This is my attempt at a little story about the cybernetic adventures of Struan. Let's see if I can manage to work in lisping, Stephen Pastel cursing, and Giant Robots. Stephen Pastel was trudging home, fresh wee from the little fox trickling down the leg of his trousers. As you may have guessed, he was cursing horribly. Mothers were pulling their children indoors to prevent the tots from being polluted. The air was thick with cruel intent. Then, who should appear but the little fox again "Pawdon me, stephen. I just wemembewed that you have a cewebrity shit I'd wike to acqwiwe. " Stephen Pastel's eyes flashed. He muttered dire imprecations. His hands formed claws and he reached for the little fox. The fox darted out of his reach "I'm sowwy for trying to convewt you to the Army of the Lord, and for weeing on your weg. Now wiww you pwease give me the Petwified Poop of Yuw Bwynnew?" * Stephen was so angry he leapt up and down, causing huge cracks in the pavement. The fox scurried away, mad as hops. Stephen swore he would catch the little fox and rip him to tiny bits. The fox trotted away, eyes burning with anger. He desperately wanted Yul Brynner's feces, having watched Westworld for the 19th time the night before. "How to twick that bastawd into giving it away?" he thought. "Pewhaps if I had some sowt of giant wobot?" Then an idea came to him. What about that redheaded fellow he'd seen smashing his guitar on stage? He was supposed to be sensitive and shy, and therefore could be bent to the will of the little fox with ease. The fox scampered off to the home of one S. Murdoch. Several days later, a Giant Robot was seen terrorizing the neighborhood of Stephen Pastel. It would tear the roof off of a house, peer inside, then march to the next house. The citizens were in a panic, each one fearing for their collection of china teacups. Several people reported a fox running through the wreckage, cackling madly and lisping. The police chalked it up to a glue-sniffing epidemic. Meanwhile, Stephen Pastel was hiding at his uncle's house and wearing a false mustache. He would have been terrified of the monster if he wasn't too busy grinding his teeth into powder. His obviously false mustache flapped with each gust of curses that sprayed from his mouth. His uncle sat beside him on the couch, chainsmoking and trying to think of a plan. Uncle Stan flipped on the television, in the hope of distracting Stephen from cursing constantly. What should appear on the screen but an old monster movie! "Orrrr, gorblimey, oi have an oidea, nephew mine!" squawked uncle Stan. Uncle stan used his seedy underworld connections to recruit Roger Daltrey, Rod Stewart and Eric Clapton for a dynamic trio. His plan was to assault the Giant Robot with some of rock's biggest dinosaurs. With their ponderous bulk, Uncle Stan figured the Giant Robot had no chance. The showdown occurred conveniently in a place with lots of buildings to smash. Eric Clapton charged forward. But the fox tripped him up and the Giant Robot stamped in the back of his head "How do you wike that, Mr. Cwapton! Say hewwo to your son at the Peawly Gates!" sang the fox, and he danced back and forth. Next came Rod Stewart. But the Giant Robot sang at such a high pitch that Rod's dual hearing aids exploded, and he fell to the ground. The fox cheered "Handbags and Gwadwags, my ass! That's what you get for weaving Wachael Huntew!" Uncle Stan began to tremble. Only Roger Daltrey was left. Could he destroy the Giant Robot? Slowly, Daltrey moved forward. He could see the wreckage of his companions. His eyes flashed with righteous indignation. The little fox ran forward, trying to trip him. But Roger was too quick. He trampled the little fox into the ground " Oh Woger! I do bewieve I've bwoken my back!" moaned the little fox. "Pwease don't huwt the Giant Wobot, since he's good at heart. I compelled him to destroy things for me.": Roger realised the truth of the little fox's words, and in a convenient plot device, immobilized the Giant Robot with his flowing locks. Struan was freed from the cockpit, and returned home. But he never forgot the kindness of one of rock's most massive dinosaurs. Lying on his bed at night, he would pray to Angus Young fhat one day he too could be as great as "that fewwow wif the wong haiw fwom the WHO" (for he had vowed never to take the name Woger in vain) The fox survived, but was confined to a wheelchair for quite some time. Stephen Pastel went home and burned his collection of celebrity shite, for it had caused him so much trouble The neighbors were disgusted by the smell. The end +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the reborn Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail "sinister@majordomo.net". 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