From: BucketmouthSubject: The scare at O'Hare: Alt.stupidity 2000 conference cntd... Date: 22 Sep 2000 00:00:00 GMT Message-ID: <39CB59DC.787691B1@geocities.com> Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Accept-Language: en Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii X-Complaints-To: news@uq.edu.au X-Trace: bunyip.cc.uq.edu.au 969628141 30953 172.22.17.128 (22 Sep 2000 13:09:01 GMT) Organization: University of Queensland Mime-Version: 1.0 NNTP-Posting-Date: 22 Sep 2000 13:09:01 GMT Newsgroups: alt.stupidity The roaming plenary address at O'Hare was given by John Lodder, assisted by an astrophysics babe who was having trouble understanding the Australian vernacular I thnik. At the first alarm raised by High Priestess Naomi, I thot I was about to be enlisted by an Eastern Mystic cult because the sign was bright orange and both plenary speakers had really long hair and looked far too relaxed for my liking. The tall one was a bit scary looking, and my nerves, which were already jingled, began also to jangle. Luckily it was only John Lodder, unplanned plenary number seven. I breathed a sigh of relief. This was definitely no Billclone, even though he looked exactly the same as the other John Lodder. But then double vision is a real killer. The plenary was pleasant, informative, and free flowing, even though I still don't know who April is, which is what I really wanted to know. This deeply guarded sekrit needs to be exposed once and for all, mainly because I thnik it is code for some invasion thing. But then paranoia is a real killer. But not as bad as starBUCKS coffee. Lodder turned nasty half way through the address. He took me past some neon daggery deco walkway tunnel which was clearly designed to bring on either an epileptic fit or an hallucinogenic experience. I had both at once, but I managed to keep my composure and pretend I was still sane. At the end of said tunnel was yet another starBUCKS coffee thing where people yelled strange things at me and served protocoffee. There are no seats in O'Hare, so we had to continue the conference standing in the middle of the corso. Police began staring strangely at us. Greg's martian-like appendages (clip on belt buckle glasses holders) coffused them enough that they left us alone. I can't even remember the point of the plenary address, although it had a lot to do with literary theory, strangulation, gender studies, Saussure, Levi-Strauss, astrophysics, and the age of high-structuralism --- all interestingly stupid stuff, worthy of at least a decent coffee WHICH DOES NOT EXIST IN THE UNITED STEAKS. In the end, Lodder was about to try and tear the conference t-shirt off me for himself and Rochelle to wear on alternate Thuesdays, but I made a run for it just as I saw that he had supposed my trip through the neon hulllucin-o-cave, as well as the bad proto-coffee, had kicked in. He started to reach for the pig on my shirt. I ran, waving to the astrobabe as I hit the runway where they said the plane was supposed to be. Ahhhhhhhh .... hahahahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Jetlag is a wunnerful thnig. Spatch bless you all, and may the horse be with you. Murflmmmm jh*Y^^*&%^ *plonk* Bucketmouth -- regressing after thniking about the hallucinocave
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