165 lines
6.7 KiB
Plaintext
165 lines
6.7 KiB
Plaintext
Date: 12 December 1982 09:21-EST (Sunday)
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Sender: HDT at MIT-OZ
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From: Howard D. Trachtman <HDT at MIT-MC>
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To: "[dsk:humor;hitch hikers]" at mc
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Subject: [VAF: [RHEA::HARDY::GLASSER%Shasta: Submission (possibly redundant)]]
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Date: Saturday, 11 December 1982 13:14-EST
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From: Vince Fuller <VAF at CMU-CS-C>
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To: INFO-COBOL at MIT-MC, EC0N at TOPSE at CMU-CS-C,
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GM0W at TOPSE at CMU-CS-C
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Re: [RHEA::HARDY::GLASSER%Shasta: Submission (possibly redundant)]
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Date: Friday, 10 Dec 1982 09:02:30-PST
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From: RHEA::HARDY::GLASSER%Shasta at SU-Score
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To: SF-LOVERS at MIT-MC
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Re: Submission (possibly redundant)
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I stole the following from the USENET net.jokes newsgroup. I thought
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that SFL should see it. I hope that the author does not mind.
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Daniel Glasser
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[USENET address ...!decvax!sultan!dag
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no reliable ARPA address.]
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From: decvax!sultan!decvax!genradbo!grkermit!markm
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Newsgroups: net.jokes
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Hitch Hikers Guide To The Net
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Episode 1 - First Meeting
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One day, not long after tomorrow, Arnold Lint was busy scrolling
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through the seemingly infinite reaches of the Net. All of a sudden the
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news stopped with an abrupt thud, followed by the angry message "YOUR
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NODE HAS BEEN REDUCED TO A LITTLE BLACK, GREASY SPLOTCH IN MY MEMORY
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SPACE!!". No sooner had he assimilated this horrendous event when a
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great suction like noise began to eminate from his terminal. "This is
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it", he said to himself, "I'm going to die". The screen on his
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terminal the imploded and he suddenly found himself sucked into the
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terminal . . . . . . . . . . . .
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(Arnold Lint regains consciousness, only to find himself in the
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company of an odd trio. One of the trio is an apparently normal human
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male (named Rod Perfect) and the second is a voluptuos young woman
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(named Gillian). The third is also a normal male (named Xaphod
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Gronklebox), except for a third, mechanical, arm and a 12" CRT on his
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shoulder that keeps scrolling "Pieces of Eight, Pieces of Eight".)
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Rod: Evening all! I'm Rod Perfect, awfully rude of you imploding on
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us this way, you silly twit.
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Arnold Lint: Sorry. Am I dead?
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Xaphod: Obviously not, you semi-evolved simian! Are all you
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net-landers so stupid. If you were dead would I be talking to
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you? I'm Xaphod Gronklebox, the famous inter-net-al criminal
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and dog molester - you must have heard of me.
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Arnold Lint: Actually, no, I haven't.
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Xaphod: Oh well, your loss. I just hijacked this node! It's called
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the Infinity, isn't it wild. Just imagine the places we can go
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in this baby.
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(Rod notices that Arnold's eyes are transfixed on the young woman)
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Rod: Her name's Gillian, at least that's what she wants to be called.
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Actually, her real name is Gertrude Floogie, but she didnt't like
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it, so she changed it.
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(Arnold Lint detects a mechanical sound to his right. A robot soon
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walks into view)
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Robot: My name is Martin. I am sure you will have an
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absolutely awful time on this node, I always have.
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I do not know why they insist on trying to do
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things to change the Net, they can only make it
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worse. No matter what happens, some one always
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says something stupid and ruins everything. Then
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someone else feels obliged to a rebuttal, and on
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and on it goes. How awful. Still, what do you
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expect from an imperfect Net.
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Rod: Martin is a bit, well, depressing.
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Xaphod: He's a real downer, man!
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Martin: That's right, ridicule me. See what I care. I'm only an
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android. Just another example of cruelty in this awful Net.
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(********************************************************************
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The "Hitch Hikers Guide to the Net" defines cruelty as having to see
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constant repetitions of the same salutory comment in more than 20
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messages. History shows that a war was fought over the repetition of
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the statement "If you don't like my name - push off, signed xxxx"
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appearing in 200 messages from the node of Moronicus. Since that
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time, any time a salutory message is used more than 20 times,
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subsequent violators have their pelvis screwed to a cake stand while
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they are forced to watch repeats of "The Gong Show".
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********************************************************************)
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Arnold Lint: Well, what do we do now?
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Xaphod: We're on our way to Netrothea. (The 12" CRT on his
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shoulder now starts repeating "Polly want a
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sedative, Polly want a sedative") There's supposed
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to be all sorts of wild and amazingly great things
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in that place!
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Rod: Martin, set course for Netrothea!
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Martin: All right, but you're not going to like it.
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Gillian: What will we find on Netrothea?
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Xaphod: Well, there's supposed to be a huge stockpile of data there
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that we can sell to the Net for millions.
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Arnold Lint: A stockpile of what?
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Xaphod: Data! Data! You idiot. Knowledge is power in the Net. All
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that data has been accumulating over the centuries. Just imagine the
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amazingly amazing philosophical Net-discussions that it stored. I mean,
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the Net is the focal point of all wisdom. Just think of all that
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smart stuff! Wow!
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(********************************************************************
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The "Hitch Hikers Guide to the Net" insists that the focal point of
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all knowledge in not the Net itself. Rather, it is the fourth stall in
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the mens room in Grand Central Station. No one has ever been dumb
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enough to waste time disproving this wild claim, so the publishers
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avoided some nasty laws suits.
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********************************************************************)
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Xaphod: We'll have millions! We'll by everything! No, we'll have
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billions, trillions, . . . .
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(Xaphod begins to shake violently and froth at the mouth, then he
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falls over backward. A few seconds later he comes to.)
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Xaphod: Well, lets go!
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Rod: You all right?
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Xaphod: Yah, sure. Just the excitement of new conquests.
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Arnold Lint: Looked more like Flamers-syndrome to me.
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Xaphod: You should talk, you key-pounding half-wit.
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Gillian: If we're going to go, lets go already.
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Martin: Do we really have to?
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Rod: YES!
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(Just as the node starts on it's way, a host of flame-shaped vessels
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became visible on the scanners)
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Rod: Funny you should mention Flamers-syndrome.
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Xaphod: Oh, hell!
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Gillian: What are they?
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Xaphod: Damn, those are ships belonging the Flamers. They
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go after anything, no matter how pointless or
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unimportant it is. If they catch us, we could
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suffer permanent brain damage, or worse yet - join
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the Moral Majority
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Arnold Lint: So this it it, we're all going to die!
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Martin: I told you that you would like it.
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Others: Oh Shut Up!
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******************** End Of Part 1 ********************
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Will Arnold and his new travelling companions escape the Flamers? Or
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will they end up playing rock albums backwards at 66.6 RPM? For the
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answers to these, and countless other pointless questions . . . Tune
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in next time . . . same Net-time . . . same Net-channel
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[Part 2 will appear in tomorrow's digest. --Stuart]
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