From jmrobins @ condor.sccs.swarthmore.edu Thu Apr 24 01:40:22 1997 Date: Wed, 2 Apr 1997 11:11:51 -0500 (EST) From: Snibor Eoj To: "_swat.org.swil" <_swat.org.swil @ swarthmore.edu> Subject: A SWILnews #6 a day keeps the doctor away The place: A small penal colony outside of Philadelphia The time: 2:13 PM, EST Retry sat in front of the computer, staring blankly at his new document, Untitled 2. He resented being forced to work for the Overlords, but there was never anything he could do about it. Until today. It began like any other day. The previous night had been squandered in frivolous debauchery, a pasttime of which the Overlords did not approve. He was making up for that now, though, forced to write a treatise on the existence of dominant feminine stereotypes in the works of certain 16th century French playwrights. But I get ahead of myself. Retry had awoken to the buzzing sound of his automated sleep deprivation device, at approximately 8:17 AM, EST. He pried himself from his personal sleep unit, and dragged himself downstairs. There, in the housing region specific breakfast area, he helped himself to some pancakes, with extra syrup. "A fine repast," he thought to himself, "much more so than the food provided in the main campus dining facility." (Note: In real life, I don't use such silly words. -R) After his repast, he made quick use of the aquatic cleansing unit, then applied his visual enhancement inserts and set out on his way to the main area of the institution. He arrived at the instructional gathering region, and took his place. A few minutes later, the information dispersing taskmaster arrived, and the information dispersal time block began. As the time block passed, Retry stopped listening to the discourse of the taskmaster, and instead thought pleasant thoughts of having fun with his sweetie. Unfortunately for him, his lack of attention did not pass unnoticed. At the end of the time block, the taskmaster called him aside, and informed him that a special task awaited him. He was to report to the central computer region, where he would receive the details of this assignment. Retry sighed as he entered the central computer region. He knew that this task was a punishment, and knew it would be unpleasant. With great trepidation, he scanned through the information in his electronic messaging service. There, to his chagrin, he saw the description of the task so awful that we can't repeat it. (French playwrights... Yech! -R) So we now pick up our story at the exciting part. Retry sat forlornly in front of his data processing unit, when suddenly there came from the othre side of the room an audial sensation of a spontaneous combustion. (That's "the sound of an explosion" to the layman. -R) He glanced up from his terminal, and was shocked to see that the computer systems operation guidance taskmaster was gone, with nothing but a small pile of ashes remaining. Never one to pass up an opportunity, Retry began to think fast. He got up and quickly exited the work area. Upon leaving the building, however, he didn't know where to run to, so he decided to hide in the relative safety fo the dining facility. After all, the taskmasters and overlords never went there, for fear that the "food" might consume them, instead of vice versa. Not wanting to be seen by many people, however, Retry decided to slip into one of the small rooms near the food augmentation region. He opened a door, then quickly closed it again when he saw it was full of RLPs. (Responsible Looking Person.) He tried another door, and came across an ominous looking vortex. Backing away cautiously, he went over to the other side, and tried the lone door. Inside, he saw several robed figures sitting around a small rectangle of tables. As he opened the door, one looked up with a smile. "Ah... come in, Retry. We've been expecting you. We'd like to talk to you for a while." Cautiously, Retry slipped in and closed the door. These certainly didn't look like taskmasters, so he was safe for now. (Mwa ha ha. -R) A chair appeared in the center of the group of tables, and Retry was motioned to sit down. "Hello, Retry," began the leader when Retry was sitting comfortably. "We are the ones who allowed the possibility of your escape. It is not difficult to make someone spontaneously combust, if you know what you're doing. And we were not without reason in doing this: we have something we would like you to do for us. "We are from the future of this institution. In a few years, this will become a happy place. Overlords and taskmasters will be replaced by deans and professors. Your kind will not be slaves here, but willing and eager students. You will have classrooms and dorm rooms, not high quality information dispersal regions and interday rest zones. All this change will be brought about by one man, who will have previously escaped from these facilities and will return with an army of students to set things right. "You are that man, Retry. You will leave here now, and will return with an army, and army known as SWIL. (Just a coincidence. Really. -R)" "But I don't know what to do!" exclaimed Retry. "I can't just go out and raise an army!" "That is why you came to us. You may ask us each a question, in turn, and we will offer you guidance in the ways of SWIL." "Very well," began Retry. "Where am I supposed to go from here?" he asked the leader of the group. "From here you must go elsewhere," replied the leader. "That's not much guidance!" "You asked the wrong question. Had you asked well, I could have told you much about SWIL. I could have explained to you the workings of SWIL. I could have guided you in the ways of the... SWILbusiness. Now you can try to learn pieces of that SWILbusiness from the other non-members. I wish you better luck in your queries of them than your luck with me." Just then, from one corner of the room, a voice croaked, "Submit to BEM." "BEM?" Retry whirled around to face the figure. "What is BEM?" he demanded. "A good question indeed. BEM, the Bug Eyed Magazine, is SWIL's literary and artistic publication. Any works of short fiction, fact, or art are welcome to be included. Above all, there must be a deadline for submissions, and that deadline shall be April 9. Absolutely no later shall it be. Submit to BEM." Retry turned to the next figure. "How shall I entertain the masses at this institution?" he asked. "With film. Movies such as Johnny Mnemonic and Clash of the Titans will suffice to draw crowds of people. And, once a year, you shall hold the great Festival of Schlock." "And those not at this institution?" he asked the next. "For them, a more elaborate scheme is needed. You shall call it SWILCon. It shall be known by many things. An article in The Swarthmorean. Tournaments of skill. Audio pleasures extraordinaire. T-shirts. Posters. Silly hats." "Silly hats? Do we have to wear silly hats?" "No. I was joking. No silly hats." "Shall there be something to distinguish SWILfolk from non-SWILfolk?" ask Retry of a small figure with a strange stick covered in duck tape. "There shall be spiffy t-shirts. Each year, a new design shall be chosen from among those available to you, and they shall be printed up in mass quantities. All shall wear them proudly." Retry turned to the next figure, and saw it holding a sign saying, "Walpurgisnacht." "What," he asked, "is a Walpurgisnacht?" "It is a night near the end of each year when you and your comrades shall gather. There, you shall eat, drink, and tell stories. Horror stories. Fertility stories. Horrific fertility stories. The works." The next figure held a telephone in his hands. "Why do you hold a telephone in your hands?" "To represent the blessed event of Bring Your Phone to Dinner day. You must show your appreciation to your phone. It's been your friend all year long; doesn't it deserve a break?" And then, from the last figure, came the screeching of awful music. Retry asked the contorted figure what he/she/it was doing. (No bias here. -R) "Yea, verily, and forsooth, shall it be the case that SWIL shall host a dance party, to be known as the SWIL Dance Party. You shall flail yourself about in time with random selections of music, partying well into the night." Having spoken to each of the figures, Retry turned back to the leader, to find him sitting on a jukebox. "Is there anything more I need to know? Is there any business that is of a non-SWIL nature?" "Yes," replied the figure. "This jukebox is broken, but the glowing thing makes my butt feel funny." And, so saying, he and his minions disappeared, leaving Retry alone in any empty room. Retry fled, then, out of the dining facility, down the Walk dedicated to the Honor and Memory of Mr. Magill, to the waiting area for the mass-transit vehicle. And when it arrived, he clambered on board, and left the institution. "Here ends our story. What's that, you say? What happens next? "What can happen next? Retry has escaped, the circle of events has begun, and so we prepare to go back, now, to that fateful day, to offer our aid to the young Retry." "Are we prepared?" intoned Abort, Retry, and Ignore. At the nods of confirmation, they began the incantation necessary to help maintain the cycle. A Ten Dance List: (3/1) 1) Ian Powrie's Farewell to Auchterader 2) Well Hall 3) Easter Thursday 4) Red House 5) Catch the Wind 6) Picking Up Sticks 7) The Buchan Eightsom Reel 8) Apley House 9) Child Grove 10) John MacAlpin John "I'm #1" Finkbiner Will "SwilCon, SwilCon, Roly Poly SwilCon - no, this convention hasn't affected me!" Quale Anna "Melissa's not here, so I can't draw a picture." Hess Alice "Hi Josh!" Unger Jay "vendebiont in disguise" Scott Amy "I'll draw a picture since Anna didn't: " Swift Lisa "First time!" Triplett Dave "Writing left handed" Phillips (ASCII cannot begin to convey the illegibility of DaveP's left handed writing. Future generations should cower in fear of it. -R) Joel "Ooooh! Picture! " McNary Andrea "Swilcon, Swilcon, and more Swilcon" Hall (In handwriting so neat it can quell the fears of future generations. -R) Sharakandivita "Timothy Handley" Shapeshifting Destroyer of Worlds. (Uh oh. Not another one... -R) Megan "Not in the mood for a Strathspey" Powell Daniel "Hace muchisimo tiempo..." Eisenbud Fred "I am Turok!" Bush Kendra "Kendra Eshleman" Eshleman (Comment "comment" Comment. -R) jere7my "Not my real name -- mwa ha ha." tho?rpe As recorded by Their Omnipotences, Abort, Retry, Ignore