|| -------- -- -----  A E R I E   O B L I V I A N A . singular book of text wandertainment by Frank Edward Nora ------------------- ----------- BILLION'S DRIFTING--CUP 7--"RAUNCHY" <-------  ||  Severe Repair  ||  Billion's Drifting  ||  -------> (Cup SRbd007, Created v2 (6/7/99), Copyright 1999) = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = "Yes sir?" the speaker said. "I have one more question, if you would be kind enough to indulge me. Pray, tell me whether or not you may converse with the individual you bring into your bed?" "Uh... yes, you can. It's... just like that person were dreaming. They can talk and reason and do anything they could normally do, yet they are locked into the dream situation." "So, one might extract personal information, perhaps of a sensitive nature, from said individual? You said yourself that 97% of dreams are not remembered. Wouldn't this be an excellent way to spy on people--including those in big business, government, the military, etc.? Bring a general into bed and get the launch codes to those nuclear warheads. Right? You see what I'm saying?" The speaker turned red with anger. "Sir, we are talking about sex here, not intrigue. I would hope that people would not be so improper as to commit immoral acts as you are suggesting. There are mundane forms of spying that are just as effective. If someone wants to know something about someone, they'll get the information, one way or another." "I'm sorry, you fool, but that is a foolish argument. Your Slumberotica System would be massively cheaper and more efficient than any other spying technique known to man." "YOU MUST DIE!" The speaker pulled a sawed-off shotgun out of his jacket and aimed it at me. I stood and turned to run, but I heard the weapon discharge. In the next instant I was drifting again. Me again. Bellicose Billion. Drifting through the everythingness. Huh. That time I had been myself, and not someone else. It was me in the auditorium, asking those questions. I wonder if this means anything. And then it was a very hot and very sunny summer day, and I was dressed accordingly. I was sitting on the hood of my friend's sports car as he fiddled with the seats. A pretty young woman wielded a garden hose, and she was threatening to spray me with it. There was the wonderful, pungent smell of life in the air. Raunchy rock music blared, distorted, from within the car of another of my friends. And we were all so young. "Hey Belly, I'm gonna soak ya." the girl said, spraying water on the hood of the car, right next to me. She used the method of holding your thumb over the opening in the hose, causing it to spray far distances. "Go right ahead my dear." I said. "It may prove refreshing." With these words of mine, she aimed the full flow of the water at me, and advanced, clearly seeking the maximum soak level for me. I just smiled and took it, and it did feel good. But my friend jumped up from the pavement, where he had been fiddling with the seat, and yelled at his sister. "Cut it out, dammit! You're getting the interior wet." The girl let go her thumb from the hose, stuck out her tongue and gave her brother a right nasty razz, along with a sour face. "Jesus Christ Bellicose, can you believe her?" the boy asked me. "She's a trip." I said. And then, out of the blue, I was standing on a mountain of snow, my body feeling very, very odd. -------> ------------------- ----------- -------- -- -----