From: Joseph A Quinn Date: Thu Apr 15, 2:05 -0400 To: Bulletin Board Administration Subject: Visit: Tue Apr 15 01:47:50 EDT 1999 While casually browsing the internet from the Margaret Morrison cluster, I was suddenly shaken by a trembling scream that bellowed and shook the earth of all that was puny. Those around me seemed not to have noticed the cry, as they continued to rapidly scatter their fingers across the plastic letters before them, and stare listlessly into their respective glowing tubes. I knew at once that it must be the cry of my long forsaken comrades, the refuse of this beaurocratic university, the forgotten inhabitants of Shirly 19. I traversed the streets between the main land and the trash island, quickly stomping forward in such a way that the deafening cry would increase in volume, at once tormenting my ears and cuing me that my direction was correct. I arrived at the foot of the building, and the screaming stopped: they must have smelled the putrid fumes of my unshowered body floating through their open window. I saw the bodies of 14 hippies scattered haphazardly among the now towering pile of trash. In order to make my way to the room, I had to throw these bodies on top of the trash, and kill a few other hippies as well, making the pile high enough to reach the window. Then I went back down and killed 40 or 50 more hippies because it's fun and their nonviolent so it's easy. Then I climbed back up and entered the horrible lair of foul misfortune, through the window. Kevin was unconscious and floating on the knee-high puddles of rat and frog piss, with balls of paper and other such materials bouncing rythmically off his body. I accidentally kneed him in the face as I waded by but he remained detached from the world. I left him to his escapist dreams and made my way to Tobin's room, from whence the scream had emitted. The blood on his computer screen, and the cracks in the walls seemed to suggest a satanic pattern of some sort which I hesitate to describe in words, for the effect was entirely illogical, and was sensed only intuitively. Tobin slowly creaked his head around to try and see me with a chilling crack, his irises having shrunk to nothingness, and his pupils having actually enlarged so most of his eyeballs were black, in attempt to take in as much light as possible, in the dark, dismal chambers of Shirly 19. He cringed at a flashlight beam which I waved by his neck. Quickly, I rummaged through my belongings to find something to offer him, as a means of showing him some hope among his torment. I found the lid from the one and only sacred beverage: the Orange Julius. It was left over from my last visit to the holy shrine of Julius. I handed it to him hopefully. He licked the crusty residue of the Nectar of The Gods from the plastic lid, cutting his tounge as he did so, but not caring. His face resumed a somewhat humanly shape, and I turned to leave, my mission having been accomplished. They would live through another day(?).