Copy Link
Add to Bookmark
Report
The Toxic Custard Workshop Episoder 036 to 040
****************************************************************************
### # # ### ##### ## # # # ## ## # # ### ##### ## ### ###
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
# #### ### # # # # # # # # # ## # #### ### # #
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
# # # ### # ## # # # ## ## ## ### # # # # # ###
____________________________________________________________________________
# # ### #### # # #### # # ### #### ##### # # ##### ####
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
# # # # # #### ### ### ##### # # #### ##### # # ##### ###
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
### ### # # # # #### # # ### # # # ##### ##### ####
***************************THE BACK ISSUES**********************************
***********************PARTS THIRTY-SIX TO FORTY****************************
(Written by Daniel Bowen, Monash University, Melbourne Australia)
______________________________________________________________________________
If war had stopped, I couldn't have used this.
Get fat now! Ask me how!
____ __ ____ ___ __ __ __ __ __ __ _
/ /__/ /_ / / / \/ / / / / / /_ / /_/ /_/ / \
/ / / /__ / /__/ /\ / \__ \__ \_/ __/ / / / / \ /__/
___ __ ___ __ __ __ __ __
/ / / / / /_/ /_/ /__ /__/ / / /_/ /_ / / /_ /__
/_/_/ /__/ / \ / \ ___/ / / /_/ / / / /__ /__ __/
A Recycled Title Production
B Y - M R - L U X U R Y - Y A C H T - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
N U M B E R - T H I R T Y - S I X - - - - - - - - - - - 1 8 - F E B - 1 9 9 1
GULF NEWS - PENTAGON EXPLAINS MILITARY JARGON
The Pentagon held a news conference last night to fully explain some of the
military jargon that is being used in official news releases.
- CDHU - Collateral damage humanoid units - people who get in the way. Not
that we're purposely aiming at them, but let's face it, it's no
loss really as they probably aren't Christians and most don't even
speak English. That's what comes of not being born on the right
side, in a God-fearing country; serves 'em right, really.
- FM - Friendly missile - one of ours. The Allies now have friendly missiles
fired from planes and ships pounding the Iraqi forces continuously.
Friendly missiles are identified by a big smiling face painted on
the warhead. Damage as a result of friendly missiles will now be
known as "friendly damage", and the explosives inside the warhead
are known as "friendly explosives."
- NWISSBM - Nasty-wasty Iraqi scum-sucking bastard missile - one of theirs
- OTRCNNXF - Off The Record CNN Exclusive False-report - given to CNN by us
so that Saddam will believe it to be the gospel truth. Neat, eh?
NEW ALLIED WEAPONRY
The Pentagon has announced the deployment of selected recently developed
weapons in the Gulf; part of the US Government's continuing commitment to
support Allied forces with the latest technology:
- The SKM - Shit-Kicker Missile. When this baby hits them Iraqis, the shit
really hits the fan!
- FBT - Fucking-big tank. This tank is 150 feet wide and 200 feet long, and
it's purpose is to make the ground war much simplified by simply
running over enemy soldiers. Special decapitation implements on
the underside of the tank ensure Allied victory. In normal
circumstances an Allied RCM (Refuse Collection Module) would
follow behind, preventing any environmental damage to the desert
by scooping up the human blood 'n' guts.
- TXjet - Specially developed fighter/bomber for use by Texan pilots. It has
an enlarged cockpit to cope with their hats.
- BVM - now installed in all troop-transport planes, the BVM (Burger Vending
Machine) now features the new IraqiBurger for only $1.45; it helps
our forces feel at home. To fully simulate a Florida McDonald's
environment a computer-controlled rifle installed in the plane can
be programmed to fire at random.
- FMFM - the FM installed Friendly Missile - so called because it has a
built-in FM stereo receiver which plays the "Star Spangled Banner"
as it explodes into its target.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
*ring* *ring*
HELLO, 000 EMERGENCY CALL. WHAT SERVICE DO YOU REQUIRE?
Fire.
METROPOLITAN FIRE BRIGADE EMERGENCY SERVICE.
Hello, send a truck, there's a fire.
LOCATION OF THE INCIDENT?
Hell!
SORRY, LOCATION OF THE INCIDENT PLEASE?
Hell!
PARDON SIR?
I said, "Hell".
PLEASE STATE THE FULL ADDRESS OF THE LOCATION OF THE FIRE.
Oh, okay. Hell, 43 Apocalypse Road, Underton, Postcode 6666.
AND YOUR NAME?
Satan.
MR SATAN, HOW BAD IS THE FIRE?
All I can see is flames... everywhere... all around me...
ALRIGHT MR. SATAN, THE FIRE ENGINES ARE ON THEIR WAY.
CAN YOU EVACUATE THE AREA?
No, no-one can ever leave the ever-lasting depths of Hell.
OH DEAR. BETTER SEND AN EXTRA LONG LADDER AND SOME ROPE.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We are sad to report that Toxic Custard Workshop Files returns
next Monday with even more of this comedic crap.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
______________________________________________________________________________
Zis is Custard - ve have no subject here
___ _ __
| oxic / ustard \ /\ /orkshop |_ iles Number 37, 25th Feb, 1991
| \_ \/ \/ | Ratiing: Below average
Calendiar, having made it through a three-year delay at passport control,
made his way back to his London flat only to find he had been evicted and
the whole block had been converted into a multi-story carpark and
naughty-sheep emporium; with the furniture, fittings and marauding llamas
still intact. He decided to emigrate, and after purchasing a new set of
clothing and more luggage to replace his lost set, caught the tube back to
Heathrow for the duty-free; then caught a taxi to Luton to catch his
plane.
The taxi-driver took a wrong turning and ended up in Saudi-Arabia
during a SCUD attack. Never mind, thought Calendiar; I was going there
anyway. By this point in the Gulf War, Iraq had in fact run out of
warheads, and was sending over SCUDs armed with bean-bag beans. So in fact
even if the missile didn't hit the ground, the Saudi weather-bureau never
failed to be inundated with irate calls complaining that they hadn't
forecast snow. The fact that Iraq was still able to obtain bean-bag beans
in a time of war annoyed the US immensely, and they immediately set about
initiating a UN resolution against the importation of bean-bags and in
fact all other types of lounge seating to Iraq. "Never again" promised
George Bush to the world, "will Saddam Hussein be able to lie back
comfortably as he watches CNN."
When Iraq had run out of bean-bag beans, they resorted to another
lethal payload to drop on the Saudis and Israelis. One that would not only
cause horrific injuries, but also work away at Allied morale and human
dignity - camel droppings. The Allied commanders commented that they were
in deep shit; and they meant it. Could this, combined with artillery
shells loaded with propaganda leaflets proclaiming "Saddam is a really
swell guy" overwhelm the Allied "we are the coppers of the world and we
don't even have truncheons, and even if we do, we never beat civilians
over the head with them" forces?
Not bloody likely matey. Within two weeks of the shit-loaded SCUD
attacks commencing, Allied scientists, working round the clock at a
dung-farm in northern Virginia had developed a shit-proof protective suit
to be used by Allied forces.
Meanwhile Calendiar, desperate to find what he was looking for,
searched the cities of the world. He went through Rome, Paris, New York,
Toronto, Rio, Berlin, Madrid, Luxembourg, Brussels, Sydney, Los Angeles,
Hong Kong, Singapore, Tokyo, and finally, Bordertown, South Australia. It
was there that he found it. Finally. A settlement that *didn't* have an
American Express office. Fact is, all the air-fares had gone on his Amex
card; and Calendiar needed to lie low until they had lost him completely
and gave up trying to bill him. Amex had agents everywhere. Calendiar
wasn't really in espionage, though he had worked as a part-time
plain-clothes spy for 7-11.
...POSSIBLY TO BE CONSIDERED TO BE CONTINUED OR DISCONTINUED
DEPENDING ON THE DETERMINATION OF THE CONSIDERATION...
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
We live in a society full of cards. Bankcards, Visa-cards, Amex-Cards,
playing cards, video-shop cards, keycards, phonecards, Medicare cards,
travelcards, concession cards...
But now comes the ultimate card! As long as you have your
_________________________________ TOXICARD with you, day or
| | night, 365 days a year,
| T O X I C A R D | you can obtain Toxic Custard
| | Workshop Files anywhere in
| Mr. Arnold Psychopath | the world. Now, isn't that
| 36910218 Expires 05/92 | handy.
|_________________________________|
From TOXICARD Enterprises
TOXICARD- Don't leave International
rec.humor without it.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The name's Scone. James Scone. OO7 - licensed to bake.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You, the civilised people of the free world, have been
reading the democratic Western humour of the Toxic Custard
Workshop Files. Now available, the bestestestest of Toxic
Custard Vol 1 (which is much better than this cruddy episode).
To order, mail tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
NOW AVAILABLE - Build your own Belgian kit.
COMING SOON TO TCWF (*)
- TCWF Toilet Humour: Lavatories of the rich and famous
- Braincells of the rich and famous
- Very large cars of the rich and famous
- Tax dodges of the rich and famous
- Illicit drug-smuggling of the rich and famous
(*) Apocalypse permitting
______________________________________________________________________________
Sounds more impressive than it is.
Is your Orang-utan broken? Is your chipmunk useless at singing? Has your
gibbon snapped? Or part of your gorilla fallen off? If so, why not contact
Gorilla Repairs Pty Ltd. We are fully licensed servicers of all popular
types of ape, and we can arrange a free quote! We use only genuine authentic
spare parts. All apes repaired by us come with a 6 month / 10,000 banana
guarantee. Politicians a speciality.
*Also suppliers of the highest quality bananas this side of the Congo*
It's time for
##########C ####### ##W ## ######### ##### ##### NUMBER 38.
T ## ##U ## O# ## ##F ## ## ## ##
O## ## S ## ###R ## ## I / ## ## ## 4TH MARCH 1991
##X ## T ## ##### K# #######L / #### #####
## I ## A #### ####S ## E / ## ## ## BY MR. LUXURY-
## C ####### R ## ## H ## S/ ## ## ## ## YACHT..
--------------------D-----------O---------/----##### #####
________________________________P________/___________________________________
*SPECIAL CLEARANCE*
We have the ULTIMATE gift for anyone in your family. We are clearing our
OVERSTOCKED supplies at RIDICULOUS prices! This is a bargain not to be
missed - genuine unused United States Military BODY-BAGS. Below cost! How
much would you expect to pay for one of these handy containers, which will
carry anything up to the size of a corpse? Don't ask! Because we'll throw in
another 9 body-bags for just another $2.00! That's right, you get the
beautifully boxed set of 10 body-bags, for only $49.95 + $5.05 postage and
packing! Send no money now, we'll bill you later.
From Pentagon Clearance House Pty Ltd.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
For those interested, there is an exhibition of pelicans' urine samples
currently running at the Museum Of Art And Science And Quite A Lot Of Other
Junk Which Isn't About Art Or Science But Which No-one Else In Their Right
Minds Would Put On Display, in Swanston Street. Entry charge is $2 and a
recitation of Wordsworth's "Daffodils" in a vat of toxic custard (see below).
Also featured are the amazing works of leading surrealist artist Frederick
Tapedeck, carefully sculptured from sheep's intestines. Messy, but relevant.
Other fascinating exhibitions coming to the MOAASAQALOOJWIAAOSBWNEITRMWPOD
include a history of public toilets and a display from the science-fiction
Zoo of Atlanta comprising of twenty-seven "Doctor Who" fans in their natural
habitat (crowded around a television, boasting about how many rare video-tapes
they have).
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
If taxis are the prostitutes of the road, what does that make buses?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
LOCAL NEWS
The Sandringham City Council's fact-finding scuba-diving tour to Portsea had
to be cancelled last night when it was discovered that the Council don't
actually exist. Local resident Martin Believable stormed into the Council
Chambers during a meeting to consider the redirection of Council funds away
from the Soup Kitchen Project towards the Black Lesbian Immigrant Co-operative
of Drama, waving a banner and proclaiming "None of you exist - you're just
figments of our imaginations!"
The meeting was postponed when the Mayor, Mr Leadertape stood up and
replied "Oh yes.. you're right; and pretty twisted imaginations they must be,
too" and promptly vanished, along with the other council members.
Eyewitnesses at the scene say that two minutes later, the entire Town-Hall
suddenly vanished in a puff of smoke. A consortium of local businessman
promptly began funding a search operation to find the council so they could
buy the vacant land off them for development into a multi-story carpark.
The EPA moved in on the site to investigate claims by a local psychic that
it might have lead-poisoning. They worked through the night and discovered
that the site had been used for many years as a secret dump for waste from
nearby toxic chemical plants, dead bodies from certain organisations based
in and around Milan and defects from a local pencil company. The EPA declared
the site totally unsafe and the State Government announced a scheme to buy
up the land and sell it again to someone who wouldn't know any better.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This has been another of the weekly doses of Toxic Custard Workshop
Files. Take only as directed, and if sanity persists, see your Sysop.
Comments, complaints, etc etc to tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The genuine TOXIC CUSTARD is now available at selected supermarkets(*).
Made using only the finest of chemical waste products, TOXIC CUSTARD is a
smooth, lumpy, tasty, revolting cocktail of substances that will leave your
guests writhing on the floor in pain and/or ectasy.
(*) Also available from 7-11 at twice the price.
______________________________________________________________________________
What song is that?!?
####### ##### # # ###### TEMPORARY NUMBER 39
# # # # # # COFFIN 11TH MARCH 1991
# # # ## # ###### WRESTLING
# # ## ## # FEDERATION WRITTEN BY MR LUXURY YACHT
# ##### # # # tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE PROPHECIES OF NOSTRADAMUS
These recently re-discovered quatrains, translated from the original Latin,
have been interpreted by James Wiseguy, professor of Prophecy, Monash
University.
"The battle will be short, and the Shrub will force the Sad Man to back down
over the land. Nineteen shall be eight once more."
This is clearly a reference to the recent work on my garden
by workers from the Mandas Gardening and Landscaping Company.
I knew I had been quoted $800, but they insisted on charging
me $1900.. just goes to show you can't be too careful when
getting work done. So, was Nostradamus a representative from
the Consumer Affairs department? Possibly.
"The large blackhead will smite the Sad man to bits."
While some believe this to be a reference to General
Schwarzkopf (schwarzkopf is German for blackhead), I firmly
believe that this refers to the large blackhead that has
appeared on my face, which somehow has increased my resolve
to get my $1900 back off the gardening people.
"The weather will be generally fine, with a little cloud drifting over from the
west in the later part of the afternoon and a few isolated showers in the
north."
Well, this is obviously Nostradamus' weather forecast. Nuff
said. Probably more accurate than one from the Bureau of
Meteorology.
"Years from now, a bunch of scumsucking bastards will make a packet of
money out of interpreting my forecasts."
He was probably right. Oh, look for my new book, "Nostradamus
and Me" by James Wiseguy, Capitalist Books Ltd, $49.95.
-- James Wiseguy
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Right, so what's the plan?
WELL, WE'VE GOT THE ELECTRICIANS COMING ON MONDAY. THE SEC WILL CONNECT
THE POWER AT DAWN.
Right on! Let there be light! Okay.. Tuesday?
ON TUESDAY CARPENTERS INSTALL THE HEAVENS
Oooh.. I hope they bring all the right tools, it'll be a hell of a job.
YEAH.. WELL, I WARNED THEM, SO THEY SHOULD BE READY. THEY KNOW WE'RE
WORKING TO A DEADLINE.
Good... next is the Sun and Moon, right?
NO, SUN AND MOON IS THURSDAY; THE EARTH IS ON WEDNESDAY.
Ah right. Make sure the plumbers get everything finished.
THEY WERE WHINGING SOMETHING ABOUT THE OZONE LAYER NOT LASTING FOREVER
LAST TIME I SPOKE TO THEM
That's not our problem; you tell them that. Anyway, who cares?
WELL, THEY RECKON IF THE ICE MELTS THE SEA LEVEL WILL RISE.
Well nothing lasts forever... we've got to defrost the thing every once in
a while.
YEP.. WELL, SUN AND MOON ON THURSDAY.
Ah right.. well I hope we're not out of matches. Better nip down to the
7-11 and get a box. We'd look pretty stupid if the Sun wouldn't light.
TOO RIGHT. I CHASED UP THE GAS COMPANY AND TOLD THEM TO MAKE SURE
WE'RE CONNECTED ON THE RIGHT DAY.
Good. Is the pebble-dashing for the moon finished?
NOT QUITE, BUT THEY SAID IT WILL BE FINISHED BY THURSDAY.
Okay.. now about Friday.. the RSPCA will be there, so we have to be very
careful.
CHRIST, WHAT DO THEY WANT?
They wanna make sure the conditions for the animals are natural and that
we treate them humanely.
HMM.. NOW, WHAT ABOUT SATURDAY?
Hmm.. well, the medical specialists are due at eleven, the plastic surgeons
at 11:30, and a team of gynacologists will be here at midday. So man should
be up and running about and getting his rocks off by the mid-afternoon.
That's about it really. See you in the pub on Sunday for some serious
resting..
SEE YA.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You have been indulging in yet more of the Toxic Custard Workshop
Files. Now available- the bestestestestest of TCWF Vol 1 - just
mail tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu to receive it!
NB. Next week's TCWF may be a day or two late due to the power
supply on the Monash computers being fiddled with over the next
weekend.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hold your green bits! This Wednesday, Rocker Roger is BACK! Yes folks,
brand new amazing and moderately amusing adventures of the hilarious
Rocket Roger, direct from his last concert on the planet Plagiar.
Subscribe today! Mail rocketroger@gnu.ai.mit.edu for details.
______________________________________________________________________________
All efforts have been made to ensure the accuracy
## ## ###### This is hereby proclaimed as the fourtieth
## ## ## ## edition of the Toxic Custard Workshop Files,
## ## ## ## which really is quite remarkable as it must
########## ## ## be the biggest load of crap to come out of
## ## ## Monash University since business psychology
## ## ## was introduced to the computer course. But
## ###### more people have laughed at this than that.
TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES #40 - 18TH MARCH 1991 - BY MR. LUXURY-YACHT
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
No sooner had Calendiar moved into his brand new house in Bordertown than
the South Australian and Western Australian governments decided to move
the state border to somewhere more geographically significant; to a bit
west of Broken Hill, NSW, to be precise. Well, the South Australian
government didn't really agree, but after the SA State Bank collapse, they
had no money, and had in fact sold the whole state to Western Australia.
The fact that WA had paid for SA on someone's Mastercard that had been found
down a well in Tibet didn't seem to worry anyone.
Calendiar woke up one morning to find that his cat had exploded. This
was not entirely a surprise to him, as it had not looked well for several
days. As he scooped the bits off the ceiling and into the pie he had
made for the bratty little kid next door, he got even more of a surprise.
What surprised him was that during the night a crack team of architects
and builders had built an American Express office next door. Calendiar,
under cover of a large blanket, ran out the back way to a nearby pair of
roller-skates, and roller-skated interstate, as he was still trying to
dodge his Amex bill.
He settled down in the small Queensland town of Yalbaroo, and was quite
happy living there until something came through the letter box which would
change his life. Something which would occupy his time almost constantly
for the next six months. An offer from Readers' Digest.
Readers' Digest were desperate. They needed new readers constantly, but
rarely gained any because everyone knew their condensed books (just add
water) were a load of crap. So they decided on a new marketing campaign.
They would concentrate on one person at a time. That person would be
bombarded with at least ten letters a day, offering the chance to win
millions of dollars, little cheap false-brass bookmarks made in Taiwan,
and even cheaper pen sets made by a little old man outside Bogota.
It was all a ploy to force you onto one of their "Readers' Digest
Condensed Books for people who can't be bothered reading the whole novels
and who probably can't read anyway but want to look at least semi-studious
when visitors come around and don't already know that our condensed books
are a load of bullshit" programmes, of one book a week for the next
four-hundred years, at $23.37 each (plus $700 postage and packing; each
book coming in it's own personal lead-lined coffin).
Calendiar, having an IQ higher than fifty, was determined not to get
sucked in by this campaign personally directed at him. The Readers' Digest
promotions department of course invisaged this, and the number of offers
mailed to him was increased exponentially, until after a few months, letters
from them to him alone took up 97% of the capacity of the nearest post
office at Mount Ossa. It was then that Australia Post moved to remedy the
situation, and gave Calendiar his own post-office nearby.
Mr. Calendiar
c/o Calen Post Office
Queensland 4798
But now Calendiar had a problem. During a night at the local pub, he got
completely shit-faced, and like any other bout of SERIOUS drinking, this had
destroyed a number of his brain-cells. Normally this wouldn't have mattered,
but on this occasion it had destroyed the brain-cells associated with
remembering how to eat bananas. This too, wouldn't have been a problem,
but Calendiar loved bananas with a real passion. But let's face it- who
cares? It's his own bloody fault, stupid git... But anyway...
Calendiar got a job as a giraffe, elephant and hippo cleaner at a zoo.
A special device was designed specifically for cleaning the upper section
of the giraffe. In fact it was a sort of sponge that wrapped around the
neck of the giraffe, with a powered motor that could move up and down the
giraffe, cleaning and rinsing as it went, in just over twenty minutes. A
similar device was adapted for elephants. The zoo had been under a great
deal of strain, with the mysterious death of one of the llamas, which had
been named after her donator, a Mrs Paula Turntable. For weeks and months
afterwards, everyone had wondered... "Who killed Paula Llama?"
But Calendiar enjoyed his cleansing activities at the zoo. All went
well in this job, until one night in a frenzy, one of the elephants raped
him. There was an enquiry into the incident, but it was found that Calendiar
had been behaving in a provocative manner, by twitching his nose rather
too much.
He gave up the job, and went back to his search. The one he had been
on for several installments.. trying to remember what he really was. The
desperate mission, that the author was still trying to think up.
TO BE CONTORTED...
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A VERY VERY SHORT EXCERPT FROM THE NEW AUSTRALIAN SHAKESPEARE COMPANY
(From an idea by Julia Wilkinson)
SCOTT: He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
[KYLIE appears at the window with her pet wombat]
But strewth! What light through yonder wombat breaks?
It is the east, and Kylie is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That thou, her maid, art far more bonza than she.
Be not her maid, since she is envious.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Custard begins at forty. This was the 40th edition
of the Toxic Custard Workshop Files. Please keep calm
and remain at your terminal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
_______________________________________________________________________________
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]
