I’m truly amazed, Fenris. Steven Sondheim has nothing on you.
Neither does Ed Wood, for that matter. 
your humble TubaDiva
Administrator
Snnnff. My artiste’s soul is wounded by that remark.
Just for that, I shan’t be posting my next origin story opus:
Sgt Euty and His Howling Commandos
[sub]at least until later…after I’ve had a chance to finish it[/sub]
Fenris
How the HELL did he find out about the roller skates?!?
I wanna see Alphagene’s origin? Please?
I want to congratulate Fenris on his excellent work, but it seems that posting in here brings his merciless pen down to bear on you. Ah well, c’est la vie! Excellent job Fenris. Please don’t feel obligated to attempt to describe my origin as moderator, the true tale is too ghastly for mortal man.
It’s true.
It is.
However, the truthMUST be told.
Soon.
But not yet.
Fenris
Writing in.
Sentence.
Fragments! Just like Zelazney! Kewl!
(As long as no one minds, I’ll keep posting these)
Gaudere Science Theater 3000
In the not too distant future
On the S.M.D.B
There was a gal named Gaudere
Who’s story you shall see!
She posted lots in Great Debates
Her reasoned responses were rarely late
She stepped on trolls and classed up the place
Lynn and Tuba really liked that
So they shot her into Space
(Gaudere): I had a liiiiiiiiiife!!
“We’ll make her mod that forum
All the day and night (la-la-la)
Now she’s got nothing else that she can do
Except for helping Cecil’s Fight!” (la-la-la)
Now keep in mind that Great Debates
Takes smarts and lots of soul
She only keeps her sanity
By squashing all the trolls!
S.D. Troll Call:
Tyler!
Dippy!
Serlin!
Phaed[sub]rus[/sub]…!
If her situation makes you sad
That she is trapped-not free (la-la-la)
Just think “It’s her that’s trapped in space.
At least it isn’t me!”
On Gaudere Science Theater 3000!
Fenris
Who wants to admit he doesn’t know if it’s pronounced Gawd-ree, or Gawd-ear. <hangs head in shame>
Sgt Euty and his Howling Commando
In
Lo! There Shall Come A Mod!
Smoke drifted across the battlefield. Most of his squad was missing, but tough-as-nails Sgt. Euty pushed his helmet back on his head and surveyed the wreckage as his second in command, Bobo Bazooka said “I dunno, Sarge. I didn’t think it’d be this hard to get th’ info ta H.Q.”
Striking a match on his five o’clock shadow, Sgt Euty lit a stogie and said “Nobody said it’d be easy, Bobo. When yer fightin’ the forces o’ ignorance, ya gotta expect some resistance.”
He sat back, took a puff of his cigar and said “Them two wimmen are everything we’re fightin’ against. They make snap judgements wit’out hearin th’ facts. They repeat urban legends wit’out checkin’ ‘em first. They even keep doin’ columns about how ‘one vote’ made the difference on a bunch o’ elections. And they know better. Abiee and Anne gotta be stopped.”
Turning to Bobo, he waved an envelope. “This is th’ thing that’ll do it. It can win us th’ war! All we gotta do is get it ta Cecil. Now c’mon you ape! Ya wanna live ferever?” And with that, he picked up his rifle and charged forward, Bobo following only seconds behind, inspired by his leader’s words.
The battle was a red haze around Sgt. Euty, but he pressed onward, onward knowing that the contents of the envelope was more important to than any one person.
He looked briefly over his shoulder to see if Bobo had kept up with him. His trusted friend, Bobo said “Sorry Sarge.” and with that, he slammed his huge fist into Fightin’ Sgt. Euty’s jaw. Then…all was blackness.
When Euty awoke, he was tied to a pole. Bobo was huddled in a corner, his head down, eyes haunted by guilt. “I hadda do it Sarge! I hadda! They got my Mother hostage and tol’ me if I don’t turn ya over ta them, they’d give 'er…”
"…fifty lashes with a wet noodle!" cackled Abiee
“I understand, Bobo” said Euty, sadly.
“Open the envelope sister! Open it! It contains the ultimate weapon! The third common word that ends in GRY” chortled Anne “With it, we’ll be able to rule the world!”
Abiee took one of her razor sharp fingernails and slit the envelope. A small piece of paper drifted out. A small scuffle ensued as the two crones struggled for the paper. Anne won.
“It says…It says the last word is ‘Gry’? What kind of word is ‘GRY’?” shrieked Anne. She pointed a withered finger at Bobo. “This was a setup to distract us from the real battle! You did this. You’ll pay!” and pulled a nearby lever. An icy blue liquid splashed on Bobo, freezing him instantly, like a quiescently frozen confection. “And you’re next, Sargent. We’ve had enough of your meddling.”
Moving with lightning speed, Euty strained and broke free of his bonds. He shoved the lever to full, causing the freezing liquid to splash wildly across the room. He opened up a trap-door he’d seen and dove in as Abiee and Anne were frozen harder than Walt Disney wasn’t.
Euty had a moment to look at the tiny root cellar he was in before the cold seeped into the room with him and he knew nothing more.
The next thing he heard was bickering, faintly in the distance.
[sub]"…can’t be the place"
“I told you already, Coldie! Number One, Cecil said it was.[/sub]” There was a series of loud noises. The voices were much clearer afterwards “Number two, how many Icebergs do you find in a battlefield?”
“Lots, up north!”
“We’re not up North! Just a sec…”
There was a tremedous crashing noise. A fist, smelling vaguely of beer punched through the ceiling. The remaining boards were torn off, and Sargent Euty was helped out of the cellar.
“Hi! My name’s Uncle Beer, and this guy’s Coldfire. You fought for Cecil back in the big war, right?”
“Whaddaya mean, ‘back’?” asked Euty
“Um…” Said Coldfire “It’s been a while”
Out of the shadows, stepped Lynn and Tuba, Cecil’s Angels.
Lynn introduced herself and explained that Euty had been trapped under that quiescently frozen confection for years, the cold keeping him in suspended animation. “Abiee and Anne lived through it, but their power was weakened to the point that now they’re simply kept around for their amusement value. Almost no one under 60 takes either of them seriously, though they still vector urban legends. Cecil was able to discover what had happened and sent us to rescue you. Cecil doesn’t leave people behind.”
Tuba added “We know you’ve fought for Cecil before…and it’s a lot to ask, but we need a mod for the busiest of all Forums: MPSIMS. We think you’d be a good influence on these two.” She gestured at Coldfire and Uncle Beer who were engaged in a quiescently frozen confection-ball fight.
Sargent Euty thought for a moment “Ma’m, if the fight against ignorance is still on, I wanna be on th’ front lines. Count me in!”
And so, a mod was born!
Fenris (who’s fingers are going numb from all this typing. I’m quitting for the evening. Tune in tomorrow for another exciting episode of:
Secret Origins of Super-Moderators!)
Y’know, a while back, there was a debate about what should be included in the SDMB FAQ.
I think Fenris’s posts in this thread win, hands down. 
Fenris You Rock! [sup]but I gotta second that you have too much time on your hands[/sup] More! More!!
[special moderator mode][re:can be read only by staff]
Fenris knows too much. He has too much time on his hands. He’s clever and funny. He mocks us. Obviously, we must make him a moderator, and soon. After he’s been initiated, he wouldn’t DARE post his own origins.
Lynn
Lord High Executioner
[/special moderator mode]
Wanna bet? Even for a personage of noble rank and title, a dignified and potent officer, whose functions are particularly vital, I cannot defer. If I were made a mod, THE TRUTH MUST BE TOLD! Even if it meant exposing myself…[sub]err…in the good, journalistic way, not the scary “hey little girl, lookit this” way, of course![/sub]
Fenris
In the Castle Behind the Sky, in a throne made of the skulls of his defeated enemies, the Mysterious Mr. Winkelried waits. And plans. And, above all, watches.
His origins are shrouded in darkness: dark hints abound that a genetic amalgam of Moriarity, Fu Manchu, Lex Luthor, Dr. Doom and Blofeld were combined to make the ultimate evil-genius by a cartel of rumor-mongers and legend spreaders. His mission? To bring down Cecil himself. But the Mysterious Mr. Winkelried was a trifle too smart and realized that nobody could destroy Cecil. Cecil was the smartest man alive and far too well organized. So the Mysterious Mr. Winkelried escaped, destroying the organization behind him, a ghastly trail of bodies a silent testimony to his ruthlessness. He deduced the existance of The Castle, and, finding it empty, took up residence.
Now from his high throne, he watches the Earth, his eyes peering coldly over his steepled fingers, as if the globe were a chessboard. Now and again he whispers a word and a government falls. A gesture and a nation flourishes. But to what end…?
However. the Mysterious Mr. Winkelried is bored. Global Geopolitics are all well and good, but they’re the merest of diversions for a man bred to bring down Cecil himself.
There is a twinkling of light. One of the Mysterious Mr. Winkelried’s eyebrows raises a fraction. Something…new!
Chronos is fiddling with his watch, Lynn and Tuba alongside him.
“We’re lucky we made it in one piece. I’ve never been anyplace like this before, let alone carrying passengers.” Chronos says.
Tuba begins “Mr. Winkelried? I’m Tuba-Diva, and these are my colleagues, Lynn Bodoni and Chronos. We have a proposition to make.”
“I’ve deduced it. I accept.”
Lynn smiles “I’d hoped you would.”
Chronos asks “What? Huh?”
Patiently, the Mysterious Mr. Winkelried explains “Lynn and Tuba were going to suggest that since I am incapable of destroying Cecil, and since I am bored without a challenge, that I use my talents for good and assist Cecil with his mission. I accepted…assuming that I be given the Comments on Cecil’s Column forum. Only working directly with Cecil’s topics will provide the challenge I require. I presume that won’t be an issue?”
“Of course not.” replied Tuba
“Then I shall begin at once”
David B enters. How he got there was a mystery. “This is nonsense!” he cries "Arnold hasn’t got ‘super powers’ " (you can almost hear the quotation marks around the words by David’s tone). “He was asked to be a moderator by Tuba and Lynn! That’s all!”
There is the merest gesture of Arnold’s smallest finger. In a flash of light, David is gone, returned to his home, only his smoking tennis shoes remain (in accordance with Pratchett’s Law of Comic Effects).
After packing his few spartan belongings, the Mysterious Mr. Winkelried transports himself and the three remaining people to the Secret SDMB Mod headquarters and there, his work truly begins.
Fenris
This is great! Reading about their backgrounds almost makes these so-called “mod” fictional characters feel real. Thanks Fenris.
Ooh - imagine if they really were real people though. :Shudder:
pan
I’m with Kat. I wanna hear about how Alpha got to be so damn bitter.
Fenris, my man, these posts have you firmly on my Favorite Posters list! Keep 'em coming, please!
Bitter? When have I ever been bitter?
I knew these dames were trouble the first time I saw them. Oh they were classy, but classy and trouble together are a bad mix.
One said her name was Lynn. The other just went by the name “Tuba”. They were hot as a skillet and cookin’ with fire.
“Ladies. I’m John Corrado Private Eye. What do you need?”
“There is a piece of…information” said Lynn. “An envelope that my employer wants back. He could find it himself, but he’s understaffed and it would be a needless bother for him.”
“We need you to get it for us.” Tuba added “If the envelope’s still sealed, we’ll pay you double.”
“Who’s your ‘employer’?” I ask
“I’d…rather not say.” Tuba replied
And I need this like a hole in the head. But what the hell…I’m 2 weeks late on my rent.
I tell them “$200.00 a day, plus expenses. I’m my own boss and I do the job my way. I want $800 up front and I’ll give you receipts for my expenses.”
Tuba opened up her big handbag and peeled off a wad of bills.
“You don’t like the way I’m doing the job, you fire me. You interfere, I quit. Either way, I keep half the money. Get it?”
Lynn replied “Got it”
Good.
They gave me my first lead and left. A mook named Winkelried was the last to see the envelope. He was in a swanky club off of the Avenue. I took the subway, since I don’t waste my client’s money. When I got there, I had to pay the doorman twice the normal bribe. He didn’t like my clothes. I didn’t like his face. I offered to rearrange it. That’s why I had to pay extra.
The joint was jumping when I got in. Hot jazz. I don’t care much for that kinda music. I like my women hot and my jazz cool. I tracked down Winkelried.
“You know Bodoni and Diva?” I asked. I was getting a headache from the music and didn’t want to beat around the bush.
“I expect you’ve come about the…envelope” he said. His eyes were like diamonds, hard and glittery. “I don’t have it. When last seen it was with Tuba when she recruited me to the organization, and her loyalty to our employer is unquestionable.”
“No-one’s loyalty is unquestionable” I said
He stared at me with those cold eyes of his “Hers. Is.”
His tone didn’t leave any room for discussion.
“Who’s your employer anyway?”
“Cecil Adams”
I sat down. I was playing in the big leagues for higher stakes than you can mix a metaphor at. Cecil! Damn. He was one of the…no. The Big Boy. He had all the answers. And that gave me my first lead. I had a slug of overpriced whiskey and left, heading towards Feldman’s place.
Feldman was probably Cecil’s closest competition, if he can be said to have one. But Cecil answers every question. Feldman still has questions from 4 books back that he can’t figure out. But some folks can’t get Cecil’s attention, he’s a busy man. So sometimes they turn to Feldman or, worse Achenbach.
I questioned Feldman who was a nice enough guy, but he didn’t know anything about the envelope. I trust my gut and I believed him. Achenbach either. That only left Poundstone. He wasn’t really a rival of Cecil’s, but he did poach on Cecil’s territory on occasion. And at least once, he tried to slander Cecil, saying that Cecil was some mook named Zotti. Cecil slapped him around like a red-headed stepchild. He didn’t try again.
That might be the motive right there! Revenge! Some folks like their revenge cold. Maybe Poundstone was putting a hit on Cecil again!
I got there, but Poundstone was ready: he had his muscle waiting.
“Whaddaya want?” said the lead gorilla.
“I’m going to talk to your boss.”
He pulled out his piece.
“You better put salt on that, punk” I said " 'cause your gonna be eating it in 5 seconds. One…two…three…four" I hauled off and hit him in his face. There was a surprised look as he toppled like a redwood. “Who’s next?” I asked.
The rest of the goons scattered. You can’t get good help anymore.
I talked to Poundstone. There was the usual threads and bluster, but what it came down to is that he didn’t know any more than the others had.
I left and the solution came to me in a flash. I hurried over to Diva’s swanky east-side apartment.
She answered the door. Bodoni was there, along with that Winkelried character and some guy I hadn’t seen before. He smelled like beer and was wearing his underpants on the outside. I knew he was one of Cecil’s main henchmen: Uncle Beer. That made my theory even more likely.
I looked at Tuba. “I don’t like playing games.”
All sweetness and light she said “Whatever do you mean?”
I reached over and took her handbag. Opening it, I found the envelope.
“It was pretty obvious. You mentioned that Cecil was understaffed, but Cecil’s never so understaffed that he can’t find something he needs. Plus, this guy” I gestured towards Winkelried “said you were recruiting. You coulda just asked.”
Lynn said coolly “If we had asked, we wouldn’t have known if you were the man for the job. Now we do. You have three options. One: You can take the envelope. I really don’t know what’s in it. It was stolen from Zotti’s office and we just recently recovered it. We suspect that it might have a photograph of Cecil.”
Visions of untold wealth danced before my eyes. With a photo of him, I could write my own ticket. But we had a deal. And John Corrado, Private Eye don’t welsh on a deal.
She continued “Or, we can pay you as we promised. You fulfil your contract and call it quits.”
That sounded better, but there was a third option coming.
“Or…”
I knew there was a third option.
“You can work for us. We need someone of your talents and street-smarts in the Pit. It’ll mean long hours, bad pay and little respect…except what you can earn with your wits.”
“And you get a keen coffee mug!” said Uncle Beer
Tuba gave him a look. He sat down quietly.
“If I do, how much latitude do I get?”
Lynn said “You’ll answer to me or Tuba. Or Cecil. But generally, you’re on your own. And a place as rough as The Pit needs your kind of initiative in tracking down trolls and putting out over-eager flames.”
I thought about it. For about 5 seconds. “I’m in.” I said and shook her hand. “This looks like it could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship”
[sub]Is it okay if I be in love with Chronos now?[/sub]
Scotti
I am in awe.
Amazing.
I never imagined I would be so fortunate as to be a Teeming Million™ even vaguely associated with such…such illustriousness.
Great stuff, Fenris! Now you have us all hanging on your every keystroke, breathlessly awaiting your next episode.
Feeling pressured yet?
Tisiphone