From: email@example.com (Paul Strong) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: FTSD? The Fruit-Bat Date: 1 Dec 1998 06:09:07 GMT Organization: University of Guelph Lines: 50 Message-ID: <firstname.lastname@example.org> X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.2 PL2] The Fruit-Bat Once upon a midnight dreary, as my eyes grew red and bleary, Staring at the upturned bottom of some cheap, besotten whore-- While I ogled, nearly stroking, suddenly there came a croaking As of some frog gently choking, choking at my chamber door. "Some amphibian," I muttered, "croaking at my chamber door. Only this and nothing more." Pausing not, I grasped the handle, fearing it might be a vandal, (Lacking even lighted candle) stubbed my toe, and slipping, swore. Then as the sound I heard repeated, sweat in buckets I secreted 'Til my arm-pits were depleted, pooling on the chamber floor. "Some amphibian," I sputtered, "croaking at my chamber door. This it is and nothing more." Then I (my courage now recovered), opening the door, discovered Something ancient, evil--clearly wicked to the core. So quickly past my head it fluttered, barely had I time to utter "Jesus Christ! A Fruit-Bat! God in heaven, I implore..." Yet in it came and perched and sat there, just above my chamber door, Perched and sat and nothing more. I was startled, trembling, shaken--thought at first I was mistaken, Convinced myself at last, indeed: a Fruit-Bat lounged above my door. "Foul beast," said I, "you're uninvited. Why have you 'pon my door alighted? Get the hence, abomination! Leave me, fiendish beast of yore! Or barring that, you Godless creature, spit your name out, I implore!" Quoth the Fruit-Bat, "Nevermore." Hardly breathing, I retreated--thinking that I was defeated. Paused a moment and, recalling, reached toward my bureau drawer. Quickly then I found my quarry...thinking on the future (gory) Yelled "Goddamned Fruit-Bat, YOU'LL be sorry!"--grabbed my shotgun, shells galore. Scarcely had I got it loaded when the Fruit-Bat (shot) exploded, Collapsing in a pool of blood, it lay upon my chamber floor. But lo! It spoke as it lay dying, cursing me to Hell (and frying) "I shall return to haunt you, bastard--I will give one last encore!" "No you won't," I said (and meant it), "This bullshit's unprecedented." Without pause I grasped my mallet--smashed him with a mighty roar. Quoth the author, "Nevermore." Paul P.S. Couldn't come up with an ending. Screw it.  The sweat, not my arm-pits. Damn ambiguous references.