💾 Archived View for gemini.spam.works › mirrors › textfiles › groups › BANANAREPUBLIC › gbs.txt captured on 2020-11-01 at 00:03:12.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
File : GBS.TXT
Author : A. McCully & Rez Errection
BBS : The Banana Republic BBS
The following is a series of humourous (Hopefully!) texts that a
friend and I devised (Mainly him actually) one Saturday Night.
Though they may not appeal to certain BR members as they lack the
required amount of Necrophilia and Bestiality (Disappointed sighs
from readers), at the time of their writing we thought that they
were amusing. If you like and want more such texts then leave a
message to Rez Erection on BR and who knows I might even convince
LP to post them as a bulletin! Criticism welcomed:
Note: These are Private. Please do not upload to other BBSs.
These texts are dedicated to Trillion and, of course, Lord LP!
Rez Erection and A. McCully Present:
Metaphysical Ambience:
The Sun shone happily, the clouds drifted merrily, the air did
whatever it was that air did joyously and the grass.. the grass
swayed agreeably. Enthusiastic beams of sunlight found their way
with a blissful degree of contentment to the Earth, lighting the
overjoyed and elated planet. A slight inkling of a diminutive
formation of wind whispered its way over the jubilant country
side, rejoicing at the ecstasy of being.
Butterflies flitted, flitting from flower to flower with a
delighted expression emanating from their facial features.
Happy in a kind of terminal way, a brown dog strolled across the
agreeable grass and looked up at the cheerful clouds. The
protracted stay of euphoria which was currently staging a sit-in
at his brain had affected his whole outlook on life. After
suffering from a short bout of leprosy, becoming a quadriplegic
and recovering from several incidents of radiation sickness that
were caused by large nucleur blasts around his kennel, he had
lost all hope. Today however he woke up to find that all his
limbs had regrown, his fur had rejuvenated and he now had a face.
This had so impressed him that he had gone out with the express
intent of fully experiencing the total and ultimate realisation of
the Spirit. The day had so far proved most satisfying in the line of
ultimate realisation of the spirit and thus he was happy.
The dog now approached the rather emaciated collection of dirt
and rocks that served as a road to this now emaciated spiritually
aware community. On the other side of the road he saw what looked
like an amazingly comfortable place to sit, alongside which was
an amazingly edible-looking bowl of food that simply glowed with
the pleasurability of the day. He began to cross the road with
simple wondrous nicety of step. HOWEVER the oncoming truck did
not share his views on the perfection of the day and said so by
revving its engines. As an additional touch it also crushed sinew,
smashed liver, destroyed skin, ground intestine into asphalt, and
although it did all this extremely politely and with all the
proper elocution the gesture was not greatly appreciated by the dog!
When the trucks had finished articulating its displeasure over
the whole theological and metaphysical implications of the dog,
all that remained of the now not-so-impressed dog was an
amazingly small, precision placed pile of semi liquid gore.
Steaming entrails splayed out in an intricate pattern suggested
that the truck driver was in possession of some artistic
faculties.
The intestines bubbled happily, the liver glupped and convulsed
cheerfully and the blood clotted agreeably...
Oath of the Dead
- A passionate tale of power struggles within a Yemenite mining
community or alternatively some pleasant adjectives, a few
subjunctive clauses and some blood (Gratuitous Sex, Depravation
and Necrophilia). Written by A. McCully with very minor
technical assistance from Rez and typed by Rez Erection.
The Sun, in its rising, turned the morning clouds a deep shade of
orange. The time had arrived, and after centuries of dustial
accumulation, the proverbial spit and polish of heroics was
present. Below the orangely ambient cloud cover a field was
revealing itself to the rest of the world.
Beside the field was a small keep, a gray stone affair with a
turret at each corner and a huge black metal gate. It stood on a
small hill beside the field, sentinel of the area.
There was already one figure on the field, he dismissed most
medieval stereotypes about combatants as he wore nothing of a
military nature aside from a bronze helmet. Raised above this and
carried in both hands was a staff, it remained perfectly still,
as did the figure, no sign of life around it or him. Statuesque
was a good word.
* *
Life in the Legion of the Dead was not particularly
scintillating, it was in fact a contradiction in terms, but it
was there. Being dead had many disadvantages, one of the better
ones being that material humour was lacking. It simple wasn't
possible to roar loudly in laughter at the elite guards that got
slaughtered by their own covering fire, it was no longer feasible
to make jokes about the barbarian horde that collectively got
syphilis after a bit too much looting, pillaging and raping. It
was boring.
There was however one event which cropped up at irregular
intervals, the Invasion of the Living World. What would happen is
that all the dead would get together, create a rift in the
spatial and temporal continuum and go for a short foray into the
world of Life, wreaking as much "death and havoc" as was
inhumanly possible. The whole thing was a tremendous morale
boost, not to mention "a fun-filled day for the whole platoon".
There was an excited humming as the Legion waited for the
dimensional gate to open.
Snatches of conversation could be heard.
"I hope it's better than last time, and the time before that, and
the time before that, me and my squire, dead in the first two
minutes!"
"Yeah, that Archmage spoiled everything."
"I mean if you can't kill the living who can you kill?"
"Exactly."
But that was all, for the normally rigid walls of time and space
were being split asunder as the Gate manifested itself. A vast
section of the grey world the Dead inhabit was swept aside as an
even vaster blackness filled the vast swept away bit. Solemnly
they marched and before you could say "Stuff physics this is
fantasy", they were half way to the Real world.
* *
The figure now sat cross legged meditating, his staff upright in
front of him, though he held it not. The top end appeared to
spontaneously combust, bursting into life. Its phosphorescence
steadily increased, flaring up, supernovering and becoming a
beacon, brighter than the Sun itself. The area around the figure
pulsated with energy, multiple fissures in the very earth
developed along with multiple bolts of pure power descending from
the sky to strike the staff, only to be absorbed. In a paroxysm
of fire a conduit of power from the Gods engulfed the figure
obscuring him completely from view. The power surge lasted for a
few seconds, and stopped suddenly ... The figure was ready.
A wind picked up, it gently swayed the greenness that was the
field. The gate on the keep rattled.
A stronger wind pickede up and with greater force swayed the
greenness. The gate on the keep squeaked open a fraction.
A FUCKING ENORMOUS tornado tore up the very earth the
greenness was on and the gate warped, melted and the bottom
section of the keep exploded in a PRETTY FUCKING VIOLENT display
of one-ups manship on the part of the Dead.
The ghosts of warriors past trooped out of the wreckage and
howled with the ecstasy of being so near to life. They were
terrible to behold as the battle-lust overtook them and they
longed for blood. And upon the sighting of the figure and his
staff a unanimous "Oh Fuck, not again" issued from the horde. For
a few moments there was silence, a few whispered "What do we do
nows" and then cacophony. The legion was not to be beaten again
and so with a raucous chant the horde surged forward in a single
slaughterous mass with a single slaughterous goal.
The figure on the other hand had other ideas, for although he had
a single slaughterous goal he did not surge forward
slaughterously. What he did do was look nonchalant, pose
retrospectively and raise his staff skyward. The horde screamed.
At the staff's tip a black mass was forming, expanding
gelatinously, forcing its way to existence. The horde screamed
again, only louder. With an explosion of growth the mass became a
sphere, throwing out luminous spears of light that dealt death to
the Dead, unraveling the fine ethereal threads that held them
together. The horde screamed quite loudly this time. In reply the
figure threw a dozen or so flaming balls of destruction into
their midst, vapourising all that they touched. The few remaining
members of the horde booed strongly, knowing their fate.
In a last cataclysmic attack the figure called forth a vast
vortex of incandescence which wreaked death upon rank upon rank
of the legion, devouring them and spewing forth their
disassembled corpses. As the last was crushed silence descended.
The figure chuckled to himself and went to inform the King that
he had again saved the realm.
A last vestigule of lucid thought floated from the slowly
disappearing bodies of the Legion,
" O Fuck! ............I swear..... I'll do that Archmage ".
The Blueness:
- A brilliant, innovative work of art that delivers a knockout
political punch. A stunning aesthetic, historical and social
document. This text articulates the mechanisms of oppression
and the ecstasies of freedom with a dazzling use of both
spoken and visual language. Written by A. McCully with minor
technical assistance from Rez and typed by Rez Erection.
The city sat, waiting, bathing in the vast crystalline blue that
was not in any way normal. It was not a strong or dark blue, it
was light, calm, not unlike a flat sea that had taken to the air.
It had had a strange effect on the city; normally the city's pace
was furious, it waited for no-one, and no-one expected it too,
but on the blueness' arrival that had changed. No-more did the
high glass and steel buildings harshly reflect the Suns' light in
the sunglasses of the scores of business with the cellphones, now
the harshness was taken off the reflection and a dull square of
light was all that was relayed to the glasses.
No longer could the "Sun-Glass Wearing Men In Suits Who Go Out
And Relive Dreams of Miami Vice With Their Hands Down Their
Trousers, Chatting From Their Carphones To People Called Sharon
And Dave With The Sunroofs Open, Basking In The Hot White
Light" go out and relive dreams of Miami Vice with their hands
down their trousers, chatting from their carphones to people
called Sharon and Dave with their sunroofs open, basking in the
hot white light. These days the cars went slower with the
sunroofs closed. Nobody felt the urge to be professionalistic,
nobody felt the need to use their cellphones.
"The Single Mothers Trying To Hold Down A Job While Supporting
Three Children" appreciated the change. The blueness induced a
sense of sluggishness city-wide which pacified the children,
relaxed the speed of work at the offices where they all worked as
secretaries and just generally made life easier.
A small number of "Visiting Businessmen Just Over Here To Clinch
A Really Big Deal" were also affected for when they returned to
where they came from they found that everything was too fast,
that they couldn't take it, and that, more to the point, they
didn't want to. They threw away their Visiting Businessmen roots
and moved to the City to become "Businessmen With Sunglasses And
Cellphones". There was a small outcry from a xenophobic section
of the "Very Important People In High Places Who Appear To Do
Very Little But Earn Lots Of Money", but no one really minded.
The "People In The Street" had even more morning teas to discuss
how strange it was that Harry had married Jane and then gone to
Mexico where he said he had a business, but no-one believed him
and what with all this blue thing hanging over the city.
According to "Astrologers And Other People Who Wear Black A Lot",
there had been a 16% rise in the number of children being born
with six heads since the blueness had appeared and consequently
religious suicides increased and churches were packed every
Sunday, with the "Astrologers And Other People Who Wear Black A
Lot" preaching to the "People In The Street" who in turn relayed
the message to the "Other People In The Street Who Don't Really
Care What's Happening Anyway".
All in all not much happened, though little by little everyone
became calm. Even "Psychopaths And Other People Who Wear Brown A
Lot" were killing fewer people", complaining that the blueness
had taken away that essential streak of life-hating vitality that
was required to kill people in cold blood. "The Very People In
High Places Who Appear To Do Very Little But Earn Lots Of Money"
replied with the fact that these days nobody could be bothered
putting up. a fight anyway, taking all the fun and thrill out of
it.
"Psychopaths And Other People Who Wear Brown A Lot"'s suicides
increased.
Crime fell to Zero, as did Production.
Many "People Who Are Actually Religious But Don't Like To Say It
Because John Always Been An Atheist" asked God what was
happening.
He didn't answer.
A tribe of nomadic "People Who Own Suits And Are Successful In
The View Of The Public But Really Are Bastards Who Have Affairs
With Their Secretaries" migrated to the city, seeking serenity
away from their paternity suits. They found it. They found more
than that, they found tranquility and also slowness.
Finally the streets became clogged with the cars of people who
had been driving to work but then thought, "Why?", and got out,
leaving the car still running and went home.
After a period of three months the pavements, the shops and even
the churches were empty. Everyone was home.
Everyone except three "Very Important People In High Places Who
Appear To Do Very Little But Earn Lots Of Money", who had been
becalmed while in the council offices.
"What is to be done?"
"How can we do anything when we don't know what's happening?"
"Nothing's happening, that's the problem."
"Yeah, that's true, but why?"
And with that last word, the lights went off and a sort-of
cosmic and all pervading "Because I Fucking Said So!" answered
the question as time ceased to be.
If anyone had been able to see it then they would have observed
that the blueness appeared to increase in intensity, becoming a
solid blueness of calm and quiet until it overwhelmed all light.
As the "Blues" slowly, immeasurably slowly, enveloped the region
its essential blueness surpassed mortal comprehension..
Finally after two minutes of packed blueness it relented and when
it ceased, the city was no more, for it too had Stopped.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
AUTHOR : A. McCully & Rez Errection
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Brought to the WORLD by The Banana Republic BBS
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------