Contents of the RUNE0193.TXT file
PREMIER ISSUE OF: RUNE's Rag
An electronic magazine dedicated to writers and
readers of every genre.
Published by: ARNOLD'S PLUTONOMIE$, LTD. Vol. 1 No. 1
Thru: WRITERS BIZ BBS (Jan 1993)
1-314-774-5327 (1:284/201) (8:921/705)
Copyright 1992 ARNOLD'S PLUTONOMIE$, LTD.
Information is Knowledge, Knowledge is Power; Share it. -- rla
This magazine is going to be a representation of as many authors
as I can coerce into submitting high quality material. The topics
will range from Animal rights to Zymurgy done in fiction, poetry,
non-fiction, and more. I will strive to present a useful vehicle --
where you the reader, will receive a quality assortment of stories
and articles. Some of the articles will be unadulterated escapism,
simply for your pleasure centers -- others may curl your hair because
of being diametrically opposed to your point of view.
You, the reader will also have a voice in what is presented. There
will be a letters column presented in issues where space permits.
You are the most important part of the reader-writer process.
WELCOME, To "RUNE's Rag".
Your Editor: Evelyn Horine; Managing Editor: Rick Arnold
If a man write a better book . . . the world will make a beaten path
to his door -- Emerson
TABLE OF CONTENTS:
A Political Statement -- ....... Marc Perkel Page 2
The Monster at the Pond -- ..... Terry Woodward Page 5
The Story of Ronald Frump -- ... Dave Bealer Page 9
The Weight? -- ................. Shelly L. Wright Page 11
Harry -- ....................... Chris Cooper Page 13
Good.zip -- .................... Carl Thames Page 16
Other Electronic Magazines -- .. Others......... Page 22
About RUNE'S RAG --............. Rick Arnold Page 23
==< Page 2 >==
Marc Perkel is a business owner who resides in Springfield, Missouri.
He is the editor and publisher of The Thinking Magazine. Marc is
politically active locally and nationally; he thinks you should be
active in your community also.
by Marc Perkel
DING DONG, THE WITCH IS DEAD!
You don't know how glad I am Bill Clinton got elected President.
Things had been looking good all along but I just couldn't believe
it till it was over. I thought, before Clinton came out and gave
his acceptance speech, he should have had a fat lady sing.
I ended up sending out a total of 6000 letters to editors. But,
in spite of getting a phone bill that was about a half inch thick,
it only cost me about $1200 in phone charges. When it comes down
to it, I'll bet I hold the record for reaching the most number of
people for the least amount of money.
Now comes the hard part - actually turning the country around.
I think Clinton has a lot of good ideas, but he doesn't have any
great ideas. But, he's looking for great ideas and I'm trying to
find a way to get his attention. I'm looking for great ideas on
how to do this. I want to go to Clinton's economic summit. I've
written a few letters to him with some ideas. I faxed it to him
and sent it UPS Red to the governor's mansion in Little Rock.
Here's what I'm proposing:
1800 Center St.
Little Rock AR. 72206
Dear Mr. President,
I want to be part of your economic summit. I heard on the news that
you were looking for very sharp people with a variety of backgrounds.
Well, I'm very sharp and I have a variety of backgrounds.
I'm a small business owner (6 employees) of a high tech software
lab in Springfield Missouri. I sent out 6000 letters by fax
to the editors of 250 newspapers to help you get elected. But
the best reason for choosing me to be in the summit is that I
HAVE A PLAN to fix the economy.
I want to be involved in fixing America. I'm not looking for
a job, but I do want your ear. I'll help for free. I am the
kind of guy who is capable of coming up with a plan that will
work. I'm not talking about ordinary plans like Perot, Tsongas,
and Rudman are floating around. I'm talking about extraordinary
plans that involve ideas that no one has thought of. Ideas that
take the concept of "brilliant idea" to a new level.
==< Page 3 >==
Let me present one of these ideas as a sample. I have a lot more
than this, but this shows the kind of ideas I'm talking about.
What I'm looking for is to be a consultant and bring you my
ideas and hope that you can make them real. I have the ability
to come up with the ideas that will work. I'm just a phone
==> Making America Smarter <==
What is the biggest item in the national budget? Is it
entitlements? Is it the interest on the debt? No! The
biggest expense we have is lack of intelligence. Lack of
intelligence costs us 2 trillion dollars a year.
"But, Marc," you might say, "How can lack of intelligence be
costing us 2 trillion dollars a year when the national budget
is only 1.6 trillion dollars?" Of that 2 trillion, 500 million
is waste and the other 1.5 trillion is money we COULD be making
if we were smart enough to make it. Follow me so far? OK, if
we had an additional 2 trillion dollars, we would not only
balance the budget but would pay off the national debt in short
order. It is my belief that if we raised the average American
IQ by 5% we could balance the budget. A 10% increase would pay
off the national debt.
So the question is, "How do we make Americans smarter?" I'm
glad you asked that question, Bill, because it is simple and
cheap and it's something that you can do. What you do as the
leader of America is to tell Americans that we are in an
intellectual race with the rest of the world. A race that
America MUST WIN. That it is the duty of all Americans to
show their patriotism by becoming 25% smarter than they are
today. And that if we Americans don't become smarter, we will
never get out of debt. We owe it to our children ...... etc. etc.
So much for talk. The next move is to back it up with action.
The first thing we need to get is a computer in every home.
Computers make people smarter. And to help make that happen
you offer a 100% tax credit for the purchase of computer
equipment for either business or personal use. We must have
computers everywhere because computers enhance the mind and
will help get us 25% smarter in a short period of time.
Second, you need to start the "Fiber 2000" plan. The Fiber
2000 plan would place a fiber optic data cable in every
business and 70% of American homes by the year 2000. We
will create a mental grid where information, and the tools to
access that information, are available as widely as possible.
==< Page 4 >==
The next thing you will need to do is lead the nation in
"brain-ups." Brain-ups are like push-ups for the mind. There
have to be some mental exercises that people can come up with
for Americans to do every morning to make them smarter. We do
a little research and find out how to do it. People can write
books and flood the bookstore on becoming smarter. They would
do this because if you, as a leader, made it an issue of
national importance, then you would create the fad. Entrepreneurs
and writers would make a mint on filling America's need to
Finally, like the Kennedy ideas of the 1960s, you make getting
smart the "in thing" to do. You invite people to the white house
and give people medals for being smart and improving themselves.
You honor people for mental achievement. You create a competition
for best inventions; perhaps the company that produces the best
patents would get a year of no taxes. You give awards for
smartest high school in the country and everyone in the top 2%
of high schools gets to go to college for free.
When the results from this start to take effect -- and this
should happen in less than a year -- we should start to see
serious economic growth. Realistically, if you do a good job
of this, I think 15% to 30% growth in GNP per year is obtainable.
I sincerely believe we can balance the budget and pay off the
national debt by the year 2000. You will also see other side
effects on society. These would include a drastic reduction in
crime, drug use, unemployment, homelessness, and poverty. This
will expand the tax base.
We would no longer have to deal with the issue of term limits
because people would be smart enough to vote all ineffective
representatives out no matter how much money they spend. Just
think about it, Bill, imagine if Americans were smart enough to
figure out when politicians are lying to them. Can you imagine
that? Wouldn't that be incredible? Or imagine that the press
was aware enough to figure out that the economy is more important
than the draft issue and the public demands something more than
herd mentality from the press. Or imagine a country where
geniuses are honored the way football players are honored as
America needs this to happen. And it is easily achievable.
There is no doubt in my mind it will work and that it addresses
the core of the problem. And this idea is just a sample of what
I can come up with. I have hundreds of ideas and you have the
ability to make these ideas real.
I'm just 5 hours up the road or a one hour plane flight away.
I am ready to come down there ANY TIME. Please call me.
Copyright 1992 Marc Perkel
===================== # # # ====================
==< Page 5 >==
Terry Woodward born 1946, exactly nine months after Dad returned from
the war, majored in Psychology; was at Woodstock, but doesn't re-
member a thing. Spent time counseling couples and sociopaths (int-
eresting mix?). He's made a life study of how sexual inclination
influences daily life. Currently a computer consultant, writes mostly
horror, including real life horror. His novel _Fine Line_, is about
motivations of a serial killer. A new novel, _Cassie/Lillith_, is
about a woman who kills with sex. (my kind of girl)
A short - macabre
by Terry Woodward
The Monster at the pond
Listen... You hear that rustle of weeds over by the edge of
the pond? That's ol' Billie. He's on the prowl, lookin' for a meal.
He's the 'gator I was telling you about. Near on to ten
feet long and must weigh as much as that Brahma bull Gramma raised
for the county fair. He's green as grass and got an attitude 'bout
as bad as a yard dog. He's got teeth like knives and they sorta flash
when he grins. Hide's tuff as a truck tire, too. He let me touch it
once but I had to run in and run out. It felt cold as the bottom of
a well and as rough as a cob to touch.
Billie don't like it none when we come fishin' down here at
the pond. He says we catch fish that are rightfully his and we make
too much noise. 'Course, lately, not many people want to come fishin'
down here, what with the Travis twins missing after their fishin'
trip here at the pond.
Folks have sure been talking about the Travis twins disappearin'.
Cute little buggers, no more than eight years old. People say they
miss them but I don't miss them at all. They used to call me names,
like Stupid and Crazy and Dog Brain. They don't call me names no more.
They don't do nothin' no more.
Folks is saying that ol' Billie is to blame for the Travis
twins being gone. And they seem to think that he's ate all the dogs
and cats that's disappeared from around here. No sir. Shoot. Like
ol' Billie could just walk to town hisself and snap up them dogs!
Now there's a reason I'm telling you all of this. But I'll come
to that. You just sit back and listen. Me and ol' Billie has an
offer to make to you and we want you to know what's expected of
you. And, of course, you'll want to know what's in for you.
It all started a couple of months ago. I came down here to fish
one day instead of going to school. You know, I never did take well
to school. They say all of them things that don't make sense and then
they ask you questions that sure don't make no sense. And they call
me crazy! If you ask me, some folks just weren't meant to go to
school. I mean, here I am near on to thirteen and I never got nothing
out a school. And it don't seem to have hurt me none. Why, I know
things that would mystify you and I never got that from school.
Mostly, I got my smarts from Billie, but I'll come to that.
==< Page 6 >==
Well, that day was kinda gloomy, what with the big black clouds
over head. Momma says it always looks like that just before the rains
come but danged if I can see how she figures it. Anyway, I thought
maybe I would get wet if it did rain but I wanted to fish some. And I
knew that no one would be down there to make fun of me or throw rocks
at me. I always did like my own company better.
I was fishin' after I cleared off some of the duckweed that's on
top of the pond. It seems to get thicker everyday. Some days, I think
you could walk on it if you had a mind to. Well, I pushed it back a
bit so's I could get a line in but it kept closing up around my line.
I just knew that I would have a hook full of duckweed and pond scum
if I caught a fish. I was thinking hard as I could about how to keep
the scum off my fish when I heard a voice behind me.
"I could get in the water and keep it away from your line if you
Now, I liked to have fell in the pond. Wasn't no one else around
that I knew of. I turned around and looked but there wasn't no one
there. 'Cept ol' Billie. He was sitting on the pond bank, sunning
hisself. He had his mouth open wide like he was waiting for a chicken
to walk in. But he wasn't moving his mouth at all.
I stared at him with my chin hanging down on my chest. Pa tells
me that flies might get in when I do that but I don't believe him.
Well, sir, I must have stood there like that for a couple of minutes
and then I heard the voice again.
"Yes, it's me. I said that I could help you keep the scum away,
if you wished."
This time I was staring full at ol' Billie and I never seen his
mouth move. I heard the voice in my head, not outloud like me and you
talk. But I knew it was him that spoke to me. Turns out, ol' Billie
could know your thoughts and make you know his. He's been looking for
a friend but he don't like none of the other kids. I don't much care
for them either, what with them calling me names and all.
Well, Billie tells me that he's ate most of the larger fish in
the pond and he gets powerful hungry, time to time. He's seen dogs
come down to the pond with kids that was fishin' and he wants to
know if they was any good to eat. I told him that I never ate one
but they don't smell too good after a rain and that if they taste
like that, he ought to stick to fish. Billie sorta laughed and told
me that was a right smart thing to say. Shucks, I didn't even think
about it for awhile. It just rolled off of my tongue.
Me and Billie got to kidding around and we find out that we're a
lot alike. Smarter than most of our friends in our own way. Called
names and had rocks thrown at us and all kinds of bad stuff. Me and
Billie had a great time that day, what with fishin' and telling
tales. Billie swam around my line and kept the pond scum away but he
must of scared off the fish 'cause I didn't catch any. He told me I
could go swimming too but I sort of figured that I better stay on
the bank 'til we was better friends.
==< Page 7 >==
I went back to the pond a couple of days later. I was looking
at the green slime on the pond and it was thicker than ever. It was
so thick that you couldn't even see the water. Well, I was staring
at it and ol' Billie just comes up from underneath it. Poked his head
out but the weeds and the slime hung on him like moss on a tree. He
looked so funny that I almost laughed but then I remembered that we
was buddies and buddies don't laugh at each other.
Ol' Billie come up, covered in duckweed and, right off, he says
"It was good of you to come and see me again".
I had brung him a half a ham hock that was left over from dinner
on Sunday. I hid that ham hock under my shirt. Seemed like it was a
good idea to take the ham hock, what with it just sitting in the
kitchen going to waste. I didn't figure that no one would miss it.
Boy, was I wrong. Ma liked to have skint me when she went to get the
ham hock and it was gone. Anyways, I threw Billie that ham hock and
he wolfed it down like a blue tick hound that just came in from
three days in the woods.
"That was wonderful", ol' Billie said. He would have smiled but
he can't get the corners of his mouth to come out right so's it
always looks like he's just opening his mouth. Other people can't see
when Billie's smiling but I can. And they call me stupid! I ain't
the one that can't see him smile.
Well, Billie thinks about it for a while. He's real good at
thinking. He can think up all kinds of things. And he isn't book
smart neither. Just natural smart. That's what I like best about
Billie's smarts. It's just natural smart. Billie's teaching' me to
be natural smart, too.
Ol' Billie, he gets to thinking and he makes me this deal. If I
can bring him something to eat, he'll teach me to do special things.
Things that nobody else can do. Things that will make other people
look up to me. Like teaching me to be invisible. Every time I try it,
people say they can still see me but I know better. Billie wouldn't
lie to me. And teaching me how to know other people's thoughts, just
like Billie knows mine. I know what people are thinking but they
always lie to me and tell me that it was something else. And being
able to lay underwater without breathing. I haven't tried that one
yet but Billie keeps trying to get me to do it.
I brung him food from the house but Billie didn't like it too
much. He says it was cooked food and don't feel right in his mouth
and it's too dry. He says it don't seem right to eat something that
wasn't struggling and fighting to get away. And he says it was always
too little. Heck, a piece of fried chicken don't hardly fill Billie's
stomach. Billie needs a lot more food than that. So he asked me to
bring him one of them dogs, still alive if I could. I allowed as how
I probably could, if I wanted. Holding on to a dog ain't no trouble.
'Course you got to be a might careful, if you want them alive. I held
one of them too tight once and he just made this funny sound and
then he died.
==< Page 8 >==
Next day, bright and early, I brung him a stray pup from town. I
held out my hand like I had some food and then I grabbed him. He was
wiggling like a red nightcrawler but I petted him and talked nice to
him. After a little while, he quit squirming. I guess he decided that
I wasn't gonna hurt him. Well, I took him down to the pond and I
flung him in.
That pup thrashed around in the water like he had a burr under
his tail. Well, ol' Billie sees him and that was that. Them teeth
just chopped that pup to bits. Billie liked eating the dog lots
better than table scraps. He especially liked that dog fightin' so
hard to get away. The green slime got all red when Billie crushed
the mutt in his jaws but Billie seemed to like that even more.
Well, I was bringing Billie a dog or a cat every couple of days.
And ol' Billie, he was teaching' me to be natural smart. I wish you
could hear Billie talk. He tells the dangdest stories and he knows
about a lot a things. Shame is that you can't hear Billie, less he
wants you too. It was going along real good but it was getting harder
and harder to find a dog or a cat. I had got most of the strays and
folks was keeping their pets inside the house, what with everybody
talking about the way they was disappearing.
A week or two ago, I was walking up to the pond to go fishin' and
there was the Travis twins. Right off, they commenced to saying mean
things and calling me names. I asked them to stop but they kept at
it. I commenced to wrestling with one of them, though I can't tell
you which one seeing as how they look so much alike. Well, he goes
and falls into the water, his brother beating the tar out of my back.
Well, Billie don't even blink an eye and he's on the twin. Chomping
and twisting and tearing off hunks of meat. Billie liked him a lot.
I was just standing there, staring at the water getting all red
when Billie told me to shove the other twin in. I was a lot bigger
than him and it wasn't hard to get him into the water. But Billie was
still busy with the first twin and I had to hold the other one's head
under the water 'til he quit kicking and flailing his arms around. I
don't know what he was so upset about. It wasn't no worse than some
of the things the twins had done to me.
I didn't have to bring Billie any cats or dogs or table scraps
for days after that. The sheriff's men came out and tried to look
in the pond for the bodies but the scum and slime was just too thick.
They wouldn't have found nothing anyway. Billie cracks the bones and
eats them too. There ain't nothing left after ol' Billie gets through
Billie had known they was coming and he hid out in that other
pond over there. He waited 'til they left and they he moseyed back
over to this one. The other pond has too many trees that give it
shade and it don't have no duckweed on it. Ol' Billie likes the
water all green. 'Cept when he's eating. Then he likes it red.
==< Page 9 >==
Well, that kind of gets me to why I brung you down here. You see,
Billie has a couple of friends that live in other ponds around here.
They get hungry too. They need a special buddy to help them out. Ol'
Billie says that I should look around for someone else that people
say ain't too bright. And I, right off, think of you. You don't like
school no more than I do and people make fun of you too. I know that
you want them special powers and to be better than them book learned
people. I know that you can be a buddy for some of Billie's friends.
You know, help them out like I help ol' Billie.
So what it comes down to is this. If you want to be a helper and
have them special powers, you can. 'Course you gotta be able to hear
the gators talk in your head, like me. So Billie will talk to both of
us. If what you hear is the same as what I hear, you're in. If you
don't, ol' Billie says I am to hit you in the head with this here
rock and throw you in.
One way or the other, Billie says you can be a big help to us.
Copyright 1992 Terry Woodard, All Rights Reserved
==================== # # # ====================
Dave Bealer is a thirty-something mainframe systems programmer who
works with CICS, MVS and all manner of other nasty acronyms at one
of the largest heavy metal shops on the East Coast. He shares a
waterfront townhome in Pasadena, MD. with two cats who annoy him
endlessly as he writes and electronically publishes a monthly humor
magazine, Random Access Humor.
A short - satire
by Dave Bealer
The Story of Ronald Frump
Ronald Frump was born on December 7, 1941. Frump calls this
an interesting fact, although his business opponents have been
known to refer to it as prophetic.
Leaving his childhood home of Fort Scott, Kansas, at the age
of sixteen, Frump made his way west, eventually settling in
Soccorro, New Mexico. After spending many years selling used yachts
in New Mexico, Frump tired of the fast and reckless lifestyle of
Soccorro and made for the calmer waters of Las Vegas.
In 1963 Frump landed his first job as a dealer at a small club
off the strip. His business savvy and bloodthirsty tendencies soon
saw him safely ensconced as owner of three small clubs, The Frump
Sphinx Club in Las Vegas, the Frump Coliseum in Reno and the Frump
Colossus in South Lake Tahoe.
==< Page 10 >==
But Ronald Frump is a dreamer, and a man not accustomed to
making do with what he already has. He conceived of a huge strip
hotel, larger than any then in existence. The result was the Frump
Pyramid, two blocks long and 50 stories high. The Pyramid's 4,500
hotel rooms were filled constantly with customers for the three
casinos, two nightclubs, five restaurants and numerous shops
contained on the lower levels.
Opened in 1971 with the aid of money invested by a group of
well-heeled New Jersey olive importers, the Frump Pyramid cleared
more than $6 billion in its first five years. With this kind of
success, it was only a matter of time before further expansion took
The Frump Boardwalk Pyramid in Atlantic City was opened in 1983
with the help of new partners, a consortium of sugar importers from
Miami. The Boardwalk Pyramid's 3,800 rooms and two casinos make it
the largest casino/hotel on the east coast.
With profits of better than $2 billion a year from the two
Pyramids, Frump has been playing a real-life game of Monopoly,
buying every hotel which comes up for sale in both cities. But why
is it that Ronald Frump is prospering when other casino operations
in Nevada and New Jersey are foundering?
Many experts attribute his success to his extra-ordinary sense
of what people will find entertaining. For instance, one of the
mainstay attractions of both Pyramids is the "Frumpies," waitresses
clad in fuzzy pink bathrobes and slippers, their hair up in curlers.
Many guests seem to like this homey touch, and are willing to
overlook the "Frumpies" usual surliness, the extent of which has
prompted more than one observer to nickname them the "Grumpies."
The Twerpus Maximus Room at the Frump Coliseum is one of the
most popular cabaret spots in Reno. Retired and burned out Frumpies
strut their stuff there every evening in front of sellout crowds.
Another major innovation brought to casinos by Ronald Frump is
the "Robo-Dealer," a mechanical dealing robot built by RCU, the
Robotics Corporation of Ukraine, located in Minsk. These wise-
cracking mechanical dealers not only save large amounts of payroll
expense, they are also able to more effectively spot players who
cheat, while themselves performing tremendous feats of automatic
dexterity while dealing. A Robo-Dealer has begun appearing in
recent Frump Casino ads, and its early popularity has led some
pundits to make the gloomy prediction that Robo-Dealer may attain
pop-culture icon status similar to that enjoyed by Max Headroom and
Despite his success, Ronald Frump's life has not been without
its trials and tribulations. He ended up spending millions
outfitting the new Boardwalk Pyramid with huge fans to blow away the
fog which would periodically obscure the fifty foot high letters
proclaiming the FRUMP name to all of south Jersey.
Copyright 1992 Dave Bealer, All Rights Reserved.
==================== # # # ====================
==< Page 11 >==
Shelly L. Wright enjoys padding around the house in slippers, doing
domestic chores while sparsely attired. Cleaning house really inspires
the writer in a person, it keeps her glued to the keyboard for hours
at a time. She resides in Colorado and is working on a suspense novel.
Originally from the east, she says Colorado's mountains inspires the
artistic juices to flow. She tried this piece to find variety in
creating different voices, so she can use male voice in her novels.
A short - memories
by Shelly L. Wright
Isn't it amazing the memories that leap into your mind from
your childhood? When you least expect it, something will trigger
one of those nostalgic flashbacks. Like yesterday, as I was
going through the ritualistic motions of preparing for and then
driving to work, I had one of those memories.
They are like an old motion picture flickering through your
mind, one that you've seen before, but you don't quite remember
the lines. I was going through the same old rites of drinking
coffee while getting prepared for the day.
Looking in the mirror while shaving, not really seeing my
face, just the shaving cream disappear as I guided the razor;
I watched for signs of red to determine whether I completed the
mundane chore correctly. After the final preparations, I make
one more quick look around to see if there is anything I may have
forgotten -- I then race off to work.
As I headed for the door, I was already dreading the snarl of
traffic I would have to encounter. Closing the car door soundly
behind me, I fastened my seat belt securely ensuring the safety
alarms would not go off. I let out a big sigh as I looked to the
street in front of the driveway. A chubby little girl was driving
by on her bicycle. She had short blonde hair and a cherub face,
that was a little too red from the summer sun. She waved as she
cycled by and I waved back and smiled. I thought to myself, "Why
don't we, adults get to take the summer off?"
I started the car and sat there a moment picking a suitable
song from the radio, to motivate me while riding to work. A
hard driving rock and roll number -- that will do it. Surpris-
ingly, traffic was moving along rather well. Then I encountered
the first intersection: bumper-to-bumper traffic. I sat waiting
for the traffic flow to allow me the opportunity to join in the
ant-like trail heading for work....
==< Page 12 >==
...... I was about twelve years old and was ecstatic over the
brand new fiberglass bow I had purchased with my own money. I
got the money mowing lawns for the neighbors. The bow was a
beauty. Shiny green and I could barely string it because it was
nothing like the old wooden bow I had, until I broke the tip.
That one was just for a little kid. With this new one I could
even use it for hunting, it was a fifty pound pull bow.
I was in the front yard and I must have fired my three target
arrows into the straw filled cardboard box at least a hundred
times. None of my friends had come by yet to allow me the
opportunity to demonstrate my new prized possession. A girl,
from up the hill, came through our back yard and into the front
where I was. She had short blonde hair, a chubby nine year old,
her face a little red from the summer sun. Her name was Nancy,
"Where is your sister," she asked?
"How do you like my new bow? I just got it today. It has a
fifty pound pull. Pretty nice isn't it?" I ignored her question
and went on excitedly, as I had to brag to someone.
"Uh, it's okay. My brother has a bow too, my dad bought him
This was too good to be true. One of my neighborhood friends
had a bow too and we would be able to go to the woods for a
great time. "Wow! Really? What weight is his bow?" I asked,
knowing that mine just had to have a heavier pull than his.
"Uh. I don't know. He hasn't weighed it yet."
...... I heard a car horn sound behind me, I looked to my left
and saw there was no traffic blocking my path. I then continued
my drive to work, as my face flushed a little from embarrassment.
Copyright 1992 Shelly L. Right
==================== # # # ====================
==< Page 13 >==
Chris Cooper is thirty-ish. A diver, currently employed in Uncle Sam's
Army. He has traveled the world extensively, courtesy of the US Navy.
An avid reader, computer-gamer and aspiring artist. He, his wife and
three kids reside in Missouri. He is constantly searching for that
idea which will make him, his own boss and provide the family with
financial independence and security.
A short - nostalgia
by Chris Cooper
I met Harry while tending bar on a quiet Sunday afternoon.
There was the usual half a dozen or so regulars sipping barley
pop, while the jukebox played "ROSANNA." Judy, my coworker,
shimmied to the tune while attempting to max her previous score
on the Galaga video game. I was keeping my attention divided
between cleaning, serving, and entertaining the clientele.
Harry slowly opened the door and meandered in.
I guess the word meander is the best I can come up with for
Harry. He was of an age where people remarked on how `spry' he
was. Well, spry Harry made it to the bar in his own good time.
I imagined the seasons passing around him as he walked and birds
landing on him periodically to take a breather. Being a small man
it took Harry several moments to scale one of the bar stools and
acquire a comfortable perch.
The bar I worked in was of the 'beer-wine-sandwiches' slant,
and had a comfortable, homey atmosphere. We didn't have pickled
eggs or pigs feet. The potato chips weren't stapled to the wall,
and the restrooms were actually clean; just a nice place for the
bluebirds to come in and forget their loneliness. I was a freshman
in college and a veteran of a tour in the Navy. This job was a
good escape from the academic scene and seemed to keep me in
touch with working people. They were old and I wasn't. Being 22
years old put me in that category. People who, I would normally
have no reason to meet, learn about, and or even care for.
I was immediately intrigued by this little old man in jeans,
lumberjack shirt, suspenders, and a John Deer baseball cap
crowning his shining bald pate. Once he got comfortable, I went
over to take his order. He didn't answer immediately and I felt
that he was taking a moment to see who I was. His eyes were
decades younger than his 80 plus years; they sparkled like he had
done the most mischievous and clever trick ever played.
He opened his mouth with a half smile and said, "Three drafts
Ordering more than beer at a time is commonplace if the person
is in a party or the bar is full. This wasn't the case. He knew
I'd be curious.
I responded, "Sure thing." Placing the three nine ounce glasses
of Bud on the counter, I asked, "So, I'm a little curious. Why
==< Page 14 >==
His pat answer was ready for my expected inquiry, "It's like
this, see. I don't like cold beer, and all three of these beers is
cold. That doesn't mean I don't like 'em, just gotta wait on 'em
a bit. I wait 20 minutes for the first one and drink it -- then
the second. When I get to the last one it's just right. Kinda
like Goldilocks an' her porridge." Chuckling he lined his three
beers up in exact formation.
I was charmed by this genuine old gent. Old people had been
outside of my peripheral vision for most of my life and the only
seniors I'd ever noticed were relatives. I introduced myself and
asked him for his name. When he told me it was Harry Young, I
replied, "Zat right? But you're bald and old!"
We both laughed began chatting like we'd known each other for
years. He was a very good listener and wasn't judgmental about my
opinions or feelings. My earlier impressions of elderly people
were that they reminisced to the extreme. Harry, on the other
hand, was very much in the here and now. This afternoon's shift at
Tipper's Place, was to see the beginning of a unique friendship.
Over the next several months I began to look forward to Harry's
visits. It would always be the same time of day and his three
beers would be waiting for him, by the time he sat down. I found
Harry to be a most trusted confidant. Not because he didn't know
any of the same people who I did, but because he was steadfast and
I trusted him. I could tell Harry things that I would never
mention to my friends or family.
I began to confide in him about the girl I loved who still
lived in Scotland. I told about how I missed her and was thinking
of sending for her -- or going to her. His advice to me was both
sincere and solid. I valued openness and made an attempt to think
through the things he said. It seemed like a little gift was
presented to me every time we spoke. I, in turn, felt that I had to
give him something back; I just didn't know what.
Karen, my girlfriend from Scotland, did arrive from her homeland
we began to make plans. Karen wanted a career and to travel, and I
wanted Karen. We decided to enter the Navy together and make a go
of it. It was Christmas time and I'd told Karen about Harry and how
I wanted to surprise him. I found out where he lived from someone at
the bar. I bought a new baseball cap for him that had BRONCO printed
on it. Karen and I then paid Harry a visit at his mobile home on
Christmas day. The state had bought his original property to build
a freeway. Harry bought himself a mobile home and lived off the
remainder alone with his Social Security check.
As I knocked on his door, I thought about the time it might take
him to answer. It never occurred to me how surprised he'd be; he was.
He had a look that was both happy and somewhat embarrassed. He
invited us in and shuffled over to his sofa, motioning for us to sit.
He was wearing a comfortable looking flannel robe with a purple waist
cord. His place was extremely quiet and sparsely furnished.
==< Page 15 >==
It was also one of the cleanest homes I'd been in. I introduced my
sweetheart to him and exchanged pleasantries. I then told Harry about
our plans to move back East and get married. He was happy for us, but
I couldn't mistake a very slight look of pain sweep of his face, and
then vanish. I gave him his present and he put it on straight away.
I'd known Harry for nine months by then, and learned some intimate
details of his life: a failed marriage, estranged son, and a career
of back breaking labor for little reward. Out of all this he was a
very positive and grateful person, without a trace of bitterness or
regret. We moved out to Virginia and sent several postcards to Harry
the first few weeks after our departure. I even bought him this
little heating coil apparatus that would instantly warm beverages. I
didn't know if Harry would actually use the damn thing for his beers
or not. It turns out I never got a chance to find out.
Harry died only one month after I'd left.
Harry's son, Andrew, called me from Chicago to inform me of his
father's death. I'd never spoken with him before, in fact, I didn't
even know his name. Andrew was a sober businessman in his fifties.
It seemed odd at the moment of his call -- why he would even bother
calling me. He explained to me that Harry had been keeping a diary
for the past year and I was mentioned in quite extensively. Andrew
told me that I came to mean a great deal to Harry, more so than his
own son. He thanked me for brightening his father's last days and
then said good-bye
I didn't cry or grieve over Harry's passing. It didn't seem like
an appropriate way to remember him. So I thought of Harry and his
three beers, and realized that he didn't care what temperature his
beers were. He just wanted an excuse to be with me.
Copyright 1992 Chris Cooper
=================== # # # ====================
==< Page 16 >==
Carl Thames, another writer who resides in Missouri, is currently
sending his latest book to publishers. Also a BBS Sysop, I wonder
where he got this idea (Ouch). He does shorts as well as book length
material. Be sure to download GOOD.ZIP from his BBS, Crystal Palace.
a short - computer delusions
by Carl Thames
Rod was sitting back, enjoying a cup of coffee. He looked
over the mess in his living room. There were papers and books
scattered on every level surface, and even his computer had papers
sticking out from under it. He was thinking about the events that
brought him to this point when the phone rang. He debated
answering it for a couple of seconds, then picked it up.
"Hello?" He asked cautiously.
"Hello yourself." Jeff's voice told him. Jeff was Rod's
older brother, and the one who had gotten Rod interested in
computers in the first place. Rod had been a writer by trade, and
was on the verge of making it with a publishing house in New York.
That was before the virus.
"Hello Jeff." Rod said into the phone. "How's it going?"
"Well, it must be going better." Jeff told him, "at least now
you're answering your phone!"
"Most of the time anyway. I get busy and don't want to be
bothered by the damned thing."
"That's understandable. What are you doing now?" Jeff asked.
"Gloating." Rod replied.
"Gloating? About what?"
"I finally got the bastard, that's what." Rod told him.
"You mean the guy that wrote the virus?" Jeff asked.
The guy that wrote the virus was the main reason Rod had been
alive for the past five years. Rod ate, drank, slept and dreamed
of ways to get the person who had dumped a virus on the bulletin
board. Rod had picked it up, and before it was finished, he had
lost an entire manuscript. That manuscript was the one that was
going to put him over the top. That wasn't speculation, he had a
contract to prove it. All he had to do was to deliver it on time,
and the publishing house would take it from there.
==< Page 17 >==
Then the virus hit. At the time, he had just gotten the
computer, and didn't know about such things as back-up files. He
was just plugging along, writing his brains out, and occasionally
hitting one of the bulletin boards in town to play some of the
After the virus scrambled his file allocation table and
reformatted his hard drive, he had but one goal in life: get the
person who did it. Because of that, Rod had spent the last four
years taking classes in computer science. He had an electrical
engineering minor, because the university wanted him to declare a
minor, but his whole emphasis was on learning how to make the
computer do what he wanted it to do, so he could nail the virus
"You found out who it was?" Jeff asked.
"Nope, but it doesn't matter. I'll get him anyway." Rod
grinned into the phone.
"Listen," Jeff told him, "don't do anything. I'm on my way
* * *
The trip was a short one for Jeff. He only lived about five
blocks away, and he didn't waste any time getting to the small
apartment complex where Rod lived. Rod had worked out a deal with
the absentee owner to cut the grass and keep the place picked up
in exchange for rent, so he lived cheap.
After Rod let him in, Jeff stood in the middle of the living
room, looking around.
"Jeez, Rod, you live like a pig." Jeff told him.
"Not all the time. I'm going to clean up today. I don't need
this stuff any more anyway."
Jeff reached down and picked up a book. He turned it over and
scanned the title.
"This is pretty heavy stuff here, Rod. You getting into the
Double E stuff?"
"No, not really. That book has a really good discussion of
forced frequency modulation, that's all."
"Of what?" Jeff asked.
"Forced frequency modulation." Rod explained, then noting
Jeff's expression, he continued. "It's a technique where you
deliberately create a harmonic of a specific frequency."
==< Page 18 >==
"Thanks." Jeff told him dryly. He tossed the book on top of
a stack of papers and looked around for the coffee pot. Finding
it on the counter, he grabbed a cup and filled it.
"So," Jeff said, stirring in some sugar, "you think you got
Jeff was a bit relieved. He didn't particularly like having
a maniac in the family, and wanted Rod to get back to his life.
"Yep. I got him." Rod smiled.
"What did you do?"
"It's kind of involved. You know about all the virus
protection out there now?"
"Yeah, I helped write a couple of them." Jeff told him. He
was a programmer for one of the small software development
companies in town.
"Well, in order to make sure I got the guy, I had to write the
code in such a way that it wouldn't set off every whistle and siren
on his machine. Tell me what you know about how virus checkers
"Pretty simple," Jeff explained, "the one we did uses an
algorithm to count the actual bytes in a file, then logs that to
another file which it refers to now and then. Then it checks the
files every time you boot the system up, and if the number is
different, it sets off the alarm. Others work by checking for
duplicates, illogical changes, that sort of thing."
"Exactly. That plus they can detect any write attempt made
on the mother board." Rod added.
"So what does that have to do with anything?"
"Well," Rod explained, "to make sure I got the guy, I knew I
would have to write the code in such a way that it wouldn't go
anywhere near the file allocation table, write to the mother board,
or generally anything else that would flag the guy."
"Okay," Jeff nodded, "but how are you going to trash his
system if you don't write through the mother board?"
"That's the beauty of this thing!" Rod grinned, "I don't
trash his system at all!"
"What do you mean? How are you going to get him if you don't
trash his system?" Jeff asked.
"Check it out!" Rod gloated, "I don't touch his system!" He
stopped and got a sour look on his face. "I couldn't bring myself
to do that, even after what he did to me. Instead, I did something
much, much better."
==< Page 19 >==
"What's that?" Jeff walked to the couch, scrapped off some
papers and sat.
"I'm going to wipe HIM out." Rod stated.
"You're going to what?"
"I'm not going after his files," Rod explained, "I'm after
HIM. This baby is going to do to him that which he deserves."
"What are you talking about? What do you mean, `wipe HIM
Rod laughed and poured himself another cup of coffee. He
walked back to the swivel chair and sat.
"Do you remember what I said about forced frequency
"Yeah, but I don't see what it has to do with this."
"Well, it has everything to do with it. I got he idea from
Reader's Digest, of all places. They ran an article a couple of
years ago about experiments the government was doing with
extremely-low-frequency radio waves. They explained how ELF
modulation could make people vomit, sleep, or just become very
confused and combative. They went on to speculate that the Soviets
were probably doing something like that when they shot microwaves
at our embassy over there."
"I think I remember reading something about that at Mom's."
Jeff said. Their mother had a lifetime subscription, or at least
seemed to have one. She had the magazine laying all over the
"Right, that's where I read it. Anyway, I did some
experiments, and I found that by hitting just the right frequency,
you can actually disrupt the neural flow in certain areas of the
brain. I did my experiments on animals."
Rod had an almost maniacal look in his eyes as he explained
it. Jeff watched and stirred slowly.
"How are you going to get it to him?" Jeff asked.
"It's neat," Rod said excitedly, "I wrapped the code in with
a text file. The way it works is by changing the modulation of the
signal sent to the monitor. That way, the mother board reads it
like it reads any adjustment. Kind of like a bold command. There
is no way a virus checker is going to pick it out, and it will work
if the file is typed, viewed, whatever. If it goes to the screen,
==< Page 20 >==
"Exactly what did the thing do to the animals?" Jeff asked.
"It was amazing, and if it hadn't of been a bit on the cruel
side, it would have been great!" Rod told him. "First, they acted
sort of confused, like they didn't know where they were any more,
then they went totally schizoid! Before they were finished, they
were even chewing on their own body parts!" He sobered somewhat
before he went on. "It really wasn't a very pretty sight."
"I bet." Jeff said, "will it work on humans?"
"Oh yeah." Rod nodded, "it works on the part of the human
brain that is most animal. It'll work."
Rod was rubbing his hands together.
"What will it do to him?" Jeff asked suspiciously.
Rod stopped rubbing his hands together and took an air of
explanation, almost professorial.
"The best I can judge, the first thing he will experience is
a slight stiffness in his neck, possibly accompanied by some minor
low-to-middle back pain. He may then experience some tiredness in
his extremities, and a general feeling of fatigue."
"Go on." Jeff said.
"Well, after those symptoms appear, my work is done. The
idiot has about a week an a half before he goes screaming off the
top of a building somewhere. That's supposing, of course, that
someone doesn't throw a net over him first."
"It takes a week and a half to work?"
"Not totally. There are stages. I've been able to determine
that the brain will put up a pretty good fight. Of course, there
really isn't anything it can do. Amazingly enough, the brain works
a lot like a computer. If you damage the command files, the
computer can't function properly, even if it realizes something is
wrong. The brain is a lot like that. The fun part begins a couple
of days after exposure. First, there will be a feeling of
paranoia. That will last for a couple of days, getting stronger
as it goes. Then he will show sign of confusion, have trouble
remembering simple directions, the usual."
"That sounds pretty hideous, Rod. Are you sure he deserves
"No, he probably doesn't, but that's the only way I could be
sure I got the bastard." Rod rubbed his forehead, and as he did
Jeff noticed how much older he looked. "He deserves to die, there
is no question about that. Actually, considering what he did to
me, dying is really too good for him, but I really didn't want to
drag it out so long. To tell you the truth, even this isn't
guaranteed. If they get to him in time, and with proper drug therapy,
he should be able to pick his name out of a pile of wooden blocks in
about ten years or so. He might not even die from it."
==< Page 21 >==
Jeff clinched his eyes closed and exhaled heavily. "My god,
man. Do you hear what you're saying?"
Rod slumped into his chair.
"Yeah, I know. But I gotta do this, don't you see? After
what he did to me, he has to pay. It's not only that he wrecked
my life, he is out there wrecking other people's lives too. I
realized that I had to stop him." Rod explained, "I just had to
do it. If I didn't, then who would? Nobody cares any more.
People like him trash people's lives, and nobody cares."
"Hey, I care." Jeff told him. He got up and walked over to
the chair and started massaging Rod's shoulders.
"I care a lot," Jeff said, "and that's why I want you to
forget about dropping that killer on somebody's computer."
Rod jerked forward in the chair.
"What!" He demanded, "what do you mean!"
"I mean," Jeff replied evenly, "that if you drop that thing
on someone's computer, it's going to do more damage than you
"What?" Rod asked suspiciously.
"Rodney," Jeff explained, "there are the other people that
will read the thing."
Rod suddenly got a blank look in his eyes. "The other
"You were planning on putting this thing on a bulletin board
and hoping he would get it that way, weren't you?" Jeff asked.
Rod nodded, slowly.
"If you do that, then other people are going to read it,
aren't they? Probably a lot of people."
Rod put his face in his hands and started trembling.
"Rod," Jeff started, "don't worry about it. You haven't done
it yet, so there's no pro..."
Jeff raised his eyes as he spoke and suddenly saw the phone
cord going from the back of Rod's computer to the switch box on the
"Rod," Jeff asked quietly, "when did you start using your
==< Page 22 >==
"Last night." Rod replied flatly.
"JEEZUS!" Jeff yelled and ran for the computer. He quickly
turned it on. He turned and practically screamed at Rod. "What
boards did you put it on and what's the filename?"
Rod just sat in his chair, shaking.
"WHICH BOARDS!" Jeff yelled, waiting for the machine to
finish the memory check. When it did he started typing quickly.
"Which board and what was the filename?"
Rod didn't answer. He started rocking in the swivel chair.
Jeff jumped up and grabbed him by the front of the shirt.
"Damnit! Which board, and what was the filename?" He yelled.
"All of them." Rod rasped slowly.
"All of them." Jeff let his arms drop. Rod nodded slowly.
"What was the filename." Jeff asked flatly.
"It was," Rod had to stop and think for a second before he
managed to rasp out, "Good.Zip."
Copyright 1992 Carl Thames, All Rights Reserved
==================== # # # ====================
RAH, RAH, RAH Your Board
On September 1, 1992 something happened in the online world.
Something very funny. Random Access Humor debuted amidst great
fanfare. Well, at least one or two people noticed.
Random Access Humor (RAH) is the monthly humor magazine for
everyone who is online somewhere and has a sense of humor. RAH
pokes fun at draconian sysops, goose-stepping moderators and twits
in all their infinite variety.
RAH needs writers. Being a free publication, RAH does not pay cash.
Your work will be seen by readers across North America. A few copies
of RAH have even found their way across the pond to Europe. Previously
published submissions are acceptable, provided you own the copyright.
Rah needs distributors. BBS Sysops are encouraged to contact the
RAH Publication BBS for more information. (The Puffin's Nest BBS,
1:261/1129, (410)437-3463, V32bis) The latest issue of RAH is also
available from WRITERS BIZ BBS, 1:284/201 or 8:921/705, the home board
of RUNE'S RAG. (314) 774-5327 (v32bis)
==< Page 23 >==
Mostly, RAH needs readers. If you enjoy a good laugh, download a
copy of RAH from your favorite BBS today! The January 1993 issue of
RAH will feature the 1992 RAH BBS Industry Awards, a feature story on
Local Area Networks, and a classic problem of computer science, the
"Give me a rock" problem.
Have a happy and productive year online. SUPPORT Electronic Media.
=================== # # # ====================
More Electronic Publications:
Some very good Electronic Magazines are available to those who
take time find them. Below are places to start:
POETRY IN MOTION (PIM) is an electronic magazine dedicated to
poetry. Publisher Inez Harrison, available from MoonDog BBS.
DIGITAL ECHO NEWS can be obtained from Good Sports BBS, 1:106/56,
(713) 561-0140. It covers a little of everything. Based in Houston,
TX. Publisher Chris Doelle.
RUBY'S PEARLS can be obtained from DiskTop Publishing Assoc. BBS,
(205) 854-1660 v32. There is a great deal of information about
Electronic Publications archived on this BBs.
The Magatronic BBS, 1:301/301, (505) 865-8385, has numerous works
available disk. There are collections of short stories to complete
books for your reading pleasure. Home of READER.EPF or .zip, a great
Text reader from ReaderSoft. Reader.epf is FREEWARE.
WRITERS BIZ BBS, 1:284/201, (314) 774-5327 - Books, Magazines, etc
About RUNE'S RAG:
This Electronic Magazine is exploring the use of electronic means
of distribution, as a means to conserve our FORESTS and help preserve
our planet. If you like this e-magazine, please E-Mail (netmail)
the publisher at 1:284/201. Let us know what you think of the
presentations from the authors -- they are eager to hear from you, the
reader. If you would like to re-print any of the contents of this
publication, you must contact the publisher for permission. The
individual authors retain copyrights to their works, and must be
contacted for AUTHORIZATION of any reproductions.
If you enjoy the work of any of the authors, you may find other
titles available from WRITERS BIZ BBS. These works will be available
for download, some are freeware and others are shareware and need to
be registered. (Yes, authors like to eat too.) Support the shareware
concept. Support Electronic Books and Magazines -- tell your friends.
DONATIONS to support RUNE'S RAG are accepted. Support the ARTS.
==< Page 24 >==
RUNE'S RAG is published monthly by Arnold's Plutonomie$, LTD. The
magazine is a copyrighted compilation of individual articles
contributed by their authors. The contribution of articles to this
copyrighted compilation (magazine) do not diminish the rights of the
authors. The opinions expressed in RUNE'S RAG are those of the
author(s) and are not necessarily the opinions of the publisher or
the staff. Any similarity to a real person(s), by characters in the
written works is merely coincidental. All trade marks, service marks,
brand names are the products of their respective owners. Any mention
of any product or service is not to be construed as an endorsement by
RUNE'S RAG or its publisher.
RUNE'S RAG is distributed as FREEWARE. The content is still under
full copyright protection and may not be used in other publications.
The file RUNEMMYY.ZIP may be copied and distributed, so long as
the contents and file name are not altered, except to change the
archive format (zip to arj etc.). The ASCII format of RUNE'S RAG will
allow BBS's to place the text file on-line for viewing by callers.
RUNE'S RAG, is not to be sold or exchanged for consideration.
You may print the magazine to paper (hard copy) for personal use
ONLY, but SAVE a TREE, use a text reader. (READER.ZIP very good one)
Authors stories/articles wanted:
We are looking for submissions from virtually any genre, (fiction
and non-fiction) and we love good poetry. Send any submissions in
pure ASCII format; flush left, ragged right, 65 columns max. Disks
accepted: 360k, 1.2M, 1.4M. We accept 2nd or 3rd rights and prefer
First North American Serial Rights. Payment, currently, is the
Marketing value of distributing your work in the magazine -- to as
many readers as is possible. We hope to soon provide payment in US
Federal Reserve Notes or their equivalent.
Submissions are needed for this publication. Writer's guidelines
can be FREQ'd as: RUNEINFO at 1:284/201 or 8:921/705. Or call
WRITERS BIZ BBS (314) 774-5327 v42b/v32b and download RUNEINFO.TXT
or .zip. You can FREQ RUNE'S RAG as RUNE for the current issue and
for back issues FREQ: RUNEmmyy.zip. RUNE'S RAG should be available
on a good BBS near you. Try Puffin's Nest (410) 437-3463, Cheese
Factory (314) 774-3473, The Library (305) 581-4983, Paula's House
of Mail (505) 865-8385.
Copyright 1992 ARNOLD'S PLUTONOMIE$, LTD., ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
======================== # # # # # # # # # # ========================
PUBLISHER: ARNOLD'S PLUTONOMIE$, LTD., data: (314) 774-5327 (v32bis)
EDITORS: Evelyn Horine, Rick Arnold
US Mail Address:
% ARNOLD'S PLUTONOMIE$, LTD.
PO Box 472
Waynesville, MO 65583-0427