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

To: Thomas C. White who wrote (8451)	3/3/1998 8:26:00 PM
From: Jacques Chitte	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 71178

The interior of the van was a grim place for a man used to sleeping under the stars. The walls were made of bare cold loud sheet metal, and the corrugated floor had large eyebolts sticking up at odd intervals from the low drifts of sharp filth. Bub had given up trying to lie down. He huddled in a corner, rejecting the pile of gray blankets disarrayed in the other one. They looked and smelled like enormous diapers which had been soiled and not laundered long ago. Bub racked his mind for a way to get out of this van. He could do it easily enough, but one of the goons up front had claimed his Casull as a trophy. The little weasel who looked like the miserable warlord of the swamp. Boy, Bub mused darkly, if Rambi hadn't already overcome her temporary fit of docility, he was going to fix Juan good. For the indirect murder of Drygulch. If there was a flavored coffee for a time like this, thought Bub, it probably fell out of some jungle marsupial's ass. The van hit a particularly nasty piece of road in the middle of the rut. Bub was thrown onto an eyebolt and swore softly and sulfurously.

To: Thomas C. White who wrote (8451)	3/4/1998 9:20:00 AM
From: epicure	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 71178

Gregorio Nuncio Cortez walked down the road, humming to himself, and looking at the perfect line of clouds that hung low in the sky above him. Above the clouds the sky was a deep blue, below, a fiery white, that hurt his eyes. The bus had left him quite a way from Paratour and he wanted to make it to his destination before nightfall so he hiked fast, and was rather out of breath. He also thought he might be getting a blister on his left heal, and he was sure he was going to get a stitch in his side, on top of that his allergies to mosses and pollens was making his eyes itch. How he wished he could still be in lovely Asuncion with Kathleen, and not tramping down the road in this God forsaken place. He wondered what Kathleen would be doing right about now. He pictured her at her desk in the little Peace Corps office they shared. She would be hunched over her desk, sorting out the reports from all the field workers. The physical improvements they had been working on at the sites were going well, and the crop program, his baby, was doing especially well. If only he could get the Papaya deal off the ground with his friend in Berkina Fasso. Then he would really have accomplished something. Gregorio sneezed. A large brown van went rolling by him, cutting much to close to him. Gregorio retreated to the rutted grass that ran beside the road. The Van pulled up about a hundred yards in front of him, and a large man, a border guard, got out to take a piss by the side of the road. Gregorio averted his eyes and kept walking. "Senor, donde es la Casa Yada Yada?" Gregorio pretended to speak english, as he did not particularly like the border guards. "I don't understand," said Gregorio. "Do you know where Casa Yada Yada ees," said the guard clearly in english, speaking slowloy as if taking to an idiot or a child. "Ah, yes, I think I can help you," said Gregorio, not wishing to be rude, as that could land him in a swamp with a bunch of bullet holes in his back. "I am going there myself, (to see my stupid sister Eemelda and her lout of a husband- he silently intoned) you follow this road till a small dirt path breaks off to the left. You'll see a swamp on your right, the road curves around the swamp then you come to a fork, on one side is a little shack..." "Jus come with us," said the guard, clearly tired of concentrating. Gregorio was squeazed up front with the guards. In the back was a human lump that seemed to be groaning. Gregorio knew better than to ask questions, and he fixed his eyes solidly on the road ahead. Giving directions when appropriate. And in no time at all the van pulled into the yard of the Casa YadaYada.

To: Thomas C. White who wrote (8451)	3/4/1998 12:09:00 PM
From: Don Pueblo	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 71178

BAWK ! The powerful chicken requires with the Big boss Juan Saldiver of the way more wounding to write a glorious state of the great mission to back up the large starter of certain annihilation! The giant monsters of flight are turned over from from where they came, and the powerful chicken has the honor public announce for new contract was been in talks with the called unknown entity Zombie 1. The Zombie 1 agrees to provide corn of March of 6 contracts Chicago Mercantile Exchange to the market, and the powerful chicken agreed to supervise blocked and stately the progress of the famous part of garden. The powerful chicken does not have anything with further recording, and the wishes the large General will be happy and release for always. Mighty chicken wishes the Zombie 5 has to prepare the disk of ground corn accompanied sauce hot to be furnish chicken to the vitamins and minerals of necessity. Tired and exhausted of the flight and mighty chicken has the desire of solitude rest with part of garden and Rambi Chi Chi. Pleasant of the days at the Juan Saldiver of mental anguish poet English.