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BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!

katlaughing 22 Aug 02 - 02:59 PM
MMario 22 Aug 02 - 03:28 PM
Peter T. 22 Aug 02 - 04:07 PM
EBarnacle1 22 Aug 02 - 04:41 PM
katlaughing 22 Aug 02 - 05:43 PM
The Pooka 22 Aug 02 - 10:16 PM
The Pooka 22 Aug 02 - 10:27 PM
The Pooka 22 Aug 02 - 11:20 PM
The Pooka 22 Aug 02 - 11:39 PM
Chip2447 23 Aug 02 - 02:24 AM
katlaughing 23 Aug 02 - 05:38 AM
Peter T. 23 Aug 02 - 09:21 AM
MMario 23 Aug 02 - 09:52 AM
Peter T. 23 Aug 02 - 10:14 AM
MMario 23 Aug 02 - 10:28 AM
katlaughing 23 Aug 02 - 11:11 AM
JenEllen 23 Aug 02 - 11:29 AM
MMario 23 Aug 02 - 11:34 AM
katlaughing 23 Aug 02 - 11:39 AM
JenEllen 23 Aug 02 - 12:16 PM
MMario 23 Aug 02 - 12:17 PM
katlaughing 23 Aug 02 - 01:42 PM
MMario 23 Aug 02 - 01:51 PM
MMario 23 Aug 02 - 01:52 PM
MMario 23 Aug 02 - 02:01 PM
JenEllen 23 Aug 02 - 02:22 PM
Peter T. 23 Aug 02 - 03:16 PM
Amos 23 Aug 02 - 03:30 PM
MMario 23 Aug 02 - 03:58 PM
JenEllen 23 Aug 02 - 07:56 PM
Chip2447 24 Aug 02 - 12:32 AM
JenEllen 24 Aug 02 - 04:52 AM
katlaughing 24 Aug 02 - 10:01 AM
Peter T. 24 Aug 02 - 03:20 PM
Chip2447 24 Aug 02 - 04:26 PM
Chip2447 25 Aug 02 - 08:18 AM
Tweed 25 Aug 02 - 11:40 AM
Amos 25 Aug 02 - 10:04 PM
Chip2447 25 Aug 02 - 10:54 PM
Peter T. 26 Aug 02 - 10:08 AM
Amos 26 Aug 02 - 11:08 AM
EBarnacle1 26 Aug 02 - 12:40 PM
Chip2447 28 Aug 02 - 12:24 AM
Chip2447 30 Aug 02 - 11:14 AM
Lonesome EJ 31 Aug 02 - 06:46 PM
Amos 31 Aug 02 - 06:57 PM
Leadfingers 31 Aug 02 - 09:46 PM
katlaughing 01 Sep 02 - 12:46 AM
GUEST 05 Sep 02 - 12:54 AM
Amos 05 Sep 02 - 12:34 PM
EBarnacle1 05 Sep 02 - 05:26 PM
katlaughing 01 Sep 04 - 01:37 AM
GUEST,MMario 01 Sep 04 - 08:43 AM
Teresa 01 Sep 04 - 01:04 PM
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Charley Noble 26 Jun 09 - 08:16 AM

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Subject: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: katlaughing
Date: 22 Aug 02 - 02:59 PM

Revolving Acres, 9654th Quadrant 22/06/2502(UP*) In a stunning breakthrough for civilian researchers, scientists announced today that non-military and non-governmental persons will be allowed to utilise the Time Machine at the University of the Universe's Universal Sciences College, UUUSC.

    There was specific rejoicing among scholars at the College of the Starry Plough where it has long been discussed and argued over what really is the oldest continuously known folksong.

Professor Emeritus, Dr. Tweeter said,"For the first time, ever, we may be able to give a definintive answer to the question what is the oldest folksong. Ancient Rome, Egypt, the early European countries...we'll be able to observe all of them, firsthand. This is a major breakthrough for which we have been lobbying for years. Our scholars have proved themselves worthy of this endeavor.

    Details have not been released as to when trial runs may start but it is a sure thing that folklorists will be in the front lines clamouring for their chance to prove their claims. (See adjacent sidebar.)

A few months later:

Jocelyn checked her carryall, again. Remembering pictures showing her ancestors literally carrying all of their posessions on their backs when in search of new territory, she was once again damn glad she lived in the here and now of Universal Space. We've come a long way, baby she thought to herself.

All she might need: food, water, tablets to treat found water, tools, etc. were contained in the tiny pack which she belted around her waist. Included also were tiny squares, mini-microchips, containing all the information she had about old songs. This included a download of the entire database of the venerable old Mudcat Cafe, a still active relic from the early days of cyber communications. She thought of it as a relic, at least, afterall the Museum of 20th Century had its original data storage units on display. They were huge, bulky and slow things by today's standards. Her nine-x's-great grandmother had been there almost at the beginning. Those who still participated in it insisted on the traditional modes, eschewing the ease of StarBeaming unless there was a session on, then they had no problem throwing off their Luddite mantels and beaming up.

Seeing that all was ready, she stepped out of her pod door, walked a few feet over to the Glide and Ride, jumped onto the moving belt of air and rode over to the College. Once there, she stepped off and walked over to Professor Childson's office.

Oh, hello, Joss! Come in! Great, we're all here, let's go over our plan once more. Professor Abelard said. He was a man of slender build with a tangle of curly dark hair and brown eyes which were framed by laughlines. By this time tomorrow, we might be in an archaic age of wonder and songs, my friends! And, at that, he began to hum Sumer is acumin in while the others settled round the mapping table.

*Universe Press

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: MMario
Date: 22 Aug 02 - 03:28 PM

I prefer the parody myself commented Roan Hirsute, the departments centauroid stellar exchange student.

Freezeth river, turneth liver Damn you, sing: Goddamm. he continued in the typical centauroid basso.

Breaking off the tune, he turned to the professor - Has anyone figured out how I'm going to be disguised? he asked. It wasn't until the late 23's that Earth contacted my home world, and this he said, gesturing at his rather equine looking body will not look 'normal' to your ancestors

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Peter T.
Date: 22 Aug 02 - 04:07 PM

Meanwhile, in an adjoining lecturepod, Adjuncthybrid Professor Damian-5 was concluding his famed series of graduate seminars, attended at a distance by 5,000,000,000,000 handpicked students scattered across several near galaxies....

"So let me wrap up this series, "The History of Popular Gaian Music" with some final observations. Based on the best research, though still somewhat controversial, it is fairly clear that:

(1) Somewhere around the reign of Queen Hilary the Second, a troubadour named Howard or Samuel Johnson, the post-nuclear records not being absolutely certain, began what would later be called bushie-wushie music;
(2) The central role played in the development of post-pre-folk2 music by Condolezza Schwartz is now established beyond doubt, with the discovery of the Rosetta Cassette: "The Woman Who Shot Liberty Valance";
(3) Mick Jaeger and his group, The Nurk Twins, brought the work of Bela Bartok to young people everywhere, overturning the hitherto hegemonic music structures of hip hip and rappeling mountain music;
(4) And finally, when we do look at what was then called "country music", the pioneering work of George Clooney remains at the heart of our discipline.

I want to thank you all for being part of this seminar, particularly the OOOGGOGOGs on Baaarraarrd for their timely intervention on Foucault last week. As some of you know, I will be giving my seminar on early folk music beginning next week, if all goes well, following the trek back in time which you have all read about. Until then, far in, man, far in."

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: EBarnacle1
Date: 22 Aug 02 - 04:41 PM

When he exited the machine following the time shift, there was a peculiar expression on his/mask. "I have some good news and some bad news."

"We have discovered the ur-melody. That's the good news. The bad news is that, up to 50,000 years ago, there were no words because everyone was scandalized by the idea that anyone would put words to some thing as 'beautiful' as "Nya, nya; nya, nya; nya nya nya nya nya nya." As the ur-melody, though, it seems to be genetically built in to all homosapiens. We can use it to avoid all sorts of expensive laboratory testing."

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: katlaughing
Date: 22 Aug 02 - 05:43 PM

In the infinite annals of Time...In another space and time...Meanwhile, in another dimension of Time, the other team made their way to the Time Machine, unaware that their studies may already be redundant.

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: The Pooka
Date: 22 Aug 02 - 10:16 PM

But in the Greenwichvillageconnecticut Mean&Rottenborough Time, Professor Titmouse Argylebargyle, Chairman of the Department of Musicophysics & Physiognomatic Music at the University of Rottenedinborough, announced the not-yet-undiscovered discovery that next week it was proven by Thought Experiment that there will be no intrinsic or extruded reason for the Arrow of Time to Fly (you Fools) in any particular Direction, apart from that dictated by the Claymore Continuum of course. Pursuant to which, it used to be Reasoned by future has-been wannabes that the only inherent or outherited Reason we Remember the Past and Not the Future are that in 2060 when the Big Assteroid struck, the relevant Question am: what were the Youngest Fook Song unsung by the Gyrenes of Titian in the Key of Sea Chantey?

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: The Pooka
Date: 22 Aug 02 - 10:27 PM

Sorry. Typo. I meant the Sirens of Titian, obviously. Never could master that Blue Clickie Thing. :)

Sorry - UNfixed it:-)
futurus joeclonius

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: The Pooka
Date: 22 Aug 02 - 11:20 PM

Hey! Who fixed my Sirens-of-Titan "typo"? Pfui. A very unusual procedure! Ruining my Exit! (I can't come back; I dunnno how it works!)

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: The Pooka
Date: 22 Aug 02 - 11:39 PM

Har har har / dear JoeClonius ("Nonono; *Meee*, Claudius!"), [a] happy unbirthday to youse; [b]I hope yer Fadduh finds the Oldest Folksong in his European excursion, & re-masters it off'n wunna them ould ceramic pots; & [c] I thankee for the good intentions but Wouldyezpleeze quit editing me shit? I diddit on Porpoise. :) Well, To some extent.

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Chip2447
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 02:24 AM

He glanced at the chronograph that was strapped to his wrist. It had taken longer than he'd expected. With family scattered throughtout the multiverse, it had taken him weeks to gather up all the family heirlooms.

Over the centuries several of his family and fiddled around with these...what was the word? Ummmm Globular flutes...something.... But none had ever bonded to the instruments as had the old man.

Now, his family had the chance to discover what this odd assortment of clay, plastic, and wooden whistles had meant to the patriarch. What drove him to this odd little toy, for hardly it couldnt be a serious instrument.

He stepped off of the slidewalk and headed for the meeting room...

Ocarinas, thats what they were called, that's the word he was looking for...

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: katlaughing
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 05:38 AM

Oxford Universes-Bridged Dictionary*
929.4376 Edition 2500 ACE

Ocarina awk ah reen ah n. (L.auca, a goose) a small, usually flattened orb-shaped wind instrument with finger holes and mouthpieces fitting Gaian physiology. Primitive, last documented use 2052 during the infamous Cleigh O'Possum uprising led by Spawtarcus. Some archaelogical evidence suggests earliest models were fashioned from dried goose patties which were then mixed with other agents, then kiln-fired, but findings are not definitive.

*For an update to this edition, insert the OUBD chip in the Portal Front or, insert purchase card and wait for instructions.

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Peter T.
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 09:21 AM

In the few moments before the Timerator began to spin, Professor Damien5 turned to Professor Abelard and inquired: "Let me see if I get this straight. The Timerator skips over the waves of spacetime like a flat rock flipped along the top of a lake, so we have no real idea where we will land, when, and whether we will all be together."

"True", said Professor Abelard,"We can sort it out roughly by eras, but that is about as close as we can get. The absolutely critical thing is, at all costs, not to change anything in the past, otherwise who knows what consequences might occur. This is especially true the farther back we go."

The Timerator began to whirr, like a, well, like a Timerator.

"So," yelled Damien5 over the growing noise, and also for the benefit of the other participants, "Where to first?"

"I believe the physics suggests the first skip is to the 1960's, as you requested, and then 1930, and then it jumps in larger increments. Don't get far from the ship, the watch on your wrist will glow green when the time wave is ready for the next crest."

The Timerator howled, like someone chewing mayonnaise flavoured broken glass, burped, and the Time Skippers were gone......

* * * * * * * * * *

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: MMario
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 09:52 AM

The interior of the ship was filled with a luminescent blue light as Roan fidgeted and paced up and down the corridor between staterooms. Humanocentric idiots he fumed to himself - not a single portal into the staterooms were large enough to admit him, and even the corridor was barely high enough to allow him to pace without ducking, or turn without contorting. And then to be told that during the first two skips he would be unable to even ATTEND any sessions, even with the holographic disguise he had been issued. "Domestic animals of your size weren't allowed indoors" he muttered "I'll give them domestic animal! right up the...

Roan broke off as Jocelyn ducked out of her stateroom - a strange bulky device in her hand. Would you look at this antique they expect us to use! Why not just chisel notes into clay tablets; or use audio only recordings? she said sarcastically as she waved the device under Roan's nose.

He reached for Jocelyn's wrist and stopped her waving long enough to focus on the device. She was right, the bulky (probably 5 cm x 12 cm and almost a cm thick) object was obviously a very old model 3D holocorder. A Mark XXVIII Masato-Malcolm? I haven't seen one of those in years! We used to use them in first level. they weren't too bad - considering.

NOT TOO BAD! screeched Jocelyn? They only record in one direction! You actually have to turn and scan to get more then 180 degrees of coverage! AND LOOK at what they use for media! she pulled her wrist from roan's grasp and pulled at a small nodule on the end of the holocorder. As it came free it was revealed as the end of a 10 cm x 1 mm x 1 mm crystal rod. THESE! Barely a hundred terabytes of storage! We'll have to change mem-sticks almost every day!

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Peter T.
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 10:14 AM

There was something familiar about the street, but Damien5 could not place it. He was feeling slightly queasy from the jolt of his arrival, and the disconcerting fact that he seemed to have materialised alone. He adjusted his 60's disguise, the black beret and the fake goatee, and then he saw the bobby, and he realized he must be in Angleland. There were no distinguishing landmarks, it seemed like a residential district, and he was just proposing to himself to go and ask the bobby some innocuous questions to orient himself, when, out of the substantial building with the iron fence he was standing in front of, an immaculately tailored gentleman came out, looked wanly at the morning -- for it was morning -- and stepped out past the gate.

"Hey, daddy-o" said Damien5,"Can you slip me some directions?"

"Sorry?" said the gentleman.

"Cool, daddy-o, I'm eyeballing this crazy world. Lay it on me, England, pops?"

The gentleman cocked an eyebrow, but he was only too familiar with strange tourists. "Yes, of course."

"Rebarbative! London, too?"

"Oh, yes," said the gentleman, "Now, if you'll excuse me --"

"Damien. Professor Damien. Professor of Gaian Music."

"Certainly," said the gentleman, reluctantly pushing past."Now if you'll excuse me --" He was also familiar with persistent crazies.

Damien paused, and then hurried after him. He was a Professor, and was used to dealing on a one-to-one basis with what was in this case obviously another professional. "Look," he said, catching up, "I apologise. I don't mean to disrupt your morning. I am here" -- he paused -- "on a kind of an exchange, studying what some people call 'popular music'."

The gentleman, who was, after all, a gentleman, stopped again, and smiled politely. "From Gaia, or wherever it is you said you were from."

"Yes,"replied Damien5, trying to create a plausible story as he went along. "I am particularly interested in locating a group of musicians called Mr. Mick Jaeger and the Nurk Twins. Have you by chance heard of them?"

The gentleman pushed his fingers through his thinning blonde hair, firmly realizing that his interlocutor was somewhat mad. "No, I can't say as I have. Can you give me a tune or two that they have done?"

"Oh," smiled Damien5, "easy, classics. "She Loves You", "I Want To Hold Your Hand", "Yesterday", "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" -- The gentleman looked startled. "Is this some kind of candid camera joke? Is this one of Mal's ideas?"

Damien5 looked crestfallen. This was not going well. "I'm sorry, sir, these are classics, at least we think so."

"Well," replied the gentleman, "of course they are classics. They are by the Beatles, not Mick Jaeger, or Jagger, or whatever you said."

"Beatles?" said Damien5. "You mean that the Beatles did all those --"

"What did you think they did?"

Damien decided that he had better shut up while the going was good. "I'm sorry, sir, thank you for your assistance. I won't take up any more of your time."

"No, no," said the gentleman, "What I want to know is how you know about 'Maxwell's Silver Hammer"? It has not been released yet, in fact we are still working on it. Are you some bootlegger?"

"No, sir. Not at all. But when you say 'we'?"

"I'm George Martin."

Damien5's mouth dropped. "George Martin? Phil Spector's grandson?"

George Martin reeled back in horror. "What???"

Damien5 was beginning to realize that the historical record was more than a little flawed. "I am deeply sorry, sir, where I come from things are a little garbled. So you are not Phil Spector's grandson?"

George -- who was a gentleman -- looked somewhat mollified at this Eastern European or whatever. Hands across the sea, assisting lesser developed countries. He sighed. It was enough trouble keeping the Beatles from killing each other, let alone fostering world peace. Oh well.

"Come along, Professor Damien, I was going around the corner for a cup of tea and a stretch. Where did you say you were from? --" and the two of them walked off down Abbey Road in the spangled morning light.

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: MMario
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 10:28 AM

As the brilliant blue light filling the time ship shaded towards a purple-ish magenta the passengers felt a distinct LURCH before coming to a halt. As the light died down they noticed with pertubation that Prof. Damian5 was missing.

Then they noticed the chronolocator above the egressway. Something was definately wrong. Very wrong. According to the chronolocator they had exited the timeway in October of 2006, somewhere near Baltopolis, MD; rather then their expected destination of Liverpool, England in 1962!!!

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: katlaughing
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 11:11 AM

Drat! Damn! Curse the myriad of Murgatroids of all engineering fosterpods...they never send enough parts!a bulky man with a shock of pure white hair sticking up on his head came through to the main deck.

Ah know, Ah know, dinna yew lot start in on me! We've lost the posh Doc and we've fascht tho' landing 'til we're betwixt and between me grannie's knickers and the King of Bedlam! Dinna go oft anywhere 'til I've 'ad a look round, he said with a fierce scowl scrunching up his face.

Now, Engineer Crauford, Sir, what do you mean not enough parts?! Professor Abelard asked.

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: JenEllen
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 11:29 AM

"Why should tonight be any different?" she thought to herself as she peered over the doorman's shoulder into the great hall of the university on Quadran9. "Scratch an academic and find..."
"Here you are Miss." the doorman handed her the claim ticket for her cape in exchange for the forged invitation she had given him. "Enjoy your evening."
"Hmmm" she muttered noncommittally as she wandered into the room.

The great hall was filled with the same synaptic detritus that fills numerous halls on any given night, in any given universe, on any given plane of exhistence, wherever the so-called great minds are to be found. She stifled her urge to self-detonate and destroy the entire building, "Eyes on the prize, my pretty. Keep your head and with any luck..." she told herself, not too convincingly.

She walked casually through the expansive room, stopping briefly to listen in to various pockets of conversation, then moving on when her quarry failed to reveal himself. She slowly began to lose her agitation and fell into the rhythm of the hunt. The little voice in her head began the steady song, in cadence with her step: "Oh Doctor, where aaaaarrrrreeeee yooooooou? C'mout C'mout wherever you aaaare." She smiled.

She continued her examination of the room and its occupants, and ended up at the bar at the far end of the room. "Mercurian Bourbon and branch water." she told the bartender, and he mixed the drink, taking special care to poke the branch with a pin especially harshly, thereby making it cry, and the teardrops fell 'plop plop' into the glass. The woman murmured her thanks and turned once again to face the crowd. She only had a moment to wait before a veritable slug of a creature slimed its way up to the bar.
"Primoridal Soup, barkeep, and make it a double." slurped the creature. His antennae registered the woman at his side, and one antenna (with eyeball neatly attatched to the end) dropped to get a look at her. "Well, hello my dear," he sludged, picking up the drink that vaguely resembled Pollocks-we-have-known, and turned to face her, "What planet are you from?"
"Earth." she answered plainly.
The creature leaned over and slurped conspiratorily:
I've been to Jupiter, I've been to Mars
Been in the castles and I've been in the bars
All of the treasures, ain't none of them worth
Time spent twixt the legs of a creature from Earth..

The woman's urge to self-detonate come flooding back in an instant, the only thing to stem the tide of destruction was a small, somewhat furry creature in an aged pink taffeta gown scurrying over to the bar and laying her paw (?) on the slimeball and exclaiming: "Seymour? Seymour Furgleblatt? Oh, it's been ages! You simply MUST come meet the new CyborDean."
Seymour the Slimeball cooly responded: "Floosia, dear, I am deep in conversation with this elegant creature to my left, but give me just a minute and I'll be sure to find you.....Oh no, I know precisely how....look for the circle of ardent admirers and batter my way through, yes dear..."
Floosia stifled a girlish giggle behind a paw and scurried off to report the news that Doctor Seymour Furgleblatt had most certainly made a pass at her.

Meanwhile, Seymour slurmed away at the bar. "Thank you, elegant creature, for saving me, if only temporarily, from the clutches of Floosia Neshova."
"Why do I feel as if I've been used to a nefarious end?" asked the woman.
Furgleblatt leered at her and raised his glass: "Well then, a toast to nefarious beginnings."
The woman, for all outward appearances, casually shifted her weight to lean on the bar close to Furgleblatt, but inside, she was tense and ready to spring. She coyly raised her glass and said: "But I never drink with strangers..."
The slug stuck out an appendage and boldly said, "Doctor Seymour Furgleblatt, at your service." She shook hands with him, barely restraining herself from plunging her hand through his fleshy body and pulling out his hearts, however many there were.

"THE Seymour Furgleblatt? I am such a fan of your work!" the woman lied. "Your paper on the development of Max Weber's socialist ideals in the music of Andrew Lloyd Weber was truly the definitive work in capitalistic music tendencies....Wow, what an honour..." she hoped she wouldn't have to go on for much longer, and thankfully, the slug took the bait. He had a pretty good idea of where he'd like to find his treasures after this stuffy party, and for insurance, he grabbed his drink in one hand and the woman's arm in the other, steering her out to the patio, mumbling something about 'fresh air' in the midst of all of her adulation.

As the door closed in a pneumatic hiss behind them, Furgleblatt, out of some sluggish sense of propriety, but not caring in the least, asked: "And you dear, your name?"
The woman, hearing the door seal behind them, coldly answered: "Not that it matters now, but my name is Stone. Sister Rosetta Stone." She then slowly took from her cleavage a small shaker of salt that she had palmed from the bar, and quietly advanced on Furgleblatt. His eyes bulged at the ends of his antennae as she continued: "Yeah, Seymour, your time is up. See, one day, all of this will have to come to an end. Not just you, or here, but ALL of it. All of the threads will end and collapse, time will double back on itself, and we can't have that altered by worms like you finding out The Imponderables."

Seymour began to sweat a noxious green puddle on the ground, but the woman advanced: "We know about your work on Earth music, Seymour. We know you are oh-so-close", she purred into his pinnae, "You might be just days away from discovering who really did put the bomp in the bomp-shoo-bomp-shoo-bomp, and we can have that, can we Seymour?" Furgleblatt shook his head in agreement, anything to stem the tide, but the woman continued: "No, we can't have that..."

Rosetta calmly unscrewed the lid to the salt shaker, and upended it over Furgleblatt's head. His skin steamed as soon as the crystals made conact, and she stood and watched the chemical magic in its entirety. Ironically, she thought, the noise that a Furgleblatt makes when it dies sounds amazingly like 'furgleblatt'. She stepped back from the puddle of goo on the floor, and quickly removed one of her earrings. She tapped the stone in the middle three times, said out loud: "It's done, boys, bring me home.", then dropped the earring on a clean portion of the floor. A brilliant blue beam of light shot from the stone, and Rosetta stepped into it, disappearing from Quadran9's past, present and future.

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: MMario
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 11:34 AM

Can yew not even spake the Overlords Galatic? Spayre parts! Not a sangle spayre! Not even a wae pace of Chelydra serpentina. Witho' tha' yew aren't moving oft this yar.

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: katlaughing
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 11:39 AM

'tis trew, then? 'tis roily Spayre? Too right, then, Spayre 'tis! LOL

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: JenEllen
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 12:16 PM

Agent Stone, in her space-vixen cat-suit, reappeared in a burst of light. She shook her head a bit, travel always made her mind fuzzy, and upon collecting herself, flashed a brilliant smile to the men in the control booth. "Thanks, fellas. Glad to make it home with the same number of holes I started out with." She stepped off the transport stage and walked over to the waiting group of uniformed guards. "The Commander? Wants to see me? Why? Oh, of course, you know nothing, that's why they give you the guns, right?" She spun on her heel and quickly walked away from the guards.

When she finally reached her cabin that night, she could have walked on air. She entered and saw the figure sitting at the table, deep in concentration, and she crept up slowly behind him.
"You're late." said the man, spoiling any chance Rosetta had for surprise. She sighed loudly, shoving all of the papers off the table and then crawling up to sit cross-legged in front of him.
"I have a good excuse." she said
"Which is?"
Rosetta took a small silver envelope out from behind her back and gleefully waved it in front of him, singing: "I got a promotion! I got a promotion!"

"Oh fine." replied the man "Here I am, stuck in Snurfleezian Research Unit for how many years? And you get promoted to....where did you get promoted to?" he asked
"Instigation." she replied, "And it's only 'cause I look better in a cat-suit." she crawled off the table and began to raid the refrigeration unit while the man continued to mutter behind her.

The next morning found Agent Rosetta Stone on the transport stage, her orders duly memorized. "See you guys later." she purred as she disappeared in the flash of light.

When the stars left her eyes, Agent Stone found herself in the bustle of an Earth city. She'd forgotten about the noise and the smoke of those historic days before the BigClean, and she rubbed her eyes and coughed slightly in the haze. She started walking and caught a glimpse of herself in a shop window. Simple dress, sensible shoes and matching handbag, hat with a feather in it, not altogether unpleasant. She continued walking until she reached the bar that was named in her orders from the Commander.

She sat inside, slowly nursing a soda water until the woman came in. She had a sweet face, one to puffy from crying to be termed beautiful at this point, but sweet. Rosetta smiled at her. The woman walked to the bar and said: "One glass of beer." She took the glass and waited a minute before hesitantly asking "Bartending man, has my sweet-loving Johnny been here?"

The bartender shrugged, and Rosetta leaned towards the woman. She leaned low and whispered: "Frankie, I ain't gonna tell you no stories gal..." but the bartender, being the inveterate snoop that bartenders must be to do the work that they do, did NOT want to be scooped by this woman in a feathered hat. He broke in quickly saying: "I saw your Johnny not one hour ago, talkin' wit' Miz Nellie Bly."

Frankie turned to run out the door, but Rosetta caught her arm. The two walked together out into the bright day. Rosetta whispered her shallow condolences, and hinted that Frankie could take care of this once and for all, if she had a mind to. After all, a hundred dollar suit of clothes? In this day and age? The man owed her something, to be sure. With that, Rosetta reached into her handbag and gingerly took out a small pistol. With all of the sisterly love and solidarity she could muster, she gave it to Frankie, who took the gun and marched purposefully down the street.

Agent Stone hung back a few paces, trailing her quarry through the dirty streets, until they came to a small tenament building. She saw Frankie climb the stairs, and a few minutes later she heard the pistol shots that were a song in the making.

Her first mission in Instigation was a success.

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: MMario
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 12:17 PM

Tha's just the point, there are na' spayres! The tayme staitafier - the mast essential pace of aquiptmen' on the murgatroid ship is gone south like the provarbial flamed fart! crisp! and no Chelydra serpintina to replace it wi'!

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: katlaughing
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 01:42 PM

Oh, Rowwww-aaahhn, Joss called out in a sing-song to the large centauroid. Could you lead us in that old salty water shan'ti, again? You know, the original version before the words were folking processed for Space travel? She hoped Professor Abelard would notice she was trying to help. If everyone was distracted enough, maybe he and that poly-glotted tongued Crauford could figure out what to do. C'mon, Roan, please?

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: MMario
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 01:51 PM

sure thing! Clearing his throat, the centauroid launched into a spirited rendition of an old favorite - found in the remains of a pre-nuclear family dwelling.

The seaweed is always greener
In somebody else's lake
You dream about going up there
But that is a big mistake
Just look at the world around you
Right here on the ocean floor
Such wonderful things surround you
What more is you lookin' for?

Under the sea, under the sea
Darling it's better down where it's wetter
Take it from me
Up on the shore they work all day
Out in the sun they slave away
While we're devoting full time to floating
Under the sea, ha ha...

Down here all the fish is happy
As after the waves they roll
The fish on the land ain't happy
They sad 'cause they in the bowl!
But fish in the bowl is lucky
They in for a worser fate
One day when the boss get hungry
Guess who goin' be on the plate?

Wo-no, under the sea
Under the sea
Nobody beat us, fry us and eat us
In frickazee
We what the land folks loves to cook
Under the sea we off the hook
We've got no troubles, life is the bubbles
Under the sea (under the sea)
Under the sea (under the sea)
Since life is sweet here, we got the beat here
Naturally (naturally-ee-ee-ee)
Even the sturgeon and the ray
They get the urge and start to play
We've got the spirit, you've got to hear it
Under the sea

The lute play the flute
The carp play the harp
The plaice play the bass and they soundin' sharp
The bass play the brass
The chub play the tub
The fluke is the duke of soul (yeah)
The ray, he can play the lings on the strings
The trout acting out
The blackfish he sings
The smelt and the sprat
They know where it's at
And oh, that blowfish blow!

Yeah, under the sea
Under the sea
When the sardine begin the beguine
It's music to me (music is to me)
What do they got, a lot of sand?
We've got a hot crustacean band
Each little clam here know how to jam here
Under the sea
Each little slug here cutting a rug here
Under the sea
Each little snail here know how to wail here
That's why it's hotter under the water
Yeah, we in luck here down under the muck here
Under the sea

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: MMario
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 01:52 PM

Hope that was the one you were thinking about

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From: MMario
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 02:01 PM

or maybe it was this one

I'm marching inland from the shore
Over me shoulder I'm carrying an oar
When someone asks what is that funny thing you've got
I know I'll never go to sea no more, no more
Than I know I'll never go to sea no more

Lord Nelson had a sure fire way of curing mal-de-mer
And if you pay attention, his secret I will share
To any seasick sailor, he'd give this advice for free
If you're feeling seasick, sit underneath a tree

I'm marching inland from the shore
Over me shoulder I'm carrying an oar
When someone asks what is that funny thing you've got
I know I'll never go to sea no more, no more
Than I know I'll never go to sea no more

Columbus he set sail to find out if the world was round
He kept up sailing to the West until he ran aground
He thought he found the Indians but he found the USA
I know some navigators who can still do that today

I'm marching inland from the shore
Over me shoulder I'm carrying an oar
When someone asks what is that funny thing you've got
I know I'll never go to sea no more, no more
Than I know I'll never go to sea no more

Drake is in his hammock .......

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: JenEllen
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 02:22 PM

"Hullo Sugarlips," Rosetta whispered as she leaned over the figure seated at the table, "Tough day tied to the desk of knowledge?"
"Brutal." he replied, smiling. "And how were things along the space-time rails today?"
"Oh, you know. A jump to the left, a step to the right, hands on my hips, knees in tight.." The man rolled his eyes in mock exasperation and Rosetta continued: "Okay. Unbelievable, to say the least." she sighed, and quickly recounted her day in the slums of 20th century America. "And tomorrow..." she handed him the silver sheet of her assignment and perched lightly on the table as he quickly scanned the document. His face grew dark.
"How do you plan to pull this off?" he asked
"Not sure just yet. I'll have to evaluate the scene, to be sure, but I think I'll probably just do it myself and save the trouble of waiting...."

"Oh yes," he looked at her grimly "Icy though. I suppose even my life would mean little if there were a song involved?"
Rosetta laughed and drew her finger quickly across her throat in a slashing motion. "Like the proverbial doornail, my sweet." She grinned again, and when the smile slowly crept across his face as well, she kissed him punishingly.

That evening, as they lie tangled, he turned to her and said: "You know, it's been discovered."
"Whassat?" she mumbled
"Portal technology is no longer a secret, I think. There was talk at conference today about more than a few groups planning leisurely jaunts through no-man's land."
"Meaning?" she yawned
"Meaning, be careful." his kissed her forehead as she drifted off to sleep.

Morning rose, and Rosetta found herself on a dusty road near a small farmhouse. Tattered cotton dress, no shoes, and definately no feather in her cap on this one. For lack of having a pocket to put it in, she went behind the barn to hide her transmitter. She then followed the road into a small, dusty cotton town, and she spent the morning in search of her prey. She spotted the woman, leaving the house of a friend, and followed her to the general store. She saw the woman talking to various people, one of whom was a tall, broad man. "Perfect." she thought to herself.

That evening, she followed the woman on her walk home. The moon was dancing on the tops of the trees and providing enough light to navigate the road by, and the slight breeze brought up a chill. Rosetta stayed far enough behind to not attract attention from anything but the occasional stray dog, and the woman walked ahead unknowing.

Near the spot where Rosetta materialized that morning, the woman paused to look to the sky, and Rosetta swiftly walked up behind her. She put both her hands around the woman's throat and squeezed. The instant her fingers touched the woman's flesh, the woman foreced a scream that was blunted by the sheer force on her throat. She fought for life--kicking Rosetta in the legs, stomping on her feet, using her free hands to scratch furrows across the shoulders and neck of her assailant. In minutes that seemed like hours to Rosetta, the woman finally went limp and fell to the ground. Rosetta crouched over her, poked her a time or two, and marveled to herself how she wasn't exactly sure if the woman was dead or not, but this was as close as she thought she was going to get.

She stood and looked a moment longer, then the cold breeze brought her back to the present. She was cold. That woman wasn't going to need her coat, and she sure as hell wasn't going to need those shoes. She stripped the corpse of what she needed, and walked back down the road to the small farmhouse. She paused at the window for a moment and watched the Dooley man, what did they say his name was? No matter. He was eating a solitary meal at a wooden table. Rosetta went behind the barn, shed the coat and shoes, retrieved her transmitter, and went home.

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Peter T.
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 03:16 PM

"It is very odd," said George. "It is like a prism, listening to you."

Damien5, his hands curled around a beer, which was unlike those in the Glorblepub in that it contained water, could scarcely rein in his simultaneous excitement and humiliation. Virtually everything he had learned, taught, researched, was completely wrong. Most tellingly, he realized very quickly that his slang was at least 10 years out of date, and that he needed to ditch the beret and the goatee, and the double snapping of his fingers, of which the last was certainly the easiest to get rid of. If he could only get back to the present, er, his own time, he would be a superstar, they would name universities after him. He had weighed very early on telling George everything, but had decided instead to create a mythical country in SouthEast Asia which had been part of the Malay States, and was therefore run by British expatriates, though far, far away, beyond the reach of newspapers and Melody Maker.

"Well," said George, finishing his tea. "I have to get back. There is some chance that the lads will come in today, or at least Ringo and Paul. Anything else I can help you with on the fly?"

Damien thought quickly. "I did wonder, and maybe you can help explain, why did Bob Dylan give up the electric guitar and take up the acoustic guitar at the Newport Festival? It seems to have been extremely controversial, for reasons that have escaped even Professor Theobald, the great Dylan scholar."

George Martin -- not for the first time -- felt that he was speaking to a child playing tossup with an extremely valuable Ming vase. Some part of him wanted to flee, but some other part nagged at him."

"Look," he said, "Why don't you come back to the studio with me, and we can continue this for a bit, till the end of the day anyway. It is unlikely anything interesting is going on, it has all ground to a halt anyway mostly. You can ask me some more questions, and I will do my best."

"That is very generous of you, Sir," said Damien5.

"Have you ever heard of Spike Milligan?" said George as they passed out of the bar.

"Of course," replied Damien5, "Nobel Prize for Literature, 1969."

"Well, I am sure Spike will be thrilled, well deserved. But I meant that our conversation had something of Spike's quality."

"You mean?"

"I mean that one should not be afraid to jump, the ground will break your fall anyway."

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Amos
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 03:30 PM

The deep canyon on the far side of Io was little traveled, mostly by occasional youthful males in noisy surface buggies pretending they were pioneering, safe within their self-sustaining Vitenviron bubbles. The lodge was not visible from the primary path along the canyon floor. Most of it was built in to the stark, towering canyon sides, its life-protecting dome camouflaged with layers of the same white Ionian shale that formed the mountains and canyons. It was protected by cameras well hidden in crevices, and where there were viewports they were set well back into the rock, preventing detection from flyovers or ground-grunt wannabe explorers who had neither the stamina or the courage to scale the sheer canyon walls.

Deep within the recesses of the lodge, a huge auditorium, completely hidden from detection by outsiders, was buzzing with the spirited exchanges of women. Hundreds of them, ranging from stately matriarchal centenariices to bright-eyed, eternally hopeful vixens in shapely moonskin clingsuits circulated energetically, sipping refreshments from pressurized podlets and comparing outfits, ideas, feelings, jewelry and relationships at a mad rate.

A giant gong sounded, reverberating in a brassy bass from every corner of the midnight-blue chambers, and the storm of alto and soproano chatter reluctantly faded like an argumentative wave leaving a warm beach. On the stage, silvered beams of light appeared, a forewarning to the gathered audience that an Appearance was imminent. A soft pale thumb pressed a control on a silvered belt, and the column of silver light was filled in millisecond by a strong-jawed shapely form. Garbed in scarlet flaring rings of Martian light-matrix which clunged and tumbled along her curves, her Titian locks waving gracefully down to her shoulders, the Executrix stepped forward. Her voice, soft and compelling, was amplified and carried to every seat in the house.

"Sisters!" she called. A hush fell over the enchanted gaggle.

"We are approaching the most critical inflexion point in our history. I have called this meeting to advise you on developments, and to suggest to you that we are in need of immediate cooperative action."

A murmur, partly of excitement, partly of irritation, spread like a low wisper through the hall.

"The critical hinge point we are facing threatens to lead us through a change which will entirely undo our work for the centuries."

"I have asked Doctor Petrosia to explain the situation. The political factors you know; the key vector in the risk matrix surrounds a particular discovery which has been estimated as a 9-alpha event in the next sheaf of temporal branches, which means it may be ineluctable. The event descriptors indicate the discvovery or archetypal forms in our musical lineage transcending any prior discoveries, with the resultant recoloration of all our historical abstractions. Yes, I am talking about thepopular myth called Ur-Song -- except that it is threatening as I have described to become not a myth, but an event in our common future. Doctor petrosia is one of this sector's foremost authorities on n-dimensional probabiliity problems."

The glamorous executive passed the light to a graying, stately matriarch. A lengthy technical explanation of obscure matrix calculations and a brief summation of implications rolled out of her mouth like well-formed statuary. A flock of waving hands shot up as she concluded her description of the situation.

"Doctor Petrosia!! How do you claim to have eliminated the nebular-uncertainty factor from your analysis? Classical matrices such as the one you describe are by their nature impossible to resolve in more than one vector of uncertainty!! You are asserting that youhave completed the impossible!"

The stately matriarch looked over her archaic spectacles, worn mostly as a form of antiquartian jewelry, at the questioner, an overweight blonde woman in her mid-seventies, still youthful in her demanding arrogance.

" I resolved the nebulus element by a new transform Ihave developed based on intersecting the Schrodinger wave extension with a Timmerman series."

"Don't be ridiculous, Doctor!! There aren't five people in known space who even understand how the Timmerman series works, let alone what it means!!"

"That may have been the case for the last five centuries, dear child; but I assure you allit will not be the case after next cycle's ethercast of Scio."

A shocked murmur ran through the assembly as the implication of the speaker's words sank in.

No-one noticed a youthful woman in silver-sheenglow robes leaving her seat, her long auburn braids bouncing energetically behind her as she slipped through the door to the exit and the roverpark.

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: MMario
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 03:58 PM

Roan broke off his rendition of the ancient forebiter (rumoured to have been written by the same author as the famous Illiad) having glanced again at the chronolocater.

His gaze riveted to the flashing digits of the display - stumbled closer to eggressway over which it hung.

Is that date what I think he whispered?

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: JenEllen
Date: 23 Aug 02 - 07:56 PM

"That was fast." he said as the door hissed closed behind her. "Take any more innocent lives than necessary, my dear?"
"No more than required, Commander." Agent Stone replied. The Commander smiled to himself at the magnificence in engineering that created the willful woman not entirely at his command. "The Ministry of Instigation will be pleased, I am sure." He paused before handing her a silver envelope from the top of his desk. "Your next assignment won't be so easy." he sighed "A touch more cultivation than you have been accustomed to, but I think you'll manage just fine."
Rosetta opened the envelope, quickly scanning the contents before smiling at the Commander. "I accept."

The harsh winds of the Mongolian steppe whipped her robes, but the horse she rode was steady. She saw the scattered column of riders in the distance and turned her horse to intercept. As she fell in to the ranks, a few of the riders nodded to her. The battle was half won. "Ur'sta", fellow warrior, joined the motley band in their travels to aid the friendly tribe in their war with brothers to the west.

When the group reached the encampment, Rosetta fell into the rhythm of the hunter once again. When she saw him, she exclaimed in the strange mongol tongue: "Cousin! It is I, Ur'sta! Come to fight by your side!" and the man, though not recognizing this strange cousin by sight, was welcoming any sword at the moment. He grabbed Ur'sta in a fierce embrace and led 'him' to his tent.
"Wife," he said "This is our cousin, sharing our lives, sharing our blood." His wife nodded politely and fixed Rosetta a bowl of stew.

That night, as the fires roared, then men somewhat drunkenly took turns proclaiming their skill in battle, and the plans were made. The first group would lead at dawn, the second sometime after. Their enemy would not be expecting fresh men and horses to ride down upon them in the heat of battle, victory would be theirs. By the luck of the draw, Rosetta was slated to ride in the second group, and her 'cousin' in the first.

As the sun rose, families clung together and warriors made their peace. His wife didn't want to seem anxious, she sat milking the goat. Rosetta saw his wife straining to hide her tears. She also saw him walk over to her. "Hush," he told her. "Watch me ride over the hill. If you can see me at the top of the hill, I will come back to you unharmed. If you don't see me, I won't be coming back at all." His wife nodded bravely, they embraced, and as the band of warriors rode towards the hills, Rosetta watched them go.

His wife watched in earnest, squinting in the early light, and as the band reached the crest of the hill, Rosetta cried out: "Ay! The milk is overflowing!"
His wife turned quickly, saw nothing wrong, and quickly returned her gaze to the hills, but by then, the band had disappeared over the horizon. The wife cries out for her husband: "Semsehlchyn!" but he was not at the top of the hill. He is lost forever.

By all rights, Rosetta/Ur'sta should have returned to the Ministry at once, but the thrill of the hunt was too great. She imagined she could smell the blood on the wind, and when the second band of warriors gathered their horses, she was among them. She rode well, fought better, and satisfied herself by seeing the place where Semsehlchyn fell. "The warrior may have died, but he dispatched a few souls before doing so." she smiled.

That night at the campfire, Semsehlchyn's wife was not to be consoled. She took their infant son in her arms and cradling him, sang the song of his father.
My wife don't cry
If you can see me on the top of the hill, I will return to you
If you do not see me, I am lost
I asked the warriors when they returned: Is he with the camels?
No, said they, he fell
I asked the camels when they returned:
Is he with the colts?
No, said they, he fell
I asked the colts when they returned:
Is he with the footsoldiers?
No, said they, he fell

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Chip2447
Date: 24 Aug 02 - 12:32 AM

The further back in time they travelled, the more ill at ease he felt. Something nagged at him. He couldn't put a finger on it.

His stomach did it's customary flip flop lurch each time the hit the crest of a time wave. Urk.... At least he wasn't puking his socks up anymore.

Restricted, as it were, to his stateroom, or better yet, the Fresher in his stateroom gave him time to ponder these heirlooms. From what he had been able to piece together from the scraps of information that had been found in all of his ancestors personal effects... SVARKSHIT! did all of his ancestors have a penchant for making little notes containing cryptic and useless information. Unconsciously, he activated the datalink to his personal beltcomp: "Note to self...chk alpha list 4 datum rltng 2 golf gamma niner."... From what he had been able to piece together from scraps of available information, this strange affliction with these small musical flutes had begun sometime on earth in the late 20th century..."Note to self...get library tapes for that time frame...something must have spark the old man's intrestest in these simple whistles"...From what he was able to piece together the family patriarch of that time had taken to calling himself Ocarinageek... Suddenly, like a wild and rabid swamp muggle it hit him. Ocarinageek!!! Being a geniemod, concieved in a labortory and given his designation, his Name, was homage to the old man...Ocarinageek... OG17 picked up one of the small clay flutes and began trying to determine how it was played....

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: JenEllen
Date: 24 Aug 02 - 04:52 AM

He entered the room to find Rosetta sitting and staring out the window. "New assignment got you down, space-vixen?" he joked. She nodded towards the table, with the tell-tale silver envelope sitting on it. He quickly read its contents and looked up at her nervously, "You aren't going to do it, are you?" he asked.
"My first commission." she answered glumly
"You don't have a choice?" he offered
"Oh, I have a choice. It's either that, or take a trip back to 1957 and talk Paul McCartney into taking me to this really gear place called St Peter's Church to hear this little band called the Quarrymen..." she looked at him nervously
"Well, I suppose it might be different if you actually cared about these people....But you don't, do you?"
"I don't care about anyone." she answered coldly
"Not even me." he stated plainly
Rosetta stared at him a second, then returned her gaze to the snow falling lightly outside the window. "Not even you."

Her skin glowed in the light of the full moon. Not wanting to startle her prey prematurely, she ducked into the nocturnal shade of the lone tree at the side of the road. She hadn't long to wait before the drunken man came stumbling up the road, cursing and sobbing under his breath. He called out to Satan himself, but it was only her voice that answered him. "He ain't gonna help you, friend." she drawled. The man's dark skin went ashy as she stepped out into the moonlight. "Hey now," she continued "You got a drink for a fellow traveler?"

The man, under the spell of the moon, or whiskey, or perhaps stunned by the sight of a white woman out in these parts all on her lonesome, staggered over and handed her the bottle. Rosetta took a long drink and handed it back. Coughing slightly, she said "A man got to be mighty low to come out here on a night like this."
"Woman," the man answered "You don't know how low a man can get." He took a drink for himself, and after swallowing, decided he should sit before he fell. He sat leaning against the tree and told her, in between their visits to the bottle, how he had lost his wife and baby in childbirth. He had come out here for forgiveness, redemption, damnation, whatever God or the Devil saw fit to grant him.

Rosetta listened calmly, the liquor warming her to her core, and when the man finished talking, she sighed and spoke: "Low. I'll tell you what's low. Low is leaving your home day after day, only to scoot all over killing people for something you can't put a finger on. Would be different if it were for money, but it's not."
The man nodded appreciatively, not having the faintest idea what she was talking about. "Damn straight." he coughed.
Rosetta, drunk as can be, echoed his sentiments, then proceeded to tell him everything about her work and the Ministry. The man looked at her in astonishment and suddenly broke into laughter. "You don't believe me!" she yelled "Well.....I'll show you" She stumbled to her feet, clutching the tree for support, and fighting off a wave of giggles of her own. She took the pendant from around her neck, tapped the stone a few times, hiccuped, and said "Hey fellas, change of plans. Guillotine me." In a blue flash of light, her modest dress was replaced with an enormous hooped skirt, and atop her head was a ridiculous powdered wig.

The man looked at her and his jaw dropped. She saucily answered, "Like that do ya? Well, get a load of this..." She tapped the pendant again and giggled: "Okay guys, now....ummm.... Space-vixen!" and in a similar flash of light, her frills and powder were replaced with a very functional, albeit skin-hugging, silver suit, to which the man not only dropped his jaw, but he dropped his bottle too.
At once, the giggles returned, and the man exclaimed: "Woman, you look like an angel, but you must done be from the devvil hisself."
Rosetta replied, sitting beside him once again, "You know, you might just be right."

The two sat for a moment more, staring at the starry sky, before the man asked her: "Well then, what you here for?"
"To kill you." she replied honestly. "Hang you from this tree so some sap can write a song about you killing yourself after your wife and baby died."
"You gonna do it?"
"I don't think so." she answered. That sat for a moment longer before she turned to him and said: "Did you ever think about playing the guitar?" The man laughed openly and told her he didn't have a musical bone in his body. "Well, there's this guy, Ike. He's a retired agent, a great teacher. I'll bet he could help you learn. Tell you what," she said teasingly, "You learn to play the guitar, and I just might let you live."

That night, Robert Johnson walked away from the crossroads, not sure exactly what had happened other than the fact that he had an empty whiskey bottle in his hand and a piece of silver paper with Ike Zimmerman's name on it in his pocket.

Rosetta went home, delightfully drunk. When she stepped off of the transport platform, the guards were waiting. They hurried her straight to the Commander's office.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" he howled at her. "How many of the Ministry's rules you have broken?"
"Oh, what's the worst that can happen?" she asked mockingly, yet knowing full well that not killing that man was the best thing she could have done.

"What could happen?" the Commander yelled. "I'll show you just what could happen..." he grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards the screen: The sum total of the Ministry of Instigation's effects. "Your boy learned to play, all right. Then spent the remainder of his very short life divided between playing music and spouting about 'the devil' showing him the way."
"That's wrong." said Rosetta, pulling back from him. "He was going to have a good life..."
"A good life? Look here.....not eight years later and a bartender is sick to death of hearing him complain about silver devil women and poisons him. Not only poisons him, but the man then spends three days in agony, crawling along the floor and snapping like a dog, all the while raving about devils and angels and traveling through time....Thankfully, with Ike in such close proximity, we were able to obtain the body...."

With that, Rosetta felt the alcohol she had consumed threaten to make a reappearance, and she ran from the Commander's office. The guards looked to the Commander, but he waved them off. "Let her go....." He then turned back to the SumScreen and smiled to himself as he cued up "HotTamales" and it drifted through the speakers. "....Boys...there's a sucker born every minute."

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: katlaughing
Date: 24 Aug 02 - 10:01 AM

Brava, Jen!!! Bravo, Everyone!!

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Peter T.
Date: 24 Aug 02 - 03:20 PM

Even George was surprised when they returned to the studio to find that all four of the Beatles were in, though they were mostly in separate rooms, vying with each other in a mysterious curdled way that boded no good.

George said to Damien:

"You have to be very careful not to say anything, they are seriously on each other's nerves these days, it was only with the greatest effort that I got them into the studio again, we are on eggshells. George took him in tow, like some foreign dignitary -- and there was a brief flash of more than continuing strangeness in the fact that something now seemed wrong with Damien's face (he had dumped the goatee, ripping it off his face, as they passed a post box on the street, while George was explaining the concept of a Girl Group, rather than Girl Groupies, which -- Damien thought with increasing giddines, would certainly put a spoke in the wheel of Professor Crublex9 of Tulane, who had made his name with his Phd Thesis on "Phallic Practices among the Bacchae, the Shirelles, and other Girl Groupies".

As they went from studio to studio, George saying hi, introducing him to an oblivious Beatle, Damien also came to realize that more was wrong with the past than he had ever dreamed, even a few minutes ago. The four Beatles were the same people, with different names, as the four last male Prime Ministers of Britain, before the Political Sexuality Act had been promulgated in 2005. They were not, in fact, Tony Blair, John Major, Jim Callaghan, and Edward "WhiteHeat" Heath, but other people, whose names he only faintly grabbed in passing -- Paul, George, James, and Ringle, he thought at first, and then got them more or less right as the day wore on. He winced at the memory of his own B.A. paper, suggesting that one of the four was in fact Freddie Garrity.

But this was small potatoes, compared to the moment when while they were having a somewhat hazy discussion with Jim Callaghan, sorry, James Lennon, sorry John Lennon, about something called "Mean Mr. Mustard", a thin blackclothed Japanese woman strode in, and parked herself in the nearest corner, complete with incense burner. Damien reeled to himself: could this be? Could it be Condolezza Schwartz, the one woman in this time he had secretly wished to meet, and that he knew was somehow associated with the extraordinary pivot moment in time that was enshrined in the Rock Music annals as BCS and ACS. Could it be?

George and Damien moved back to the hushed space where the banks of sound machines sat, waiting. A junior technician spoke in low tones to George, and then moved out of the room, leaving space for Damien.

"Who is the woman?" said Damien, trembling.

"That's Yoko," said George, shrugging his shoulders. "Yoko Ono."

"Oh", Damien said, somewhat deflated as a historian, but interested as a man. "She is very, very --"

"Well, some people would say disruptive." George flipped on the mike. "Any chance of a runthrough, John?"

John shook his head. He was in one of his non talk days.

George shrugged his shoulders again, and said, "Hold the fort, I am going to check out what George is up to, he was working on a James Taylor song for some reason."

Damien sat quite contentedly in the studio, marvelling at the incredibly antiquated technology. If only Professor Grooddbrack0 could be here -- the bastard who beat him out for the job at Mars-Harvard. Idiot. Mick Jaeger and the Nurk Twins. Hah!!

The door to the control room opened, and Yoko Ono walked in.

"Hello," she said.

"Oh, hello," Damien replied.

"I've been watching you, you have the strangest movements."


"I am an artist, I watch people, you have non-Western movements, almost Eastern, disconcerting."

Damien weighed his story. "I am from Malaysia, or rather the Malay States, Borneo, you know, never been west this far. First time in the West."

"Oh", Yoko said. "How interesting. I once had the same experience, though now it is anaesthetized by life. What does it seem like to you?"

"Er," replied Damien, looking into her unerringly staring eyes. " Er, strange. Well, first off, everyone is so disgustingly filthy. They exude dirt. Not like in my time -- er, place. We vacuum ourselves."

Yoko broke out laughing. "Oh, exactly, " she said. "You might be Japanese."

Damien laughed as well. And then it hit him. He remembered where he had seen her face before. Well, not exactly her face. In the Louvre.

"You --" he said, excitedly, "You are Mono Ono Lisa!!!"

She looked at him quizzically.

"In the Louvre, you --" he blushed, "The photograph, the most famous photograph of the 20th century. Naked. Holding hands with -- well, no one knows, the other half is ripped off. Everyone studies it in school. Mono Ono Lisa."

"You mean this?" And she rummaged in a pile of albums stacked in the corner. "This is 'Two Virgins'. It is an album cover. A statement of innocence."

Damien looked at the complete picture, and a shadow of disappointment flickered over him. The other person she was with was James, John, Lennon, the man in the next room.

"Oh," he said. "Him. He's the other half. Sorry, your other half."

Yoko looked at him carefully for a moment. "Yes," she said definitively, and left the room.

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Chip2447
Date: 24 Aug 02 - 04:26 PM

Flip Flop..lurch...URK...GAWD he hated that...

They were nearing his time wave. The spot where the first indication of the old man's interest in these ocarinas had lead him to record some music using them.

Good old Google, nothing has changed in 500 years, well except he no longer had to do any thing as archaiac as ask his beltcomp for a search, with the datalink he mearly had to think about it. Using "ocarinageek 2004 mp3" (an old, relatively inefficient music storage medium) He found listings for something called a CD by the title of "Earthsongs" Unfortunatly, he couldnt find any existing examples of the old man's work.

He leaned back and wondered why he was starting to find these instruments fascinating? Dismissing that thought as being coincidental, he picked up the ocarina that was rumoured to be the old man's favorite and played a simple little tune...

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Chip2447
Date: 25 Aug 02 - 08:18 AM

He felt even more...weird... now that he was actually here. The sense of deja vu that he had experienced when he set foot in this strange, but then again familiar place had not faded.

He had choosen the wrong set of ancient columns. His research had told him that the old man could be found under the columns, playing on of his, he couldn't think of them as toys anymore, while these had a range of slightly more than one octave, he was begining to see that the tunes that they produced could be more than just simple.

Fortunatly, the other set of columns were easily visible at the far end of this public transportation thoroughfare. He glanced around for a slidewalk, then suddenly remembered that they were just a novelty then, now, he corrected himself.

This concept of now and then grated on his sensibilities. Was that insect that he just stepped on destined to be the founding lineage of a sentient race? Had he not journeyed into THEN would that have evolved into a master race? Had he just done humankind a great service by destroying the forefather of a malign race of six legged masters to enslave them? SVARKSHIT, that made his head hurt.

As he strolled down the avenue he began to feel strange, not sick, not quite nervous, but rather weak in the knee and dizzy. Nearing the other columns he thought he heard faint snatches of a familiar sound. Suddenly, he realized that sound was the sound of the old mans tiniest ocarina, the tiny 25mm one. Recently, He had grown very accustomed to it's light and airy tone. But now to hear it being played by someone! He quickened his pace, though not enough to cause the local residents concern.

It was easy to follow the sound of the tune. It led him into a greenspace near the stone columns.

Panic set in as the tune drifted off into nothingness. He set off in a run toward the small group of people standing under the shade of a huge oak tree. That seemed to be where the sound had emanated from. As he drew nearer he was overwhelmed by vertigo. Vertigo and emotion.

His feet tangled in each other and as he sprawled headlong into the street. The only thing he thought before he lost consciousness was something about a bad reaction of genetic memory that happens when a clone is brought into close proximity of the original....

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Tweed
Date: 25 Aug 02 - 11:40 AM

Tweed stirred under the gunny sack he'd pulled over himself sometime during the nite. It was still dark outside but the rooster was busy calling in the new day.
" f#$*$#, shut the f#%$ UP!"
He started the coffee pot and went out the door to water the weeds growing around and through the back porch. He was seriously considering a Sunday chicken dinner when he noticed an odd looking light on the hill bouncing among the pines. As he watched with concern growing in his Sterno-dulled brain, it moved down the slope and towards the old shack, almost spherical in shape like the glob of mercury he and his buddies had collected from the Co-op's thermometers as kids. There'd been an article in the local paper back then regarding the thefts and numerous Letters to the Editor sent in on the subject.
He backed away to relative safety behind the screen door and watched the slow and deliberate advance of the shimmering globule as it rolled to a stop at the steps of the porch. It was taller than he was and once it settled down it became perfectly rounded.
"Whut the hail is that thing?" he muttered, dazed, to no one in particular.
A feminine voice coming from the general direction of the orb echoed his question word for word. "Whut the hail is that thing?"
Confused by this vocalization from a glob of mercury, Tweed looked around to see what "She" was talking about and was embarrassed to discover that in his haste he'd forgotten to put himself back in his bibs.
"er..ahh...dammit...morning wood... I beg yer pardon Ma'am..." and turned to put things right, not thinking it odd at all that he was embarrassed to have inadvertently exposed himself to a bubble of liquid metal in the pre-dawn hours, on his backporch.
"Dangit" he thought, fumbling with the brass buttons, "cain't even tek a piss outside no more wiffout some dang weirdass thing happenin' arount here. Last week it were wolverines..."
The coffee was beginning to perk on the stove. Somewhere the old rooster crowed for day and there was heard a decidedly unladylike laughter coming from within the silver sphere. Tweed, still redfaced, turned and stared frozen, through the rusted screen at the astonishing sight unfolding in his back yard....

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Amos
Date: 25 Aug 02 - 10:04 PM

The Executrix slammed her plump but perfectly shaped body into the liftoff seat in the cross-orbit hopper with a bang,

"Jemil, get this toadhopping bag of radioactive ions to hell and gone out of here or I'll burn off your damned parturition nodes with a Tellurian spice ray! I need the cross-Galac terminal and I need it now!!"

The large round green gelatinous mass on the pilot's station chair unrolled itself and extended a receptor stalk in her general direction.

" Glaaa-sha—noop?"

"Never mind that, Nosy Parker!! Get the hell off this moonscape NOW!!"

The hopper duly lifted away from the dusty surface of Io and joined a merging orbit with a tiny decay factor built into it that would land it on the Jovian surface in the center of the entry port for the TransGalac Terminal, the only site in the local systemn with big enough shields to withstand the warp of a stardrive intialization vector without disintegrating.

She tossed her Titian locks angrily to one side as she pulled on the mandatory slip-field suit and readied herself for the transition to the starship. She was preoccupied with her concerns, and failed to notice the slight, pigtailed form of a junior version of herself, similarly garbed, slipping from the small galley pod and behind the frame of the transition portal.

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Chip2447
Date: 25 Aug 02 - 10:54 PM

Encyclopedic Intragalactica 2501 edition:

Clone sickness
BR> Searching...
**********************************************************1 item found...

Genetic Memory Proximity Sickness: GMPS: (BR) Commonly called clone sickness.

Little is know of this rare occurrence. It is believed that only a very small percentage of Genetic Modified reproductions suffer from any symptoms. Most credible sources report that less than one one hundredth of one percentage of cloned beings are afflicted. However, it should be noted that some estimates rise as high as over 83.5 percent.
First discovered circa 2025 AD on Sol Three. The condition of disorientation, vertigo, loss of muscle control, confusion and dementia experienced by a small percentage of genetically reproduced clones when in close proximity to an earlier edition. The condition worsens with each successive "Generation". The effects also seem to increase in frequency, effects, duration and intensity with the distance between generations.
It is interesting to note however, that specimens that have been cloned seem to show no reaction or susceptibility to GMS.

Logging off OG17....

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Peter T.
Date: 26 Aug 02 - 10:08 AM

As the afternoon waned, and even Damien5 began to be bored with the endless repetition of something called "Come Together" -- John Lennon kept repeating different versions of "shummtumm" over and over -- he decided to make himself useful, and also explore the strangeness of electricity out of a plug (!) and something called an "assoverteakettle", so he made a pot of tea, enjoying every minute of it, though overdoing the teabags substantially. He brought a cup in to John, who took one sip, grimaced, and said: "Jesus, you're the first person who ever made a decent cup of tea in this place." He then turned and handed a second cup to Yoko, who demurely took it, and then, reaching for the spoon, brushed her hand very slowly over Damien's.

"AAAooooggaaaahhhaaaoooggaaaaahhh!!!!!" The klaxon horn blasted Time Elder Brasonovon out of his reverie, and caused him to spill some of his excellent turtle soup, and half a glass of a Venusian Cabernet Sauvignon, thankfully all on his computerised catchall silk napkin. Long experience as a sybarite caused him to shudder for a moment, but even that was a mere flash of dismay, wiped away by the shock of hearing the klaxon, which he had never heard before in all his years as an elder. It meant only one thing.

The dining room was empty, except of course for waiters, but he felt himself almost crowded towards the exit, precipitated perhaps by his own fears. He pushed the elevate button, and was not only whisked to the Continuum Centre, but the Elevate simultaneously changed him out of his dinner jacket into his Time Elder uniform, brushed his thinning hair, and generally buffed him up. When the door whizzed open, he could see the other Elders already in place within the swirling Continuum matrix.

"What's up?", he said to Sergeant Discre4, secretary/enforcer to the Elders.

"Can't say, Sir, hush hush, we'll all find out in a second."

As if in response, the sound of the swirling Continuum faded to a slow whistling sound, and the voice of the Senior Elder, "Old Claptrap" himself, as he was fondly known to all, quietly welcomed Brasonovon to the emergency meeting.

"Thank you for coming so promptly, Brasonovon" (which in Claptrap-speech meant, you are late you bastard). "Fellow Elders, as you no doubt realized upon hearing the klaxon, we are at a Red Alert stage. " He pointed to the simumap which had just appeared over the Continuum. "The Simputational Network upgraded us from an Orange earlier today to the Red Alert. As you know, we can live with Orange, though there are difficulties involved. "

Brasonovon smiled. Difficulties indeed. The last Orange alert required the elimination of the planet Pluto, not that it was much of a planet to begin with, certainly not to end with.

"However, a Red Alert means that much much more is at stake. We can cope with myriad slight changes in History. Who cares if Elizabeth Taylor was faithful to one husband throughout her life, or went through numerous divorces? As you know, when that time change occurred, all that happened in the Continuum was that Godfather III never got enough funding to be made, something for which we are all truly grateful. But a Red Alert means that something much more important is threatened with extinction. Us. The Simputational Network calculates that if the event down below takes place, the Time Elders will disappear. For reasons I of course need not go into, we take a dim view of our own elimination. "

Brasonovon interrupted. "What is this event?" (He was know for his impatience).

"Thank you, Brasonovon, I was getting to that." (Claptrap speak for this is my starring role, not yours, you idiot). "The Simputational Network has identified the TimeTraveller Professor Damien5 as a possible disruptor. It calculates that there is a 35.4% chance that Professor Damien may be on the verge of stealing Yoko Ono from John Lennon. Should that happen, there is a 70.1% chance that the Beatles will not break up. Should that happen, there is a 90.2% chance that Disco will never happen, and a 99.2% chance that Robert Redford will be President of the United States in 2002. You can see how dangerous this is."

Brasonovon interrupted again. "Simple enough, send Rosetta Stone after him. Isn't she in that part of the Continuum?"

Old Claptrap frowned. "No, no, she is currently engaged earlier in the century, I believe seducing a railway scheduler, something about "Old 97".

Brasonovon replied: "Doris Champollion, then?"

Again, the Senior Elder frowned. "She is in a rowboat dragging the Iceberg back towards the Titanic. "

Brasonovon mused. "Michaela Ventris, then."

There was a murmur of hostility around the table.

"Elders, elders," motioned Old Claptrap, " Brasonovon is alas right," (Claptrap speech for alas). "Admittedly she is unreliable, admittedly she is not exactly at the level of Rosetta Stone, but what can we do? ---"

There was reluctant agreement.

For the last time, Brasonovon interrupted. "But where is she?"

Old Claptrap looked at him with exasperation in his face. "On Zapsarsppi."

There was a groan around the table, elders putting their wizened heads in their wizened hands. Brasonovon thought to himself, Oh well, there goes the turtle soup, the Cabernet Sauvignon, and the pension.

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Amos
Date: 26 Aug 02 - 11:08 AM

LOL!! Yer a puredee maestro, Mister T! P'raps the revelation of the real meaning of the Timmerman series will resolve things! :>)


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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: EBarnacle1
Date: 26 Aug 02 - 12:40 PM

If John Brunner is on line, he would enjoy this thread. Keep it going!

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Chip2447
Date: 28 Aug 02 - 12:24 AM

Flip Flop...Lurch...urk. Geez he still hated that, but at least it seemed that he was getting used to it. Either that or he was so doped up on meds to reduce the effects of clone sickness that he didn't care.

Finding out that you are not descended from, but an actual carbon copy of a man who lived 500 years ago was, to say the least, a bit of a shock. It did however, answer a lot of questions.

He approached the door cautiously, from inside he could here some strange form of music being played. What was that? Some kind of call and answer song. could that be a Sea chanty? He steeled himself and knocked on the door. A moment later the door opened and he stared himself in the face. The old man, he couldn't really call him that anymore could he? The first of many wore his hair long and a beard on his face but OG17 felt that he was looking at his reflection in a mirror. He fought the effects of clone sickness, forcing himself to maintain.

The First One grinned, extended a hand with a bottle of something called Guinness held in it, and said "I knew that you would come. C'mon in my friend, we have much to discuss..."

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Chip2447
Date: 30 Aug 02 - 11:14 AM

OG17 found the strange brown brew quite tasty and REFRESHING...(sorry couldn't resist)

He and the first, OG1? Talked for hours, each trying to outdo the other. The Guinness dulled the clone sickness reaction to just a semi pleasant buzzing in the back of his head. The first one briefed him on all aspects of life in late 20th century AD Sol 3 life, especially the aspects that dealt with him/them. They compared ocarinas, those that the first one didn't have already he confiscated, saying only that they were actually his and he wanted them now. And something about how OG17 would get them back soon enough.

Flip Flop LURCH urk...Oh lord he hated that, slowly opening his eyes he found that he wasn't aboard the time ship, but instead still in the old mans small apartment. His personal effects were all missing, as were all of the old man's ocarinas. He found a note taped to the door to the fresher, ummmmm bathroom...

"17, hate to do this to you, but this is why I set up the clone trust. You'll learn to tolerate it here, and it won't be too long before 18 shows up to relieve you, then you are free to go whenever in time you want. Knowing us the way I do, you'll get him drunk on Guinness, take his toys and vanish to a simpler time. Everything that you need is on the archaic computer in the living room, and if anyone asks you something that you don't know, play stupid, we're good at that. Most of all have fun, and go see Dorothy upstairs she likes us. I don't know exactly when 18 will be here but I know he will, as will 19, 20, and 21 ad infinitum. There's beer and food in the fridge, money in the bank and you've got your first Renaissance festival coming up this weekend, go, You'll have a blast, listen for the sound of the ocarina you'll find one that you like to continue your own collection.

Until we meet again, which we will...pax and enjoy the music... Chip...OcarinaGeek...Og1..."

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 31 Aug 02 - 06:46 PM

Justin glanced back along the path his people, the Oogs, had taken. They had left the jungles over a year ago, crossed a huge savannah, and now found themselves at the edge of the World. Here, there was a large expanse of green water. On the other side, strangely, there appeared to be another world. When the Oogs had reached this section of the Arabian Sea, there had been many arguments among the leaders as to what they should do next. Justin's Father, cross-eyed Oog, had said that they must plunge into the sea and remain there until they developed fins. His rationale behind this was a dream he had in which he had been chased by a bison into a deep waterhole, where his terror had changed to delight at the sudden metamorphosis his body undertook. It had felt like prescience to cross-eyed Oog, and when the OOgs had reached the sea, he was pretty certain that the dream had been sent by Great Oog as an instruction. Howvere, all the other Oogs knew cross-eyed Oog's judgment had not been dependable since he had begun ingesting Jimson Weed as an appetizer before the daily communal dinners.

Justin's uncles were named mountain Oog, for his great size and strength, cheetah Oog, for his speed, and worthless Oog, for his sloth. In fact, all the males of that generation had been named Oog. The adjectives had been adopted as a means of sorting out one Oog from another. The name Oog had been given by Justin's grandmother, Eve, to all of her children, even the females. Justin's odd moniker was the result of one of cross-eyed Oog's prescient dreams, and it had taken a lot of convincing before Justin's Mom, looks good Oog, would agree. Cross eyed Oog was sure that someday in the remote future, the strange appellation would be the most popular boy's name among all the humans. Mountain Oog had guffawed and suggested Cross eyed Oog have another handful of Jimson Weed.

At any rate, cross-eyed Oog was quite adamant about the Oog-into-fish concept. In fact, he went out about 20 yards into the gentle surf and sat down patiently, to looks good Oog's consternation. He refused to come in for the evening meal, and darkness found him still sitting patiently, occasionally looking down at hands and feet to detect the first stirrings of the metamorphosis. Justin had not slept that night, and he had heard his Mother rise several times to entreat cross-eyed Oog to come out of the water. Her husband only rose and paddled out deeper, the better to enhance the conditions for change.

In the morning the word spread quickly around the camp : Cross-eyed Oog was gone. Where he had sat, only the open ocean rolled. This convinced several other Oogs that the fish-change had indeed occurred, and they immediately seated themselves in the ocean. They had sat thus for nearly an hour when a fin broke the surface nearby, and their mutual excitement reached a pinnacle as several of them thought they recognized the transmogrified cross-eyed shark Oog. It was only when the hideously-changed former cross-eyed Oog began to snap at and pursue them that they abandoned the sea, gave up any idea of crossing it, and headed north through the sand dunes.

On the northward trail, looks good Oog was inconsolable. Her sobs and cries resounded down the forlorn beach. "Cross-eyed Oog! Sweet dreaming husband! Will you not return to me? Will you not gently teach to us the Fish Way? Why did you bite off worthless Oog's big toe?" And so on, endlessly. At last her lamenting cries adopted a sort of sing-song melody, and she began to repeat what she viewed as the most plaintive and affecting phrases. By the next day, Justin was lamenting along in a sort of high harmony, while several Oog uncles furnished a bass undertone, along with rhythmic grunts and thigh-slapping.

Imagine their surprise when they rounded a particularly high ridge of dune to confront several voyagers from the distant future, complete with digital recording equipment, headphones, and cardioid microphones. The voyager in the red ball cap turned and high-fived the one in the blue ball cap, saying "Well, Justin, I think this is it! The first freakin Folk Song!"

The blue-capped man laughed, saying "absolutely, Justin! Absolutely!"

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Amos
Date: 31 Aug 02 - 06:57 PM

ROTFLMAO, Leej!!! They musta had trouble sorting out all those Justins, cuz they started naming them after various song bits -- Justin Parsley-Sage, Justin Rosemary, and the one who had the minidisc recorder, Justin Thyme!! LOL! Very well done, man!


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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Leadfingers
Date: 31 Aug 02 - 09:46 PM

Come back Isaac Asimov all is forgiven.

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: katlaughing
Date: 01 Sep 02 - 12:46 AM

"Key-riced, Justins! Wouldja give it a rest! I can't even hear them over you and you're making the levels go dickie!" Joss hollered at her wild-eyed companions. Honestly, they reminder her of some surfer-dudes she's seen in an ancient cell-o-vid.

"Ola? Hello? Hi? Ciao? Joss" she pointed to herself while addressing the primitives before them.

The woman who was singing stopped and stared at her, tears running down her face, her hair matted with kelp. "JUSTIN!?" she yelled at Joss. "Justin?!" And, one of the younger males singing with her said, "Huh?"

Joss started freaking out. "Justins! Did you hear that? She knows your names! Ohmygawd...did you get that on the omnipolyvidaud?"

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
Date: 05 Sep 02 - 12:54 AM

Wouldja give it a rest!

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Amos
Date: 05 Sep 02 - 12:34 PM

I gotta wonder what kind of ass-wipe would go to all the trouble to exhume and refresh a creative and entertaining Fiction thread that had already fallen off the screen, go all the way down to the bottom and write anonymous insults. What a sorry-ass case!


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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: EBarnacle1
Date: 05 Sep 02 - 05:26 PM

And I thought the song came across as "Ooog, Baby, Baby..."

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: katlaughing
Date: 01 Sep 04 - 01:37 AM

Just for fun...refresh

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: GUEST,MMario
Date: 01 Sep 04 - 08:43 AM

I'd forgotton this one! fun.

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Teresa
Date: 01 Sep 04 - 01:04 PM

Thanks for refreshing this; it's brilliant. I missed it the first time. I am crazy about both SF and folk music, so this was such a treat. You 'catter storytellers are amazing.

Storytelling isn't my forte, or I'd start one myself. I mostly write poetry and flash fiction ... anyway, thanks!

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 25 Jun 09 - 03:04 PM

I believe the flute they just found was Justin's.

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Subject: RE: BS: Time Machine May Offer New Evidence!
From: Charley Noble
Date: 26 Jun 09 - 08:16 AM

Amazing story!

Charley Noble, who can't remember if he was there

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