From: Gleeep@cup.portal.com (Dave - Silon)
Newsgroups: comp.sys.amiga.advocacy
Subject: Re: Heh heh (was Re: Huh? (was Re: Hah! (was Re: Huh?)))
Date: Thu,  3 Sep 92 01:16:39 PDT
Organization: The Portal System (TM)
Distribution: world

>Thanks for the spelling lesson, you zipper-faced, but-kissing,
>rot-brained, lifeless excuse for roadkill.  
 
  Did you mean "butt-kissing?"  Smoochy smoochy smoocy.
  I'm surprised that your spelling is so poor BLOCKBALLS - 
  and even after practicing so recently with your 
  Playskool See 'N Spell? Tsk. Tsk.
 
  Your incessant references to bestiality seeem to imply that 
  all you remember is what you learned from your 
  "Dial-A-Farm-Animal" Noisemaker.  But don't let me stop you
  now - I'm sure TRUSSY will enjoy your visitations almost as
  much as you will enjoy his.
 
>...when you jumped off of a 50-story building head first and did
>negligible damage to your hollow cranium.
 
  Wait JUST a minute...the scores are coming in...ah yes, it
  looks like you have scored a 3.6 on the "OH YEAH?" scale of
  "Not Entirely Scathing and Only Somewhat Bothersome" mindless
  retorts from someone with threee tons of seeething bat guano 
  in his pants.  It's a good trick - how do you do it?  
 
  Are you a BAT?   [curious pause...someone not paying attention
  (probably TRUSSY) yells "Burn Her!  Burn Her!"]
 
  ...or are you just hanging upside down because your last
  corpse...uh...I mean girlfriend... hasn't untied you yet?
  And why are you wearing a loincloth made out of 
  'Necco' Wafers (or are those Necro Wafers)?
 
>The green slime mould inhabiting the back of your throat must have
>regurgitated most of those corrections...
  You seeem to have a thing for 'mould' - is this a latent side
  effect of your quasi-sexual nether nibbling and sahara 
  slurping on the gangrenous raisin-rawhide mounds of your 
  blind-yet-insatiably-barren 140 year-old operatic nursemaid?
  Molecules of malignant moisture massage your MANLY mastoid as
  OverRipe Van Wrinkle croaks and wheezes your favorite aria from
  "Senorita Moth."  Two tiny exotic island girls peek out from
  underneath your shed Mickey Mouse Stimu-Groin Lust Enhancer
  and signal to you in strange hand motions that they are in
  the wrong movie.  "How unfortunate," you think as you lose
  consciousness to the sounds of small, yet feral, roaches
  mounting you voraciously for their own orthopteran delight.
 
>By the way, calling me "blockhead"...ranks you in with some of 
>the most intelligent minds you've ever competed with...
 
  Aww. Shucks.  There you go flattering me again.  It's so nice 
  to know that I'm appreciated, eh BLOCKY, you over-compressed, 
  high-frequency DCT JPEG aberration?  Or should I call you 
  BATTY, BATBOY, GUANOGUY, BLOCKEDBOWELS, or perhaps...
  COUNT SUCKULA?
 
   Hmmm.  Let's see...which has the most potential for being the
   ripping sequel to "CRETIN GORGE?"  
 
And now it's time for Sessile B. DeVoters to choose their
favorite for immediate production by MGM [More Gleeep Movies]:
 
A.   "TRUSSY MEEETS COUNT SUCKULA"
    [What happens to a misguided HOG when he mistakes a
     supernatural psycho-villain for a box of harmless
     children's cereal?]
 
    [The year is 3095.  BLOCKY swallows Air Force One while
    feeeding on triffids and Kurt Russell saves everyone by 
     blasting his way through an impacted large intestine.]
 
C.   "SINGLE, WHITE TRUSSY"
    [Recently divorced and dead, TRUSSY has turned very pale.
    He puts a want add in the paper and suddenly begins to look
    like a generic Commodore employee with a very strange nose.  
    There would be murder and terror if not for the fact that
    TRUSSY the Not-So-Wonder HOG is suffering from a severe
    case of Pigor Mortis, severely restricting his ability
    to gallop, cavort and slay.]  
 
    // The audience dies screaming for no apparent reason
    during the computer-animated credits.  A confused HAM
    radio enthusiast is standing outside of the theater
    passing out "Jehovah's Amiga" piglets...
    uh...pamphlets //
 
D.   "THE RETURN OF BATBOY"
    [Disappointed with his new Christmas toy (a Mattel [tm]
     BATBOY with living, biting, flying, sonar appendages),
     TRUSSY leaps from his shallow grave and bends BATBOY 
     into the shape of boomerang, which he subsequently
     hurls at his image in his Narciss-O-Pig tombstone.
     BATBOY passes through the shiny surface and chokes
     TRUSSY'S reflection mercilessly.  BATBOY is then
     hurled back into the prime material world by enraged
     COSMIC FORCES (possibly the CELLULOID ENTITIES) where
     he attempts to choke the REAL TRUSSY, but fails because
     TRUSSY was not breathing anyway.]  
 
>If you walked into the wall with a full erection, you androgenous
>barbie-doll-looking freak of nature, you'd break your nose.
 
  Hey! Leave the Holy Plastic Virgin Mother With No Orifices
  out of this, you frenum-licking philistine.
 
>You'll never have to worry about death, at this rate, not 
>even the grim reaper can bear to get within a thousand 
>paces of you.
 
  Yes.  He knows I'll beat him in BattleShip.
 
>Gleeep Writes:
>The squirrels and hamsters must miss you.
>COUNT SUCKY SUCK Writes:
>They certainly don't miss you.
 
  [sniff.]  And after all I've done for them.  Who was it
  that passed the safety legislation requiring all rodents
  under 13 oz. to wear full-torso safety harnesses when in
  the presence of TRUSSY'S GRAVE? Not you - Intestinal Cowboy.
 
>...little-known Quantum particle known as the Gleeon...
  Gleeeon.  At least your SUCKULA spelling is consistent.
 
I find your aboriginal grasp of phonemes barely passable.
I suggest you revert to a former life as a bacterial dirt
scowl to ponder your irreversible transgressions against
She With The Eternal Figure and the CELLULOID ENTITIES,
before you are taken amid the COUNCIL OF UNFORGIVENESS
and made to pay for your crimes against Gleeep and the
Grotto Paradise.
 
TRUSSY must bear the fires of desyndication alone, 
for only he knows the sins he has committed.  His
death was just the FIRST PUNISHMENT - many will follow -
until he and his blazemongrels are thrown beyond the 
dark gates by the Multifarious Hounds of Z Protocol.
 
You cannot expect to ever know the Animus of your soul
if you continue along this path of the PUG-BEING and
the Sacrosanct Melon Scoops I will use to remove your
eyeballs and turn them into holiday ornaments if you
do not desist forthwith.
 
In other words, sod off, spandex chops.
 
- Gleeep