Ain't he a stinker?

Nyuk, nyuk.

Anywho, we're back for another whirl and we're in double digits now - quite a suprise to yours truly. Of course things are back to the way they usually are - I'm a single dude... won't get into that too deeply...

Well, this issue hardly made it to your hands. I've been neglecting to type these things up - my own laziness, I know - but I've kicked myself in the butt and gotten it done. We've got some good stuff here.

Funny thing happened about a week ago - a friend of mine, whom you know as Lioness, yelled at me for calling her submission "The BOB Files", yelled at me for entitling it "Chapter One", and also yelled at me for adding two lines of my own - none of which I did. She called it "The BOB Files", she entitled it with Chapters, and SHE - not I - added the two lines. I promised not to type the actual letter, but not that I couldn't type extenively about it and bitch and whine, which you all know I'm damn good at.

Here's her sorry-ass rebuttal... (screw you, buddy)

ok. I feel like a complete ass-hole and I apologized profusley for flying off the handle like that. When the final draft of "Bob story: number one" aka " The Bob Files: Capter One" I was under the influence of severe amounts of caffine and people were hovering around me putting false ideas into my head. I was sitting at the coffee shop with people all around our table. They were watching me/ reading over my shoulder and kept making cool suggestions to add to my story. Since I was really hyper and toatly not- thinking, I just automatically wrote the suggestions down without remembering that I had written them. Well, I do not have internet acess on my computer and haven't really had much time to hang out and spend some quality time with any of my friends computers. It was about two months later that I actually read my story off the internet. I had forgotten everything that I had written that night and jumped to conclusions. That's it. That's almost the whole situation. So, the "Bob Files" have been renamed and we've all learned fron this experince. (SOME of us more than others) Hopefully the issue will be forgotten, or at least dropped after a few months/years.

Message-ID: <3412F5D1.2DD2@flamed.com>
Date: Sun, 07 Sep 1997 14:43:29 -0400
From: da Hen | Stephen Henrik <hen@flamed.com>
Reply-To: hen@flamed.com
Organization: FLAMED http://www.flamed.com FICTION http://www.interlog.com/~hen
X-Mailer: Mozilla 3.0Gold (Win95; I)
MIME-Version: 1.0
To: thegopher@geocities.com
Subject: Republishing "Untitled #2 by Claire"
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Hi Gopher,

C: Why don't window panes feel pain?

R: Who says they don't feel pain?

C: I never heard one say "ow", and I never heard of one being dissected to examine the nerves. Also, they have no brain with which to process pain or any other semblance of a reasoning or sensing unit.

R: You are so fucking scientific. Who says you must have biology in order to feel? Some native cultures believe inanimate objects are alive as we.

C: Being alive is not concurrent with being able to sense. (I say that by definition of feeling you must have the facilities with which to do so).

R: I disagree. Our bodies aide us by mending us to this particular plane; to keep us focused and glued to this reality - you process identicle abilities andthensome outside the body - why couldn't a window pane FEEL?

Once upon the ship's holodeck,
And twice inside sick bay,
Then fully thrice in ten-forward:
I love thee more each day.

My love will never know a bound,
It stretches far from here
And fills the void of endless space
To tame final frontiers.

'Tis longer than the Jeffries' tubes,
As full as baryon sweeps;
My love survives in darkness where
The devil Horta sleeps.

As old as Spock in Star Trek Six,
As new as Excelsior,
As large as James Doohan's stomach
And growing even more.

Thou art the bridge-- the saucer disk--
The ship's own ears and eyes.
I am the decks that fall below.
Together: Enterprise.

We swore always to be as one,
Not part like shuttlecraft,
But stay together through all time
From forward down to aft.

But we seperated years ago
To fool the Borg collective,
And we were swept so far apart
Obeying prime directive.

I'm somewhere in Delta Quadrant,
But I should be in thine:
Refueling next to a wormhole
And docked off Deep Space Nine.

I cannot live this way, I fear,
With thee thus, out of reach.
To fly too far alone would cause
A major warp core breach.

My battle-bridge is ill-equipped
To guide to any star.
Thy saucer-disk has no warp drive
And cannot travel far.

I've put my sensors on full range
And seen what probes have seen.
I've opened hailing frequencies
And put it all on screen.

So I shall find thee out in space
If I must go warp nine
Over one hundred thousand years
To find and make thee mine.

Photons, phasers, anomalies,
And dying stellar cores
Cannot deflect me long at all
From anything of yours.

I'll crack through event horizons
If black holes bar the way,
Or slice in half a cosmic string,
Or pierce the nebulae.

And when they come to find out why
I've ignored assignments,
I'll blast them all to stellar trash!
(Or offer my resignment...)

Damn their orders! Damn all Starfleet!
Damn the admirals, too!
I'd pass up a nearby quasar
To make it home to you.

Who cares about the Neutral Zone?
The wars, science, the fleet?
My life is nothing but this search
To be reformed complete.

For Number One is on thy bridge,
The Captain stands on mine.
Prepare to fire thy tractor beams:
We're going to align.

I'll use the main deflector dish
To guide thee next to me
And then we'll join as NCC-
Seventeen-oh-one-D.

Too long I've roamed through time and space
And searching high and low.
Too long I've been without my love:
It's time to make it so.

I. A Farewell to Arms

One morning, the whole world awoke and found that they no longer had any arms. They had legs and a body and even shoulder sudats, but no arms. This made it very difficult for people to do ordinary things, like get dressed, go to the bathroom and eat, but they had to do it. They didn't have any arms, so they had to.

No one drove their cars to workt hat morning because it was too hard to start the ignition. Everyone had to walk. People who were used to using their arms at work, like surgeons and secrataries and soldiers, had to find new ways to get the job done. Often, it took a little longer, but they got more satisfaction from it.

Despite the shaky beginning to the day, everyone went home happy.

II. A Call to Arms

After a couple of weeks of having no arms, some people got together to see if they could find out why and maybe see if they could get their arms back.

So, smart people from all over the world met in one place and talked about having no arms. While they were together, they also talked about world peace and pverty and equality and solved a lot of problems.

The convention of smart people decided that since mass can never really be eliminated, all the arms had to be somewhere. So, they figured that somone had to have taken them and they decided to make a huge radio to contact chamera(??) That was, they built it without using any arms, because they couldn't, and they beamed a message to space.

III. To Bear Arms

It wasn't long before someone responded to the message. It turned out that aliens had taken all the arms and so they said this:

"We took all of your arms to see if you were a worthy race, to see if you could work together to overcome obstacles. We see that you can now, so when you wake up tomorrow, you will have arms again. Just remember all the lessons you have learned about peace and friendship. Welcome to the Galaxy!"

So the next morning the people woke up with arms and agreed the best thing to do would to nuke the stupid alien jerks. So they did.

These thoughts that flow passed me - they never cease to amaze me. The memory is so lucid of the event that occured this morning. The event that took what was looking like a decent improvement in life and threw it straight back into the shits. I've had it bad for the last four weeks or so - in the matter of a month I've gone from having a car, a job, and a chance of passing high school into a looser who lost his job working for a wrinkly old bitch that is slowly attempting to dominate the world through the conduit of Covienent Food Mart and who lost his car this morning when he - I, that is - got in a wreck due to my failure to yeild.

I am nothing in the material world. I am idiotic. I'll never be able to hold down a job, I can't drive worth shit, and I've taken up what seems to be a permanent residence in the right side of my brain. I'm not putting myself down. I'm spilling. I'm bestowing rhe cold, hard facts upon you, fine reader, in hopes that... aw hell, I truly don't care what you think.

I just don't care.

I caress this fountain of madness in my brain, bathe in it, and I can do nothing and am expected to do nothing but fight a constant battle against it and attempt to suppress it in order to concentrate - as the doc put it - one the more "mundane." In short, I should become a servant of this damning society and try not to think so much. Be in with the crowd, drink some beer, smoke some cigarettes, maybe hit a few bongs.

Problem is, none of that in the least interests me. Much to the contrary, I oppose it to such an intense degree I'd rather curl up in a ball and die than to become a part of it.

If it wasn't for the friends I have, I might have become that tight wad of immortal death - the infinite downward spiral at light speed - a hell of a long time ago. I would've gone insane.

And now they expect me to admit defeat, to take my drug to sedate my brain and "help me get better." The fuckers. I hate them. I hate them both, no matter how much I love them.

"Trust us," they pleaded, "We love you. Trust us enough to let us help you."

"Fuck you," I thought. "I love you, but get the fucking hell out of my face. You've had it in for me for a long time now."

They think drugs can help. They can't help. They won't help. I've got to get out of this somehow. Assholes. Sons of fucking bitches. This is bullshit. Pure, undeniable bullshit. Drug me up to kill me away. Your as blind as the world, Mom and Dad, blind as the fucking world.

"You've known there's something wrong," breathed my mom in soft, sympathetic, give-in-you-know-you-can't-win monotone. "You've known it for a long time. You need help."

NO SHIT, yelled my mind, suppressed from expression by means of my clenched teeth, BUT YOU'RE NOT LOADING ME UP WITH CHEMICALS.

"We don't want you to hate us because of this," she said. "You know we wouldn't hurt you, honey."

FUCK YOU, MOM, FUCK YOU, I thought, I WILL NOT BECOME YOUR PUPPET TO BE CONTROLLED WITH DRUGS.

I swallowed, biting my tounge, holding in all that I truly believed. I used my will, powerful in times such as these. "No, mom," I said, my mind peering out the closed windows, the eyes hiding my soul. "No - I understand. I do. I understand that I don't have a choice."

That was all I said.

That was all there was to say.

ATTENTION!!! WE ARE DOING A SPECIAL ISSUE ON THE ABSURDITY OF RELIGION AND GOVERNMENT (TWO SEPARATE ISSUES). ANY SHIT FOR IT, SEND IT TO US TELLING US WHAT IT IS FOR. PLEASE. THANK YOU.