- Friday,
September 24, 1999 at 13:08:55 (MDT)
*Very carefully reaching out with his mind, Cyborg issues a mental
statement - 'What's up?'*
Cyborg
Stan of CyKoLaJx, Inc. <Strategy
: Sound Clueless>
- Friday,
September 24, 1999 at 14:38:21 (MDT)
On the screen before them was a television broadcast from Earth.
"My Visit to an Alien Space-ship" by Barney the Dinosaur. Before an incredulous
talk-show host, the purple menace was relating his adventures. Turning
to S'Tranak, one of the other Vulcan scientists said, in a tone of reproach,
"Professor, you did not tell us that this... creature.. had survived!"
"I was not aware that he had! Fascinating!" At this, Admiral Skarak put
in: "As usual, you don't seem to realise how serious this is! he's been
on your ship! he knows too much for us to let him tell all in such a manner!"
Calling an aide, Skarak at once began giving orders.
Scottty
<[email protected]>
- Friday,
September 24, 1999 at 15:05:00 (MDT)
Barney the Dinosaur lay slumped in bed, after an exhausting series
of interviews. Some of them believed him, some did not, but what did it
matter? he was famous! With a sleepy chuckle he rolled over.. and did not
notice the soft footfalls. A tall shadow fell across the bed, as two humanoid
shapes crossed sleathily in front of the window. Blinking, Barney hardly
had time to ask "Who's there?" before a vicelike hand grasped his shoulder,
and he fell unconscious. A calm, quiet voice was heard, saying "Away team
to mothership, three to beam up." And then the room was empty. The dent
in the bed where Barney had lain slowly smoothed out as time passed in
the deserted apartment.
Vulcans
in the night <[email protected]>
- Friday,
September 24, 1999 at 15:05:14 (MDT)
*The Xanarious fleet moves to the proximity of the Vulcan-Romulan
fleet* This is Field Marshal Xanarious, in command of the fleet assigned
to Xanarious Prime, or Sol as you may know it, in the name of the Woodlouseian
Imperium and the New Order of his imperial majesty Imperator Zinnithi Xanarious
the First we formaly request that you leave our sovereign territory at
once. We also sugest that you dont use transporters, because although we
are unsheilded, our armour has a thick covering of radioactive goo from
Q-W-F Space, we await your response.
Field
Marshal Xanarious
- Friday,
September 24, 1999 at 18:12:04 (MDT)
When you want food . . . That makes you say "hey", . . . then eat
some 'beno chips' (R) . . . The Omara way! . . . Omara. More toxic than
the leading brand. Contact us at 7447-9478-1013-65580g.
An even
stupider ad than before
- Friday,
September 24, 1999 at 21:08:46 (MDT)
*The Returners are now in yet another storage area. This one seems
promising. Little do they know that they are being followed....*
The Returners
- Friday,
September 24, 1999 at 23:30:28 (MDT)