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Mon, 04 Aug 1997 12:25:52 -0700 absolutely maniacal, she moves through the trees as though two of the four horsemen are actually right there behind her, which wouldn't surprise her, as she left the other two dead in a bar ten minutes ago after a rather ugly altercation involving alternate readings of the book of revelation from a strictly radical feminist perspective. her GPS unit has been disabled by Job the Wonder Computer, acting on orders from the current Panetheometapriestess of the Yapping Podge. of the two horsemen, death is more likely to find her than famine, as death eventually comes to us all - however, death's horsey, like all other horseys on the board, can only move two squares and then one square or one square and then two squares, whereas she herself can do whatever she damn well chooses because she has decided to play Risk instead of chess. at the rendezvous, her paramour, Fuckhead Magoo, swoops down from the trees in a specially designed two person jump jet, equipped with the latest in black market weaponry smuggled into the country by remnants of the Central Intelligence Agency, now led by anarchocryptohackers operating on a small island owned by Wired magazine, having been banished from the United States of InfiniTek a full 39 days ago by freedom-loving Republicans and Journalists waving "U.S. Constitution - The Hypertext Edition" as the flags unfurled. there are rockets on this jump jet that will blast you clear into next god damn tuesday, all right? she leaps aboard and Fuckhead Magoo shouts "turboboost, KITT!" and the little thing levels some of the last freestanding old growth forests in the pacific northwest with its patented BigAssAfterburners, manufactured in the pre-Freezing War days, back before the two Koreas reunited and renamed themselves "The Republic of Frank," back before that freak earthquake leveled Washington, D.C., killing every member of the government all the way down to the point where executive assistant in charge of reordering congressional paper clips, Eddie "the Clip" Feister, became Acting President and promptly issued the order that would forever change the course of world history: "Ladies and gentlemen, from now on everybody runs Linux!" those were the days, she thought, a bittersweet wave of emotion crawling over her like mutant termites from that accident in Nevada (you remember, the whole horrible episode was dramatized in the eighth X-Files movie, the one written shortly after Chris Carter was lobotomized by the Cancer Man and Duchovny and Anderson were replaced by the same two actors who replaced Bo and Luke Duke in that one season of Dukes of Hazzard - you remember, Coy and Vance? ah, fergeddabouddit, we'd all like to forget now wouldn't we?). she could feel their little legs, their little wings, telling her that there was much more to life than this, this flight, this constant insurrection, hopping from one Temporary Astonishment Zone to the next, always in search of the clan that wanted her, needed her, ravished her, loved her. always in search of the tribe that would turn her inside out, reveal the hidden plans to that battle station, and erase this mess called history.
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