COMPWAR.DOC written December, 1991 Copyright (C) 1991, 1992 by Green Hell, Inc. (Unlimited distribution is permitted as long as file remains unchanged.) "Computer Wars : A Tale Of Mass Mac Destruction" [STILL YET ANOTHER INFAMOUS GREEN HELL PRODUCTION] "JEFF!!!!" "WHAT?!" "Get the hell away from the keyboard! You ninny!!" "Jeez... can't have any fun..." :( Dedaparamaxxaginos Productions Presents . . . "Computer Wars : A Tale Of Mass Mac Destruction" ("Spoil sport.") ("Nobody loves you, Jeff.") INTRODUCTION: ------------- It is the year 2000. The 21st century. [No! That's not until 2001!] It is the year 2001. The 21st century. [That's better.] [But now we're facing possible law suits from Stanley Kubrik.] It is the year 2002. The 21st century. ARE YOU TWO FUCKING HAPPY NOW? [Yes.] [Yes.] [Ummm, guys...] Who are YOU and what do YOU want? [I'm the third overvoice.] Well SHUT UP and let me get on with it! [Okay.] [Some people.] [I swear!] ALL THREE OF YOU...QUIET! [SILENCE] [SILENCE] [THHHHB!!] It is a time of great madness. The universal question: which personal computer is the best? Great bands of dirty warriors roam the streets of Gainesville (except for the student ghetto, which is still full of bums), preaching the gospels of their favorite personal computers (okay, we know it's weak, but we're tired dammit). Desolation. Destruction. Death. Mayhem. Dead 'Noles. Everything is wasteland. The Amiga users are the most dangerous of these martyrs. They multi-task and are capable of formatting large quantities of diskettes simultaneously. They confuse users of other computers by running different BBS's and different BBS programs on the same machine. They are truly a force to be reckoned with. Greater in number, but more frivolous than their Amiga-using adversaries, are the IBM users. They form great rallies nightly where M they worship a grand-scale model of the new 986 1029 MIP 853 MHz O processor from Intel. They are a ragged group of warriors who will E only fight when there's a new GIF or GRASP to be had. The smallest band of brigands, but by FAR the most fierce in their beliefs, are the users of the Macintosh 7+ DE (which now, instead of resembling a TOASTER like previous models, resembles a frost-free refrigerator with ICE-maker option). Running in small tribes of ten or so, they dash about, sabotaging small fly-by-night computer hardware stores. Beopunk Cyberwulf and Anuargus are the leaders of the fierce Amiga warriors. All who see these mighty conquerors tremble in fear. Imaginos and Dedaparamaxx lead the rebellious and really awfully silly IBM users. These two and their followers are generally regarded as pirate scum who'll do ANYTHING for a new secret missions disk for Wing Commander XXII, or any GIF with a monkey and a woman in it. And lastly, one lone warrior brings together the flighty bands of MAC users. Known only as Maclord, he wields his one-button mouse menacingly in the face of all his enemies. The mayor of Gainesville, a fellow known as Morgan Bluejeans, tries very hard to maintain order in his once peaceful (except for the occasional psychotic killing) town. But the bands of computer terrorists have grown too large in number and power, and Bluejeans can do little more than look on the town and think of a better time. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Beopunk Cyberwulf and Anuargus stand sitting by a campfire in South Gainesville. They are dressed in high-resolution rags and hold spears adorned with pictures of the Amiga 1000 -- a symbol looked upon with respect by all the elders of the Amiga tribe. "So, Beopunk," says Anuargus, "what is the result of the reconnaissance mission?" "The foolish IBMers are planning a full scale assault against our operating system programmers. The idiots are going to try to convert them." "Hahahah! What fools do they think we are that they think we are so foolish?" "You said it." "How shall we defend against these fiends that are so fiendishly odoriferous." "We shall anonymously notify the Macintosh users that the IBMers M are planning an assault against THEM. That way WE don't have to do O anything AND our software is protected!" E "What an excellent idea, that is so very good!" "Have you been smoking something?" "Not a thing have I smoked that has burned and gone into my lungs!" "Wait! Which one of us is speaking now?" "I'm not sure! Page up a few lines and try and follow the dialogue." "Hey, you authors! Put in a 'he said' or a 'Beopunk laughed' every now and then, will ya!" "Bloody amatures," Anuargus muttered. * * * Imaginos and Dedaparamaxx are sitting in a treehouse in east Gainesville, studying a map of the Amiga users' territory. It is a poor map, for indeed neither of them are cartologists, and in fact none of them can read Swahili--which is important if you ask ANY cartologist, and just what the FUCK is a cartologist ANYWAY?!?! And IS THERE, in fact, such a language as Swahili? "Imaginos, I have determined that there is an Amiga spy among us. For indeed, OUR spies have reported that their spies have spied on us. What did I mean by that, and how do I make my voice do this?" "I have no idea. Can we kill them now?" "No, a mission like this requires a detailed plan! We must have MORE MAPS. MORE AERIAL photographs!" "You programmers ALWAYS need a plan! Just KILL KILL KILL!" "Beopunk Cyberwulf is far too crafty for just an outright attack that he isn't expecting. He'll be expecting us to be prepared!" "We WANT THAT?" "Of COURSE we do, silly!" Dedaparamaxx slapped Imaginos on the side of his head. "Owwwwwwww," groaned Imaginos. "We want them to EXPECT us to be prepared, that way they WON'T expect us to use our secret weapon!" "We have a secret weapon!?" Dedaparamaxx slaps Imaginos again. "Of COURSE we do, silly! We have a weapon so ancient that they've no DEFENSE against it!" "And that is . . . ?" "I can't tell you now. There may be a spy lurking about who will leak the information and then it won't be a SECRET anymore, now will it?" He slaps Imaginos again. "Will you STOP slapping me!?" "Not if you don't behave. Now go feed your hamsters so that we can read these maps some more. And PLEASE try and find the Swahili dictionary." "I think Angus the Snake swallowed it." "SNAKES?!? There are SNAKES here?!!?" "It's only a little one..." "Destroy it immediately! Better yet! Feed it that Macintosh we captured last week!" "Yes, sir!" Imaginos wanders off toward the main camp of the IBMers. He pauses to worship the grand-scale 986 model, and continues onward. Dedaparamaxx thinks to himself, "At last I will crush ALL the M Amiga users! 'Tis a consumation devoutly to be wished! The BEST O part, though, is I get to torture that ANNOYING Beopunk Cyberwulf who E bugs me, but never touches me." He laughs outloud. "Muahahahahha!" ! * * * "Angus the snake?" "Can you think of something better?" "Well, I could take my shoes off..." "NO!!" "NOOO!!" * * * In the smaller Macintosh Camp, Maclord addresses the assembled masses of his followers. "A38E7! 6A4B4 B43635E 6D76378 856!" Woops, forgot to turn on the Universal Translator. "Hear me! The evil IBMers are planning a massed attack against us!" The assembled masses gasp collectively. "We must strike first! Unleash the dogs of war! Cry Havoc!" The assembled masses unleash numerous dogs of war and cries of "Havoc!" before Maclord is able to get them into an organized fighting group. "WE MARCH!" the mighty Maclord bellows, his one-button mouse holstered around his barrel chest over his "Apple Forever!" T-shirt. Small droves of loyal MacUsers follow behind, each carrying a Macintosh with the deadly ClubTool enhancement. Except for one poor straggler who sobs piteously over the capture of his Macintosh. It is a terrible, awesome, truely moving and *horrible* site to behold. * * * "Now what?" "High weirdness!" "We already got that." "Hey, save this and go to a terminal, I wanna log on VAX." "Dave, please... do something with Jeff." "Sure!" * * * Beopunk Cyberwulf and Anuargus watch from their secreted hiding place as the masses (well, handful) of MacUsers go onto the warpath. Anuargus cackles and rubs his hands together, saying "I'm so evil!" over and over again. "Would you *stop* that already?!" Beopunk exclaims. "But I'm so evil!" "It wasn't even your idea, you poser." "Nobody loves you." Beopunk frowns. "Why does that sound familiar?" "I don't know. Come on, let's unsecret ourselves and get back to our camp. I've got a new Amiga demo to run!" "Cool!" The two evil, calculating Amigoids slink away quietly, so as not to be noticed by the MacUsers. However, they neglect to notice the hidden hiding place in the hiding place they had been secreted in. A figure emerges. "Whoa! Wait'll the boss hear's about this!" Rad Rom mutters to himself. "I'll be sure to get that neat-o Tandy 1000 expansion kit he has tucked away!" The figure scurries off to the IBM encampment. * * * "Boy it's quiet." "Yeah." "Dave... what *did* you do with Jeff?" * * * At the base of the IBM warriors, Dedaparamaxx is watching a video- rats tape re-run of the special PrimeTime Live report on the asassination of the Lincoln Squirrel. Imaginos is busy feeding the hamsters, live cramming barly down their little throats like there's no tomorrow. on "And of course," Bryant Gumball's voice echos into the still night air, "the real question remains... Did Leland Palmer somehow reach out no from beyond the grave, and pull the trigger that brought an end to the Lincoln Squirrel?" He attempts to look serious, his eyebrows betraying evil him by jumping up and down, waving their arms. "Only time, and history, can tell." star Dedaparamaxx makes an annoyed snoring sound and looks for his copy of the "Santa Claus Versus The Martians" episode of MST 3000. He is distracted by the arrival of Rad Rom, who is panting. "Rad! Why are you panting? Did you just finish watching a Kevin Costner marathon?" "*pant* No *pant* but thanks *pant* for reminding me." "What is it?" "The Amiga folks! They've *pant* found out about the plan for us to attack them, and have *pant* managed to trick the MacUsers into attacking US!" Dedaparamaxx leaps up from his seat. After recovering from the pulled groin muscle that results, he shouts for Imaginos. "WHAAAAAAaaaaaaAAAAAAAAT!?!!!!????!" "Are the hamsters ready yet?!" "I think so... They need a bit more time to let their tummies settle." "We have no time! We must prepare for attack now!" Imaginos looks flustered. "But but, you said we weren't going to look prepared!" *SLAP!* "OOOOWWWWWWWWWWW!" "ALWAYS be prepared!" Dedaparamaxx quotes loudly. "Now get those hamsters running! And call out the Elite Guard! And find my MST 3000 tape #27, I really wanna watch it again." "Yes, my master." "Cut out the heavy breathing and MOVE!" Imaginos moves quickly, with Rad Rom's interested stare close BEHIND. * * * "You WHAT?!?" "It was just a little hole... really!" "Dave, don't you remember what one of Jeff's handles is?" "Um... no..." *Knock Knock* "Oh shit!" "I'll get it." "What for you bury me in the cold, cold ground?" "AIIEEEEE!" "Whoah! You're all covered with roots, man." * * * Meanwhile, in the home of the mayor... "Ok, now should I watch the Billy Joel 50th Birthday special, or the Billy Joel Does Ethiopia concert special? Oooooh, I hate having only one VCR!" There is a knock on the mayor's door. With a snap of his fingers, the Gainesville city leader opens the door, admitting BetrayU, his faithful servant. "Man... How did you do that?" the servant asks. "Same way I do that trick with the straw. What is it, faithful servant?" "Our police comissioner says the Comp-u-Geeks are at it again." "Don't use that word! I was once one of... them." "Yeah, but man, you *got* a life." "Thanks. What else did the comissioner say?" "He kept begging me for bearclaws so I gave him an ever-lasting- gob-stopper just to sooth my nerves." BetrayU shrugs. The Mayor of Gainesville nods. "Ok. Get some squad cars over to wherever the conflict is." "Ok." "And heat up the bat-mobile." "Huh?" "Just get my fragging limo!!" "Uh, sure!" * * * It was an awesome, terrifying, touching and *horrible* site. The army, well troop, well, group of MacUsers approached the IBM camp, M bellowing their rage. For a moment, things looked grim, but then the o hamsters kicked in and the IBMers begin to cackle their victory. e ? Microchips and floppy disks flew left and right. Shouts of "IBM!" and "Mac!" echoed back and forth, growing more and more frenzied. Demos were run, Benchmarks were performed, and a few MacUsers even got up the nerve to poke Dedaparamaxx in the belly, bugging him. "IMMAAAAAGGGIIIIINNNNNOOOOOOSSSSSS!" Dedaparamaxx cries across the battle field, kinda like how McLeod (of the clan McCleod) did in the movie "Highlander III : The We're-Really-Really-Really-Extremely- Sorry Apology", only without the scottish accent. "Yes?" Dedaparamaxx blinks, then turns around and slaps Imaginos. "OOOWWWWWWWW!" "Don't call me Shirley!" "Wh?" "Just listen. The MacUsers caught us with our pants down." Imaginos looks around nervously for Rad Rom. "No no! I mean that figuratively. Now, we *must* find that Amiga spy and track down those annoying Amigians, Anuargus and Beopunk Cyberwulf." "And kill them!" "Well, wait until we find them." "No! I wanna kill them NOW!" "Do you want me to call the Mayor and have him archive you?" "NOOOOO!!! I'll be good." Dedaparamaxx slaps Imaginos around for good measure, then sends him off to find the Amiga spy. He turns back to the battle in time to see a Macintosh accelerated... (get everyone to say this together now) at 9.98 meters per second per second! "Heh heh heh!" he laughs gleefully. * * * "Jeff, can we get up now?" "Shut up. I'm the pope." "Er, sire... can we get up now." "No. Jeff just wants to *kill* you a little." "I think he's been reading 'Cerebus' a lot. Should I take off my socks?" "Noooo!!!" "NO!" * * * Through the darkened, winding streets of Gainesville, the Bat- Limo glides like a glass whisper on silk. ("Ooooooh! Nice simile, Jeff!!") ("You still can't get up, Bryan.") Behind the wheel of the vehicle, the Mayor of Gainesville's trusty servant... Wait... Behind the wheel of the vehicle, Gainesville's Mayor's trusty servant (that's better) peers grimly into the night, as Morgan Bluejeans relaxes in the backseat, talking to the police commissioner. "No fragging bearclaws, got it?! Just get your ass over to downtown mainstreet now! I'm not going to take anymore of the Computer War conflicts on my streets! I'm the God, I'M THE GOD!!!" BetrayU mutters an "Oh brother" and continues to drive on. * * * At that same moment, Dedaparamaxx is in direct confrontation with Maclord and his evil one-button mouse. The spittle is flying fast and furious as they scream insults and quote from technical manuals. The hoards of fighters around them gradually fall back, either in defeat or a sincere need to find some Yoo-Hoo strawberry drink. Imaginos is prowling along the edges of the battle, occasionally slamming a MacUser to the ground with one hand and a cry of "Commie!" He keeps looking, trying to spot the Amiga spy. "Commie!" "Urgh." *thud* "Commie!" "Umph!" *thunk* "Commie!" "Liberal! AUGH!" *THUMP* "Commie!" "Commodore, god damn it!" There is a momentary silence, punctuated by a Speedy-Gonzalez sort of sound. Imaginos goes running through the battlefield, dangling the traitor by an ankle, while singing the theme to "Bonanza". He finds Dedaparamaxx in a deathstruggle with Maclord over an optical mouse. "I found the traitor! Can I kill him, huhuhuhuh?!" "Umph... Urgh... OW! You fucker!" Dedaparamaxx yells at Maclord, who had just bit his thumb. Maclord cackles, then notices Imaginos. "'Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord'" Imaginos quotes. Maclord suddenly finds something else much more interesting to do very far away. *SLAP* "OOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWW!" "I almost had him, you dink!" "Hey! I just found the traitor, and that's the thanks I get?!" Imaginos waves his hands around, causing the Amiga spy to flop around a great deal and make little 'eek' noises. "My God! It's... It's..." "Full of stars?" "NO! It's... Cheetara!" "You snivveling IBM weenies! The Amiga Liberation Front shall *crush* your puny lives!" "But... But... I thought you *liked* Windows!" Dedaparamaxx wails. "Get real. With *that* much overhead?" Cheetara snickers evilly. "Can I kill him? Huhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhu????!#$%" "Weelllll..." But before Dedaparamaxx can complete his sentence, there is suddenly a rumbling war cry from across the street, and the forces of the Amiga Liberation Front pour across the IBM and MacUsers both. "ACK!" It's an awesome, terrifying, touching and *horrible* site. Anuargus slashes left and right with his might three-button optical mouse, cutting down all that oppose him. Beopunk Cyberwulf cackles a lot and forces his victims to watch the newest Amiga demo, "Slayer Meets The 68040". The carnage is simply stupefying. Dedaparamaxx and Imaginos find themselves weeping for mercy-- * * * "You are *so* dead." "Hah!" "Jeff... Did you remember my dog? Here Woody!" "Oh shit..." * * * Suddenly, there's a time-warp. Just as the Amiga Liberation Front issues there battle-cry, the IBM'ers rise up and utterly CRUSH everyone. And everything. No resistance remains. Even the cockroaches are-- * * * *GRRROOOWWWWL* "Wow man! He's biting your dog!" "Stop him, I can't afford tetanus shots!" "Look out!" * * * Suddenly, there's another time-warp. The Amiga Liberation Front formats the whole downtown mainstreet area, and writes over it with C+++** and several GIF's. * * * "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!" "Um..." "Uh..." "Er..." "I can't even leave you guys alone for a minute. Jeff, put down that dog. Imaginos, put your socks on. Bryan, drink some beer." "Yes Sir." "Ok Ben." "Uh, sure!" "And give me that keyboard!" * * * Suddenly, there's another time-warp, dammit. Just as the Amiga Liberation Front begins to tear into the IBM'ers and MacUsers, the Bat-Limo glides into the area, accompanied by several GPD police units. The Mayor leaps out, shouting "Stop! Cease! Desist!" The police get out, trying to look menacing but only look hungry. "There is no need for this conflict!" The Mayor shouts. The assembled forces watch at him, expressionless. "There is something you can *all* agree on! A system that *all* can use equally, in peace and tranquility!" The wind whips mangled floppies by in the silence that follows, until someone says "What?" The Mayor smiles. "Unix." * * * It is the year 2003. The 21st century. It is a time of great madness. The universal question: which is the better editor, VI or Emacs? * * * "There." "Hmph." "Shut up Jeff. Just... shut up." "Hey, let's go get some buritos!" "NO!" "NOOOOOO!" "ACK!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A quick explanation: When this file was started, it was done in the absence of Morgan Bluejeans, in lieu of working on Dead IV. That's why we made him Mayor, in fact. However, it didn't get very far without the presence of intoxicating substances. So it was saved, to be worked on at a later date. Eventually, I (name witheld to protect me) got Dedaparamaxx to give me a copy of the uncompleted file, planning to just add a few bits. I swear, that's all I was going to do... And then, before you know it, Dead IV is finished and interest in Computer Wars had waned. I was told by the Mighty One himself, Dedaparamaxx, to go ahead and complete this file myself. So that's why it seems kinda different than the usual Dedaparamaxxinos Productions stuff. That, and one other factor... I don't drink or take drugs. So this file is, as strange as it may seem, 100 percent drug-and- alcohol-free. All natural ingredients, with no artifical colorings or bi-directional palindromes. (Ok, just one bi-directional palindrome.) And now, to close, I'd like to present a few Heavy Metal Lyrics, just to piss he guys off. Good night, and may your God go with you. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Fate silent warriors, sleeping souls will arise, Once forgotten soldiers come to life. Fallen mercenary, dormancy is done, Not content with wars we never won! Memories can't ignore, anguish of before, Satisfy the score, arise Ghosts Of War! Target, assassinate, time of your life has expired, Hatred, victimize, gaze in their eyes as they die. Violence, inflicting of pain, savage morticians deny, Drive the salt in the wound, arouse the subconscious to lie! Memories can't ignore, anguish of before, Satisfy the score, arise Ghosts Of War! I deal in pain, All life I drain. I... dominate, I seal your fate. I deal in pain, All life I drain. Memories can't ignore, Arise Ghosts of War! --"Ghosts Of War" by Slayer, from "South Of Heaven" ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Dedaparamaxx's Commentary Nobody loves you, Jeff. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- CREDITS ------- Dedaparamaxxaginos Productions (lack-of-good) Management Staff -------------------------------------------------------------- Dedaparamaxx: Head writer, head dum kopf, head head. Imaginos: Master of cows and demented thoughts. Morgan Bluejeans: Cyberspace expert, maker of "big funnies." Tempus Fugit: Latin scholar, possessor of "outrageous French Accent." Temporarily exiled to Russia. Sometimes, but not all times, staff writers ------------------------------------------- Jeff the Riffer: Evil! Evil! Evil! Diskwiz: Cyberspace engineer, editor-in-sleep. IF YOU'RE CRAZY ENOUGH TO WANT TO CONTACT US: --------------------------------------------- Dedaparamaxxaginos Productions, LTD, INC, PhD, BS, FTD. 8009 SW 55th PL Gainesville, FL 32608 No CODs please. We don't like getting fish in the mail. That is a REAL address, and any correspondence sent there will be answered according to our moods, but it WILL be answered. Letter bombs will be returned to sender, unopened. Drugs, money, complements, and general ramblings are accepted. To receive a group photo of the Dedaparamaxxaginos Productions staff, send a self-addressed, stamped envelope and a quarter wrapped in duct tape to the above address. Mail may also be sent to mongo@maple.circa.ufl.edu. Copyright (c) 1991, 1992 Bryan E. Slatner All Rights Reserved. Unlimited distribution of this file is allowed as long as it remains unchanged. Otherwise, we'll stuff you in Imaginos's sock drawer.