"I think that God in creating man somewhat overestimated his
OH YEAH II - THE EFFERVESCING TRAIL
- or -
WE HOPE YOU LIKE THE STORY BEFORE THE ONE AFTER THIS
by the entire f.cking editorial staff of this wholly odd mag
(dedicated to those few who liked the first "Oh Yeah")
Cronos Warchild stood at the edge of the cliff and looked down.
What he saw was depth. The kind of depth that could make your
head spin, the kind of depth that seemed to call at you, building
up an urge to hurl down little stones and count the seconds that
would pass until they would hit the ground below with a soft,
barely audible 'thud'.
For a moment the sheer depth of the whole thing baffled him. Of
course, not much was needed to baffle the mercenary annex hired
gun. Only earlier that day, for example, he had been rather
baffled at the changing of the colours of a traffic light.
His mind was filled with a name. The name that represented
everything beautiful, all the flowers in the world, gorgeous red
roses fragrant with love, dew-covered spring mornings, the soft
scent of green grass below her dancing feet. That name, of
course, was Klarine.
The name brought an instant feeling of a thousand megaleeches
sucking their way through his abdomen. He sighed a profoundly
Her name had been written in delicate handwriting on the name
tag that he had managed to glance at in the fraction of a
millisecond he had seen her. It had been located strategically on
top of her left breast, and for two seconds afterwards it had
utterly taken his breath away.
Of course, like with so many true loves, he had never seen her
again. All he had seen of her was a tiniest glimpse when her
oncoming space craft had flashed by his at half the speed of
At that instant he had forgotten all about Loucynda and the
rusty lock between her legs with which she still roamed somewhere
in the universe. He had even forgotten all about Penelope
Sunflower, the one woman who had gotten him engaged in something
else than the obliteration of sentient life forms.
Klarine Appledoor had been her full name. Her eyes had been
blue, her hair long and blonde, the movement of her hands
resting on the steering wheel exciting and utterly onturning. Her
lips had been cherry-coloured, her ears had had perfect shapes
for nibbling and sucking.
All this had been seen by his highly trained senses within that
utterly small bit of a fraction of time.
Once again, Cronos had found himself deeply and wholeheartedly
in love, something he had previously considered a no longer
attainable state of mind.
Now the depth of the abyss gaped at him, luring, inviting, as if
its bottom was filled with luscious nymphs beckoning for him to
join in an orgy even Hugh Heffner would never even have dared to
His life had no further cause without her, without the woman he
had but seen for a figment of a nanosecond, without the woman he
knew would be the True One for him for the rest of his current
life. During that short but meaningful pseudo-encounter, he
seemed to recall, she could conveivably have winked her eye at
him, or blowed him a fleeting kiss. He firmly believed this. He
believed that she loved him, too. Passionately - just like he
needed it. Women had never as much as looked at him, let alone
bother blinking their eyes when passing him by a half the speed
This was true love; love at first peek.
He looked down the chasm again, not quite knowing whether or not
he could actually muster the courage to step forward and do it.
Life had no contents for him any more, that was obvious. But why
did he find it so difficult to do it?
So he took one hesitant step towards the egde, causing a few
small stones and some dirt to plummet towards the ground below.
Then a small movement besides his ear caught his attention. He
swung his head to the left and was baffled once more by a small
version of himself sitting on his shoulder. It was dressed in a
small white robe, with tiny sandals on its feet. It was idly
plucking the strings of a minute harp and its feathered wings
quivered slightly in the breeze.
"Hi", it exclaimed when it noticed the gaze that was cast upon
it, "I am thy guardian angel and I am here to stop thee from
making a serious mistake."
"Huh?", Cronos said.
"I know what thou art up to, thou wants to end it all, right? I
mean thou art planning to jump into this fissure in order to end
thy life or am I wrong?"
"Errr...", Cronos muttered.
"Yes, admit it, thy wert actually intending to commit an act of
suicide!", the little angel smirked.
"So what?", Cronos said, "what's it to you?"
"Well, I am supposed to make sure thou dost not die or anything.
I've been pretty busy lately, I can tell. Anyways, I strongly
suggest abandoning these silly girl-thoughts and get back to
normal, wouldst thou?"
"Err...but Klarine is my true love, and I will never see her
again and that's why I want to die. Life has no meaning without
her presence, I mean I haven't even ever made foot-love to her! I
love her, she is everything, I love her, I love her...I..."
"Now now, if thou starts crying I will have to take some drastic
measures. Please think about this. Thou hast only caught a
glimpse of this child, what makes thee think that thou art in
love with her? And why art thou so sure that she is in love with
thee? This is madness!"
Cronos swallowed and thought about what the angel just said.
True, he had only seen her for a very, very short while. He
wasn't even sure that she had seen him. But her face, her eyes...
"Yes, what about her face, and what about her eyes?", the angel
yelled, "I dare say that they were very, very ordinary and that
you have no reason whatsoever to be so hung up on this female."
Cronos was confused. Now it is not difficult to confuse good ol'
Cronos, we all know that, but now he was confused quite
The angel did have a point, Klarine's face wasn't that special
and he really didn't know her at all. She might have silicon
breasts or she might even be a 92 year-old transvestite with an
equal number of face-lifts and the breath of a hung-over desert-
lizard. Hell, she might even be a reincarnation of Betty Ford.
Cronos' mind started to clear.
Suddenly, the abyss seemed threatening. He took a step back,
gasping for breath, swaying his arms, trying to regain his
"What in the name of the armpits of Miss Fragilia Franatica, the
second Princess of the Zantogian Empire, am I doing here?", he
"What is this strange obsession I have gotten so hung up with?"
"What strange female can make me this hysterical about things?"
A puff of smoke arose next to his right ear.
"Yo....hey, hold it right there, just wait a minute here. What's
all this jive about not taking the big plunge?"
Cronos looked at his other shoulder and there was yet another
version of himself. This time it was wearing a shiny nylon
jogging suit with enormous white sneakers at its feet. On top of
its red, horned head it had a Public Enemy cap and it had an
enormous gold chain around its neck, to which a stopwatch was
"Yo Warpchild my main honcho, what's up my brother?", it
Cronos was totally unable to speak due to severe bafflement.
Then again, it didn't take that much to baffle our dear anti-
hero as we know by now.
"So I hear you've gotten stuck on some bitch you saw while you
was cruisin' thru space."
"Err...yeah, I saw this really nice girl, her name is Klarine."
"Cool. So you love the sister right?"
The good angel on Cronos' other shoulder was getting noticably
"Say, my dear man," it interrupted, "I am in the middle of a
heatly discussion with my protegé here. Wouldst thou mind
removing thyself from the scene? Get back to the dark realms of
thy wicked master, the Dark One. I repell thee, foul spirit!"
"Yo, get real dude," the little evil thing retorted, "what's
with the mumbo-jumbo here? You tripping or sumthin'? Popped a few
pills or what?"
"Cronos, please do not pay attention to this rude gentleman. He
is nothing but a nuisance. Now about Klarine...."
"Hey Warchasm. Tell me about the bitch. She got good tits?"
The most delicate of curves drifted back into the somewhat
limited space of Cronos' brain. Slowly, the camera panned up, to
her more than lucious lips that were moist and red like the most
voluptuous cherries growing on the soft sloping hills of sun-clad
"Cronos? Cronos! Get a hold on thyself my dear man!"
"Shut up you white-assed shithead. I'm talking to the dude now.
Why don't you take a hike, huh?", the devil interjected.
"Think about it man. She was the finest. Think of her face,
think of the body below it. Wouldn't you like to share a hot tub
Cronos slowly relapsed into a state of love-sickness that made
him take a step forward towards the gaping chasm that seemed to
form the sole answer to all his troubles. Protruding spikes of
rock at the bottom seemed to call him, offering salvation and a
soothing cradle of comfort in which he could mend the frayed ends
of his sanity that had endured so many ruptures after that
fateful encounter with the Lady Klarine.
The little angel seemed to get really agitated now.
"CRONOS!", it yelled with all the force it could muster in its
fragile throat that normally only uttered soft prayers and
muttered hails to the One Above, his True Master.
Yet Cronos did not harken the small figure on his left shoulder.
He could only gaze down, towards the bottom of the plummet that
seemed to lead to the very core of Lucifer's dwelling place
"Yeah right. Face it man, you lost. Now scram before I kick a
mudhole in your venerable ass," the little devil advised the
"OK, I can recognise defeat when I see it," the angel mused,
beaten, "Well, I have other souls to salvage. Better be off then.
A small puff of heavenly smoke signalled the departure of the
"Right", the little devil chuckled, lovingly stroking his barbed
tail. "Let's get down to some serious business here."
Cronos had ignored all of this for he was totally occupied with
staring at the shimmering apparition of his true love that
seemed to be draped across a large boulder at the very end of the
"Yo, Charwild my man, how would you like to meet the ol' reaper
himself? I heard he is quite a wild dude, bound to get you some
action. Just do it man, step across the razor egde and feel
what it's like to be in my hood. You will get to meet all the
people you greased in this life - they're all down there waiting
to party with you man. Do it man, forget about that silly bitch,
she ain't worth shit."
Cronos made up his mind. No more of this. He would end it right
here and now. No more hesitation.
The feeling of the air rushing past his body as he plummeted
downward made him feel giddy for a moment. The freshness cooled
him down. He felt young again, and virile. He was willing to
The bottom closed in on him. It looked strangely beautiful; soil
with a faint picture of his greatest of loves projected across
"Yo!" he yelled, his powerful voice echoing off the crevice.
He fainted before he hit the ground with a 'thud' that made
someone else, far away, look up with a befuddled expression on
his face. This particular someone adjusted a cap with a
ridiculously erect thingy on top of it, lifted the loaf of bread
that he had dropped off the ground and plodded on.
Everything turned around Warchild. Colours he had never known
existed came at him, as did scents he had never hoped ever to
smell. Unrecognizable figures reached out at him, offering drinks
and food. Music drifted through the air, but it did not have the
power to please him. Beats shuddered his being.
And then everything he saw was her.
This was not what he had wanted. He had wanted to die and
disappear. He had not wanted to go to some place where her vision
would be burned on the back of his eyes perpetually, haunting him
like a rabid tax collector. He did not want to be where he was.
He gazed into the image of her eyes, drowning in their depths
like he had drowned in the depth of the chasm but minutes ago.
Had they been minutes? Or had they been hours? This was all
getting really crazy and he wanted to get out. He cried for help
but his voice produced no sound. He tried to swim away, or fly
away, or whatever. He succeeded in neither. He wanted to turn
around - but whatever he did the world seemed to turn with him.
All he could see was the portrait of Klarine, and it was getting
bigger. Bigger and immensely more beautiful. Lovely. Sensual.
This obsession had to stop. He already felt little crawly things
ascending his legs. Ants. He smelled something familiar. A large
glass thing, a jar or something, was taking up the place of his
Great Love's portrait. He had thought this would make him feel
better should it happen. But now it happened and it didn't make
him feel better at all. It made him feel miserable, lonely,
Then he disappeared completely into a thick, yellow, sticky
fluid together with about five hundred ants that, oddly, all
considered it necessary to say "eep".
The voice that had uttered these words echoed through his brain.
He opened his eyes and saw nothing but yellow. He rubbed his
eyes, succeeding in removing most of it. As soon as he looked
again, he decided he had probably been better off with the stuff
still in his eyes.
He looked into two terrifically huge facet eyes that must have
belonged to an insect the size of a somewhat sizable freighter.
They did not radiate friendliness. Cronos' brain cell instantly
knew that this mean beastie was not one who would like to be
"There's a human in my meal!" the gigantic ant thundered.
Indeed, it did not take long for Warchild to realise that the
human the large ant talked about with disgust was, as a matter of
This thought somewhat discomforted him.
An equally enormous, extremely hairy paw stretched out to him.
The end of the paw was occupied by things that looked like toilet
plungers. They connected themselves to his head and chest,
lifting him out of the swampy, yellow stuff rather
"Would you mind getting rid of this, woman," the large ant
thundered, apparantly addressing another of his kind, "and give
me another bowl of honey?"
Next thing he knew, Warchild was being submitted to gravity
above a large cylindre that was filled with trash - which could
very well be a trashcan.
As our friend was paid to fight instead of to think, he did not
see the two red eyes that gazed at him from aside the large
cylinder - nor did he see the several dozen of shiny white,
pointed fangs that surrounded its black depth.
For a fraction of a split of a picosecond he saw a female
smiling at him from the depth - or at least he thought he did.
Was that a wink of an eye?
The vision, however, ceased almost as quickly as it had
manifested itself - much to Cronos' sorrow.
All he now saw was a terrifyingly huge uvula that was dangling
in what prey generally considers to be quite a threatening way.
The fangs radiated white light, the pulsating red tongue licked
in what its owner probably considered to be an inviting fashion.
With a bit of a gulp, the mercenary annex hired gun disappeared
down a long and winding tunnel that was quite slippery to the
touch. He didn't want to touch it but the thing seemed to want to
touch him. Powerful peristaltic muscles squeezed him further and
further down to a place of which the foul stench was
incomprehensible to any mortal being - even to Cronos himself,
who had once been the toilet cleaner of the Ambulor Eight Thai
Boxing school! Distinctly, it made him think of the many
hangovers he had had, that had resulted in laughing at carpets a
With a splash, he suddenly lay still in a shallow pool of
some sort of repulsive liquid. Some hard bits ran into him as if
directed by an invisible force.
Then everything was utterly silent once more - but not for long.
Green light started to be emitted from the wall of the cavity he
was in. Large green drops of some substance were being excreted
and started submitting themselves to Newton's will.
Some of them attached themselves to Cronos' body. They clung to
it and seemed to start eating inwards. His skin started burning
all over. He was getting slightly aggravated now. His heart
started to beat slightly quicker, pumping blood to the muscles
that needed it most. He did not like being submitted to the
decaying powers of gastric acids. He started to pound the wall.
It budged with each bang of his fist, but just retracted to its
initial position as soon as he would hit another spot. He started
kicking as well. His Industry Quality Army boots started to
corrode whenever they contacted with the foul fluid.
He would not survive long if he would not resort to some drastic
measures. However, he hadn't any killer gadgets on him and his
killer fingernail had been broken somewhere when the plungers had
come into the story.
Damn! There was something touching him without prior written
He looked around instinctively, seeing a bony hand resting on
his schoulder. He followed the bony hand and saw that is was
connected to a corpse that looked at him balefully. The lipless
mouth seemed to form words mutely, crying in agony about an
He felt himself being drawn towards the skull. Some way or
another he felt a strange obsession for the left eye socket. It
was oddly dark and inviting, like an abyss.
For a moment he saw her again in the darkness of the socket. He
forgot the general severeness of the situation he was in and
studied her face, the cherry lips, the beautiful eyes, the long
blonde hair that fell graciously around his milky white face.
Then the light went out.
The green fluid seemed to disappear to somewhere and the walls
of the cavity he was in stopped pulsating for a moment. The next
moment, havoc struck. Warchild, the corpse and assorted other
hard bits were being sucked down rapidly, disappearing in what
probably was the monster's gut. Darkness enveloped him, now truly
something palpable. He could feel the gut cover crawl around him,
He landed in an enormous load of thin stuff that smelled quite
awfully. He had smelt that smell several times before, years ago,
and it was this particular smell that had caused him to resign at
the aforementioned job at the Thai Boxing school.
He was trapped inside the digestive system of a giant Mutant
Maxi Mega Monster of Multifizzic Omega!
He felt tugging at his legs. He was being pulled down even more,
and simultaneously the muscles above him started pushing. The
monster's guts were trying to get rid of him. He passed through
various layers of foodstuff untill finally he thought he could
see light in the distance. There was a small round thing there,
like the diafragma of a camera. It was getting closer quite
quickly. He was sent towards it head first.
Fresh air enveloped his head.
Once upon a time there was a rather stupid mercenary annex hired
gun who had the misfortune of having landed in the feeding bowl
of a giant ant, which resulted in him consequently being fed to
the ant's pet that turned out to be a monster notorious for the
intensity of the foul smells arising from its anal excreta.
His name, of course, was Cronos Warchild. He knew that himself.
What he didn't know, however, was that he had ended up in the
Eastern Forest and was now the subject to the ruthless will of
Mother Duck, real-time fairy tale concoctress extraordinaire.
He found himself walking down towards a river. The river could
not be waded through, but someone had obviously found out about
this fact and had decided it wise to erect a bridge across it.
That same someone had probably also realised that people who
wanted to stroll across that bridge might not totally be against
paying a modest fee.
That particular bridge erector had selected a somewhat broad
looking warrior to enforce the paying of said fee.
"Doom," the somewhat broad warrior intoned as Cronos drew
The warrior was really awfully huge. Cronos was quite big, but
he found the toll enforcer towering above him as if he was but an
infant held by the pope himself, being frowned upon by said Holy
Father after having farted during baptism.
To add to the general threat of the whole situation, the huge
warrior carried an enchanted warclub. An idea leapt at Cronos'
head that conveyed to him that this was the dreaded Headbasher,
reaper of memories.
"Doom," the warrior droned in a flat voice.
At that very moment a purple demon in chequered pants arrived on
the scene, momentarily surrounded by the proverbial puff of
"Doom," the warrior said, apparently surprised. He started
moving the dreaded Headbasher with a hint of nervousness,
suspiciously eyeing the purple demon.
"Might I interest you in a used weapon?" the purple salesdemon
asked Cronos. Our lovely anti-hero looked at him befuddled. Not
much was needed to befuddle Cronos, we know that. That very
morning, as a matter of fact, he had been zealously befuddled
when a traffic light...but you know that already.
The salesdemon, trained to recognise hopeless cases of doing
business averted his attention to the tall toll enforcer now.
"Doom," the toll enforcer interjected.
Obviously, neither of the two potential customers were
interested in anything he had to offer. The purple salesdemon in
the ridiculously chequered outfit disappeared in another one of
those proverbial puffs of smoke.
When the smoke had lifted, both people present were somewhat
amazed at beholding a large shoe that muttered "Indeed". Behind
the large shoe stood a girl with long hair who constantly
attempted to kiss another fellow who stood next to her. Behind
them, a green being completely surrounded by robes seemed to
discuss something with a tiny person in brown clothes.
Cronos was losing control over the situation. Never before had
his senses been overkilled this much.
"I wish I was out of here," he sighed, more to himself than to
someone or something else in particular.
"Granted!" a little voice coming from the small person in brown
Just before he completely disappeared from the scene, he thought
he saw a huge, green, ugly, dancing dragon with a top hat. It
seemed to sing.
Next thing he knew, Cronos has a somewhat large microphone
shoved under his nose.
"Soooo... Mr. Warchild. What do you think of new and improved
'Bubl'? Did it manage to remove the stains that other detergents
didn't get out of your underwear at only 40 degrees?"
"And what do you think of our new formulae, ozon friendly and
with biologically decomposable thingies?"
Cronos, a bit unsteady on his feet, glared at the smooth, well-
dressed interviewer. He wondered how someone can look so silly.
"Now we all know you traded mark X against our brilliant
product, just for you to try for a week," the ad man continued,
"please tell us all about the results you have undoubtedly
achieved. Tell me about the pizza stains on your children's
shirts that have so miraculously disappeared."
Cronos was once again totally baffled - and stupefied too, by
the way. He had fleeting visions of clowns dressed in bright
colours, people floating around in hot air balloons and little
children spilling insane amounts of hot cocoa and strawberry jam
on their ludicrously white garments. He had smashing figments of
Cronos, remembering all the times he had been very pissed off
with his TV, usually causing utter annihilation of the
aforementioned household appliance, sighed deeply and stared at
his broken fingernail with sad eyes.
"Geez, I wish this guy would drop dead," he muttered.
"Granted!!!" squeaked a tiny voice from somewhere.
The air crackled in a sizzling way and a bolt of lightning
struck the interviewer in a rather non too subtle fashion,
leaving only two smoking shoes with bits of bone protruding from
"Holy shit," Cronos enthused.
This time the bafflement became too much for our poor,
blundering hero. His minute brain gave up reasoning and he
fainted rather dramatically.
He had dreams of pillows, of the soft sloping hills of Wales, of
a certain pizza-covered planet.
The next thing he knew he had an erect nipple thrust in his
"I like deep conversations with intelligent men," a female
sighed down his ear, "In fact, I have a degree in literature and
have won several prestigious literary prizes. I also play blind
chess against several people at once when I feel like it."
The girl removed another piece of cloth that seemed to cling to
her voluptous body.
She was posed on a couch, wearing very tiny pieces of clothing,
squirming in a way that seemed to him like she was in intense
agony - or like she was being mind-fusioned by the Sagratean Zen-
Dude of Phalletica VI of course.
Cronos, still being totally dumbfounded, stared at the writhing
female, not knowing he had materialized in the middle of a
Playhouse photo-session of the utmost erotic meaning.
A tall, thin man armed with an enormous photo camera was dancing
around the couch, making suggestive comments to the girl,
uttering the odd little cry now and then.
Cronos did not know what to think of this. The pinkness of the
girl aroused certain hormones in his body that he didn't really
know of, he felt like an American tourist in the Amsterdam red
light district, seeing so many things he hadn't even dreamt of in
those dreams that made his sheets quite uncomfortably moist.
Believe it or not, but in the highlight of his extacy, the girl
assumed a rather metallish color and slowly transformed herself
into a blob of mercury-like stuff that oozed off the couch like a
T-1000 would squirm itself trough a shotgun-blast-size hole in an
The substance moved itself across the floor, clearly exciting
the photographer who dropped to his knees, wielding the camera
like it was the one item keeping his soul together. It moved
towards Cronos, and when it arrived at his feet, slowly started
to upheave itself, assuming humanoid shape. When it reached full
height, it formed a rather eerie face and stared at him in a
silent lucidity that Queensrÿche would be jealous of.
Cronos sighed deeply and considered the stupefaction that had
taken over his reasoning at that point. The urge to faint crossed
his battered consiousness, but he quickly set aside the idea as
being a way of letting the authors getting away with things too
easily. The photographer had fainted already, and the way this
guy lay prostrate across the floor made Cronos feverishly reject
the idea of any fainting or whatsoever.
As his mind had no power over his body whatsoever, however, he
After the usual twirling colors and strange sounds and smells
and all other sensations that accompany inter-dream travel, he
suddenly materialised in mid-air.
Normally, materialising in mid-air would mean the start of a
very painful sequence of events leading to a 'thud' of varying
intensity and painful feelings directly proportional to the
intensity of the aforementioned sound.
This time, it didn't and he was once more slightly baffled
Then he noticed the fact that all his limbs were gone, and he
felt not entirely like he used to feel whenever he wasn't
suspended in mid-air. He then felt a slight tugging sensation
just above his head, as if he was dangling from something short
He looked around himself and noticed the large amount of
enormous tree leaves surrounding him. He also noticed the
beautiful blue air, the soft smells that usually permeate the air
of scenic orchards, the gentle breeze and his lovely reddish
He also felt that his time had come. He felt like he was old
enough for the big fall, old enough to spread the seeds so to
speak. Why he felt like this, he couldn't explain.
Also, he had severe trouble coping with the fact that he no
longer seemed to be suspended in air, but was actually travelling
downwards at an ever increasing and highly alarming speed.
He looked down at the rapidly approaching earth and saw a head
of a young man that had nice, curling hair covering it. He also
found that this head was approaching him at what he suddenly
considered to be lethal speed.
To his surprise, he bounced off the head and landed in the
grass at the man's feet. A bit bruised in places, but still quite
"Ouch!" a voice yelled.
"How most unpleasant, apples falling on your head like that,"
the voice continued.
Cronos saw a very, very large young man rub the top of his head,
looking thoughtfully as if pondering over something very...er...
The young man assumed various facial expressions indicating a
complex train of thoughts making its way through his
Suddenly, this man jumped to his feet and looked very aroused,
as if he just found the answer to all his problems.
"YES!" he exclaimed.
"YES! YES! YES!" he added.
"E=MC square," he completed.
The young man sat down again with a very content expression on
A puff of smoke next to the young man failed to baffle Cronos
this time for he was already in such a state of befuddlement that
any extra impulses of confusion did not matter much.
A rather bewildered young man had appeared; he had unkempt gray
hair, and a rather intelligent look about him.
"Say, dear chap. I am afraid that you have discovered the wrong
formulae. The Relativity Theory will be invented by me - you are
supposed to find out about gravity."
The first young man looked at the second one just like Cronos
would stare at a traffic light that had just changed colour.
"I just thought it appropriate to point this out to you," the
apparition of the second young man added, "I mean it would
severely upset the course of science to come. So remember about
gravity, it's very important."
Then it disappeared again in another puff of smoke, the likes of
which we know so well.
"Right", the young man said to himself, "gravity it is then."
After this, he reached for Cronos and studied him a bit.
"Hhhm.., looks OK to me," the young man mused, licking his lips,
"I quite fancy a refreshing apple, fresh from the tree."
Before Cronos had time to process these words, he was
unceremoniously rubbed against a sleeve of rather rough material.
He was getting a bit worried now, this wasn't supposed to
Then he felt a distinct motion again, and when he looked up he
came to the conclusion that he was about to be eaten by the
The mouth opened, revealing a row of healthy, shiny white teeth
that would undoubtedly chew off a nice piece of his body. He was
almost inside the mouth now, and the sight of the glistening,
saliva-covered tongue once again almost succeeded in making our
unfortunate hero panic.
Then the pain came. It was excruciating, as if someone was
tearing him apart with blunt equipment. The pain concentrated
around his rear area. "Most famous scientist eats rear end of
mercenary annex hired gun in one fell swoop." Now that would look
odd on the young man's track record.
Cronos considered the time appropriate to give in to his brain
cell, that gently advised him to lose consciousness - making
things awfully easy for the authors of this story.
For a while, the uttering of this sound within the immediate
proximity of his right ear caused his entire aural apparatus to
malfunction, resulting in the sending of assorted pulses of white
noise to his brain for some seconds in sequence.
When he succeeded in turning around his head to face the source
of the temporal cacophonic mayhem, he found a male double-eyed
fig-parrot (Psittaculirostris diophthalma) sitting on his
shoulder. Of course, he was not aware of this precisely, and just
reckoned it was a discoloured blackbird.
He had to do something about his reflexes. He had seen the bird
opening its bill, but had neglected to avert his ear, or to cover
it with something. This lack of prophilactic measures resulted in
assorted impulses of random noise being sent to his brain for a
prolonged time again.
The bird looked around, as if gloating. It nodded its head up
and down like birds generally tend to do often.
The reason behind birds doing this has been cause for
pangalactic scientific debate. It is still quite unsolved, but
there have been some interesting theories. The one documented by
Charles Loaca, himself a bird/lion halfling residing at the
second planet from the left in the Dinophthalma Milky Way, is now
commonly believed - though not because of its logic but because
of Mr. Loaca's descent which obviously tends to give him some
His theory is based upon birds trying to listen to longwave
radio broadcasts, which requires them to bob their head up and
down with the waves. It is believed that this is the way birds
learn to sing. Pigeons are even thought to tune in to their
favourite radio station to find the way home. Most non-
hibernating birds are believed to listen to Radio Free South
Africa on the way.
End of first note (in case you wanted to know).
"Don't you ever do that again," Cronos warned the parrot. He
wielded his index finger threateningly in front of the animal.
It took a while before Cronos had discovered the sudden absence
of the discoloured blackbird from his shoulder. For a moment he
was relieved. The animal was gone from the zone near his ear. He
listened to the random noise in his ears gently wearing off.
When he tried to poke in his nose, which resulted in a bird
being inserted in it, he had second thoughts about relief and
other sensations along that line.
Now Warchild's nostrils are quite big. As a matter of fact, his
wide flaring nostrils with the odd black hair sprouting forth
from them had quite effectively reduced potential soulmates to
get any interest in him.
The parrot, however, was large enough not quite to fit
comfortably. It started to try and get out. This resulted in most
of our hero's senses being switched off in favour for full
priority to one particular nerve that ran from his right nostril
to a lesser brain cell labelled "sneezing, farting, crapping,
sweating, urinating, ejaculating, spitting, bleeding, coughing,
burping, crying, drooling and vomiting (i.e. excreting)".
Through an intricate process of ions and assorted little things
that make sure synapses work, a number of pulses from the right
nasal cavity ended up in the lesser brain cell. It started
screaming hell and blood, not quite being used to such signal
intensity. It gathered all power its host's metabolism would care
to supply and used it to block the signals out.
It was a battle to which, on a synapsic scale, there had never
been an equal - nor would there ever be. Minute particles with
positive and negative loads crashed into each other like a true
clash of the Titans. Tissue was torn, nerves were severed, and
generally a lot went on that was quite irregular.
Then the anti-particles started winning. They gradually began to
gain ground, pushing back the itch ions.
Warchild was relieved for a moment again, when not sensing
anything in his nose. Had the bird disappeared?
Then the anti-particles really started to gain ground. They
coarsed through the nerve, all but flying off at corners. With a
speed close to the speed of light, they ran and flew and
scrambled, aimed directly at a powerful muscle somewhere in the
mercenary annex hired gun's body.
The muscle had been having a relaxed week. It was sitting in the
sun, smoking a cigarette and drinking Jack Daniels. It was about
to have another nicely soothing swig when it heard a bit of
turmoil around the corner of the left lung. It had heard this
before, but couldn't quite recall when it had been or what it had
It quickly recalled when, for but a moment, it saw the rabid
expression in the glowing red eyes and the wrinkled mouths of the
ions. They spelled horror and death, for they meant activity.
Before he could put down his Jack Daniels he had to contract. It
was a contraction any muscle would have been proud of; a
contraction that Arnold would have wanted to buy the licence to,
a contraction that tore ligaments and had the label "world
record" attached to it.
Cronos felt the sensation of feeling returning to his nose, but
it was entirely different now. As a matter of fact, it seemed to
move to his chest at a speed that was, even to Warchild, close to
He breathed in.
It was a breath that would have made any pair of lungs proud; a
breath that would have caused them to get a ludicrously
lucrative contract with the makers of tropical cyclones, a breath
that could split ribs.
For a moment an enormous amount of wind churled in his longs,
rotating, growing; the kind of wind that would have swept
leaves, bent trees, moved mountains and shipped continents if
only any of these would have the displeasure of being present in
a certain mercenary annex hired gun's breathing apparatus.
Then all muscles connected to his breathing-out mechanism
started to work overtime, red light glaring, sirenes wailing,
Civil Defence committees gathering. Draining every milli-unit of
nourishment, from the tips of fingers to the utmost extremeties
of his toes, they contracted.
It was the kind of contraction that would cause all other
contractions' licences to be revoked; a contraction that could
tear asunder the most powerful bones, a contraction that could
practically be certain of getting a Nobel Prize and getting
invited to Dame Edna's.
Air started flowing out of Cronos' wind pipe, exponentially
gathering power within a time that would have made the Super-
Inter-Galactic Ferrari Sub-Etha Turbo-Booster built in the below-
Some lesser muscles opened Warchild mouth. There was no stopping
it now. The terrifying amount of compressed air could no longer
be thwarted from fulfilling its vile goal.
Cronos sneezed the Mother of all Sneezes.
His entire poor body was hurled back until it collided with the
first mountain it encountered, dozens of miles in the opposite
direction. The parrot, that happened to have been the last male
of its kind, miraculously survived but was deafened and
consequently turned impotent for the arousing mating calls of the
females - resulting in the extinction of the species.
A hole 986.54 square miles in size appeared, barren eternally.
The drifting of the continents on this particular planet was set
in motion. The dust that arose from this whole thing suffices to
block out the sun for a decennium, causing the global extinction
of the dinosaur race.
Somewhere between the third and fourth mountain between which
Cronos was bounced, he once more gave in to his rather distressed
main brain cell.
When he opened his eyes again he found a nurse making rhythmic
movements on top of him.
"Oh, er....." the nurse stuttered when noticing she was
discovered, quickly hopping off him and pulling up her panties,
"er...excuse me, sir...er...I though you was being unconscious or
something. You know, coma and all. Not waking up any more.
Vegetable. That sort of thing."
Cronos had a distinctly odd feeling around his lower abdomen.
"If you don't mind, sir," she added, uncomfortably, "I will go
and attend another patient. Thank you."
She disappeared through the door that she closed carefully so as
not to discomfort the patient.
Nine months later, nurse Laverne Todd of the Ambulor Eight
Hospital for the Very Very Splattered was granted maternity
leave. She gave birth to a healthy son, whom she called Garp.
The text of the articles is identical to the originals like they appeared in old ST NEWS issues. Please take into consideration that the author(s) was (were) a lot younger and less responsible back then. So bad jokes, bad English, youthful arrogance, insults, bravura, over-crediting and tastelessness should be taken with at least a grain of salt. Any contact and/or payment information, as well as deadlines/release dates of any kind should be regarded as outdated. Due to the fact that these pages are not actually contained in an Atari executable here, references to scroll texts, featured demo screens and hidden articles may also be irrelevant.