TRP influence on Usenet Demigod

[Jorn Barger]

Posted by Kibo to alt.religion.kibology:

>I wrote this in two hours just now.  Didn't proofread it much.  Merry Xmas!
>
>
>
>       SPOT'S FOURTH FIRST CHRISTMAS
>                   -or-
>       SPOT'S SECOND THIRD CHRISTMAS
>                   -or-
>          EL GRAN JUEGO DE LA OCA
>
>           by James "Kibo" Parry
>
> Fourth in the annual series of Spot stories
>written on Christmas morning.  Copyright 1994.
>
>Spot had been an exceptionally good puppy this year.  Santa brought him
>a nice big lump of coal and even Krazy-Glued it into his stocking so it
>couldn't fall out!  As Spot limped around with the coal going
>clomp-clomp-clomp, he wondered what his little neighbor Crushie was up
>to.
>    Crushie was Spot's current best friend, because Crushie was too
>pathetic to have any other friends.  He was stuck with Spot.  Poor
>little Crushie was the victim of a rare genetic disorder that had
>formed his body from a single crispy potato chip and his legs were
>little pretzel sticks.  Because of this, Crushie lived in constant
>mortal fear that some careless clod would smash his body to bits.
>    "HEY, CRUSHIE," yelled Spot as he burst into Crushie's living room,
>slamming the door so hard that it broke all the windows in the
>building, "DID YOU GET ANYTHING GOOD FROM SANTA?"
>    Crushie just hid his head between his pretzel sticks and whined
>pitiably.  A large tipsy stack of Christmas presents, all unopened, was
>precariously piled in a corner of the room.  Spot gaped in
>astonishment.  "Crushie--are you too afraid to even open your presents?
>Aww.  Poor Crushie."
>    Crushie mumbled something like "Please go away!  Why must you
>torment me!" but it was so inaudible--due to his tiny, deep-fried
>larynx--that Spot mis-heard it as "Hi, Spot, I like you a lot.  Come in
>and stay a while."
>    "Crushie, as your best and only friend, it's my duty to help you
>get over your fear of opening presents.  Look how harmless these are!"
>Spot took a gift from the bottom of the stack, causing large heavy
>boxes to rain down.  A particularly large and heavy box struck one of
>the ten guy wires holding up Crushie's little Christmas tree, knocking
>several glass ornaments off.  They exploded like fragmentation grenades
>all around Crushie, who narrowly escaped death by hiding under an
>inflatable chair.
>    "Hey, Crushie, where'd you go?" barked Spot as he sat down in the
>chair, which made rude noises as air escaped.  Fortunately, Crushie,
>with nerves like piano wire, had already skittered from under the chair
>into the bathroom where he locked the door.
>    Spot felt sorry for Crushie.  Opening gifts would clearly be too
>traumatic for Crushie to bear.  But it had to be done if Crushie was to
>become as well-adjusted as Spot, who felt out of the chair while
>thinking.  He went to the bathroom door and looked in through the
>keyhole.
>    Crushie saw a gigantic eyeball peering at him through the door,
>blocking the light.  Crushie shivered in the darkness as the eyeball
>talked to him.  "C'mon, Crushie, it won't KILL you to open just one
>present."
>    Standing in the exact center for the tiny room, to make paint
>flakes less likely to fall off the walls and crush his tiny body,
>Crushie wailed, "Please!  Leave me alone!  I'll do anything you say if
>you just leave me alone!"
>    "Will you open one of the boxes, just so I can show you that it
>probably won't kill you?"
>    "Yes!  Yes!  Yes!  I hate you!"
>    Spot smiled.  Crushie was well on the way to being normal!
>
>        *        *        *        *        *
>
>Spot had arranged all the packages into a row, like giant dominoes
>ready to topple.  Except for the big one on the end, which wasn't
>rectangular, but actually an upside-down tetrahedron carefully
>balanced.  Spot held Crushie in a firm grip.  "Look, Crushie.  See all
>the pretty presents?  They're your pretty presents, Crushie.  Which one
>do you want to open?"
>    Crushie shivered with fear, as always.  Spot decided to let him
>take his time to choose.  To show how relaxed he was about all this,
>Spot lit up a cigarette.
>    Crushie's five smoke detectors went off, making everything in the
>room vibrate at two hundred decibels.  Six hours later, Crushie came
>out of the bathroom again.
>    This time, to prevent another retreat, Spot tied him to the
>inflatable chair.  "Look, Crushie.  This is for your own good.  You've
>gotta pick a present.  Now."  Toughlove would triumph!
>    Crushie looked at the boxes, each of which was at least three times
>as big as he was.  There were ten boxes at all.  He couldn't think.
>Boxes!  Boxes everywhere!  He had to pick a box.  He couldn't pick a
>box.  Crushie wanted to scream.  Without being aware of it, he screamed
>out a number, and that number was--
>
>WHAT NUMBER, FROM 1 TO 10, DID CRUSHIE SCREAM OUT?
>PLEASE GO TO THE APPROPRIATE PARAGRAPH.
>
>( 1 )
>
>"I'm allergic to cardboard," Crushie whimpered, "so I can only open
>that one wrapped in shiny vinyl.  I'll open it now, and remember, you
>promised to leave me alone!"
>    Gingerly, Crushie peeled the vinyl away to reveal--
>    --a fresh jar of mint-scented library paste.  Library paste, the
>favorite food of four-year-old boys and also Crushie!  He ate the whole
>jar.  Crushie was happy now for the first time in his life!  He was
>cured!  Spot left, triumphant.
>    Crushie went on to lead a normal, happy life, until he ventured
>across the street.  Suddenly his entire body adhered to a building!
>Crushie looked up at the enormous granite walls and saw a sign: PUBLIC
>LIBRARY.  Oh, woe was Crushie!  He was doomed, as he knew that there is
>no force strong enough to break the bond between library paste and a
>library.
>    Crushie, of course, was too small for anyone to notice him the next
>day, when they cleaned the building by sandblasting it.
>
>THE END
>
>( 2 )
>
>"Okay, Spot, I'll open the big one in the corner.  But then you have to
>go, and besides, you're not supposed to be over here anyway--Mom says
>you play too rough!"  Crushie used tweezers to peel back the wrapping
>paper from one of the bigger boxes, revealing--
>    --a television set, complete with a cable box.  Crushie had never
>had cable or even television before!  Spot tiptoed out of the room, and
>Crushie didn't notice because he was enraptured by the moving colored
>pictures.  The first channel he saw was--
>    --The Huge Hairy Monster Channel.  Crushie began to shiver again!
>Then, he calmed down when the friendly announcer reassured him that
>this was just The Huge Hairy Monster Channel, and not its sister
>channel, The Huge Hairy Monster That Comes Out Of Your TV Screen And
>Smashes You Channel.
>    Crushie watched as a monster, confined to the inside of the TV set,
>cavorted about gaily.  "Tra-la-la," sang the monster,
>"tra-la-la-la-la."  The monster did a pirouette and twirled for a
>while.  Then, suddenly, he lunged for Crushie's throat, but fortunately
>he bumped into the glass screen and didn't get out.
>    Unfortunately, he knocked over the television, and Crushie was
>sitting three inches from the screen.  Scrunch!
>
>THE END.
>
>( 3 )
>
>"Spot, I'll open the third one from the left.  But you gotta leave as
>soon as possible, and while you're here, you have to remember not to
>sing Ennio Morricone's theme song from the movie 'O.K. Connery'.  You
>know what that does to my nerves."
>    "What about the theme song to 'Operation Double 007'?" asked Spot.
>    Crushie shivered.  "That's the same damn movie, Spot.  No."
>    "'Secret Agent 00'?  'Operation Kid Brother'?"
>    "No!  No!  They're all different titles for the same Italian movie
>with the same theme song that makes my ears bleed!  Be quiet or I won't
>open the gift!"
>    Spot tried not to even THINK about the theme song to 'O.K. Connery'
>while Crushie tore off the wrapping paper bit by bit.  Inside was the
>PERFECT gift--
>    --a total isolation chamber!  This big soundproof cube was a room
>of its own.  Crushie and Spot went inside.  Spot shut the door.  "See,
>Crushie?  None of the sounds from outside can get in."
>    Crushie was so happy, he stopped shivering.  "Wow!  Thank you,
>Spot!  This is the most wonderful gift ever!  I apologize for getting
>mad earlier.  You can sing your silly Ennio Morricone song if you
>want."
>    Spot opened wide and let fly: "HEEEEEE THRILLLS ME, HEEEEEE KILLLLS
>ME, HE GIIIIVES ME THE FEEEELING MAYBE IT'S LOOOOOVE!"
>    Because the isolation chamber's walls were completely soundproof,
>Spot's wailing was trapped inside, echoing and echoing until it became
>so loud that Crushie exploded!
>
>THE END.
>
>( 4 )
>
>Crushie burst into tears.  "I wish I didn't have to do this!  Spot, I
>hate you!"
>    Spot smiled.  "Let it all out, little Crushie.  I know it's your
>mental illness that hates me, not you.  Why don't you start with the
>smallest package?"
>    Crushie unwrapped the fourth box from the left and discovered--
>    --a box of raisins.
>    Crushie giggled with delight as the raisins, in their little bow
>ties and sneakers, began to dance across the floor.  Funny, funny!
>Crushie giggled again.
>    "EEK!  RAISINS!" screamed Spot.  "RAISINS ARE EVIL!  MUST KILL
>RAISINS!"  Spot began madly flailing at them with a broom, smashing
>everything in the room, except Crushie.  Eventually the dancing clay
>raisins were reduced to smears of purple gunk on the floor.
>    "Waah!  Spot!  You just destroyed my Christmas present!"
>    Spot reached into his pocket.  "I'm sorry, Crushie.  Here, you can
>have this miniature marshmallow instead."
>    Crushie ate the miniature marshmallow.  Then, its mother, a giant
>marshmallow, burst into the room and smothered him.
>
>THE END.
>
>( 5 )
>
>"I'll open the one in the big blue box!  Please don't hurt me!  Why
>must you constantly reduce my life to new levels of a living hell?"
>    Spot smiled and winked at Crushie as he pushed the big blue gift
>across the floor to him.  Crushie put on his rubber gloves and
>unwrapped it, finding--
>    --a brand new IBM Dog Computer with a Pentium processor.
>    "Eww, a Pentium," sneered Spot, who liked Ataris.  "I hear Pentium
>chips have spider eggs in them."
>    Crushie ignored him, and plugged in his expensive new computer.
>The screen immediately lit up with the wonderful graphical display of
>OS/2 Warp!  "Cool," whispered Crushie as he logged on to the
>Information Superhighway.
>    A data bus ran him over.
>
>PLEASE INSERT OBVIOUS "PENTIUM MATH ERROR" JOKE HERE.  THE END.
>
>( 6 )
>
>"Six!  Six!  Six!" wailed Crushie.  "Number six!  Spot, YOU open it!"
>    Spot helpfully trotted over to it and ripped the paper off with his
>teeth.  It was--
>    --a pasta maker.  Crushie hid behind Spot.  He was afraid of pasta
>makers.
>    "Look, Crushie, this pasta machine has all the latest safety
>features.  See all these plastic guards around the blades?  See the
>fully-insulated electrical cord?  There's nothing to be afraid of.  Let
>me plug it in and I'll show you how to make mostaccioli!"
>    Spot plugged in the machine and it began to spray pasta all over.
>Noodles went everywhere!  "Spot, turn it off!" yelped Crushie,
>quivering all over, so scared that he was vibrating like a
>supercritical atomic nucleus.
>    Spot tried to turn it off, but there were so many safety features
>designed to prevent the user from accidentally turning it off, that
>Spot couldn't figure out how!  He tried to guess the pasta maker's
>password as the room slowly filled with noodles, suffocating them.
>
>THE END.
>
>( 7 )
>
>"Okay, Spot, I'll open the flat one.  But if I get a paper cut, you
>have to promise not to visit me in the hospital, okay?"  Spot nodded as
>Crushie peeled away the wrapping on the gift, which was tagged FROM
>SPOT, to reveal--
>    --Spot's priceless collection of rare Kool-Aid packets from the
>1800s.  There was Hefty Horehound, Charming Camphor, Tincture Of Iodine
>Party, Sassy Sarsaparilla, Gentian Violet Ruckus, and Bitter Bitters.
>What a rare find!  Nobody had drunk these flavors, or wanted to, in
>over a hundred years!
>    Spot poured all the packets into a little paper cup and added an
>ounce of water, and then made Crushie drink it.  He immediately turned
>green around the edges, and all the salt fell off his pretzels.  "Spot,
>I don't feel so good.  Oooooh.  I think I'm dying."
>    Spot ran out of the room and returned with a clear plastic pyramid
>in his mouth.  "Crushie, you have to stand under this pyramid.  I keep
>my razor blades sharp in it.  New Age medicine says that this plastic
>pyramid has MAGIC HEALING POWERS!"  He plopped the pyramid over Crushie
>and waited for the magic to work.
>    For a few minutes, Crushie gasped under the airtight pyramid.
>Then, suddenly, he felt much better!  Spot lifted off the pyramid.
>"See, Crushie?  You're okay now.  Just like my razor blades!"
>    Crushie inhaled with relief, and his lungs sliced each other in
>half, because every part of his body was now razor-sharp.
>
>THE END.
>
>( 8 )
>
>"Elevendy-seven," blurted out Crushie.
>    Spot frowned.  "Now, now, Crushie, that's not a number.  You have
>to pick a number from one to ten."
>    "I can't think!"
>    "Pick a number, any number."
>    "Uh..."
>    "Nine!  Pick nine!"
>    "Eight!" shouted Crushie.
>    The eighth box was--
>    --something resembling a big transparent plastic bag.  "What the
>heck is it?" asked Crushie, still shivering.
>    Spot grinned.  "It's the most wonderful thing ever, Crushie.  It's
>a lava zeppelin.  You can fly around in it and watch the colors swirl
>inside."  He powered up the lava zeppelin and it slowly inflated,
>filling with yellow and red blobs.
>    Crushie climbed in.  Spot waved good-bye, ready to keep his promise
>never to see Crushie again.  Crushie pulled on control stick, and the
>zeppelin rose into the air, sailing over the horizon.  Crushie was off
>on a wonderful adventure!
>    Of course, the zeppelin was immediately struck by lightning and it
>plummeted straight down.  And it was directly above the pointy tip of
>the Chrysler Building.  Crushie was impaled on the beautiful Art Deco
>spire.
>
>THE END.
>
>( 9 )
>
>Crushie screamed, "No!  No gifts!  No!  Nyet!  Nein!" so of course Spot
>brought him box number nine.
>    Inside was something horrible, something hideous, something too
>terrible to even consider--
>    --a smaller box.  "Waah!" screamed Crushie.  "Will my torture never
>cease?"  He opened the smaller box to reveal--
>    --another one, which contained--
>    --another, the contents of which were--
>    --a single harmless snowflake.  Spot smiled.  "Crushie, I know
>you're allergic to motor oil, rabbit fur, pants, Pez, mono- and
>tri-glycerides, the Bessemer Process, Jim Carrey, that TV psychic with
>the white loofah wig, and thudding noises, so I got you the most
>harmless thing I could find.  I even quadruple-wrapped it so it
>wouldn't melt.  Isn't it lovely?"
>    Crushie took a close look at the snowflake, which looked like a
>little white asterisk.  Suddenly it shot up his nose as he accidentally
>inhaled it!  "Hey!  That tickles!  Good thing I'm not allergic to
>snowflakes!"
>    Crushie and Spot both laughed as the snowflake melted inside
>Crushie.  He drowned in it.
>
>THE END.
>
>( 10 )
>
>"I choose the gift way in the back!" shouted Crushie with the firmness
>that can only come from having nothing left to lose.
>    Spot obviously didn't agree with this choice.  "Are you SURE you
>want to open that one, Crushie?  When I shook it earlier it felt
>awfully light and it didn't make any sound.  I think it's just an empty
>box!"
>    "Great!" bellowed Crushie as he tore the paper off in shreds.  The
>box was full of--
>    --air.  Just air.  Ordinary house air.  And as Crushie opened the
>box, the air wafted out, blowing him over the horizon, never to be seen
>again.
>    This meant Spot never had to leave Crushie's apartment!  This was
>Spot's best Christmas ever, thanks to the noble sacrifice of Crushie,
>the most pathetic dog in the world.  At last Spot understood the true
>meaning of Christmas!  "Bye, Crushie," he sobbed, sorry that his friend
>was no longer around to distract the author's attention from him.
>
>							-- K.