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|| -------- -- ----- A E R I E O B L I V I A N A . singular book of text wandertainment by Frank Edward Nora ------------------- ----------- OSOAWEEK--ISSUE 022--12/22/94 <------- || OsoaWeek || Issues || Book 2 || -------> (Cup OWis022, Created v1 (4/27/99), Copyright 1999) = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = [[BEGIN022OW]] [[01022CV]] * * * O S O A W E E K 0 2 2 * * * December 22, 1994 "The weekly ezine of Obliviana Super Occult Amusement!" by Frank Edward Nora INSIDE THIS ISSUE! This is an especially good one for you to get! What a Great Genre Musical Theater is Dancing Fruit Zope and the Trouble with Fanboys Another Time Travel Dream Christmas Crapola Sushi, Burritos, Coffee, and Water "NIACHUZM" Blast-Reign and Jingle-Assault The Emotionally Draining Tale of the Collapse of ABM Giant Police Car Treyess Arcomany and Prince Ferrajalt Gun Kemig Again Downloading this makes sense, in an aggressive sort of way. (Permission is granted to make complete, verbatim, digital ASCII copies of this copyrighted ezine for the purpose of free distribution. All other forms of reproduction require written permission from Frank Edward Nora.) OsoaWeek is published weekly by Obliviana Super Occult Amusement * copyright 1994 Frank Edward Nora * originating in New Jersey, USA * Contact: 1-800 OBLIVIANA/obliviana@aol.com/call postal: Osoa P.O. Box 60 Iselin, NJ 08830-0060 Character count: 73921 / Line count: 2208 Catalog of Obliviana & The Table of Contents are at the very end of this file. *OW* [[02022HR]] Hemisinister Review ***THEATER*** A CHRISTMAS CAROL (A New Musical at The Paramount at Madison Square Garden) Musical theater. What a genre. You pay 5 to 10 times more than a movie, and all you get a bunch of live performers and musicians. Big deal! I have to admit that the scenery and special effects for "A Christmas Carol" were impressive, but the overall effect of the whole show was no better than a mediocre film. The story is the extremely familiar tale of Scrooge and the three ghosts which visit him. Somehow, though, his transformation from miserable miser to superman of generosity and goodness is not believable. And there's a general lack of sincerity about the entire show. I don't know if it's the tiredness of the tale, or just plain bad writing. But in the final analysis, I'd say this show is just "okay", and certainly not worth what they charge for it. I think I'll stick to movies--at least you don't see dancing fruit so much in movies. *OW* [[03022ZP]] Zope Today's Episode: ZOPE AND THE TROUBLE WITH FANBOYS ZOPE Well now, Fombat, I see you've grown out of your fan obsession with Galactus. FOMBAT You know Zope, I hadn't thought of that! But you know, you're right! Ever since you gave me your back issues of "Rom Spaceknight", my whole life has been devoted to finding one of those original Rom action figure. ZOPE It's cool to be into obscure characters, isn't it, lad? FOMBAT Yeah Zope it sure is! I mean, who wants to be into popular stuff like Spawn or X-Men? Everyone likes that. But how many hardcore Rom fans do you think are out there? It makes me unique and cool! ZOPE Ha ha, yes. Oh, and by the way, come over here. I have something you could desperately use. FOMBAT What is it? Rom trading cards? A Rom lunchbox? ZOPE No--a belt in the abdomen. ZOPE punches FOMBAT in the stomach, who then doubles over in pain. *OW* [[04022HT]] Halfevil Times ***HALFEVIL TIMES PERCEPTIONS & PONDERINGS*** EVER WONDER... ...how all these famous people, when they commit crimes, manage to get off by doing a "public service announcement", where a regular person would wind up in the slammer? EVER NOTICE... ...how when you say something stupid, and someone says "what?", how great it is to change what you said into something better that still sounds sort of the same? *OW* [[05022LA]] Lord of Obliviana I just finished OsoaWeek021, and I do mean JUST. What a pain--I thought it was all done and uploaded, when I realize that I forgot to add the DOS line feeds! Great. So I had to fix it and reupload it. Too much cold medicine, I guess. But you know, it's 12:53 am, Monday, December 19, 1994. And yes, OsoaWeek021 was supposed to be out and available by December 15. Yeah, so I've been slipping. But it's not that bad--I haven't let it slip a whole week yet. Still, I'd love to get back on schedule--maybe even get OsoaWeek done on Tuesday again, like it was in the beginning. What crap. I feel like any other ezine or--dare I say it?--fanzine--where they always talk about how late the issue is, why it was late, whether or not the next issue will be late, and so on. It's really annoying, and I'm sorry I've sunk this low. But come on! It's not that bad! I've been producing supercool content every week! And making it available to the masses! Yeah! That darn cold medicine--making me all kooky. So yeah, I want to get OsoaWeek back on schedule, man. But can I do this entire issue in 48 hours? Like, I dunno. Maybe. Ughghgh. I'm not feeling too good. What should I do? Um, maybe I'll stop for now. Okay--so the next paragraph will be in the future. Okay? Yeah it's the next day, almost noon. I had a very troubled sleep--lots of indistinct nightmares, where doing OsoaWeek and my other projects was turned into an inconceivably complex process, impossible to grasp, even though I tried so hard. At one point, the blanket covering me even became an intricate, multi-faceted system--I think I was halfway awake when I forced myself to realize it was just a single thing--just a blanket. There was one coherent dream I remember--me and some dreamfriends went to the top of a tower, but the view was terrible. The others were scared, but I walked through a classroom, where the students were just getting out, to the other side of the tower, a nice terrace with a beautiful view of a lake or ocean with lots of nice boats. It was the 1770's, and there were an assortment of pleasant people out there. I picked up some sort of communications device and was talking with a girl only a short distance away--I was telling her that America would become a world power in--and I had to think about it--somewhere around 1917, after World War I. She laughed, and I took it to mean she thought it was laughable that America could ever become a world power. Lots of symbolism there, eh? Striving, getting to the top, but it's still no good, then changing your perspective, and it's good, but true success is centuries away. Yeah, it's probably about my endeavor in creating Obliviana Super Occult Amusement. About what a long journey it is. I have to go in to work early today. I have a pretty good job now--four hours a day, four days a week. 4 pm to 8 pm, but I stay longer if needed. In Manhattan--I take the train there. Two hours each way for $7.50 a day, An hour and a half each way for $11.50. And today, apparently, the boss wants to talk to me about something. I'm always so paranoid about getting fired and stuff. And I'm so sensitive, I can't take criticism or any sort of verbal abuse. In fact, in the past year or so I have been fired twice--both times for insubordination. Somehow, I never get fired for being late, just for my inability to take sh*t from people. But this job now, I've actually been on time for. Yeah, five minutes here, three minutes there, but nothing like the two hours, three hours of the past. So I wonder what he wants to talk about. Ah, I'm letting it bother me too much. It's probably nothing all that bad. And you, lucky reader, need to but scan down a bit to find out what it was, or from my perspective, what will be. December 19. I haven't done any Christmas shopping at all yet--not a single present. I used to like Christmas, when I was a kid, but as an adult, I like it less and less every year. It's just become a nuisance. I guess it's because I can afford to buy myself the toys I desire. Yeah, I think materialism--getting cool stuff--was what made Christmas so special to me. And it was special. Man what a wonderful feeling during the whole season! If materialism can make someone feel so good, it can't be all that bad a thing. But of course, in this case, it was materialism in moderation, in the right dose. Well, I have to leave in 45 minutes. Maybe I should eat, so I don't spend a fortune on food on the way in. Yeah. I think I'll go in through the World Trade Center today, and get the REAL four food groups--Sushi, Burritos, Coffee, and Water. Okay, enough, I am on my way. The thing my boss wanted to talk to me about should be revealed in the next paragraph or two--gee, you're lucky. You have it right in front of you. I have to wait three hours or so and worry about it. Oh well, see you next paragraph! Yeah, it's the next day. The thing with my boss was, he offered me a full-time job. A full-time job that would replace my part-time job. I think I'm gonna accept. At first I was thinking, now I'll have even less time to work on OsoaWeek--but I know from experience, from being unemployed and having 100% free time--that work is not what's holding me back from writing. So I think it'll be okay. But can your Lord of Obliviana get up at 6 am every day? I don't even want to think about it. Yeah, I'm in a pretty bad place as far as business is concerned--Obliviana Super Occult Amusement is totally geared for the Digital Superworld--something which is only in its infancy. So, not to be self-serving, but I really am ahead of my time, but at least a couple of years. And, y'know, rent is due, like, every month--so I can't just sit back and wait. So I have to go to work. Depressing, eh? I suppose I could try and market Osoa today, but forcing it into an unnatural shape in a short-term attempt to make money would be pretty stupid. That is, I could try and publish and distribute a real, physical magazine, or try and get Severe Repair published as a novel, or do a Zope comic book, or whatever--but it just doesn't feel right. I know my stuff is totally of the Digital Superworld realm--not of this hybrid early transitional realm. So Osoa must idle, making no money and costing little--until the time is right. And when will that be? I see 1995 as a year when a lot of stuff related to the Digital Superworld is sorted out--a lot of painful decisions made by a lot of companies. As far as the true takeover of digital, I see a surge in 1996, and it starting to quietly take over in 1997. People will resist, but it's the sort of revolution which people will quickly start to go along with. So I would say, that in three or four years from now, there will be a functional Digital Superworld--most people will have digital communications/entertainment units in their home. The printing industry will begin to suffer as more and more publications go part or all digital. For those of you poo-pooing this idea, because attempts to do such up till now have failed miserably (ie, interactive TV, etc.), please realize that in any technological revolution, the first few attempts are going to be laughable. There is an enormous amount of money to be made in the Digital Superworld, and the big companies who have the resources to make it happen are not gonna let the other guy get an advantage. It's going to happen. So where does that leave me? It leaves me about a year or two before I can realistically make a living from Osoa. And a heck of a lot longer than that before I can make a fortune from it. I'm in this for the long haul--so if you're one of the lucky ones who's reading this within a few months of when it was written (12/21/94)--keep in touch with Osoa and enjoy the ride! And for those of you further in the future--just remember that I sat here in late 1994 and predicted all this. Gee, I'm pretty cool, aren't I? That's why I'm the LORD OF OBLIVIANA and you're not! Ha ha ha! Okay, okay. The NyQuil is really starting to take effect. I must retire to bed, less than two feet away. Goodnight, and for goodness sake--GET ALL... hold on a minute! There's more! Yeah man, here I am, back with more Lord of Obliviana fun for ya! Guess what? I got all my Christmas shopping done earlier--IN ONE HOUR! I tell ya, I was so putting it off so much that I was goin' nuts. But I just did a major ATM cash transfusion, braved the lunchtime Metropark traffic, and headed off to the Menlo Park Mall! (I would've gone to Woodbridge, but the traffic heading over there was unreal!) Yeah, so I'm pretty happy about that. But you know what, it was really weird, 'cause after I did my shopping I headed for work, and there was like this rainbow in the sky, y'know? I mean, at first I could only see it with my Zeros on, 'cause it was so bright, but then at the train station I saw it with my naked eye. I was like a bright patch of sky with a subtle rainbow of colors over it. Later, on the train, I could see the vague shape of a rainbow arc. Very strange. Maybe it brings good tidings? Maybe 1995 will be good? Oh well. On the way home I wrote this issue's four Superiors. I thought I'd have a day off tomorrow, the 23rd, but I have to get to work by 8:30 am!!!!!!!! Crap! How the hell am I gonna get up at 6? Oh well, I guess that damn Japanese chicken could wake me up out of any level of sleep. So, I don't know. Things are looking pretty good. This issue is due today, and it looks like I might actually get it done! I don't wanna risk having to do it in the insanity of Christmas Eve and Christmas. Man. Okay, so I guess that's it. I have to go on to other parts of this issue. I hope you all had and/or will have a great Christmas 1994! And also, you know, do GET ALL OBLIVIANA! *OW* [[06022NH]] Nihilistica ***NIACHUZM*** (1) Nomadi Central (2) Interweb (3) Anything But Monday Productions (4) Cut'n'Shoot Records (5) Halfevil Graphics (6) Unreal Systems (7) Zone Supernature (8) Mystery Etcetera *OW* [[07022SU]] Superior SUPERIOR 137 Foreign and strong, my will and my mind are strategic, for you and for them, and in my own timeday. Was a good setup, war always has its benefits. Found unclear a diagram of your store. Found okay. SUPERIOR 138 Leader, many tether, high monkey and weather. Followed, once was respected, no crowds in this town square. Zay, forget about it. SUPERIOR 139 Ragajag everything is okay. Man, how much? I've been all over, I've been underground. The wonder of the hologram, I've a name for it. SUPERIOR 140 Sle, have not a filter, green were singer, blast-reign and jingle-assault. Up and over! And re botambic and coconut lifeway. *OW* [[08022DH]] Dehumidifier ***WORDS OF WIZDUMB 10*** (Vol. 2, No. 1, December 1988) (by Mike Massotto and Frank Edward Nora) At this point we don't know what the hell's going on, but what the hell, we did it anyway. Two years ago we has this terrible nightmare and never woke up. It was February. It was freezing cold. It was 7 am. It was college. We had a radio show to do. The night before. Scene: a lonely dorm bathroom, very late. MIKE (shaving) So what are we gonna call our comedy show? FRANK (in a stupor) I dunno. Like, it's on Mondays, right? Why don't we just call it "Monday Mornings"? MIKE (disturbed) I hate that f*cking name! It's the stupidest f*cking name I've ever heard. Call it ANYTHING but that! FRANK (recovering) Alright, how 'bout "Anything But Monday Mornings"? MIKE (jokingly) Shorten it! Call it something obscure, like "Anything But Monday". FRANK (glowing) That... that's it! "Anything But Monday"! I like it! MIKE (shocked) Frank, why are you glowing? So the name stuck, but we didn't. On April 8th we received the following official statement: Mike and Frank, You are hereby informed of your removal from the WMNJ air staff, effective immediately, on grounds of incompetence. WMNJ Executive Board. Then, after an ugly appeal trial and the bombing of Libya, things took a turn for the worse. We were off the air but the air wasn't off us. In this vein, we began an underground magazine based on our show's format, just for kicks and to piss people off a little. Soon, we refined our talents, the magazine got better, and that's when things REALLY started to go sour. We learned many valuable lessons, such as: 1. Forget everything you ever learned about the U.S. Constitution. 2. Have a lot of change handy. 3. Never say "suck my twang!" to a university president. 4. Avoid rooming with people who play "Partridge Family" 8-tracks on their clock radios. 5. You are guilty until proven more guilty. 6. Keep a ready supply of fake blood on hand. 7. Don't go to college. So we skip to now... the present. Mike has a degree somehow (and they're not cheap these days), and Frank got fed up and left for brighter educational horizons (in other words, his parents extorted and coerced him into transferring to an even WORSE school). Oh, and what ever happened to "Anything But Monday"? You're a smart kid... you figure it out... --Mike Massotto --Frank Nora ***WORDS OF WIZDUMB 11*** (Vol. 2, No. 2, February 1989) (by Mike Massotto and Frank Edward Nora) FRANK Let's write Words of Wizdumb, dammit! MIKE Do you think it's easy to come up with something intelligent to say every two months or so? Okay, how 'bout this - a quick vocabulary quiz for our readers to summarize our recent escapades since our first issue. FRANK Yeah, okay sure, but ya wanna gimme some of that, um, what is that, Italian bread? Ya wanna gimme some? MIKE No way! I bought it. Go down to the store and get your own. FRANK Aww, man! I gave you that Toblerone just a minute ago, out of the goodness of my heart, before I even knew you had any Italian bread! MIKE How 'bout some Hershey's Golden Almond, will you shut up then so I can finish what I was saying? FRANK Yeah, awright. (Mike whips half of the candy bar at Frank's head, from close range. It glances off his forehead and impacts against the office wall behind him.) FRANK (cont'd) Ow! That f*ckin' hurt! How stupid are you? MIKE Stupider than you! Now may I continue? Where was I? (Mike walks over to Frank's desk and begins reading the computer screen over Frank's shoulder.) FRANK Mike, stop hovering over me! Willya just sit down? MIKE Sheesh... whadda grouch... (Mike goes back to his desk.) FRANK Oh Mike, did I tellya about my dream? It was like, my sister, right, was sitting at your desk, y'know, and she had these two machineguns, and I kept trying to call the police, but the operator wouldn't-- MIKE --Frank... we're doing "Words of Wizdumb", okay? FRANK We're doing "Words of Wizdumb", okay? MIKE Okay. FRANK Okay. MIKE Whaddaya doin'? FRANK Whaddaya doin'? MIKE F*ck you! FRANK F*ck You! MIKE Stop copying me! FRANK Stop copying me! MIKE (pausing to think) I am a total fag. FRANK (laughing) I know you are! (Mike gives Frank a look of death. Reaching under his desk, he produces a pump-action toy pellet rifle and points it towards Frank's head.) MIKE Are you through? FRANK Are you thr-- (Mike pulls the trigger, propelling a hard rubber pellet into Frank's eye.) FRANK (cont'd) Son of a bitch! MIKE Great. Now look what you did! We're out of space, and it's all your fault. FRANK Great. Now look what you did! We're out of--Ow! MIKE (cocking gun) Just keep talking Frank, I've got plenty of ammo... ***WORDS OF WIZDUMB 12*** (Vo. 2, No. 3, May 1989) (by Mike Massotto and Frank Edward Nora) Early one morning at the offices of "Anything But Monday"... MIKE ...their culture's perfectly fine, as long as they keep it in their own country... Why are you looking at me that way? I suppose you want some of my Eagle brand "Hawaiian Kettle" Extra Crunchy Potato Chips? FRANK To hell with your potato chips! MIKE Frank, am I to understand that you're damning my potato chips to hell? FRANK You're darn tootin'. MIKE Hey, look! There's a message on the machine. FRANK Well play it, for goodness sake! We have to go pick up that cover from Bob in a few minutes. Mike presses the button... "Good morning Frank and Mike, uh, I don't know how long I got to speak on this thing so I'll try to make it as quick as possible. Unfortunately it's nothing but bad news, I don't have any cover for you to bring down to the, uh, photo lab today, and unfortunately, the way the schedule is, there just ain't, there's no way I'm gonna be able to get you one. I don't know what this means for you, I know it means a lot of trouble and hassle, but things are just going crazy on this end and I can't do it. Cindy and I had to run down to Virginia this weekend on a surprise, I got nothing but overtime in front of me at work with this major promotion, so I'm sorry but, I mean I'm screwing you over with this, but I don't know what we're going to do... As the message continues, Mike stands up, picks up his chair, and smashes it through the window. Frank begins to sob. "...I don't think, let me see how things go at work today, But I really doubt it. I'll try to give you a call back as soon as I know what's happening. Um... sorry to give you the bad news first thing in the morning when you come in, but that's the way it's shaping up and I don't want to string you guys out not knowing what's going on. So, that's it, I'll talk to you later, bye-bye." Mike and Frank sit in stunned silence for several minutes. FRANK J... J... J... MIKE What? FRANK J... J... Jim... MIKE Jim? FRANK Jim... Jim Schmoyer... MIKE Yeah... Yeah! He'll come through for us! He'll do it! Let me get him on the phone... So Mike and Frank contacted Jim Schmoyer, and he delivered unto them a superb cover for "Anything But Monday #2", but through a logistical brouhaha and general f*ck-up on their part, Jim's name did not appear in the credits. In an attempt to correct this travesty, as well as to give you, the readers of "Anything But Monday #3", an important lecture, we now present to you those masters of comedy, Mike Massotto and Frank Nora! Applause is heard as Massotto and Nora appear. FRANK Welcome one and all to "Anything But Monday #3", the premiere humor publication in all the land! Er, well, maybe not the ENTIRE land, but... MIKE Cut the crap, Frank. We have a lot to say and we're running out of space to say it in as usual. So let's get right to the point. Jim Schmoyer, ladies and gentlemen. Jim Schmoyer is... how can I express it... the very ESSENCE of the-- FRANK --I think what Mike's trying to say is: Thank you Jim Schmoyer, and we're sorry that-- MIKE --that we f*cked up royally. That taken care of, now on to other matters. Do you have any talent in writing? If so, we're accepting submissions for the following features: Weekly World Perceptions and Ponderings (Ever Notice..., Ever Wonder...), Ask Dr. Mike (letters), The Choice Maven, Classic Fights, The Klassifieds, Crappy Poems, and Brief But Blunt Bios. Unless otherwise stated by the author, all submissions become the property of Anything But Monday Productions, for possible use in future issues. Any work published will be fully credited to it's writer, of course. And in addition, we're always looking for new artists, so send those samples in. And please, photocopies only, no original art. Mail everything to the address below, but make sure to write "Attn: Submission Dept." below the address. We look forward to seeing your sh*t. FRANK Thank you Mike for that enlightening message. And now it's my turn. For all you college students out there--would you like to see ABM on your campuses? And would you perhaps like to make a few bucks in the process? If so, write in and we'll send you information on how you can become an Anything But Monday Campus Representative! (or Campus HUCKSTER, if you prefer). And add "Attn: College Dept." to the address, if you'd be so kind. MIKE Well, that just about wraps it up for this time around. Frank and I will now turn you loose to peruse, experience, scrutinize, gawk at, or otherwise enjoy Anything But Monday #3! Massive applause is heard as Frank and Mike depart. Backstage... FRANK How are we gonna fit this all in? MIKE I don't know, why don't you use those really small letters that you have to squint to read. FRANK Yeah, that's a great idea! ***WE'RE HERE!*** (prelude to Words of Wizdumb 13) (Vol. 3, No. 1, October 1989) (by Frank Edward Nora) I'll bet you're wondering just what the hell this magazine is all about. That's a damn good question. I will attempt to quench your thirst for this information, though in the final analysis, your guess is as good as mine. We began "Anything But Monday" in 1986 as a college comedy radio show which was swiftly excised from the airwaves, only to resurrect that same year as an underground college humor magazine. In 1987 we were labeled "human rights violators" for some crap we wrote in our publication. In 1988 "Anything But Monday" became a nationally distributed comic book, for some reason. Now, in 1989, ABM is a "Laugh Magazine". But what is a "Laugh Magazine"? I'll tell you! It's a desktop published, 80-page professional production, featuring great comic strips, unbelievable written humor, interviews with famous comedians, reviews of cool and stupid products, stuff by actual prisoners, loads and loads of fun, and much more. (I know that doesn't answer the question, but I haven't a f*cking clue as to what a "Laugh Magazine" is--just read the friggin' thing, willya?!?) But who are we, the creators of "Anything But Monday"? Just a couple of jerks with nothing better to do than provide you people out there with excellent entertainment--much to our dismay and personal ruin. Enjoy. --Frank Edward Nora Publisher ***WORDS OF WIZDUMB 13*** (Vol. 3, No. 1, October 1989) (by Mike Massotto and Frank Edward Nora) FRANK Why don't we start in the middle? MIKE The middle of what? FRANK The middle of "Words of Wizdumb", you dipsh*t. MIKE Frank, am I to understand that you're calling me a dipsh*t? FRANK Your momma. MIKE Frank, am I to understand you're trying to bring my mother into this, to insult me... and make me say something else besides "Frank, am I to understand...?" FRANK Hold on a second, I gotta boil some water for the ramen noodles. MIKE Using the ol' ramen noodle cop-out again, huh? FRANK I think we've gotten off to a poor start. MIKE It's good! I think it's good. What, you want me to say something funny? "Your mother nude"... that's funny. FRANK Okay Mike, let's start again. What can the people expect to see in this issue? MIKE Who cares, you f*ckin' loser? FRANK Mike, if you're trying to trap me into saying "Mike, am I to understand that you're referring to me as a f*ckin' loser?", then don't bother, 'cause I'm wise to your ploy. MIKE Can't pull the wool over your eyes. FRANK Oops! The water's boiling! MIKE What did you start there, a little fire? Looks like it's spreading. FRANK Yeah, I doused all your 45s in Listerine and lit 'em ablaze. MIKE Frank, Listerine's not flammable, and if my theme music from the "Star Wars" Creature Cantina is wrecked, you're buying me a new one. FRANK No, I saved that one. MIKE Whew! FRANK But I gave it to a beggar who happened to be wandering by. MIKE How come? FRANK Out of compassion for my fellow humans. MIKE I thought you turned into an ultra-conservative bastard and you hate homeless people? FRANK I told him it was good to eat. Told him it was licorice. MIKE Frank, my pencil sharpener is melted and destroyed. Do you know anything about it? FRANK Musta happened when I briefly abolished reality the other day. Sorry. MIKE Why say that? FRANK 'Cause it's true. MIKE I'm really on a kick of strafing things--so what if I said I strafed your house with a defoliant spreader yesterday? FRANK Hell! Why say that? MIKE 'Cause it's true! FRANK You're a Brobdingnagian moron, Mike, did ya know that? Huh? MIKE You're a Lilliputian pervert! FRANK Well you're a Blefescuian jerk-off! MIKE You're Robinson Crusoe! FRANK Sh*t, you know something? I am! Change me back, assh*le! MIKE You look good in tattered rags with a parrot on your shoulder. FRANK Oh, is that so... PATTY HEARST? MIKE Why Patty Hearst... TINA LOUISE? FRANK Why? I'll tell ya why... WILLIAM BENDIX! MIKE Who's William Bendix? FRANK You! MIKE If that's the way you want it... DAVE STIEB! FRANK Who in the heck is that? MIKE You! FRANK Okay, enough fun. Let's change each other back, okay? MIKE Okay... CHIEF CRAZY HORSE! FRANK Oh, pretty funny... KOTEX MAXI PAD! MIKE Cool, leave me this way for a while... WEED WHACKER! FRANK Oh, you're pushing it now... [12 pages of text deleted here, as Mike and Frank transform each other into a multitude of various personages, things, land masses, sex toys, flora, fauna, weather conditions, periodic elements, etc.] MIKE Oh, is that so... THE UTERINE WALL OF BARBARA FELDMAN! FRANK Mike... MIKE What? FRANK This is getting a bit trite, don't you think? I'll change you back from the "sinister lutetium sewing machine" into Mike Massotto if you do likewise, agreed? MIKE Agreed. FRANK Uh, Mike... uh, can ya concentrate a little harder? Nothing's happenin'. MIKE Quit screwin' around! FRANK Sh*t! It's a reality blam! Our powers are negated! MIKE Okay smart guy, now what? FRANK I don't really care, because I feel quite warm and secure here inside Ms. Feldman's abdomen. MIKE That's all well and good--but what am I supposed to do as a sewing machine--and an evil one composed of a rare earth at that? FRANK Oh, drop dead. Just welcome the folks to the magazine, huh? MIKE Well folks, this is Mike Massotto, your sinister lutetium sewing machine, welcoming you to "Anything But Monday"! FRANK Fine. ***THE DEATH OF ANYTHING BUT MONDAY?*** (by Frank Edward Nora) --April 11, 1991-- ANYTHING BUT MONDAY BUYS THE PROVERBIAL FARM Friends, Romans, and Countrymen of Anything But Monday Magazine, What happened a year and a half ago, you ask? Why, that's when the last issue of Anything But Monday came out, resulting in the disastrous implosion of the entire ABM organization. Instead of fully collapsing, however, Anything But Monday retreated into a womblike cocoon of tepid vacuous limbo and stayed there for the past 18-months. But now, ABM has emerged from that cocoon a resplendent butterfly, only to croak. In less flowery language, I've been procrastinating for a damn long time. But now I bring you the momentous announcement that Anything But Monday Magazine is officially and unequivocably kaput. Why am I burdening you with this somber news? Well, because I figured some of you out there might still be wondering in the back of your mind whatever became of us and our rebellious, hubris-laden publication. Also we sort of never got around to sending copies to anyone, so I felt that it would be nice to give you all a look at the ABM issue which caused so much personal misery and ruin in my life. A copy of Anything But Monday, Volume 3, Issue 1, is included herein for your perusal. Also, we still have some of the artwork from last issue. So for all you artists out there--rest assured that your art is in pristine condition and will soon be returned to you. I've also included a self-addressed stamped postcard by which you can get in touch with me with any comments, complaints, questions, threats, or theories you may have. If we still have some of your artwork and I haven't gotten in touch with you yet, please send the card back with your correct current mailing address and phone #, because I'm not sending any art back unless I'm sure the artist's address is correct. So where was I--oh yeah--so the magazine is destroyed, and I apologize for the long delay and everything. I still have thousands of copies of each issue of ABM, so if you'd like additional copies, just send a request--who knows--if I have money for postage I just might be able to send you some. So what have the creators of ABM been doing with their lives? Well, Mike Massotto is a personal trainer at International Fitness in Clifton, NJ. I am currently unemployed but plan to seek employment in the Macintosh computer field. Also, I'm working on a new magazine called ZOPE. Jim Lord, who as you might remember was involved with ABM in 1989, is still running his successful photography studio. So what shall become of the legacy of Anything But Monday? All those incredible ideas, all that amazing creativity? Alas, it is but a tiny ripple on the surface of existence, a gnat that flew into reality's eye and was mushed into a pulp. Aye, 'twas but a foolish romp through insanity, doomed to an early crapshoot of peril. The north breeze flutters the sun in... What the f*ck am I saying? Look--Anything But Monday was a crude, disjointed, sophomoric, deranged publication, which swelled our egos and drained our bank accounts. But copies of it are in the Library of Congress, so perhaps future generations will discover it--maybe even worship it. Yeah that's it--it'll be the basis for a new cult--in the 30th Century or something--yeah... Well, that's it. Drop me a line if the urge hits you, and thanks a million for being one of the people who made ABM possible by working for us for free. Good night, and I'll see you all in the pages of ZOPE. Thun! 43,681! Bestroystraw Lives! Love, Frank Edward Nora ***WORDS OF WIZDUMB 14*** (Vol. 4, No. 1, May 16, 1993) (by Mike Massotto and Frank Edward Nora) FRANK I'll start off this Words of Wizdumb. MIKE Frank, no matter what you say, no matter how you start Words of Wizdumb, my response to whatever you say is "f*ck you." FRANK Now Mike, I know you're a little miffed at the brief hiatus between this issue and the last one, but that no reason to be obstinate. MIKE Like I said, f*ck you. FRANK What's that you're cooking in the microwave? MIKE I know what you're trying to do Frank--you're trying to distract me from the fact that you destroyed about four years of backbreaking, laborious toil, not to mention squelching my lifelong dream of world domination. I'm just warming up the sauce. FRANK I see. Now let's get a move on, cause I'm gonna be late for work. MIKE This clock is 20 minutes fast, you know. FRANK To heck with your clock. MIKE Just say I were to take this pot of scalding hot water and pour it in your lap. FRANK Mike, I told you I just needed some time to think! Unfortunately, that thinking resulting in the absolute annihilation of the original Anything But Monday. (Mike promptly takes the pot of scalding hot water and dumps it in Frank's lap.) FRANK (hunched over and through clenched teeth) This is good--this is good--it will help me illustrate my point. MIKE How is me melting your genitals gonna illustrate a point? FRANK First of all, my genitals don't melt--they go straight to a gaseous state. MIKE Cool ability. FRANK Yes... But my point is that Anything But Monday is not unlike the mythical Phoenix--totally destroyed in an unpleasant catastrophe--only to be reborn anew some time later. MIKE I am not unlike the mythical Kraken--a powerful Titan of great power. (Mike grows to unearthly proportions, taking on a grotesque appearance and levelling an entire city block in the process. A rampage ensues.) FRANK (standing in the rubble) You think I'm impressed with your paltry powers? MIKE (still enormous) How 'bout making that fart noise with my hand under my armpit--would that impress you? FRANK No! Don't do it--not in your current form! (Mike proceeds to cup his massive, scaly palm under his monstrous, titanic armpit, replicating the sound of unearthly flatulence, which levels the rest of the city.) MIKE Frank, I have a question--how did you manage to stay unscathed through this entire ordeal? FRANK I used my power of protection from blowhard assh*les, that's how. And thanks to you, I'm no longer late for work, 'cause you killed the guy I work for with that fart-noise sonic boom. Thanks. MIKE Serves you right. FRANK Enough of this fluff--let's get to the matter at hand--welcoming folks to the new and improved Anything But Monday. MIKE You got Fluff? Why didn't you say so--crack it open. FRANK Mike, you know I've switched to Nutella, the delightful chocolate/hazelnut Fluff alternative from West Germany--or whatever it is now--South Germany, I guess. MIKE Fascist. FRANK Commie. MIKE Bourgeois fag. FRANK Leno. MIKE Ooh, now that's hitting below the belt. FRANK Just welcome the pathetic losers who've been waiting nigh four years for the next issue of their favorite publication. Is that so hard? MIKE Yes, 'cause I haven't quite mastered my shape-change powers yet. FRANK Well let me give you a little motivation--I've been thinking of using my alter reality power to make it so that you voted for Clinton. In fact, if you don't metamorphose back in five seconds, that's just what I'll do. (With a ping, Mike returns to normal.) FRANK (cont.) Works every time. MIKE Welcome loyal subjects to the newest installment of Anything But Monday Magazine-- FRANK --it's actually Anything But Monday "Packet" now, Mike. MIKE There you go again, trying to usurp power--which can only lead to our ultimate demise. FRANK All I have to say is demise like to eat cheese, run away from cats, and sh*t in the cabinet. What do you have to say to that? MIKE Frank, I know you're trying to provoke a violent response such as this... (Mike quickly grabs a pair of matching pasta skewers from the cutlery drawer, plunging one into Frank's right eyeball, the other into his jugular). FRANK Grglphrp... MIKE Hey man, don't get blood in the kitchen--Debbie'll kill me. FRANK (altering reality) Congratulations on your successful vote for William Jefferson Blythe Clinton--you wanted change and you got it. ***WILL THERE BE A VOLUME FIVE?*** (December 24, 1994) (by Frank Edward Nora) I suppose the next logical feature here would be the "History of Anything But Monday", but it's already on OsoaWeek--back on issue 019. If you take a look back at it, you'll see that Mike Massotto and myself were making a pretty strong effort to resurrect ABM, by returning to our roots and doing a radio show again. We met over the course of several months last Winter, mostly at the famous Tick-Tock Diner in Clifton, NJ. And our effort came to a crescendo--and also to a screeching halt--on March 16, 1994--a little over nine months ago. What happened was, I bought all sorts of new equipment, so that we could record demo shows. Also, I got "prop box" out of storage--a box we had in college, full of masks, fake guns, and other assorted paraphernalia. Mike suggested we use his place of work for the location of cutting these demos. I had serious reservations about it--Mike said he didn't even clear it with his boss, but that it'd be "okay". So we went to the building and did the demo--two segments, each 10 or 15 minutes--I forget, and I don't feel like listening to the tape. He hadn't even wanted to do the demo that night--his girlfriend was sick or something--but be agreed to spend a little time on it. So we did the demo, and it turned out so-so--not that we expected much from our first attempt. So we left, with plans of continuing the project, and this is when things got ugly. Mike pulled out, and the I left, heading for the Parkway. But before I got too far, I was pulled over by the police. Apparently, there had been a number of burglaries in that building--and no one was supposed to be there at that time of night. And lucky me--I had those boxes in the back of my Jeep--one full of brand new electronics, and one full of masks and fake guns. I cooperated with the cops, showing them everything, even managing to come up with a few receipts for the equipment. At one point, the officer said something like "Mr. Nora, this doesn't look good.", and I agreed. In the final analysis, I think it was my telling the truth, about doing a radio show and stuff--which was such a bizarre story, no common criminal could have come up with it. So the guy let me go, saying that I better hope nothing got stolen from that building, or they'd know where to find me. When I got home, I made repeated attempts to contact Mike, because in the course of the encounter, I told the police about Mike and the place he worked at--and I was worried they might check with his boss, getting him in trouble. After paging him a number of times, I called his girlfriend's number--and eventually he answered--extremely pissed-off. How dare I call there that late? His girlfriend was sick! How could I be so stupid? This didn't make me feel too good, but the next day when he called me at work, Mike barraged me with a series of insults and accusations, such as "You're such a pussy--in the old days you would have thought it was fun!", "What kind of idiot are you, getting pulled over? I knew this would happen!", and so on. When he hung up, I was seething, and I knew there was no way ABM was gonna continue on in the near future. And what's so weird is that about a year ago, I was unemployed, and was planning to collect unemployment for awhile, when a guy called offering me a job--in Clifton, NJ--the town where Mike lived and worked. I thought it was some kind of cosmic message, that ABM had to come back. Then, not long after that terrible March night, I got fired from that job. So was this the cosmic purpose? For me and Mike to make all these plans, only to wind up hating each other again? It's weird. But I finally got in touch with Mike again a few months ago, and I went up to see his new apartment. His new passion was "Magic: The Gathering" of all things, and I gave him a bunch of rare "Beta" card I had, worth hundreds of dollars--I considered it a peace offering. We went back to the newly rebuilt Tick-Tock Diner that day, and I tried to tell Mike about the coming Digital Superworld and how well ABM would fit into it. He didn't seem too moved. And since them, I've talked to him maybe once. So will there be a Volume Five of ABM? I think so, but it will have to be in a digital, multimedia format--otherwise, it wouldn't make any sense. One encouraging thing is that in the little ABM Packet we did in 1993--"Volume 4"--we managed to get right back into our classic writing style, as you can see above. And that was over three-and-a-half years after the previous issue of ABM. In the final analysis, I guess it's quality of my work with Mike that makes me want to bring ABM back--we created a wonderful milieu, and it's a shame to abandon it. My hope is that as Obliviana continues forward, at some point, it will make sense to bring ABM back in a big way. After all the sh*t we've gone through, I think it would make sense if it ultimately succeeds. Oh well, what the hell. *OW* [[09022SR]] Severe Repair SEVERE REPAIR 22: "Giant Police Car" Injure Bodoni turned to Ledrant Hate. "So what was it that happened with you and that previous version of that girl, Noaster Sitar?" Hate stared at the scientist. "The thing is, I had to kill him." "You killed her?" Bodoni exclaimed. "I mean, her in a former incarnation? Cool! I mean..." "I was not 'cool'." Hate said. "A lot of people got hurt. And I don't feel like talking about it--we have other concerns at the moment. Such as--what sort of timeframe are we looking at here? Are we in a hurry, or might we as well take our time?" "My calculations conclude that the state we're in is in a stable-answer state. That is, the ways things are now, they're going to stay. The sun will not come up, and additional transformations from baseline will not occur." Bodoni said. "But what about the building?" Hate asked. "You told us that getting rid of Office Complex of Gumhanshire COULD cause reality to come back. Is there a time limit for that?" "Oh." Bodoni said, nodding his head. "I didn't put that into the calculation." "Why not?" Prince Ferrajalt said. "Because! I don't know!" Bodoni said. "That wasn't the question. It was just whether or not it would work." "Crap!" Ferrajalt said. "So already, it might not work anymore!" Ann Saply, the little yellow cat lady in the black dress, spoke up. "Scientists often lack common sense." she said with a smile. "Thanks a lot!" Bodoni said. Suddenly, the central kemig communicator started ringing and beeping. All four turned toward it. "Another alien?" Ferrajalt asked. "Let's hope not." Bodoni said, turning toward the device. "If V and Nevrippa don't call in soon, we're in big trouble--we need them for this whole boat thing of yours, Prince." "Of mine?" Ferrajalt said. Bodoni switched on the kemig, and V Sincein appeared on the screen. They could see he was inside a moving vehicle. "V! Thank goodness it's you!" Bodoni said. "Um..." V said. "Sorry about not calling and not waiting for the others at that rendezvous point, but, uh..." Suddenly, the picture shook, and Nevrippa Den came into view. Looking back and forth from the road to the screen as she was driving. "Hi guys! Yeah, sorry about all the confusion. We're just doing some advanced looting--got a lot of great stuff in the van, so..." "Nevrippa--where are you? Vike and Treyess still haven't come back--and we have no way of calling them." Bodoni said. "Sorry kid." Nevrippa said. "We just didn't want to waste the battery. And we're coming back anyway--to unload the van, so we can come back out and get more stuff." "Nevrippa, uh... I mean, I don't know if, uh, looting is really the most important thing we need to be doing now, and, uh..." Bodoni said. "Oh, don't worry Injy. Once you see what we got, you'll see why we've been doing it. Okay? So we'll be back in about twenty minutes, if all the roads we think still exist do. Okay? Don't want to waste the battery any more. Bye!" the crazy girl said, and the screen went blank. "Damn!" Bodoni exclaimed. "Leave it to her! I could kill her!" "So could we." Treyess Arcomany said from the doorway. They all turned to see her and Vike Varmabey. "Treyess!" Bodoni said. "Thank goodness you're back. I guess you just saw what happened to those two out there. Looting! Man!" "Well," Treyess said, coming into the room, "we did a little looting too. A lot of good stuff out there, you know." "Yeah." Vike said. "Everything's shot to hell out there." Vike was old. At least, he stood out in the young population of Aconck, and especially Overwhelm. It seemed Fife's algorithm chose young, attractive people more often than not. Vike, though, was a more real, more honest sort of person. Heavy set, grizzled, gruff, but with a twinkle in his eyes. He wore lots of plaid and usually had some kind of hunter's cap on. No one had yet figured out what was so special about him, but his presence was always a salve to the raw nerves of his fellow Primates. Treyess was an adventurer, full of life and charm. Her outfit was of soft silver, pleasing to the eye and not at all gaudy. She had simple straight blond hair and a look of supreme, yet humble, self confidence. Her full cloak, which she wore with grace, was where a bunch of faeries had stowed away as she returned to Overwhelm's Greatwall base. The resulting faery infestation became such a fiasco that she came here to Timber Serious to get away from it all--only to find herself in the middle of this dreadful reality collapse. "Okay everybody." Ledrant Hate said, standing on top of a couch. "I know I don't have to stress the dire situation that we're in--but thus far we've been aimlessly wandering--getting nowhere. Now that Treyess and Vike are back, I have to propose that I take command and plan our course of action. If anyone has a problem with that, please say so now. I'm doing this because no one else has." Everyone sort of looked at Injure Bodoni's direction, and he got the hint--he had been acting like the leader, but he wasn't doing such a good job. "Hey, no problem." he said, smiling in minor defeat as he mulled over his lack of decisiveness. The other nodded and mumbled their approval. "Okay--here's the situation--we know that getting rid of Office Complex of Gumhanshire is our best bet at bringing reality back--and that somehow dragging the ocean liner in Citydock down the frozen river and over the waterfall--where it will hopefully smash right into the Office Complex--is our best shot. Now--Prince Ferrajalt pointed out to Injure that he hadn't put a time factor into his computer model--the one that verified the Office Complex. So Injure--first of all, could you make a model, specifically using the boat, and putting in a time factor?" "Yeah, no problem." Injure said, looking over his equipment. "Okay--how long do you think that will take?" Hate asked. "Um--well, it'll take a little longer than normal, but--um--I'd say definitely within a timeframe of 90 minutes." Hate nodded, obviously not happy with such a timeframe, but accepting it. "Okay. Now we need a team to go to that yard with the giant police cars, try and get one going, and then try and drive it down the river to the waterfall, and then see if Office Complex of Gumhanshire is still there, even." "Um, I'll do that, I guess." Ferrajalt said. "We're also going to need someone to head over to Citydock and see if that boat is still okay, and whether or not the transit mechanism is functioning." "I know the most about that boat." Vike said. "You know I went down there Havdays, had big cider with the boys, rode that sucker, just about every Havday." "Okay." Hate said. "Um--Ann--I don't know much about you, but can you help us?" "Certainly." the cat lady said. "Okay. Go over to the boat with Vike. Now how are you going to get there?" Hate said. "We can use the truck--the same one me and Treyess used to try and find those kooks." Vike said. Treyess looked at Hate. "Treyess--I want you to go with the prince, if you don't mind." Hate said. "Good." Treyess said. "I've always wanted to drive a giant police car down a frozen river with a prince." "Okay." Hate said. "We don't have any portable kemigs here--V has the only one. I think we should wait for them to get back, and then, Prince, you and Treyess can use it on your mission. Unless--Ann, do you have any communication devices on you?" "Well sir," Ann said, "I don't have any hardware, but I should be able to mentally transit a kemig signal." Bodoni mouth gaped open in wonder. "Y--you can WHAT?" the scientist asked. "I can do that, my friend." she said. "I--I--I-- that's fabulous! I can't believe it! I mean--" "--okay Injure, enough." Hate said. "Okay Ann--why not try and call our central kemig right now--I would very much like to keep in contact with the away teams." "Okay sir, here goes." Ann said, and she closed her eyes, cleaned her mouth with her cat tongue for a moment. The lighting around the furry lady seemed to get a shade darker as she concentrated, and after a few seconds, the central kemig began to ring and beep wildly. "Well, answer it!" Hate yelled at Bodoni, who jumped over to the console and switched it on. A strange, almost cartoon image of Ann was on the screen, with an expectant look on her face. Across the room, Ann was lying down, curled up a little. "Hello?" Bodoni said. "Hi Injure." Ann's image said. "See, I told you I could do it, hon." "Incredible--how long could you maintain contact?" Bodoni asked. "As long as I like, but it's not easy." she said. "Haha! Incredible! I've never seen anything like it. How does--" Bodoni said. "--okay, enough Injure, the test is a success. Thank you Ann." Hate said. "Glad to be of service." Ann's image said, then the screen shut off and Ann opened her eyes. "Haven't done that in a while." Ann said, her voice hoarse and groggy. Then she coughed a little cat cough. "Now--does anybody know what happened to Amnifaoz?" Hate asked. "He probably--" Ann said, pausing to cough, her voice getting back to normal, "he's probably abandoned us. His word is worth little. And as he did several things to help out, he may feel that his debt to you has been paid. Still, he wouldn't harm us--that much of his word is good." "Okay." Hate said. "So let's figure him out of our plans for now. When V and Nevrippa get back, we'll have eight agents--though I don't know if Ms. Den will be of much help." * * * Prince Ferrajalt and Treyess Arcomany walked down a deserted street, their footsteps echoing strangely. "Do you think we'll ever get out of this, Prince?" He looked over at Treyess. "I don't know. I hope so. I just--I'm just fed up with all this supernatural crap, y'know? My home life wasn't perfect, and I had a lot of pressures being royalty and all--but I never had to deal with reality collapses, and weird cat ladies, and giant hypermonsters or whatever the hell that guy was--you're lucky you didn't see him. And that--that jerk, that girl who was a time traveller, and that guy was HER from the past--you didn't meet them either. But she came back in time to like--I don't know--like to have sex with herself or something." "Sounds like you had an eventful day." "Yeah, and then some. But I don't like it. I want normalcy. I want a world where things are the same every day, and people who you don't have to worry what kind of powers they have." "I know what you mean." They continued walking in silence. Soon, Treyess spoke up. "So where is this place? I thought you said it wasn't far?" "It's not that much farther. I thought we would have been there by now. I remembered it being much closer--otherwise I wouldn't have had Vike drop us off back there." "Well, I suppose that to an adventurer like me, this should all be pretty thrilling." "Is it?" "I don't know. I'm used to a different sort of adventure. Where you face the unknown, but the perils that assail you are at least understandable. But here--there are so many unanswered questions. I mean, what does it mean that reality COLLAPSED? We're still here, so it obviously didn't totally fall apart. And that little cat lady--I wish someone would tell me the story with her." "Haha. Yeah. I know. It's just like, everyone wants to be cool or something and not ask all these burning questions. I have no idea. I mean, she said this whole business," Ferrajalt said, waving his hand in an arc, "just sort of shook her out of the pepper shaker or something, as she said. But what does that mean? And then, she seemed to be familiar with the Hypergod and his kind, and the fact that she could send a kemig signal with just her mind--I mean, what the hell is going on?" "Yeah." They continued on, passing a building with a statue above its entrance. The sculpture portrayed a woman in the act of getting dressed, half naked. Treyess stopped. "Now look at that." she said, pointing toward the statue. "That's not some statue which collapsed or fell apart--it's a whole new statue, and look at it--look at the detail--it's exactly what a finely manufactured statue should look like--but the subject matter! No--I see some intelligence behind it all." "Maybe that was what someone was doing when it happened, and reality got her and the statue mixed up, like getting its wires crossed?" "Hmm! Well I don't know. It's just that, I feel like there's a lot more going on than we're being told. I just have a feeling that little Injure is holding something from us." "I don't know. Maybe. From what I understand, though, he said that reality is like a system, where certain events trigger other events, and the whole thing is just an ongoing chain reaction--with checks and balances keeping it on the right path. But here--it's just like things have ground to a halt. Nothing to prevent a statue like that from just existing over there. Nothing to prevent giant police cars from existing." "Yeah--speaking of them, I hope we get there soon. I feel naked out here in the open like this." Ferrajalt glanced at Treyess. "No, I think we should get there soon. See that bridge between those two buildings up there? I know I saw that right after I saw the yard." "Good." "So maybe, if we can get one of those things started, and if those road to the river still exist, and if we don't fall through the ice, and if the river still exists, and if Doscovor still exists, and if--" "--that's a lot of ifs, kid. Yeah--and what made you think the river is frozen all the way through, anyway?" "Well--I know it doesn't seem all that cold, but there's this stream sort of thing--a waterway or something, you know, that runs by our offices, and I looked down at it and saw it was frozen, and I even threw a motorcycle at it, and it didn't even scratch the surface. So I figured the river was the same way." "When did you do this? You actually picked up a motorcycle and--" "--no, no. It was there, and I just rolled it over the edge. And I tell ya--it was like it hit solid rock. It's gotta be something with this reality collapse, with like time stopping or being suspended, with water that doesn't move at all--totally static." "Huh. Well, for our sakes, I hope so." "I don't know--those police cars looked pretty tough--as if they could handle any situation, even water. To tell you the truth, part of the reason I wanted to do this boat thing was so I could get one of those giant police cars and drive it." "Well, let's just hope they're more than decoration." "Yeah. Hey! Look up there--see that fence--they're right behind that! You should be able to see them in a second!" "Where? Oh yeah! Up there? That wasn't so long--sorry for bitching about it." "Hey, no problem--let's just get up there." The two jogged up to the fence surrounding the yard, and indeed, there were hundreds of giant police cars inside. Bigger than tanks but similarly built, these vehicles had four huge wheels, a ladder leading up to the cockpit, enormous lights on top, and a variety of other cool features. "See? Aren't they awesome?" Ferrajalt said. "Well Prince, you know, I have to agree. But how do we get in?" There was no visible opening in the fence, and it was 20 or 30 feet high. "I guess I'll just use a little superstrength." "Does that still work?" "Well Treyess, there's only one way to find out--SUPER!" Ferrajalt held his hands up and breathed heavily. "You okay, kid?" "Yeah--it's working, I think. Just slower than usual. Stand back, eh?" Treyess stepped away, and Ferrajalt swept his arm in front of his wrecking a portion of the fence with ease. He ripped a hole through the wreckage, and stepped back. "That should do it." he said. "For us--but what about the cars?" "Hmm--think I should destroy that much fence? Or just use one of the cars to do it?" "Well, I guess we can use one of the cars--or find and exit somewhere." "Okay." Ferrajalt said as he climbed through the whole. Treyess followed as he stood surveying the wonderful vista. "What do they say on the side?" Treyess asked. "I don't know--I think it's just the Derolbam Police Force regular emblem. But let's find out!" Ferrajalt strode up to the nearest behemoth. "Yup." he said. "Just like a regular police car, only..." "...bigger." "Yeah. Well, c'mon." he said, grabbing onto the ladder. "We might as well see if this trip was worth it. "Coming." Treyess said, as Ferrajalt climbed the ladder. At the top, the Prince stepped onto a platform which seemed to circle the vehicle two-thirds of the way up. He walked forward a little, and found a door leading into the cockpit area. He tried it, and found it unlocked. "Come on Treyess! It's open!" "Coming, coming! Keep your shirt on!" she said in a friendly manner, smiling. Stepping down into the cockpit, Ferrajalt was hit with that "new car" smell. And indeed--everything about the vehicle seemed to be brand new. Treyess appeared at the doorway. "This is convenient." she said, jumping in. "Okay--now to find the controls." Ferrajalt said, looking around, when his eyes hit what was unmistakably the driver's seat. It was a huge, comfy looking seat surrounded with all sorts of controls. He looked over at Treyess. "Be my guest!" she said, motioning toward the seat. Ferrajalt walked over with a smile on his face and sat down. He scanned over the control and sighed. "Now if I could only find the keys..." "Ahem." ahemed Treyess, as she pointed above Ferrajalt's head, where a set of keys was dangling on a hook. Ferrajalt looked up and grabbed the keys. "Thanks." he said with an embarrassed smile. "Now--I guess this is the main ignition. Here goes!" Treyess started to say "wait!" but she stopped herself. Why would the thing be rigged to blow up? Just let the kid have his fun. He turned the key, and suddenly an array of fluorescent lights flickered and powered up, and the sound of multiple fans and motors came to them as well. Ferrajalt stopped and held his hands over the controls. "Okay--I guess that was main electrical." "You sure you know how to drive this thing?" The Prince turned toward her. "Let me tell you--my parents made me drive a thing a heck of a lot bigger than this, and I managed. It was different, but I'm sure a lot of the same control mechanisms apply. And I like this thing much better." He turned back to the controls. Treyess spied a door in the back of the cockpit. "I'm going to take a look back there, okay?" "Yeah, fine. Good. We gotta see what this thing has going for it." Treyess opened the door and marveled at the scene before her. Lit with fluorescent lights, she gazed in wonder at the bay--a space which took up the top half of the vehicle. Ahead of her, a short walkway led to a central shaft of some sort. Looking up, she saw the underside of a diminutive biplane, covered with the same black-and-white markings as the police car itself. It was just above where the shaft ended. She walked forward and looked down the hole surrounding the shaft, and she saw a tiny submarine at the very bottom, decked out in similar markings. Halfway down the shaft, she saw a landing which led to a number of doors. Continuing on past the shaft, Treyess saw a rear viewport which a large gun mounted above it. There were two more facing front, she saw, and one on either side. Huh. Then she looked down to her left and saw a police motorcycle in a little dock. She moved to the right of the walkway, and looked down to see a nice little police speedboat. Whoever made this thing seemed to have all the bases covered. She turned around and climbed down the ladder to the circular landing which was there, and saw that there were five doors--one toward the back, two toward the sides, and two toward the front. All were made of wood, ornately carved and wonderfully finished. She tried the one facing the back and found it to be unlocked. But before she opened the door, she gazed at an array of information panels and a large opening in the shaft at this level. There were what appeared to be indicators, arranged in a rough periodic chart, appearing at first glance to show varying amounts of different elements. She raised her eyebrows, figuring the thing deserved more investigation in the future. Then she turned back toward the door. As she opened the it, a battery of lovely, soft lights came on in the room she now stood at the threshold of. And she took a sharp intake of air in surprise--it was a magnificent master bedroom sort of space. There was a lush black-and-white patterned carpet, a bar, an enormous bed, a couch facing an electronic entertainment center, and an open door through which she could see a grandly-adorned bathroom. And everything was in the color scheme of the black-and-white police car, with the gold and multicolored police emblem. A lit panel near the bed attracted her attention, and she walked over to it, noting how soft and comfortable the carpeting was. As she approached the panel, she saw it was comprised of about 20 or 30 little backlit photographs of a variety of locations--from forests to cities to deserts to tropical paradises. Smiling, Treyess reached out and touched a rain forest image, and all of a sudden the lights dimmed, and sounds of birds, insects, and other creatures filled the room. A few moments later, the walls and ceiling faded into view with images of trees and plants, and a pleasing, pungent smell came to her. "How wonderful!" Treyess said under her breath, as the illusion of being in a rain forest began to swim in her mind. After about a minute, a rumbling sound and vibration broke Treyess out of her relaxation, and she jumped up off the bed. Ferrajalt must have gotten the thing started. Reluctantly, started forward, but looked back at the control panel, wondering how to turn it off. But then she figured it wouldn't do any harm to leave it on, so she turned back and left the room. As she climbed up the ladder, she saw Ferrajalt poking his head into the bay. "Hey Treyess! I got the thing started--WHOAH!" "I know, pretty cool, eh?" she said, stepping onto the main walkway from the ladder. "Holy crap!" Ferrajalt said, looking up at the plane. "Look at that! A plane! I wonder if it can really fly?" "There's also a submarine, a speedboat, and a motorcycle. And just wait till you see what I found downstairs." "This is so cool." Ferrajalt said, staring wildly in wonder. "I can't believe it's so cool." "I know." Treyess said as she approached Ferrajalt. "So at least something good has come of all this collapse crap." "Yeah." the Prince said distantly, as he withdrew back into the cockpit to allow Treyess to pass through. "So you got it started?" "I sure did! And you know what--I think from what I've seen that this thing is powered by direct matter-to-energy conversion!" "Yeah, I saw something down there which would point to that conclusion also. Some sort of atomic device." "Awesome!" Ferrajalt said, easing back into the driver's seat. Treyess took the seat beside him. "Think we should call the others and tell them we got this far?" Treyess asked, crossing her arms and resting on the dashboard in front of her. "I guess so." Ferrajalt said, taking a gun out of its holster on his belt, and turning it over to reveal the screen at the base of its handle. He entered a code on a few buttons and after a few moments, the screen lit up with Injure Bodoni's face. "Hello? Ferrajalt?" Bodoni inquired. "Yes, it's me. We successfully entered and started one of the giant police cars. It's a really amazing thing." Ferrajalt said. "Good. So you're now off to the river?" Bodoni asked, and then Ledrant Hate came into view behind him. "Yeah." Ferrajalt said. "We're gonna try and get this thing moving and get down to the river." "You've examined the vehicle?" Hate asked. "Well, Treyess saw more of it than I did, here." Ferrajalt said as he passed the gun to Treyess. "I have to tell you Ledrant, this is one of the most incredible things I've ever seen. There's a whole fleet of these things here and--I don't even know where to begin. There's all these little vehicles inside, and this room! There a luxury suite down there with all sorts of amenities. I haven't even gone through the whole thing yet." "Armaments?" Hate asked. "Well, there are five pretty formidable looking mounted guns all around the thing." she said. "And who knows what else might be hidden about. Also, we think it's powered with a direct matter-to-energy reactor." Hate frowned. "Sounds too good to be true." he said. "Just get it moving and on a road and call me back, okay? That's the big hurdle. Don't want to waste your battery" "Okay." Treyess said, and the screen went blank. "Well Treyess, here goes. I guess we may as well get going. Wish me luck." Treyess leaned over and gave Ferrajalt a kiss on the cheek. "Good luck, Prince." Ferrajalt hit the throttle and they began moving forward. *OW* [[10022CO]] Catalog of Obliviana These days, when you buy a book, magazine, CD, or videotape, you get an artifact which acts as the medium for the information contained within. But as the Digital Superworld develops, more and more of the infostimulation you buy will be pure data--with no physical side, no artifact. In fact, OsoaWeek is such a formless thing--it's pure data. With this in mind, we here at Obliviana Super Occult Amusement feel that artifacts will begin to take on more meaning. And because of this, we have developed a system by which all of the Obliviana Artifacts we release have definite identity--with limited production, each item is numbered, stamped, and personally signed by its creator. The following list contains all the currently available Obliviana Artifacts. To order, send check or money order made out to Frank Edward Nora, or cash (at your own risk), to the address in the Masthead. All prices include postage and handling. Guarantee: Return any Artifact within 30 days of receiving it for a full refund. MINIATURE SUPER OBJECT 1: NON-THORIUM ANTENNA This is a strange little Super Object I developed some time ago as an incentive item to get you to order one of my former magazines. I got no orders, though. Now, there are 40 Non-Thorium Antennas, complete with tiny plastic container and title card. 28 left. OA001. Only $3 each! PERFECT FOVY Fovy was a publication I released fortnightly for five issues last Autumn. Each issue is on one folded-up 11 x 17 sheet of paper, with an awesome 8-Codingseed poster on one side and cool stuff on the other, including two Zope comics per issue! A wonderful collection, bound with a paper band, and only 26 made. 24 left. OA002. Yours for $5! PELTER CD-ROM This is an actual CD-ROM I had pressed over a year ago, and it contains 256 of the coolest clip textures you ever saw! Being for the Macintosh, each image is a 512 pixel by 512 pixel 32-bit color image. As well, each image comes in 6 varieties! These are 32-bit, 8-bit, grayscale, tiled 32-bit, tiled 8-bit, and tiled grayscale. This product never saw commercial release because, (a) I blew all my money just producing it, and (b) I'm too lazy and wary to have anyone else produce it. So! A great bargain, with only 40 copies available. Includes the original color-photocopied cover, and a brand new insert with updated information. Requires Macintosh computer with CD-ROM drive. 38 left. OA003. Only $30 each! READ THIS OR DIE! An awesome collection of Zope comics spanning eight years! Contains twenty sheets of colored paper, with 40 Zope comics in all! Included are "Zope's Resin Conundrum", "Zope's Little Puppet", "Doctor Zope and the Abdomen Ghoul", and loads more! Each set not only has the usual signature, stamp, and number--but an original drawing of Zope as well! All bound together with a big binder clip. A very raw artifact! 20 made, 7 left. OA005. $4 each. *OW* [[11022CN]] Contents BEGIN 01 022 CV--Cover 02 022 HR--Hemisinister Review 03 022 ZP--Zope 04 022 HT--Halfevil Times 05 022 LA--Lord of Obliviana 06 022 NH--Nihilistica 07 022 SU--Superior 08 022 DH--Dehumidifier 09 022 SR--Severe Repair 10 022 CO--Catalog of Obliviana 11 022 CN--Contents END *OW* [[END022OW]] -------> ------------------- ----------- -------- -- ----- |