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The Toxic Custard Workshop Episoder 006 to 010
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***************************THE BACK ISSUES**********************************
*************************EPISODES SIX TO TEN********************************
(Written by Daniel Bowen, Monash University, Melbourne Australia)
______________________________________________________________________________
The end of the world is nigh.
So why bother doing a really
good title for
TOXIC CUSTARD
WORKSHOP FILES
APOCALYPSE EDITION
Episode 6 - 5th September 1990
Written by Mr.Luxury-Yacht
A man. An ordinary human being. Ewen G.MacPerson. He had become tired of
this world. He had become fed up with the wars of the Earth, the endless
pollution and famine, and tired of the way everyone talked when he was
trying to (especially those one or two up the back).
A plan formed in his mind. A plan to get back at this world which had
made him so unhappy. A plan to destroy the world! How long would it take,
he thought, to annilhilate the planet? Five seconds? Ten? A minute at the
most, and Earth would be laid waste.
Ewen went down to the local Brashs. There, he bought the second biggest
hi-fi that anyone had ever seen. The new Sony CDXLOUD-40000, consisting of
a remote-control CD player with 16 times oversampling, a 20 million watt
amplifier with surround-sound, and two hundred 500 metre high three-way
loudspeakers. And all for the cost of a small city.
Perhaps the plan would not have been so lethal, if not for the final,
and most deadly element of this destructive weapon. And yet it cost only a
fraction of cost of the nuclear warheads aimed by the trigger happy thugs
who wanted to rule the world (Mr Tex Fuller, Flatback Missouri USA being
the most obvious one). It was, perhaps, a billionth of the US defence
budget of a year. It cost only $25 but the damage it would do to the planet
was immeasurable. It's creator was a menace to the entire population of
the world. The thing had a simple name. A name which caused fear and panic
throughout the civilised world. It was called "The Young Talent Time
Album".
Ewen had bought it while completely drunk one midsummer morning. There
was an imported American version as well (which contained only half the
songs, all edited and shuffled out of order), but Ewen had settled for the
all-Australian version, made in Korea.
He waited for the moment. Until the time was right to destroy the
planet. He had arranged the speakers in 198 major population centres of the
world, and Melbourne, disguised as skyscrapers, with two in New York
because he hated the NBC Today Show, which came from there.
The complication came in the operation of the amplifier. He had
calculated that to operate it for the required time (at least ten seconds),
would cost him fifty million dollars in electricity bills. But of course,
the SEC would be destroyed as well.
The time was nearly right. Any moment now, Ewen would insert the disc
into the CD player and press play. Then turn the amplifier up to maximum.
* * *
HE HAD SENSED TROUBLE. IT WAS HIS JOB. FOR ONE THING, IDENTICAL
SKYSCRAPERS HAD BEEN APPEARING OVERNIGHT IN ALL THE MAJOR CITIES OF THE
WORLD, ALL WITH ADVERTISING FOR SONY ON THE TOP. BUT THE WIERD THING WAS,
THEY WERE ALL LINKED BY CABLES WHICH WERE MARKED 'MUSICWAY AUDIO'. HE
FOLLOWED THE CABLES AROUND THE WORLD, UNTIL FINALLY, AFTER WEEKS OF
SEARCHING HE FOUND A HOUSE. AN ORDINARY, CONVENTIONAL HOUSE WITH
BARBED-WIRE, MACHINE-GUN POSTS AND SEARCH LIGHTS AROUND THE PERIMETER. COME
TO THINK OF IT, IT LOOKED MORE LIKE A PRIMARY SCHOOL THAN A HOUSE.
ANYWAY, HE WATCHED THE HOUSE, UNTIL FINALLY THE OCCUPANT MADE A MOVE.
WITH THE AID OF INFRA-RED CAMERA EQUIPMENT AND A HYPERSENSITIVE MICROPHONE,
HE SAW THE FIGURE OF A MAN REACH FOR A CD, AND SCREAM 'Die, you
puss-suckers!'
HE MADE HIS MOVE. HE BURST THROUGH THE DOOR, SPRINTED DOWN THE HALL TO
THE ROOM, AND ENTERED FASTER THAN PEOPLE RUNNING FOR COVER AT A KYLIE
MINOGUE CONCERT, AND PULLED OUT THE AMPLIFIER POWER PLUG.
***And the masses did hail the saviour of the world. And the saviour did
come among the crowd and did reveal himself. And it was MISTER POPSICLE.
########## Yes, Mr Popsicle, an eight foot
| /\ /\ | high man with gigantic eyes, a fuzzy
| \/ \/ | haircut, and a gaping mouth. Mr. Popsicle,
| /\ | who looked not entirely unlike a giant
|\______/| icecream.
|\______/|
----|________|---- MR POPSICLE, SECRET AGENT. THE PERFECT
| | SECRET AGENT. WHY? BECAUSE OF HIS
| | INCONSPICUOUS APPEARANCE.
___| |___
Coming up in the next issue of the Toxic Custard Workshop Files...
MR. POPSICLE PIN-UP!
EXCLUSIVE MR. POPSICLE INTERVIEW!
MR POPSICLE TOUR DATES!
WIN THE NEW MR POPSICLE ALBUM!
WIN A CHANCE TO KICK EWEN IN THE HEAD!
ALL IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF THE WEEKLY POPSICLE - 10TH SEPTEMBER.
IF YOU THOUGHT THIS WAS BORING, YOU MAY FALL ASLEEP READING ROCKET ROGER.
Send a message to The Mad Scribe at rocketroger@gnu.ai.mit.edu telling him
that you are an imsomniac, and that he may or may not be a wedding-cake, and
including your account number.
PLEASE NOTE:
The characters in this work are entirely fictional. Any similarities
between them and any real people is really honestly a total co-incidence.
______________________________________________________________________________
-------------------------------------- We would like to apologise for the way
THIS IS A TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES that Ewen was treated in yesterday's
_ ___ _ _ _ edition of TCWF. It was only after
/ \ | \ / \ | / \ / \ \ / publication that we realised that some
|___| |__/ | | | | | | \ / readers would not understand the
| | | | | | | | | _ | significance of the comments, as they
| | | \_/ |___ \_/ \_/ | had never had him as a lecturer.
6/9/90 Therefore, to take full advantage of
-------------------------------------- the insults provided, we recommend
that for 'Ewen', you substitute the name of your favourite lecturer; the small
minded officious opinionated little prat with cords, a skivvy, glasses and a
silly accent. Once again, our apologies for any inconvenience caused.
Raymond Luxury-Yacht.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Popsicle Rules, OK?
T - H - E W - E - E - K - L - Y 10/9/90
======= ====== ======= ====== || ====== || =======
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======= || || ======= ====== || || || ======
|| || || || || || || || ||
|| ====== || ====== || ====== ======= =======
I - S - S - U - E S - E - V - E - N
(THE ZINE FOR ALL MR POPSICLE FANS)
| Published by Popsicle Magazines
THIS WEEK: | International. Edited by Mr
- Further adventures of Mr Popsicle. | Luxury-Yacht. Mr Popsicle is a
- Win Mr Popsicle's new album. (Well, | trademark of Popsicle PLC.
you could if there was one.) | A TCWF Production, 1990.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
. . _ _ _ _ _ _ _
THE FURTHER |\/| |_| |_| | | |_| |_ | | | |_
ADVENTURES OF | | |\_ | |_| | _| | |_ |_ |_ EPISODE SEVEN
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
IN OUR LAST THRILLING EPISODE, MR POPSICLE, SECRET AGENT, HAD JUST
SAVED THE WORLD FROM A YOUNG TALENT TIME ALBUM.
Mr Popsicle, the ice-cold secret agent, who looked not completely unlike a
giant icecream, crossed the road and entered his apartment. He went straight
into the kitchen and climbed into the fridge. But as he did so, part of his
left elbow melted off, and dripped all over the floor, short-circuiting the
fridge, and killing him.
LOOK, YOU CAN'T KEEP KILLING THE LEADING FIGURE IN THIS SAGA. IF YOU KEEP GOING
THROUGH HEROES AT THIS RATE, THE END OF THE STORY WILL BE ABOUT TWENTY SECONDS
AWAY.
- I'll kill who I like matey; I'm writing this!
BUT THAT'S TWO LEADING CHARACTERS IN TWO EPISODES!
- All right. I take that back.
Just as Mr Popsicle was about to die, the arch-angel Gabriel appeared and saved
him from certain liquidity (sounds like a rescue bid). Mr Popsicle said
"Thanks", and went over to his computer terminal. He logged into VX24, read the
latest episode of 'The Toxic Custard Workshop Files' and laughed hysterically.
Then he reported to headquarters; the offices of the Australian Royal Security
Establishment.
"Secret agent Popsicle reporting for duty, sir!"
"Good to see you Popsicle. We have another mission for you."
"Thank you sir. It's nice to be here, it really is. And I mean that most
sincerely, I really do."
"Good. Here's the file on your latest mission. You'll need to carry some
special equipment that's just been developed in the lab. Go and see Doc Wedge."
"Yes sir."
Popsicle took the lift down to floor -26, and met Doc Wedge in the lab.
"Hiya doc, howya doin'?"
"Fine zank you, Popsicle. And how are you?"
"All right thanks doc."
"Oh good. The weather is quite nice today, isn't it?"
"Yes it is doc. It really is. And I mean that most sincerely, I really do."
"Yes. Although I heard there could be showers tonight. Round at my place."
"Shall we get on with the plot doc?"
"Vell, it's funny you should mention that, because I just spoke to the
author by phone, and he said he's run out of story. He can't think of anything
for you to do that's dramatic, action-packed, dynamic and cliche-ridden
enough."
"Oh dear. Well, should I tell the joke about my stick?"
"No, no, I think someone is about to burst unexpectedly into the room."
Suddenly, someone burst unexpectedly into the room.
"Nobody move. My name is Inspector Unnecessary-Violence. I've been in the
force twenty-seven years. Twenty-seven f'kin years."
"Good morning Inspector", replied Mr Popsicle.
"Quiet you scum! Oh sorry. Hello sir."
"Well Inspector, the reason we need your help is that we've heard that the
Soviet Police And Z-force Organisation (SPAZO) is planning an operation here."
"But", said Doctor Wedge. "Surely an old cliched spy story like that won't
sell now that Glasnost has taken over."
"Yes, but the author is too narrow minded and rabidly right-wing to see
that."
"Oh."
"Never mind", said Popsicle, "We'll just carry on with our espionage
activities. Now. To raise money here in Australia, SPAZO have become engaged in
illegal banana smuggling. They've been hiding bananas in innocent tourists'
suitcases, disguised as packets of cocaine. One poor customs offical found a
packet, and tried to smoke it. As a result, he overdosed on banana, and turned
into a COT lecturer."
"That's terrible", Unnecessary-Violence replied.
"Yes. He had to go into Federal politics to make a living. And as we all
know - POLITICS IS NOT LIKE LIVING."
"That's awful. Are we resorting to political comment this early in the
plot?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so. Now, doctor, what amazing, innovative, and yet plainly
below-the-belt device have you got for us to use?"
Doctor Wedge reached for a gizmo on the bench.
"Here you are - it is ze Banana-detector device. It vill find any build-up
of bananas within ten kilometres. Read the figures from ze meter, radio them
back to base, and ve vill tell you where the bananas are."
"Thanks doc. Let's go, Inspector."
WILL POPSICLE AND THE INSPECTOR BE ABLE TO HALT THE
ILLEGAL BANANA SMUGGLING INTO THE COUNTRY?
HOW MANY MORE STUPID ACRONYMS WILL THE AUTHOR THINK UP?
WILL THERE BE A PROPER CLIMAX AT THE END OF WEDNESDAY'S EPISODE?
ALSO AVAILABLE FROM POPSICLE MAGAZINES INTERNATIONAL:
THE ADVENTURES OF ROCKET ROGER. To subscribe, mail rocketroger@gnu.ai.mit.edu
including your account number. Have your VAXcard ready.
______________________________________________________________________________
You're watching VX24, and now it's time for
===||=== ===||=== ||==== || || ||====
|| || || || || ||
|| H E || O X I C || U S T A R D || | || O R K S H O P ||== I L E S
|| || ||==== ||==|==|| ||
E P I S O D E E I G H T T W E L F T H O F S E P T E M B E R
W R I T T E N B Y M R . L U X U R Y - Y A C H T
PLEASE NOTE:
In the interests of our environment, the Toxic Custard Workshop Files are
entirely recycled, made from re-used jokes, found in an old garbage bin outside
the residence of the writers of "Hey Dad." Hence, laughter, which causes untold
damage to the ozone layer, will be prevented.
AND NOW, BACK TO THE STORY. MR POPSICLE, THE WORLD'S MOST ICE-CREAM-LIKE SECRET
AGENT, ASSISTED BY INSPECTOR UNNECESSARY-VIOLENCE, ARE OUT TO STOP BANANA
SMUGGLING BY THE SOVIET POLICE AND Z-FORCE ORGANISATION. WE JOIN POPSICLE AND
THE INSPECTOR IN THE ICE-MOBILE, MR POPSICLE'S SPECIALLY BUILT CAR, CUNNINGLY
DISGUISED AS AN ICE-CREAM TRUCK. THEY HAVE DETECTED A STASH OF BANANAS, WITH
THEIR BANANA-DETECTOR DEVICE.
While the Inspector drove the truck, Popsicle was on the radio to base.
"Roger barbecue tea-kettle one-o-five Hawaii-five-o. Received and
understood. Roger and out."
"Who's Roger?" asked base.
"Shut up and keep up the jargon", replied Popsicle sharply.
"Oh. Alpha Roger Sierra Elephant Sierra out!"
"All right Inspector", said Popsicle, "north, to Modem Avenue. Those Godamn
Red-Bolshie-Commo-Ruskies are there. They've got a banana packing store,
disguised as an electricity generator for a nearby stereo."
As the van screamed into Modem Avenue, Popsicle could make out a large
warehouse at the far end, with a large sign proclaiming: 'Generator Building -
Absolutely Not An Illegal Banana Packing Store Run By The Godamn Red-Bolshie-
Commo-Ruskies.'
"Better watch out", said Popsicle, "I think a stunt sequence is coming up."
The van screeched to a halt opposite the closed warehouse door. With a
movement of the foot that would put Mrs Thatcher trampling on a peasant to
shame, the Inspector pressed down on the accelerator. The van screamed up the
driveway, and went crashing through the door, splinters flying. The Inspector
burst out of the cabin of the van, brandishing a gun, and screaming.
"Police! Nobody move! Reach for the sky! Get your hands up! One move and
you're dead meat! Drop your weapons and surrender! You haven't got a chance!
Don't move dirtbag! Go ahead, make my day! Throw your guns on the floor and
keep your hands where I can see them! Why am I shouting all these mindless
cliches?! If anybody makes a false move, he gets a hole in the head!" His voice
now wavering, as he saw that everyone had their hands up, he continued slowly.
"This is your last f'kin warning. I'm Inspector Unnecessary-Violence, and if
any of you f'kin scum move, I won't hesitate to open fire."
"Thank you Inspector", said Popsicle, climbing out of the upturned van. He
looked around the warehouse. Turning to one of the Russians, he asked, "You
call this an electricity generator?"
Bursting into song, the Russian replied. "People try to get us down,
talking 'bout my generator!"
"WHO on Earth? Shut up! Now, who's your boss?"
"I will tell you nothing", answered the Russian, in a heavy French accent.
"Oh yeah? You'll tell me NOW, or I'll put you in a small room, underground,
where no-one can hear you, and subject you constantly with the most terrifying
torture known to man. You won't last two days."
"You don't mean??" shrieked the Russian.
"Yes - Kylie Minogue records!!" said Popsicle, with two exclamation marks.
"His name is... is..." The Russian looked around for a few seconds, waiting
for someone to shoot at him unexpectedly, just before giving away the vital
information.
"He is known as Walrus-Face, but his real name is... is..."
Suddenly, a shot rang out, and the Russian came crashing to the floor,
faster than share-prices on Black Tuesday, Dark Monday, Charcoal Wednesday, and
whatever other stupid names were thought up for share-market crashes.
Popsicle looked at the direction the shot had come from, only to see a
shadowed figure running away, along a distant catwalk, high above the warehouse
floor.
"Shit, not again," remarked Popsicle, before his stunt-man proceeded to
scale the ladders hot in pursuit, in a display of acrobatics comparable to a
nun falling off some monkey-bars. A shot rang out, as the shadowy figure fired
at him, but because the hero can't die, Popsicle's stunt-man narrowly dodged
it. The man ran off into the darkness, and there was a scream of car tyres, as
he fled the scene in a Volvo.
Popsicle radioed in the details of the car, and returned to the Inspector.
"Did you get a good look at him?" asked the Inspector.
"Only his clothing. He was wearing brown flared cords, a bright-red skivvy,
and platform shoes."
"But that means..."
"Yes!" said Popsicle. "He must be a university lecturer!"
WILL POPSICLE AND INSPECTOR U-V BE ABLE TO FIND 'WALRUS FACE?'
WILL THE PAIN AND MISERY OF BANANA-ADDICTION GO UN-STOPPED IN
OUR COMMUNITY?
YOU MIGHT EVEN FOUND OUT, IN THE NEXT THRILLING EPISODE OF
'THE TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES', OUT ON 17TH SEPTEMBER.
************************************
*AND REMEMBER: Never share a banana*
************************************
FREE COUNSELLING ON BANANA ADDICTION IS OBTAINABLE FROM
A FREE INFORMATION SERVICE, RUN BY THE BANANA OFFENSIVE.
Contact tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu for details. You may remain anonymous.
PS
You readers really are a quiet lot, aren't you? Honestly, I mail all this stuff
to you, and do I hear a whisper? Apart from a couple of people, no! C'mon! I
wanna see FEEDBACK, reaction and disgust! I want to see 500 lines of "The Toxic
Custard Workshop is a totally brilliant literary work" by tomorrow lunchtime!
______________________________________________________________________________
VX24 artistes unite!
THE MONASH UNIVERSITY ARTS FACULTY PRESENTS
Hello, good evening, and fraternal greetings to you. And welcome once again to
_ _ _ _ __ __ ____ _____
/ / / \ \ / / \ \___\ \ The weekly computer magazine
/ / /__/ \/ - /____\ \ \_ \ for all lovers and admirers
\__/ / / __/\_ _/ \_ \ \_ \ of fine art on VX24.
Volume One, Number Nine - Seventeenth of September
Well, we hope that you were at peace with your inner self over the weekend, and
are ready once more to delve into the inner-meaning of the world of art.
Among other features this week, we will be looking at-:
- "Bag", the latest highly abstract work by contraversial new artist
Vincent Dan-Coff
- A critical look at an acclaimed episodic work of electronic fiction
- And we will be previewing a new display at the National Gallery
Firstly, our feature artist Vincent Dan-Coff, and his new work "Bag". While
some philistines of the popular press may see this work simply as a plain paper
bag perched on top of a concrete block painted white, more discerning viewers
of the work would see it as a comment of society itself.
The artistic relevance shown in the functional positivism counterpoints the
whole structure of the creationist existence of the piece. A special feature of
the piece is the surroundings - an almost unique and excellent example of the
Creationist Realism & Artistic Purposefulness school of art.
The factors involved in the complex structure of the bag itself show the
inner infrastructure, moralabulations and thinkamullary artisticularity of the
artist's very inner soul. It might be said that for many artistic
displayariums, the medium for the dissemination of the thoughtfulltivity of the
artist is irrelevant. But for this piece, as most viewers will no doubt detect
with great simplification, the very structure of the blank cuboid platform
beneath could be seen as representing the world, or indeed, the universe as a
whole. It rejects the normal Zionist-Cubism of the Schizo-Hiatus-Inter-
Totallitarianism of much art in the civilistic displayational artistic region
of the financi-oriented world.
And now we move on to a much lighter note: the electronic farce-fiction of "The
Toxic Custard Workshop Files". This week sees the publication of the ninth
episode in this series. And here it is-:
AND NOW THE THRILLING NINTH EPISODE 'THE TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES'
Brilliant secret agent Mr Popsicle, and fascist lunatic Inspector
Unnecessary-Violence are on the track of a ruthless banana smuggler, known as
'Walrus-Face'. After an initial confrontation with him and some of his gang,
Walrus-Face escaped in a Volvo. Popsicle radioed in the details of the car, and
rejoined Unnecessary-Violence. Having concluded that Walrus-Face is a
university lecturer, because of the appalling clothing he is wearing, Popsicle
and the Inspector returned to headquarters, where we join them.
"Well, we know he's a lecturer", said Popsicle, "but where?"
"Vell," replied Doc Wedge, the brilliant scientist with a new accent who
was helping them on the case, "if he had only been wearing the red skivvy and
platform shoes, ve would not have known. But, since he was wearing brown flared
cords, ve must conclude that he is in ze field of computer technology."
"That still means dozens of suspects in Melbourne alone", said Popsicle.
"Yes. But where did you get with that license-plate number?"
"Well, there's a problem there sir," answered the inspector. "There's a
strike at police administation, which affects the police computer. All the
regular staff are on strike. So... the management have taken over!"
"Oh no", said Popsicle.
"So vot?", asked the Doctor.
"Well," replied the inspector. "Because they are all management staff, they
haven't done any actual physical work, but have just been sitting around
discussing ways of providing the needs of the administation wing. The first
week of the strike was setting up an agenda for a full management meeting of
the department. In the second week, they were arguing about where everyone
should sit in the conference room. By the third week, they had solved that, but
were stuck over the colour of the paper to be used for the minutes, which took
another three days to solve. The height of the swivel chairs took the rest of
the week, then the actual meeting began."
"So what was the result of the meeting?" asked Popsicle.
"Not much. They set up two committees to report. One to identify the needs
of the administration section, and it's relationship with other departments,
and another to find a way of getting a decent coffee-machine in the board-room.
Apparently they don't know, for instance, that to find a car owner from the
license plate number, you just have to sit down at the police computer and type
the number in; not set up a joint steering committee into discussing Maslow's
theory of needs."
"My goodness me! How did they get like this?" asked the Doctor.
"They all did ADM130 'Introduction to Management' at Monash."
"Oh."
"We have to get the driver's details", said the Inspector, "to try and
catch those Godamn-Red-Bolshie-Commo-Ruskie banana smugglers. So how are we
going to do it?"
"Could we try and use the computer ourselves?" suggested Popsicle.
"No way," replied the Inspector. "You know what management are like. And
now it's worse - they look after security as well. They won't let you in
without the required forms SR4, SR7463 and SR472A in triplicate."
"Hmmm.. There could be a way," said Popsicle. "Why don't we..."
WHAT IS THIS MARVELLOUS, INNOVATIVE AND IMAGINARY PLAN
THAT MR POPSICLE HAS PLANNED. WILL THE PLAN HE HAS PLANNED
WORK TO PLAN? OR WILL THE PLAN FAIL, REQUIRING HIM TO PLAN A
WHOLE NEW PLAN? FIND OUT THE PLAN IN THE NEXT EPISODE, WHICH
IS PLANNED FOR PUBLICATION ON 19TH SEPTEMBER.
CULTURE VULTURES WHO HAVE TAKEN IN THE DEPTH AND VISION OF THIS BRILLIANT WORK,
MAY ALSO BOGGLE AT THE ARTISTIC CREDIBILITY OF ROCKET ROGER.
To obtain your copy, which this week contains a life-size full colour poster of
the new Vincent Dan-Coff work of art 'Bag', mail your friendly VX24 artistes,
at the Academy of Art DeShimbec, care of rocketroger@gnu.ai.mit.edu
______________________________________________________________________________
And now the world premiere of
Luxury Yacht Productions
In association with Electronic Mail Marketing Board
Presents A Rather Silly Production
Of Stephen Speilberg's
### ### # # # ### ### # # ### ### ### ### ## ### ### # # PG
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# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
# ### # # # ### ### ### ### # # # # # ## # ### # #
IN GLORIOUS MONO-CHROMO-VISION
MADE IN TERMINAL-SCOPE
Premieres Wednesday 19th September, at the NetCinema
Popsicle and Inspector Unnecessary-Violence were on the way to the site of the
police computer. They had a plan to break in to trace the license number of
that Goddamn Red Bolshie Commo Ruskie banana-smuggler. As they drove into the
street, they passed a sign proclaiming 'WARNING - THIS AREA PRONE TO SICK
MUSICAL JOKES. DRIVE CAREFULLY.'.
The inspector stopped the car outside the administration building and went
to the door [See footnote 1]. Popsicle got out, and according to plan, walked
round to the back of the building, looking for an open window.
The front door opened, and a boring face attached to a boring management
type person looked out.
"Good Morning, Good Morning", sung the inspector, handing him a roll of
toilet paper. "Here's my application for access to the computer."
"Thank you", said the man. "I'll get it processed, duplicated and filed."
Popsicle had by this point got in through a window, and was tapping merrily
away at the terminal. He found the information on the car of that Goddamn Red
Bolshie Commo Ruskie banana-smuggler, got a printout, and walked to the front
door. When he got there, all the management run security men were still
puzzling of the toilet roll that the inspector had given them. As they
feverishly worked, they burst into song; "We Can Work It Out!"
Suddenly one of them saw Popsicle coming down the hall. "How did you get
in?" he asked.
Bursting into song, the inspector replied, "He Came In Through The Bathroom
Window", before they dashed back to the car. A message came on the radio.
"HQ to Popsicle. We've had a message that the author is getting really sick
of your character, so hurry up and get the villain, then get out of the story
pronto. Out."
With a screech of smoke, and a puff of tyres, Popsicle sped the car to the
address on the printout. There they found the mastermind behind the S.P.A.Z.O.
banana-smuggling. They confronted him, speaking quietly, calmly and coolly, and
with several large guns stuck in his face. He surrendered.
"Are you the one known as Walrus-Face?", asked Popsicle.
"I Am The Walrus", sang back the dagily dressed Russian.
"And you're Russian, are you? When were you last Back In The USSR?"
"Been away so long I hardly know the place!"
OH SOD THIS. I REALLY HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF THESE CHARACTERS, MOSTLY 'COS I'VE RUN
OUT OF MATERIAL FOR THEM. SO, WE'LL SCRAP THEM AND START OFF A WHOLE NEW STORY,
IN THE NEXT EPISODE OF "THE TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES"; OUT NEXT MONDAY.
NO NO NO. TCWF WILL *NOT* BE OUT NEXT MONDAY, BECAUSE OF THE NON-TEACHING
WEEK AT MONASH CAULFIELD & FRANKSTON, WHEN ALL SANE AND SENSIBLE STUDENTS ARE
OF COURSE LAZING AROUND AT HOME DOING SOD ALL, AND WHEN THE AUTHOR IS WRITING
MORE EPISODES IN ADVANCE. WHAT'S THAT I HEAR YOU SCREAM? YOU WANT YOUR TCWF?
OKAY, OKAY. YOU CAN HAVE _ONE_ NEXT WEEK, BUT ONLY IF YOU EAT ALL YOUR SPINACH.
SO, LOOK FOR EPISODE 11 ON MONDAY 24/9/90, AND EPISODE 12 ON MONDAY 1/10/90.
NOW, TO RAISE EXTRA CAPITAL (LETTERS), TCWF IS PROUD TO PRESENT A COMMERCIAL
BREAK:
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Don't want to add to the stray cat population, but your pussy fancies a bit of
the other? Why not try out full range of CAT CONDOMS? Including many novelty
designs (rats, birds and frightened dogs now available!).
All from CONTRA-CAT
(Not avail. in Vatican City or Koo-Wee-Rup)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
IF YOU RECKON THIS EPISODE WAS STILTED AND LACKING IN FUNNY BITS,
YOU SHOULD SEE THE LATEST EPISODE OF ROCKET ROGER.
The Mad Scribe is just waiting to mail it to you. Don't encourage him;
whatever you do, don't mail him at rocketroger@gnu.ai.mit.edu asking him
to send it to you.
FOOTNOTE 1:
The author had a strong urge to use the 'The car stopped with a jerk and
the jerk got out' joke at this point. Count your blessings.
_______________________________________________________________________________
To subscribe to the Toxic Custard Workshop Files, mail tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu
--
Copyright (c) 1991 Daniel Bowen
May be copied or reproduced without permission
provided this notice remains intact.
--
Daniel Francis Bowen | Remember - jumpers are
Monash University, Melbourne, Australia | clothing's way of telling
----THE TOXIC-CUSTARD-WORKSHOP-FILES-----| you to pull over...
tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu | [Toxic Custard Workshop]
