From: bkoike@sdcc13.ucsd.edu (Bryce Koike)
Subject: A Whoa In The Night
Date: 12 Feb 92 03:44:00 GMT

I'm not talented
	I'm not even interesting
		But people say I'm stupid enough once in a while to
be a source of amusement...read on...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

	They lounged about in the single-room apartment they called
home.  Molding futons that served as beds were stacked in the
corner.  People called them the Cracker Jacks -- one of the best
operative teams in the country, perhaps the world.  Razor, the
group's leader and favorite street samurai, was stripped to the
waist practicing his newest Kendo techniques that he had picked up
from the corner martial arts store.
	Lisa was jacked into the net, slowly worming her way into
DataCorp's computer to get a nice up-close look at their ICE.  The
run was only a week away and they had a lot of prep. work to do
before they could extract Conners and his damn AI, Crystal.
	Tremon was still on the phone talking to his contacts in
Europe trying to get the heavy hardware in on plane.  Maybe boat.
The CJ's were going to need some serious technology on their side if
they were going to be able to bust their way into a top-corporate
building and make it out alive.  Skin-tight Chameleon armor, padded
belly guns, personal rocket weapons, the works.
	And the doc, Horton, leaned out over the rusting balcony
smoking weed.

*CLICK*

	"I think I'm going to be sick," sighed Carter as he flipped
the station.  "Is that all they show on these things?"
	"Nah, some of it's worse.  You know it's bad when the
characters from one show start turning up on another station's
shows..."
	"What's this AI shit?  And what the hell was that about some
guy dying and getting his brain stuck in the net stored on hundreds
of computers?"
	"Well, you know, it's cinematic, right?  Gotta have a good
plot!"
	"If all the shows have the same plot I wouldn't call it
good."
	"Hey, if the kiddies slurp it up it's gotta be good.
Christ.  You remember Hoary Gore?  That one song?  `I can't sing.
But that's ok.  You'll buy my albums anyway!'  Shit...who cares
about plot?  Some good sex and violence sells better any day!"
	"Hmph."

	And somewhere in the night after Lincoln managed to stuff
what was left of his fragmented mind in a stolen body and was busy
copulating with a beautiful razorgirl in some dirty apartment the
creator cried out in pain, sickness, and self-disgust and the entire
world exploded in nuclear fury.
	A cockroach crawled out from the wreckage and strapped on an
exoskeleton.  "C'mon," he said to the gang, "we've gotta hijack that
shipment of Burst before midnight..."