******************************************************************** ----------------------------------- 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. --------------------------------------------------------------------- political comment 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: Bill Clinton Governors Mansion 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 call away. ==> 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 become smarter. 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 heroes. 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 would like." 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 with it. 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 place. 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 "Mr. Whipple." 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 The Weight? 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 one yesterday." 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 Harry 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 please." 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 three beers?" ==< 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 Good.Zip 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 on-line games. 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 writer. "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 over." * * * 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 him, huh?" 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 work." "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 out?" 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 modulation?" "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 house. "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, it's working." ==< 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 that?" "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 think." "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 people?" "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 desk. "Rod," Jeff asked quietly, "when did you start using your modem again?" ==< 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 ==================== # # # ==================== Other E-Mags 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 >== Legalities: 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: RUNE'S RAG % ARNOLD'S PLUTONOMIE$, LTD. PO Box 472 Waynesville, MO 65583-0427