|
|
 |
|
|
|
register |
bbs |
search |
rss |
faq |
about
|
|
|
meet up |
add to del.icio.us |
digg it
|
|
|
|
Toxic Custard Workshop Files #01- #05
You'd have to be really twisted to understand
****************************************************************************
### # # ### ##### ## # # # ## ## # # ### ##### ## ### ###
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
# #### ### # # # # # # # # # ## # #### ### # #
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
# # # ### # ## # # # ## ## ## ### # # # # # ###
____________________________________________________________________________
# # ### #### # # #### # # ### #### ##### # # ##### ####
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
# # # # # #### ### ### ##### # # #### ##### # # ##### ###
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
### ### # # # # #### # # ### # # # ##### ##### ####
***************************THE BACK ISSUES**********************************
*************************EPISODES ONE TO FIVE*******************************
(Written by Daniel Bowen, Monash University, Melbourne Australia)
______________________________________________________________________________
PART ONE - 12/8/90
In the beginning was the writing. But it was dark, and no-one could read
it, so the author decided to write the start again.
In the beginning there was a light. But lo, the Lord did try the
switch and it did not work. And so the Lord did say unto Adam: "Thou must
travel down the 7-11 for a globe."
And Adam did hear the Lord, and did do his bidding. The journey
across the road was long, and dangerous, but Adam did walketh up to the
traffic lights. And he did presseth the button, and lo! The traffic did
part down the middle. And Adam did crosseth in peace.
And Adam did enter the temple of 7-11, and he did consult the holy
one, "Dost thou have a light-globe?" And lo! They were down the back on
the bottom shelf. Adam did findeth the globes, and yea, he was shocked at
the price, and there was a great wailing, and gnashing of teeth. But it
was too early to go to the supermarket, for it was only the first day, and
the Lord had not got round to creating them yet.
So he did buyeth the amazing globe on plastic. And did he make the
long trek back unto the place of the Lord, and the Lord did say "Thanks
very much, but it was the fuse."
But suddenly, there was darkness again, for the Lord had forgotten
to pay the bill. And Adam did look to the heavens in despair, and walked
down the corridor into another joke.
The corridor was long, and full of hidden dangers. And as Adam
continued down it, he realised, from looking at his new wrist-watch, that
he was late for the next spoof. Adam, being a student of life, knew that
it had to be set in a school. But what was happening to him? He looked up,
and realised that the author was just trying to fill in time. He was using
ADAM to link to the next stack of jokes! But when would the new spoof
start?
The author grinned, gazing into his word-processor. "Only another
few lines to go", he thought, as he continued to type his glorious prose
into the keyboard.
Adam had come to a doorway. Not any old doorway though. This one
had a door in it. Adam pulled the axe from his hither-to unwritten about
knapsack, and broke the door down. Bursting into the room, he spotted his
foe, and with one swing of his axe, took the man's head offffffffffJKRY&%"
@@s:{}``}
OH DEAR. THE AUTHOR SEEMS TO HAVE HAD HIS HEAD CUT-OFF BY A MAN WHO HAS
JUST COME THROUGH THE DOOR. WHAT WILL HAPPEN NOW? IS IT REALLY THE END OF
'THE TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES'? NOT ON YOUR LIFE MATEY. STAND-BY FOR
THE SECOND INSTALLMENT... COMING SOON TO A MAINFRAME ACCOUNT NEAR YOU.
______________________________________________________________________________
Oh no, not another installment of
____ __ ____ ___ __ __ __ __ __ __ _
/ /__/ /_ / / / \/ / / / / / /_ / /_/ /_/ / \
/ / / /__ / /__/ /\ / \__ \__ \_/ __/ / / / / \ /__/
___ __ ___ __ __ __ __ __
/ / / / / /_/ /_/ /__ /__/ / / /_/ /_ / / /_ /__
/_/_/ /__/ / \ / \ ___/ / / /_/ / / / /__ /__ __/
B Y - M R - L U X U R Y - Y A C H T - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
P A R T - T W O - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 1 5 - A U G - 1 9 9 0
Adam Cohen looked up. He could see the words "Part Two" scrawled
across the wall. Obviously, the author (whom he had just killed), had
regenerated. But it was worse. Now he was doing really crappy titles
made out of back slashes.
Adam made his way back out the door, into the corridor. He put
his axe back into his bag, and walked round the corner to his maths
class.
* * *
Mr. Stickleback stalked down the corridor. As he turned the
corner, two uniformed students ran past him. He cleared his throat,
and they immediately slowed to a brisk walk. Arriving at the door, he
checked his tie, then burst into the room.
Inside the room, the students were standing around, talking to
one another. As their teacher came in, they began to move to their
places.
As if being pleased to have caught them not sitting, Stickleback
shouted short loud orders. "Right! - Sit! Get your books out. Cohen,
do up your tie properly." The students began to sit down at their
desks, carefully balancing their books so that none fell off. Some
stragglers failed to comply in time, and he screamed at them, as he
always did. "Sit!!" The pupils began to think of the many other
places they would prefer to be, as he spoke rapidly.
"Now, before I begin the lesson I must reprimand you over your
behaviour. While I realise that this is a co-educational
establishment, you must realise that members of the contradictory
gender sitting together is just not on. And I don't want to see it
happening again.
"Now!" he continued, "Homework. If I remember correctly it was to
memorise Pi - that's the ratio of a circle's circumference to its
diameter - to the 75th decimal place. Well now - who's done it? Well?
Anyone?"
Spadger, sitting near the back, was listening to this, and
thinking, "Oh please God, don't let him ask me..."
"What about Spadger?"
Spadger stood up. "Err... no, sorry sir.", he said. "Thanks a
lot," he thought silently.
The teacher reacted to this. "'No sorry sir'?", he mimicked.
"What do you mean, 'No sorry sir'? I'll give you 'no sorry sir'." He
pointed to the door and sent Spadger out. "Report to the torture
chamber, now!"
The rejected student walked out of the room, shuffling his feet.
Meanwhile, Mr. Stickleback continued at the same fast pace.
"Now, in today's lesson, we shall be studying the use of calculus
when using the wave harmonic theory of historical perception - and
its applications in working out the brand of washing powder to buy.
So in this way..."
He was slowing down now, not really paying attention to what he
was saying, moving stealthily towards one of the front desks; where
one of the girls appeared to be sleeping; carrying his ever-present
metre-long ruler.
"... you can work out which breakfast cereal powder is - the -
really - good - buy." He stopped, brought the ruler down loudly on
the desk, and spoke quietly.
"O'Donald? Are you listening?" There was no response. He spoke
loudly now.
"Come on girl - sit up! I - hello?" There was still no answer, so
he bellowed.
"Can - you - hear - me?!?Hello?!" As there was still no sign of
life, he prodded her with the ruler, and came to a conclusion.
"Oh. She's dead." He pointed the ruler at a couple of nearby
unfortunates. "You and you, put her in the incinerator, will you?"
They could not refuse.
"Yes sir." With some difficulty, they carried the corpse out. The
teacher called after them.
"Oh, and you may as well go to the detention room afterwards. Now
where was I?... Ah yes." He began to write various mathematical
gobbledygook on the blackboard as he spoke.
"Now, first we must realise how the ratio of the primary factor
to the third sequential lobster in this random geometric sequence
divided by that lobster there will result in the indexed logarithm of
the quotient. Nod your heads." at this point, someone queried him.
"Yes Hayes?"
"Sir, what's lobster got to do with this problem?"
"Lobster?! What are you talking about? Report to the guillotine.
Now - where was that formula I was going to ... what was it", he
pondered. By this time, the remaining students were looking
completely bewildered.
WHAT HAS MR. STICKLEBACK FORGOTTEN?
WILL THE MATHS CLASS BE LIBERATED BEFORE LUNCHTIME?
WILL THE WRITING OF THIS STUFF IMPROVE BY THE NEXT EPISODE?
WILL THE FIRST WORD OF THE NEXT SENTENCE BEGIN WITH 'W'?
NO.
IS ANYBODY STILL READING THIS SHIT?
WHAT'S THE POINT OF WRITING IT?
WHAT IS THE MEANING OF LIFE?
WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'FORTY-TWO'?
WHY DOESN'T THIS THING FINISH?
THE ANSWER TO ALL THESE QUESTIONS AND LESS...
IN PART THREE... COMING UP AFTER THE NON-TEACHING WEEK
______________________________________________________________________________
Here's a double helping of
___ ___ __ __
| | | | | | |
| H E | O X I C | U S T A R D | | | O R K S H O P |_ I L E S
| | |__ |_|_| |
_ ___
|_| A R T | H R E E 2 7 / 8 / 9 0
| |
_ _ _
| | | R I T T E N |_| Y | | | R . | U X U R Y - |_| A C H T
|_|_| |__| | | | |_ |
Rocket Roger whipped out his gun out, faster than a cheetah wearing
"go-faster" stripes. In less time than it takes an ant to do a
push-up, he had shot down the huge oncoming alien monster. He dashed
over to the fallen figure of the princess, and put his hand firmly on
her ... OH SORRY, WE SEEM TO HAVE PICKED UP THE WRONG PLOT-LINE. I
THINK THIS BELONGS TO SOME POXY SPACE SAGA, SET WHEN MEN WERE REAL
MEN ETC. ANYWAY, BACK TO THE STORY .... medical supplies. NO, NO THE
TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES STORY. Oh sorry. Back to the maths
class.
Stickleback, obviously having forgotten what he was going to do,
resorted to memory exercises at this point. He put his ruler on the
desk, walked over to the blackboard, and hit his head violently
against it several times. The pupils ceased to look bewildered and
began to look bored. After a while Stickleback stopped, having
remembered.
"Ah yes. Now." He rubbed off the board, and started to write
extremely complicated formulae, very messily, in the hand of one who
is writing with a broken arm, all over the board. He stopped, looked
casually over his shoulder and said quietly, "All right. Copy this
down." Moving back to his enormous desk, he pressed a button on his
stop-watch, and began timing thirty seconds on it. It was one of
those really neat stop-watches which could tell you the time in
twenty different places around the world, and, if you were lucky,
where you were as well. Just another little labour-saving device,
which could aid one in the enjoyment of life. His mind moved on to
food, and that delicious lobster he had had the previous night.
Meanwhile, the class were writing furiously into their notebooks.
The thirty seconds was finally up. "Right - that's enough time",
said the teacher.
There was a protest. "But sir -". He shrugged it off.
"Quiet! Another word from you and I'll have you all executed.
Now!" Without another word, he rubbed the board off completely and
began to write the numbers from one to ten, pausing and looking
thoughtful between six and seven.
"Right!" he continued. We're going to learn something new! This
is a very complicated non-algebraic mathematical integral notation,
which we shall learn sequentially, known as counting."
"We've done this before", called out Cohen, a rather outspoken
individual, a quality which never brought him good luck at school. He
seemed to think he was special just because he had been in all the
episodes of 'The Toxic Custard Workshop Files' so far.
"Shut up!! You!" Stickleback was pointing. "Go and muck-out the
principal's office!" Yet again Cohen was being kicked out of maths
into another joke.
Someone else joined in the protest. "But sir -"
"You too! You're right - we've done this before - last week I
believe. It doesn't matter though. We'll revise it. You start
Bradley!"
"One", replied the ever-keen Bradley, ready for any challenge.
"Um... yes", confirmed the learned teacher, checking his notes.
"Two", called out the next person.
"Right"
"Three"
"Right. You next Heazlewood", said the teacher. But Heazlewood, a
rather lazy student - and, in the circumstances, suicidal - had not
been listening, something that Stickleback didn't particularly like.
"What?"
Stickleback, alert as ever, looked up. "I beg your pardon?", he
said.
"Sorry?", said Heazlewood, still wondering what was going on. By
this time, however, Stickleback knew exactly what was going on, and
reacted to it in his normal manner.
"Do you mean you haven't been listening?!?" he screamed. "Get up!
We've been doing a complex oral exercise, and you haven't been
listening?!? You little ... I'll have you whipped for this!!! You
stinking pile of ..." At this point, his words became rather
obscured, as two men in white coats rushed in and grabbed him,
managing to stuff something down his throat as one of them spoke.
"All right Mr. Stickleback - it's time for your pills now."
Within seconds, they had gone again, and Stickleback was left
alone at the front of the room, feeling his throat. An odd-sounding
grunt came from his throat, and then he was back to normal.
"Erg... now! Heazlewood - out!"
WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT?
WILL THE PILLS STUFFED DOWN MR.STICKLEBACK'S THROAT CAUSE HIM TO CHOKE,
GASP FOR BREATH AND COLLAPSE IN A HEAP ON THE FLOOR? OR WILL THE
CHEMICALS IN THE PILLS CAUSE AN EMOTIONAL REACTION, CAUSING HIM TO
VISIT A PSYCHIATRIST, WHICH IS ANOTHER JOKE ALTOGETHER. OR PERHAPS
NOTHING LIKE THAT WILL HAPPEN.
WELL, YOU'RE ABOUT TO FIND OUT ACTUALLY, BECAUSE THE AUTHOR, IN HIS
EXTREMELY FINITE WISDOM, HAS DECIDED TO MAKE THIS A DOUBLE
LENGTH T.C.W.F., TO MAKE UP FOR THE LOSS OF IT DURING THE NON
TEACHING WEEK HERE AT MONASH.
SO, ENOUGH OF THESE SUPERFLUOUS CAPITAL LETTERS. AND BACK TO
THE DYNAMIC, ORIGINAL, REFRESHING AND EVER SO SILLY STORY.
Mr Stickleback was in a minor carpet-eating rage by now. But he
decided to save it for when the poor defenceless students wouldn't be
expecting it. Kick them when they're down...
He headed for his desk, picking a piece of paper on it. "I have a
message from your English teacher, Mr. Maniac. He says that your
homework is to memorise 'Macbeth' word for word. And you are to
recite it to him tomorrow." Just then, he saw something in the corner
of his eye. He pointed to it.
"You! Using a calculator! Right - you can have lines tonight. I
want you to write out 'I must not use a calculator in Maths' seven
million times."
"Now sir?" Stephens, the culprit asked.
"No! Not now - do it at lunchtime. That'll give you plenty of
time to..." At that point, he was interupted by a P.A. announcement.
He turned to face the loud-speaker, stood rigidly before it and
saluted. Static emanated, and a distant voice came forth. A telephone
rang urgently in the background.
"Err... announcements for tomorrow: Executions will be at dawn.
Torture Group One at nine o'clock, and Torture Group Two at
nine-thirty."
When the announcement had finished, Stickleback relaxed. "Stand
at ease", he said, as he began to pace around the room, only to be
interupted by another announcement, at which he again saluted the
loudspeaker.
"Oh and Mr. Sadist, could you please return my horse-whip to me
sometime today?"
The teacher again relaxed. "Right you lot - get on with your
work."
The students all looked busy working, but Stickleback began to
nod off. After all, he had had a long day, and was getting tired.
Wouldn't the school run smoother, he thought, if it had no
students...
Two students, next to each other, noticed this, and one began to
lean over to the other to say something. Suddenly the teacher's arm
sprang up and pointed to the door. The hand connected to the arm
clicked its fingers, and the first student left the room.
Another teacher entered, and all the students instinctively rose.
"Ah! Hello Mr. Ectoplasm."
"Hello Mr. Stickleback. Just got a note for you", replied the
visiting teacher.
"Oh. Thank you."
"Not at all Reg - Mr. Stickleback" he corrected himself. He left,
and the students sat down again. Stickleback read the notice out to
the class.
"Class, I have just been notified of the time of the Nuclear
Holocaust Drill. It will be", he paused, "Now!"
A bell went off, and the students were all looking bewildered
when Stickleback urged them into activity.
"Hurry up, get on with it. Come on! You know - Nuclear Holocaust
Drill!"
The students were now getting into the spirit of the thing, and
began to simulate dying, lurching around the room and eventually
collapsing. The teacher went back to his huge desk.
"Right. Now to call the roll. Bannikoff?" There was no answer.
"Good. Bradley?" Again, the sound of silence.
"Cummings? ... Good. Dandens? ... Good. Evans?"
IS THIS THE END OF THE MATHS CLASS?
'FRAID SO, THIS JOKE'S GOT RATHER TIRED NOW.
WHAT TWISTED STORY-LINE WILL THE MANGLED MIND BEHIND
THIS FARCE THINK OF NEXT?
FIND OUT, IN PART FOUR OF 'THE TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES',
COMING UP ON WEDNESDAY, 29TH AUGUST.
BIBLIOGRAPHY:
If you've enjoyed reading this file, you may or may not enjoy
reading Diary'90, which is not available from the author unless you
plead with him.
FILMOGRAPHY:
If you've enjoyed this experience in reading, then you may enjoy
abusing your ears and eyes to the sight and sound of 'The Book Of
Diary 90', which is not available from anywhere near Alpha-Centauri.
DISCOGRAPHY:
If you've enjoyed reading this file, you may also enjoy listening
to a floppy disk called "Double Sided High Density". You won't hear
much, but people will stare at you.
BOXOGRAPHY:
If you've found this to be an enriching and stimulating experience,
you may enjoy turning on your funny box with buttons on the side at
about 9:30pm Tuesday night, and turning the dial to '2', to watch the
new series of ***THE BIG GIG***
BOGOGRAPHY:
If you haven't enjoyed reading this file, then you can bog off.
FILOGRAPHY:
If you've enjoyed reading this file, the you may enjoy reading the
story of ROCKET ROGER. Just mail a lunatic called "The Mad Scribe
at [email protected] notifying him that he is a complete
telephone box, and including your account number. Many abusive
comments... no sorry, many funny letters arranged in amusing
combinations will then be forthcoming. Was that okay, Mr Scribe sir?
______________________________________________________________________________
Get down and get depressed! Its
__ __ __ __
\ he \ oxic \ ustard \\\orkshop \_iles <----Pathetic-+
\ \ \_ \-\ \ |
Part Four 29/8/90 |
Written by Mr. Luxury-Yacht |
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - | - -
|
Adam Cohen was depressed. Not just depressed, injured. He had |
gone to his Maths Class, had been kicked out, ordered to muck out the |
school principal's office, and been injured, when a large deposit of |
bullshit, which had just come out of the principal's mouth, had |
landed on him, not only causing him to smell as badly as a computer |
programmer, but also breaking his leg. But what really pissed him off |
was the miniscule titles that were now being drawn by the author.-------+
Adam had become even more depressed when he had sat down to use
his IBM-PC in the small cave with striped wallpaper that he lived it.
He had bought the cave at an auction, under a government cave-buying
scheme. Fact is, the only things that would fit into the cave were
Adam, his pet IBM-PC, and the stray mongoose that provided the
electricity. This is what happened when Adam used his computer.
C:\> dir
CONFIRM FORMAT C: (Y/N)? n
OKAY, FORMATTING C: no no no
CONFIRM FORMAT C: (Y/N)? n
OKAY, FORMATTING C:. PRESS ESC TO ABORT.
esc esc esc!
CONFIRM FORMAT C: (Y/N)? n
OKAY, FORMATTING C:
esc esc esc esc!
YOU'VE HAD YOUR CHANCE SUCKER.
WIPING F.A.T.
esc esc esc esc!!
TOO LATE NOW. HAHAHAHA FORMATTING...
Adam by this point as depressed as a man who had been shot by a
Fascist regime for liking the colour green. So, the mongoose
suggested that he visit a psychiatrist. The first visit had been
reasonably successful, despite the psychiatrist asking deep
penetrating questions about his relationship with a local tree.
It was time for the second visit...
- AH, MY BOY, SO YOU ARE BACK AGAIN FOR YOUR DIAGNOSIS. COME IN, COME IN.
- Well, the thing is that I spoke to another doctor.
- VOT DO ZAY KNOW, MY BOY. ZAY HAVE NOT THE EXPERIENCE IN CLINICAL
PSYCHOLOGY ZAT I DO! I GOT HD FOR PSY192! NOW! TO YOUR DIAGNOSIS.
- Um, actually I don't think I...
- NOW, YOU HAVE BIG PROBLEMS MY BOY. BIG BIG BIG BIG PROBLEMS.
- Yes I know, I've got a broken leg, and I can't walk properly.
- NO NO NO, MY BOY. I HAVE BEEN INVESTIGATING YOUR SUBCONCIOUS, AND I HAVE
COME TO THE CONCLUSION THAT YOU HAD A REPRESSED CHILDHOOD. BUT MORE
SIGNIFICANT THAN THAT, YOUR BROKEN LEG IS CAUSED BY SEVERE SEXUAL
PROBLEMS.
- What?
- A COMBINATION OF CHILDHOOD EXPERIENCE, PSYCHO-SEMITIC DISORDERS AND A
GUILT FEELING IN YOUR SUBCONCIOUS HAS CAUSED YOUR LEG TO REJECT THE
LEADERSHIP OF YOUR BRAIN, AND ATTEMPT SUICIDE, THUS, BREAKING ITSELF.
- You're not serious.
- MY BOY, ZIS IS VERY SERIOUS! I HAVE CONSULTED PAST CASE BOOKS, AND HAVE
COME TO THE CONCLUSION THAT MUCH OF YOUR BRAIN IS CONVINCED THAT YOU
ARE TURNING INTO A FROG.
- Rebbit.
- ON ZE OTHER HAND, I COULD BE WRONG...
(The preview of next installment courtesy of Reich-Nazi Pty Ltd).
VOT WILL HAPPEN TO THE INFERIOR JEWISH SCUM ADAM COHEN?
VILL HE BE SWEPT ASIDE BY THE GLORIOUS GERMAN ARMY INVADING
THE PSYCHIATRIST'S OFFICE? VILL THE BRILLIANT ARYAN MIND OF
DR.FROGENSTEINBERG BE PUT TO WORK ON A GLORIOUS NEW
WEAPON FOR THE REICH TO BLAST ZE SCHWEINHUND ALLIED FORCES?
YES, IF WE HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH THE NEXT VUNDERBAR
EDITION OF 'ZE TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES!' SEIG HEIL.
OH DEAR. WELL, IF WE MANAGE TO REPEL THE GERMAN ARMY, WHO ARE CURRENTLY
BATTERING DOWN THE DOOR WITH A LARGE KNOPFWURST SAUSAGE, PART FIVE WILL BE OUT
ON MONDAY 3RD SEPTEMBER.
YOU TWISTED MINDS WHO HAVE ENJOYED THIS DRIVEL MAY ENJOY THE AMAZINGLY
BORING STORY OF ROCKET ROGER.
Just send some mail to the Mad Scribe at [email protected],
notifying him that he is a complete extension cord, and including
your account number. Many words arranged in amusing combinations will
then be forthcoming. Was that vunderbar, Mr Scribe sir?
_______________________________________________________________________________
To subscribe to the Toxic Custard Workshop Files, mail [email protected]
--
Copyright © 1991 Daniel Bowen
May be copied or reproduced without permission
provided this notice remains intact.
--
Daniel Francis Bowen | Remember - jumpers are
Monash University, Melbourne, Australia | clothing's way of telling
----THE TOXIC-CUSTARD-WORKSHOP-FILES-----| you to pull over...
[email protected] | [Toxic Custard Workshop]
|
|
|
To the best of our knowledge, the text on this page may be freely reproduced and distributed.
If you have any questions about this, please check out our Copyright Policy.
totse.com certificate signatures
|
|
|
About | Advertise | Bad Ideas | Community | Contact Us | Copyright Policy | Drugs | Ego | Erotica
FAQ | Fringe | Link to totse.com | Search | Society | Submissions | Technology
|
|
|
|
|
|
