It was a dark and stor-- no, that's not right... how do Westerns go? Once upon a time, in a land far, far to the West, there lived three little pigs in a magnificent castle-- (I don't think this is quite what we're going for. -g) (Okay, how about... -d) --three great Western-types in a popular saloon. The saloon is owned by Dark Ale, the roughest, toughest barkeep in this great state of West West Darkota Territory. Currently, he's arguing with the rough, tough, yet surprisingly attractive female-type rancher, Satin Stone, about the momentary lack of action. "I think the rabble are pretty good these days," claimed Dark Ale. "Good at bein' pathetic is all," shot back Satin Stone. "I'm lookin' for a good opportunity." Broke in Dark Ale, "Hey, there's Gold Indemmils!" "The miner? If so, he ain't allowed in here." "Not that kind o' minor. The prospectin' kind." "Well, what business does he have with us?" *** SWILBusiness *** We in the Wild West don't believe in readin' books. At least not one we already have one of, or ones that suck. So we're gonna be takin' books from Old George and pawnin' 'em off to buy some fancy-pants new books. (That's Western logic for ya. -s) If'n you're good at boxin', come by some Friday afternoon soon to help out with the cullin'. And if you got opinions about what sucks, ask Gold Indemmils for the list. So there's this wild rogue named BEM what's been ridin' around these parts causin' trouble. Something oughtta be done about this. The current Absolute Final Deadline for takin' care of BEM is February 28. So get yer strange writin's in to us by then. We've noticed a lotta you folks runnin' around naked. Meetin's of the Naked Petronella Society have been postponed indefinitely, unless one of y'all wants to go startin' it up again. So, to protect your hide from gettin' red in the sun, and to make known your affiliations with certain unmentionable groups, we are going to be producing a new line of "T-shirts." If you have some idea what should be said or drawn on this "T-shirt," get your ideas solidified by April 7, as this is when we'll take a democratic vote to determine the winner. Also, if'n you think you need more than one shirt, like you wanna wash the other one or something, visit Earl at http://www.swil.org/shirts/reprint/order.html to find out more. Last night, as everyone was sittin' around (Actually, I think it should be "settin' around." -d) (What, people playing Set? -g) (People having Sets in public is really obscene. -d) with their sweethearts, some folks came in and shot everybody up. It was great fun, and we hope to do it again next year. Incidentally, there are warrants out for the arrest of the so-called "Thugtron Gang," but we don't think they should have anything to worry 'bout. Now, although it's not currently Pterodactyl Season, we wouldn't want y'all to be gettin' bored from the lack of sport, 'specially now with three of 'em bein' cut. So we're going to have sort of a mock Huntin', a playtestin', if you will, on the afternoon of March 3. This also happens to be the day upon which we will be nominatin' those wonderful horrible movies known as Schlock. We want movies about as bad as this here Western, only maybe more fun to watch, since watchin' text isn't that excitin'. Also at night there will be the opportunity to screw your roommate, but we won't be gettin' into that here 'cause it's out of our jurisdiction. It has been summarily decided that on April 30 we will all bring our "telephones" out to dinner and a movie. However, seein' as neither telephones nor movies have been invented yet in this Western, we have decided to wait until the April 30 of the year 2001 before we carry out this plan. Satin Stone's car is back. (What's a car? -d) (It's like a horse with a trunk. -s) (I thought that was an ephalunt. -g) *** NonSWILBusiness *** In negative one days now, the pitchers and the catchers of them Yanks are gonna be makin' their report. (Yee-haw! -s) This makes it 641 days since Gold Indemmils moved out of Willets (because from 4 to -1 is 6, you know, with the 4, and the 0, and the -1. -d) (I never could do all that 'rithmetic stuff. All I know is when I look at a pie I start thinkin', 3.14159265358979323846264338327950288419716939937510582097494459--ow. -g). BDan's got a bodhran. It's kinda like a drum. "Star Trek: The Next Generation" was shown at Satin Stone's ranch. She says it was about wagon trains in space. And that it involved Data, Q. (I always keep my data in a queue. Seems more fair. -d) (I prefer stacks, personally, since I enjoy poppin'. -g) (Well, if you use a double ended queue, you get even more advantages in efficiency without horribly increasing the complexity. -d) (All right, if you don't shut up, I'm really gonna deque you guys. -s) MST3K wed 7Trotter (Is that like J7? -g). 303 pod people were in attendance. I'm willin' to bet they'll renew their vows next week, but I don't know who'll be there this time. (Are you people purposefully dense, or just stupid? -s) (Yes. -dg) (Mister Thicky Gold Thicky Indemmils Thicky! -ds) Come to meetin' by high noon. You'll know why. Less'n you be wantin' us to call you yeller. NonSWILBusiness was sold to JC for the nominal price of three-hundred thirty-nine dollars and eighty-eight cents. If any of the items in NonSWILBusiness should offend you, blame him*. *** Epilogue *** With their newfound (land -g) wealth acquired from the sale of something that was none of their business anyway, our friends went their separate ways. Tragically, Dark Ale accidentally decapitated himself while combing his hair. Out of respect for the dead, Satin Stone and Gold Indemmils split his share of the loot. Gold Indemmils disappeared down a long, dark mineshaft, and was never heard from again. Coincidentally, Satin Stone was his only heir. Now obscenely rich (or at least obscene -d), Satin Stone had no trouble finding the handsome gunslinger of her dreams. Together, they rode off into the sunset. And burned to a crisp. *** Cow! -- 2/10/01 [in green pen!] *** rebeccca "Alia" Jones Kyla "indulgently bossy, perfectionist, and overacheiving -- but the ball booklet is coming along nicely!" Tornheim Rebecca "better than a push-down automaton" Paul (My math clinician loves me SO much that I can have a Hug? -g) Arcadia "costume drama" Falcone Lady "now with lots of blue" of Shalott (Looks like green to me. -s) Jim "The Casimir Effect causes continental drift!" Moskowitz (News at 11! -g) Kyra "Was it real or just my (paranoid) fantasy?" Jucovy (Yes. -dg) JC "Paul Gallinger, the Sacred Scoffer" Ravage (Don't you mean the Sacred Scapegoat? -g) ~Elliot "non-inertial reference frames" Reed (Bet those make your glasses expensive. -d) benjamin 'irresponsibility shall revert to the miniprops.' r, george & Callicles 'Plato wasn't a REAL man either.' the Moose & Margeret 'Comma doesn't love me enough to buy me more film' the Camera (Not even for Valentine's Day? -g) (You can get a Hug from Rebecca. -d) (O, I am blind! -s) {\tt &Daphne 'accursed ribbon feed.' the Typewriter} (I can see again! -s) & Tobasco & Pepper & Jasmine Tea BDan "bodhranist" Fairchild The "member of Rebecca K." Patriarchy Ben "Iym, the Hunter from the Future" Newman (Tom, the Hunter from the Present! -d) John "Random (ASCII-renderable! -g) Quotation" Finkbiner Amy' "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmo" Marinello Robert "Galileo must roll a saving throw vs excommunication" McFarland Abby "Mooooooooooooooooooooooooo" Friedman Andrew "Having way too much fun with that." Szafran *** Gold, Stone, and Darkness *** *Section 7B, paragraph 3. When the aforementioned scapegoats, hereafter read "Waitrons," wish in turn to cover their posteriors, JC Ravage, hereafter read "scapegoat," shall have all responsibility thrust upon him and his relevant posterior. (I can't say Happy Trails! I just can't! -s)