============================================= Subject: Phil Good, P.I., in "The Big Sweep" Date: Wed, 27 Aug 1997 21:38:53 +0200 From: Stig Oppedal
My name is Good. Phil Good. That=92s both my name and my motto. Off hours you can find me down at Happy Harry=92s, hanging out with my pals Magnum, Hipflask, and Dice. Those jokers are always loaded, unlike this other guy I know, Mr. Wallet. I work hard, and I play hard. I=92m a private eye. Yesterday morning I was minding my own non-existent business, when some fresh-faced college boy stumbled into my office. Goddammit, why can=92t these geniuses just read the sign that says "No bra, no service". Take it from me, dime-store novels that open with "It all started when a classy dame came into the joint" are just pure fiction. I jotted down a quick memo to myself: "Change the sign to =91No brain, no service=92 and see if that helps". "Look, friend, I have a new =91broads only=92 policy," I said, while pointing to the sign (and the door), "so if you=92ll excuse me..." "Even though I=92m an r.s.s.er, I can still read, OK. I wouldn=92t be here if it wasn=92t an emergency. My name=92s Stig, I=92m a United supporter" he stated, disregarding my disregard. "The word on the super-highway is that the lamest post on r.s.s. is out to frazzle my brain. I need you to track it down for me." "Ariel Mazzarelli handles those cases. Take the bus to the seedy side of town, find the most run-down bar imaginable, walk past the drunken--" "Hey, do I look like a newbie? I already checked that place out. Ariel=92s on vacation. I need an investigator. NOW." "Well, kid, I need booze," I replied. "NOW. But with you hanging around I won=92t get any, so I=92ll take your case if you stay outta my face. Now beat it." I didn=92t let on, but I was intrigued by the kid=92s story. Lately there had been a number of unexplained disappearances, people just vanishing without a trace, never to be heard from again. Could there be a connection with this r.s.s. racket? I got on the phone and spread the word to my informants to be on the lookout. I put on my hat and coat and was about to leave when the sound of broken glass flew through the room. I walked over and picked up a large rock. As expected, there was a note attached: > [Stig=92s] vociferous support for an English team is suspicious, as he > is Norwegian. Thanks, but no thanks, pal. I already had the dope on my client: a red devil addict since 1984 - nobody=92s perfect. But it was obvious that someone was trying to scare me off the case. If they had sent the rock C.O.D., with Ben Franklin as the delivery boy, I might have listened. As it was they=92d have to come up with something more than lame accusations. I dropped by the place where every good investigation starts: Happy Harry=92s. Harry was an old-time barkeeper, just glad to serve the firewater and keep the change, but his eyes and ears were always open. You could count on him to come up with a refreshing new angle. "I=92ll have the usual, Harry. By the way, what can you tell me about r.s.s.?" "Learning doesn=92t teach men to have sense," he replied enigmatically, while placing a glass in front of me. "Anyway, I sought for myself, so why can=92t you?" Yeah, yeah, I was only asking, no need for the moral lecture. Harry knew what I really sought and poured me a shot of Drambuie - and if _that_ isn=92t refreshing, I don=92t know what the hell is. One of Harry=92s employees, a frizzled ex-hippie by the name of Chuck, was on my payroll. Chuck pocketed the opiates I paid him with and told me what I wanted to know. "R.s.s. threads repeat themselves," he concluded, "the first time as tragedy and the next five thousand times as farce." It seemed like I would have to avoid some deadly traps in my search. After conducting an exhaustive investigation at Harry=92s I had to take a leak. Over in the restroom corner stood a vaguely familiar figure. Recollection hit me like a hangover on New Year=92s Day: it was none other than small-time con artist Larry Pearson, a.k.a. "Confused Dumbo", a.k.a. "Demented Dumbo", a.k.a. "Jumbo Dumbo". Dumbo wasn=92t the smartest of conmen, but he was a tenacious psychopath and generally regarded as a menace to society. It sounded to me like he was performing a monologue to the urinals. Perhaps he was practicing on an upcoming scam; perhaps he just couldn=92t get a life. > [5 MB of the usual mix of arrogance, warped logic, generic insults, > and delusions of grandeur space-savingly snipped] > >Again you reveal your true thoughts. Scotland rising above England - can;t >have that. MU inferior to Rangers - can't have that. Name me one expert >that would not rate Laudrup, Thern, Goram or a handful of other s as >amongst the best players in the world. Rangers now have better players than >MU. Your petty jealousy is actually amusing. So too is the sheer banaility >of your arguments. A dozen experts immediately sprang to mind, but they weren=92t needed. Some crackpots can simply be dismissed off-hand like a "blind" beggar who knows when to say "Thank you, sir" and "Thank you, ma=92am." Dumbo=92s routine was just too obvious to be a threat to anyone. Next stop was the Lonely Hearts Escort Club. The manager there was one Manny the Midget, a leery pip-squeak with a big brain and a forehead to match. The Midget had called in with a possible lead, but now his less than coherent statements were only about the differences between the way something really is and the way that something appears. Without breaking off he suddenly nodded towards a private cubicle in the back. I turned, I saw, I shuddered: Benaldo, the shadowy snake oil salesman from Middlesbrough, had connived some people into listening to him. According to rumor Benaldo had bored more people to death than Fabio Capello. I took my chances and sneaked over to eavesdrop. > [3 MB of wind-blowing deleted] > >May I also remind you that everyone wrote Milan off after the disastrous >1995-1996 season, we signed Weah and pissed our way to the Championship. Benaldo was clearly a big-league operator now. I wondered how much money he had contributed to Weah's signing - and whether it was a gift or merely a short-term loan. Though he had cloaked himself in a pretense of knowledge and an air of authority, I could still see the scars from numerous tattoo-removal operations. His threads were strictly the emperor=92s new clothing. I crossed him off the list of suspects. Out on the streets I bumped into my old pal Marc =91the Narc=92, head honcho of one of the meanest crime syndicates in town - the police force. Marc was one of those guys who just didn=92t give a damn about anything, and he proved less than sympathetic to my client=92s predicament. "There=92s no better comfort in the face of death than to think of the surroundings you=92re leaving, and the characters you=92ll no longer have to mix with," he declared. As if to prove his point, a lunatic suddenly walked over and shouted in my face: ----------------------------------------- Subject: Spiderman/Comics/Marvel Universe Date: Mon, 25 Aug 1997 10:24:24 GMT From: email@example.com (Himal Govind) Newsgroups: rec.sport.soccer Would anyone out there with access to any pics of spiderman and his enemies please e-mail them to me!! firstname.lastname@example.org I would be happy to corresspond with any of u!! Please help!! Thanks!! Hasta la pasta!!!! ------------------ "When you contemplate the weariness of an existence in company so discordant," Marc cheerfully added when the goon had left, "you cry, =91Come quickly, Death.=92" I had to admit that he had a point, but I needed something more tangible than a philosophical attitude. Marc just shrugged and went off to plan his next shakedown. Back at the office I found a note from Virgil O=92Marrow, my most dependable stool pigeon. The poor sap was hooked on these =91golden leaves=92 that only I could supply him with, so he was always eager to help out on a case. As per his message I met him at midnight outside the entrance to an illicit back-alley club. After I forked over the leaves, he took me downstairs - down to the underworld, down to where the lowest forms of human life gathered on a regular basis: the rec.sport.soccer Double-Digit IQ Society. O=92Marrow gave the password (=91ignorance=92), vouched for my inanity, and led me inside. It didn=92t take long to realize that O=92Marrow and I had stumbled onto something big. It began when an informant planted some misinformation from the mob, and via the doomed efforts of an undercover cop it ended up in a frenzy of yawn-inducing sexual innuendo. It wasn=92t RSS Post Of The Week; it was RSS Thread Of The Week. --------------------------- Subject: I wonder if...... Date: Sun, 17 Aug 1997 21:00:17 GMT From: Snaps@kavana.u-net.com (Snaps) I wonder if fans of Newcastle United (and all the other second-placed teams in the Bring A Friend League) realise that if they get knocked out of the EC1 next week then their European season will be over. They will *not* be entered into the UEFA Cup. It was news to me, but it's apparently true. That should spice things up for the Croatian game. *** Date: 18 Aug 1997 19:17:00 GMT From: "Chris Applegate" You're wrong Snaps. There have to be 64 teams in the UEFA Cup 1st Round - and the seeds and qualifiers have already been organised. There have to be 16 losers from the Champions Cup Qualifying Round to complete the set - otherwise the system won't work properly. Julie J and Lee can sleep safely in their beds. *** Date: Tue, 19 Aug 1997 20:13:50 +0100 From: Julie J Organization: WillyNilly In article <01bcac05$3b356420$LocalHost@the-computeer>, Chris Applegate writes >Julie J and Lee can sleep safely >in their beds. I sleep safely in my bed, I can't speak for Lee :D -- Julie J *** Date: Thu, 21 Aug 1997 12:13:04 +0100 From: Blue Moon In article , Julie J writes >I sleep safely in my bed, I can't speak for Lee :D Well come on Lee, do you sleep safely in Julie's bed? :o) -- __ _|__|_ _( )_ // ^^ \\ ()| |() \\( )( )// ^|~~~~|^ | || | (__||__) BLUE MOON *** Date: Fri, 22 Aug 1997 13:56:44 +0100 From: Julie J In article , Blue Moon writes >Well come on Lee, do you sleep safely in Julie's bed? :o) Don't be silly Blue Moon, that's not what I meant and you know it :o) Anyway if Lee was in my bed, who says we'd be sleeping ;o) -- Julie J *** Date: Tue, 26 Aug 1997 09:12:45 +0100 From: richard ahl [BTW, Rich, it's nice to see you've been reunited with your family name] Julie J wrote: > In article , Blue Moon > writes > >Well come on Lee, do you sleep safely in Julie's bed? :o) > Don't be silly Blue Moon, that's not what I meant and you know it :o) > Anyway if Lee was in my bed, who says we'd be sleeping ;o) > -- > Julie J I expect to see a breathless Lee posting here shortly. *** Date: Tue, 26 Aug 97 20:16:46 GMT From: Lee Banyard richard ahl (email@example.com) wrote: : I expect to see a breathless Lee posting here shortly. ... ... ;) -- Lee B "Shit! Did you see that? He must have a foot like a traction engine!" - Alan Partridge, commentator ------------------------------ My instincts were to smoke the entire gang, but I wasn=92t licensed to killfile. What=92s more, hoards of like-minded simpletons were now pouring into the speakeasy. It wouldn=92t be long before my cover was blown. I was trapped. O=92Marrow came to the rescue. "There=92s an exit in the back," he urgently whispered, "a secret door marked http://www.risc.uni-linz.ac.at/non-official/rsssf/rssbest.html. Go through there, turn right, and you=92ll find your way out. And next time I want double the number of leaves, you cheapskate." In your dreams, O'Marrow, in your dreams. After escaping from the den of depravity, I drove up to my client=92s condo and filled him in on the caper. The kid wasn't the least fazed. He snapped his fingers and two gunmen appeared quicker than a pair of aces at a high-stakes poker game. I recognized them at once: Drillo and Fergie, a.k.a. the "Men in Red". The kid dispatched them to take care of the Double-Digit IQ Society. For my part, I considered the case closed - firmly closed - and I drove back home to Harry=92s place for a drink.