From don@UDel.Edu Sun Dec 22 23:13:53 1996 Date: Thu, 12 Sep 1996 17:59:11 -0400 (EDT) From: Donald R Lloyd To: b5-creative@lists.best.com Subject: Putting Things Right I'm new to the list in spite of having known about it for some time, but I recently started downloading some of the story archives and was... er... inspired... by the "Convergence" round-robin story. What follows is a disjointed, barely-edited attempt to throw some unrelated images together into a story which bears some resemblance to what was happening in Convergence, while conveniently ridding the universe of a number of anomalies which should never have existed in the first place. Expect very little coherence, no real storyline, and frequent pathetic attempts at humor.... (Every character, setting, race, situation, food, drink, facial expression, language, mannerism, bodily noise, and obscure reference presented here is probably copyrighted by someone other than me. Probably by Microsoft.) ----------------------------------------------- Putting Things Right Michael Garibaldi stumbled into his quarters, clutching at himself, seemingly experiencing intense pain. *Not again*, he thought. *I thought I was free of the curse, but it's happening again...* Silence reigned as the two armies faced one another across the vast plane of docking bay 7. Fear and tension filled the air, then got sucked into the station's oxygen recycling system and converted to useful household chemicals. "Never fear, my friends; victory shall be ours this day!" declared the leader of the first host. "But Papa Smurf, they're so much bigger than us!" "Um, well, yes, but we're, um, much smarter than they are! They can't even speak English!" "But they have spears and clubs and bows and arrows, and we're just unarmed little blue guys in white pants!" "Err, their weapons will only weigh them down!" Across the battlefield, newly appointed tribal chief Wicket encouraged his troops the only way he knew how. "Chabookie Oookie! Aaaeeeeeeiiiiii-aaaaaa!" And then, with every warrior knowing that all their fates would be decided in this one, final battle, the armies charged. [Camera shows charging Ewoks, their stampede creating a rumbling noise.] [Camera switches to charging Smurfs, their stampede creating a tinkling noise like a thousand very tiny wind chimes being sneezed on.] [Back to Ewoks, now charging faster; louder rumbling noise.] [Smurfs again, also picking up speed; higher pitched tinkling noise.] [Wilma Flintstone and Betty Rubble singing "da da da dum de daaa... chaaaarge it!"] [Camera moves to center of docking bay, where the two armies will meet. The rumbling/tinkling reaches a crescendo, and suddenly the two armies emerge at breakneck speed on opposite sides of the scene. The Ewoks, overbalanced by their too-large weapons, are unable to stop their charge and face their foes; instead, they trample completely over the hapless smurfs, leaving a trail of blue pudding in their wake before thudding as a group into the far wall.] Their leader, when he awoke moments later, shouted the news of his victory the only way he knew how: "Chabookie Oookie! Aaaeeeeeeiiiiii-aaaaaa!" - - - - - "Commander, I think you should see this," Zack Allen said to Commander Sheridan. "Great, what now?" "I'm not exactly sure, sir. It's a disturbance in docking bay seven." *As if there weren't enough problems already*, thought Sheridan. Well, at least he had come up with a solution to those pesky brown furballs which had threatened to fill the entire station. As it turned out Narns found them both tasty and nutritious, so he'd ordered them all loaded onto a freighter (a beat-up looking old thing named after an earth bird, piloted by a human and a hairy alien) and smuggled to the Narn homeworld, Narnia, to feed that planet's starving masses. As Zack lead the commander to bay 7, they passed a dark hallway where a cross-dressed bipedal rabbit sat in front of a table, apparently giving a manicure to something unseen. Sheridan thought he caught a bit of the rabbit's speech: "My, my, but you Shadows must lead such interesting lives..." He shook his head. Before long they arrived at the source of the disturbance. "We've managed to keep them contained in here, sir, but we're not sure what to do with them." Zack opened the doors to the hangar. Sheridan was horrified at the spectacle before him; hundreds of short, furry things repeatedly sang the same verse of what must have been some sort of tribal victory song. "What are they?" "We think they're called Ewoks, sir." "They look like... giant teddy bears." "I know sir; that's why I thought it best not to let word of this get out. What should we do with them, sir?" Sheridan stepped back into the hallway, allowing the doors to close, mercifully muting the Ewoks' singing. "Hmmm... that's a good question," said Sheridan, scratching his chin and strolling nonchalantly in the direction of the large red button marked AIRLOCK RELEASE. "You know, it's been such a long day, I'm having trouble thinking clearly. Maybe if I just rest for a moment..." He slumped against the wall, propping himself up against the firm support of the red button. A whooshing sound was heard. As the Ewoks were sucked into the cold vacuum of space, their leader screamed in terror the only way he knew how: "Chabookie Oookie! Aaaeeeeeeiiiiii-aaaaaa!" "You know, Zack, in this case, I think that if we just ignore the problem for a while, it'll go away on its own." - - - - - Commander Ivanova stood at her post in C&C wishing fervently for this day to end soon. Unfortunately, that wasn't to be. "Unnamed security guard to Commander Ivanova," came a call over her link. "Go ahead." "We've got problems; Garibaldi's missing and Zack's still busy over in the scene with Sheridan, so I figured you were the next best person to call." "What's up?" "Well, for one thing, there're a bunch of Elves in Blue section who say they're hunting for Orcs." "Great!" said a listening Ranger. "Maybe I can get them to fix this sword!" "Well, just close off the area and make sure they don't hurt anybody," Ivanova told the officer. "Okay. There's also a bunch of big hairy things wandering around the Zocalo who say they're Orcs trying to find some sort of ring." "Hmmm... I'd say close off the area and make sure they don't hurt anybody." "There's a horde of giant blood-crazed sentient tomatoes rampaging through Mauve 3." "Uhhh, just close off the area and make sure they don't hurt anybody." "The entire casts of Beverly Hills 90210, Baywatch, and Melrose Place are fighting a pitched battle with Jim Carrey, Jerry Lewis, and a bunch of people from someplace called "Al Alberts' Showcase" in Fucia 14. If we don't intervene, they'll probably obliterate each other!" "Uh, yeah... er, hey, don't forget to close off Mauve 3 and make sure those tomatoes don't hurt anybody. Ivanova out." "Ah, good to see you," said the short, pink-skinned, huge- eared bartender through large, rotten teeth to the Centauri ambassador and his potential new business contact, a dark-skinned human with a short trimmed mustache. "Londo, Lando," said the alien, introducing the two formally, "Lando, Londo. I trust that if you gentlemen come to any agreements, you'll remember who made this meeting possible when it comes time to discuss distribution of profits." "Now, Mr. Calrissian," began Londo, "do I understand correctly that you wish to receive funding from my government for the continued operation of a flying city that mines gas?" Their conversation was halted by a loud noise behind Londo. A flaming skeleton (curiously enough, wearing the uniform of the Chief of Security) sat astride a fiery Harley, its eyes (the skeleton's, not the Harley's) burning with unholy light. "I am Ghost Rider," it cried, "Spirit of Vengeance! The guilty shall feel the searing pain of my Hellfire!" With that, he raised his hands and blasted the Centauri with bolts of flame that burst from his palms. FWOOOOSH! "Vengeance is mine! That was for having more penises than I do!" FWOOOOSH! "That was for all of them being bigger than mine! You'd get another one for having more hair than I do, but I'll go easy on you since you _do_ have such a stupid haircut." With that, the Ghost Rider revved his engine (actually, it was the Harley's engine - most skeletons don't come so equipped themselves) and sped off. The smoke had barely cleared when the sound of something clanging against the hull rang through the bar. A few short pounding noises followed it, and moments later a hole was blown in the wall and dozens of armed men in white-and-black body armor poured through it. They opened fire what seemed to be some sort of laser weapon, filling the Zocalo with colored lights and ricocheting death rays, but never actually hitting anything. Two B5 security guards looked at the attackers, then turned to each other and shrugged, realizing the men in white were relatively harmless. They returned calmly to their posts. Near the table where Londo had been crisped, Sheridan and Zack shared a drink while discussing the possible whereabouts of Mr. Garibaldi. After several minutes of the assault by the men in white, the captain noticed the commotion. Zack, catching the captain's gaze, answered his unasked question. "Don't worry, the Chief has hired a special team to deal with this sort of thing. Ah, here they are now." A large black van skidded to a halt in front of the invading troopers. Out of it jumped four men, one of them a huge black man covered with enough gold jewelry to deflect several blasts from a Minbari cruiser. They promptly strolled directly in front of the attackers and, standing clear of anything that would offer them such useless niceties as cover or protection, opened fire with machine guns and the occasional home made grenade. Curiously, like their attackers, they never actually hit anything. This went on for a while, until, suddenly, a towering, dark figure emerged from the hole in the hull. The man was covered from head to toe in black plastic; even his eyes were shielded from view by a pair of tinted safety goggles. He strode unchallenged into the room, a glowing saber of light in his hand. Unchallenged, that is, until the familiar form of ambassador Kosh, resplendent in his Vorlon body suit, appeared to bar his path. The ominous man in black raised his glowing saber and swung in toward the Vorlon in a deadly arc. The blade was met and halted by a burst of energy from Kosh's `eye'. "Impressive... very impressive," said the man in black, his deep, booming voice commanding awe, respect, and no small amount of fear from all who heard it. "I simply must know who your tailor is." *Basic black out.* * Earth tones in.* *You are not ready to accessorize. * With that, Kosh glided away silently, leaving the mysterious villain alone in full awareness of his fashion faux pas. The Dark Lord stomped back into his hole, grumbling about Vorlons and how he didn't care what was "in" this season, he'd wear whatever he damn well wanted to... Sheridan and Zack were about to resume their conversation when loud voices nearby distracted them. "Huh-huh, huh huh huh, hey Beavis, we're gonna get alien chicks." "Heh-heh, nyaheheheheh. Alien chicks are cool. Hey, look at that alien chick on the flaming motorcycle!" "That's not a chick, you dumbass, it's a burning skeleton." "No it's not, Butthead, look, it's a redhead with long hair." "Uh, no, that's, like, fire shooting out of his head and stuff." "Ehhnnooooh, yeah, you're right, it is a burning skeleton." "Burning skeletons on flaming Harleys are cool." FWOOSH! The ghostly apparition in B5 uniform charred one of the speakers. "Whoa..." said the charred speaker. "Fire! Fire! Fire!" said the untoasted one. FWOOSH! Now both speakers were nicely browned, but the second seemed to have somehow slipped into another state of consciousness as if to help block out the pain. "I am Cornholio!' FWOOSH! Having no further states of consciousness to slip into, the second speaker collapsed, and both were immediately dragged off to be sold to the carrion eaters. When the noise had finally died down and the flaming rider had sped off again, Sheridan turned back to Zack. "So, any idea where Mr. Garibaldi might have disappeared to?" - - - - - "What's our status, Mr. Worf?" asked Captain Jean-Luc Picard of his Klingon officer. "Sir, we seem to have emerged from the wormhole into some sort of debris field." As the Klingon spoke, the cameraman shook the camera and the crew wobbled in an unconvincing attempt to simulate turbulence. "What's our shield status?" "They're down, sir." "Down?" "As in `not functioning'." "I know that, but why?" "The holodeck is running amuck again, and has taken control of several ship's systems, including the shields and the bathroom." "The bathroom? We'll have to put into port for repairs as soon as possible." "There is a space station nearby where we could perhaps request assistance." "Perhaps. But first, what kind of debris are we flying through? Whatever it is seems to be in small pieces, but we're hitting a lot of them." "Sensors show it is organic in nature. Possibly some new spaceborne life form?" "On screen, Mr. Worf." The crew stared in confusion as the video display came up. "What are they?" "They're Ewoks, Sir." "Ewoks?" "Yes Sir. Hundreds of them." At that moment particularly large one splattered messily against the windshield. "Mr. Worf," said Commander Riker, finally speaking up, "set a course for that station." "Belay that order, Mr. Worf, and turn us around." "Sir?" "I want to squash a few more of them before we dock..." - - - - - Sheridan and Minbari ambassador Delenn sat alone in Babylon 5's core shuttle. A discarded glass of water rested on a ledge next to the Minbari. "For some reason, Delenn, I have this feeling that something very strange is happening on the station." He paused to wave politely to a man in a bat suit who flew by outside. "I can't put my finger on it, but it just seems like a lot of unusual things have been happening at once." He paused while the noise from the engines of a passing tugboat drowned out his voice. "I'm just guessing, but I think they're somehow related. I'm going to go find Kosh and see if he has any insights on this." "Hmm- what?" Delenn pulled a crystal out of each ear. "I'm sorry, I was listening to an old Queensryche album. Did you say something?" "It's just that -" He was interrupted as suddenly the shuttle stopped moving and its lights went dark. "What happened?" The water in the glass rippled. "Oh no..." Sheridan mumbled, looking out the window. "What is it?" "Look for yourself." "In Valen's name, it can't be!" "It is," Sheridan replied resignedly. A horrible rending sound was heard as the top of the shuttle was torn open. The passengers looked up into a hideous set of jaws. A horrible purple head lowered itself to them. "Huh, huh! Don't be scared," it began in voice which betrayed no intelligence, "I won't hurt you, because... I love you, you love me..." "NOOOOOOOooooooooooo!" shouted Delenn and Sheridan in unison, leaping from the shuttle to plummet toward the far away ground. "Come back so we can play some more!" cried the creature, jumping after them. "John, grab my ankles!" Delenn called frantically. The Captain did as she asked, and once he had a good grip, she allowed her long Minbari dress to billow outward, effectively forming a parachute to slow their plummet to a gentle descent. The purple creature, bereft of such assistance, slammed headfirst into the Zen rock garden at several hundred miles per hour and was immediately mowed over by an unobservant groundskeeper in a high-tech John Deere. "Delenn," Sheridan began, looking up his benefactor's dress, "do all Minbari women wear `Captain Power' boxer shorts?" - - - - - Somewhere in Puce 6, an annoying, short silver robot with a bullet-shaped head and bearing what looked like a round circuit board in its chest was accosted by a flaming Spirit of Vengeance. "Beedeebeedeebeedee," the robot begged pathetically. FW- ! "Eh?" The Ghost Rider turned to see two more robots. One looked like a fancy beer keg with legs; the other was humanoid and covered in gold from head to toe. "My companion wishes to request the honor of handling this one for you," said the golden one in an only-slightly-masculine voice from a robot whose movements seemed a bit effeminate. The Ghost Rider wondered if the robot's original paint hadn't been pink. "Be my guest," offered the ever courteous Hell-spawned spirit of demonic vengeance. "Beedeebeedeebeedeebeedee?" questioned the silver robot as the barrel-shaped droid tilted backward to reveal that, in fact, its round body actually doubled as a large cannon. BLAM! "Hmm... not bad for a little guy." And the Ghost Rider rode on. - - - - - The Vorlon wasn't in his quarters, so Sheridan was heading toward one of the observation decks Kosh frequented. On the way, he suddenly began to feel a strange, almost painful - well, a "buzz" was the best word he could think of, in the pit of his stomach. From out of the shadows stepped a long-haired, rough-shaven man of medium build clad in a trenchcoat. "I am Conner MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, and -" FWOOOSH! "That's for the sequels!" shouted the mysterious flaming rider as he passed quickly by. Sheridan pounded himself on the chest a few times and eventually burped. His stomach feeling better, he moved on, promising himself he'd stop putting the "Kick Yo Ass Hot Suicide Picante Sauce" on his flarn. - - - - - Two figures stood by Kosh on the observation deck. One, a white-haired human of vaguely oriental descent, spoke quietly in a soothing voice. "I have been around, but... I have ... never... seen one who looks a ... muppet... but is .. wrinkled, and ... green." "Rrrrmm, muppet, am I? Rrrrm, well, Muppet may I be, but at least speak in full sentences without unnatural pauses can I!" replied the short green one in question, whacking the human in the shins with his cane for emphasis. "Did! Someone! Say... unnatural? Pauses!" said a chubby, self-consumed bystander. FWOOSH!, said the passing Spirit of Vengeance to the chubby, self-consumed bystander. "Ouch! That! Hurt!" said the bystander before collapsing. * The fish are in the mailbox * , Kosh contributed. "Ambassador Kosh," interjected Sheridan, arriving on the scene, "may I have a word with you?" * Unicameral * "Huh?" * You asked for a word with `U' * "Uh, no, I meant, `Can I ask you a question?' " * Ask * "Well, you see, there've been a lot of odd things happening lately, and I was wondering if you knew anything about them." * The basement is not translucent * "What?" * I am your potato * "I'm afraid I still don't understand." * My bologna has a first name * "On the fritz his translator is," said Kosh's small companion, imparting the Vorlon with a hearty walking-stick blow to the head. * Haven't the foggiest * - - - - - "I've called this meeting of our secret council," Sheridan addressed his companions as they passed through the door under the flashing "Secret Council Chamber" sign, "because things have been nuts around here lately and I want to find out why." "Hey, Garibaldi, I see you're finally sticking to that diet I prescribed!" whispered Dr. Franklin to the skeletal apparition that stood beside him. Exhausted by the effort at speaking, the doctor took a dose of stims to help keep himself going. "Anyway," Sheridan continued, pointedly ignoring the interruption, "can anyone tell me what's going on?" "Well, Captain," began Mr. LaForge, "the shi- er, station seems to be caught in some kind of random phase modulation of the gravitronic matrix of the space-time continuum." "Huh?" Mr. Data elaborated, "What Geordi is trying to say, sir, is that we've detected a tachyonic anomaly in the localized subspace distortion field membrane. I think we can fix it with a phased pulse plasma fusion tachyon phaser holo dylithium crystal loaded into a photon torpedo wrapped in `Silly Putty'." "Uh, anyone else care to take a shot at rewording that?" Ray stood up clumsily - the heavy nuclear accelerator backpack he wore limited his mobility somewhat - and unrolled a large document onto the table. Ghostibaldi, noticing for the first time the logos that several Positron-Collider-equipped Secret Council Members wore, began inching his way toward the door. "Uh, gotta go, Vengeance business to take care of. Brady Bunch just arrived on station, and I have to go give them the whole `fwoosh, fwoosh, eat-hot-searing-hellfire' routine. I'll, uh, see you later." The sound of running feet could be heard before the door even slid closed behind him. "I'm surprised he didn't `fwoosh' those two Star Trek guys before he left," Sheridan said to no one in particular. "He will," Ivanova said. "No fwoosh today, fwoosh tomorrow. Sooner or later there's always a fwoosh." Ray cleared his throat to get group's attention, and began: "I've been going over the blueprints for the station - it was designed by one Kirko Shatnor, who in the late 22nd century founded a secret society of Star Trek worshippers. It turns out that the entire Babylon station is a giant superconducting antenna for old TV signals that he planned to use to create the ultimate Babylon/Trek crossover." "You mean -" Sheridan began. Glancing briefly at Delenn, then at Sheridan, Egon answered for Ray, "Yes. Your girlfriend lives in the corner penthouse of Spock Central." "Okay, so what's going to happen?" "It seems," said Egon, "that the station's design is working better than Shatnor ever hoped; not only is it creating a Star Trek crossover, but it seems to be bringing in shows from all over and mutating them into what appears to one giant, incomprehensible..." "Crossover Crossover," finished Ray. "All of the bad fan fiction ever written is coming together right here." "Impossible!" interjected Data. "That would cause a quantum tachyon dispersion flux inversion anomoly in the universal inductance singularity, uh... thingy. Besides, if that hypothesis were valid, we would be experiencing much more frequent Crossover instances...." "My thoughts exactly!" said Space Ghost. "Danger, Will Robinson!" said a large robot who was following Lennier down the hallway outside. "Jane, stop this crazy thing!" shouted George Jetson. "Tomorrow, tomorrooooow-" a hideous red-haired girl began to sing. ".... and we'd be seeing crossovers crossing over into crossovers on multiple levels." A swirling vortex appeared in the middle of the room. Out of it leaped four people - a young genius, a girl of about his age, an older, hefty man, and a dark-skinned man. "Mmmm, Spoo.... uhmauhmmummhm..." said the large man, taking a plate of said subtance from the council table and sloppily swallowing it whole. "Professor Simpson," began the dark-skinned universe- traveller, "may I be reminding you dat we are having to be sliding again in twenty seconds and you are not having time to be finding a bottle of Duff to be quenching your thirst from your consuming of spoo." "D'oh! Apu, why didn't you say so earlier?" "Tommorrow, tomorrow-" the hideous red-haired girl launched into a second chorus. "Come on, it's time," Milhouse said. He pressed a button on a Tricorder he carried and another vortex promptly opened up. "You go first, Lisa!" The girl leapt through into the next universe, followed by her companions, and the vortex closed. "Awesome!" shouted Bill and Ted from the front seat of a speeding bus. "Tomorrow, tomorrow-" reiterated the hideous red-haired girl. "I'm da Terminadah," said a strangely muscular Data, who then proceeded to fire a shoulder-mounted ground-to-air missile at the hideous red-haired girl. "Hasta la vista, baby!" Sheridan looked around his council room, almost overcome by sheer hopelessness at the sight of the horrible fluctuations of space, time, and good taste that were unfolding before his eyes. The Babcom terminals were all showing something called "Babylon Hillbillies", and he caught snippets of a song: Let me tell ya all a story `bout G'kar my friend, A poor ex-ambass'dor, barely kept his homeworld fed. But then one day he was stranglin' a Centauri, When up from Down Below came Londo's friend with a Minbari. Vir, that is. Brought Lennier. Londo saved. Well, first thing you know G'kar's in a holding cell, He's writing down the thoughts that to his people he will tell. (At this point, the music briefly changes as three small creatures run through the scene, chased by a net-wielding Garibaldi) He said "G'quan is the book you oughta read", So he gave an old copy to Mister Garibaldi. Michael, that is. Security Chief. Demon mutant. A few well-placed shots from his official Buzz Lightyear Raygun (TM) spared Sheridan from _that_ particular horror in time to avoid the opening scene where Bo, Luke, and Delenn Duke hid in the Space Winnebago to avoid capture by Roscoe P. Soulhunter on charges of smuggling spice from Arrakis. Realizing that no real progress was being made here, Sheridan adjourned the meeting and headed to C&C, hoping that there he could get a better idea what was happening around the station. The control center was in chaos as he entered. The station seemed to be vibrating from some horrible repetitive pounding noise emanating across the vacuum from something in nearby space. "Captain!" shouted Lt. Corwin, "Twenty Soul Hunter ships just came through the jump gate! They seemed to be linked together all trailing behind the big one in front! It's... it's... The Soul Train!" From somewhere on the station, a tiny jet of flame shot out at the Soul Train, seemingly oblivious to the lack of combustible material between it and its targets, and one by one engulfed each ship in the chain. From about the same place on the station, a tiny voice sounding suspiciously like Mr. Garibaldi's would if, for instance, his head had become a fleshless flaming skull, shouted, "Do you really need an explanation for this one?" The C&C crew breathed a collective sigh of relief. Their relief was, as usual, short-lived. "Captain, there's been a collision outside the station! The freighter Yuu Ess from the Jaahb homeworld has crashed into the unpressurized cargo hold of the Narn ship M'ksi'ko!" There was a giant sucking sound as thousands of Yuu Ess Jaahbs were moved to M'Ksi'ko. Aboard a passing ship, Ross Perot exclaimed, "I told you so!" to his fellow Ferengi and produced several charts and diagrams to back up his claim. "Alright, that's it. I'm going down to the Zocalo for a drink, and I don't want to be disturbed," Sheridan said, removing his comm link and crushing it under his new Nike Air Vorlon high-tops. As he stormed through the station, he noticed a small cave where Kosh, out of his encounter suit and appearing in the guise of a white-haired medieval knight, was gesturing for the three humans in the cave to select one from a large collection of golden cups and have a drink. Sheridan scowled and moved on. He reached the Zocalo and sat down at a table. Nearby, just off camera, sat a tall man wearing a number of hats. The topmost hat on the stack said, "Writer". Beneath that was one that read "Producer". Sheridan couldn't make out the rest. An empty Big Mac wrapper and an unopened bottle of Zima were on the table in front of the man. The many-hatted one looked around shiftily before hunching forward and setting to work on some task in front of him that Sheridan couldn't see from his current vantage point. Curiosity getting the better of him, Sheridan stood and approached the man. The writer/producer's right arm was moving back and forth and a scraping noise could be heard. "Excuse me," Sheridan began. Startled by the intrusion, the tall man dropped what he was working on. A metal file clanked to the floor, followed by a Collector's Edition Lord of the Rings Boxed Set. Putting two and two together, Sheridan realized that the tall man had been filing the serial numbers off the Lord of the Rings. Alright, this thing has just gone way too far! jms boomed the Great Maker suddenly to the author of this story. "Sheridan ordered a plate of flaming Spam and then -" the author began to type. I said that's enough! If you do not desist at once, I will be forced to take drastic measures. jms The author continued to type: "`You've seen my headbone, John', Delenn whispered in a sensuous voice, `now isn't there a bone you'd like to show me?'" Have it your way. Don't say I didn't warn you. jms The author suddenly found his computer room filled with angry Narns. The doctor who treated him filed a report that during the early stages of recovery, the patient frequently muttered the words "Louisville Slugger" before drifting back to unconsciousness. ----- Don Lloyd don@chopin.udel.edu "Mmmmmm.... floor pie." Stuck using a PC, but still an Amiga guy at heart...