Relay-Version: version B 2.10 5/3/83; site utzoo.UUCP Posting-Version: version B 2.10.2 9/18/84 exptools; site ihlpg.UUCP Path: utzoo!watmath!clyde!burl!ulysses!mhuxr!mhuxn!ihnp4!ihlpg!jeand From: jeand@ihlpg.UUCP (AMBAR) Newsgroups: net.bizarre Subject: Subgrunts: A Story (part 4 of 5) Message-ID: <1006@ihlpg.UUCP> Date: Thu, 1-Aug-85 10:48:47 EDT Article-I.D.: ihlpg.1006 Posted: Thu Aug 1 10:48:47 1985 Date-Received: Sat, 3-Aug-85 01:52:37 EDT Distribution: net Organization: AT&T Bell Laboratories Lines: 103 "I say we look behind the other doors before we commit ourselves to this one," Phyllis suggested. "I say we don't," chortled Frank. "Come on, Frank! Where's your sense of adventure?" "I think we should at least open. . .Hey! Where'd Tash go?" "Back to Columbus, I hope," grumbled Mike. "She climbed through Door #3 while you idiots . . ." "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!" "What was that?" "It sounded like Tash. Let's go!" ordered Jean. The five remaining subgrunts climbed down into the pit to discover a WELL LIT hallway lined with offices. "LOOK OUT! WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!" Natasha came wheeling gleefully forth in a rocking-rolling-swivelling desk chair. "It's a deserted AT&T plant!" she exclaimed. "With bannering programs?" cried Frank. "With vnews?" cried Jean. "With unmangled printers?" cried Roger. "With a full stockroom?" cried Mike. "YES! With all of that and MORE! It even has . . ." Natasha slammed fatally into a wall as she flew past them again. ". . . dead end corridors . . ." "You guys come here! I hear something behind this closet door! I sounds like voices!" remarked _________________. "WHO?" the subgrunts yelped. "I say, my boys, I did." Mike cringed, his face turning green. Frank whirled around, and Roger just shook his head, in a sad tribute to Vic Moore. "It's Mac!" Frank screamed. Mac was looking at them through the experimental system monitor that normally hung around the ground floor of IH Main, and which never seemed to display your system name, except on its manual poster. "Hey, Frank. I was comin' up to get you for lunch. See, I found these chicks down in South...y'know how that is, Mike. My boy, Mike, y'know? I found these chicks in South, y'know? Y'know, Roger? Frank, get it? Southern Macced Chicks, y'know?" Jean turned the screen off. "Ye gods, is his dialogue boring." Frank was appalled. "That was the Great Marcus Mack!" "Now, Frank, come on," Mike said, patting Jean on the back. "The last thing I want to do is watch Mac on TV." "Where to now?" Roger said, examining his hands. He wasn't too sure just where they had gone on his last quest for a light switch, and he wondered whether he would clobber anyone, or anyone would clobber him. "The Stockroom!" the grunts cheered. "Why did I ask?" Roger moaned. The following week, it seemed to them, they roamed the corridors of IC (as in Indian Cemetary). Once they had withdrawn every possible thing from the stockroom, crashed the computer, blew up a vax, they got bored. And, as they sat around in the IC auditorium, they tried to think of things to do (since IC did not get vnews, much to Jean's dismay). This is what went through Jean's mind: >> "I don't *want* to sit here anymore," Jean said, *visibly* angry. >> "Me *neither*," Mike grumbled. >> "I'm *bored*," Frank groaned. >> "Me *neither*." >> "Why don't we try and *think* of something to *do*," Phyllis chanted. >> "How about removing these *stupid* asterisks (?..sorry, *?*) from >> our dialogue. I'm tired of listening to people say, 'I don't >> astericks-want-astericks to sit here anymore.'"