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X  ________                   ____  ___                                     X
X  \______ \   _   _ _ __ ___ \   \/  /     Bible Black and Walrus Tusks    X
X   |    |  \ | | | | '__/ _ \ \     /              ------------            X
X   |    `   \| |_| | | |  __/ /     \              by Snarfblat            X
X  /_______  / \__,_|_|  \___|/___/\  \                                     X
Xxxxxxxxxxx\/  Blender Corporation  \_/xxxxxxx[DBC010(HMBB)-SB.921206]xxxxxxX

     
     The boy threw up again.  And again.  He had been throwing up almost
continuously since they had started to give him walrus tusks.  He wanted ball
point pens.  Just blue ball point pens, and he thought he had made himself
quite clear regarding this point.  Yet there they were, in the corner of his
room, large boxes full of walrus tusks.

     Some of the boxes even had a layer of blue ball point pens on top; this
merely served as a tantalizing disguise, for under them were more walrus
tusks.  Norton had to smile at the people who brought him the boxes, because
if he didn't they might stop, and then there would be no chance for him to
ever get ball point pens.  Every once in a while a box would be labeled "Ball
Point Pens", but he would open it up and it would be filled with walrus
tusks.  Why always walrus tusks?  Why not sand or paper plates?  No, it was
always walrus tusks.

     The closest he had come to achieving his goal was the time he got a
whole box of blue pens.  It was labeled "Blue Ball Point Pens", but he knew
better than to trust this.  Although he saw blue pens on the top when he
opened the box, he knew that when he thrust his hand into the box, he would
be greeted with the familiar cool feeling of the smooth tusks that taunted
him continuously.  However, when he reached down, he felt only pens.
Rapture!  He grabbed one and felt it in his hands.  It was, in fact, a blue
ball point pen, and he suddenly had hundreds of them.  He picked up another
one and turned to the wall where he had started his story so many years ago.
Holding the pen carefully -- it had been so long since he had written
anything -- he put the pen to the smooth painted concrete wall.  He began to
write...

     "The Ark landed on the shore.  Noah didn't know what to think of the
pile of ashes surrounding the charred remains of his brother's uncle..."

     Norton reared back in horror.  The writing on the wall was black!  He
threw the sinister pen across the small room.  Undaunted, he reached into the
box and began to write again.

     "...He took one of his zebras and led it onto the island.  It sniffed
the burnt body and exploded."

     Black again.  Norton bit the pen in fury.  He felt the cool ink run down
his face and throat.  He put his hands to his face, wiping his lips, and
looked at the ink.  Diving head first into the falsely blue pens, he broke
each one open. With the exception of a single red one, they all contained
black ink.  Why had they been putting him through this torture?  Soon he
would get a blue pen, he knew, and when he did they would all be vanquished.
The day ended and the room smelled like dog vomit. "Vomit God!", he laughed.
One hundred feet underground, machines ticked away, recording every one of
Norton's vital signs.

     
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 xX   Copyright (C) 1992 by The Durex Blender Corporation and Snarfblat   Xx
xX          All Rights Reserved. Text used with kind permission.           Xx
xX                                  * * *                                  Xx
xX  The Durex Blender Corporation / Box 381511 / Cambridge, MA 02238-1511  Xx
 xX                  The Eleventh Hour BBS 617.696.3146                   Xx
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