~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THE UNDERGROUND INFORMER ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Southern California's original BBS publication written by and for BBS users -- Now in its 4th year! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Saturday, October 16, 1993 Distributed free on your local BBS Volume Four, Issue Seventeen (c) Copyright 1993 Celeste Dolan (Whole Number 131) The Underground Informer Published whenever we feel like it-- 4161 Tujunga Avenue #104 Usually every other Saturday! Studio City, CA 91604 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Entire publication copyright (c) 1993 Celeste Dolan. Copyright to individual articles is owned by the author(s). All rights reserved. The Underground Informer is protected by U.S. and international copyright laws. Nothing in this publication may be altered, deleted, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photo-copying, recording, or otherwise) in whole or in part without prior written permission of the Publisher and Editor. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ DISCLAIMER The Underground Informer is an independent publication which is the sole prop- erty of its Publisher and Editor, Celeste Dolan. As such, it is not owned, censored, directly affiliated or otherwise associated with the sysops or own- ers of any BBS on which it is distributed. Many of the stories which you are about to read are completely and totally false and are provided for entertain- ment value only. Opinions expressed by the individual authors are theirs alone and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the Publisher & Editor and/or the opinions of sysops whose BBSes distribute the Underground Informer. The editorial staff of the Underground Informer make no claims as to the authen- ticity or truthfulness of any information contained in this publication. The staff of the Underground Informer assume no duty or liability for anything published herein. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ SYSOPS: You can have the one-and-only, original Underground Informer on your BBS, but you must register! See last page of this issue for details. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Underground Informer Volume 4 Issue 17 October 16, 1993 Index ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ |Column |Author |Page ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Celestial Reasonings......................Editor...........................[1] Eeeek Night at the Palace.................UI Staff.........................[2] Reflections from Beyond the Pale..........Pagan............................[3] Moontide - Chapter 3......................StarStorm......................[4-5] Factory of Fear...........................Crazy-Vampire-Man................[6] The Naked Bum, Chapter 6..................Prickly Porcupine................[7] Starzy's Companion Guide: Delta's Top 40..StarStorm........................[8] Editing and Censorship....................All Nighter......................[9] Delta's Magic Bar: A.L.F. Part 3..........Delta 1......................[10-12] BBS Happenings............................UI Staff & Local Reporters......[13] How to write to us, Sysop Info...and More!................................[14] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Underground Informer Volume 4 Issue 17 October 16, 1993 Page 1 ==================== ---------- Celestial Reasonings The Editor ==================== ---------- Along with the usual articles, stories and news, in this issue the Underground Informer brings you complete information about a very special event planned for Halloween, Sunday, October 31. It's known as "Eeeek Night at the Palace," a multi-BBS extravaganza to be held at the famous Palace in Hollywood. Read all about it on the next page. In another Halloween story, our own CrazyMan has acquired a new middle name as he writes about the "Factory of Fear" haunted house in Lancaster, CA. Crazy-Vampire-Man will be there, along with all the other scary creatures who materialize every year about this time. In addition to the seasonal stories, this issue includes commentaries by two of our regular writers. Pagan reflects on the propensity of the media to concentrate on "bad news," and he gives some examples of the "good news" we don't always hear. All Nighter also focuses on the media, specifically on the fine line between editing and censorship. StarStorm's "Companion Guide to Delta's Magic Bar" makes an unscheduled reappearance--the result of a late-night online session of silliness shared by StarStorm and Delta. The session resulted in "Delta's Top 40," a peek at the kind of music enjoyed by patrons of the Magic Bar. We guarantee it bears absolutely no resemblance to any Top 40 you may be familiar with. And of course, the UI's continuing stories...well...continue. Detective hero and movie star Prickly Porcupine is still making minimal progress at solving the murder mystery, but he does get into some of the most amazing scrapes in "The Naked Bum, Stories from the Files of the Prickly Tapes." StarStorm left us at the end of Chapter 2, wondering whether Moontide's chief character, Tempest, had survived his encounter with the evil bocor. In Chapter 3, Tempest's fate, and that of the pirate ship Estrella, is told. And Delta's suspenseful tale of ordinary people and their encounter with extra- terrestrials continues with a new twist in Part 3 of "A.L.F." Enjoy! --Celeste, the Editor ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Underground Informer Volume 4 Issue 17 October 16, 1993 Page 2 Eeeek Night at the Palace Huge Halloween Party Brings BBSes Together The creators of "Eeeek Bits" online magazine have planned a Halloween party likely to remembered as *the* BBS event of 1993. Motivated by a desire to bring many BBSes together for a party with a purpose, Eeeek had already succeeded, as of press time for this issue, in attracting 17 boards plus the Underground Informer as supporting sponsors for "Eeeek Night at the Palace" on Sunday, October 31 at 9 p.m. (The list of sponsoring BBSes, in alphabetical order: After Hours, The Annex, Avatar, Baud Town, Beyond Eternity, Chatterbox, Dreamscape, Fireside, Infomat, KBBS, LA Online, Modem Butterfly, The Motherboard, Pasadena Online, Talk Salad, Westside, and Ye Olde Pleasure Shoppe.) Eeeek Night at the Palace will be a gala evening for the 1200 party-goers that can be accommodated in Hollywood's famous Palace. The first 300 who shout "Eeeek" at the door will be rewarded with a gift--and that's just the beginning. Costumes are optional for this Halloween party, but those who take the option will have a chance to win prizes awarded for the Best, Worst, and Most Original costumes of the evening. One lucky and talented BBS comedian will take home a 14.4 modem as the prize in the Amateur Comedy Showcase to be held in the VIP Lounge. This event will begin with a performance by comedian Roger Kabler, best known as the Zima man from several commercials. He has also appeared on HBO, ShowTime, and in Comic Strip Live, Caroline's Comedy Hour, a JJ Walker special, and most recently on the "Rhythm & Blues" sitcom. The show will be hosted by comedian Amy Rafano, and magician Steel Fire as Beetlejuice will provide the closing act. There will be lots of music to entertain the Halloween revelers, too. The evening's featured band will be J.D. Hall (formerly J.D. Hall and Wildfire with three top-10 hits to their credit), and the warm-up band will be the RS232's. In addition to the bands, a live radio show and DJ will provide lots of music for dancing. The Palace offers a full bar and a light evening menu. All of this fun is available for a $12.50 ticket purchased in advance at any TicketMaster Outlet (Music*Plus, Robinsons*May and Tower Records). Tickets purchased at the door (if any are left) will be $15. Eeeek Night at the Palace promises to be a memorable and fun-filled evening, but that's only part of the story. The organizers are aiming for the largest gathering of BBSes ever in the L.A. area for an event--an event to prove that sysops and their BBSes have matured beyond the point where competition, jealousy and bickering are the rule. They aim to "generate a good feeling about the BBS world." At the bottom of all is the REAL purpose of Eeeek Night at the Palace: a noon to 5 p.m. "Safe Halloween" party open to the children of Hollywood, ages 5 to 12. Participating BBSes are contributing money to this effort, in which the Palace will be decorated as a haunted house, and children will have safe fun with punch, cookies and entertainment. Any excess contributions will be donated to a charity providing support for battered children. The Underground Informer is an enthusiastic supporter of what Eeeek Night at the Palace is all about--bringing the BBS community together and promoting it as a caring group of people willing to lend a helping hand to others. The Palace is located at 1735 N. Vine Street in Hollywood. Eeeek Night at the Palace begins at 9 p.m. on Sunday, October 31 and is open to the general public as well as the online community. Admission limited to 18 and older (ID required). ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Underground Informer Volume 4 Issue 17 October 16, 1993 Page 3 Reflections From Beyond the Pale by Pagan (c) 1993 Pagan The News is so depressing these days (what there is of actual News once you get past the fluff, that is). We read, see, and hear stories of war and conflict, famine and starvation, murder and rape... it just goes on and on. Of course, there is the occasional "Human Interest" story (what they used to call "Good News"), and I suppose that is supposed to make everything all right. Pfui. So, is the world REALLY going down the crapper, or do the news hounds just focus on the negative events of the day because they are attention- grabbing or sensational? Well, Gentle Readers, I'm sure we all have an opinion about THAT, don't we? Still and all, there IS a lot of Good going on in the world, if we just look for it. True, the search can be time-consuming, even frustrating, but it IS out there, nonetheless. Wander with me now, Gentle Readers, through a few of the happier tales of these times.... Ever wonder what became of Jimmy Carter? Whaddaya mean, "Jimmy Who?" You remember Carter... he was only President of the United States for four years. ("Oh, THAT Jimmy Carter!") Well, it seems he's done more good since leaving office than he was allowed to while actually on the job. Jimmy has, lo these many years, been off in the Third World, teaching sane agricultural techniques to local farmers -- helping them not only to support themselves and their families, but to do it in a sustainable and Earth-friendly way. Now, THAT is Good News, indeed! How about all the groups that are going out and cleaning up creeks, woodlands, and roadsides? These folks are not getting paid to do this -- they are volunteers, doing it for no other reason than that it is needed. Most of the cleanup work is going on in places like Washington and Oregon, but there are examples all over the country. (Is this giving you any ideas, Gentle Readers?) Did you know that it is possible to adopt a rain forest? It's true -- you can buy an interest in Brazilian rain forest on an acre-by-acre basis to protect and preserve the land and the biotope. We all already have a vested interest in the "lungs of the planet," so why not make it a financial one as well? Personally, I'm rather fond of breathing; aren't you? Perhaps the best news of all is that it is still possible to stop the abuse to the Earth, our Mother, in time for our Children to have a Future. Non-polluting forms of transportation, sustainable organic agriculture, recycling, energy-efficiency... you've heard it all right here and elsewhere, and you'll keep on hearing it. Each of us has a personal, individual relationship with this world, and each of us has a personal responsibility to care for and nurture our only home. The balance could still swing either way... it is up to YOU to swing it toward Life and Light. Go outside. Get out there in your bare feet, and feel the grass between your toes, the Sun on your face, the Earth against your soles (and your souls). Feel the caress of the wind and the rain. Hug a tree. Watch an ant hill. Now, instead of simply sitting back and reading the News, get out there and MAKE some News! Thought for the Week: Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand of it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself. -- Chief Seattle Peace, Love, and the "D" Word! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Underground Informer Volume 4 Issue 17 October 16, 1993 Page 4 -= M O O N T I D E =- Chapter 3 by StarStorm (c) 1993 StarStorm The story so far: While the pirate ship Estrella lay at anchor in Port Royal's harbor, Tempest went ashore for a good luck charm to bless the ship's departure. The first mate paid his sixpence to a mambo, who crafted a fetish of gray hairs bound with melted wax and warned him of the evil bocor who lived somewhere in the islands. Tempest returned to the ship commanded by his brother, Captain Bladed Jack, and the Estrella sailed on the next morning's tide. The ship soon encountered land where there should have been nothing but open sea and was becalmed in an enveloping shroud of fog. Tempest lay sleepless and uneasy in his bunk, then started at the sound of footsteps. His door opened to reveal a dark man with piercing, green eyes--the bocor. And then the mist crowded the air from Tempest's lungs. <-*-> Daylight. Breath. He lived! Tempest coughed, sending waves of pain racing through his body. He could remember only two things: the cold and those eyes, deep-set and luminous. His muscles ached dully with each breath. His eyes opened slowly, wincing against the offending sunlight that filtered through the open door. A pool of water covered the deck, moistening his face and nightshirt. Tempest untangled his feet from the bed sheets and positioned them under him, readying himself to rise. Momentary false starts and unsteadiness overtook him, and he fell back onto his bed once more. Reawakening senses fed his lagging awareness, grasping for any solid fragment of reality. His arms and legs responded as lead weights. His neck was stiff and unresponsive, but slowly, methodically, he propped himself up, finally rising to his feet and fighting off the dizzying torrent that seized his mind. Hesitant staggers brought him out of the cabin into open air, the sun's warming rays beating down on his wearied body. A scent came to his nose, tentatively at first, but finally rushing headlong. It was an overwhelming stench, unlike any other. The putrid aroma of decay penetrated the very timbers of the Estrella. Tempest lurched back into the cabin, trying to force the smell from his lungs. He rushed to his brother's bunk. Maybe Jack would know what was going on. His hands pressed down on the covers to rock Jack to wakefulness. A plaintive cracking reached his ears as the seemingly solid form beneath the covers gave way under Tempest's touch. He withdrew suddenly. Jack's motionless state brought his own heart to a stop. What had happened? Slowly, Tempest extended a hand, wrapping his fingers tightly about the edge of the sheet. He counted the quickening rhythm of his heartbeat, allowing his body to bring itself to pace. One... his arm tensed... two... his knuckles blanched... three... cold sweat dampened his brow and lip... four... he readied himself, his whole body working as a whole... five... He pulled, more spasmodically then intended, but it mattered not. Tempest's newly acquired breath escaped him. His eyes widened, pupils becoming small blue points on a sea of white. Jack lay dead, decaying in his bunk. His flesh was green and flaked, scaling in the heat of the day. His eyes were open and sunken deep into the protruding skull, small insects already laying claim to new burrows inside. One shoulder had collapsed to dust from Tempest's intrusion. Ribs, bones, all showed through the tired, clinging shell of flesh. Tempest backed away slowly, unable to contemplate anything save to get away -- as far away as possible. At the entrance to the cabin, he turned and bolted across the deck. Bodies lay scattered, in whole or in part, across the port and bow sides. These were the night watchmen and their deaths seemed no more merciful than Jack's. Nimbly, Tempest dodged the remains, allowing his instincts to guide him where his intellect failed. He halted at the prow, collapsing against the rail and allowing himself to slide to the deck because his legs were unable to carry him further. He looked back on the expanse of ship no longer refreshed by the day's brightness, but feasted upon by the fangs of heat. Everyone dead. Everyone but him. Why not him? Why did he have to live through this hell? Some load of luck that damned charm turned out to be. "We was warned 'bout the bocor," his own voice replayed in his mind. "We're not gonna be leavin' the ship ta go lookin' fer the bastard." DAMN you, Jack. Damn your logic. Damn your fool head. Damn you to hell for all of this. (Continued on next page.) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Underground Informer Volume 4 Issue 17 October 16, 1993 Page 5 Moontide, Chapter 3 (continued from previous page.) (c) 1993 StarStorm Tempest's eyes lowered, heavied by shock and unexpected expenditures of energy. His strength was wasted by the sheer weight of what had happened. Then his long vigil began. He was unable to move from his vantage, unwilling to seek sustenance. The mild breeze pushed and pulled at the tattered, untied sails, moving them with the whims of the waves that crashed steadily against the hull. The Estrella had been grounded. She was most likely breached upon an outcropping of rocks or reef, for no wave could budge her to motion. As the fifth hour of his watch commenced, Tempest heard the steady sound of wood slicing cleanly through the ocean waters. Weakly, he rose to his knees to peer out over the railing, at last moving to his feet as they permitted him. A galleon -- Spanish, it seemed -- was fast approaching from the east, probably attempting to reach Port Royal before nightfall. Obviously it had seen the Estrella and was tacking a new course to investigate. As the galleon drew closer, Tempest could make out the design of the figurehead, a buxom mermaid with bountiful attributes. Crewmen lined the galleon's bow, all straining for a better vantage of the Estrella. "Ahoy!" called out a voice from the crow's nest, scarcely audible across the expanse. Tempest wanted to call back, but his voice failed him. He was simply too tired and too thirsty to try. He allowed himself to slide to his knees once more. His head slumped, nestled in his arms which lay folded across the rail. His vision blurred, allowing one moment to slur into the next. Memories patched together, hodgepodge, over the next minutes -- Spanish soldiers boarding the ship and discovering the bodies of his crewmates, himself dragged limply from his crouched position onto the awaiting galleon. Words seemed vague and incomprehensible. Not being one of his stronger linguistic skills, Spanish ran together in a never-ending collage of phrases and questions. He could understand only the barest fringe of meaning, but all he cared about now was leaving... leaving the Estrella... leaving his shipmates... leaving his brother. Soldiers helped him down the stairs and below the deck of the galleon. Awareness flickered in and out like candlelight until, at last, it snuffed itself out and all was dark again. * * * His eyes opened. Where was he? Solid brick walls constituted three-fourths of his surroundings, the fourth wall taken up by iron bars and door. His hands and feet were shackled tightly. He'd been in this position once before when he had been part of a badly planned raiding party. As he recalled, that was Jack's fault, too, but his brother had made good by helping Tempest escape before his trial. Now what? A rat nibbled contentedly at the humble plate of food that had been left for him. The mat of hay upon which he found himself was moist with perspiration and humidity. Caribbean prisons were notorious for death -- not so much for convictions in the courts, but for the torturous conditions in the cells. The stench was enough to turn the stomach and route any hunger, but no smell could ever mimic the smell of death that had smothered the Estrella. "On your feet, prisoner," came the guard's voice from the door to the cell. He'd met up with many a guard in his lifetime and noticed that regardless of language or country, they all sounded and spoke alike. Nevertheless, Tempest rose. It didn't pay to disobey when one was in his position. "Look," Tempest began, a slight smile on his face and experience guiding him, "I din'na know what ye've been told, buit I'm no pirate. Ye see, I was ki'napped, an' I was forced -- again' me will, mind ye -- ta go about wit' that surly bunch." "Is that so? Well, I don't think you'll have to worry about being charged with piracy," the guard replied, his look somewhat bemused. "I won't?" Tempest was perplexed. Ordinarily, that ploy wouldn't work nearly as easily as it had. And the guard didn't seem quite THAT stupid. "Then, ye'll be lettin' me outta these things?" he asked, holding up the shackles on his wrists. "Not on your life." "Buit... ye said I was'na goin' ta be charged with piracy..." "Right," the guard continued, "you're not charged with piracy." He paused dramatically, seemingly enjoying the drawn out moment. "You're charged with witchcraft." To be continued... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Underground Informer Volume 4 Issue 17 October 16, 1993 Page 6 FACTORY OF FEARS by Crazy-Vampire-Man It's my time of the year. Time for me to sharpen my fangs, dry-clean my cape and make plans for Halloween. I'm like any other vampire, after all. I go out at night with my girl, grab a bite to eat, and do a little necking. This year I felt it was necessary to expand on my annual ritual of flying around the old haunts. So I decided to create a place where I'd feel at home. It's outside the city, far away from the bright lights of L.A. I call it the "Factory of Fears." Don't let the name fool you. It's a great place to take the family...to get lost. Whether you like kicking back in a morgue or digging up some new friends in the cemetery, the Factory of Fears is everything I would die for. There is always plenty of fresh food. Why, there is even a butcher shop on the premises. I'd love you to come by and enjoy a bit of my "heaven" here on earth. For those of you who are not quite ready to savor the thrills and frights of the Factory of Fears, there will be some semi-tame carnival rides and games. You're welcome to drag any bodies along with you. I do. So you can find this home away from home, I've provided some directions to the Factory of Fears: The Factory of Fears is located at the corner of Avenue K and 10th Street West in the City of Lancaster. You can take the 405 North to the 5 North, and then the 14 North. Exit at Avenue L, turn right from the off-ramp, and go left on 10th Street West. The Factory of Fears is in the old Sears building at the corner. The Factory of Fears will run October 16, 17, 22, 23, 24, 29, 30, and 31st. Friday and Saturday nights, the thrills last from dusk to midnight, and on Sundays the fun ends at 11 p.m. A portion of the money from every ticket sold will go to the American Cancer Society. There will be a carnival on the nights the Factory of Fears is open through the 24th. I'm waiting for confirmation of an appearance by a "bungee jumper" for the 29th through Halloween. There will be food, games, rides, and best of all, the Factory of Fears Haunted House. Late breaking note: Hot 97.7 FM, a radio station in Lancaster, has arranged the cast of "LOST BOYS 2" to come to the Factory of Fears the weekend of the 22nd through the 24th. They will be arriving in a caravan of black hearses. Don't miss it! I'll join you for a bite when you arrive. CRAZY-VAMPIRE-MAN ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Underground Informer Volume 4 Issue 17 October 16, 1993 Page 7 The Naked Bum: Stories from the Files of the Prickly Tapes Chapter 6 by Prickly Porcupine (a.k.a. Prick the Dick) When we last left our super-hero, Prickly had just received a clue left anonymously inside the Corvette he had rented...with Celeste's American Express Platinum card, of course. - <*> - "Hey Billy Joe, look at that thar cat in the road up ahead. Think I can git 'im?" asked the driver of the pickup truck while driving toward Prickly. The passenger, looking up from his smut magazine, spotted Prickly and replied, "I'll bet ya 10 bucks that ya miss him, just like ya missed that thar last cat." The driver quickly shot back, "I did not miss him. It was that damn kid runnin' across the street 'n got in my way before I could git that cat." "Either way, ya missed it, and ya still owe me that thar 10 bucks," Billy Joe retorted at the driver and continued, "And I'll bet ya 20 bucks ya miss that cat up thar." Looking up and seeing the truck heading toward him, a man jumped out in front of the camera and yelled, "My name is Bobby Joe Jim-Bob, and we demand equal rights! Us Rednecks are being shown in a bad light, and the USARNAOTW Local 1 [Writer's note: United States of America Rednecks Association Of The World] will not stand for it. All of our members will picket every movie theater across America to make our voices heard!" Me and my brother [Writer's Note: the only two members of the USARNAOTW Local 1] are mad, and we're not gonna take it any more!" Looking shocked and amazed, Prickly turns to the guy and says, "Excuse me, but there's a truck about ready to hit you." "THUMP!" went the body of Bobby Joe Jim-Bob as Prickly stepped out of the way of the truck. "I told ya you'd miss!" Billy Joe yelled in excitement at the driver. "Shut up, Billy Joe, or I'll divorce your sister!" the driver replied hotly. Billy Joe, obviously perplexed at the driver's statement, looked at him and said, "She's yer sister too, Joe Bob." Jumping back into the Vette, Prickly dove back into traffic, cutting off as many other cars as he could. And not waiting to give anyone a chance to comment about his maneuver into traffic, Prickly shouted, "Hey, this is LA. If you don't cut someone off, they'll take away your license." Suddenly remembering the secret note that was left for him in the car, Prickly grabbed it and opened it up. "Wow! A big sale at Snobinsons/Pay! Ten percent off! I gotta get there!" Prickly yelled excitedly. "CUT!" shouted the director. "Prickly, you dork, the note is on the other side. Didn't you read the damn script?" "I was ad-libbing," Prickly countered. "YOU WERE WHAT?!?!" screamed the director. "OK, OK, I'll get it right this time. I promise," replied Prickly sheepishly. "QUIET ON THE SET! ACTION!" Driving down the road once again, Prickly grabbed the note and read it. "Meet me at midnight tonight at the Red Onion on Wilshire." "That's easy enough," Prickly said to himself. "Ah, my first real clue." Looking up from the note, Prickly noticed a school crossing full of penguins and nuns in leather bikinis crossing the road. [Writers note: Think about it. This is Los Angeles.] "SCREEEEEECCCCHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" Continued Next Issue... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ .----------------------------------------------------------------------------. | _O_/~\_O_/~ o _O_/~\_O_/~ o ~\_@_ _O_ ~\_O_ _O_/~ ~\_O_/~ | | / }} [ ] /|\ / }} ( ) /|\ }}> /( )\ ( )\ / }} ( ) | |~ \\ /#####/##### ##### ##### ##\ ## \\ ~ / \ ~ \\ ~ \\ // | | // \## ## ##/ ## ## ## /#_ #\# #~~~ #//# ~~#~~ \\ | | ~~ ~#### #### #### #### #### ~# # #~# # __ #__# #~ ~~ | |~\_@_ ##O_ ##\_O_## ##_/~\##_## #O_##\#O# #o# # _#_/~\_O_/ o | | }}> ##### #####)#####/##### ##) ## /~}} ~ ~ ~~~~|~ ~ / ~} ( ) /|\ | | \\ ~ / \ ~ \\ ~ ~ \\ // ~ \\ // / \ ~ \\ // / \ | | // \ \ /#~# ~#~ //~#~\# # #~~ // \\ // \\ | | ~~ ~ ~ ~#~# # ~~ # ~#~# #~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ | | _O_/~\_O_/~ o ~ ~ ~O_/~\~O_~ ~ ~~~ ~\_@_ _O_ ~\_O_ _O_/~\_O_/~| | / }} ##### ###### /##} (######|\######}>######\ ( )\ / }} ( ) | | ~ \\ ##/ ## ##\ ##~ ##\ /## ## \## \\ ## / \ ~ \\ ~ ~ \\ // | | // ##### ###### ##/ \###### ## // ##### \ // // \\ | | ~~ ## ## ## ##~ ~## ## ## ~~ ## ~ ~ ~~ ~~ ~~ | | o _##/~\_O_## o##~\##_ ##_ ##~\##_ ##O_/~\_O_/~ _O_/~\_O_/~ | | /|\ / ## ( )##/|## ##### /##)\## ###### ###### ( ) / }} [ ] | | / \ ~ \\ // / \ \\ ~ / \ ~ \\ ~ ~ \\ // ~ \\ // | | // \\ // \ \ // // \\ // \\ | |----------------------------------------------------------------------------| | SUNDAY OCTOBER 31, 1993 - Doors Open 9:00 p.m. - 1735 N. Vine, Hollywood | |----------------------------------------------------------------------------| | This is not just "A" party - it is "THE" party of the year! Eeeek! (tm) | | along with some of the biggest (and some not-quite-as-big) BBSes will be | | together for one HUGE costume extravaganza! Here are some Highlights: | | | | The first 300 people at the door who say "EEEEK!" will get a FREE GIFT! | | | | Dancing with DJ in The Main Dance Room! | | | | LIVE: RS232's play the Patio Room! | | | | Literally HUNDREDS of PRIZES to be given away - | | including a prize for the BEST...WORST...and MOST-ORIGINAL COSTUMES! | | | | AMATEUR COMEDY SHOW in the VIP Lounge with Special Guests & PRIZES!!!!! | | (Are YOU funny? When you show up, register to go on stage and maybe be | | the BBS Comedy King - OR Queen - of 1993!!) | | | | Full Bar and Evening Munchie Menu for tantilization of your tongue! | | Dancing in the Main Bar, LIVE music (the RS232's) on the 2nd floor | | patio, or Enjoy a variety of entertainment in the VIP Lounge! | | | | The Palace (Once known as the famous Hollywood Palace) has been played | | by THOUSANDS of Actors/Actresses, Musicians & more. The ambiance and | | energy of this historical landmark only lends to the atmosphere of the | | night. Be ANOTHER part of history - this will be the first time so many | | BBSes will be together for one event! | | | | This event is primarily for the ONLINE Industry, but the general public | | will also be made aware - so we recommend you purchase your tickets as | | soon as you can, in order to secure yourself a place at the Halloween | | Bash that EVERYONE will be talking about! | | ~~~~~~~~ | | ***** This is the ONE party this year that you don't want to miss! ***** | | | | Tickets are $12.50 per person at all Ticketmaster Outlets: Music*Plus, | | Robinsons*May, Tower Records...or $15.00 per person at the door. | | | | NOTE: TICKETS *ARE* LIMITED, Get yours early & ensure availability!!!! | `----------------------------------------------------------------------------' Underground Informer Volume 4 Issue 17 October 16, 1993 Page 8 Starzy's Companion Guide to Delta's Magic Bar D E L T A ' S T O P 4 0 by StarStorm Magic Bar: Copyright (c) 1993, Delta 1 Companion Guide: Copyright (c) 1993, StarStorm Have you ever sat alone, in a really really dark room with the heater off and the air conditioner in reverse, with your feet over your head, supporting a chicken with rheumatoid arthritis and a bad case of halitosis while reciting the Battle Hymn of the Republic in Gregorian chant (you, not the chicken) and juggling two apples with your left pectoral... while doing all this... have you ever wondered what kind of music we play in the Magic Bar? What? You don't? Don't what? Don't sit alone in a really really dark room with the heater off and the air conditioner in reverse? Don't sit with your feet over your head? Don't support chickens with rheumatoid arthritis and a bad case of halitosis? Don't recite the Battle Hymn of the Republic in Gregorian chant? Or don't juggle two apples with your left pectoral? Ah. I see, it's your right pectoral... sorry, I just haven't been able to tell the difference since Reaganomics... But, anyway, Delta and I thought it would be peachy-keeners to show you one of our most played songs in the Magic Bar... " R A M B O M A N I A C S " Lyrics by Delta with Starzy on keyboard We're rambomaniacs We got uzis on our backs We throw our hand grenades We're into gay parades We're rambomaniacs We're rambomaniacs And our mother sent us back Our lobotomies have failed They've locked us in our jail We're rambomaniacs We're rambomaniacs And we're living in your slacks We live on dragon soup You can tell it from our poop We're rambomaniacs We're rambomaniacs We put napalm in your snacks We carry oeufs de guerre They're in our underwear We're rambomaniacs We're rambomaniacs We gave Limbaugh to Iraq We have to save our brains 'Cause they're going down the drain We're rambomaniacs We're rambomaniacs Ron and Nancy sent a fax They gave ol' Bush a call And took credit for it all We're rambomaniacs ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Underground Informer Volume 4 Issue 17 October 16, 1993 Page 9 Editing and Censorship (What's the difference?) by All Nighter On (almost) every publication's opinion or editorial page under "Letters to the Editor" there is a caveat stating, in one form or another, the following: "We reserve the right to edit for space." Some even add "and content" to the caveat. What this caveat is intended to mean is that if a letter is too long, it may be shortened by the editors to fit on the page and/or grammatical errors will be corrected. What it really means is "We reserve the right to censor by removing those sentences we feel are not important to the overall subject of the letter." Therein lies the danger, and the power, of any editor. The (well-intentioned) editor may feel the commentary important enough to be printed, but too long (wordy) in its entirety and therefore elect to remove any material he/she feels unimportant to the overall subject. The danger lies in the fact that the editor is not the original author and has no idea what the author was thinking as he/she wrote the letter. By removing material the editor feels "unimportant" to the subject, she/he is censoring the writer, whether well-intentioned or not. The editor is concluding his/her own interpretation by removing the author's own words. Certainly arrogant, if not outright censorship. The readers do not have the opportunity to decide for themselves whether the letter was accurate or not. The decision is made for them. Readers get the essence but perhaps not the full emotional impact of the writer's thoughts. In a newspaper or magazine it is difficult to know whether a letter was printed in its entirety unless you are the original author. This form of editing, however, can be seen/heard on any TV/radio newscast in the now famous "sound bite." Have you ever wondered what else the person being interviewed had to say? Of course you have. And have you ever wanted to listen to MORE of that interview? The answer again is yes, I'm sure. Now, is that "power," or isn't it? Journalists would have us believe that they included the "essence" of what the person being interviewed had to say. News managers would have us believe that they have just so much time in a broadcast to get as much "news" as possible on the air. And they both could be right. They could also be right if they simply stated that they edited the sound bite so as to appear to support a particular view--easy to do if comments are taken out of context. Journalists or editors will never admit to that, however. The difference between "editing" and "censorship" is a fine line indeed and one often crossed by every news organization, in my opinion, for their own purposes--mostly for making money, because that, after all, is their real business... is it not? Solution? Buy your own radio or TV station. Buy your own publication. That is the ONLY way you will be able to read "all the news that is fit to print" or hear all the news that is fit to be spoken. Until then, the news will be "edited" by those who print or broadcast it, not by those who make it. Someone once said, "Never argue with someone who buys their ink by the tank-car full." I agree; never argue with them... but DO question them. ADDENDUM: Those of you who have cable TV still have an opportunity to see and hear unedited news as it is made. C-SPAN1 and C-SPAN2 cover the Senate and House of Representatives "live" each day while both houses are in session. They also broadcast State Department, Pentagon, and other government agency briefings, as well as testimony before various government committees, all "live." I recommend you avail yourself of this unique opportunity. [Ed. note: Since this publication, like most others, is edited, you may be curious to know whether the above article is printed exactly as it was submitted. The answer is "no." A number of grammatical and punctuation errors were corrected, although nothing was cut. All Nighter makes some interesting points, but the article raises at least one question that I, as an editor, would like to pose to the readers and to the author. Which is more arrogant--the editor who presumes to offer a condensed or otherwise altered version of the author's words as "better" and more worthy of publication--or the author who maintains that his or her every word is too precious and worthwhile to be tampered with by an editor?] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Underground Informer Volume 4 Issue 17 October 16, 1993 Page 10 ================= ------- Delta's Magic Bar Delta 1 ================= ------- A.L.F. Part 3 (c) 1993 Delta 1... I woke shaking as the dream faded in a bright light. Something in me tried to tell me it wasn't a dream, but I pushed that thought away. It was just that the dream had been so intense. I lay there for a time, my heart pounding like a jackhammer as I strove to calm my pulse. Aliens only invaded the Earth in B movies and bad novels, I assured myself. My pulse calmed as I set my mind to more mundane thoughts. The clock on the nightstand read 7:32 a.m. as I turned over onto my side. A smile crossed my face and my pulse calmed a bit more as I watched my new wife, Beth, sleeping even as my thoughts turned to the events of the past 48 hours. I must admit that I was still having trouble believing my good fortune. It just seemed so incredible. I had elected to see a bit of the state on my way home from a business trip to 'Frisco. It had been a long day and a long drive. Since I still had a few hours' drive before me, I pulled over to rest when I noticed a sign announcing the grand opening of a new resort. It seemed a bit off the beaten path as resorts go, but it did have a nice location and offered all the comforts of city life without the pressures. It struck me that a long weekend lay ahead of me and no pressing business awaited me back in L.A. Why not spend a couple of days relaxing, I thought as I pulled my Blazer into the parking lot. Beth and her girlfriend had been staying in the cabin across from mine. I noticed them sunning themselves on their deck as I was walking around mine trying to work out a few kinks. One look at Beth and it was love at first sight. After a bit of small talk I was invited over, one thing led to another, and we spent the evening telling stories and cuddling under the trees and the stars. The next morning over breakfast in bed, I asked her to marry me. It had been a sudden thing, and I surprised myself almost as much as I did her. She hugged me, started to cry, and a few seconds later she said yes. In the afternoon we loaded up my Blazer and headed to Vegas. Her girlfriend, Sue, accompanied us, saying that someone sane would be needed to vouch for us. We arrived in Vegas that evening and were wed that night in a small chapel off the Strip. I slipped out of bed with great care so as not to wake her and headed to the shower. As the hot water flowed over my body, a memory surfaced of a time when we had made love in the shower, a time tinged with fear and uncertainty. I shook my head to clear it I wrote it off as the effects of my being groggy and the dream so vivid coupled with the excitement of the past 48 hours. I was sure it would fade in time. My electric razor was on the sink. I fumbled for the switch, it started to buzz, and a long metal tube, rounded at the ends, came unbidden to mind. I made a mental note to check on what had become of it, when it struck me that it was just another fragment of the dream. I smiled at the absurdity of the thought. I applied toothpaste to the toothbrush, but something felt odd. It wasn't my toothbrush. A little voice in my head reminded me that we had left most of our luggage behind. No matter, we could pick it up along with her car on our way back to L.A. Beth must have picked up the basics in the hotel gift shop. I mulled it over for a time. Strange...I couldn't picture the hotel. I must have been partying too much last night. I did seem to be a bit foggy this morning. I picked up the phone and called room service, made arrangements for the Blazer to be serviced, ordered breakfast and a dozen red roses. Breakfast in bed with my new wife seemed the perfect way to start the day. Beth was just waking up when room service arrived. I motioned for her to stay in bed. "Room service," I replied to her questioning smile. I tipped the bellboy and brought the cart into the room. Beth smiled and pulled back the sheets, and suddenly breakfast was the last thing on my mind. Around noon Sue called to remind us that checkout was at one. She arranged to meet us in the hotel casino. It was nearly one when I reached the front desk, paid the bill and inquired after the Blazer. The clerk informed me that it had been serviced and was waiting in the parking lot, and then he arranged for a porter to deliver our luggage to it. The casino was a maze of slot machines, assorted gaming tables, colored lights and the sound of music mixed with the babble of voices. A feeling of excitement charged the air as Beth and I strolled through. Sue was playing a video slot machine, a small stack of coins resting on its ledge. "Be right with you," she called and pulled the lever. Assorted fruit filled the screen. She placed the last of the coins into the slot, pulled, the screen flashed, three plums lined up in a row, a light flashed, and a few coins splashed into the dish at the base of the machine. Sue smiled. "Win a few, lose a few, win a few more." The coins vanished into the slot and she pulled the lever again. Fruit rolled across the screen, and a bar, a lemon and a cherry appeared. Sue laughed again. "Enough of that. It's time to cash out." We followed Sue to the teller's window, where she opened her purse and dumped a number of colored chips onto the counter. The teller counted them and placed a number of 20-dollar bills on the counter. "I'm much better at blackjack," she confided as she counted her winnings. As promised, the Blazer was waiting for us in the parking lot, our bags neatly stowed in the cargo area. I collected my keys from the porter and he collected his tip. I opened the door for the girls, walked around to the driver's side, slid into the seat and adjusted the seat and mirror. I have this theory that auto mechanics adjust them as part of the tune-up. Beth placed a CD in the stereo, and an old Stones tune started to play. In the back seat, Sue consulted a road map and tried to work out our best route as I pulled out of the parking lot and started down the Strip toward the highway. As we headed down the Strip, a hitchhiker appeared off to the right. We had passed several already, but there was something about this one. I pulled over and rolled down the window. "Where you headed?" I asked. "Looking for a ride to Prescott, Arizona. Wouldn't turn down a lift to the Interstate," he replied. A voice inside my head seemed to say that he wasn't the right one. I dismissed it. "Hop in, we can take you that far," I said. "Thanks, that should make it easier to thumb a ride back home," he said as he climbed into the back seat with Sue. (Continued on next page.) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Underground Informer Volume 4 Issue 17 October 16, 1993 Page 11 Delta's Magic Bar: A.L.F. (Cont'd. from previous page) (c) 1993 Delta 1... A short time later we arrived at the Interstate, the hitchhiker thanked us again, and we wished him luck. I headed north following Sue's directions, and after a time she had me turn off into the desert. Sue announced she was going to take a nap, so I called for sandwiches and soda from the cooler. The miles ticked slowly away, but I had Beth and the music for company. When Sue woke, I pulled over, and we rotated drivers. We needed to make speed if we were to be back in town by Monday night, and it made the long drive less stressful. Beth and I rested as Sue drove through the rest of the Nevada desert and between the Grapevine and Funeral mountain ranges into California. I took over driving in Death Valley and followed Highway 190 through the sands, turned onto Interstate 395 and headed north through Owens Valley and on to Mono Lake. Beth took over at Mono Lake, and we headed west through Yosemite with a few brief stops for sight-seeing and nature breaks. I took over again as we exited the park and followed Highway 120 while Sue and Beth grabbed another catnap. Beth was just waking up when a sign appeared, announcing that the pioneer town of Knights Ferry, population 100, in the lovely San Joaquin Valley was just a few miles up the road. It was noon on Monday when I pulled off the highway and onto its main street. I drove up to the general store, walked in, purchased a six-pack of soda, and asked for directions to the resort. The clerk cheerfully informed me there was no resort in the area. A couple of locals in the store agreed with him, and one of the them suggested I go down to Stockton and check with the county clerk. I walked back to the blazer shaking my head and placed the sodas in the cooler. "It seems we're lost, or the resort is. Does the town look right to you?" I called to the girls. "It doesn't look quite right," admitted Beth. "I didn't pay much attention to it, but the resort was to the east of town and it was dark when we passed through it," volunteered Sue. I hadn't more than glimpsed the town myself, and we had not passed through it on our way to Vegas. Well, it would only amount to a couple of hours' delay and it's better then searching for it on our own, I reasoned as I turned the key and headed to Stockton. The county clerk in Stockton was more than happy to help us out. We sat drinking coffee and reading his magazines in the waiting room. He popped out of his office and informed us that the search of county records had turned up nothing and that he was checking the state's database. After a time, the county Sheriff walked through the door and into the clerk's office. I didn't think a thing about it until he reappeared and asked us to accompany him. "Are we under arrest?" I inquired. "No, but we do require your aid in an ongoing investigation. The area of Bubbling Springs Resort, the resort itself, the town, and approximately 25 square miles of farm and forest land were devastated by the fire. I'm surprised you didn't heard about it on the news," he informed us. We all started to ask questions. "I can't tell you more about it now, but there's an investigator who will arrive shortly and can fill you in. Please follow me to my office," he requested as he held open the door. The Sheriff was quite charming and was soon regaling us with an absurd story about the antics of some local's cow and its affection for a neighbor's pig. The Sheriff led us down the block to a plain building with multi-colored brickwork framing large glass windows that looked more like a storefront than a Sheriff's office. Had it not been for the signs outside saying "Sheriff," I would have passed it by without a second thought. An officer sat at a desk littered with papers as we entered. The Sheriff exchanged a few words with him and then led us down a hallway past a number of rooms. We were shown to an unused office containing a desk decorated with only a phone at one end of the room near the door. A long table with simple wooden chairs sat at the opposite end of the room near a barred window. The Sheriff indicated we should sit at the table. He sat on the edge of the desk and asked some polite questions. The talk had turned to our trip when the Sheriff glanced at his watch. "It's almost 4:30, a bit late for lunch or early for supper, but if you're hungry I can arrange to have a meal delivered. You have plenty of time before the investigator arrives," he assured us. Lunch did sound good and we had been living off cold cuts from the ice chest. We talked it over and agreed to take him up on his offer. "There's a great Mexican place that has takeout or a BBQ I can highly recommend. Also a very nice deli and the usual collection of fast food places," he announced. We talked it over and agreed that Mexican sounded good. The Sheriff picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Order anything you like. I'll take care of the bill," he said as he passed the handset to me. After a few questions I discovered they had a mixed platter special. The Sheriff remarked that it was a tad spicy but good as he excused himself from the room. The girls were all for it, so I ordered three platters and a 12- pack of sodas. We were speculating as to what was going on when a deputy opened the door, and a man in a Spanish costume entered with a large tray of food. The investigator arrived as we were finishing our lunch. He was a tall man, well-muscled with close-cropped brown hair. He was wearing a dark blue business suit that looked like it had been slept in and sunglasses. Two men that appeared so like him they could of been his clones followed him into the room. He took a seat at the desk and opened his briefcase. "Please write down anything you can remember about your stay at the resort, including the names and descriptions of anyone you met there," he said as his assistants passed out paper and pens from their briefcases. He waited until we finished and collected the papers from us. He scanned them quickly, removed a pad from his briefcase, and scribbled a few notes on its pages. He walked to the door and motioned to the officer outside. "It will be best to do this one at a time. My assistants will interview the ladies in other rooms. After we finish, they will be returned to this room, and I will fill you all in on what has transpired," he explained. I gave Beth a hug before his assistants escorted the girls from the room. When the door closed, the investigator took a seat at the desk, opened his briefcase and seemed to adjust something within. "I will be taping this for possible future reference in the investigation," he stated. "What's this all about?" I demanded. "Just relax and respond truthfully to my questions," he reassured me as he made adjustments within the briefcase. (Continued on next page.) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Underground Informer Volume 4 Issue 17 October 16, 1993 Page 12 Delta's Magic Bar: A.L.F. (Cont'd. from previous page) (c) 1993 Delta 1... "Do we need a lawyer?" I ventured. He drummed his fingers on the desk. "You may have one present during questioning. You do not need one unless you have committed some illegal act," was his response. "Let us start the questions, and should feel the need of a lawyer, we will stop and get you one. Fair enough?" he added with a crooked smile. There didn't seem any harm in it so I agreed to try it his way. He looked at the paper I had written. "You arrived at the resort around 5:30 p.m. on Friday?" he started. "Yeah, around 5:30 p.m. on Friday." "You met Beth and Sue that evening?" "Yup, that's correct." "This was the first time you had met either of them?" "Yes it was." I watched as he jotted a note. "Saturday afternoon at approximately 1 p.m. you left for Las Vegas to get married?" "Yeah." He paused as if thinking for a few moments. "Nothing about driving to Las Vegas on the spur of the moment to marry someone you met less than a day before strikes you as odd?" "I was and am in love with her. No, it doesn't seem odd to me." "Would you consider, say, a UFO flying around as odd?" "Yes, I'd consider that odd." He seemed to be looking at something in his briefcase and not at me. "Have you ever seen a UFO?" "Sure, on TV. And in the movies." "Anywhere else?" "Nope." "Did you see anyone at the resort that acted in a suspicious manner?" "I didn't really see anyone other than the manager, a bellboy and the girls. They did not seem suspicious to me." "Did you or either of the ladies have anything to do with the start of the fire?" "Of course not." He made another note. "Did you see a helicopter in the area at any time?" "I have no memory of one," I responded. He looked up from his briefcase and shot a faint smile at me. "Please wait right here. I will bring the ladies in and fill you in when they have finished," he stated as he left the room. It wasn't the investigator that returned with the girls but a man in a military uniform, a gray flight helmet covering his head. There was no form of ID on his uniform, no insignia of rank, no unit patch. Sunglasses covered his eyes. "I'm your pilot. Everything will be explained at our destination," he assured us in a voice that sounded strangely comforting. He opened the door and stood waiting for us. Any request for information was ignored. He just stood there holding the door open. Well, three could play that game. "We're not going to move until we get some information," I declared. He drew his gun from its holster and motioned toward the door with it. It seemed we had to comply or be shot. What the hell was happening here? As we walked through the Sheriff's office, nobody looked at us. It was almost as if we were not there. On our way out the door, I noticed a large white pasteboard sign, yellow tape on its edges. It had been hidden behind the brickwork on our way in. Traces of the tape were visible on the front window. I waited till we were outside and then faked a coughing fit. I bent forward, turned a bit to the side, and the sign came clearly within my vision for a moment. I coughed to cover my surprise as I straightened up. The sign had read "For rent." Who the hell rents out a Sheriff's station? The pilot led us around the side of the station and into the parking lot. I felt a shock as I beheld the helicopter that had been in my dream. The sound of gunfire brought me back to reality from the vision thrust upon me. "Get the girls into the cockpit," ordered the pilot. I grabbed Beth and thrust her into the cockpit . A quick count told me that about 20 armed men were advancing on us, firing automatic weapons. I returned for Sue, who was standing there like a target. She wasn't looking at the attackers; she was focused on the helicopter. I picked her up and shoved her into the cockpit, then turned back to see what was happening. Two men in business suits and sunglasses, firing Uzis, charged the helicopter. They recoiled suddenly about ten feet away from me. It was as if they had run into an invisible wall set in thin air. Then I realized suddenly that there were no bullets whizzing about us and no holes appearing in the helicopter's frame. What the hell was happening here? I couldn't make up my mind if this was some kind of trap or one of those fantastic visions from my dream. The pilot stood there calmly, holding what appeared to be a pack of cigarettes in his hand. Patches of silver appeared briefly in the air in front of him and fluttered to the ground. Beyond him, where the rear entrance of the Sheriff's station should have been, was a large sign. It was faded with age and weathered, but I could still read the word "Appliances" on it without difficulty. That made no sense at all. Nobody sold appliances out of the back of a Sheriff's office. I glanced around me at the parking lot. There were no Sheriff's cars here, just a couple of large helicopters sitting across the lot. My head started to spin. I rubbed my temples and tried to focus. I became aware that the pilot was shouting at me. "Get in and belt up," he commanded. The air shimmered bright red for a moment, and the attackers dropped to the ground. I jumped into a seat and clasped the belt across my lap. The pilot sprinted across the parking lot and bent over one of the fallen bodies, removed something from the man's vest pocket and placed it within his own. He headed toward a group of the fallen, bent down and grabbed something. He placed it under his arm and raced to the helicopter. He entered through the pilots door and tossed a briefcase into the back near the girls. His hands worked a number of switches, and the rotor started to grind. A slow, thumping noise started, increased in frequency, and we began to rise as the pilot pulled back on the stick. I squirmed around in my seat to check on the girls. A wave of nausea passed over me as I glanced into the back of the 'copter. I felt dizzy, and everything started spinning. What the hell was happening to me? A.L.F. will return with Part 4 in the next UI. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Underground Informer Volume 4 Issue 17 October 16, 1993 Page 13 >> BBS HAPPENINGS << A Roundup of News and Special Events in the BBS Community --> Online Love Notes --> Grendel and Silver Belle Announce Engagement Grendel and Silver Belle, a popular couple known by BBS'ers on many area boards, recently announced their engagement. Although the pair didn't meet online, theirs certainly qualifies as an online romance since they met just over a year ago at the After Hours second anniversary party, and they are very actively involved in local BBS'ing. In addition to After Hours, Grendel and Silver Belle also call The Annex, Blazin' Bytes, Miller's Party Board, Modem Butterfly, The Motherboard, and Zola's Pleasure Palace. A definite wedding date has not yet been set, but Grendel and Silver Belle are tentatively planning on mid-1994 nuptials. Congratulations and best wishes to Grendel and Silver Belle from all of us at the Underground Informer! --> Dateline: Many L.A.-Area Boards --> Event: Eeeek Night At The Palace The publishers and editors of "Eeeek Bits" online magazine have organized a Halloween party that promises to be the most spectacular BBS event of the year! At 9 p.m. on October 31, the doors of Hollywood's famous Palace will open for a fabulous night of fun. The first 300 people who shout "Eeeek" at the door will take home a free gift. Costumes are optional, but there will be prizes for the Best, Worst and Most Original costumes. Entertainment includes music by the RS232's (opening band) and J.D. Hall (feature band). An Amateur Comedy Showcase and Contest will be hosted by comedian Amy Rafano, with a prize of a 14.4 modem to the winner. Comedian Roger Kabler (the Zima man) will open the Comedy Showcase, and magician Steel Fire as Beetlejuice will bring it to a close. There will also be dancing to music provided by a DJ, full bar and food. At press time for this issue, the sponsoring BBSes (in alphabetical order) are After Hours, The Annex, Avatar Online, Baud Town, Beyond Eternity, Chatterbox, Dreamscape, Fireside, Infomat, KBBS, LA Online, Modem Butterfly, The Motherboard, Pasadena Online, Talk Salad, Westside, and Ye Olde Pleasure Shoppe. In addition to these BBSes, the Underground Informer is also a participating sponsor. The Palace is located at 1735 North Vine Street in Hollywood, and you must be 18 or older (ID will be checked) to attend. Tickets are $12.50 in advance (available at all TicketMaster outlets, including Music*Plus, Robinsons*May and Tower Records) or $15 at the door (if the event does not sell out in advance). For more details, see the related article on page 2 of this issue, --> Dateline: Beeline and Desiree's World of Desire --> Event: Halloween Party Members of Beeline BBS and Desiree's World of Desire are planning on a big Halloween party night at The Ice House Annex, 24 N. Mentor Avenue in Pasadena. Presented by CHERON Productions, the evening will include a Halloween show featuring Sylvester the Jester, Bieno Svengali and the Fabulous Ms. Fabos, and The Improv Inferno. After the show, the Mystery DJ will take over with Halloween music and dancing. The party is set for Sunday, October 31, from 7 to 11 p.m. at The Ice House Annex (Lake Street exit from the 134 freeway to Walnut, turn left one block to Mentor, then turn right and go several blocks to the Ice House). Cover charge is $6.50 per person, reduced to $5.50 for individuals in costume or $6.50 per costumed couple. Prizes will be awarded for the Best, Sexiest and Funniest Costumes. For additional information, call 818-577-1895 after 2:00 p.m. --> Dateline: Blazin' Bytes --> Event: Still Searching for the Ultimate Pizza They're at it again at Blazin' Bytes. Another "Search for the Ultimate Pizza" party is set for Tuesday, October 27 at 7:30 p.m. Where? "HaHaHaHaHaHa! Surprise! To be announced!" says Blazin' Barb. There's no telling what sort of trick Barb has up her sleeve this time, although she did state that this will NOT be a Halloween party. Curious members of Blazin' Bytes can find out online on October 21, when the mystery location will be announced. --> Dateline: After Hours --> Event: 8th Season of BBS Bowling League The 8th season of the BBS Bowling League begins on Sunday, October 24, at a new location, the Matador Bowl in Northridge (Balboa Boulevard at Nordhoff Street). It promises to be a wild kick-off for the league, since everyone is invited to come dressed for Halloween! An organizational meeting is set for 2 p.m., followed by bowling from 3 to 5 p.m. League bowling fees are $10 per week, with lots of prizes at the end of the season. This league is open to anyone who would like to join, regardless of experience or BBS affiliation. RSVP: Party Sissy 3 at After Hours. --> Dateline: Chatterbox --> Event: Pizza Pig-Out Chatterbox is another of the sponsors of the October 31 "Eeeek Night at the Palace" (Sysop Don says, "I'm thinking of going as myself--I figure that is a scary enough costume!"), but even that big event isn't enough socializing for one month. The board plans a Pizza Pig-Out meet at Roundtable Pizza in Van Nuys (15355 Sherman Way, just west of Sepulveda Boulevard) on Thursday, October 21 at 7 p.m. --> Dateline: The Westside BBS --> Event: Monthly Meet with Drawings and Prizes The Westside is participating in the Halloween "Eeeek Night at the Palace" and offering a little extra incentive to its members. Westsiders can take their "Eeeek Night" ticket stub to the November 6th Flakey Jake's Meet to enter a drawing for two extra door prizes: $100 in cash and an AM/FM Cassette "Boom Box." In addition, all the usual door prizes will be offered at the November meet, held at Flakey Jake's in Culver City. --> Dateline: Blazin' Bytes --> Event: Vintage Threads Sunday, September 26, a buncha Blazin' Bytes gals got up early and headed for the "Hollywood Vintage Clothing Marketplace." We found over 75 kiosks all packed with lovely clothing and accessories, each bespeaking a bygone era. We saw everything from fragile Victorian gauze dresses to polyester bell-bottoms! There were exquisite old textiles, high-button shoes, leathers, jewelry, trimmings, buttons, tons of cowboy boots and Western wear (GREAT for you Country-Western dancers), flannel and Hawaiian shirts, dramatic hats and "funky-50's" ones (smile... shades of my youth!), and lots more!!! All that shopping got us hungry by the time noon rolled around, so we headed over to the lovely French Quarter, where we dined under the pitched roof of an indoor wrought-iron gazebo. Lunch was terrific, and the atmosphere was that of a New Orleans, or perhaps Martinique Street! Unusually attractive and sophisticated... We were indoors, but it FELT like outdoors. BTW... For those interested, the "Hollywood Vintage Clothing Marketplace" is located at 1632 North La Palmas in Hollywood, a few blocks east of Vine and just off Hollywood Boulevard. Hours are from 8 a.m. to 3 p.m., and the event is held every fourth Sunday. The next is October 24, then November 8, December 26, and January 22. (Reported by Blazin' Barb.) --> Dateline: After Hours --> Event: Free Access for Donations As a sponsor of the "Eeeek Night at the Palace" Halloween party, After Hours is also contributing to a "Safe Halloween" party for L.A.-area children which Eeeek Bits and the Palace are holding on the afternoon of October 31. After Hours is encouraging its members to contribute individually to this charity effort by offering two months of free access. A $10 donation earns two months at level 4, $15 earns the same time at level 5, and $20 earns level 6 access. >>> ATTENTION: Sysops and BBS Social Planners! <<< If YOUR board's events are not getting coverage you would like to see in The Underground Informer, it just might be that you're not telling us about them! We want to know, and our readers want to know. Send details to the UI at any of the addresses listed on the last page of this issue. The UI also welcomes news about special events in the lives of BBS members, including weddings and birth announcements. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Underground Informer Volume 4 Issue 17 October 16, 1993 Page 14 Circulation: 163,386 SnailMail address: Published in the Underground (Where else?) The Underground Informer 4161 Tujunga Avenue #104 Studio City, CA 91604 Publisher and Editor: Celeste Dolan (The Publisher and Editor may also be reached at the following e-mail addresses. Mail for UI authors will be forwarded by the editor.) After Hours: Celeste 2576 Beeline: Celeste 357 Beyond Eternity: Celeste 329 Blazin' Bytes: Celeste Chatterbox!: Celeste Excalibur: Celeste 16 KBBS: Celeste LV-426: Celeste Lynzie's Motherboard: Celeste 1518 Stepping Stone Hotel: Celeste 1053 The Westside: Celeste 4446 24th Century BBS: Celeste UI Writing Staff: All Nighter Delta 1 Laser-Lite Pagan The Phoenix Prickly Porcupine Ralph the Fried Gerbil Ryk J.L. Seagull StarStorm Uncle Gibby UI Staff Associates (occasional contributors): Crazyman David Dennis The Game Junkie Indro Kitten Barry "Bear" Pease OmegaTron Pip Tom Sawyer Siberian Shasta The Stormbringer The Unknown Griper The Write Knight ...and UI Snoopers and Informants on boards everywhere! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ >>>>> NOTICE TO SYSOPS! <<<<< Join The Underground Network! Your BBS can become a member of the growing family of California and out-of-state boards offering their users the one-and- only, original UNDERGROUND INFORMER. There is no charge to sysops for the UI. Contact the UI Publisher at any of the above SnailMail or e-mail addresses for details. You may become a Registered Distributor of the UI by calling LV-426 BBS, home of the Underground Informer, to fill out your registration form: LV-426, Studio City, CA at 818-752-8040 (1200-14.4K baud) has a sysop information packet and registration form in the "A" (free transfer) section, or you can leave feedback for Celeste Dolan, co-sysop. The UI can be read online in the "Y" text section and downloaded from the "A" transfer section. The Underground Informer is also available to sysops from this authorized re- distributor of the UI: Beyond Eternity, Manhattan Beach, CA at 310-371-3734 (12/24/9600 baud) or 310-370-9464 (3/12/2400): Choose [O]rder Desk from the Main Menu to fill out your registration. The UI can be read online in the [P]ub section and downloaded from the "UI" section of the library. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Newest Members of The Underground Network (A partial list of UI distributors which includes only those BBSes that have joined The Underground Network within the last 90 days.) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ CompuCa$h (1-line MegaHost; Northridge, CA; 818-772-7036, 6PM-Midnite) Desiree's World of Desire (2-line DLX; Pasadena, CA; 213-258-0726) FUNN San Diego (32-line TBBS; San Diego, CA; 619-549-3866) INTERACT! (48-line Major BBS; Honolulu, HI; 808-536-7133) Mississippi Online (1-line Telefinder; Clarksdale, MS; 601-627-4811) Network 23 (1-line Virtual BBS; Los Angeles, CA; 213-224-0032) Programmer's Depot (2-line PCBoard; Toronto, Ont., Canada; 416-699-5158) Talk Channel (32-line DLX; Canoga Park, CA; 818-348-0476) Tech World BBS (1-line Renegade; Tarzana, CA; 818-342-7535) The High Society BBS (4-line GAP; Beverly, MA; 508-927-6951) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Industrial strength copyright notice: Entire publication copyright (c) 1993 Celeste Dolan. Copyright to individual articles is owned by the author(s). All rights reserved. The Underground Informer is protected by U.S. and international copyright laws. Nothing in this publication may be altered, deleted, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photo-copying, recording, or otherwise) in whole or in part without prior written permission of the Publisher and Editor. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Disclaimer: The articles, stories and other items in this publication do not necessarily reflect the opinions or views of the sysops, staff, paying members, or unpaid guests of any BBS anywhere in the known universe. Many of the articles are presented as a parody of real events and should in no way be construed as hav- ing any bearing whatsoever on anything at all. The State of California re- quires that we advise persons with little or no sense of humor that this pub- lication contains information which might be considered harmful to the brain given regular exposure to it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Closing thought: "People want to know why I do this, why I write such gross stuff. I like to tell them I have the heart of a small boy--and I keep it in a jar on my desk." --Stephen King ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~