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

To: Thomas C. White who wrote (8334)	2/28/1998 6:52:00 PM
From: username	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 71178

[Zombie 2, Zombie 2, this is Zombie 3, I got a visual on a gigantic friggin' chicken here...uh...hey, Zombie 2, This is not Fonzie, bro, there is a GIGANTIC friggin' chicken comin' through the woods, here, and he looks cranky, bro. The stars and bars greaseball is friggin' screamin' at his ass, too. You copy? Over.]

To: Thomas C. White who wrote (8334)	3/1/1998 6:39:00 PM
From: Jacques Chitte	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 71178

The light is fading fast, turning the myopic world of the airstrip at the edge of an oceanic swamp into a labyrinth of shades of dark. Bub has spent the last half hour applying a craftsmanlike zebra skin of Night Fighter facepaint. He stealthily moves to the finger of thicket between the rickety hangar and the apparent dwelling of the ugly little head simian. He's alternately shouting orders and bemoaning some physical complaint. Bub catches fragments suggesting hangovers or maybe hangnails, but the vernacular of this cartographic appendix on the colon of the southern continent... is largely incomprehensible. When the unilateral briefing draws to a sputtering conclusion, several motley henchmen burst from the cabin. Three particularly brave or stupid specimens charge into the forest, while the rest agree to engage in an extensive strategy conference in the friendlier environs of the rickety cantina. The light is completely gone now, and only circles of visibility exist around the bonfire next to the fuel shack, and the floodlights posted at all four corners of the comandante's palatial hovel. Bub hears a small generator running in a shed attached to the house. Entering the house had been too easy. Bub sniffs the air...and is reassured that the woman is not present. Only Bossmonkey is home, and he is in even deeper sleep than the two guards diagonally stationed across the vestibule. Bub stops at the boss' bedroom and hears something amazing. The homunculus is talking in his sleep - alternately in his familiar gravelly slur and in a higher, clearer voice which is speaking perfect English. Bub has seen this sort of thing before. It had been in the frozen Northland, when a coma had befallen Rambi herself. She had spoken in her sleep about great, awful and inexplicable portents. ... minivan... tuition... business trip... Not a week later, the Blowoffs had erupted cataclysmically, their incandescent magma sparing the lush land of SP500 and scything harmlessly through the Badlands of Undercapitalized Tech.