From: gooley@netcom.com (Mark. Gooley)
Subject: terror of cute fuzzy kittens on a shiny day
Followup-To: alt.non.sequitur
Organization: Netcom - Online Communication Services  (408 241-9760 guest) 
Date: Tue, 6 Oct 1992 21:14:00 GMT

	Everybody else in the office had become an exact duplicate of
Paula Abdul.  The Paulas wore versions of their original clothes tailored
to their new form, and one of the janitors was adorable in her Saville
Row suit.  "Join us!" chorused a gaggle of them, licking the polish off my
shoes.  I had no desire to do so, but they led me to a booth of neon-green
plasticine and shoved me inside.  I felt the metamorphosis come over me
before I could leave, and in moments I was a deodorant tampon.  The Paulas
took turns inserting and removing me until I was ragged, singing Czech
drinking songs all the while.  Finally I tucked in my strings and lodged
myself deep inside a Paula who had been a grossly obese old secretary.
The others wailed and dove down inside her to get me out.
	I had regained human form and seemed to be inside a labyrinth of
tidy modern offices, hardly bigger than cubicles, windowless, and connected
by long corridors made of large-bore concrete sewer pipe decorated with
frescoes or the equivalent in oil, watercolor, charcoal, glued-on pieces of
cotton diaper, glittery clothes-drier lint, assorted bodily fluids and
secretions, and wax crayons.  Franco-Flemish sacred choral music played in
some as I ran from office to office, fleeing pursuing footsteps, trying on
hiking boots, stopping to smell the horses, becoming a mirror-image version
of myself, preparing chopped liver and baking bagels, starring as Polly
Peachum in a critically-acclaimed production of "The Beggar's Opera" with the
late Sir Ralph Richardson as Macheath, draining the Mediterranean Sea in one
gulp, flying an F-111 over Chicago to bomb it with marshmallows, becoming
Esther Williams for long enough to write an autobiography of Idi Amin for him,
and sleeping for seconds at a stretch.  Eventually I got bored with this
and decided to let my pursuers capture me.
	Three Paulas, all naked and with dark roots and strawberry jam in
their pubic hair, found me in an office where all the equipment -- computer,
fax machine, drill press, steam engine, threshing machine, arc welder,
M1A1 tank, and apple peeler -- worked perfectly despite being made of high
quality lard.  "You reek!" I shouted at them, and they cowered.  "We just
wanted to be Belgian rabbits, or waffles," sniveled one, and the others
nodded and picked their cute noses with their thumbs.
	I skinned them all and tanned the hides in my own bile and made
them into fine leather luggage.  Meanwhile the Paulas became pancake batter
and fried themselves in spermaceti, giggling as they turned brown and I
teleported them to an Inertial House of Human Pancakes Restaurant in Fargo,
North Dakota using sheer chutzpah worthy of Carasso himself, or his
grandfather the famous conductor or his mother the famous semiconductor
(much higher mobilities even than indium phosphide, and therefore possibly
useful in high-speed computer applications).  Then it was off to Canberra
to become the entire Australian government.

Mark.
gooley@netcom.com
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,talk.bizarre