                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                           THE UNDERGROUND INFORMER
                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                Southern California's original BBS publication 
             written by and for BBS users -- Now in its 4th year!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Saturday, October 16, 1993                  Distributed free on your local BBS
Volume Four, Issue Seventeen                  (c) Copyright 1993 Celeste Dolan
(Whole Number 131)                                    The Underground Informer
Published whenever we feel like it--                  4161 Tujunga Avenue #104
Usually every other Saturday!                            Studio City, CA 91604
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Entire publication  copyright (c) 1993 Celeste Dolan.  Copyright to individual
articles  is owned  by  the author(s).  All  rights reserved.  The Underground
Informer  is protected by  U.S. and international  copyright laws.  Nothing in
this publication  may be  altered, deleted, reproduced,  stored in a retrieval
system, or  transmitted in any form  or by any means  (electronic, mechanical,
photo-copying,  recording,  or otherwise)  in whole  or in part  without prior
written permission of the Publisher and Editor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                                  DISCLAIMER
The Underground Informer is an independent publication which is the sole prop-
erty of its  Publisher and Editor, Celeste Dolan.  As such, it is  not  owned,
censored, directly affiliated  or otherwise associated with the sysops or own-
ers of any BBS  on which it is distributed.  Many of the stories which you are
about to read are completely and totally false and are provided for entertain-
ment value only. Opinions expressed by the individual authors are theirs alone
and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the  Publisher & Editor  and/or
the opinions of  sysops whose BBSes distribute  the Underground Informer.  The
editorial staff of  the Underground Informer make no claims  as to the authen-
ticity or truthfulness of  any information contained in this publication.  The
staff of  the Underground Informer  assume no duty  or liability  for anything
published herein.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SYSOPS:  You can have the one-and-only, original  Underground Informer on your
BBS, but you must register!   See last page of this issue for details.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Underground Informer
Volume 4 Issue 17
October 16, 1993

Index
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
|Column                                  |Author                         |Page
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Celestial Reasonings......................Editor...........................[1]
Eeeek Night at the Palace.................UI Staff.........................[2]
Reflections from Beyond the Pale..........Pagan............................[3]
Moontide - Chapter 3......................StarStorm......................[4-5]
Factory of Fear...........................Crazy-Vampire-Man................[6]
The Naked Bum, Chapter 6..................Prickly Porcupine................[7]
Starzy's Companion Guide: Delta's Top 40..StarStorm........................[8]
Editing and Censorship....................All Nighter......................[9]
Delta's Magic Bar: A.L.F. Part 3..........Delta 1......................[10-12]
BBS Happenings............................UI Staff & Local Reporters......[13]
How to write to us, Sysop Info...and More!................................[14]

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Underground Informer
Volume 4 Issue 17
October 16, 1993
Page 1

 ====================  ----------
 Celestial Reasonings  The Editor
 ====================  ----------

     Along with the usual articles, stories and news, in this issue the 
Underground Informer brings you complete information about a very special 
event planned for Halloween, Sunday, October 31.  It's known as "Eeeek Night 
at the Palace," a multi-BBS extravaganza to be held at the famous Palace in 
Hollywood.  Read all about it on the next page.  

     In another Halloween story, our own CrazyMan has acquired a new middle 
name as he writes about the "Factory of Fear" haunted house in Lancaster, CA.  
Crazy-Vampire-Man will be there, along with all the other scary creatures who 
materialize every year about this time.

     In addition to the seasonal stories, this issue includes commentaries by 
two of our regular writers.  Pagan reflects on the propensity of the media to 
concentrate on "bad news," and he gives some examples of the "good news" we 
don't always hear.  All Nighter also focuses on the media, specifically on the 
fine line between editing and censorship.

     StarStorm's "Companion Guide to Delta's Magic Bar" makes an unscheduled 
reappearance--the result of a late-night online session of silliness shared by 
StarStorm and Delta.  The session resulted in "Delta's Top 40," a peek at the 
kind of music enjoyed by patrons of the Magic Bar.  We guarantee it bears 
absolutely no resemblance to any Top 40 you may be familiar with.  

     And of course, the UI's continuing stories...well...continue.  Detective 
hero and movie star Prickly Porcupine is still making minimal progress at 
solving the murder mystery, but he does get into some of the most amazing 
scrapes in "The Naked Bum, Stories from the Files of the Prickly Tapes."  
StarStorm left us at the end of Chapter 2, wondering whether Moontide's chief 
character, Tempest, had survived his encounter with the evil bocor.  In 
Chapter 3, Tempest's fate, and that of the pirate ship Estrella, is told.  And 
Delta's suspenseful tale of ordinary people and their encounter with extra-
terrestrials continues with a new twist in Part 3 of "A.L.F."

     Enjoy!
                                                         --Celeste, the Editor

                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Underground Informer
Volume 4 Issue 17
October 16, 1993
Page 2

                           Eeeek Night at the Palace

                  Huge Halloween Party Brings BBSes Together

     The creators of "Eeeek Bits" online magazine have planned a Halloween 
party likely to remembered as *the* BBS event of 1993.  Motivated by a desire 
to bring many BBSes together for a party with a purpose, Eeeek had already 
succeeded, as of press time for this issue,  in attracting 17 boards plus the 
Underground Informer as supporting sponsors for "Eeeek Night at the Palace" on 
Sunday, October 31 at 9 p.m.  (The list of sponsoring BBSes, in alphabetical 
order:  After Hours, The Annex, Avatar, Baud Town, Beyond Eternity, 
Chatterbox, Dreamscape, Fireside, Infomat, KBBS, LA Online, Modem Butterfly, 
The Motherboard, Pasadena Online, Talk Salad, Westside, and Ye Olde Pleasure 
Shoppe.)  

     Eeeek Night at the Palace will be a gala evening for the 1200 party-goers 
that can be accommodated in Hollywood's famous Palace.  The first 300 who 
shout "Eeeek" at the door will be rewarded with a gift--and that's just the 
beginning.  Costumes are optional for this Halloween party, but those who take 
the option will have a chance to win prizes awarded for the Best, Worst, and 
Most Original costumes of the evening.  One lucky and talented BBS comedian 
will take home a 14.4 modem as the prize in the Amateur Comedy Showcase to be 
held in the VIP Lounge.  This event will begin with a performance by comedian 
Roger Kabler, best known as the Zima man from several commercials.  He has 
also appeared on HBO, ShowTime, and in Comic Strip Live, Caroline's Comedy 
Hour, a JJ Walker special, and most recently on the "Rhythm & Blues" sitcom.  
The show will be hosted by comedian Amy Rafano, and magician Steel Fire as 
Beetlejuice will provide the closing act.  

     There will be lots of music to entertain the Halloween revelers, too.  
The evening's featured band will be J.D. Hall (formerly J.D. Hall and Wildfire 
with three top-10 hits to their credit), and the warm-up band will be the 
RS232's.  In addition to the bands, a live radio show and DJ will provide lots 
of music for dancing.  The Palace offers a full bar and a light evening menu.  
All of this fun is available for a $12.50 ticket purchased in advance at any 
TicketMaster Outlet (Music*Plus, Robinsons*May and Tower Records).  Tickets 
purchased at the door (if any are left) will be $15.  

     Eeeek Night at the Palace promises to be a memorable and fun-filled 
evening, but that's only part of the story.  The organizers are aiming for the 
largest gathering of BBSes ever in the L.A. area for an event--an event to 
prove that sysops and their BBSes have matured beyond the point where 
competition, jealousy and bickering are the rule.  They aim to "generate a 
good feeling about the BBS world."  At the bottom of all is the REAL purpose 
of Eeeek Night at the Palace:  a noon to 5 p.m. "Safe Halloween" party open to 
the children of Hollywood, ages 5 to 12.  Participating BBSes are contributing 
money to this effort, in which the Palace will be decorated as a haunted 
house, and children will have safe fun with punch, cookies and entertainment.  
Any excess contributions will be donated to a charity providing support for 
battered children.  

     The Underground Informer is an enthusiastic supporter of what Eeeek Night 
at the Palace is all about--bringing the BBS community together and promoting 
it as a caring group of people willing to lend a helping hand to others.  

     The Palace is located at 1735 N. Vine Street in Hollywood.  Eeeek Night 
at the Palace begins at 9 p.m. on Sunday, October 31 and is open to the 
general public as well as the online community.  Admission limited to 18 and 
older (ID required).

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Underground Informer
Volume 4 Issue 17
October 16, 1993
Page 3

                       Reflections From Beyond the Pale
                                   by Pagan
                                                                (c) 1993 Pagan

     The News is so depressing these days (what there is of actual News once 
you get past the fluff, that is).  We read, see, and hear stories of war and 
conflict, famine and starvation, murder and rape... it just goes on and on.  
Of course, there is the occasional "Human Interest" story (what they used to 
call "Good News"), and I suppose that is supposed to make everything all 
right.  Pfui.

     So, is the world REALLY going down the crapper, or do the news hounds 
just focus on the negative events of the day because they are attention-
grabbing or sensational?  Well, Gentle Readers, I'm sure we all have an 
opinion about THAT, don't we?  Still and all, there IS a lot of Good going on 
in the world, if we just look for it.  True, the search can be time-consuming, 
even frustrating, but it IS out there, nonetheless.  Wander with me now, 
Gentle Readers, through a few of the happier tales of these times....

     Ever wonder what became of Jimmy Carter?  Whaddaya mean, "Jimmy Who?"  
You remember Carter... he was only President of the United States for four 
years.  ("Oh, THAT Jimmy Carter!")  Well, it seems he's done more good since 
leaving office than he was allowed to while actually on the job.  Jimmy has, 
lo these many years, been off in the Third World, teaching sane agricultural 
techniques to local farmers -- helping them not only to support themselves and 
their families, but to do it in a sustainable and Earth-friendly way.  Now, 
THAT is Good News, indeed!

     How about all the groups that are going out and cleaning up creeks, 
woodlands, and roadsides?  These folks are not getting paid to do this -- they 
are volunteers, doing it for no other reason than that it is needed.  Most of 
the cleanup work is going on in places like Washington and Oregon, but there 
are examples all over the country.  (Is this giving you any ideas, Gentle 
Readers?)

     Did you know that it is possible to adopt a rain forest?  It's true -- 
you can buy an interest in Brazilian rain forest on an acre-by-acre basis to 
protect and preserve the land and the biotope.  We all already have a vested 
interest in the "lungs of the planet," so why not make it a financial one as 
well?  Personally, I'm rather fond of breathing; aren't you?

     Perhaps the best news of all is that it is still possible to stop the 
abuse to the Earth, our Mother, in time for our Children to have a Future.  
Non-polluting forms of transportation, sustainable organic agriculture, 
recycling, energy-efficiency... you've heard it all right here and elsewhere, 
and you'll keep on hearing it.  Each of us has a personal, individual 
relationship with this world, and each of us has a personal responsibility to 
care for and nurture our only home.  The balance could still swing either 
way... it is up to YOU to swing it toward Life and Light.  Go outside.  Get 
out there in your bare feet, and feel the grass between your toes, the Sun on 
your face, the Earth against your soles (and your souls).  Feel the caress of 
the wind and the rain.  Hug a tree.  Watch an ant hill.  Now, instead of 
simply sitting back and reading the News, get out there and MAKE some News!

     Thought for the Week:

          Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand of it.  
     Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.
                                                      -- Chief Seattle

     Peace, Love, and the "D" Word!

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Underground Informer
Volume 4 Issue 17
October 16, 1993
Page 4

                    -=   M   O   O   N   T   I   D   E   =-
                                   Chapter 3
                                 by StarStorm
                                                            (c) 1993 StarStorm

The story so far:  While the pirate ship Estrella lay at anchor in Port 
Royal's harbor, Tempest went ashore for a good luck charm to bless the ship's 
departure.  The first mate paid his sixpence to a mambo, who crafted a fetish 
of gray hairs bound with melted wax and warned him of the evil bocor who lived 
somewhere in the islands.  Tempest returned to the ship commanded by his 
brother, Captain Bladed Jack, and the Estrella sailed on the next morning's 
tide.  The ship soon encountered land where there should have been nothing but 
open sea and was becalmed in an enveloping shroud of fog.  Tempest lay 
sleepless and uneasy in his bunk, then started at the sound of footsteps.  His 
door opened to reveal a dark man with piercing, green eyes--the bocor.  And 
then the mist crowded the air from Tempest's lungs.

                                     <-*->

     Daylight.  Breath.  He lived!

     Tempest coughed, sending waves of pain racing through his body.  He could 
remember only two things:  the cold and those eyes, deep-set and luminous.  
His muscles ached dully with each breath.  His eyes opened slowly, wincing 
against the offending sunlight that filtered through the open door.

     A pool of water covered the deck, moistening his face and nightshirt.  
Tempest untangled his feet from the bed sheets and positioned them under him, 
readying himself to rise.  Momentary false starts and unsteadiness overtook 
him, and he fell back onto his bed once more.

     Reawakening senses fed his lagging awareness, grasping for any solid 
fragment of reality.  His arms and legs responded as lead weights.  His neck 
was stiff and unresponsive, but slowly, methodically, he propped himself up, 
finally rising to his feet and fighting off the dizzying torrent that seized 
his mind.

     Hesitant staggers brought him out of the cabin into open air, the sun's 
warming rays beating down on his wearied body.  A scent came to his nose, 
tentatively at first, but finally rushing headlong.  It was an overwhelming 
stench, unlike any other.  The putrid aroma of decay penetrated the very 
timbers of the Estrella.

     Tempest lurched back into the cabin, trying to force the smell from his 
lungs.  He rushed to his brother's bunk.  Maybe Jack would know what was going 
on.  His hands pressed down on the covers to rock Jack to wakefulness.  A 
plaintive cracking reached his ears as the seemingly solid form beneath the 
covers gave way under Tempest's touch.

     He withdrew suddenly.  Jack's motionless state brought his own heart to a 
stop.  What had happened?

     Slowly, Tempest extended a hand, wrapping his fingers tightly about the 
edge of the sheet.  He counted the quickening rhythm of his heartbeat, 
allowing his body to bring itself to pace.  One... his arm tensed... two... 
his knuckles blanched... three... cold sweat dampened his brow and lip... 
four... he readied himself, his whole body working as a whole... five...

     He pulled, more spasmodically then intended, but it mattered not.  
Tempest's newly acquired breath escaped him.  His eyes widened, pupils 
becoming small blue points on a sea of white.

     Jack lay dead, decaying in his bunk.  His flesh was green and flaked, 
scaling in the heat of the day.  His eyes were open and sunken deep into the 
protruding skull, small insects already laying claim to new burrows inside.  
One shoulder had collapsed to dust from Tempest's intrusion.  Ribs, bones, all 
showed through the tired, clinging shell of flesh.

     Tempest backed away slowly, unable to contemplate anything save to get 
away -- as far away as possible.  At the entrance to the cabin, he turned and 
bolted across the deck.  Bodies lay scattered, in whole or in part, across the 
port and bow sides.  These were the night watchmen and their deaths seemed no 
more merciful than Jack's.  Nimbly, Tempest dodged the remains, allowing his 
instincts to guide him where his intellect failed.

     He halted at the prow, collapsing against the rail and allowing himself 
to slide to the deck because his legs were unable to carry him further.  He 
looked back on the expanse of ship no longer refreshed by the day's 
brightness, but feasted upon by the fangs of heat.  Everyone dead.  Everyone 
but him.  Why not him?  Why did he have to live through this hell?  Some load 
of luck that damned charm turned out to be.

     "We was warned 'bout the bocor," his own voice replayed in his mind.

     "We're not gonna be leavin' the ship ta go lookin' fer the bastard."  
DAMN you, Jack.  Damn your logic.  Damn your fool head.  Damn you to hell for 
all of this.

(Continued on next page.)

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Underground Informer
Volume 4 Issue 17
October 16, 1993
Page 5

Moontide, Chapter 3 (continued from previous page.)
                                                            (c) 1993 StarStorm

     Tempest's eyes lowered, heavied by shock and unexpected expenditures of 
energy.  His strength was wasted by the sheer weight of what had happened.  
Then his long vigil began.  He was unable to move from his vantage, unwilling 
to seek sustenance.  The mild breeze pushed and pulled at the tattered, untied 
sails, moving them with the whims of the waves that crashed steadily against 
the hull.  The Estrella had been grounded.   She was most likely breached upon 
an outcropping of rocks or reef, for no wave could budge her to motion.

     As the fifth hour of his watch commenced, Tempest heard the steady sound 
of wood slicing cleanly through the ocean waters.  Weakly, he rose to his 
knees to peer out over the railing, at last moving to his feet as they 
permitted him.

     A galleon -- Spanish, it seemed -- was fast approaching from the east, 
probably attempting to reach Port Royal before nightfall.  Obviously it had 
seen the Estrella and was tacking a new course to investigate.

     As the galleon drew closer, Tempest could make out the design of the 
figurehead, a buxom mermaid with bountiful attributes.  Crewmen lined the 
galleon's bow, all straining for a better vantage of the Estrella.

     "Ahoy!" called out a voice from the crow's nest, scarcely audible across 
the expanse.

     Tempest wanted to call back, but his voice failed him.  He was simply too 
tired and too thirsty to try.  He allowed himself to slide to his knees once 
more.  His head slumped, nestled in his arms which lay folded across the rail.  
His vision blurred, allowing one moment to slur into the next.  Memories 
patched together, hodgepodge, over the next minutes -- Spanish soldiers 
boarding the ship and discovering the bodies of his crewmates, himself dragged 
limply from his crouched position onto the awaiting galleon.  Words seemed 
vague and incomprehensible.

     Not being one of his stronger linguistic skills, Spanish ran together in 
a never-ending collage of phrases and questions.  He could understand only the 
barest fringe of meaning, but all he cared about now was leaving... leaving 
the Estrella... leaving his shipmates... leaving his brother.  Soldiers helped 
him down the stairs and below the deck of the galleon.  Awareness flickered in 
and out like candlelight until, at last, it snuffed itself out and all was 
dark again.

                                   *   *   *

     His eyes opened.  Where was he?

     Solid brick walls constituted three-fourths of his surroundings, the 
fourth wall taken up by iron bars and door.  His hands and feet were shackled 
tightly.  He'd been in this position once before when he had been part of a 
badly planned raiding party.  As he recalled, that was Jack's fault, too, but 
his brother had made good by helping Tempest escape before his trial.  Now 
what?

     A rat nibbled contentedly at the humble plate of food that had been left 
for him.  The mat of hay upon which he found himself was moist with 
perspiration and humidity.  Caribbean prisons were notorious for death -- not 
so much for convictions in the courts, but for the torturous conditions in the 
cells.  The stench was enough to turn the stomach and route any hunger, but no 
smell could ever mimic the smell of death that had smothered the Estrella.

     "On your feet, prisoner," came the guard's voice from the door to the 
cell.  He'd met up with many a guard in his lifetime and noticed that 
regardless of language or country, they all sounded and spoke alike.  
Nevertheless, Tempest rose.  It didn't pay to disobey when one was in his 
position.

     "Look," Tempest began, a slight smile on his face and experience guiding 
him, "I din'na know what ye've been told, buit I'm no pirate.  Ye see, I was 
ki'napped, an' I was forced -- again' me will, mind ye -- ta go about wit' 
that surly bunch."

     "Is that so?  Well, I don't think you'll have to worry about being 
charged with piracy," the guard replied, his look somewhat bemused.

     "I won't?"  Tempest was perplexed.  Ordinarily, that ploy wouldn't work 
nearly as easily as it had.  And the guard didn't seem quite THAT stupid.  
"Then, ye'll be lettin' me outta these things?" he asked, holding up the 
shackles on his wrists.

     "Not on your life."

     "Buit... ye said I was'na goin' ta be charged with piracy..."

     "Right," the guard continued, "you're not charged with piracy."  He 
paused dramatically, seemingly enjoying the drawn out moment.  "You're charged 
with witchcraft."

To be continued...

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Underground Informer
Volume 4 Issue 17
October 16, 1993
Page 6

                               FACTORY OF FEARS
                                      by
                               Crazy-Vampire-Man

     It's my time of the year.  Time for me to sharpen my fangs, dry-clean my 
cape and make plans for Halloween.  I'm like any other vampire, after all.  I 
go out at night with my girl, grab a bite to eat, and do a little necking.

     This year I felt it was necessary to expand on my annual ritual of flying 
around the old haunts.  So I decided to create a place where I'd feel at home.  
It's outside the city, far away from the bright lights of L.A.  I call it the 
"Factory of Fears."

     Don't let the name fool you.  It's a great place to take the family...to 
get lost.  Whether you like kicking back in a morgue or digging up some new 
friends in the cemetery, the Factory of Fears is everything I would die for.  
There is always plenty of fresh food.  Why, there is even a butcher shop on 
the premises.

     I'd love you to come by and enjoy a bit of my "heaven" here on earth.  
For those of you who are not quite ready to savor the thrills and frights of 
the Factory of Fears, there will be some semi-tame carnival rides and games.  
You're welcome to drag any bodies along with you.  I do.

     So you can find this home away from home, I've provided some directions 
to the Factory of Fears:

        The Factory of Fears is located at the corner of Avenue K 
        and 10th Street West in the City of Lancaster.  You can take
        the 405 North to the 5 North, and then the 14 North.  Exit at
        Avenue L, turn right from the off-ramp, and go left on 10th 
        Street West.  The Factory of Fears is in the old Sears 
        building at the corner.

     The Factory of Fears will run October 16, 17, 22, 23, 24, 29, 30, and 
31st.  Friday and Saturday nights, the thrills last from dusk to midnight, and 
on Sundays the fun ends at 11 p.m.

     A portion of the money from every ticket sold will go to the American 
Cancer Society.  There will be a carnival on the nights the Factory of Fears 
is open through the 24th.  I'm waiting for confirmation of an appearance by a 
"bungee jumper" for the 29th through Halloween.  There will be food, games, 
rides, and best of all, the Factory of Fears Haunted House. 

     Late breaking note:  Hot 97.7 FM, a radio station in Lancaster, has 
arranged the cast of "LOST BOYS 2" to come to the Factory of Fears the weekend 
of the 22nd through the 24th.  They will be arriving in a caravan of black 
hearses.

     Don't miss it!  I'll join you for a bite when you arrive.

                                                 CRAZY-VAMPIRE-MAN

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Underground Informer
Volume 4 Issue 17
October 16, 1993
Page 7

          The Naked Bum:  Stories from the Files of the Prickly Tapes
                                  Chapter 6

                                      by
                              Prickly Porcupine
                           (a.k.a. Prick the Dick)


     When we last left our super-hero, Prickly had just received a clue left 
anonymously inside the Corvette he had rented...with Celeste's American 
Express Platinum card, of course. 

                                    - <*> -

     "Hey Billy Joe, look at that thar cat in the road up ahead.  Think I can 
git 'im?" asked the driver of the pickup truck while driving toward Prickly.

     The passenger, looking up from his smut magazine, spotted Prickly and 
replied, "I'll bet ya 10 bucks that ya miss him, just like ya missed that thar 
last cat."

     The driver quickly shot back, "I did not miss him.  It was that damn kid 
runnin' across the street 'n got in my way before I could git that cat."

     "Either way, ya missed it, and ya still owe me that thar 10 bucks," Billy 
Joe retorted at the driver and continued, "And I'll bet ya 20 bucks ya miss 
that cat up thar."

     Looking up and seeing the truck heading toward him, a man jumped out in 
front of the camera and yelled, "My name is Bobby Joe Jim-Bob, and we demand 
equal rights!  Us Rednecks are being shown in a bad light, and the USARNAOTW 
Local 1 [Writer's note:  United States of America Rednecks Association Of The 
World] will not stand for it.  All of our members will picket every movie 
theater across America to make our voices heard!"  Me and my brother [Writer's 
Note:  the only two members of the USARNAOTW Local 1] are mad, and we're not 
gonna take it any more!"

     Looking shocked and amazed, Prickly turns to the guy and says, "Excuse 
me, but there's a truck about ready to hit you."

     "THUMP!" went the body of Bobby Joe Jim-Bob as Prickly stepped out of the 
way of the truck.

     "I told ya you'd miss!" Billy Joe yelled in excitement at the driver.

     "Shut up, Billy Joe, or I'll divorce your sister!" the driver replied 
hotly.

     Billy Joe, obviously perplexed at the driver's statement, looked at him 
and said, "She's yer sister too, Joe Bob."

     <Stepping in front of the camera, Prickly says, "Excuse me, but isn't 
this my movie?  Stop following these jerks around!">

     Jumping back into the Vette, Prickly dove back into traffic, cutting off 
as many other cars as he could.  And not waiting to give anyone a chance to 
comment about his maneuver into traffic, Prickly shouted, "Hey, this is LA.  
If you don't cut someone off, they'll take away your license."

     Suddenly remembering the secret note that was left for him in the car, 
Prickly grabbed it and opened it up.

     "Wow!  A big sale at Snobinsons/Pay!  Ten percent off!  I gotta get 
there!" Prickly yelled excitedly.

     "CUT!" shouted the director.  "Prickly, you dork, the note is on the 
other side.  Didn't you read the damn script?"

     "I was ad-libbing," Prickly countered.

     "YOU WERE WHAT?!?!" screamed the director.

     "OK, OK, I'll get it right this time.  I promise," replied Prickly 
sheepishly.

     "QUIET ON THE SET!  ACTION!"

     Driving down the road once again, Prickly grabbed the note and read it.  
"Meet me at midnight tonight at the Red Onion on Wilshire."

     "That's easy enough," Prickly said to himself.   "Ah, my first real 
clue."  Looking up from the note, Prickly noticed a school crossing full of 
penguins and nuns in leather bikinis crossing the road.  [Writers note:  Think 
about it.  This is Los Angeles.]

     "SCREEEEEECCCCHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

 Continued Next Issue... 

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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|   ~~   ~####  ####  ####  ####  ####   ~# # #~# # __ #__#   #~      ~~     |
|~\_@_    ##O_  ##\_O_##    ##_/~\##_##   #O_##\#O#  #o#  #  _#_/~\_O_/  o   |
|   }}>   ##### #####)#####/##### ##) ## /~}} ~ ~ ~~~~|~  ~ / ~}   ( )  /|\  |
|   \\   ~ / \ ~    \\ ~  ~  \\   //    ~  \\   //   / \   ~  \\   //   / \  |
|   //     \  \     /#~# ~#~ //~#~\# # #~~ //   \\            //   \\        |
|   ~~     ~  ~     ~#~#  #  ~~ # ~#~# #~  ~~   ~~            ~~   ~~        |
|    _O_/~\_O_/~   o ~ ~  ~O_/~\~O_~ ~ ~~~ ~\_@_    _O_ ~\_O_     _O_/~\_O_/~|
|   / }}  #####   ###### /##}   (######|\######}>######\  ( )\   / }}   ( )  |
|  ~  \\  ##/ ##  ##\ ##~ ##\   /##  ## \##   \\ ## / \ ~  \\ ~ ~  \\   //   |
|     //  #####   ######  ##/   \######  ##   // ##### \   //      //   \\   |
|     ~~  ##      ##  ##  ##~   ~##  ##  ##   ~~ ## ~  ~   ~~      ~~   ~~   |
|   o    _##/~\_O_## o##~\##_    ##_ ##~\##_     ##O_/~\_O_/~    _O_/~\_O_/~ |
|  /|\  / ##   ( )##/|##  ##### /##)\##  ######  ###### ( )     / }}   [ ]   |
|  / \ ~  \\   //   / \    \\  ~ / \ ~    \\ ~  ~  \\   //     ~  \\   //    |
|         //   \\          //    \  \     //       //   \\        //   \\    |
|----------------------------------------------------------------------------|
| SUNDAY OCTOBER 31, 1993  - Doors Open 9:00 p.m. - 1735 N. Vine, Hollywood  |
|----------------------------------------------------------------------------|
|   This is not just "A" party - it is "THE" party of the year!  Eeeek! (tm) |
|   along with some of the biggest (and some not-quite-as-big) BBSes will be |
|   together for one HUGE costume extravaganza! Here are some Highlights:    |
|                                                                            |
|   The first 300 people at the door who say "EEEEK!" will get a FREE GIFT!  |
|                                                                            |
|   Dancing with DJ in The Main Dance Room!                                  |
|                                                                            |
|   LIVE: RS232's play the Patio Room!                                       |
|                                                                            |
|   Literally HUNDREDS of PRIZES to be given away -                          |
|   including a prize for the BEST...WORST...and MOST-ORIGINAL COSTUMES!     |
|                                                                            |
|   AMATEUR COMEDY SHOW in the VIP Lounge with Special Guests & PRIZES!!!!!  |
|   (Are YOU funny?  When you show up, register to go on stage and maybe be  |
|   the BBS Comedy King - OR Queen - of 1993!!)                              |
|                                                                            |
|   Full Bar and Evening Munchie Menu for tantilization of your tongue!      |
|   Dancing in the Main Bar, LIVE music (the RS232's) on the 2nd floor       |
|   patio, or Enjoy a variety of entertainment in the VIP Lounge!            |
|                                                                            |
|   The Palace (Once known as the famous Hollywood Palace) has been played   |
|   by THOUSANDS of Actors/Actresses, Musicians & more.  The ambiance and    |
|   energy of this historical landmark only lends to the atmosphere of the   |
|   night.  Be ANOTHER part of history - this will be the first time so many |
|   BBSes will be together for one event!                                    |
|                                                                            |
|   This event is primarily for the ONLINE Industry, but the general public  |
|   will also be made aware - so we recommend you purchase your tickets as   |
|   soon as you can, in order to secure yourself a place at the Halloween    |
|   Bash that EVERYONE will be talking about!                                |
|            ~~~~~~~~                                                        |
|   ***** This is the ONE party this year that you don't want to miss! ***** |
|                                                                            |
|   Tickets are $12.50 per person at all Ticketmaster Outlets: Music*Plus,   |
|   Robinsons*May, Tower Records...or $15.00 per person at the door.         |
|                                                                            |
|   NOTE:  TICKETS *ARE* LIMITED, Get yours early & ensure availability!!!!  |
`----------------------------------------------------------------------------'

Underground Informer
Volume 4 Issue 17
October 16, 1993
Page 8

                Starzy's Companion Guide to Delta's Magic Bar

                  D  E  L  T  A  '  S     T  O  P     4  0

                                  by StarStorm


                                        Magic Bar: Copyright (c) 1993, Delta 1
                                Companion Guide: Copyright (c) 1993, StarStorm

     Have you ever sat alone, in a really really dark room with the heater off 
and the air conditioner in reverse, with your feet over your head, supporting 
a chicken with rheumatoid arthritis and a bad case of halitosis while reciting 
the Battle Hymn of the Republic in Gregorian chant (you, not the chicken) and 
juggling two apples with your left pectoral... while doing  all this... have 
you ever wondered what kind of music we play in the Magic Bar?

     What?  You don't?  Don't what?  Don't sit alone in a really really dark 
room with the heater off and the air conditioner in reverse?  Don't sit with 
your feet over your head?  Don't support chickens with rheumatoid arthritis 
and a bad case of halitosis?  Don't recite the Battle Hymn of the Republic in 
Gregorian chant?  Or don't juggle two apples with your left pectoral?  Ah.  I 
see, it's your right pectoral... sorry, I just haven't been able to tell the 
difference since Reaganomics...

     But, anyway, Delta and I thought it would be peachy-keeners to show you 
one of our most played songs in the Magic Bar...

                          " R A M B O M A N I A C S "
                    Lyrics by Delta with Starzy on keyboard

                          We're rambomaniacs
                          We got uzis on our backs
                            We throw our hand grenades
                            We're into gay parades
                          We're rambomaniacs

                          We're rambomaniacs
                          And our mother sent us back
                            Our lobotomies have failed
                            They've locked us in our jail
                          We're rambomaniacs

                          We're rambomaniacs
                          And we're living in your slacks
                            We live on dragon soup
                            You can tell it from our poop
                          We're rambomaniacs

                          We're rambomaniacs
                          We put napalm in your snacks
                            We carry oeufs de guerre
                            They're in our underwear
                          We're rambomaniacs

                          We're rambomaniacs
                          We gave Limbaugh to Iraq
                            We have to save our brains
                            'Cause they're going down the drain
                          We're rambomaniacs
 
                          We're rambomaniacs
                          Ron and Nancy sent a fax
                            They gave ol' Bush a call
                            And took credit for it all
                          We're rambomaniacs

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Underground Informer
Volume 4 Issue 17
October 16, 1993
Page 9

                            Editing and Censorship
                           (What's the difference?)

                                     by
                                 All Nighter
 
     On (almost) every publication's opinion or editorial page under "Letters 
to the Editor" there is a caveat stating, in one form or another, the 
following:  "We reserve the right to edit for space."  Some even add "and 
content" to the caveat.

     What this caveat is intended to mean is that if a letter is too long, it 
may be shortened by the editors to fit on the page and/or grammatical errors 
will be corrected.  What it really means is "We reserve the right to censor by 
removing those sentences we feel are not important to the overall subject of 
the letter."  Therein lies the danger, and the power, of any editor.

     The (well-intentioned) editor may feel the commentary important enough to 
be printed, but too long (wordy) in its entirety and therefore elect to remove 
any material he/she feels unimportant to the overall subject.

     The danger lies in the fact that the editor is not the original author 
and has no idea what the author was thinking as he/she wrote the letter.  By 
removing material the editor feels "unimportant" to the subject, she/he is 
censoring the writer, whether well-intentioned or not.  The editor is 
concluding his/her own interpretation by removing the author's own words.  
Certainly arrogant, if not outright censorship.

     The readers do not have the opportunity to decide for themselves whether 
the letter was accurate or not.  The decision is made for them.  Readers get 
the essence but perhaps not the full emotional impact of the writer's 
thoughts.  In a newspaper or magazine it is difficult to know whether a letter 
was printed in its entirety unless you are the original author.

     This form of editing, however, can be seen/heard on any TV/radio newscast 
in the now famous "sound bite."  Have you ever wondered what else the  person 
being interviewed had to say?  Of course you have.  And have you ever wanted 
to listen to MORE of that interview?  The answer again is yes, I'm sure.  Now, 
is that "power," or isn't it?

     Journalists would have us believe that they included the "essence" of 
what the person being interviewed had to say.  News managers would have us 
believe that they have just so much time in a broadcast to get as much "news" 
as possible on the air.  And they both could be right.  They could also be 
right if they simply stated that they edited the sound bite so as to appear to 
support a particular view--easy to do if comments are taken out of context.  
Journalists or editors will never admit to that, however.

     The difference between "editing" and "censorship" is a fine line indeed 
and one often crossed by every news organization, in my opinion, for their own 
purposes--mostly for making money, because that, after all, is their real 
business... is it not?

     Solution?  Buy your own radio or TV station.  Buy your own publication.  
That is the ONLY way you will be able to read "all the news that is fit to 
print" or hear all the news that is fit to be spoken.  Until then, the news 
will be "edited" by those who print or broadcast it, not by those who make it.

     Someone once said, "Never argue with someone who buys their ink by the 
tank-car full."  I agree; never argue with them... but DO question them.

ADDENDUM:

     Those of you who have cable TV still have an opportunity to see and hear 
unedited news as it is made.  C-SPAN1 and C-SPAN2 cover the Senate and House 
of Representatives "live" each day while both houses are in session.  They 
also broadcast State Department, Pentagon, and other government agency 
briefings, as well as testimony before various government committees, all 
"live."  I recommend you avail yourself of this unique opportunity.  

[Ed. note:  Since this publication, like most others, is edited, you may be 
curious to know whether the above article is printed exactly as it was 
submitted.  The answer is "no."  A number of grammatical and punctuation 
errors were corrected, although nothing was cut.  All Nighter makes some 
interesting points, but the article raises at least one question that I, as an 
editor, would like to pose to the readers and to the author.  Which is more 
arrogant--the editor who presumes to offer a condensed or otherwise altered 
version of the author's words as "better" and more worthy of publication--or 
the author who maintains that his or her every word is too precious and 
worthwhile to be tampered with by an editor?]

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Underground Informer
Volume 4 Issue 17
October 16, 1993
Page 10

 =================  -------
 Delta's Magic Bar  Delta 1
 =================  -------

                                    A.L.F.
                                    Part 3
                                                           (c) 1993 Delta 1...

     I woke shaking as the dream faded in a bright light.  Something in me 
tried to tell me it wasn't a dream, but I pushed that thought away.  It was 
just that the dream had been so intense.  I lay there for a time, my heart 
pounding like a jackhammer as I strove to calm my pulse.  Aliens only invaded 
the Earth in B movies and bad novels, I assured myself.  My pulse calmed as I 
set my mind to more mundane thoughts.  The clock on the nightstand read 7:32 
a.m. as I turned over onto my side.  A smile crossed my face and my pulse 
calmed a bit more as I watched my new wife, Beth, sleeping even as my thoughts 
turned to the events of the past 48 hours. 

     I must admit that I was still having trouble believing my good fortune.  
It just seemed so incredible.  I had elected to see a bit of the state on my 
way home from a business trip to 'Frisco.  It had been a long day and a long 
drive.  Since I still had a few hours' drive before me, I pulled over to rest 
when I noticed a sign announcing the grand opening of a new resort.  It seemed 
a bit off the beaten path as resorts go, but it did have a nice location and 
offered all the comforts of city life without the pressures.  It struck me 
that a long weekend lay ahead of me and no pressing business awaited me back 
in L.A.  Why not spend a couple of days relaxing, I thought as I pulled my 
Blazer into the parking lot. 

     Beth and her girlfriend had been staying in the cabin across from mine.  
I noticed them sunning themselves on their deck as I was walking around mine 
trying to work out a few kinks.  One look at Beth and it was love at first 
sight.  After a bit of small talk I was invited over, one thing led to 
another, and we spent the evening telling stories and cuddling under the trees 
and the stars. 

     The next morning over breakfast in bed, I asked her to marry me.  It had 
been a sudden thing, and I surprised myself almost as much as I did her.  She 
hugged me, started to cry, and a few seconds later she said yes.  In the 
afternoon we loaded up my Blazer and headed to Vegas.  Her girlfriend, Sue, 
accompanied us, saying that someone sane would be needed to vouch for us.  We 
arrived in Vegas that evening and were wed that night in a small chapel off 
the Strip.

     I slipped out of bed with great care so as not to wake her and headed to 
the shower.  As the hot water flowed over my body, a memory surfaced of a time 
when we had made love in the shower, a time tinged with fear and uncertainty.  
I shook my head to clear it  I wrote it off as the effects of my being groggy 
and the dream so vivid coupled with the excitement of the past 48 hours.  I 
was sure it would fade in time. 

     My electric razor was on the sink.  I fumbled for the switch, it started 
to buzz, and a long metal tube, rounded at the ends, came unbidden to mind.  I 
made a mental note to check on what had become of it, when it struck me that 
it was just another fragment of the dream.  I smiled at the absurdity of the 
thought.

     I applied toothpaste to the toothbrush, but something felt odd.  It 
wasn't my toothbrush.  A little voice in my head reminded me that we had left 
most of our luggage behind.  No matter, we could pick it up along with her car 
on our way back to L.A.  Beth must have picked up the basics in the hotel gift 
shop.  I mulled it over for a time.  Strange...I couldn't picture the hotel.  
I must have been partying too much last night.  I did seem to be a bit foggy 
this morning. 

     I picked up the phone and called room service, made arrangements for the 
Blazer to be serviced, ordered breakfast and a dozen red roses.  Breakfast in 
bed with my new wife seemed the perfect way to start the day.  Beth was just 
waking up when room service arrived.  I motioned for her to stay in bed.  
"Room service," I replied to her questioning smile.  I tipped the bellboy and 
brought the cart into the room.  Beth smiled and pulled back the sheets, and 
suddenly breakfast was the last thing on my mind.

     Around noon Sue called to remind us that checkout was at one.  She 
arranged to meet us in the hotel casino.  It was nearly one when I reached the 
front desk, paid the bill and inquired after the Blazer.  The clerk informed 
me that it had been serviced and was waiting in the parking lot, and then he 
arranged for a porter to deliver our luggage to it. 

     The casino was a maze of slot machines, assorted gaming tables, colored 
lights and the sound of music mixed with the babble of voices.  A feeling of 
excitement charged the air as Beth and I strolled through.  Sue was playing a 
video slot machine, a small stack of coins resting on its ledge.  "Be right 
with you," she called and pulled the lever.  Assorted fruit filled the screen.  
She placed the last of the coins into the slot, pulled, the screen flashed, 
three plums lined up in a row, a light flashed, and a few coins splashed into 
the dish at the base of the machine.  Sue smiled.  "Win a few, lose a few, win 
a few more."  The coins vanished into the slot and she pulled the lever again.  
Fruit rolled across the screen, and a bar, a lemon and a cherry appeared.  Sue 
laughed again.  "Enough of that.  It's time to cash out."

     We followed Sue to the teller's window, where she opened her purse and 
dumped a number of colored chips onto the counter.  The teller counted them 
and placed a number of 20-dollar bills on the counter.  "I'm much better at 
blackjack," she confided as she counted her winnings. 

     As promised, the Blazer was waiting for us in the parking lot, our bags 
neatly stowed in the cargo area.  I collected my keys from the porter and he 
collected his tip.  I opened the door for the girls, walked around to the 
driver's side, slid into the seat and adjusted the seat and mirror.  I have 
this theory that auto mechanics adjust them as part of the tune-up.  Beth 
placed a CD in the stereo, and an old Stones tune started to play.  In the 
back seat, Sue consulted a road map and tried to work out our best route as I 
pulled out of the parking lot and started down the Strip toward the highway. 

     As we headed down the Strip, a hitchhiker appeared off to the right.  We 
had passed several already, but there was something about this one.  I pulled 
over and rolled down the window.  "Where you headed?" I asked.

      "Looking for a ride to Prescott, Arizona.  Wouldn't turn down a lift to 
the Interstate," he replied.

     A voice inside my head seemed to say that he wasn't the right one.  I 
dismissed it.  "Hop in, we can take you that far," I said.

     "Thanks, that should make it easier to thumb a ride back home," he said 
as he climbed into the back seat with Sue. 

(Continued on next page.)

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Underground Informer
Volume 4 Issue 17
October 16, 1993
Page 11

Delta's Magic Bar:  A.L.F.  (Cont'd. from previous page)

                                                           (c) 1993 Delta 1...

     A short time later we arrived at the Interstate, the hitchhiker thanked 
us again, and we wished him luck.  I headed north following Sue's directions, 
and after a time she had me turn off into the desert.  Sue announced she was 
going to take a nap, so I called for sandwiches and soda from the cooler.  The 
miles ticked slowly away, but I had Beth and the music for company.

     When Sue woke, I pulled over, and we rotated drivers.  We needed to make 
speed if we were to be back in town by Monday night, and it made the long 
drive less stressful.  Beth and I rested as Sue drove through the rest of the 
Nevada desert and between the Grapevine and Funeral mountain ranges into 
California.  I took over driving in Death Valley and followed Highway 190 
through the sands, turned onto Interstate 395 and headed north through Owens 
Valley and on to Mono Lake.  Beth took over at Mono Lake, and we headed west 
through Yosemite with a few brief stops for sight-seeing and nature breaks.  I 
took over again as we exited the park and followed Highway 120 while Sue and 
Beth grabbed another catnap. 

     Beth was just waking up when a sign appeared, announcing that the pioneer 
town of Knights Ferry, population 100, in the lovely San Joaquin Valley was 
just a few miles up the road.  It was noon on Monday when I pulled off the 
highway and onto its main street.  I drove up to the general store, walked in, 
purchased a six-pack of soda, and asked for directions to the resort.  The 
clerk cheerfully informed me there was no resort in the area.  A couple of 
locals in the store agreed with him, and one of the them suggested I go down 
to Stockton and check with the county clerk. 

     I walked back to the blazer shaking my head and placed the sodas in the 
cooler.  "It seems we're lost, or the resort is.  Does the town look right to 
you?" I called to the girls.

     "It doesn't look quite right," admitted Beth. 

     "I didn't pay much attention to it, but the resort was to the east of 
town and it was dark when we passed through it," volunteered Sue. I hadn't 
more than glimpsed the town myself, and we had not passed through it on our 
way to Vegas.  Well, it would only amount to a couple of hours' delay and it's 
better  then searching for it on our own, I reasoned as I turned the key and 
headed to Stockton.

     The county clerk in Stockton was more than happy to help us out.  We sat 
drinking coffee and reading his magazines in the waiting room.  He popped out 
of his office and informed us that the search of county records had turned up 
nothing and that he was checking the state's database.  After a time, the 
county Sheriff walked through the door and into the clerk's office.  I didn't 
think a thing about it until he reappeared and asked us to accompany him.  
"Are we under arrest?" I inquired.

     "No, but we do require your aid in an ongoing investigation.  The area of 
Bubbling Springs Resort, the resort itself, the town, and approximately 25 
square miles of farm and forest land were devastated by the fire.  I'm 
surprised you didn't heard about it on the news," he informed us.  We all 
started to ask questions.  "I can't tell you more about it now, but there's an 
investigator who will arrive shortly and can fill you in.  Please  follow me 
to my office," he requested as he held open the door.

     The Sheriff was quite charming and was soon regaling us with an absurd 
story about the antics of some local's cow and its affection for a neighbor's 
pig.  The Sheriff led us down the block to a plain building with multi-colored 
brickwork framing large glass windows that looked more like a storefront than 
a Sheriff's office.  Had it not been for the signs outside saying "Sheriff," I 
would have passed it by without a second thought.  An officer sat at a desk 
littered with papers as we entered.  The Sheriff exchanged a few words with 
him and then led us down a hallway past a number of rooms.  We were shown to 
an unused office containing a desk decorated with only a phone at one end of 
the room near the door.  A long table with simple wooden chairs sat at the 
opposite end of the room near a barred window.  The Sheriff indicated we 
should sit at the table.  He sat on the edge of the desk and asked some polite  
questions. 

     The talk had turned to our trip when the Sheriff glanced at his watch.  
"It's almost 4:30, a bit late for lunch or early for supper, but if you're 
hungry I can arrange to have a meal delivered.  You have plenty of time before 
the investigator arrives," he assured us.  Lunch did sound good and we had 
been living off cold cuts from the ice chest.  We talked it over and agreed to 
take him up on his offer.  "There's a great Mexican place that has takeout or 
a BBQ I can highly recommend. Also a very nice deli and the usual collection 
of fast food places," he announced.  We talked it over and agreed that Mexican 
sounded good.

     The Sheriff picked up the phone and dialed a number.  "Order anything you 
like.  I'll take care of the bill," he said as he passed the handset to me.   
After a few questions I discovered they had a mixed platter special.  The 
Sheriff remarked that it was a tad spicy but good as he excused himself from 
the room.  The girls were all for it, so I ordered three platters and a 12-
pack of sodas.  We were speculating as to what was going on when a deputy 
opened the door, and a man in a Spanish costume entered with a large tray of 
food.

     The investigator arrived as we were finishing our lunch.  He was a tall 
man, well-muscled with close-cropped brown hair.  He was wearing a dark blue 
business suit that looked like it had been slept in and sunglasses.  Two men 
that appeared so like him they could of been his clones followed him into the 
room.  He took a seat at the desk and opened his briefcase.  "Please write 
down anything you can remember about your stay at the resort, including the 
names and descriptions of anyone you met there," he said as his assistants 
passed out paper and pens from their briefcases.  He waited until we finished 
and collected the papers from us.  He scanned them quickly, removed a pad from 
his briefcase, and scribbled a few notes on its pages. 

     He walked to the door and motioned to the officer outside.  "It will be 
best to do this one at a time.  My assistants will interview the ladies in 
other rooms.  After we finish, they will be returned to this room, and I will 
fill you all in on what has transpired," he explained.  I gave Beth a hug 
before his assistants escorted the girls from the room.  When the door closed, 
the investigator took a seat at the desk, opened his briefcase and seemed to 
adjust something within.  "I will be taping this for possible future reference 
in the investigation," he stated.

     "What's this all about?" I demanded.

     "Just relax and respond truthfully to my questions," he reassured me as 
he made adjustments within the briefcase.

(Continued on next page.)

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Underground Informer
Volume 4 Issue 17
October 16, 1993
Page 12

Delta's Magic Bar:  A.L.F.  (Cont'd. from previous page)

                                                           (c) 1993 Delta 1...

     "Do we need a lawyer?" I ventured.

     He drummed his fingers on the desk.  "You may have one present during 
questioning.  You do not need one unless you have committed some illegal act," 
was his response.  "Let us start the questions, and should feel the need of a 
lawyer, we will stop and get you one.  Fair enough?" he added with a crooked 
smile.  There didn't seem any harm in it so I agreed to try it his way.

     He looked at the paper I had written.  "You arrived at the resort around 
5:30 p.m. on Friday?" he started.

     "Yeah, around 5:30 p.m. on Friday."

     "You met Beth and Sue that evening?"

     "Yup, that's correct."

     "This was the first time you had met either of them?"

     "Yes it was."  I watched as he jotted a note.

     "Saturday afternoon at approximately 1 p.m. you left for Las Vegas to get 
married?"

     "Yeah."

     He paused as if thinking for a few moments.  "Nothing about driving to 
Las Vegas on the spur of the moment to marry someone you met less than a day 
before strikes you as odd?" 

     "I was and am in love with her.  No, it doesn't seem odd to me."

     "Would you consider, say, a UFO flying around as odd?"

     "Yes, I'd consider that odd."  He seemed to be looking at something in 
his briefcase and not at me.

     "Have you ever seen a UFO?"

     "Sure, on TV.  And in the movies." 

     "Anywhere else?" 

     "Nope."

     "Did you see anyone at the resort that acted in a suspicious manner?"

     "I didn't really see anyone other than the manager, a bellboy and the 
girls.  They did not seem suspicious to me."

     "Did you or either of the ladies have anything to do with the start of 
the fire?"

     "Of course not."  He made another note.

     "Did you see a helicopter in the area at any time?"

     "I have no memory of one,"  I responded.

     He looked up from his briefcase and shot a faint smile at me.  "Please 
wait right here.  I will bring the ladies in and fill you in when they have 
finished," he stated as he left the room. 

     It wasn't the investigator that returned with the girls but a man in a 
military uniform, a gray flight helmet covering his head.  There was no form 
of ID on his uniform, no insignia of rank, no unit patch.  Sunglasses covered 
his eyes.  "I'm your pilot.  Everything will be explained at our destination," 
he assured us in a voice that sounded strangely comforting.  He opened the 
door and stood waiting for us.  Any request for information was ignored.  He 
just stood there holding the door open.  Well, three could play that game.

     "We're not going to move until we get some information," I declared.  He 
drew his gun from its holster and motioned toward the door with it.  It seemed 
we had to comply or be shot.  What the hell was happening here?

     As we walked through the Sheriff's office, nobody looked at us.  It was 
almost as if we were not there.  On our way out the door, I noticed a large 
white pasteboard sign, yellow tape on its edges.  It had been hidden behind 
the brickwork on our way in.  Traces of the tape were visible on the front 
window.  I waited till we were outside and then faked a coughing fit.  I bent  
forward, turned a bit to the side, and the sign came clearly within my vision 
for a moment.  I coughed to cover my surprise as I straightened up.  The sign 
had read "For rent."  Who the hell rents out a Sheriff's station?

     The pilot led us around the side of the station and into the parking lot.  
I felt a shock as I beheld the helicopter that had been in my dream.  The 
sound of gunfire brought me back to reality from the vision thrust upon me.  
"Get the girls into the cockpit," ordered the pilot.  I grabbed Beth and 
thrust her into the cockpit . A quick count told me that about 20 armed men 
were advancing on us, firing automatic weapons.  I returned for Sue, who was 
standing there like a target.  She wasn't looking at the attackers; she was 
focused on the helicopter.  I picked her up and shoved her into the cockpit, 
then turned back to see what was happening.  Two men in business suits and 
sunglasses, firing Uzis, charged the helicopter.  They recoiled suddenly about 
ten feet away from me.  It was as if they had run into an invisible wall set 
in thin air.  Then I realized suddenly that there were no bullets whizzing 
about us and no holes appearing in the helicopter's frame.  What the hell was  
happening here?  I couldn't make up my mind if this was some kind of trap or 
one of those fantastic visions from my dream.

     The pilot stood there calmly, holding what appeared to be a pack of 
cigarettes in his hand.  Patches of silver appeared briefly in the air in 
front of him and fluttered to the ground.  Beyond him, where the rear entrance 
of the Sheriff's station should have been, was a large sign.  It was faded 
with age and weathered, but I could still read the word "Appliances" on it 
without difficulty.  That made no sense at all.  Nobody sold appliances out of 
the back of a Sheriff's office.  I glanced around me at the parking lot.  
There were no Sheriff's cars here, just a couple of large helicopters sitting 
across the lot.  My head started to spin.  I rubbed my temples and tried to 
focus.  I became aware that the pilot was shouting at me.  "Get in and belt 
up," he commanded.  The air shimmered bright red for a moment, and the 
attackers dropped to the ground.  I jumped into a seat and clasped the belt 
across my lap.  The pilot sprinted across the parking lot and bent over one of 
the fallen bodies, removed something from the man's vest pocket and placed it 
within his own.  He headed toward a group of the fallen, bent down and grabbed 
something.  He placed it under his arm and raced to the helicopter. 

     He entered through the pilots door and tossed a briefcase into the back 
near the girls.  His hands worked a number of switches, and the rotor started 
to grind.  A slow, thumping noise started, increased in frequency, and we 
began to rise as the pilot pulled back on the stick.  I squirmed around in my 
seat to check on the girls.  A wave of nausea passed over me as I glanced into 
the back of the 'copter.  I felt dizzy, and everything started spinning.  What 
the hell was happening to me?

                A.L.F. will return with Part 4 in the next UI.

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Underground Informer
Volume 4 Issue 17
October 16, 1993
Page 13

                             >> BBS HAPPENINGS <<
           A Roundup of News and Special Events in the BBS Community


--> Online Love Notes
--> Grendel and Silver Belle Announce Engagement

Grendel and Silver Belle, a popular couple known by BBS'ers on many area 
boards, recently announced their engagement.  Although the pair didn't meet 
online, theirs certainly qualifies as an online romance since they met just 
over a year ago at the After Hours second anniversary party, and they are very 
actively involved in local BBS'ing.  In addition to After Hours, Grendel and 
Silver Belle also call The Annex, Blazin' Bytes, Miller's Party Board, Modem 
Butterfly, The Motherboard, and Zola's Pleasure Palace.  A definite wedding 
date has not yet been set, but Grendel and Silver Belle are tentatively 
planning on mid-1994 nuptials.  Congratulations and best wishes to Grendel and 
Silver Belle from all of us at the Underground Informer!

--> Dateline: Many L.A.-Area Boards
--> Event: Eeeek Night At The Palace

The publishers and editors of "Eeeek Bits" online magazine have organized a 
Halloween party that promises to be the most spectacular BBS event of the 
year!  At 9 p.m. on October 31, the doors of Hollywood's famous Palace will 
open for a fabulous night of fun.  The first 300 people who shout "Eeeek" at 
the door will take home a free gift.  Costumes are optional, but there will be 
prizes for the Best, Worst and Most Original costumes.  Entertainment includes 
music by the RS232's (opening band) and J.D. Hall (feature band).  An Amateur 
Comedy Showcase and Contest will be hosted by comedian Amy Rafano, with a 
prize of a 14.4 modem to the winner.  Comedian Roger Kabler (the Zima man) 
will open the Comedy Showcase, and magician Steel Fire as Beetlejuice will 
bring it to a close.  There will also be dancing to music provided by a DJ, 
full bar and food.

At press time for this issue, the sponsoring BBSes (in alphabetical order) are 
After Hours, The Annex, Avatar Online, Baud Town, Beyond Eternity, Chatterbox, 
Dreamscape, Fireside, Infomat, KBBS, LA Online, Modem Butterfly, The 
Motherboard, Pasadena Online, Talk Salad, Westside, and Ye Olde Pleasure 
Shoppe.  In addition to these BBSes, the Underground Informer is also a 
participating sponsor.

The Palace is located at 1735 North Vine Street in Hollywood, and you must be 
18 or older (ID will be checked) to attend.  Tickets are $12.50 in advance 
(available at all TicketMaster outlets, including Music*Plus, Robinsons*May 
and Tower Records) or $15 at the door (if the event does not sell out in 
advance).  For more details, see the related article on page 2 of this issue,

--> Dateline: Beeline and Desiree's World of Desire
--> Event: Halloween Party

Members of Beeline BBS and Desiree's World of Desire are planning on a big 
Halloween party night at The Ice House Annex, 24 N. Mentor Avenue in Pasadena.  
Presented by CHERON Productions, the evening will include a Halloween show 
featuring Sylvester the Jester, Bieno Svengali and the Fabulous Ms. Fabos, and 
The Improv Inferno.  After the show, the Mystery DJ will take over with 
Halloween music and dancing.  The party is set for Sunday, October 31, from 7 
to 11 p.m. at The Ice House Annex (Lake Street exit from the 134 freeway to 
Walnut, turn left one block to Mentor, then turn right and go several blocks 
to the Ice House).  Cover charge is $6.50 per person, reduced to $5.50 for 
individuals in costume or $6.50 per costumed couple.  Prizes will be awarded 
for the Best, Sexiest and Funniest Costumes.  For additional information, call 
818-577-1895 after 2:00 p.m.

--> Dateline: Blazin' Bytes
--> Event: Still Searching for the Ultimate Pizza

They're at it again at Blazin' Bytes.  Another "Search for the Ultimate Pizza" 
party is set for Tuesday, October 27 at 7:30 p.m.  Where?  "HaHaHaHaHaHa! 
Surprise! To be announced!" says Blazin' Barb.  There's no telling what sort 
of trick Barb has up her sleeve this time, although she did state that this 
will NOT be a Halloween party.  Curious members of Blazin' Bytes can find out 
online on October 21, when the mystery location will be announced.

--> Dateline: After Hours
--> Event: 8th Season of BBS Bowling League

The 8th season of the BBS Bowling League begins on Sunday, October 24, at a 
new location, the Matador Bowl in Northridge (Balboa Boulevard at Nordhoff 
Street).  It promises to be a wild kick-off for the league, since everyone is 
invited to come dressed for Halloween!  An organizational meeting is set for 
2 p.m., followed by bowling from 3 to 5 p.m.  League bowling fees are $10 per 
week, with lots of prizes at the end of the season.  This league is open to 
anyone who would like to join, regardless of experience or BBS affiliation.  
RSVP:  Party Sissy 3 at After Hours.

--> Dateline: Chatterbox
--> Event: Pizza Pig-Out

Chatterbox is another of the sponsors of the October 31 "Eeeek Night at the 
Palace" (Sysop Don says, "I'm thinking of going as myself--I figure that is a 
scary enough costume!"), but even that big event isn't enough socializing for 
one month.  The board plans a Pizza Pig-Out meet at Roundtable Pizza in Van 
Nuys (15355 Sherman Way, just west of Sepulveda Boulevard) on Thursday, 
October 21 at 7 p.m.

--> Dateline: The Westside BBS
--> Event: Monthly Meet with Drawings and Prizes

The Westside is participating in the Halloween "Eeeek Night at the Palace" and 
offering a little extra incentive to its members.  Westsiders can take their 
"Eeeek Night" ticket stub to the November 6th Flakey Jake's Meet to enter a 
drawing for two extra door prizes:  $100 in cash and an AM/FM Cassette "Boom 
Box."  In addition, all the usual door prizes will be offered at the November 
meet, held at Flakey Jake's in Culver City.

--> Dateline: Blazin' Bytes
--> Event: Vintage Threads

Sunday, September 26, a buncha Blazin' Bytes gals got up early and headed for 
the "Hollywood Vintage Clothing Marketplace."  We found over 75 kiosks all 
packed with lovely clothing and accessories, each bespeaking a bygone era.  We 
saw everything from fragile Victorian gauze dresses to polyester bell-bottoms!  
There were exquisite old textiles, high-button shoes, leathers, jewelry, 
trimmings, buttons, tons of cowboy boots and Western wear (GREAT for you 
Country-Western dancers), flannel and Hawaiian shirts, dramatic hats and 
"funky-50's" ones (smile... shades of my youth!), and lots more!!!

All that shopping got us hungry by the time noon rolled around, so we headed 
over to the lovely French Quarter, where we dined under the pitched roof of an 
indoor wrought-iron gazebo.  Lunch was terrific, and the atmosphere was that 
of a New Orleans, or perhaps Martinique Street!  Unusually attractive and 
sophisticated... We were indoors, but it FELT like outdoors.

BTW... For those interested, the "Hollywood Vintage Clothing Marketplace" is 
located at 1632 North La Palmas in Hollywood, a few blocks east of Vine and 
just off Hollywood Boulevard.  Hours are from 8 a.m. to 3 p.m., and the event 
is held every fourth Sunday.  The next is October 24, then November 8, 
December 26, and January 22.  (Reported by Blazin' Barb.)

--> Dateline: After Hours
--> Event: Free Access for Donations

As a sponsor of the "Eeeek Night at the Palace" Halloween party, After Hours 
is also contributing to a "Safe Halloween" party for L.A.-area children which 
Eeeek Bits and the Palace are holding on the afternoon of October 31.  After 
Hours is encouraging its members to contribute individually to this charity 
effort by offering two months of free access.  A $10 donation earns two months 
at level 4, $15 earns the same time at level 5, and $20 earns level 6 access.


               >>> ATTENTION: Sysops and BBS Social Planners! <<<

If YOUR board's events are not getting coverage you would like to see in The 
Underground Informer, it just might be that you're not telling us about them!  
We want to know, and our readers want to know.  Send details to the UI at any 
of the addresses listed on the last page of this issue.  The UI also welcomes 
news about special events in the lives of BBS members, including weddings and 
birth announcements.

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Underground Informer
Volume 4 Issue 17
October 16, 1993
Page 14

Circulation: 163,386                                  SnailMail address:
Published in the Underground (Where else?)            The Underground Informer
                                                      4161 Tujunga Avenue #104
                                                      Studio City, CA 91604

Publisher and Editor: Celeste Dolan
   (The Publisher and Editor may also be reached at the following e-mail 
   addresses.  Mail for UI authors will be forwarded by the editor.)
      After Hours: Celeste 2576
      Beeline: Celeste 357
      Beyond Eternity: Celeste 329
      Blazin' Bytes: Celeste 
      Chatterbox!:  Celeste
      Excalibur: Celeste 16
      KBBS: Celeste
      LV-426: Celeste
      Lynzie's Motherboard: Celeste 1518
      Stepping Stone Hotel: Celeste 1053
      The Westside: Celeste 4446
      24th Century BBS: Celeste
  
UI Writing Staff:
   All Nighter
   Delta 1
   Laser-Lite
   Pagan
   The Phoenix
   Prickly Porcupine
   Ralph the Fried Gerbil
   Ryk
   J.L. Seagull
   StarStorm 
   Uncle Gibby

UI Staff Associates (occasional contributors):
   Crazyman
   David Dennis
   The Game Junkie
   Indro
   Kitten
   Barry "Bear" Pease
   OmegaTron
   Pip
   Tom Sawyer
   Siberian Shasta
   The Stormbringer
   The Unknown Griper
   The Write Knight
   ...and UI Snoopers and Informants on boards everywhere!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                       >>>>>  NOTICE TO SYSOPS!  <<<<<
Join The Underground Network!  Your BBS can become a member of the growing 
family of California and out-of-state boards offering their users the one-and-
only, original UNDERGROUND INFORMER.  There is no charge to sysops for the UI.  
Contact the UI Publisher at any of the above SnailMail or e-mail addresses for 
details.  You may become a Registered Distributor of the UI by calling LV-426 
BBS, home of the Underground Informer, to fill out your registration form:  

   LV-426, Studio City, CA at 818-752-8040 (1200-14.4K baud) has a sysop 
   information packet and registration form in the "A" (free transfer) 
   section, or you can leave feedback for Celeste Dolan, co-sysop.  The UI can 
   be read online in the "Y" text section and downloaded from the "A" transfer 
   section.

The Underground Informer is also available to sysops from this authorized re-
distributor of the UI:

   Beyond Eternity, Manhattan Beach, CA at 310-371-3734 (12/24/9600 baud) or 
   310-370-9464 (3/12/2400): Choose [O]rder Desk from the Main Menu to fill 
   out your registration.  The UI can be read online in the [P]ub section and 
   downloaded from the "UI" section of the library.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                   Newest Members of The Underground Network
      (A partial list of UI distributors which includes only those BBSes
      that have joined The Underground Network within the last 90 days.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
CompuCa$h (1-line MegaHost; Northridge, CA; 818-772-7036, 6PM-Midnite)
Desiree's World of Desire (2-line DLX; Pasadena, CA; 213-258-0726)
FUNN San Diego (32-line TBBS; San Diego, CA; 619-549-3866)
INTERACT! (48-line Major BBS; Honolulu, HI; 808-536-7133)
Mississippi Online (1-line Telefinder; Clarksdale, MS; 601-627-4811)
Network 23 (1-line Virtual BBS; Los Angeles, CA; 213-224-0032)
Programmer's Depot (2-line PCBoard; Toronto, Ont., Canada; 416-699-5158)
Talk Channel (32-line DLX; Canoga Park, CA; 818-348-0476)
Tech World BBS (1-line Renegade; Tarzana, CA; 818-342-7535)
The High Society BBS (4-line GAP; Beverly, MA; 508-927-6951)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Industrial strength copyright notice:
Entire publication  copyright (c) 1993 Celeste Dolan.  Copyright to individual
articles  is owned  by  the author(s).  All  rights reserved.  The Underground
Informer  is protected by  U.S. and international  copyright laws.  Nothing in
this publication  may be  altered, deleted, reproduced,  stored in a retrieval
system, or  transmitted in any form  or by any means  (electronic, mechanical,
photo-copying,  recording,  or otherwise)  in whole  or in part  without prior
written permission of the Publisher and Editor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Disclaimer:
The articles, stories and  other items in  this publication do not necessarily
reflect the opinions or views  of the sysops, staff, paying members, or unpaid
guests of  any BBS anywhere in the  known universe.  Many of the articles  are
presented as a parody of real events and should in no way be construed as hav-
ing  any bearing whatsoever  on anything at all.  The State of California  re-
quires that we advise persons with little or no sense of humor  that this pub-
lication contains  information which might be considered  harmful to the brain
given regular exposure to it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Closing thought:

     "People want to know why I do this, why I write such gross stuff. 
     I like to tell them I have the heart of a small boy--and I keep it
     in a jar on my desk."
                                        --Stephen King

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

