…well…there are lots of important criteria for sure…but engaging in several bitter arguments with Krispy Original seems to help!..:)…i.e. David B, Slythe, Coldfire, UncleBeer, John Corrado, etc…
Am I the only one who imagined Chief Wiggum narrating the story of JC, PE in his Nawlins voice?
Should you chose to, you could interpret that as “having some common sense” (Nah, of course not. We’re all off the mark). Sheesh, Krispy, an unobservant reader would almost say you’re bitter or something.
…aw…lighten up dude…
See, Tuba? I told you I should be a Moderator!
[The linked thread is full of old VBB code, so to save you the trouble of untangling it, it’s the one where young sdimbert, new to the SDMB, asks the ET question, meets KO, learns some stuff, meets DavidB and earns his WallySig[sup]TM[/sup].
Yes sdimbert, you certainly have made a case for being a mod…good luck to you…
Fenris, this is probably some of the funniest and most original stuff I’ve read on this board since Wally. I’ve submitted this work of art to Tuba for Threadspotting.
Bravo, man! Bravo!
(And keep 'em coming. Can’t wait to read about Veb’s meteoric rise to fame! :D)
Hear Hear!
Does anyone else here think Fenris should collect all of these together and submit it to DavidB and Eutychus55 for “Teemings”?
(Although I’m a newbie poster, I’ve been lurking here for over a year.)
Fenris’ style is funny, but what’s scary is how accurate he is! It’s like he was there. :eek:
His description of me is right on the ball. “Now and again he whispers a word and a government falls. A gesture and a nation flourishes.” Read, citizens of the SDMB, and despair!
Arnold, if you really sit on a throne of skulls in a Castle in the Sky, I am hearby declining your offer to quaff a brew with you the next time I am in the neighborbood. :eek:
And Fenris, I concur with many others that you are my new favorite poster. This thread has made me laugh out loud so many times I am glad I don’t share an office with anyone. I am tempted to do a search on your previous posts but I am afraid I might rupture myself while reading them. Fine writing!
Dammit, I knew that I was wasting too much time on this school stuff! A knockout gorgeous redhead asks if it’s OK to be in love with me, and it takes me 22 hours to see it???
[sub]um, I guess you can take that as a “yes”, Scotti[/sub]
Oh, and by the way, Fenris, I’m sorry about the confusion with the MPSIMS mods. This watch thing is still a bit new (or is that old?) to me, and I’m still not sure what some of the buttons do.
Bravo Fenris!!!
Great stuff! What about Cecil? He is the Perfect Master after all…
Not yet. 
If I run out of ideas…maybe.
Thanks for the compliment, btw.
Fenris
Veb’s is coming, but Manhattan’s is tonight and Alphagene’s (probably) is later this weekend.
And thanks for the Wally comparison. As a lurker I read a ton of his posts and to have my stuff compared with the guy who wrote “Wally Tries Cyber-Sex” made my night.
Fenris
So it is three o’clock in the morning. Me and Lexi the Con and Cooking Zen are leaving the Hot Spot Club, having closed the place. Miss BooBoo La Verne had refused down my gentleman-like advance, so Lexi’s invite to a game of chance of which he knew seemed a good second bet.
We were only minutes away from the game when who should we happen to meet but the one guy what can call himself after the entire ISLAND and get away with it? Manhattan! He was as cool as a beer from the hop-joint down the street and as tough as one of Lindy’s .40c steaks. He takes no guff from no-one, but he is right joe when the chips are down, and smart. He even stands up to Cecil, and refuses a job.
I say “Howdy, Manny”, as I know him well enough to use his nickname, which most do not dare to do.
“Fenris.” He nods at me. “I am about to meet Random Sam. Would you like to come along?”
I would not miss this for the world, I say. Only a select few have witnessed this sort of clash of giants. I tell Lexi and Zen to go on, I will see them later. They give me looks of both envy and hate.
Everyone knows of Sky Masterson who will bet on almost anything, and his bets are sky-high. Random Sam is like that, but will bet on absolutely anything and will bet even higher. But strangest of all is that Random Sam insists on the money being put down before the terms of the bet are made!. And he is absolutely honest. He will not, for instance ask someone to get a rock from Mars. But he once bet someone that they can not stand on their head for 10 minutes. On a merry-go-round and when he lost, he paid in full.
So we go into Lindy’s and Manny buys me a cup of coffee knowing that I am down on my luck (which is one of the reasons that Miss Boo-Boo La Verne can refuse my charms. She says I cannot afford her. She is right). Random Sam comes in moments after the java arrives.
“Fenris” he says, nodding.
“Hi Sam.” I say.
“Manhattan.” He is now all business “I am prepared to state the terms of the bet. How much are you willing to put down?”
Manhattan eyeballs Sam coolly. “I have here a stake of 4 Gs.”
I am impressed with this.
Sam says that this is fine. Manhattan and he shake hands. Sam tells Manhattan “Here are the requirements of the bet. You must discover my first and last name within 12 hours. I will show you my driver’s license or whatever other paperwork you require afterwards if you wish to verify.”
Now this could be seen as a sucker bet, but as I say, Sam is absolutely honest. Sam would not lie, as his rep is far more important to a high-stakes player than a measly 4 Gs. As a matter of fact…
“Sam, could I get in on this action too?” I pull out my last sawbuck.
Sam shakes his head sadly, he has never been offered such low stakes before, but he takes pity on me. “Sure, Fenris.” he says. “I will tell you what. I will not bet for less than a C-note, but I will take your marker. This once.”
My insides go cold. If I say “no” I will be branded as yellow and ungrateful. If I say “yes”…that is more money than I earn in…a long time. I take a deep breath and agree.
“You have 12 hours from now. I will meet you at…3:45 this afternoon here.” he says. He puts his hat back on his head and leaves.
Manhattan instantly takes charge “Fenris. I know a reporter, that Runyon guy. He has the dirt on everyone. Tell him that I am in need of this information. I will go to a friend of mine in the police department. He may also have the dirt on Sam. From there I will go to the motor vehicle department. You will ask around with all the guys you know. We will meet back here at twelve-thirty.”. Sam is the only person to have beaten Manhattan in two different bets. I am able to tell from his voice that he does not intend to lose a third.
Runyon knows everything about Random Sam, except his real name. We go to the old-paper storage area, what is called a morgue, a name which matches the cold feeling in my gut. Sam has been in the news dozens of times, and yet his full name has never been mentioned.
I ask everyone in the know about Sam. Nicely-Nicely Johnson thinks he comes from Canada. Ontario, maybe. Philly the Weeper says, no, he comes from California. Madam La Gimp swears that he has a sister, down in Texas. Hot Horse Herbie argues and says that the sister is a brother and he is in Sing-Sing.
All the information I am given adds up to a big, fat, zero.
With that cold feeling in my stomach spreading, I hustle back to Lindy’s. Manhattan is already there. I am sure from his look that he has no better luck than me.
“I have nothing.” I tell him. If he were not such a good Joe, he might have responded with violence. Instead he shakes his head and orders me a cup of coffee.
“As I said, Fenris. I do not intend to lose this bet. Winning it will make my reputation. But what I am about to do will involve a risk, and you do not have to come along. I will buy your marker from Sam and you can pay me when you can.”
I refuse this offer. I am not about to start backing out of bets. Besides, when Manhattan gets that look in his eye, things are going to happen and I do not want to miss it when they do. Legends are made at times like this.
He continues “Fenris, there is one person who can get me the info: Cecil. And that means I must speak to Miss Diva.”
I am shocked. “Manhattan. I am not so well heeled as you, but $4000 simoleans is still only money. Is this worth the risk?”
He says "Yes. I will not lose another bet to Sam. I know what she wants and I will pay her price. You can still back out. I do not know what she will want from you.
“I said I am in.”
Manhattan nods approvingly.
We go to the Tuba Club. Even at noon, the joint is swinging. Manhattan talks to one of Miss Diva’s goons and we are escorted in. She is holding a piece of paper. She is smiling a pleasant smile, but the smile does not reach her eyes. Her eyes have the look that a tiger’s do when dinner is served.
“Manhattan. At last.” she says “Are you finally ready to accept my offer?”
A normal joe would have been defeated. Manhattan manages to make it sound like this is all his idea. “Yes. I will be a mod. Do you have the info?”
She smiles. “Of course. I had to bother Cecil to get it though. So you will be a mod as long as he wants. Do we agree?”
“Yes.” he says.
Then she pins me with those two smouldering eyes “You. Fenris. You are profiting from Cecil’s information too. This is correct?”
This is not a question. She knows.
“Yes” I say.
“Cecil does not mind giving out meaningful information freely. He does not even mind discussing trivial matters for bar-bets, but if you bother him with basic trivia, he sometimes expects a favor in return. You are getting a reputation as bit of a writer here. If you use this information, you will write this story down.”
I nod quickly. I am glad to get off so lightly.
“…AND,” she continues without missing a beat “You may be called on to relate how other mods began their careers.”
Manhattan asks “Which forum?”
Miss Diva says “General Questions. I think it’s appropriate.”
Manhattan nods, not altogether upset by this.
As I am already writing more than I intended to (you do not short-change Cecil), I will sum up the aftermath. We win the bet with Random Sam, who offers me another sawbuck to keep quiet about his real name. I agree. If I had a name like that, I would want it shut-up too.
As everyone knows, Manhattan becomes a fixture in Cecil’s General Questions forum and has gotten, if anything, an even better reputation. He seems not completely unhappy about this.
As for me, I have a date tonight with Miss Boo-Boo LaVerne now that I am flush enough to take her out in a style to which she wants to become accustomed. And I am not going to keep her waiting…
The End
Fenris
(All kidding aside for a minute: If you haven’t read Damon Runyon, I can’t recommend him highly enough. He’s one of the best writers of the 20th Century and is sadly forgotten nowdays.)
With Ferris’ permission, yes we’d like to save this as part of the Teemings “Extras”.
Whattya say, Ferris?
Just to provide some competition to Fenris’s excellent works… not that I don’t think his(?) works are good enough, but I was inspired by their brilliance.
Only the glow from the computer screen lit the office. The woman in front of the screen sighed wearily, the words displayed onto her monitor stabbing into her eyes like hot needles. Her name was classified, but she was known as Tubadiva throughout the clandestine Empire known as the Straight Dope. She took another sip of coffee, her eighth cup in the past couple of hours.
“… Still need more Moderators…” she mumbled to herself. She glanced over at the stack of applications that she still had to read, and sighed again. Hundreds of names had gone across her desk, and she was still no closer to reaching a decision.
It was a struggle just to force her hand to reach out and grab the next manila folder. She slid the contents out and took a glance at the name at the top of the papers: Mark Serlin.
Her eyes did a quick double-take.
“Wait a second,” she exclaimed, “Serlin?!? How old IS this?!?”
A quick glance at the date listing confirmed it’s timestamp at mid-1999.
“God, I need to update my records,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “And maybe I need some sleep. What time is it…? 3:30 AM?!?” She leaned back in her chair, nearly falling to the floor. Just then, she was interrupted by a pounding on the door that jerked her wide awake.
“Tu-u-u-u-uba-a-a-a-a-a!” an obnoxious voice wailed, still pounding. “Tu-u-u-uba-a-a-a-a, open the door!”
Tubadiva jumped to her feet, just as the door burst inwards. She recognized the invader: SPOOFE Bo Diddly.
“I wanna be a Mod, Tuba!” SPOOFE yelled, jumping onto the desk and grabbing Tubadiva by the collar. “Puh-lease!!”
“What…? Who…?” Tubadiva stammered, her sleep-deprived mind not processing these occurances fast enough.
“C’mon, I can be a Mod!” SPOOFE continued ranting. “I mean, who cares if I’m not old enough yet?!? I can juggle three eggs and a chainsaw, AND stuff twenty-six crayons up my nose!!”
“Get off of me!” Tubadiva yelled, finally realizing that a deranged, hyperactive guy was shouting in her face. “Security! Security!!”
A few seconds later, a pair of uniformed guards appear, brandishing submachine guns and tazers. They grabbed SPOOFE and began hauling him out of the office.
“No-o-o-o-o!” SPOOFE wailed. “I can do it! You know I can! I started the Enterprise vs. Star Destroyer Thread!”
One of the guards hit SPOOFE across the back of the head with his pistol, knocking the captive into unconsciousness. “What do you want us to do with him, ma’am?” the guard asked.
Tubadiva straightened herself up and fixed her ruffled shirt. “Take him down to Lynn’s dungeon and have her work him over a bit,” Tubadiva said. “Just like last time.”
The guards nodded and hauled the unconscious SPOOFE away. Tubadiva exhaled heavily and sunk back into her chair. With a grunt of annoyance, she grabbed the next Mod application…
<kidding>
Have your agent meet my agent, they can discuss royalties, movie rights, percentages, that sort of thing.
</kidding>
Seriously, though: Sure! I’m flattered. That’d be great!
Fenris
Fenris, will you marry me?