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From: israel@qantel.UUCP ( Renegade)
Newsgroups: net.jokes
Subject: In the tradition of VAX WARS...
Message-ID: <140@qantel.UUCP>
Date: Thu, 21-Jun-84 18:26:01 EDT
Article-I.D.: qantel.140
Posted: Thu Jun 21 18:26:01 1984
Date-Received: Wed, 27-Jun-84 00:50:11 EDT
Organization: MDS Qantel, Hayward CA.
Lines: 56


   Back when the book "Real Men Don't Eat Quiche" had just
been released, some folks up at Berkeley started up a local
mailing list known as 'realmen', to discuss this topic more
thoroughly. During this correspondence, the saga which follows
began forcing itself from my brain, onto my fingertips, and
into the terminal (in a most aggressive manner, of course).
I've been adding additional chapters to it for al least two years
now, and seeing as it was such a hit at Berkeley, I thought
it might make a decent showing here. Hence, without furthur
ado, I now present -- TRUE GRIT MYSTERIES - Part 1

TALES OF ROGER GUTS, PI

   It was one of those grisly, hot days, the kind that makes your
glasses fog, assumming you're wimpy enough to wear them. I don't.
   I was leaning back in my office chair, with my feet on the
desk, throwing daggers at my ex-girlfriend's bra on the wall and
wondering where my next meal and my next lay were coming from. Then
the door opened, and SHE walked in.
   She was the sharpest piece of female flesh I'd ever laid eyes
on, from the top of her peacock-feathered hat to the tip of her
opened-toed army boots. I could feel my pants grow tight as she
sauntered up to the desk, and her lips began to move. "I'm
looking to hire a private cop that isn't afraid of getting
his fingernails dirty. Know anyone like that?"
   She was good. She was very good.
   "I'm your man, sister. What's your story?"
   "Three days ago, I received a note in my mailbox. It was addressed
to me, but it wasn't signed. All it said was `Beat it or bite it!'.
I ignored it, thinking it was a love note from a lewd secret
admirer."
   "And when did you begin to suspect otherwise?"
   "Yesterday. I was in the bathroom, and the toilet mysteriously
exploded. Luckily, I managed to manuever myself to fall into the
bathtub, which I had just filled with water, so I was able to
avoid injury."
   She was very, very good. "Sounds like your playmates play rough.
OK, sister, I'll take the case."
   She reached inside her purse, and pulled out an envelope,
then dumped it in front of me. "I'll give you $100 a day, plus
expenses, for 5 days in advance."
   I liked the lady, but I liked to eat. "$150 or take a hike."
   She smiled. "I like your style, Guts. $150 it is." She
fumbled through her purse, and tossed a stack of Jackson's
on the desk. Then she glided toward the door.
   "Hey, how about tellin' me your name? It's always nice to
know who you're working for."
   She turned, half-smiled, and opened the door. "You're a
detective? Dig for it!" With that, she slipped behind the door,
and headed down the hall.
   God, she was good.

                TO BE CONTINUED...