 THE NAME GAME
by Danny
I was sitting in CDs one afternoon,
looking over planetary matters when, while checking my
bank balance to see how much I could put toward salary
for a new workthingie flogging crew, I caught something
in my personal statistics that made me stop and think. I
started wondering how far I could go with Danny. No, I
wasn't considering suicide. I was looking at my name.
There are not and never have been any powerful Danny's in
history, so maybe I needed a new name to rise up the
ladder of success with.
I started to wonder where one would
look for a new name. Suddenly it hit me; where other than
the 19th and 20th centuries could I find comical names of
previously famous people? So I took the history book from
under Diesel's short table leg and started looking
through for names. New names caught my eye immediately,
like Yo Yo Ma, Butros Butros Ghali, and Attorney General
Janet Reno, but they just didn't suit me. I started
reading another section where I came across such names as
Geraldo Rivera, Sally Jesse Raphael, Phil Donahue, and Ed
Koch, but I still found that none really fit me enough to
be a good name. The same went for Grover Cleveland,
Dwight Eisenhower, Ronald Reagan, and Zachary Taylor.
I spent hours on end pondering
names like Elvis Presley, Beck, David Bowie, Mama Cass,
and Mick Jagger before it hit me. None of these people
ever owned a planet! None of these people even had enough
cash to buy a planet! Well, except Bill Gates, but
there's a record of him being exiled to space with
Charles Manson and Richard Simmons in the early 21st
century. I decided Danny was good enough for now. And who
knows, maybe someone will someday be sitting in my chair
looking for names in a history book when they come across
my name, only to laugh it off because I didn't even own
Sol, let alone my own galaxy. Or maybe he'll walk out of
the bar as Attorney General Janet Reno.
SUGGESTIONS
REBUFFED
In a bid to improve the lot of the
ordinary working-class Fedder, Admiralrose recently came
up with some suggestions to enhance the range of features
available in ships. Flushed with the thought that he
would be able to contribute something to the welfare of
man-, woman- or thing-kind and hoping that this would
result in him being remembered by future generations as a
Galactic benefactor, he presented his proposals to the
demi-Goddess Hazed.
Much to his dismay, all of his good
ideas were rejected out of hand, without any
consideration as to whether they could be made to work.
Dejected, Admiralrose slunk off back to his work, his
confidence shattered.
How do we know this? Because as
fearless truth-seeking journalists, we bugged the room
they were in! Here is what was said:
Admiralrose: Why can't we teleport
from our ship?
Hazed: The ship's magnetic field
interferes with the teleporter.
Admiralrose: But it'd be like an
emergency escape system for Barons.
Hazed: Why should Barons have it
easy? :)
Admiralrose: Hey, we'll spend
billions in life insurance a year, give us a break!
Hazd: Ah, but if you can escape
easily you won't have to keep reinsuring.
Admiralrose: Well that's the trick
isn't it.
Hazed: Nice try :)
Admiralrose: Or put like a
transporter room in the ship so we can teleport out of it
on the surface.
Hazed: You're suddenly too lazy to
walk out of your ship?
Admiralrose: Yes!
Admiralrose: Or something that
allows us to move from room to room in our ship in
flight.
Hazed: These ships don't have an
autopilot, you know. You stop to make a sandwich in the
galley, or have a kip in the sleeping quarters, and
you'll plough into an asteroid.
Admiralrose: How about something
that allows us to take aboard passangers.
Hazed: Sorry, they are strictly one
man-, woman- or thing-ships.
Admiralrose: Then what's the 613
tons of cargo space for?
Hazed: For cargo, of course.
At this point Admiralrose gave up,
realizing that the Powers That Be are totally resistant
to any suggestions of change!
MADNESS
STRIKES CHEZ DIESEL
Diesel this week vehemently denied
reports that she had been seen smuggling Dr. Fogg through
the back door of her establishment. 'I run a good clean
house!' she bellowed, 'and don't you forget it!' Eyeing
the swing of her baseball bat, our newsdroid edged away
and was nonchalantly sliding towards the door when its
arm was grabbed and it was pulled into a corner by a
furtive gentleman in a cloak and long teeth.
'I va-s-s-s-s hearing your
ques-s-stion,' he explained to our apprehensive droid.
'And a shame I think it is-s-s-s.... All the bright-eyed
adventurers-s-s-s and adventureres-s-s-ses-s-s-s, coming
here to better thems-s-s-elves, and Diesel is-s-s-s
trying to cover up a s-s-s-erious-s-s-s hazard.'
The newsdroid, ducking under the
volley of esses, sought clarification. The man looked
wise and laid a finger alongside his nose. 'Do I look
familiar?' he asked. The newsdroid squinted at him and
averred that he did in fact seem like someone the
newsdroid might have met briefly at one time or another.
The man nodded somberly. 'Yes-s-s-s;' he said, 'I haf
greatly changed.' The newsdroid took another, harder
look. Jonathan? it asked, shocked.
The man nodded briefly, and there
was a brief glimpse of the man he had been. 'They got
me,' he whispered. 'But I could not keep it quiet, not
seeing all these innocents come in here.' The newdroid
nodded grimly and pulled out its notepad. 'Tell me,' it
said.
The details were not pretty, and
the former Jonathan was hazy on certain details. He
seemed to recall that the infection had started with
peanut butter. 'Peanut butter?' thought the droid, but it
nodded and kept taking notes. But there had been an
incident involving someone dressed as a brand of peanut
butter, and then the staff at CDs had begun biting both
each other and the clientele. Jonathan himself had been
infected in an interlude upon which he would not
elaborate, but which made him chuckle and ruefully shake
his head. Biting, thought the droid. Good thing I am made
of titaniam alloy.
It nodded to the vampire that had
been Jonathan, pocketed its notebook, and left, watching
Diesel warily as it did. Even titanium alloy is no match
for a baseball bat swung by arms like those. Once safely
on the street outside, it engaged a satellite uplink to
fed news headquarters and informed us that it had
successfully confirmed an outbreak of mad nauga disease.
Transmission was however interrupted by the apparition of
a large smouldering biped. The newsdroid detected a glint
of metal at its waist and what appeared to be the remains
of a cloak 'I was struck by lightning!' said Scaramouche.
'Twice!'
Things are serious, thought the
newsdroid. It left the camera rolling. 'Tell me about
it,' it said soothingly. Scaramouche left however,
ignoring it and leaving behind a faint smell of ozone. On
our instructions the newsdroid headed next to Zar, where
the crisis was first identified.
Zargot scowled darkly as the
situation was explained to him. He muttered something
about other certain other dukes eating steak at a recent
banquet, and urged the droid to remind Fedders as a
public service that Bartholomew's study of the matter
conclusively showed that it is better to beat your meat.
FED
LIFESTYLES OF THE TURKEY
by Tgobbler –
Kidnapper of Bizcarp
Every year, people around the
galaxy take a day and celebrate an old earth custom of
giving thanks for what they have. To celebrate this day
they feast on turkey. I am here to put a stop to that!
This year I have watched many friends and relatives give
up their life just so that beings from the far reaches of
the galaxy can taste our delicious meat.
I have kidnapped Bizcarp to force
the Chronicle to print my interview this year. Bizcarp
met with me, upon my request for an interview, with a
butcher knife and roasting pan. It was just too much for
a little bird like me to handle. I snapped. I shall
release her after I see my story in print.
I came into this universe with my
family thinking we'd be safe from all those meat-starved
creatures, but right from the beginning we were noticed.
We never needed to buy a ship to haul. We'd just carry it
in our claws and fly where we wanted to go by the power
of our wings. This upset everyone because we didn't have
to worry about repairs (other than a loose tail feather
here and there) nor did we have to keep buying fuel.
As the family grew and more of our
friends arrived we soon learned that the safest place to
stay was inside Sol. Each time one of us would go to the
link to explore further reaches of the galaxy, one of
those big imperial ships would fly in and suck us into
their exhaust. This would bake us at a high enough heat
that everyone could smell the sweet aroma, thus causing
everyone to want to have one taste.
I am proud to be a turkey and when
I was asked what my species was, I would puff up my
feathers and gladly tell whoever was close enough to
hear. One of Ming's flunkies heard me and then researched
our history and found what we were used for food and
passed that information around.
Since then, we have had to hide and
that isn't an easy task with the type of ship technology
that exists now. We cannot own factories or companies. We
cannot own a planet for fear they will discover which one
we own, even in the over-populated Duchy of Sol. We are
back to our lowly life of hiding in whatever forest area
we may find.
What would I do if I owned a Duchy?
I would make it for fowl alone. That's right. No other
species would be allowed in. The turkeys of the galaxy
would be safe from all. Come hunting season, we would
lock down the duchy. The other times of the year we would
fight for the freedom of turkeys everywhere, lecture at
different schools and protest in front of Ming's ship.
This will not happen though, since
we cannot even leave Sol. That is why I need your help. I
need everyone to unite together and stop the tradition of
Thanksgiving. I need everyone to stop looking at us birds
as food. We're not even listed on the exchange board so
why would anyone want to bother us? We just want to live
our peaceful life. Help us make our dream come true…
stop the eating of turkey on your planet!
THE DAY
IN THE LIFE OF A GM
It had been a good Fed life so far,
and seemed to only be getting better as he became a Guild
Master. Just a little shipping, and home free…
'Oh no,' he was told. 'You have to
promote adventurers. That's what the GM does.'
'You better go invite some
adventurer to be a trader then', said Bartholomew.
'Wait,' he protested. 'The GM is a
player?'
'Yeah...don't you remember when you
had to look for the GM?', asked Bartholomew.
A Baroness nodded. 'It's kinda like
a TAG YER IT thing.'
'Don't tell me you forgot to talk
to the one you found?' demanded a previously silent
Baron.
'I was supposed to talk to him?'
the GM asked, bewildered. 'Then there can be more than
one GM? Surely that isn't right.' he protested.
'Well sure... they change all the
time', said the Baroness.
'Not right now... you're the only
one', said Bartholomew.
Sure enough, he was the Guild
Master.
'Oooooh,' he said in wonderment.
'You have to go hide in Sol now',
said Bartholomew.
But the music was good and the
drinks were free, and the adventurer he saw on channel
three couldn't believe his luck when the guild master
TBed him and told him he was at an party in Deceit.
But when the adventurer arrived,
there was more bad news. 'You have to be in Sol.', he was
informed. 'No sweat,' he said. 'I will just have him meet
me on the Earth LP.'
'You can't tell where!', he was
informed.
'Why not?', he asked.
'He's supposed to be looking for
you!' he was told.
'It won't happen then,' said
another bystander.
'I hid under the altar in the Mars
ruins... it took two weeks before Gold1Eagle finally
found me...THEN I made Explorer...', says Bartholomew.
'Oh no. So much for the dream of
the planet this weekend. So I actually have to sit around
until someone finds me?', he asked, dismayed.
'It doesn't work on a LP,' said a
Squire. 'Nothing happens if he finds you on a LP.'
He nodded gravely. 'The comms shop
then.', he said. However, the adventurer in question
couldn't find the comms shop, and mysteriously failed to
promote when they met in the mansion. His woes were
compounded when his adventurer disappeared.
A beautiful adventuress appeared
before him on the Earth LP, but exclaimed
'Get away from me! I don't want to
promote!'
In vain did he explain, 'You can't
find me on an LP, so you won't promote.'
She would have nothing to do with
him. 'And I don't want to find you!', she exclaimed.
It developed that the adventurer he
asked about hauling was looking for the GM. Obligingly,
he hid in the caves on Mercury. But the adventurer didn't
seem able to follow directions very well.
'It doesn't work, it says the route
is not programmed', he complained. 'Lemmie see if I can
figure out how to program the route...'.
The adventurer then landed on
Venus, for reasons known only to himself. And insisted he
was on Mercury.
'Well, I typed goto Mercury and I
ended up here!', he exclaimed.
Then he punted and was on Mars LP
when the GM saw he was back. He landed again on Venus
trying to find Mercury however, but eventually did land
and followed the GM's directions to find him in the
Mercury caves.
The next day he was congratulated
on successfully fulfilling his obligations as a Guild
Master.
'It is part of being a GM you
know....', Elin said. 'I know', he answered.
She asked, 'how are people supposed
to make trader if you don't hide?'.
'I don't know,' he replied, 'I
always see people saying I couldn't find the GM, I didn't
know it was a human player until I said I made GM last
night'.
THE
OBITUARY OF NICK DANGER
(or, An Immodest
Reprisal)
(or, The Declined Comedy: The Roast)
(or...you get the point...)
Private Dick extraoridinaire, Nick
Danger, passed away this past Monday morning after
tossing out his dull Arix Army Knife, letting loose a
torrent of hysterical personal slurs, and finally coming
to an end in a manner befitting his persona... at the
hands of his piercing wit and sharp mind. As anyone who
knew him would know, this was the perfect opportunity to
hold a post-mortem roast, because if the bumbling,
punch-drunk PI left behind any sort of legacy, it was one
of irreverence (and to a lesser extent, bad puns and
pick-up lines.) I nearly broke into tears as we met for
the last time. He handed over his battered fedora to my
care, and left me with his moving last words...
'That hat has a lot of
history... please don’t shit in it.'
Wherever Nick is now, we’re
sure he’s in a better place, and trying his
damnedest to make it worse. So, Farewell, Nick Danger, we
hope you’re having a hell of a time. (Coughs, you
knew the bad puns would come back to haunt you... no one
gets away with "Domination Pizza." Puh-leeze.)
Buh-Bye.
NEWS
FLASH
This just in: Nick Danger cast
to deepest fosse of Hell for simony and heresy.
(charges later dropped down to
sodomy and fallacy.)
As it turns out, lucky readers, we
have transcripts of Nick Danger’s entrance into
Heaven and the events that led to his expulsion.
(Nick’s Ascension)
St. Pete: Name and
occupation, please.
Nick: Nick Danger, hedonist.
St. Pete: That’s a hobby. Profession,
please.
(Nick thinks hard and knows 'private dick will get me
nowhere fast'.)
Nick: Err... politici... uhm, Acto... no,
no...Ah yes, degenerate at large.
St. Pete: We have quotas to fill, you’re
in.
Nick: You’re kidding. What about sin and
all that nonsense?
St. Pete: Dirty trick the big-guy pulled. Keep
moving, buddy. Can’t you see there’s a
line?
Nick: I thought this would be different
somehow. Why did you get hired for this anyway?
St. Pete: Prior experience, I worked at the
Department of Chariot Registration a while back.
The transcripts get bogged down
here as the ether Nick inhaled prior to death begins to
kick in. The next nine pages are filled with hooting,
jabbering noises punctuated by the shrill cries of St.
Peter over Nick’s novel uses of harp and halo.
Sufficient to say, Nick later
became a squatter in a low rent district of the
after-life, which catered to those that barely got in.
This was where Nick had his unfortunate falling from
grace. Nick managed to run into the ghost of Tom
Selleck’s career in a dingy bar on the outskirts of
paradise... The scene turned ugly when Nick began to
maliciously deride the ghost for its part in the greatest
entertainment fiasco of the century... Magnum PI. (Once
again, the posting of the transcripts from the brawl that
ensued are mostly filled with hooting, jabbering, the
occasional crash of a cheap liquor bottle braining some
unsuspecting victim... and if you listen closely, audobon
members, you can hear the pining wail of a blue-footed
speckled dodo in the background.)
After a speedy inquiry, Nick was
quickly cast to the deepest fosse of Hell for his
troublemaking, forced to join the likes of Pope Boniface
VII, La Pucelle (she really was a witch), and Liza
Minelli’s acting talent. After his fall from grace,
Nick was seen wandering around the pit and querying
others: 'How about this heat?'
To Nick Danger: You’ll be
missed, and I’ll always remember you as one of the
more disturbingly entertaining personas I have ever come
across. Good luck, and R.I.P.
--Your friend, Poco.
P.S.--Sorry about the hat.
MAD
NAUGA DISEASE HITS FED
A great threat to the well being of
Fedders was recently uncovered through the heroic
perseverance of a Zarnian squire. Aiki of Wuhu declined
comment on her role in the discovery, although she did
hide her crickets, murmuring something about 'Americans
-- will eat anything.' Zorbot of Naug confirmed that
poaching from the Nauga herd has resumed.
'It is criminal,' he said, 'to use
these gentle and loving animals in this way.' Zorbot's
brother Zargot of Zar agreed, calling for increased
vigilance on the part of all Federation meat importers to
stem this growing menace both to the dwindling Nauga herd
and to the health and sanity of Federation players
everywhere. A Zarnian newsdroid continuously scrolled the
warning that Nauga are being stolen from their peaceful
herds and infected with mad Nauga disease.
'The prevalence of the disease is
unknown,' said Zargot. 'However, the number of missing
Nauga is considerable, and signs abound that the disease
is spreading through Federation.' He declined to cite
instances of individual infection, murmuring something
about a professional duty to maintain confidentiality and
fear of a certain demi-goddess.
There is no know cure for mad nauga
disease. It has been known to be fatal in rare instances,
and always causes syntactical confusion and delusional
thinking. The only known cause is ingestion of infected
meat, although one study has indicated that if properly
beaten the meat is safe (Bartholomew 2331).
Still, Zargot has announced his
intention of banning the ingestion of meat in the duchy.
'It is important to remain pure of the taint of this
madness, ' he said. 'Let others be the guinea pigs for
the evil Nauga poachers. I have a responsibility to keep
my duchy safe.' He called on other duchies to follow
suit, noting that elephant poaching was considerably
reduced on ancient Earth through the cooperation of
governments.
ANOTHER
CASE OF MAD NAUGA DISEASE
Rumors swept through the Fed
community in the wake of the midweek server. Anxious
Fedders queried each other in IMs and in ICQ messages.
'Nope, I can't get in either', they would say. 'It isn't
you... The Duke puzzle at long last', said some.
'Nonsense', said others, 'it is the sign of the coming of
the millenium, and next will be four comets, and in their
wake will be spaceships to take us into the light beyond
Heaven's Gate'.
'Naw', said a duke. 'The last
staffer out the door forgot to wind the server up. Either
that or they unplugged it along with the coffeepot'.
Ever vigilant in its quest for
information, Fed news sent out its droids in a quest for
information on the subject, and discovered a bored
baroness, who in playing with her spybeam uncovered an
alarming situation. What appears to be the nucleus of a
vaudeville comedy troupe is assembling in Sol, though
most of the participants appear to be from the duchies.
Remorseless, these fiends are practicing improv where the
defenseless can spy them and become transfixed by the
awfulness of the performance.
'I couldn't move,' she said. 'There
I was, watching an inanity be compounded with a
stupidity, and for the life of me... I couldn't spy off!'
The baroness however alertly recorded the event as a
warning for posterity before she and who knows how many
other innocent bystanders swooned in pain from overloaded
manure detectors. Upon recovering consciousness she
reviewed the log and discovered that the troop not only
plans to continue the improv attempts - although the
server itself appeared to have crashed in a desperate
attempt to stop that one before it caused further
casualties - but they intend to branch out in (brace
yourselves) mime.
Zargot Duke of Zar was contacted
and on reviewing the log diagnosed an outbreak of mad
nauga disease and forthwith ordered an embargo.
UPDATE
ON MAD NAUGA DISEASE
Scattered outbreaks of mad Nauga
disease were reported through Fed this week, with
unconfirmed rumors of spontaneous outbreaks of bad comedy
in unpredictable locations.
An apparently escaped zoo animal
has been thwapping innocent bystanders, with no excuse or
provocation. When challenged, the animal slipped its
sunglasses on and said: "We're on a mission from
God."
Official sources denied any
knowledge of an incident in which several people ported
in and accused a baron of a romantic acrobatics. The
baron in question would not comment for the record but
claimed to have been amused. Our newsdroid, while
skeptical, did not pursue the matter further.
Although the mimes threatened last
week have not materialized, our news spies report that
these evil vaudevillians have been assembling in dark
out-of-the-way corners, muttering and telling each other
that they need to save fed from itself.
Duke Zargot could not be reached
for comment this week. If approached by a mime or another
member of a comedy troupe, exercise extreme caution. Many
of these villains have a questionable sense of humor.
A CURE
FOR MAD NAUGA DISEASE?
Shock swept through Fed last week
after the Chronicle revealed that a popular and
user-friendly Baron had been infected with Mad Nauga
Disease. Worried Baronesses clustered together, clucking
their tongues and surreptitiously examining each other's
necks for bite marks.
Attempts to make appointments with
Dr. Fogg were politely rebuffed with the remark that the
next available appointment was several months in the
future, and while Diesel's remained open for business
there were reports that she had had a headache all week.
The effect on her catering business
was unknown. Attempts to reach Inspector for comment were
unsuccessful, though Galinfenner firmly squashed
speculation that he was perhaps tied up inspecting roasts
for worried restaurateur. 'Inspector is assigned to other
duties,' he said, and only grinned when asked to
elaborate. Pianoamy, asked about plans for her upcoming
wedding reception, said 'At this point there will be no
changes made in our plans, but we will keep plenty of
mayonnaise on hand, as I was told by a great-great-great
uncle, twice removed, that it can ease symptoms.' Our
newsdroid nodded sagely and thought it might help with
the honeymoon at least.
Wynsummore, another well-liked
though less well-traveled Baron, was seen in CDs
submitting with every sign of enjoyment to the attentions
of a shapely wench in fishnet stockings who appeared to
be going through his pockets. He was asked for a reaction
to the epidemic reports but only gave our newsdroid a
dreamy smile, and murmured something that sounded like
'worth every bit of it.' Undeterred, our newsdroid asked
him for his take on the mayonnaise issue. 'Oh,
definitely,' he said. 'I shall have to try that. In fact,
I will be happy to research the matter for you.'
Jonathan appeared out of the
shadows and wondered what was being tried. 'Mayonnaise,
he said, 'what a wonderful idea. If it doesn't cure me I
will at least enjoy applying it.' Wynsummore however was
eyeing a comely mini-skirted young lady at the bar, and
appeared to have no further interest in commenting.
Duke Zargot declined to comment on
the mayonnaise issue. He did however say something about
plans for a defensive perimeter and for a reward for the
safe return of the remaining Naugas.
VIRGINS
SACRIFICED UNDER MARTIAN ALTAR
by Magesmiley and Elin
A group of barons and baronesses
DDed seven sacrificial virgins below the altar in the
Martian ruins this past week with valiant hopes of
pleasing the Vile One sufficiently to obtain the return
of the duke puzzle. The inhabitants of channel 9, who had
been amusing themselves by daring each other to type
systems, quickly spotted the virgin:
Your comm unit relays a message from Kurgann, "A
Virgin where?".
Your comm unit relays a message from Xia, "In
Sol".
Your comm unit relays a message from Kurgann,
"Oh my".
There was some debate as to the
validity of the sacrifice however, as the first virgin
met her fate by stumbling both times she encountered the
pit and the second virgin's purity may have been marred
by the hot gropes and snogs of an intervening squire.
The consensus appeared to be that
virgins were rare and should be put to better use. Upon
further reflection however, it was agreed that anything
which might return the duke puzzle was worth the
sacrifice.
Nonetheless considerable regret was
expressed:
Your comm unit relays a message
from Danteaf, "waste of a perfectly good
virgin".
Others wanted to know what sex the
virgin was. There was considerable discussion as to the
appropriate attire for a sacrificial virgin, and as to
the ceremony to be performed. 'Hope it's a blonde, the
Vile One likes blondes', Barb commented.
It was in fact the sixth
"Ready and Willing Virgin", who was described
by observers as "a natural blonde with perky breasts
and a great arse," who momentarily disappeared en
route to a messy end beneath the altar, leading to
considerable speculation as to her fate in the
intervening milliseconds.
Debate over procedure resumed once
the seventh and final virgin was pushed screaming down
the steps:
Wynsummore whispers *Is this
where we hold hands and chant?*
Elin kneels and puts an ear to the ground
"i suggested that", says Danteaf.
"your askin me?", asks Quinral.
Quinral ponders
Blaze picks up a rhythm guitar...
Wynsummore asks, "Do we take a vote on
this?"
Eventually the group disbanded,
going their separate ways in hope that the puzzle god was
pleased by the offering, although perhaps vaguely
disappointed that he did not appear amid fireworks to
wave a wand and announce the implementation of the
puzzle.
VIRGINS
BRAWL IN COURTROOM DRAMA
Perhaps encouraged by rumors of the
duke puzzle's return, Virgin returned to Fed this week,
but became lost in the ruins and committed suicide.
Watchers noted the apparition soon afterwards of Vergin,
whom Magesmiley however pronounced a fake as she arrived
at the altar.
She tearfully accused Onlyjoe of
groping her as she approached the Mars ruins, pointing to
a handprint on her posterior. He heatedly denied doing
anything of the sort, and the discussion was removed to
the courtroom on Earth.
Krystal has just arrived.
"Bailiff, remove the TV camera", says Elin.
"I was trying to help Virgin to find her way out
of the maze and into the altar", says Onlyjoe.
Magesmiley ejects Krystal.
Tempers ran high. At least one
participant requested that the Merciless One appear and
flog all involved, but was informed that the chances of
this actually happening where somewhere between slim and
zero. One attorney attempted to put himself under oath.
Another attempted to call the bailiff as a witness. Yet a
third accused the judge of a conflict of interest. Virgin
appeared and attacked Vergin, not once but several times,
and was eventually gaveled into unconsciousness by an
exasperated judge.
Magesmiley gives the gavel to
Elin.
Elin takes it and thwaps virgin solidly on the top of
the head and watches her crumble to a heap.
Jamel files civil suit papers on behalf of virgin.
Deltack backs up Jamel.
Virgin wants to know how much of a retainer he needs.
The Vile One had nothing to say
about how this might affect progress on the puzzle.
However, at least one participant took a rather sour view
of the proceedings.
"This so called virgin
shows poor training - no wonder with virgins like
this one the puzzle gods are not appeased", says
Vergin.
Onlyjoe was considering several
lucrative movie deals. Another participant merely
muttered. Members of the jury, asked to hear motions on
the charges of contempt, littering and molesting a court
officer still outstanding from the trial proceedings,
brandished crucifixes and fled.
|
