From: boutell@cshl.org (Tom Boutell)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: My Homework
Date: 13 Aug 92 15:33:33 GMT
Organization: Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory

In article <1992Aug12.222019.24149@kakwa.ucs.ualberta.ca> aaron@space.ualberta.ca writes:
>
>For Tom Boutell:
>
>Wire Patchwork Trade Hand
>Must take place on the Love Boat (or Fantasy Island--what the heck).
>
><feeling weird...>

The captain had realized for quite some time that they were on
the passenger manifest for this cruise. He'd simply put off
dealing with it. It's not easy to face the fact that
Cher and Jello Biafra are about to board your ship, and
at your last encounter each had offered marriage.

Yet there he was, down at the gangplank, cheerfully welcoming his
passengers aboard. "Why, hello, Mrs. Incontinentia. yes, I'm
certain you'll have a lovely cruise."

"OH, IT SHOULD BE RO - MAAAAN - TIC!" Mrs. Incontinentia crushed
him in a violent hug. "Just like TEL - E - VISION!"

Years of practice allowed him to distract himself from the patchwork
of varicose veins - on her face, that is - and turn to the next
passenger while suppressing the gag reflex. "Hel - *lo*, 
my dear. Welcome back to our vessel."

Cher adjusted her spandex. She was wearing what appeared to be
three thin swaths of fabric connected by wires. In the absence
of evidence to the contrary the captain wisely assumed they
were electrified. He did his best to avoid pondering the location
of the battery.

"Cut the crap, balding boy. Last time you walked out without
answering me. This time I'll be at sea with you for two whole
*weeks.*" She growled and rubbed herself against his leg. He felt
like a fire hydrant.

"Later, dear," he whispered conspiriatorily, mentally cursing
Julie for having failed to bring the kennel crunchies he'd
requested from ship's stores that morning.

Suddenly there was a loud thump at the gangplank as a figure in
torn clothing with a T - shirt making obscure English slang
references to male anatomy clomped aboard. "The LOOOOOVVVEE
BOAT!!! California UEBER ALLES!"

Biafra was plowed. Again.

He sidled up to the captain, shook his hand and proceeded to shake
the rest of his extremities. 

"Hey, aren't you - "

"Hey, aren't you that no - talent punk sonofabitch?"

"Yeah? Yeah? Well you're a third - rate cutesy - television - show
spandex - grandmother battleship - humping time - turn - backing
sushi - puking - "

"Isn't that George Bush?"

"Right. Sorry," Biafra muttered. "I've been too political lately."

Cher released the captain's leg. He made a run for it.

She attached herself to Biafra's quivering mass. "hey there, big
boy, I'll have you know this is one spandex grandmother who can
still battleship - hump." She dragged him off to the lovely deck
where most of the love scenes were generally shot, doing her
best to ignore the 10,000 - watt television bulbs. "I got you, babe."


What more is there to say? The captain traded himself for
Jello Biafra, Jello took Cher's hand in marriage, and Tom got
out of this story with only minor ego damage. Oh well, I never
read followups anyway. I'm also a masochist. Another assignment,
pretty please, otherwise I'll do work, and heaven knows we wouldn't
want THAT.


-- 
Tom Boutell, boutell@cshl.org

Clausthaler is the best non - alcoholic beer in the known universe.
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre