From: jem@sunSITE.unc.edu (Jonathan Magid)
Subject: Ceremonial Heterogy and Cerebral Hemorrhaging [CONTINUED]
Followup-To: alt.non.sequitur
Summary: parts I and II
Organization: University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill
Date: Sat, 23 Jan 1993 07:46:28 GMT


[Apologies to: Gooley, Robinson Jeffers, Cindi Lauper, Latoya Jackson
	Jesse Helmes,Chris Christopherson, Diana Senechal, and Gogol]

	Viscous lipids jumped onto the band wagon, wagging their blond
school-boy tails enthusiastically.  

	This tragic moment had been brought to the crisis point by 
the negligence of society combined with the scarcity of noodles. These
two seemingly unrelated trends had set certain molecules into motion (brownian)
that would eventually lead to the collapse of the cheezy chinese restaurant
industry as we know it.

	No more to munch the rice forever 
	but live with Cindi Lauper
	a few days as she bops.

	It was my solemn duty (drawn randomly from a pot of piercing scorpions,
but entitling me to "Buy one order of Sea Cucumber Lo-Mein, Get one Half 
Price") to prevent this tragedy that rushed towards our nation like the
shell of a well-greased Galapogos tortoise which had been stepped upon
by a hairy mammoth. 

	A plan. I needed a plan.

	A clue. I needed a clue.

	Then it hit me, like Jesse Helmes tied to the nose cone of an MX 
missile and launched point blank at the back of my head, and I saw a
light so blinding that I grew hair on the palms of both of my hands.

	I decided to shop at Goolian "You needa clue, we needa screw" Enter-
prises.  After thoroughly offending the proprietor, I asked my question.

	"Where does that buzz you get in the back of your head after 
eating the type of oriental food found in blue dishes in red restaurants
come from?"

	After decyphering my lack of punctuation the Gool Spoke, in a 
surprisingly quiet sing-song, reminding me of Latoya Jackson.

	Where the drugs lords go not,
	And William Bennett smokes pot,
	That is where the answers dance
	Where Jesus himself eats Moo Goo Gai Pan.

After this the Gool would say nothing else.

	So, I reached into my pocket to get his required payment. I pulled out
my dirty red bandana and gave it to the Gool.  It quickly was transformed
into a thin and wirey (20 gauge copper co-ax) heroin addict, who cleanly
ripped of the proprietor's skin and left in order to search for some fellow 
named Robert.

	I felt strangely drained and slightly embarrased by this participation 
in someone else's fantasy and left quickly.

	The seconds were ticking towards the quiet tone of 
midnight. Soon it would be first day of the Year of the Rooster and
everything would be all cocked up.

	As I walked down the street, past "Chang Wui's All Night Mongolian
Barbecue Take-out and Kosher Deli", I carefully considered the wise
master's words.

	Filled with sudden inspiration and a terrible attack of discomfortable
bloating and gas, I ducked into the convenient alley way.  

	A mysterious woman stood there, lounging delicately against a 
freshly painted wall.  Realizing that sight gags rarely work in ascii-only
channels, I examined her closer.  

	She was the sort of woman that men die for, with legs like my cousin,
Antoine, who had tried to defect to Belgium, only to find that they we were 
allies and that Belgium had no use for a five-jointed flaming-sword 
swallowing midget anyway.  

	"What's your name, sweet-heart," I coughed and wheezed, falling victim
to a sudden return of the World War I era sensitivity to mustard gas that
I had inheirited from my grandmother, a whore who had produced boot leg
nerve toxins in a small still that she kept hidden beneath a large pile
of her uncomfortable looking, but strangely intriguing, lacey underthings.

	"Cindiaa Ex Machina," she said, turning towards me and revealing that 
what I had taken to be paint was actually an incredibly sensual outdoors wood 
lacquer; like lycra, it stretched across her right breast which had been 
bionically augmented with a small flame thrower and thinwire ethernet port.

	I knew immediately that this was the lady that I had been looking
for; not only did she offer NRENnet connectivity, but also a way to
bring this story to a close.

	"Tell me moire," I blurted, and as her face became contorted
and pixelated, I quickly corrected myself, "more."

	"The answer is as plain as the nose on your face; go into
Chang Wui's and order the Gefilte Crispy Prawn Matzoh Ball, and all
shall become clear."

	As I turned around to leave, she disappeared into a cloud of
fowl smelling smoke.  Pigeon I think, or perhaps grouse.

	I stepped into the door and the smell of pepper fried pastrami
hit me like a wheel of a strong German cheese dropped off of a high
shelf onto my bare head.

	I was led to my seat by a middle aged man of indeterminate 
oriental origin who's bad need of professional orthodontia reminded me
of Tom Sawyer being crunched by a large truck while painting his Aunt's 
fence.

	I followed Cindiaa's instructions and ordered the traditional
Sino-Judaic New Year's treat.  It arrived steaming hot and with a small
bowl of duck sauce which spoke to me with a strong lisp, which I found
comforting as I had been expecting the hackneyed 'l'-'r' mix-up.

	"Tho, you are looking for de andwer to the New Year'th mythtery of 
the dithappearance of tho many redtaurants?"

	"Frankly," I answered, "I can't remember; this story has rambled
on for so long that I just can't recall."

	"Don't bodder wid de Reagan act, check your Thea Cucumber Lo-Mein
coupon. Dat's your job, for thure."

	Tho, I mean, So it was. Now was the time for business; it was time to 
end this charade, which was a pity since the only possible replacement
was Pictionary, which was already a registered trademark of Milton-Bradley.

	"Stop your screwing around, you perverted not-quite-authentic
asian condiment, we both know who is responsible for the systematic
conversion of cheap chinese restaurants to Planned Parrot-hood outlets,"
I squawked.

	"You are correct, foolish wethtener, but far too late. My plan
is clothe to completion, all dat is nethethary is for me to perthonally
trigger it."

	I leapt to action, dipping the tasty shrimp-like delicacy into
the caustic condiment and ate him.

	He was delicious.
-- 
Jonathan Magid     jem@sunSITE.unc.edu       sunSITE Administrator
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