Dangerous Fun In The House Of The Scorpion

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

Announcement: The Dangerous Fun web site now has its first sponsor!

Please visit Photo Cloak and have a look around.

[neoolong]

Announcement: The Dangerous Fun web site now has its first sponsor!

Please visit Photo Cloak and have a look around.

Mike seems to like the word, strange.

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

Announcement: The Dangerous Fun web site now has its first sponsor!

Please visit Photo Cloak and have a look around.

Mike seems to like the word, "strange".

Well, if the word fits, use it.

[FaxModem1]

Beautiful, Walking wth Ghosts touched my soul in a way that has forever changed it. Keep it alive Raoul, keep it alive.

I have to say, this is art in one of its purest forms(even though its non-fiction)

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

Thanks for the encouragement, FM. We may be seeing more of Dangerous Fun eventually.

[Batman]

Thanks for the encouragement, FM. We may be seeing more of Dangerous Fun eventually.

I shall hope so. Otherwise, I will (reluctantly, of course) have to put you on the list

It pains me to tell you, sir, but so far nobody seems to be unduly worried about being on that list

Because they think they will never wind up in a situation that fits the specified parameters. As 'Walks With Ghosts' is non-fiction, Raoul should know better than that...

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

In the distance, something is happening. Something is headed this way.

[Batman]

Jesus, Raoul, don't startle me like that!

(I apparently still have topic reply notification active for this thread and was surprised like nobody's business when the email came in )

Good to hear that. This here flying rat is eagerly waiting .

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

Patience, my young sonar-endowed friend. It's coming. It's... OH MY GODS WHAT IS IT?!

[SirNitram]

Patience, my young sonar-endowed friend. It's coming. It's... OH MY GODS WHAT IS IT?!

[Monty Python]GET ON WITH IT![/Monty Python]

[2000AD]

[Mont Python] IT'S [/Monty Python]

[LadyTevar]

Patience, my young sonar-endowed friend. It's coming. It's... OH MY GODS WHAT IS IT?!

It better be more of your fantastic writing, or I'll be very, very unhappy.

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

The Woeful Flight of Stompy Da Chomo

*thwop!* *thwop!* *thwop!* *thwop!*
He's at it again, I gritted my teeth, imagining myself moving my coffee aside, placing it carefully, then lifting the computer monitor in front of me off the desk, smooth, ninety degree turn, bring it down squarely and soundly on the head of this Birkenstocked buffoon at the next desk over.

Not just for the stomping, although I think that might be enough to earn it... we've been following Stompy's online exploits pretty closely, ever since he used my customary computer one morning and forgot to erase his tracks... leaving a folder full of child pornography behind.

To be sure, he deleted the folder... but he forgot to empty the Recycle Bin.

Geek-talk! you say. Gibberish! Pay it no mind. To put it plainly, Stompy was on thin ice, and, well... stomping.

But dropping hardware on the fucker would've been a felony, I reflected. Still, that crunch would be so satisfying... no. Too many witnesses; the cafe was actually doing a brisk business this morning. Better to turn the volume on the headphones all the way up, find something loud enough to drown at that infernal stomping, and engage my remote access to his computer. Megadeth should do...

*thwop!* *thwop!* *thwop!* *thwop!* Fuck. There's no drowning the fucker out. I turned, looked back at him. He was flailing spasmodically at his monitor, mumbling along with something, possibly lyrics, or perhaps a Clinton denial mantra put to a House beat. Ever wanted to see what a Disney character on methamphetamines would look like? Well, you fucking missed it.

"Good morning!" someone shouted over the stomping. Dave Llewellyn, a local inventor, took the seat opposite mine, followed by another familiar face --

"Hey!" I shouted to James as he took a seat next to Dave. "Was ist neue, meine bruder!"

"Keine neue!" he shouted back. He shot an irritated glance at Mr. Birkenstocks, "He's back, huh?! What a dumbass!"

(to be continued)

[2000AD]

translation of the German(?) at the end?

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

translation of the German(?) at the end?

Oh, sorry.

"What's new, my brother?!"
"Nothing new!"

[Tasoth]

I think its what is new my brother and nothing new, not so sure on Keine...

[LadyTevar]

YAY!!! He's posting STORIES again!!!
*Happy dance*

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

The conclusion will be up tonight or tomorrow, I have a lot on my plate right now... just wanted to get the first part in to get the thread back in view.

Glad to see you're happy to see it come back, LT.

[Alan Bolte]

The conclusion will be up tonight or tomorrow, I have a lot on my plate right now... just wanted to get the first part in to get the thread back in view.

Glad to see you're happy to see it come back, LT.

Happy to see it too. But I don't think you can call her LT, I mean you'll get her confused with the LT.

[Batman]

Great. He's posting half-stories again.
Raoul, have you any idea what not knowing how the story ends does to my nerves?
Now I'll spend the time 'til you finish it as a nervous wreck, speculating again and again about how the conclusion will play out, running scenario after scenario through the tattered remainder of my mind while my officemates consider calling a mental institution, what with me sitting at my desk gibbering to myself all day.
.
..
...

Okay maybe that was hyperbole but you get my drift.

Actually it was flat-out invented. Master Bruce was rather enjoying the story and like any other spoiled brat has decided he just can't wait.
Do carry on, Master Raoul.
Are you sure you're working for me, Alfred?




Seriously, good one. Never mind my alter ego.

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

Heh. Don't worry, Batman. The torment will end between 1600 and 1800 hours, Arizona time.

[Batman]

Heh. Don't worry, Batman. The torment will end between 1600 and 1800 hours, Arizona time.

Raoul, I don't mean to pressure you, but unless Arizona timekeeping conventions mean that is a date instead of a time you're sort of overdue

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

Heh. Don't worry, Batman. The torment will end between 1600 and 1800 hours, Arizona time.

Raoul, I don't mean to pressure you, but unless Arizona timekeeping conventions mean that is a date instead of a time you're sort of overdue

Egh. Yes, quite right. It's in the file here somewhere. I'll have it here shortly. Tonight. I promise.

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

[quote="Raoul Duke, Jr."]The Woeful Flight of Stompy Da Chomo

*thwop!* *thwop!* *thwop!* *thwop!*
He's at it again, I gritted my teeth, imagining myself moving my coffee aside, placing it carefully, then lifting the computer monitor in front of me off the desk, smooth, ninety degree turn, bring it down squarely and soundly on the head of this Birkenstocked buffoon at the next desk over.

Not just for the stomping, although I think that might be enough to earn it... we've been following Stompy's online exploits pretty closely, ever since he used my customary computer one morning and forgot to erase his tracks... leaving a folder full of child pornography behind.

To be sure, he deleted the folder... but he forgot to empty the Recycle Bin.

Geek-talk! you say. Gibberish! Pay it no mind. To put it plainly, Stompy was on thin ice, and, well... stomping.

But dropping hardware on the fucker would've been a felony, I reflected. Still, that crunch would be so satisfying... no. Too many witnesses; the cafe was actually doing a brisk business this morning. Better to turn the volume on the headphones all the way up, find something loud enough to drown at that infernal stomping, and engage my remote access to his computer. Megadeth should do...

*thwop!* *thwop!* *thwop!* *thwop!* Fuck. There was no drowning the fucker out. I turned, looked back at him. He was flailing spasmodically at his monitor, mumbling along with something, possibly lyrics, or perhaps a Clinton denial mantra put to a House beat. Ever wanted to see what a Disney character on methamphetamines would look like? Well, you fucking missed it.

"Good morning!" someone shouted over the stomping. Dave Llewellyn, a local inventor, took the seat opposite mine, followed by another familiar face --

"Hey!" I shouted to James as he took a seat next to Dave. "Was ist neue, meine bruder!"

"Keine neue!" he shouted back. He shot an irritated glance at Mr. Birkenstocks, "He's back, huh?! What a dumbass!"

"Indeed." I screeched dryly, and cocked an eyebrow.

Unfortunately for Stompy, not everyone was so unflappable as Dave, James and I. Over the top of my computer, I glimpsed the top of a Do-Rag covered head approaching, the door between the computer room and the front lobby swinging shut behind it. Ah, I thought. Jason is here. Firecracker factory, meet lit match.

I had mentioned Stompy and the evidence of his lusty pre-teen voyeurism to Jason in passing a few days ago, but the Regulator had never laid eyes on the arm-flailing, foot-slapping, spastic freak clown -- until now.

Jason sat wordlessly at the nearest open computer, only glancing briefly at Stompy, who continued relentlessly in his devoted pursuit of perfect obnoxiousness. Meanwhile, I had found an open port on his system through which my remote access client could play. More geekinese! Speak English, you depraved freak!

Put simply, I had Stompy's computer by its unwashed nuts. I could make it do practically anything I wanted -- and what I wanted it to do now was close Internet Explorer.

Stompy suddenly went quiet. He peered over the top of his computer surreptitiously, but I had already hidden the remote access program. I turned, looked back at him innocently. His eyes shifted nervously, left-right left-right. Well, one of them did -- the real one. The glass eye stared ahead, making Stompy appear to go cross-eyed twice. I damn near started laughing at the sight.

I allowed him to reopen Internet Explorer, and hit the "Record" button on the program's console. It was a mixture of relief and disappointment to watch him surf to Google and run a search on the Ford Model T. But a moment later, he switched to Kazaa, and there it was.

File after file of "Hot 13-year old" this and "Steaming Playground" that. Stompy launched into another rendition of foot-thwopping and arm-flailing. I suddenly realized with disgust that, even when I had walked up and seen him at it, one of his hands was nowhere in sight.

I motioned for Dave, James & Jason to come over and look at the screen.

"What the fuck, dude?" James was incredulous. I showed him the console information and the connection to Stompy's computer. "Oh." he said, relieved. "I didn't think you were into that kind of shit. Where is this guy at?" I hiked a thumb over my shoulder as inconspicuously as possible.

"That's the chomo you were telling me about?" Jason fumed. Dave just looked sick.

"Yeah, that's Stompy." I nodded.
"Stompy Da Chomo." Jason chuckled mirthlessly and reached for the chain he usually wears over his belt.

"Hold up, hoss." Dave stopped him. "We want him to go to jail. You don't wanna go with him, do you?" Dave is an older guy, but he knows his business. Still, Jason gave it some thought.

Finally, he said, "Nah. Even that much fun isn't worth it."
"You recording all this, in case he tries to delete it?" Dave asked me.

"Roger-roger." I said, placing a finger under the video capture frame-rate display.

"He's fuckin' drivin' me nuts with that stompin'." Jason complained.
"Fuck yeah." James agreed.

"Let's just put up with it as best we can." I told them. "He's using Kazaa, so if we can catch him distributing this shit, he's gone for a long time." I turned and grinned at Stompy, who glared back, his headphones blasting music into his ears and blocking everything we were saying. Idiot.

And now, to his repertoire of stomping, flailing and spastic head-bobbing, he added loud, atonal whistling. James grimaced. Dave swore. Jason gritted his teeth. That boy has a temper, and he wouldn't hold it back much longer.

And Stompy still hadn't had an upload. Just having that shit on Ejoy's computer would get him 86ed from here, but that wasn't good enough -- we wanted this sick fuck jailed.

So I prodded him along a little. I pulled up the "System Alert" function in my remote client, typed:

WARNING: SYSTEM32.dll ACCESS VIOLATION AT
STOP IT

and hit SEND.

The reply came back: SENT as the same System Alert appeared on my copy of his screen. That brought him up short. The head-bobbing and arm-flailing stopped altogether, and the stomping missed a significant beat while he leaned forward and stared, stupefied, at his screen.

Then, unbelievably, he simply cleared the anomalous system message, and went right back to it.

That's when he got an upload. And another. And another. I checked them --

1. "Want You Bad" -- The Offspring. Fuck.
2. "Great Balls Of Fire" -- Jerry Lee Lewis. Fuck fuck! Come on, give me something I can use!
3. "15 And Loving It" -- Uncle Byron's Playground. Gotcha, fuckface.

I don't think it would've made any difference, at that point, if I hadn't recorded the distribution. Jason had had Enough. and James was right there playing backstop.

Jason sauntered calmly over to Stompy, and in one fluid motion, plucked the headphones off his head, leaned over like a lover about to tell a sweet secret, and roared, "STOP IT!"

Stompy hadn't seen him coming, hadn't heard him coming. His mind no doubt experienced nothing but disorientation in the fraction of a second between the drop in one sound and the blast of the other. He jumped nearly six inches in his chair.

With that, Jason placed the headphones gingerly back on his head and returned to his seat without a backward glance.

Stompy, of course, was incensed. He ripped the headphones off, lunged from his seat -- and promptly stood toe to toe to toe to toe to toe with four very unhappy men. Whatever bravado he might've been trying to fake ran like piss down a puppy's leg. What brought that metaphor to mind? Guess.

"I..." he stammered. "You need to ask nicely!"

"I've known Jason for some time, friend." I advised him gravely. "Trust me -- under the circumstances, he practically kissed your ass."

He tried a new ploy. He pointed at James and Jason: "I spend more money in here in a week than both of you spend all month!" he whined plaintively.

"Think you spend enough to look at child porn, you sick fuck?" Dave asked mildly. Stompy's eyes bulged, his face draining of color.

"You... you can't..." he stammered.

"Can't what?" I snapped. "Prove it?" I turned my screen so that he could see it, hit SEND on the last System Alert Stompy would ever get at Ejoy -- WARNING: YOUR ASS IS BUSTED MOTHERFUCKER popped up on two computer screens simultaneously.

His posture stiffened; he looked like he was going to be sick and completely ruin the carpet.

He tried to bolt, but James and Jason were right there -- Dave waved them off. "Let 'im go." Dave told them, in just the right fatherly tone that they complied instinctively.

Stompy was gone in a matter of seconds, out the front door. "Raoul, come with me for a minute." Dave instructed, so I followed.

Outside, Stompy was standing in front of a meter cop, talking fast and gesturing frantically. He spotted us, and scurried away in a near-panic.

"Hey." the meter cop called out to us. "That guy says you're gonna kick his ass. That right?"

"Nah." Dave waved off the suggestion. "Just wanted to get his license plate number."

"What for?"

"Turn him in." Dave responded matter-of-factly. "Sick fucker was in there distributing child porn. We've got all the evidence from the computer he was using."

"No shit, huh?" the meter cop was shocked. Then he scowled as a tan early 80s model Dodge slid past... "Wait here." he told us, and climbed into his tiny blue-and-white POLICE golf cart.

He flipped a bitch -- damn near flipped his cart -- and was back in a matter of minutes. With, I might add, Stompy Da Chomo's alphanumeric short-and-curlies.

I never did get the follow-up on old Stompy Da Chomo. Ejoy has been blessedly silent -- and carefully monitored -- ever since that fateful flight. I hope the fucker has nightmares about Windows for the rest of his life.

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

Well, there it is, (more or less) as promised.