From: mspayer@pbhya.PacBell.COM (Mike Payer)
Subject: critique for fun
Reply-To: mspayer@PacBell.COM (Mike Payer)
Organization: Pacific * Bell, San Ramon, CA
Distribution: usa
Date: Fri, 21 Aug 1992 17:15:53 GMT

                  ******* FOR YOUR CRITIQUE *********
------------------------------------------------------------------------

                    FROM THE FILES OF SAM SNIFFER P.I.

        It  was one of those dark gray foggy nights in the  city.
        Tim  and  I were working the night shift out  of  central
        north.   I  grunted  hello to Tim as we sat down  at  our
        consoles to begin the nights duties.

        After tossing my hat on the hat rack and checking to make
        sure  my piece was fully loaded, ( in case of trouble you
        understand  ) it wasn't.  "Damn!" I said to myself.  This
        meant  having  to open the munitions cabinet and  filling
        out  the forms for replacement cartridges.  I got a fresh
        cassette  of  non-spill  cartridge refills.   I  use  the
        0.5mm, makes a smaller hole and less noise when engaged.

        It  was  right after I sat down again that I noticed  Tim
        looking  up,  he had a funny look on his face,  you  know
        like  a guy on the beach for the first time smelling  the
        smell of seaweed and doesn't know what it is.

        "what's wrong?" I asked.

        "Don't  really  know  but something doesn't  smell  right
        around here" he said.

        I  looked up smelling the air as I did.  You know Tim had
        a  point!  Something was amiss, you could smell it in the
        air.   Yea the air that night, I'll never forget it.   It
        was  heavy  with  the  smell  of evil,  or  was  it  that
        grape-orange-pineapple-watermelon  snapple ice tea I  had
        in front of me?

        Both  Tim and I looked at each other ( he was sweating as
        much  as I was ).  We both reached for our pieces at  the
        same time.  "I'll take the conference room, you check the
        coffee room" Tim said.  I nodded and with my trusty berol
        (  model CA5 ) crouched down out of my chair and  creeped
        up  on  the  door to the coffee room.  I  placed  my  ear
        against  the  door where I could hear a very low  moaning
        noise,  aha,  I  figured, I had whoever or what  ever
        had caused  the hair on our heads ( this is no easy task for
        Tim's hair ) to stand on end.

        I backed away from the door and took a paper clip out of
        my  pocked.   I  threw the clip in the direction  of  the
        conference  room to get Tim's attention.  With my  finger
        on  my mouth I motioned for Tim to be quite and come over
        with me in front of the coffee room.

        Tim  grabbed the handle of the door and swung it open,  I
        dashed  into the coffee room in a crouch with my piece at
        the  ready.  A small green cloud swarmed out of the  room
        and under the front door to the center and was gone.  Tim
        and  I just stood there looking around the room that  was
        now  as quite as a mausoleum.  "What the hell was that?"  I
        said.   "You got me" said Tim, "but I think we had better
        find out".

        I  called the lab boys and asked them to come down and go
        over  the  room.  You never know sometimes they  come  up
        with some pretty good leads.  Remember I said sometimes.

        When  they  where  through they came out and  just  stood
        there  looking  at  Tim  and I.  Have you  ever  had  the
        feeling that someone was trying to tell you that you have
        just  wasted  one  hell  of a lot of their  time  for  no
        reason?   Well  these guy did just that with their eyes.

        "OK,  OK"  I said "what did you find?  you don't look  to
        happy."

        "Listen  pal the only thing that has been in that room in
        the  last  few  hours is methane of  biological  origin".

        "And  just  what the hell does that mean?" I asked.   The
        lab  boys  just looked at me like I was some kind  of  an
        idiot.

        Tim  came  over took me by the arm pulled me back out  of
        their  hearing  range and said "forget it Bill, you  want
        everyone around hear to find out we drew down on a FART?"

        "Oh crap" I said "close but not the same thing" Tim said.

        "Come  on, we've got calls to answer." Tim said as he sat
        back down in his chair and took an incoming call.

        As for me I sit here with the FYI form and a coors trying
        to  figure  out how to put the best light on this  report
        for the boss.

        But  in  the back of my mind a voice from the past  keeps
        repeating over and over again:

                        "you can't polish a trud"

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