NetNews Usenet Archive 1992 #31/NN_1992_31.iso/spool/alt/non/sequitur/854

Internet Message Format | 1992-12-22 | 3.7 KB

Xref: sparky alt.non.sequitur:854 talk.bizarre:42782
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,talk.bizarre
Path: sparky!uunet!spool.mu.edu!umn.edu!csus.edu!netcom.com!gooley
From: [e-mail] (Mark. Gooley)
Subject: lemon peels are your skin, his wife is your brain
Message-ID: <[e-mail]>
Followup-To: alt.fan.gooley
Organization: Netcom Online Communications Services (408-241-9760 login: guest)
Date: Tue, 22 Dec 1992 19:58:22 GMT
Lines: 54

    Sadomasochistic torrents drenched the shape-changing travelers
as they walked towards the lonely, depressed, and often-suicidal farmhouse.
A small fire started near the apex of its roof, clearly visible in the dusk,
and after the rain put it out, they thought that they heard a deep sigh of
disappointment across the miles at Christmas.
    The one who was currently taller was shaped like and dressed as
Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman.  Her, or perhaps its, companion looked like
Little Orphan Annie brought to life, the irises of her (its?) eyes almost
as white as the whites.  "You should be Sandy," said Annie to Lynda.
    "You should be Superman or something," said Lynda.
    Annie snorted, but began to change shape as they walked.  Soon she
was a tall, musclebound man in a suit that would have looked blood-red in
daylight, the chest bearing a golden U surmounted by a silver umlaut.
    "So who're you now?" asked Lynda.
    The man's face, still almost Annie's, shifted until it looked like
that of Friedrich Nietzsche.  In a deep voice and melodramatic semitones
he said, "I am Uebermensch!"
    "You're an impressive-looking stud," said Lynda, "almost alike a
two-by-four."  She kneaded the muscles of his left shoulder with one hand,
appreciatively.
    "You're not supposed to fall in love," said Uebermensch, brushing
her hand off with a brush, "and I'm not supposed to have sex."
    "But I'm not being Wonder Woman," said Lynda.  "I'm just being an
actress playing Wonder Woman."
    "I suggest that you rectify that," said Uebermensch, and Lynda took
from her belt a rectifier diode rated at 1500 volts and 100 amperes and
pressed it into her forehead, gradually absorbing it.  The outward change
was slight: faintly larger muscles, faintly smaller breasts, a new nobility
to the expression, low heels to the boots compensated for by an increase in
height.
    "Well?" asked Wonder Woman.
    "Better," said Uebermensch.
    At superhuman speed they ran to the farmhouse, tearing through
barbed-wire fences, hedgerows, small trees, and hog troughs without harming
themselves or their costumes, though at great damage to property.  When they
arrived, Uebermensch knocked on the door.  Presently a beautiful young
blonde woman answered.  "You're a bit old for trick-or-treat," she said.
    "You're right," Wonder Woman admitted, and they shrank and changed
into two children, a little girl in a cheap Wonder Woman costume with a
plastic mask, and a little boy in a similar cheap Superman costume.  The
young woman aged swiftly and was soon a grandmotherly woman, hair quite white,
who reached to her left and took out a tray of Fun Size (tm) Chococrap (tm)
bars, real human feces mixed with sugar, baked, and dipped in a thick layer
of milk chocolate.  Each child took three, and the old woman simply smiled
at them.  During the time they spent at the door, autumn had come and there
was a dry briskness to the air and a smell of woodsmoke.  Overhead as opposed
to underfoot, the stars blazed with barely a twinkle as the children, rubber
bags stretching under the weight of such Hallowe'en booty as LizardBites (tm),
Verminelle (tm), Testicklers (tm), ClitDips (tm), Rancids (tm), PissPops (tm),
Semen Delights (tm), and Chancroidiles (tm), argued as they walked home
through the suburban streets about who had the better costume.

Mark., not worth the effort
[e-mail]