Message-ID: <>
From: Julian Waldby <>
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Subject: FTSD1: Membrance
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Date: Fri, 01 Dec 2000 18:18:13 -0600
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Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign

Not all have the clarity to remember the old days. It was a different
time. It was a day when heads would be bitten off and the anvil delivery
system was backed up for days with a huge waiting list. It was a time of
world war with sibling against sibling and cat against dog.

But all this is no more. I remember the day the dream died. It wasn't
hard to see the warning signs. It all started with a woman named
Paminifarm, a born-again Christian with an agenda to turn the teebee
galaxy on its ear.

Her first posts were a calling of the flock. She told of conspiracies
and the coming of the beast. I didn't give her much notice at first, but
this was soon to change.

In the old days, this froup followed a seven day week, with incoming
material all through the week, every day. Every day saw intense flamage,
and no quarter given to anyone. There was crossfire from all directions,
Italy and Greece, Alaska and Canada. People scrambled with ordinance of
every shape and size, through the trenches and on the field.
Occasionally Bill Bill would show up with his six guns and clear the
field, picking off snipers with guns waving both front and back, behind
his head with the no-look bull's eye.

But then, everyone found Jesus.

People started taking a day off on Sunday to go to mass and listen to
Sweet Leloni give her sermon. The gropus hung on for a few months,
splintering as each weekend brought a loud plonking silence. Eventually,
it just hung its head and died. Now it is no more, and we leave a rose
each Dec. 1 of the year commemorating it.

These are the memoriums of the historian, // u l i a n.

We're not talking about some trophy girl draped all over a car