AmigaDrek-The Next de-Generation-3.0 The Revenge of the Marketroids-Part 2
From: mike@ames.arc.nasa.gov (Mike Smithwick)
Newsgroups: comp.sys.amiga
Subject: Re: oh, no, not again. . .
Keywords: gag, arghhh!, blaster,
Date: 2 Aug 88 16:23:46 GMT
["hey mister line eater, eat a line for me. . ."]
And now, the gnues you've all been waiting for. . .
AmigaDrek-The Next de-Generation-3.0
The Revenge of the Marketroids-Part 2
----------------------------------------------------------
When we last left our crew, they were gagging helplessly on and
endless string of terrible puns. Lord Leo had single-handedly
trashed the registers on the SS. Oddessy, freeing the EnterBoing
from it's Waitstate to continue it's journey where no parody has
gone before. Meanwhile a distress signalbit was being received
from some helpless lad being tortured in
>>> the Business Zone <<<. . .
----------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 0100
"That's it captain!". Science officer Dave motioned towards a
dim, shell of a planet. Looking much like a celestial tar-pit the
planet Gomf scrolled slowly beneath them.
"I'm hungry" said Jim.
Carolyn stepped forward, "here, want a piece of my chocolate-
covered Foo-Bar?".
"Counselor Cleavage, what do you make of this?" asked Dale of a
new character just written into the story.
"I feel a sense of derangement, a serious disturbed personality
lurking very near".
"No, I meant the situation, not the author".
"Oh, well then, proceed with caution, don't divide by zero, write
protect all disks, free-all memory, and reply to all messages!"
Moments later while brandishing their hacker guns, the crew
stepped defiantly into the transputer ready to brave any danger
(short of FORTH programmers that is). The captain took one last
glance around the room and said wistfully to his StarChip, "I'll
CPU later old girl". With that our heros disappeared into the
Void.
----------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 0101
"Oh oh, it looks like we landed off course. Damn, must've been
those roundoff errors!" exclaimed Jim. Dave stared intently at
his bitmap. "I think the signals are coming from over that
halfbright-hill".
The explorers journeyed across the fractal landscape, stumbling
over an occasional complex number or two. The murky atmosphere
nearly smothered them like a cheap electric blanket. Slowly making
their way to the top of the rise, they spied their quarry off in
the distance. Ahead of them spread an endless expanse of cubicles
stretching out towards the horizon in moribund shades of beige
and gray. It looked much like a laboratory's maze, beckoning them
to come and be the mice.
"Captain, look at this!" Lauren gasped, holding up a deep red tie
she picked off the ground. "There must be (gulp) Power Users in
the area!".
"That does it everyone, put your Hacker-Blasters on 'Buss
Error'", directed the Captain, "And be careful, don't get
trapped". Forming a tight circle and tossing furtive glances in
all directions, the team made their way down the hill towards the
maze. Dave monitored the source of the ever stronger signals with
his homing.device. "Over there! Down that aisle, to the left".
Silently they scuttled down the muted pastel hallway. Finally,
one-by-one, they stopped in their tracks. There in the
fluorescent gloom was a small pale figure, hunched over a
CloneTech PC (model 1500ZX-Q with transistorized Tint-Control!).
His face shown green from the soft impersonal glow of the
monitor. A pair of handcuffs bound him to the desk supporting the
device of torture. He babbled over and over, "BDos error on drive
A:, BDos error on drive A, what the hell does that mean?, BDos
error on drive A:. . ."
The captain slowly approached the man, "hi pal, we've come to set
you free".
"What's a BDos error?" the man said glancing towards the captain.
"I'll tell you if you can tell me what and AmigaDOS error 227 is.
Ha ha ha. We've come to rescue you from this drudgery, stand
back, Gentlemen, enable your weapons! . . . Hose it!"
The startled user jumped back as millions of OHMS sailed passed
him striking the PC squarely in the face. Moments later, 640K of
memory, two disk drives, 20 meg hardcard, (in other words, a
bristling hunk of connectivity) was reduced to a pile of
smoldering ashes. The handcuffs then dropped from his arm and he
was free. "Come on, we have to get going" said the Captain. The
user hesitated at first, not quite sure what to make of the
situation. But finally realizing that these guys were real he
jumped up from his ergonomically designed chair and joined them.
"We must hurry, there are Marketroids in the area, trying to sell
the Power-Users on 32GB Worm drives in 12 designer colors." He
waved for the crew to follow him down to secret passage. Off in
the distance, voices could be heard. "M-M-Marketroids!!! They're
hypnotic powers are unsurpassed in this and parallel dimensions!"
the user stammered, "This way!".
"Captain, why don't we just upload ourselves to the EnterBoing?"
asked Dave, "and get outta here?".
"Silly you, don't you know anything about contrived plot
construction?"
Before the Captain could continue they found themselves
surrounded by several faceless, impeccably dressed beings, waving
sales brochures in their faces. One clutched Carolyn by the arm
"come this way little lady! I'll show you a computer to solve all
your problems. With this model, you can keep track of recipes,
balance your checkbook. . .".
Out of the mist a portable showroom appeared. Dozens of beige
boxes lined the chrome tables, each winking their little cursor
eyes, saying, "come, try me, come. . .".
Another Marketroid directed Bryce towards yet another nameless
Beige Box. "And here sir is the New and Improved CloneTech
72839QQ+ RISC-PC complete with WeenieDOS 10.1. This makes
obsolete Everything we've ever sold. And you better buy it now,
or else it to will be obsolete in 12 minutes. And by the way, is
this baby fast! It runs at 17000 GigaMIPS!"
"What do you expect for a RISC chip with only 2 instructions!"
Bryce replied.
Still another Marketroid set up an overhead projector and a tray
of petrified doughnuts. "I want to thank-you for coming to our
little presentation" he said in a disinterested monotone. He put
up a viewgraph with the words "I want to thank-you for coming to
our little presentation". "Today we'll talk about what the LAN
can do for you", he continued with as much passion in his voice
as a cheerleader at a chess-match.
All too soon, these mind-altering presentations took their toll
as one by one each of the stalwart crewmembers keeled over, sound
asleep.
----------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 0110
Coming out of his groggy haze, Captain Dale could barely make out
the shrouded forms of his captors hovering around him. "Boy do I
feel Lo-Res. Where are we?" he whispered.
"I'm glad you asked" chirped one of the female Marketroids
placing a viewgraph on the overhead. "Why, you're in
Businesslandia! Now, why would you want to be in Businesslandia?
Because this is the Year of the LAN!. . ."
"STOP IT!!" cried the Captain, covering his ears. He fell to the
ground, writhing in agony.
The door breezed open, as two nattily dressed Marketroids swept
in, both dressed in the finest Italian tweed suits.
"Captain", said the one on the left, "we're here to bring you,
our guests, to Generalissimo Akers."
Now, Generalissimo Akers was one not be trifled with, he was everything a
Marketroid could dream of becoming. From making his sales quota
of MicroSloth products every hour, to being able to toss off
trite, meaningless phrases at the drop of a hat, Akers was a
dangerous man to unsuspecting buyers and computer columnists
alike. He proudest achievement was coining the term "user
friendly". But what do you expect from one whose father was
responsible for "new and improved!".
The other crewmembers were up by now, rubbing their eyes and
looking around. The two representatives herded them together and
ushered them out the door.
The party was taken on what would turn out to be a guided tour of
Busnesslandia. What they saw would check all your sums: halls
stretching out as far as the eye could see of classrooms, seminar
rooms, training rooms all dedicated towards the teaching people
how to sell the "Operating System of the Future", Oh-Oh-S/2. A
sobering thought to be sure.
Strolling by each doorway bits and pieces of the presentations
would drift within earshot.
"Now class repeat after me : 'It's a great game machine, but can
it do real work. . .'"
"It's a great game machine. . ." the class parroted.
"'Who needs multitasking', Oops, heh, heh, that's last years notes.
Try this 'the modern office today requires multitasking'".
"The modern office. . ." droned the class.
The next classroom rang with post-sales comments, such as "have a
nice day", "good luck", and the much underrated "I'll call our
technical guy about that".
A few doors down, the crew observed a behavior modification
session in progress. A shimmering new Sun VelcroSystem
workstation had had it's case electrified. One by one,
marketroids-in-training were brought into the room after being
denied computer privileges for 3 weeks. They hungrily jumped at
the chance to do a PgDn. One after another they were bent upon
touching that inviting box, and one after another they would be
sent diving to the floor from the resultant shocks coursing
through their bodies driving them nearly to the point of cardiac
seizures. Next to the Sun, a CloneTech! 2000 (with Automatic
Case-levelling!) hummed merrily away. Colored text was scrolling
on it's small friendly screen demonstrating the new XYZ-GA board.
One by one as each student picked himself off of the floor, they
reached for the CloneTech!, hesitantly at first. When it didn't
shock them, an almost drugged smile of relief crept across their
face, "boring was safe" became the universal thought.
Further down the hallway, on the left was a most bizarre chamber.
Their hosts paused in
hushed respect. The room bore a strong resemblance to that of a small
chapel. Other marketroids inside were bowing their heads,
mumbling faint, hushed chants : "the journey is the reward".
said over and over, "the journey is the reward. . .".
On an altar in the front of the room was a gold and leather bound
book. Looking closer, Dale saw the words "Market Plan",
emboldened on the cover. The crew was quickly ushered away.
Turning the corner, they stopped cold in sudden shock and horror.
What lay before them was the greatest surprise they had yet seen,
(surpassing even the time when the Sidecar was released ).
Stretching out before them, defining the very essence of
infinity, was a vast, endless corridor. It's walls lined with
literally millions of upright round glass tubes. Each one
enclosing a well-dressed body standing in an apparent state of
suspended animation. "Vertical market-roids!" exclaimed Jim in a
super-human attempt at making an excruciating pun (hey guys, I'm
not going to take the blame for it!).
"Armies! They're armies!" whispered the user, "why, this is were they
breed them. . .".
"You're so right" said a strong voice from behind. A portly,
well-dressed (hey, they're all well dressed here), gentleman
stepped forward. "Allow me to introduce my self, I am Akers, how
may I help you. . ."
"Let us go dude" said Kodiak.
"Heh, heh, not so fast. Allow me to show you around". And with
that the master salesman revealed what few outsiders would ever
know, the true nature of sales. "Gentlemen, have you ever given
thought to what happens to the various trinkets and junk made for
fads gone flat. You know, hoola-hoops and the like. Or for that matter,
what becomes of lessor computers which just can't cut it. Where do you
think all that junk goes, huh? Who do you think has all of that
stuff now?"
The crew looked around at each other with NULL expressions, not
sure what would come next.
"I do. . . .Who else do you know who has a planet full of
SpectraVideo computers, Coleco Adams, and yes, even the fabled
'Albert'."
"Are we supposed to be impressed?" smirked Leo.
"Well, these armies of ours will spread out across the universe
like Amiga 3000 rumors on a cheap Net. Phase one of the Plan will
have them using their hypnotic powers to get everyone into
believing that Oh-Oh-S/2 is the operating system of the future,
getting PS-one-halfs in every home, on every street corner, in
every school. . . Then will come the MaxiPlan. Hidden in the OS are
subliminal messages which will be flashed, on all CRTs throughout the galaxy.
These will be ads enticing everyone in to buy all of this
leftover merchandise. At last we'll be able to empty out those
warehouses full of Michael Jackson gloves! Atari 'ET' videogame
cartridges! Quadraphonic record albums! Textcraft 2.0!. . .
Akers was now staring off into space,
rubbing his hands together in a violent excitement. "Damn, am I
sure glad I bought those Apple III futures!. . .". He paused to
catch his breath, then continued. "Heh, heh, And when this is
done," he said, nearly shouting while raising his fist into the
air, "I will be as rich as Bill Gates!!!!!".
Dave jumped towards the man, veins bulging, "hold him captain,
and I'll shift his bits!" he yelled.
"Back-off Lieutenant, he has a Lock on us here. Ok fat-stuff, but
what does this have to do with us" asked the stern, yet
compassionate authority figure, Captain Dale.
The Generalissimo turned his sinister gaze towards them. He
raised his arm, pointing a fat, rounded finger towards the
captain. "You! YOU PEOPLE! ARE THE ONLY ONES STANDING IN MY
WAY!!!" He leaned towards Dale, standing nose to nose. His fat
flabby face turning beet red, he POKED his finger into Dale's
chest. "These high-level interrupts of yours I cannot tolerate!
DO YOU COMPUTE??"
"Get Outta My Face Fat Stuff. . ."
"Stand back, and I'll reformat him!!". A blazing beam of bits
came shooting across the room. Kodiak stood, blaster in both
hands, teeth bared. . .
Akers stood there grinning, Ones and Zeros bounced harmlessly off him. "Ha
Ha! You can't touch me, I'm write protected!!".
He grabbed the captain's arm and roughly shoved him towards one
of the glass chambers. He pressed a button on the side, causing
it's door to slide open. Dale stood, aghast, for here he was staring at,
himself. . .
"Yes, a clone, a perfect clone, our secret weapon my Captain."
Major Lauren reached out and touched the clone marketroid's arm.
"It has the look, and feel of you Captain. I'm scared."
"We have clones of every one of you. Soon we'll have them in
place on board the EnterBoing heading towards that DevCon of
yours. We've outfitted them with a phony Amiga 3000. Inside is a
PS-one-half board and MicroSloth Windows. And there they'll
destroy the very fabric of the Amiga, and everything it stands
for. And in the process, handing me the Universe on a Silicon
Platter.
The crew stood in stunned silence and wondered if they could get
dinner now.
"Take them away men, and feed them to the Line Eater" he
commanded his comrades, "oh, and have-a-nice-day gentlemen".
Our heros were drag-selected down to a dungeon, and gen-locked
up. Dave saw a figure, hunched over in the darkened drop-shadows.
"No", he whispered to himself, "it can't be. . .John Draper??
Captain Crunch?".
The figure jumped up, "At your service", he replied, taking a
deep bow. . .
***********************************************************
[Will the Akers get his way? Will our brave heros ever get
dinner? Will the Giants win the world series? Will RJ ever appear
here? Stay tuned for the next exciting episode of AmigaTrek : The
Next de-Generation coming to a node near you]
--
*** mike (starship janitor) smithwick ***
"Due to the Writer's Guild of Amierica strike, this signature is
temporarily cancelled".
[disclaimer : nope, I don't work for NASA, I take full blame for my ideas]
Newsgroups: comp.sys.amiga
Subject: Re: oh, no, not again. . .
Keywords: gag, arghhh!, blaster,
Date: 2 Aug 88 16:23:46 GMT
["hey mister line eater, eat a line for me. . ."]
And now, the gnues you've all been waiting for. . .
AmigaDrek-The Next de-Generation-3.0
The Revenge of the Marketroids-Part 2
----------------------------------------------------------
When we last left our crew, they were gagging helplessly on and
endless string of terrible puns. Lord Leo had single-handedly
trashed the registers on the SS. Oddessy, freeing the EnterBoing
from it's Waitstate to continue it's journey where no parody has
gone before. Meanwhile a distress signalbit was being received
from some helpless lad being tortured in
>>> the Business Zone <<<. . .
----------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 0100
"That's it captain!". Science officer Dave motioned towards a
dim, shell of a planet. Looking much like a celestial tar-pit the
planet Gomf scrolled slowly beneath them.
"I'm hungry" said Jim.
Carolyn stepped forward, "here, want a piece of my chocolate-
covered Foo-Bar?".
"Counselor Cleavage, what do you make of this?" asked Dale of a
new character just written into the story.
"I feel a sense of derangement, a serious disturbed personality
lurking very near".
"No, I meant the situation, not the author".
"Oh, well then, proceed with caution, don't divide by zero, write
protect all disks, free-all memory, and reply to all messages!"
Moments later while brandishing their hacker guns, the crew
stepped defiantly into the transputer ready to brave any danger
(short of FORTH programmers that is). The captain took one last
glance around the room and said wistfully to his StarChip, "I'll
CPU later old girl". With that our heros disappeared into the
Void.
----------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 0101
"Oh oh, it looks like we landed off course. Damn, must've been
those roundoff errors!" exclaimed Jim. Dave stared intently at
his bitmap. "I think the signals are coming from over that
halfbright-hill".
The explorers journeyed across the fractal landscape, stumbling
over an occasional complex number or two. The murky atmosphere
nearly smothered them like a cheap electric blanket. Slowly making
their way to the top of the rise, they spied their quarry off in
the distance. Ahead of them spread an endless expanse of cubicles
stretching out towards the horizon in moribund shades of beige
and gray. It looked much like a laboratory's maze, beckoning them
to come and be the mice.
"Captain, look at this!" Lauren gasped, holding up a deep red tie
she picked off the ground. "There must be (gulp) Power Users in
the area!".
"That does it everyone, put your Hacker-Blasters on 'Buss
Error'", directed the Captain, "And be careful, don't get
trapped". Forming a tight circle and tossing furtive glances in
all directions, the team made their way down the hill towards the
maze. Dave monitored the source of the ever stronger signals with
his homing.device. "Over there! Down that aisle, to the left".
Silently they scuttled down the muted pastel hallway. Finally,
one-by-one, they stopped in their tracks. There in the
fluorescent gloom was a small pale figure, hunched over a
CloneTech PC (model 1500ZX-Q with transistorized Tint-Control!).
His face shown green from the soft impersonal glow of the
monitor. A pair of handcuffs bound him to the desk supporting the
device of torture. He babbled over and over, "BDos error on drive
A:, BDos error on drive A, what the hell does that mean?, BDos
error on drive A:. . ."
The captain slowly approached the man, "hi pal, we've come to set
you free".
"What's a BDos error?" the man said glancing towards the captain.
"I'll tell you if you can tell me what and AmigaDOS error 227 is.
Ha ha ha. We've come to rescue you from this drudgery, stand
back, Gentlemen, enable your weapons! . . . Hose it!"
The startled user jumped back as millions of OHMS sailed passed
him striking the PC squarely in the face. Moments later, 640K of
memory, two disk drives, 20 meg hardcard, (in other words, a
bristling hunk of connectivity) was reduced to a pile of
smoldering ashes. The handcuffs then dropped from his arm and he
was free. "Come on, we have to get going" said the Captain. The
user hesitated at first, not quite sure what to make of the
situation. But finally realizing that these guys were real he
jumped up from his ergonomically designed chair and joined them.
"We must hurry, there are Marketroids in the area, trying to sell
the Power-Users on 32GB Worm drives in 12 designer colors." He
waved for the crew to follow him down to secret passage. Off in
the distance, voices could be heard. "M-M-Marketroids!!! They're
hypnotic powers are unsurpassed in this and parallel dimensions!"
the user stammered, "This way!".
"Captain, why don't we just upload ourselves to the EnterBoing?"
asked Dave, "and get outta here?".
"Silly you, don't you know anything about contrived plot
construction?"
Before the Captain could continue they found themselves
surrounded by several faceless, impeccably dressed beings, waving
sales brochures in their faces. One clutched Carolyn by the arm
"come this way little lady! I'll show you a computer to solve all
your problems. With this model, you can keep track of recipes,
balance your checkbook. . .".
Out of the mist a portable showroom appeared. Dozens of beige
boxes lined the chrome tables, each winking their little cursor
eyes, saying, "come, try me, come. . .".
Another Marketroid directed Bryce towards yet another nameless
Beige Box. "And here sir is the New and Improved CloneTech
72839QQ+ RISC-PC complete with WeenieDOS 10.1. This makes
obsolete Everything we've ever sold. And you better buy it now,
or else it to will be obsolete in 12 minutes. And by the way, is
this baby fast! It runs at 17000 GigaMIPS!"
"What do you expect for a RISC chip with only 2 instructions!"
Bryce replied.
Still another Marketroid set up an overhead projector and a tray
of petrified doughnuts. "I want to thank-you for coming to our
little presentation" he said in a disinterested monotone. He put
up a viewgraph with the words "I want to thank-you for coming to
our little presentation". "Today we'll talk about what the LAN
can do for you", he continued with as much passion in his voice
as a cheerleader at a chess-match.
All too soon, these mind-altering presentations took their toll
as one by one each of the stalwart crewmembers keeled over, sound
asleep.
----------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 0110
Coming out of his groggy haze, Captain Dale could barely make out
the shrouded forms of his captors hovering around him. "Boy do I
feel Lo-Res. Where are we?" he whispered.
"I'm glad you asked" chirped one of the female Marketroids
placing a viewgraph on the overhead. "Why, you're in
Businesslandia! Now, why would you want to be in Businesslandia?
Because this is the Year of the LAN!. . ."
"STOP IT!!" cried the Captain, covering his ears. He fell to the
ground, writhing in agony.
The door breezed open, as two nattily dressed Marketroids swept
in, both dressed in the finest Italian tweed suits.
"Captain", said the one on the left, "we're here to bring you,
our guests, to Generalissimo Akers."
Now, Generalissimo Akers was one not be trifled with, he was everything a
Marketroid could dream of becoming. From making his sales quota
of MicroSloth products every hour, to being able to toss off
trite, meaningless phrases at the drop of a hat, Akers was a
dangerous man to unsuspecting buyers and computer columnists
alike. He proudest achievement was coining the term "user
friendly". But what do you expect from one whose father was
responsible for "new and improved!".
The other crewmembers were up by now, rubbing their eyes and
looking around. The two representatives herded them together and
ushered them out the door.
The party was taken on what would turn out to be a guided tour of
Busnesslandia. What they saw would check all your sums: halls
stretching out as far as the eye could see of classrooms, seminar
rooms, training rooms all dedicated towards the teaching people
how to sell the "Operating System of the Future", Oh-Oh-S/2. A
sobering thought to be sure.
Strolling by each doorway bits and pieces of the presentations
would drift within earshot.
"Now class repeat after me : 'It's a great game machine, but can
it do real work. . .'"
"It's a great game machine. . ." the class parroted.
"'Who needs multitasking', Oops, heh, heh, that's last years notes.
Try this 'the modern office today requires multitasking'".
"The modern office. . ." droned the class.
The next classroom rang with post-sales comments, such as "have a
nice day", "good luck", and the much underrated "I'll call our
technical guy about that".
A few doors down, the crew observed a behavior modification
session in progress. A shimmering new Sun VelcroSystem
workstation had had it's case electrified. One by one,
marketroids-in-training were brought into the room after being
denied computer privileges for 3 weeks. They hungrily jumped at
the chance to do a PgDn. One after another they were bent upon
touching that inviting box, and one after another they would be
sent diving to the floor from the resultant shocks coursing
through their bodies driving them nearly to the point of cardiac
seizures. Next to the Sun, a CloneTech! 2000 (with Automatic
Case-levelling!) hummed merrily away. Colored text was scrolling
on it's small friendly screen demonstrating the new XYZ-GA board.
One by one as each student picked himself off of the floor, they
reached for the CloneTech!, hesitantly at first. When it didn't
shock them, an almost drugged smile of relief crept across their
face, "boring was safe" became the universal thought.
Further down the hallway, on the left was a most bizarre chamber.
Their hosts paused in
hushed respect. The room bore a strong resemblance to that of a small
chapel. Other marketroids inside were bowing their heads,
mumbling faint, hushed chants : "the journey is the reward".
said over and over, "the journey is the reward. . .".
On an altar in the front of the room was a gold and leather bound
book. Looking closer, Dale saw the words "Market Plan",
emboldened on the cover. The crew was quickly ushered away.
Turning the corner, they stopped cold in sudden shock and horror.
What lay before them was the greatest surprise they had yet seen,
(surpassing even the time when the Sidecar was released ).
Stretching out before them, defining the very essence of
infinity, was a vast, endless corridor. It's walls lined with
literally millions of upright round glass tubes. Each one
enclosing a well-dressed body standing in an apparent state of
suspended animation. "Vertical market-roids!" exclaimed Jim in a
super-human attempt at making an excruciating pun (hey guys, I'm
not going to take the blame for it!).
"Armies! They're armies!" whispered the user, "why, this is were they
breed them. . .".
"You're so right" said a strong voice from behind. A portly,
well-dressed (hey, they're all well dressed here), gentleman
stepped forward. "Allow me to introduce my self, I am Akers, how
may I help you. . ."
"Let us go dude" said Kodiak.
"Heh, heh, not so fast. Allow me to show you around". And with
that the master salesman revealed what few outsiders would ever
know, the true nature of sales. "Gentlemen, have you ever given
thought to what happens to the various trinkets and junk made for
fads gone flat. You know, hoola-hoops and the like. Or for that matter,
what becomes of lessor computers which just can't cut it. Where do you
think all that junk goes, huh? Who do you think has all of that
stuff now?"
The crew looked around at each other with NULL expressions, not
sure what would come next.
"I do. . . .Who else do you know who has a planet full of
SpectraVideo computers, Coleco Adams, and yes, even the fabled
'Albert'."
"Are we supposed to be impressed?" smirked Leo.
"Well, these armies of ours will spread out across the universe
like Amiga 3000 rumors on a cheap Net. Phase one of the Plan will
have them using their hypnotic powers to get everyone into
believing that Oh-Oh-S/2 is the operating system of the future,
getting PS-one-halfs in every home, on every street corner, in
every school. . . Then will come the MaxiPlan. Hidden in the OS are
subliminal messages which will be flashed, on all CRTs throughout the galaxy.
These will be ads enticing everyone in to buy all of this
leftover merchandise. At last we'll be able to empty out those
warehouses full of Michael Jackson gloves! Atari 'ET' videogame
cartridges! Quadraphonic record albums! Textcraft 2.0!. . .
Akers was now staring off into space,
rubbing his hands together in a violent excitement. "Damn, am I
sure glad I bought those Apple III futures!. . .". He paused to
catch his breath, then continued. "Heh, heh, And when this is
done," he said, nearly shouting while raising his fist into the
air, "I will be as rich as Bill Gates!!!!!".
Dave jumped towards the man, veins bulging, "hold him captain,
and I'll shift his bits!" he yelled.
"Back-off Lieutenant, he has a Lock on us here. Ok fat-stuff, but
what does this have to do with us" asked the stern, yet
compassionate authority figure, Captain Dale.
The Generalissimo turned his sinister gaze towards them. He
raised his arm, pointing a fat, rounded finger towards the
captain. "You! YOU PEOPLE! ARE THE ONLY ONES STANDING IN MY
WAY!!!" He leaned towards Dale, standing nose to nose. His fat
flabby face turning beet red, he POKED his finger into Dale's
chest. "These high-level interrupts of yours I cannot tolerate!
DO YOU COMPUTE??"
"Get Outta My Face Fat Stuff. . ."
"Stand back, and I'll reformat him!!". A blazing beam of bits
came shooting across the room. Kodiak stood, blaster in both
hands, teeth bared. . .
Akers stood there grinning, Ones and Zeros bounced harmlessly off him. "Ha
Ha! You can't touch me, I'm write protected!!".
He grabbed the captain's arm and roughly shoved him towards one
of the glass chambers. He pressed a button on the side, causing
it's door to slide open. Dale stood, aghast, for here he was staring at,
himself. . .
"Yes, a clone, a perfect clone, our secret weapon my Captain."
Major Lauren reached out and touched the clone marketroid's arm.
"It has the look, and feel of you Captain. I'm scared."
"We have clones of every one of you. Soon we'll have them in
place on board the EnterBoing heading towards that DevCon of
yours. We've outfitted them with a phony Amiga 3000. Inside is a
PS-one-half board and MicroSloth Windows. And there they'll
destroy the very fabric of the Amiga, and everything it stands
for. And in the process, handing me the Universe on a Silicon
Platter.
The crew stood in stunned silence and wondered if they could get
dinner now.
"Take them away men, and feed them to the Line Eater" he
commanded his comrades, "oh, and have-a-nice-day gentlemen".
Our heros were drag-selected down to a dungeon, and gen-locked
up. Dave saw a figure, hunched over in the darkened drop-shadows.
"No", he whispered to himself, "it can't be. . .John Draper??
Captain Crunch?".
The figure jumped up, "At your service", he replied, taking a
deep bow. . .
***********************************************************
[Will the Akers get his way? Will our brave heros ever get
dinner? Will the Giants win the world series? Will RJ ever appear
here? Stay tuned for the next exciting episode of AmigaTrek : The
Next de-Generation coming to a node near you]
--
*** mike (starship janitor) smithwick ***
"Due to the Writer's Guild of Amierica strike, this signature is
temporarily cancelled".
[disclaimer : nope, I don't work for NASA, I take full blame for my ideas]
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