Welcome to the 11th Edition of the TFWD Newsletter.  While delayed for some time by International Communism, PETA, and WAL (Women Against Ladies), we're back, and once again, better than ever.  While we have old faithfules like Beezelbub and Gangrene, The Underground, another installment in the Starchaser series, and a whole slew of neat images, we're also gaining some new and interesting features.  You will encounter glimpses of the new fantasy world of Domvorak, pioneered by our very own Jeff Russell.  You will read a hilarious spoof by Kenny DeRobertis, lampooning the new series Enterprise.  In the Articles Relating To Real Life section, we have some material submitted by Marc Nichols.
And, as stated, no more Rod Serling jokes.  Really.  We promise.
In addition to a few surprises (well, mostly stuff that will get added in after I write this teaser...err....I mean...) this is your TFWD Newsletter.  Let us join the fray.

Ahhh, nothing like a bunch of teens wanting to take over the world, huh?
Along those lines...
Even an Organization Bent On World Domination Needs A Few Ground Rules....

1. ALL SUBMISSIONS, JOKES, PHOTOGRAPHS, PICS, TOP SECRET DOCUMENTS, STORIES AND
ASSORTED PARAPHERNALIA AND PROPAGANDA go to [email protected], where we'll edit
them and stick them in the newsletter.

2. HAVE A FRIEND WHO'D WANT TO JOIN? It doesn't matter if they're not a teen, or bent on
world domination, as long as you think they'd be interesting, invite them along!

3.  Early to bed and early to rise makes a man stupid and blind in the eyes.

4. THIS WILL BE THE ONLY TFWD NEWSLETTER. Anything else is to be considered a shameless copy
and a nuisance and should  be shunned appropriately.

5. Visit the webpage AT:
http://members.fortunecity.com/tfwd/;  where we present the newsletter and post arguments on the forum.
OR
subscribe to the fiery debate listserver of
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6. THIS NEWSLETTER SHALL NOT BE DISTRIBUTED OUTSIDE OF YOUR OWN E-MAIL ACCOUNT. This
includes most of its contents, too. Some stories and jokes and stuff may be allowed to be distributed, but only with
the authors consent.

7. YOU MUST HAVE FUN WITH THIS. If you don't we'll have to come in the night, drag you out into
the street, and shoot you. Well, you weren't having fun anyways....

8. RESPONSES TO THIS NEWSLETTER ARE STRONGLY ENCOURAGED. Let those debates rip! But gently!  Oh so gently!

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READ OUR DISCLAIMER AT THE BOTTOM OF THE NEWSLETTER

We begin the frenzy with a spoof of the new Enterprise series, written by Kenny DeRobertis....

Question:  How Many crewmen of Enterprise does it take to change a Light bulb?

Answer:

   Captain�s log November 30, 2015: We are currently on route to the planet Vulcan for resupplying and maybe a little shore leave, because I bet with a little encouragement even Vulcans could act happy.

Hoshi:  Captain, we are receiving a distress call from a ship, the Pillager.

Archer:  Put it through.

(An image of a man with a peg-leg, eye patch, bandanna, and a parrot on his shoulder appears on screen.)

Ferd: Arr, I be Cap�n Yin Ferd of the Pillager, and me mates and me be needin� help.  We were attackin� --er-- I mean attacked by a Vulcan vessel, and we �ad to jettison the friggin� core.  Arr, we be needin� yer spare.

Reed:  Captain, these people are obviously pirates.  We should go in and blow them up!

Archer:  Now, now.  We shouldn�t do that.  Looks can be deceiving.  I�m sure they would be nice reasonable people if we gave them�a chance. (big smile)

T'pol:  Captain, may I remind you that are current mission is to resupply the ship, not to help people who are in distress, and will die without our help.  Besides all that, they are obviously lying, because Vulcans would not have attacked them, being superior to humans in nearly every way.  In fact, there are so many that I have prepared a list.  They are:  1. Smarter.  2. Stronger.  3. Have better vision.  4. H  ave better hearing.  5. Are more logical.  6.  Smell better�

(T'pol drones on in the background)

Trip:  Everyone knows that Vulcans are damned liars!  They've always resented the fact that we discovered warp drive, just 500 years after them!  We should help those pirates, and wage war on the Vulcans.

Archer: What are you doing here, Trip?  Shouldn�t you be in Engineering?

T'pol: 8.  Are more Humble�

Trip:  I�m setting a precedent.  Eventually all regulars on starships will be on the bridge randomly, from irate doctors to ship�s counselors to senior engineers.

T'pol:  10.  Cook better food�
Archer:  Hoshi, tell Captain Ferd that we do not have an extra warp core, but we can take their crew to Vulcan, where they can make arrangements for a new one.

Ferd:  Arr, ye just did, captain.  You fergot t� turn off yer screen.  We�ll be boardin�--ah um--comin� aboard yer vessel soon.

T'pol:  13.  Dance better�

(Captain Ferd, some random pirates, Captain   Ò Archer, and Commander Trip are walking around engineering.)

Ferd:  So this is yer core, arr.  It runs ever�thing, cannons, propulsion and so on?

Trip:  Yes, it powers everything, without it we only have impulse.

Ferd:  And how ,arr, long would it take to get to Vulcan on, arr,  only impulse?

Trip:  About five years.  Why?

Ferd:  G-arr-ood.  No rea-arr-son. (points behind all of them.)  Look it�s a cursed scheming Vulcan.  (Commander Trip turns around.)  Arr� who constantly doubts himself and could do with a sappy inspirational message, arr! (Captain Archer turns around.)  Mates, now!

Archer:  See, I told you they would be nice people once you gave them� a chance. (big smile).

T'pol (on intercom):  127.  Have better teeth�

Trip:  Damn Vulcans.  Well I guess you were righ---(all the lights go off in the ship, and the emergency lights go on.)

(Both turn back around.  The pirates are gone, and the warp core is now black)

Archer:  Hey, what happened to Captain Ferd, and doesn�t the warp core normally glow?

Trip:  My God, they've stolen the Core!

Archer:  Isn�t the big blue glowing cylinder the core?

Trip:  No, that�s just the casing.  The real warp core is an antimatter-powered, three million watt, incandescent, blue, frosted, Sylvania light bulb.

Archer:  See if you can replace it.  I am going to the Bridge.

(On the Bridge)

Archer:  Hail Captain Ferd.

T'pol:  196.  Sell for more money on the slave market�

Ferd:  Ahoy Captain Archer, how be it in the dark, arr har har?  I hope somebody comes by before you starve to death!

Archer:  How could you do this?  We gave you� a chance. (big smile).

Ferd:  We be pirates, and if ye say that sappy line once more, we�ll  blow up yer ship, arr.  Goodbye. Arr har har!

(the transmission ends and the shi   *p warps away)

T'pol:  203.  Have more regular bowel movements�

Archer:  How�s the replacement warp core going, Trip?  Archer to Dr. Phlox.  Dr., could we use one of your unusual animals for a replacement?

Trip:  We�re all out.  Lieutenant Reed used the last one for target practice yesterday.

Dr. Phlox (on intercom):  No creature can withstand the conditions necessary for a warp core.  You should know that.  Why did you call me?

Archer:  Well, you hadn�t even had one line yet, and I think everyone needs� a little screen time. (big smile).

Dr. Phlox (on intercom):  What about Ensign Mayweather?  He�s been at the helm the whole story and no one has even acknowledged his existence?

T'pol:  210.  Are less prone to infection�

Dr. Phlox (on intercom):  Oh!      That reminds me.  T'pol and Trip are to report to sickbay immediately.  Those pirates were carrying some nasty pathogen, and you have to strip and rub antibiotic gel on each other.

T'pol:  I was never in contact with the pirates.

Dr. Phlox (on intercom):  I know that, but this show needs to improve its ratings in the 18-24 year old category, so off you go!

(T'pol and Trip leave for sickbay)

Archer: Hoshi, send out this distress call:  "This is Captain Archer of Enterprise.  We were tricked by pirates and had our warp core stolen.  If you happen to have an extra, antimatter-powered, three million watt, incandescent, blue, frosted, Sylvania light bulb that we could use, that would be great.  You should just give us�a chance. (big smile)."

(three days later, on the bridge)

T'pol:  And finally, 103684.  Vulcans are less likely to brag.

Hoshi:  Captain, a ship is responding to our distress call.

T�pee:  This is T�pee of the Vulcan cargo ship Jis�toh .  We have an antimatter-powered, three million watt, incandescent, blue, frosted, Sylvania light bulb.  What do you have to trade for it?

Archer:  You are welcome to come aboard our ship and look for something you want.

Trip:  You can�t let those Vulcans on the ship!  When they come aboard, who knows what they�ll steal?!

T'pol:  If you are referring to the last time we had visitors, it would behoove you to remember that the thieves were Human.

Dr. Phlox (on intercom):  Captain, due to the "antibacterial" gel scene, our ratings went up ten percent!

Mayweather:  My first line!  I�m so happy!

Reed:  Hi.  I don�t have anything to say, but everyone else seems to be talking, so I figured: "Why n  ot?"

Hoshi:  I forgot to turn off the audio again, so the Vulcans heard everything we just said!

(after many more irrelevant comments, Captain Archer, T'pol, and Commander Trip meet four or the Vulcans from the Jis�toh.on board their ship)

T�pee:  Let me introduce my companions.  I am T�pee.  The "man" my left is Spork;  the "woman" is T�pioca.  The "man" on my right is Sara.

(all of the humans start to laugh)

Sara:  Why do humans always have that reaction to my name?  It fits the standard model for male Vulcan names.

Archer: These are T'pol and Trip.

T�pioca:  We are aware of who T'pol is.  She is the only Vulcan to be exiled from Vulcan.  She was banished for surliness and showing emotions.

Spork:  We have scanned your vessel, and have found a suitable trade.  Captain, you are in possession of a dog, correct?  We had a dog once, and would like to again.  They taste very good.  We propose your dog for our antimatter-powered, three million w  att, incandescent, blue, frosted, Sylvania light bulb.

Archer:  I don�t know�

Trip:  C�mon!  Were better than Vulcans!  We will play you for them.  Winner take both.

T�pee:  Agreed.

Archer:  Don�t I get a say in this?

Trip:  Captain, just give me� a chance. (big smile).

Archer:  Ok, just this once.

Sara:  What game should we play?

Trip:  I say cock fighting.

Spork:  I have no wish to use my genitalia in such a manner.

Trip:  No!  Cocks, roosters.  Besides, it would not be fair.  Everyone knows Human cocks are bigger and stronger than Vulcan ones.

T�pioca:  When will males realize that size does not matter?

Sara:  It is an inaccurate statement that Human cocks are better than Vulcan cocks.  Vulcans do not have cocks.

Trip:  That would explain the famous Vulcan apathy.  What about hopscotch?

T�pee:  That is an acceptable competition.

Trip:  Prepare to loose, because I am the hopscotch king!

(Trip and T�pee play hopscotch.  It is the final round, and Trip has a slight lead, but if T�pee can g    o back and forth without touching the six square, the Vulcans will win.  T�pee jumps on the one, two, three, four, five, and is in midair above the sixth square when a sudden explosion rocks the Jis�toh causing T�pee to land outside the board.)

T�pee:  It looks blind luck has favored you today.  We will give you your antimatter-powered, three million watt, incandescent, blue, frosted, Sylvania light bulb, but we will also place a curse upon you.  For one hundred years, may anyone who wears a red colored shi  rt have the same luck affect them as has affected us, only it shall be fatal.

(on the bridge)

Archer:  How is that new warp core working?

Trip:  Just fine, Captain.

Reed:  Captain, while you were on the Jis�toh  I was calibrating the phasers and accidentally fired on you.  I hope I did not cause any problems.

Archer:  None unless you count that death curse on the guys in red shirts, but what are the chances of that coming true?

(All start laughing, and while they are distracted a blue energy field appears on the bridge.  A man smoking a cigar walks out.)

Archer:  Al, why haven�t I leaped yet?

Al:  Well, Ziggy says there is a 93.2 percent chance that you�re here to save the ratings of a dying show.

Archer:  Oh boy�
 

Oh boy indeed.
Next we have a mouth-wattering glimpse at Domvorak, the new Fantasy Epic being written by Jeff Russell, Matt Green and Erin Phillips.  The piece below was written by Matt Green.

Dain Tempertoire
5th Month of 2118, Day 16
City of Rhiluk
We�ve been besieged here for over six months now, and food is beginning to become short.  It won�t matter how well we�re defended here if Myrzakkul starves us all to death; winter is beginning o sink its icy claws into our bellies.  No new deaths to report.  It seems that after months of losing creatures to constant futile assaults on the walls has made its point.  Even monsters have to rest, and not many of them will be adapted to this cold.
 

5th Month of 2118, Day 28
Still no word from the Seekers we sent beyond the walls.  Is the Scythe still even attempting to battle its way through to rescue us?  Found a dead rat in my boot today-a bad omen.  There have been distracting noises coming from the Western wall.  It�s possible that the city�s evacuation was not as complete as we had hoped.  Brendon For�saq disappeared during the night.  Some of the sentries saw him near one of the entrances with a crazed look on his face; he must have broken and fled to the enemy.
 

6th Month of 2118, Day 2
The noises have finally stopped.  Sending a sortie out to investigate.  Nobody volunteered, so the Rune�si had to choose a group of men obedient enough to obey his order to venture outside.  They�ve been told not to bring back any dead they find.  We don�t have the manpower to bury them.  U�rey Jaril died of a wasting disease yesterday.  It must have been Myrzakkul-spawned, as he succumbed within hours.  Destroyed his body with proper rites.
 

6th Month of 2118, Day 3
The sortie has not returned.  A patrol found a dead Seeker on a rampart overlooking the plaza.  Nobody recognizes her, and it is a mystery as to how she got there.  Brought the body down for the Rune�si to examine.  A further enigma was presented when we found For�saqs scalp just outside the wall.  He is now listed as dead.
 

6th Month of 2118, Day 5
Even the dead have become our enemies.  The Seeker found her way out of the shallow grave we dug her and began to slit men�s throat in the devil hours of the night.  The Rune�si destroyed it with fire he threw from his hands.  12 men dead.  Can no longer hold outer wall.  Withdrawing to Inner City.
 
 

6th Month of 2118, Day 8
Had the twelve men not died, we would have run out of food today.  The wards around the city have begun to fail without our constant attention.  Nameless creatures have been working their way to the Inner City Gate.  We heard human voices from far off.  The Rune�si has told us to stay where we are while he investigates.   A betting pool has started on whether he will return or not.
 

6th Month of 2118, Day 9
The Rune�si returned as the sun began to get a handhold on the horizon.  In his fist, he held a severed head by the hair.  The skin was drawn impossibly tight over the face but we could still discern the features of T�dor Ganded, a member of the sortie.  The Rune�si warned us not to listen to anything past the Gate.
 

6th Month of 2118, Day 18
The Gate was breached, I know not how.  I was woken from a doze by the warning gong and shrieks of the sentries, most of which ended with a liquid gushing sound.  Those of us who survived are in the Center Tower, which is at least twenty five houses tall.  We have barred the door, but that won�t keep them long.  We have hours, at most.  Two have committed suicide; one by throwing himself on his krith and the other threw himself off of the top story.  The Rune�si went missing in our battle with the night.  I can hear the screams of those who have gone mad; it seems I am the only sane one left.  Many could not take it when we looked out the tower windows and saw swarms of the damned surrounding us for as far as the eye could see.  The fight with Myrzzakul, for us, is lost.

I see movement below me.

Seeker Ton P�aal
7th Month of 2121, Day 10
City of Rhiluk, Central Tower
It would appear that a platoon of lost Scythe soldiers held Rhiluk far past the time the  main body of our force abandoned it to Myrzzakul.  I could not find most of what was left of Tempertoire, but what I could find will be sent to his family, with his journal.  Even this is not complete; it would appear that the beginning pages were eradicated in fire.  What is left should be enough to tell his family of his last days in this doomed city.
 
 

And now for our next serial installment of Starchaser, written by Matt Green.
 

STARCHASER

CHAPTER THREE:
AWAKENINGS

It was the whirring of medical instrumentation that pulled Jax back into consciousness.
Peter groaned as his eyes struggled open, to find the ugly pastel-colored tubes that had been placed into his body, pumping in viscous bodily fluids to keep him alive.  He detested the thought of laying there, vulnerable, half of him hooked into some damn machine�.
His brain began to register sounds, but muffled, as if through a veil, or underwater.  In fact the whole experience was rather like floating; Jax felt bloated like some kind of overfilled balloon, waiting to pop if only pricked by a needle.  Wallowing as he was, it was an eternity before his eyes managed to unglue and focus on the medical bay of the Phoenix.
 The bay was small, as the Phoenix was a small ship incapable of hosting a large amount of people.  It had roughly a dozen beds, with only four containing anything in the way of modern medical equipment. Such equipment was hooked into Jax now, for the simple task of keeping him alive until they got home.  It would be dull and uncomfortable, but chances are he would live to see another day.  Peter wasn�t too thrilled at this prospect for the moment.  He almost wished the breach had killed him-trapped in bed as he was, he could only slowly go insane as a dull throb pervaded his body.
 Jax�s throat was swelled to the point where talking was impossible, and, in fact, Peter could only barely breathe.  A dozen cracks ribboned through his face and chest, which he could only feel through the dry paper chafing pain there.  A shadow fell over him, and before Jax could even attempt to communicate, he felt his blood burn, and he slipped back into unconsciousness.

 Jax drifted for several hours before coming to again, then dozed off again before forming much cognitive thought.  Meanwhile, the Phoenix continued to limp to the drydocks of Deimos�.
 
 

 Dane Javar was the scum of the System, and he enjoyed it that way.

 The man looked far out of his time: his swashbuckling countenance was at odds with the cool, calculating manner of his fellow pirates.  It was no doubt that Dane was their leader, however.  It was Dane�s sources and Dane�s ships that brought in the cash flow, and that was all the Barons needed to string along with him.  Dane negotiated hostage releases, Dane handled finances�Dane handled everything.

 And now he was handling Terra�s first extra-solar first contact.  Sadly, most Terrans did not know this was happening.  This was mostly because Dane was soon hoping they wouldn�t know until too late.

 Dane had a thirst for power.  And when these new creatures, these Skain, began popping up at the edge of his errant asteroid base, he quickly saw to it that they dealt with him, and did not wander into the U.P. controlled trade routes.  Not until he had prepared them, anyhow.

 And now the invasion had begun.  Dane grinned craftily to himself as he palmed the hatch release, stepping gingerly into the conference room, where even now the Skain awaited his pleasure.  Dane liked people awaiting his pleasure.  Even if he didn�t really see them so much as people as svelte reptiles who he would use to dominate the System.

 Several pairs of indigo eyes turned to meet Dane, who immediately started into the sales pitch that would doom the United Planets.

Harry Fole was working salvage with the Pluto Recovery Crew.  There wasn't much left to salvage.

The entire colony was scragged, and the research outpost on Charon wasn't much better.  The whole place was glass.  Right now they were trying to pick up a piece of alien wreckage that wasn't cooperating.  Every time they reached out, it would send off bolts of radiation that threatened to fry Harry's salvage tug.  Whiping his brow, he decided for one more try before heading back to base.

"Look ou-"  burst into Harry's ears, before a deafening burst of static pierced his ears.  Fumbling for his controls, he was wildly rocked about as shrapnel hit his tug.  Energy waves buffeted his engines and he fought to regain control.  His sensors a mess, Harry switched on the all-hands comm unit and spoke into his helmet mike.  "Some kind of trouble in my sector" he said, "there appears to have been some kind of explosion.  I'm attempting to reorient, but I can't get a fix on anything around me."  The reply was immediate.  "Salazar, you're under attack by an alien fighter wing.  Return to the Gorra immediatly.  We will be engaging drive in two minutes."

Harry was suddenly left weaponless against an enemy he couldn't even see, with the last train out just having blown its whistle.  "Damn" he muttered to himself.  "Even garbagemen aren't safe anymore."

And now, what would the TFWD Newsletter be without Beezelbub and Gangrene?
A lot less tasteless, that's what....

Letters to Beezelbub and Gangrene!
Brought to you by Jeff Russell and Matt Green

Dear Gangrene,

   When I grow up, I want to be the president of the
United States, but people keep telling me that I
can't.  I thought that if you really tried for it, you
could get anything.  So why can't I be the president?
Even my parents say that I'll never be the president,
and that I should look more into garbage man or being
paid for experiments.  They say that just because I'm
40 and still live in the basement sleeping in my loony
toons sheets that I can't do anything useful with my
life.  What should I do Gangrene?

           Sincerely,
         L.  Oserman

P.S.  My parents also say I smell funny, what should I
do about that?

We get a lot of letters like this.  I wondered why, until I realized only deadbeats with absolutely no positive influence in human society had the time to email us.  Which explains all the letters we've been receiving from Al Gore....
But I digress.  I picked your letter, Mr. Oserman, because an answer jumped right out at me as my gaze settled on your first words.  I said to myself, "It's time to make somebody's dream come true."  That's right-we're going to make you president.
It might have helped if I had read passed that, but the rest can't be that important, right?  Just as long as you want to be President, we'll back you up.  Oserman for President....it has a ring to it.  Like Dan Quayle for President.  Or Reagan.  Or the Artist Formerly Known as Prince for President.
You can not only be President of the Men's Club For Idiots, but you're also a member too!
Wait, you said United States?
Sorry....we've already had too many losers in that spot already.

-Gangrene

P.S. Well, you are sleeping in moldy loony tunes...I would imagine you couldn't help but eventually smell funny.  Ha ha ha.

***

Dear Beezelbub,

I have a comment regarding the last issue of the TFWD Newsletter. In the 'Underground', Spence is building what appears to be a large robot, and Arthur, the main character, asks whether it is illegal.  I decided to look up the relevant laws at the local library, and I found no such law against any kind of mechanized construct of this kind.  The comic was legally inaccurate, and I request that you post a correction in your next issue.

Sincerely,

Gote T. Muckfreetim

P.S.  I also believe that Spence, being an adolescent with limited skills and resources, could not construct such a large and complex device.  I will, however, give him the benefit of the doubt as you at TFWD have not yet revealed much about his past.
 
 

Dear Mr. Muckfreetim,

  While we here in the pit enjoy anal retentive
attention to detail, especially where the law and
contracts are concerened, I have to say that you are
an idiot.  You could be spending your valuable nerdy
research time on topics like putting innocent people
in jail on a technicality, or important role models
like Attila the Hun, Ghengis Khan, Jack the Ripper,
and others like these men.  However, as an example of
what I mean, and I have filed suit against you for
slander, as you have accussed the comic of being
legally innaccurate and for the comments about Spence
as being of "limited skills and resources".  Spence
happens to be very advanced in engineering and
construction, allowing him to deal with such projects,
and took great offence at this comment which could
hurt his contractor business.  Also, there was no
definite statement of the legality, in fact it was
phrased in a rather uncertain question. You have
therefore untruthfully hurt the reputations of Arthur,
Spence, and the author.  Being good friends with the
author, I will represent him in court against you.
Maybe the subpoena will arrive on the same day as
this.  Enjoy, and I'll see you in court.

             Beezlebub,
               King of Lawyers
 
 
 
 

And now for a short story by Matt Green...(Beginning to see a pattern here? Maybe you should submit more...)

The Man Who Played The Flute

John Jacobsen could not tell the front end of a hippopotmaus from the back end. While most of his friends attributed this to poor depth perception, the fact of the matter was that poor John wasn't terribly bright. Oh, when he was still in school, John scored well on the standardized tests. It was just that little lack of something that kept him from getting ahead in life. A commonly used word for that certain something is 'common sense.'

Which would explain how John got eaten by a hippo.
 

How this man is relevant to our story, however, begins with his obituary in the New York Times. It caught the eye of a musician who had only briefly picked up the Times to check out the Mets scores (he only did this because his girlfriend favored the team; he didn't much care for baseball himself). The word 'hippopotamous' on an obituary, however, does tend to catch the eye and before long our musician was so engrossed that he ran into a lamp post.
 

When he woke up at the Peter Bent Hospital, he immediatly had an idea. Nobody knows why concussions often jar flakes of creativity off the insulation of the mind. Perhaps it is the parting gift of the expired brain cells who are now playing their harps in a completly different kind of celestial body. Nonetheless, Francis Hobbins had an idea.
 

He would seranade a hippo.
 

Francis had had dreams while unconscious. While a good part of them had to do with a certain buxom harp player (who was *very* good with her hands), in many of the others he saw himself as a kind of hippo Pied Piper, leading a herd of terrible herbivores in a Mongol-esque conquering of the world.
 

First he had to make the necessary preparations. For one thing, Francis didn't know what a hippo sounded like.
 

He supposed it was a kind of snuffling sound. After much thought and no research, Francis devised an attachment to his flute that, while not sounding like a hippo, surely gave a good impression of a hippo playing a flute. Francis was soon thrown out of his apartment. You see, hippos can't play the flute very well.
 

After getting kicked out of his apartment, Mr. Hobbins first stop was the zoo.
 

Her name was Betsy, and she weighed 800 pounds. When she heard that first snuffling, shuffling note, her ears flinched to attention and her heart beat afflutter. Immediatly she honed in the source-a small, unshaven man with some kind of proboscis thrust through the bars. Apparently, he was unaware that he was wheezing out the great Zanzabar Love Ballad, the greatest musical work ever to be created by these gentle herbivores. In one leap, Betsy closed the distance between them.

Francis had achieved his dream of seranadinng the hippos. Unfortunatly, he did it from page 3 of the obituaries.

Betsy was on page 2.
 
 
 

Now for some bad fantasy jokes from our very own Lone Sidekick, also known in some circles as Chris Masselli.

Why do elves ears have points ?
There has to be some point to elves.

How do you keep an elf from drowning?
Take your foot off his head.

How do you get an elf out of a tree?
Cut the rope.

When does a dwarf become a midget?
The second he leaves the room

A dwarf women is cooking at home when a friend of her husband walks in.
"I'm afraid I got some bad news about your husband" says the friend.
"Oh no, is he alright?" asks the wife.
'I'm afraid not. He fell into a vat of ale at the tavern and died."
"Did he at least go quickly?"
"Well no, he got out three times to piss."

An elf, a dwarf, and human all go for a drink at the local
tavern. The barkeep serves them their drinks, and a fly lands in each
one.
The elf pushes his drink forward "That is disgusting."
The human flicks the fly away, shrugs, and then gulps his down "Well
what are you going do about it?"
The dwarf grabs the fly by the wing and holds it over his drink
screaming "Spit it out you bastard, spit it out!"

What�s the difference between an elf and a bucket of shit?
The bucket.
 

Next we're presenting a limrick written by Matt Green as he was teching for a meeting of the Future Business Leaders of America.

Welcome to the FBLA,
We hope you are willing to stay,
We'll yell at you quick,
And give you the shtick,
Because you're the only one getting paid.

You may think this is all a big joke,
Because we seem to be high off of coke,
You helped us a lot,
Then we called you a sot,
Now you're ferverently hoping we'll choke.

When we chant we sound like the Bog,
Or a choir recruited from the morgue,
We're more boring than cod,
And richer than God,
We are the Republican Lords.

I note they quack like a duck,
And forget that I don't give a fuck,
All I need is my board,
To upset their goard,
And make them quite shit out of luck.

We came to say that we're sad,
We're sorry we treated you so bad,
We still won't let go of your hand,
But we think you're really quite grand,
And hope you won't be too mad.

The moral of the story?

Don't mess with the God of Lights,
Who rages at the slightest of slights,
He'll turn off his beams,
And leave you quite reemed,
And you'll be on a stage far from bright.
 
 
 

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