Silicon Investor (SI) -- The First Internet Community

STOCKTALK

We've detected that you're using an ad content blocking browser plug-in or feature. Ads provide a critical source of revenue to the continued operation of Silicon Investor. We ask that you disable ad blocking while on Silicon Investor in the best interests of our community. If you are not using an ad blocker but are still receiving this message, make sure your browser's tracking protection is set to the 'standard' level.

Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Thomas C. White who wrote (8253)	2/26/1998 8:19:00 PM
From: Rambi	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 71178

She Who Is Meek and Mild opens the odd-looking missive, redolent of chicken fat and mulehide, then wipes her hand on her t-shirt absentmindedly, not noticing that it paints a long streak of grease across the front. Her eyes widen as she reads. She must reach Rambi immediately and warn her! Rushing to the phone, she prays that her embarrassingly aggressive and assertive alter ego is wearing her cell phone in her thong... A rush of relief flows through her as she hears the click of the connection being made. "You just got a terrible letter that you need to know about!" she gasped out. "Are you on the plane yet?" "No I'm in the Admiral's Club. Read it to me." What has the Timorous and Tepid One gotten herself in a tizzy over this time? A garbled strangely accented message followed from one Eemelda yadayada who seemed upset about some new kind of love doughnuts. Rambi shrugged. Probably some investment gimmick for Krispy Kreme. "I'll take care of it when I get back from Paraguay, "she says dismissively. "Paraguay!!" She pulls the phone away from her perfect and delicate shellpink ear hurriedly. "Why Paraguay!! You don't know Spanish!" "Of course I do. Tequila. Chili con carne. Gratias. Bien." "So you can order dinner, oh , that's great! Can you say, Where's the American Embassy?" She sighs patiently. "Su cochinito el mas lindo, senorita." "You just told me my pig is very pretty." "Oh-well-I was just thinking about that pig. He was a nice one. I have to go. There seems to be a problem with my travel outfit." She slammed the phone shut and turned to the agent who was frowning at her thong. What was his problem? It was a Chanel. "Uh, ma'am, is that what you're wearing on the plane?" She fixed her blindingly-blue, dark-lashed eyes on his, "Yes, it is. Is there a problem?" His eyes wandered around the room and came to rest on the d‚colletage of her bolero. "No, ma'am!," he muttered, breathlessly. "Good." She turned and strode out to the gate where the attendant behind the counter gave her her boarding pass without looking up. As she marched down the jetway, the agent glanced at her, did a double take and began to call out, but her partner grabbed her arm. "Don't you know who that is?" she said, and pointed to the passenger manifest. "Oh my God! Was that-Rambi? The one Mr. Crandall called us about?" "Yes-give her anything she wants." "But-but she has no last name! And no clothes!" "So give her a blanket. And make sure they call her Ms. Rambi." Rambi entered the first class section and found 3B where the flight attendant offered to take her jacket. As Rambi unbuttoned the tight bolero, it dawned on the attendant that there was nothing underneath. "Oh,. my, um, you know, it's going to get very chilly today in the cabin and um-maybe you might like to keep that on for a bit!" she gasped. The elderly man in 3A booed. The young executive in 3C threw his empty coffee cup at her. A few napkins and a bag of peanuts struck her in the back. Taking her Essential Spanish Phrases for Tourists from her briefcase, and silencing with a ferocious glare the attendant's gasp of horror at the sight of the Uzi , she sat, buckled her seatbelt, and began to study. Preferiria una habitacion sin alacranes. Yes-that was definitely a must know. She did not want scorpions in her bed. Ah---here was a good one! Ojala que enormes armadillos copulen en tus intestinos! Yes ---she would have no problem communicating with the arrogant Juan Yadayada SiSenor....

To: Thomas C. White who wrote (8253)	2/26/1998 8:25:00 PM
From: epicure	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 71178

Oh Juan, Juan, Juanito...Where eess you my love???? Mi mama, she call me and she say, Eemerelda you no go to buy your manys of colores hair productiones, for then you leaf Juan, Povre Juan, to theess nasty Rambo Gringa whoose blanca skeen weel blind Juan eyesss to her Eeevil Americana wayss. So, Juan I no go to the ceety theess time I stay and help you. Reemeber your Eemerelda can crack the Brazil nuts with herrr thighs, can thiss nasty Rambo Gringa do this??? No? Why eess I no surpisssed.

To: Thomas C. White who wrote (8253)	2/27/1998 9:33:00 AM
From: Drygulch Dan	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 71178

A lurid disgusting cloud of noxious aromas clouds in on his thoughts, just one more false pass ridge and he would have been free! He thought but the stench drags him back to a twilight reality and the old miner opens an eye and blinks yet again at his surroundings and the dream clouds pass and disperse in his fogged gaze... A decrepit little thatched hut with dirt floor polished by years of use and abuse. Through the open windows he senses more than sees the vast surrounding swampland wastes, insects humming in the pre-dawn light, a group of noisy critters possibly howler monkeys chattering in the overhead arboreal tangles. His hands burn at the wrists still tied behind his back limiting his mobility, and the burning pain returns to his rib cage as the festering wound reburns an awareness into his mind. He watches the meandering approach of a cockroach the size of that dirty little fella's foot. As it crawls inevitably towards him, a pulsing gutteral atavistic groaning cry emerges from deep within his countenance as he rails against his bonds and seethes at the thought of that miserable little creature of a cockroach-like human laying a trap for his beloved Rambi. A chicken bawks and scuffles outside his hut. The sleasy little sinister guy approaches once again. If only he could work his hands free from these bonds. Then he spies a fragment of broken glass neglected and impacted in the corner of the hut's mud floor where the cockroach has scurried past at the sound of oncoming feet and a plan emerges just before the dirty looking fast talking little lizard of a man appears beyond the doorway a beaming smile on his face. Drygulch notices a fresh tooth missing from his countenance and what appears to be crude razor cuts on his cheeks where scraggily growth hung in gaps. A greasy unidentifiable smell precedes his approach.