time the golden days of Otis.
Ted: God of Normalcy
"Utinam Brow rosum gardum proprium tuum visitant": May Brow appear and stay
in your rose garden!
"Utinam OTISiani spatium proprium tuum invadant": May OTIS invade your
personal space!
WALT DISNEY: A mysterious figure of Otisian legend. He is not dead at all
as the media would have the world know. Supposedly at one time he tried to
buy Kenyon as well. In fact, Kenyon may be run by Walt Disney now.
Yak Dung: A substance which is smoked in pipes. Is said to bring clear
thinking.
Zipper: A fastening device invented by Otis to help hold Papal Robes
together.
####===================================================================####
TRAFFIC TICKETS
####===================================================================####
Date: Sun, 5 Jul 92 14:35:10 MDT
From: eiverson@NMSU.Edu
From: kbrunell@NMSU.Edu
Date: Mon, 1 Jun 92 13:39:21 MDT
From: henke%tonedeaf.lanl.gov (Douglas Henke)
Subject: my traffic ticket
Apologies in advance for any typing errors, as I am so weak (with illness
or perhaps laughter) that my hands tend to shake. Wishing to spare you the
sort of dreary deathbed scenes of which you of course have no doubt I am
capable, I will proceed to the point forthwith:
I just got my phone call returned by the magistrate court. (Keep in mind
that "magistrate" has its root in words such as "majesty," and keep your
sense of irony fully in hand. This will become important later on.)
Lengthy aside: My mother dealt with the same court (and indeed, the same
judge -- or, properly, magistrate) some weeks ago regarding an unrelated
matter. She went in person, and spoke to the court clerk. The clerk said
she could not answer her question, but that the magistrate could. My mom,
naturally enough, asked if the magistrate were busy at the moment. The
clerk, after a moment's uncomfortable silence, allowed as to how the
magistrate likely was not. Upon further inquiry, it was revealed that this
same clerk was cast in a double role as clerk and justice of the peace.
(Does one address her as The Honorable Nobody Q. Important, or "Hey, you!"
? The means of resolving this social crisis will become clear in a moment.)
My mom, still in full command of her dignified and somber bearing, repeated
the initial question. The clerk stated that she would be happy to answer in
her second role, but that she needed to get something from her office
first. (Initially, this "something" was assumed to be court records of some
sort.) In fact, "something" turned out to be the judicial robe, which
(apparently) must be worn at all times by someone functioning in the role
of magistrate, but never by a mere court clerk. Propriety, after all, must
be maintained. Hilarity, though inevitable, was delayed until mommy dearest
had left the building, doubtless saving heavy fines for contempt of court.
Back to the original story: My call was returned by an individual who
introduced herself as the court clerk. I (wishing to spare delicate
feelings, especially of those in authority) pretended ignorance of the full
implications of this particular instance of that title. I explained who I
was, and what my business with the court involved. Further, I asked whether
I might be able to save the court's valuable time by entering a "guilty"
plea (bear in mind, this is a $10.00 fine) by telephone, and mailing
remittance to the court office. The clerk listened patiently, then said
that I needed to speak to the judge. I was put on hold for several tens of
seconds (about, by coincidence, the amount of time needed to don a robe),
and then answered by the magistrate herself, to whom I explained the
problem a second time (using, verbatim, the wording I had used initially).
My request was graciously granted.
I am still liable for $16.00 in court costs, however. Presumably this is
used primarily to pay for frequent pressing and starching of the judicial
uniform.
Yr. most humble & obt. svt.,
DGH
####===================================================================####
THEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHEENDTHE
####===================================================================####
--SUBINK 1992
