F2K, the 2000 Commemorative Edition

Part 1 of 602



to be contiued?....

Part 2 of 602


(((authors correction)))

to be continued?...

Part 3 of 602


(((Editors correction)))


to be continued?...

Part 4 of 602

(((Publishers Correction)))


to be continued?...

Part 6 of 602

1051920000 hours in the making, millions cast and rejected, created by a small handful of sleep crazed and caffeine driven List Members, one Non-List Conformer, and a mad scientist known simply as Dr. Humor. Despite many legal technicalities, serious budget cutting and rioting villagers the beast has been created again to wreck havoc upon the little Transylvania of the Internet known as the TSA-List. The finicky creation is a proud collaboration of Phil, Heather, Nomadic, Tauvix the Tiger, Galen the Shining One, Lance the Weremoose, TinBender, Ando, Jason Lehrer, Scratch N. Post, Ramen the Noodle-Noggin, Bear the Dog, 4 Goldfish and an Empty Tank, Sobe and Bonsai the Iguanas, and slightly late; but just made it Ponder.

Part 7 of 602


By: Bear, Phil, Heather, Nomadic, Tauvix the Tiger, Sobe, Bonsai, 4 Gold Fish and an Empty Tank, Galen, Lance the WereMoose, TinBender, Ando, Jason Lehrer, Scratch, Ramen, Ponder, and a writer to be named later

It was a dark and stormy night. A pirate ship rose slowly over the horizon. A gunshot punctuated the darkness. Somewhere in Kansas, a horse whinnied in fear. And meanwhile, rigor mortis had not yet set in, though the flies were taking a definite interest.

The body lie under the rear end of a backhoe, rutlike tire furrows running across the corpse. "Any idea who did it yet, Detective?"

"No, Deputy. We still haven't gotten out of the car yet."

The deputy nodded sadly.

Fifteen minutes later, later the Special Agent got out of the car, tripping over two dead alien bodies. "He's dead, Jim."

"You're a cop, not a doctor!" snapped the coroner.

The investigator nodded sadly. "Have you secured the crime scene?" he asked a mountie.

"Yes", the security guard replied, looking interestedly over the shoulder of a kid who was poking at the body with a sharp stick. "Everything's secure. We're just waiting for 2000 yards of police tape to finish up."

"Why 2K?" asked the Scotland Yard man.

"Mind your own business!" replied the MP. "We're going to get everything wrapped up in a few minutes."

The Bobby nodded sadly as the constable began busily swathing the body and the back-hoe in tape. "That ought to hold things together until at least the next millenium."

"There's a path of destruction leading away from the crime scene," noted the kid with the stick.

"Go home to your nanny!" snapped the flatfoot, grabbing the stick away from the kid.

His eyes got real big. "Bah! See if I help you again!" he said. And then he galloped away.

"That'll teach him to butt into police business!" declared the douanier. The T-Man and the coroner nodded sadly.

"I think it's about time for a clue!" declared Mister Rogers.

"Isn't it a beautiful day in the neighborhood?" observed the fuzz.

The body nodded sadly. "Aren't you guys getting into a rut?" he asked.

"No, you're the one in the rut," declared the dispatcher over the radio in the police car.

"Isn't it rather more of a depression?" asked a bystander.

"I'm not depressed," replied the rut.

"Shut up!" declared the meter maid. "You're not a character in this story."

The rut nodded sadly. "Sorry about that."

"How deep do think that rut is?" the sleuth asked Mister Rogers.

"About 2000 millimeters," Fred replied.

"This man knows too much!" declared the PI. "Take him in for questioning!"

"Take him where?" asked the local yokel.

"To the police station!" explained Mister Rogers.

"Where's that?" inquired the law enforcement official.

"Just down the street from Shoney's," Mister Rogers explained. "About 2000 feet."

Everyone nodded sadly. Then Mister Rogers and the Fed climbed onto the trolley and rode away after, of course, changing their shoes and putting on their cardigans.

"I don't think we could solve this case in twenty centuries!" lamented the coroner.

"You got that right!" shouted one of the looters.

"Deputize that man!" cried the dick.

"Aww!" the looter cried out. "Not again!"

The bailiff nodded sadly.

"It's time to move the body now," declared the coroner. "Does anyone know how to get to Shoney's?"

"Isn't that it across the street?" asked the rookie shore patrolman. "Under the big flashing sign with the sirens and spotlights that says 'Clue Here?'"

"This man knows too much!" declared the Sam Spade. "Change his shoes, put him in a cardigan, and get him on that trolley! And while you're at it, get that damned hoe out of here too!"

"We can't do that," explained the beat cop. "If we moved it, the body might escape."

Sighing, the Gestapo man looked out into the crowd and saw <>. "What the hell are you staring at?" he asked.

"You're stuck in a depression," the bystander observed.

"I am not!" cried the rut indignantly. "I'm feeling much better these days. The medication really has helped."

Everyone nodded sadly.

"Well," interjected the supervisory cop, "I think it's time we took a lunch break."

"Didn't you just eat?" asked the crossing guard. "I smell oregano on your breath."

"It was just instant noodles," observed the Pinkerton defensively. "Right before my cat-nap."

"How about Shoney's?" asked a rioter.

"All things eventually lead to Shoney's," noted the hall monitor.

The cops climbed into their 2000 model Volkswagon Beetle and drove across the street to Shoney's. The restaurant manager ran out into the parking lot with a stern expression on his face. He was carrying the now stickless kid by the scruff of the neck.

"Looks like he's got our goat" observed the <>

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Part 8 of 602

No animals were harmed in the creation of this production, in fact they all died instantly, they are presumed not to have suffered, at least to any appreciable extent. All pollutants have a half-life of forty years. Not meant for the blind, children under the age of two should not be allowed to read this. If you have suffered from any heart diseases, epilepsy or have attended a Cher concert you should not be allowed to view this document. Return to sender. Expires when no longer valid. Void in Canada, and provinces. Go Yankees. The Mets were never meant to share New York with the team of the century. Intended for ages between 2 and 99. Do not go above recommended dosage. Not for internal consumption. Combustible in air. If rash occurs it's your problem not ours. Seek medical attention, since you are reading this useless garbage. Yes Virginia, this is stupid. A fat lady fell off of the top of a roof and when she hit the sidewalk it looked like Santa Claus splatter. I am the evil twin. I am the walrus. I am the BullGod. All who worship me shall inherit the world and the blood of the non-believers will be eaten by the children. And that ain't no bull. Vote Natural-Order. Sadism is a talent not a hobby. Masochism is a profession not a fetish. We now return to our original programming. If your monitor was a television we could control the horizontal and the vertical. For a cool trick press Alt+F4 twenty times in a row. If your mother was a Television and your father was a Hydroelectric dam and your sister was actually your grandmother's uncle, what would you be?

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Last Updated: Sat Mar 6 2004 22:13:49