Newsgroups: alt.personals
Subject: SINBAD THE SINGLE SAILOR: Episode 5
From: anonymus+2011@godiva.nectar.cs.cmu.edu
Date: Sat, 7 Nov 1992 23:29:53 GMT
Organization: Anonymous contact service


Editor's Note:  And once again we bid greetings to all those amongst us who
have nothing better to do than to review an endless stream of mostly similar
propositions, all, basically, looking for either love or lust.  Greetings
friends, greetings.  It is with great apologies that we submit to you
the continuing story of Sinbad after a one week delay, but our writer, believe
it or not, claims that he has better things to do than to spend a couple of
hours to spew out one of these seemingly delirious postings.  We have
threatened lawsuits, tortured, taken hostages, and dismembered (he now types
with his nose!) to no avail, as once a week seems to be the norm.  In any
case, We hope that our reader's posess enough living brain cells (the 60's,
drugs, alcohol, old age and all) to keep track of Sinbad's misadventures 
from week to week, and, if not, it makes no difference as there is no plot
line anyway!  So without further permutations of nonsense, let us step 
into (one foot at a time) the brain of our brainless author and see what
he is up to now.

This episode of Sinbad is brought to you:

By OCS (the Organization of Creative Spelling) where most of our members were
smoking in the lavetory during english classes.

By the Sahara Desert Aquatic Vegetable Growers Association wher we ain't got
none yet.

By your local Internet node.

And by bored readers like you.  (By the way, next week is pledge week!)

Ladies and Gentlemen, dudettes and dudes, wierdettes and wierdoes hold on
to your socks, send you office-mates on a wild goose chase, tell your
secretary to hold all calls, tell your boss to buzz off,  secure your
loose change, put on your 3D glasses, take off your 3D glasses (this isn't
virtual reality!), put your homework aside, sit tight, here we goooooooooo:

                        THE ADVENTURES OF 
         SINBAD THE SINGLE SAILOR IN THE SEA OF SINGLES

EPISODE 5:  Where am I?  Who is this? AAAARRRGGGHHH! Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

As you may recall (or, if you didn't get episode 4, as you may not know) our
not so magnanomous hero spent a rather lurid evening with an entity of the 
opposite gender, sprawled out on the living room floor, doing who knows what to
where.  He had met this questionable beauty at a local meat market, excuse
me, nightclub known for the Cosmopolitan-GQ types who hang out there.  What
happened through the night is an old story, but let us stick our heads through
the living room wall and take a peek:

Consciousness.  Where am I?  The Nigerian National Drum Ensamble is playing
their most celebrated tune in my head, apparently they missplaced their
instruments and they're using my skull instead.  I can almost imagine
Tarzan swinging by (aaaaayyyyyaaaayyyyyaaaaaaa).  My mouth tastes like a 
family of rats spent the winter there (not all of them survived either!).  I
run my tongue over my teeth, it seems that somebody laid out new carpet over
them when I was sleeping (shag, no less!).  I'm glad I'm not standing in
front of a mirror for I am sure the color would be green.  My whole body is 
in pain, every joint frozen.  My back must be in some sort of sling for it
can't move.  I open my eyes.  Light comes piercing through, like a knife 
straight through my forehead.  What time is it? It can't be that late, but 
the sun is frying its way through the curtains.  I look at my watch.  2 A.M.
Damn cheap, Korean Rolex look-a-like, $10.95 New York street corner, piece
of shit!  I look around.  There is someone else sleeping on the floor, naked.
I try and focus my eyes, but the picture looks like a Florida thunder storm
with no windsheild-wipers.  I squint,  things come into focus, she has her
back to me,  I lean over and take a look (aaaaayyyyyaaaayyyyyaaaaaaa, tarzan
comes swinging by, the Nigerian Ensambl pick up the beat!).  Wrinkles, lot and
lots of them. She must be 15 years older than I.  Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? 
Okay, got to make the best of this.  As if walking on broken glass and two
sound-sensitive nuclear bombs are tied around my neck, I get dressed.  My
clothes stinks of smoke, my mouth pasty, my eyes red, my hair has gone
individualistic (each one in its own direction!), what a wonderfull life
I lead!  I tippy-toe over to the door, gently crack it open and slip out.

As I turn around to leave, bright light comes shining in my face.  The sky
seems to be covered with blazing lights.  I hear a magnetic buzz in all
directions.  Suddenly, I notice that my feet are no longer on the ground.
I start to float upwards.  As I get close to the lights I notice a gray
metalic surface beyond, towards which I am hovering.  Then there is an
opening and I get sucked in.

I stand there trembling.  Is this a really bad (or perhaps really good)
dream?  What the hell is going on?  I'm standing in some sort of room, not
really square, not really round.  A door slides open.  This thing, this,
this, tentacular, slithery mass comes slithering in.  It's hard to explain
what it looks like, all colorfull tentacles searching out in all directions
(sort of like a drum-full of gummy worms).  I can tell that some of
the tentacles are checking me out. Then, a whole bunch of them stand up
straight, vibrate, and stop.  I don't know what to do.  Again the tentacles
stand up straight and vibrate.  This process goes on for 5 or 6 times.  After
a while the thing just sits there.  A few minutes pass and then I see this
little gadget get pulled out of the mass and held in my direction.  The 
creature keeps waving it at me.  Finally, ever so cautiously, I reach out and
take it.  It looks like some cheap Hong-Kong made transformer toy.  Suddenly,
it starts to make this humming noise, and I hear voice in my head:

"Hey dude, what's happenin!"

I must have jumped six feet. "Ahhh, Hello?"

"I said, what's going on man?  You seem a bit startled.  I was trying to mind
vibrate with you for the longest time, but I guess you lower species don't
really have telepathic abilities.  Anyway, that mind-linkobater I gave you
will fix that.  My name is Zagwog, you can call me Wog, what's your's?"

"Ahh, Sinbad."

"Well, how-ya-doin Ahhsinbad?"

"No not Ahh-Sinbad, Sinbad."

"Well, why did you say Assinbad?  Anyway, Sinbad, welcome to the transgalactic
merchant ship Squeegmog.  We travel the universe from galaxy to galaxy in
search of things to buy and sell.  We were in the neighborhood for a few weeks
and I thought I'd pick someone up to see if there is anything interesting
in this planet I could buy.  By the way, how much for the shoes? They'r really
tubular man. I'll give you ten zibs for it.  Okay fifteen, but that's my 
final offer."

"You said "we".  How many of you are there?"

"Oh, well on this ship there are about 3000 entities from about 130 different
intelligent species of the universe.  Of those 130 about 80 or so live in your
dimension, the rest of which you will never see without another dimension,
which you obviously lack.  So, how much for the shoes? Pay you 18 zibs if you
give me the socks too."  It's tentacles started to examine my shoes.

I pulled back, "Hey, lay off the shoes man, they're not for sale.  Ahh, Mr.
Zagwog Sir, am I some sort of prisoner or can I get off this ship?"

"Prisoner? What?  Man, we don't take prisoners.  What do you think I am, some
sort of Ichbong or something?  No man, you can get off whenever you want. Like
I say, we're here for a few weeks,  I you want you can hang out with us,
get to know some of the brothers and all that."

So, I can look around this spaceship for a few weeks.  Man, what an experience.
What should I do. Hmm?  What the hell you worried about, this could
be the experience of a life time.  I straightened my collar, tucked my
shirt in my pants, ran my hands through my hair, turned to Zagwog and 
said:

"Hey, Wog baby, my main man, tell me, does this place have a nightclub?!"

What crazy adventures are awaiting our hero in the dark corners of the alian
spaceship?  Are there no limits to our hero's appetite for love, umm lust?
What does it feel like to be with six breasted Yaguarian love nymph?  Are
there, perchance any other humans on the ship?  For the answer to these and
many other questions that are just as stupid, tune in next time for:

                        THE ADVENTURES OF 
         SINBAD THE SINGLE SAILOR IN THE SEA OF SINGLES

Episode 6: What do you mean that's not the way you do it?!
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