From: "procaid@hotmaiI.com ." Subject: A Tale Of Stupidity [for lack of a decent title] Date: Tue, 29 Dec 1998 17:55:26 PST MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain A Tale of Stupidity By The Other Procrastinator's Aid Disclaimer: I'm not making money. If I could make money with this, I probably wouldn't post it here. I don't own anything in it, either. This is set during the Shadow War, right around "Z'Ha'Dum" in Season 3. It's only fair to warn you that, reading other people's stories, I decided this list desperatley needed some humor, and so this story is written to be stupid. Anyone who can spot the ten Major Plagurisms wins a prize. Comments about spelling are punishable by daeth. [JOKE] For the love of the Great Maker, please send feedback! ____________________________________________________________________ Clark was upset. He was ruler of EarthForce. He was head of EarthGov. He had disposed of Santiago. He had bought a copy of "Bald is Beautiful", which for two hundred years had been available only in the Canadian Consortium, which now spanned all of what was once North America. He was, however, upset about one thing. Section 31. He had found out about it when he took power, of course. But he suspected that Psi-Corp was still holding out on him. Clark buzzed his aide outside. "Quayle," Clark said. "Sir?" The reply was short and curt, much like Quayle. "What black ops do we have going currently?" "Well sir," [Clark wondered how his assistant could fit so much sarcasm into such a little word and still sound sincere] "you're not cleared for that." Clark stuttered incoherently for a moment, then simply sat silently for another one. He managed to speak, keeping his voice level with superhuman control. "Are you telling me," he rasped, "that I am not clear to find out the black ops? Where's the fun to this job if I'm not cleared for the black ops"? "Well, you can always terrorize the outer colonies and declare them quarantined areas," suggested Quayle helpully. He had already done so, of course, but it was best to let the president think he actually had some power. "Well, sir, when I think about it, I think I can get you clearance for a short visit to the Japanese consortium. We do have a small black operation going there..." Quayle checked his schedule. The next attack at station 17 was not due for another eight days. It was probably safe for Clark to be there for a day or two, and claim that the lack of action was a fluke. "Alright sir, I can fit in a 3 day trip to Japan starting tommorow?" Clark was exited. "Yes! I mean, that's fine. Do it." Quayle shut off the com, and made a mental note to increase the dosage of the president's sedatives. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Clark stared out the window of his transport at the gleaming station below him. The transport landed with a muffled thud, and a less muffled scream. Clark winced, and turned to the pilot. "Was that anyone important"? The pilot looked at him with the look of one whose face had been surgically made emotionless. "No, mister President, that was just mister Bester." Clark breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, good." He climbed out of the transport and was greeted by a limping Alfred Bester. "Hello, Bester. How nice of you to be here to meet me. How's your foot?" Bester almost wished he was on his planned trip to the Babylon station. "It's fine, Mr. President. It's become quite resilient after your last few landings... If you're ready to go inside, I'll be a few moments behind you". The PsiCop sneered. They headed inside. Quayle in the lead, Clark, the telepath struggling with the bottle of pain killers. As they walked, Quayle pointed out the various machines and their functions. Clark slowly began to become annoyed by the omnipresent noise and crowding. As they passed one machine, however, it began to beep. It was barely audible in the noise, but suddenly the room was deathly quiet as everyone stopped moving. Clark blinked. He turned to Bester. "What is that?" Bester suppressed his usual desire to mind wipe the president, as he had always suppressed it. Barely. "That, sir, is the tracker. It tracks things presumably, it is beping because whatever it is tracking is heading... right... this... way... Oh, for the love of!" He spun around to Quayle. "You said it wasn't due for a week!" "It wasn't" replied the aide calmly. Clark was now getting worried. "Pardon me, gentlemen, but plese tell me what the spoo is coming?" Quayle sighed. "Please remember," he began, "that I had advised against doing this trip. That, sir, is Godzilla." When the President regained conciousness, he paniced. Once that little preperation was taken care of, it occurred to him to ask why he was about to be killed by a fictional character. A tech had been standing by to explain. "You see," said the worker, "Godzilla attackes once every two or three weeks. With the footage we get, we can produce the next Godzilla movie within two months, tops. " Clark smiled. "So we're safe, right?" "No. For some reason, Godzilla has come into the city this time and is breaking things we don't want him to. It's never happened before. " The worker shrugged. Clark was worried. A giant monster was going to destroy a city. Worse, it was a human city. On top of that, it was the city he was currently in. It was a situation he could not allow, and even managed to delude himself into thinking that it was because he had to save all the registered voters. He took immediate action. He screamed. And, as always happened when he tinged his scream with all the panic he could call forth, Mister Morden stepped out of the shadows [Author's note: No pun intended]. He smiled politley and tilted his head questioningly. Clark took a moment to realize he was expected to say something. He thought for a moment, then spoke as calmly and ratonally as he could. When his throat got hoarse from the screaming, Quayle stepped in. "I believe he wants you to stop Godzilla." Morden smiled. "Of course. My associates will take care of it as soon as..." He paused. "Did you say Godzilla"? All heads nodded, exept for Clark who was running in a small circle. "Well I'd love to help but I must be going to Centauri Prime I'm due to meet Londo you see gotta go bye!" Bester caught his shoulder as he ran past. Morden spoke again. "The Shadows won't stop Godzilla. Even if they weren't weakened, they couldn't." Quayle filled in the question they all wanted to know. "But the Shadows are First Ones." Morden retorted. "Godzilla is a Firster One. He's the third youngest creature in existence, right after Lorien, who I probably shoudn't even mention since you've never heard of him, and" Bester cut him off. "You're rambling. " "Am I? Well, so I am. How about that. Well, I must be going. Ta ta!" He ran out of Bester's grip, past Quayle, and into the closing blast door. "I suppose I'll have to deal with this," said Bester with a resigned shrug. He walked out the door with a squad of telepaths. There was a horrible ghastly silence. There was a horrible ghastly noise. There was a horrible Fhastly silence. Bester walked in, his suit torn, his nose bleeding, his arm at a strange angle, and his hair mussed up. "I'm going back to Babylon 5," he said. "Where it's safe." He walked out. Morden stood up. "We're dead. Only one thing could stop Godzilla" [this statement was punctuated by a large green hand pulling off the roof], "and it's too horrible a coincedence to happen." In a puff of smoke, a man appeared. He spoke. "I am Jayeemas. I am the Firstest one. I shall stop Godzilla. But be warned, Mister Clark, for you have used up your three Big Moments, and are now doomed to lose this war and die patheticly. With a wave of his hand, Jayeemas and Godzilla vanished. "Don't worry, sir," said Quayle. "If I know how this series works, you'll be safe as long as you don't say any of the Phrases of Doom." "Don't worry," replied a slowly calming Clark. "What could go wrong?" Quayle groaned. The civil service would have to start looking for a replacement pawn immediatley. END It's done. You can go now. The Other Procrastinator's Aid "There's nothing more dangerous than a civil servant"- Eric Lis