From Newsgroup: rec.arts.comics.creative

Original post: https://lists.eyrie.org/mailman3/hyperkitty/list/racc@lists.eyrie.org/message/QWE3AGE2Z4QLHZTUIZGHA3VEMIZZJAGE/
On Sun, Mar 30, 2025 at 5:02rC>PM Arthur Spitzer <arspitzer2@gmail.com> wrote: <snip>

And it's the next part of The Wrath of The Administrator.
Part Fourteen is by Glenn "Net Thang" Carnagey.
Part Thirteen is by Dan'l "R.A.C. Shade" Danehy-Oakes.
(Hmm. We've got one by the creator of the LNH concept
and another one also by an early LNH writer!)

Heck yeah!!

Net Thang, boot yo silly butt to the Bucket ...

Huh. X>

"Shady Waif, make your report to the Parliament of Nodes concerning
the Prime Flounder."
"Perhaps I should first read this, from the journal of his consort."
"Very well. Proceed."

I feel like these are some *very* specific bits of parody, that I'm
not going to get because I've only ever read the first few issues of
Alan Moore's Swamp Thing. X>

That damnable Constantine's got Phallic off on another
pointless sojourn. This time I fear may well be the last, as
they have descended into the deepest bowels of Hell.

Chicago.

heeheehee

The very thought of Chicago in March chills the marrow.

And the skin o3o;

What
might the net be like there? The backbone itself must be
frozen and it is rumoured that his age-old arch-enemy, Swap
Thing,

Ah, I get it, I get it n.n

The alert sounds pound away at me at a dizzying sample rate. But I
must ... find Archie. Daemons whiz by spitting silicone fractates and screaming out their duties, begging me to ad-minister to them, and
kill their jobs. The backbone up here is a frozen wasteland, and the
links tenuous. One false pathway, and I'll lose the carrier for good.

I'll say this, this author is absolutely committed to the bit, and
putting out some seriously poetic shit

"Halt User! What is your name and what do you seek!"
"I am ... the Net.Thing, Prime Flounder of the Parliament of Nodes,
Heir Protector of the Net! I must log on to CHINET ere dawnbreak, St.
Patrick's Day. Tell me the path to the modem pool now, Archie!"
"But of course. As soon as you give me your password."
"You are not Archie, that may not be known by any code on the Net.
You are one of Netromancer's daemons!"
"Clever, aren't you, Net.Thing? But no match for the Cray! Archie is
no more, We will absorb you and the Net will be ours! Take him, Worm!"

Hmmmmm yes, things happening, I see, okay no I don't :o

"Constantine, what have you done this time!"

SPLUT <<<

"Have a drink, old son."

...heeheehee. X>

R.A.C. Shade slumped down exhausted in the alley way. He did not much
care that the run off from the melting snowslush was seeping its chilly
way through his pants. Hell, they weren't really his pants, just those of some schmuck whose account he took over when he was killed that last time.

Oh, that'll happen.

Normally, Shade would not have given much of a second thought (although probably a whopper of a third, fourth, fifth, and even fiftieth thought) about inhabiting a vacant account like this. After all, he'd done it
before, and as long as the user had left it idle, he didn't have too bad
of a time adjusting. (Of course, there was that time when he kept getting e-mail from the previous user's ex-s.o. and it did get a little
embarassing, but that's another story.)

The recurring theme from this time period of equating people's user
accounts to their lives is fascinating. It makes a lot of sense,
considering how hard it was to get Internet access back then, and how
losing it cut you off from everyone you knew that way.

And he could feel the Surge Stream
starting to act up again. He hadn't felt it in awile, but he couldn't
forget that old familiar tug. And when the Stream decided to yank him somewhere, he pretty much had no choice but to go with it.

I don't think they'd started making Surge the soda yet in 1993, but
I'm imagining just a river of that. X>

"Green Sloth?"

The bartender nodded curtly and began to mix a several substances of
dubious origin into a highball glass and slid it towards Shade. The
mixture was a slow, noxious earth green with emerald highlights that
rolled viscously as Shade turned the glass. It had an odor reminiscent of wintergreen turpentine.

Cooooooooool

Shade looked at the glass of green ooze in his hands as he felt the
breakers hit.

Oh, so it *is* Surge n.n

With a deafening roar of a thousand dams bursting, Shade disappeared from alt.cynosure.

"Hey! That guy didn't pay!"

Hehehehehe

"Welcome to Chicago, Mate! We're almost all here, so have yourself a
little something and we'll get started. Ohp, I see you already have. And colored for the season, to boot. Well, happy St. Paddie's to ya!"

Oh god. XD I'm not even Irish and I'm offended.
Drew "gotta send House of Pain after them" Nilium
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