Larry II

WELCOME ALL TO ANOTHER NERVE-RACKING ISSUE OF THE APPALLING

Crimson's Column

WHERE ISSUE #15 DEALS WITH LARRY LAFFER'S LUDICROUS LIFE IN

LEISURE SUIT LARRY GOES

LOOKING FOR LOVE

(IN SEVERAL WRONG PLACES)

by

SIERRA

Mine is a sad story. For those of you weren't there during my
earlier predicaments and struggles on the Grand Quest for Love in
Leisure Suit Larry in the Land of the Lounge Lizards, which ended
in a state of blissful happiness in the arms (and legs) of
beautiful Eve, here's the last line of the account I gave you.
"Let it suffice to say that my Grand Quest proved successful
after all - and that neither Eve nor I will ever bother you
again."
Well, some of you may remember that, in a touch of
premonition, I left a loophole with one single statement. The
statement was: "That is, if that little round man from Sierra
doesn't bug us anymore."
He did.
I now call upon my foresight as I continue the story of
disillusion and rejection in my poor life as a 20-th century
digitised Job.
Bear witness to my account of suffering.

Welcome all to the fifteenth ST NEWS issue of Crimson's Column
where roleplayers, adventurers, arcade-kids, sexophiles, sado-
masochists and perverts of all station may relish in the sordid
state of our perpetually unhappy hero as he stumbles through his
second Grand Quest for True Love; let's hear it for the Duke of
Misfortune, the Prince of Misery, the King of Failure, our very
own: Larry Laffer (mild applause) in

Leisure Suit Larry Goes Looking For Love
(In Several Wrong Places)

by Al Lowe from Sierra

and believe me, this man is a desperate case (yes, I'm talking
about you, Al). Watching the actions of his brainchild has led
me to the conclusion that if all people with mental stress were
given a quick programming course, plus the opportunity to offer
their offspring to society, shrinks would be out of work in no
time flat on account of the fact that programmers have - not
without reason - passed the point where they think a psychiatrist
can be of help. It may be that this is the only truth they hold.
If this course were continued, our world would rapidly change
because, once society makes the mistake of playing these games,
more stress would result and after a while all "normal"
individuals would be reduced to programmers until the world would
consist of programmers and shrinks. Seeing how shrinks would then
be out of work and presently resort to playing the aforementioned
games we ultimately create a society of programmers only.
Thank you, mr. Lowe; I never did feel much for shrinks - like
Heinlein said, anyone who sees a psychiatrist should have his
head examined.

A word for those of you interested in other Crimson's Column
articles, usually dealing with roleplaying phenomena. Here's a
short list of what's been published in ST NEWS hitherto (RP is
for role-playing):

Title Company Type ST NEWS

Sundog FTL SF Solo RP 2.3
Phantasie SSI Fantasy Party RP 2.4
Brataccas Psygnosis SF Solo Arcade RP 2.5
Roadwar 2000 SSI SF "Mad Max" RP 2.6
Barbarian Psygnosis Fantasy Solo Arc. RP 2.7
Leisure Suit Larry Sierra Solo Text/Arcade 2.8
The Bard's Tale Electronic Arts Fantasy Party RP 3.1
Ultima III - Exodus Origin Fantasy Party RP 3.2
Wizard's Crown SSI Fantasy Party RP 3.3
Dungeon Master FTL/Sofware H. Fantasy Party RP 3.4
Police Quest Sierra Solo Text/Arcade 3.5
Obliterator Psygnosis SF Solo Arcade RP 3.6
Crimson's Xmas Crimsondeal inc. Inimical Realism 3.7
Heroes of the Lance SSI Fantasy Party RP 4.1
Leisure Suit Larry 2 Sierra Solo Text/Arcade 4.2

If anything strikes you as interesting, look up the back order
section of ST NEWS and get educated (gniffel).
Say, is that Eve on the driveway, ready to compliment on my
mowing?

"But Eve, babe..."
"I'll be back in five minutes - and you won't!"
"But...but...we were in love!?"
Ever tried talking to an accellerating car?
Oh-oh, here's that hydrant-loving dog again.
(Sigh.)

Well, here's the moral of the story: never fall in love with a
woman who keeps a small dog. Either one will do you in.
Now what? If all I can find is this here one dollar it sure
isn't much. Too bad money's still the only thing you can rely on
in this rotten world. Let's do some sightseeing; they say L.A. is
as good a place to forget an illusion as any. Say, is that
Disneyland?
I honored the city of Los Angeles with a walking tour and
strolled into many a strange area; anything goes in L.A. from
downright seedy up to conspicuously gaudy. I walked into a couple
of stores, but most of them held little of interest for the proud
owner of One American Buck; finally I decided to let my instinct
get the upper hand and I bought myself a ticket into the only
multibuck lottery in town. Ticket in hand (nothing else because I
happen to know how people react to shoplifting these days) I made
my way on a sightseeing tour into the KROD studios when I noticed
an interesting sign over a doorway entry. I stepped up to Mrs.
Nearsight and fooled her with the big one; she pronounced me
winner of the buckrace and would I please step into the where's-
the-green room. Yes, madam, I would.
I waited and waited and finally was invited into, no sir, not
the lottery show - the dating connection (aargh!). Today's
bachelorette was every inch as stupid, dull and, ah, you know,
sort of Valley-type girl like, perhaps, the other two candidates
but at least she was, like, you know, a real looker. Made me
wonder what her mother looked like (now how did I think of that
one?).
Anyway, my perfectly honest, straightforward, real American,
witty, charming and astute answers were totally eclipsed by the
nonsensical, dumb, tasteless lies of the other two which meant,
of course, that the bachelorette totally, you know, ignored me
after the first question, so the fact that my answer to the
second question was corny, blunt, banal and shamelessly callous
no longer managed to attract her attention. Too late, I feared,
to join the sexy lady on a cruise - but then luck dealt its worst
blow when she had to count all the way up to three and didn't
make it. Bachelor two was as far as she got - and that was yours
truly. Love Tub, here we come.
Now going all the way I entered the lottery show and let my
newly gained confidence guide the wheel of fortune into exactly
one million dollars of tax-free prize money - in bills so large I
didn't even need to count it.
I think I lucked out that day; was this Faith trying to give
me a message?

New money burns in your pocket and I wasn't about to carry
that bill with me for the rest of my days; a coupla joints had
trouble with change but the lady at Multo Lira accepted the
megabuck without as much as a frown. I bought myself some Love
Tub equipment there and continued to do some of the necessary
shopping, never forgetting either the barber (this dude had the
longest nose I've ever seen in my life), suntan lotion, the
grotesque gulp or that long lost passport Eve recently discarded.
Checked in at the harbor but no ship in sight so I took another
walk around town and quickly discovered a new shop. I had a
marvellous conversation with a latin-type woman (I really love
latin-type women) but was slightly mystified when she handed me
the strangest instrument I'd ever seen. I wanted to talk about
intruments some more but somehow got the feeling something was
wrong so I packed and left. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, I
decided walking around with my little capital was too dangerous
so I got back to the harbor and entered the U.S.S. Love Tub to
start a cruise neither I nor my little bachelorette was likely to
ever forget.
When will I learn to be a pessimist?

So much for premonitions; this gall looked like she ate
husbands for breakfast so I decided to leave well enough alone.
Changed clothes and took a fast dip & dive in the swimming pool;
when I got out I was tired enough to catch some sun but not too
tired to keep in mind that any woman who invites me along is
either totally hopeless or highly suspect (running around in Mr.
Lowe's world for a long time eventually results in even the worst
of students getting some notion of what is and what isn't safe).
I changed my clothes again and didn't fail to search Big
Mama's apartment. Subsequently I payed a visit to another barber
(nice wig but the price was a little steep) and decided I should
make some conversation in the bar. No conversation, not even with
the bartender and if they don't talk then I don't drink (never
trust a silent barkeep, they're no good). I took along some dip
though and decided that all cruise and no action makes Larry a
dull boy - time to leave this boring place and get some real live
action.
Action seemed most probable in the Captain's cabin and
seeing how he was a little preoccupied I decided not to bother
him and helped myself with the switch. I sort of left quickly
after that (no reason to make any detours) and entered the
lifeboat in the nick of time. When I was out of the ship I
prepared myself for a long yet exciting trip and waited for a
sign of land.

Landing on the beach was a little rough there but a good
leisure suit can take it all. I saw beach left and beach right
and seeing how I'd had enough sun for a while I walked right into
the jungle.
Some jungle. Birds chatting. Coconuts. A peacock. A nice
flower. A useless pot. A land shark.
What was that?
Land shark?
HELP!

Once out of this miserable excuse for an over-sophisticated
jungle I entered a restaurant where I had to sit and wait and my
temperature was reaching new degrees of indignance as Mr. & Mrs.
Rich and Famous and their social relatives took away every table
in sight. I was finally seated in a special corner which was far
too close to the kitchen and when personnel seemed to take a nap
before paying their customers any attention I roamed the place
and took myself a chute-killing knife (with a touch of Brie).
Made my way through that jungle again and ended up in a
dressing area. Took some stuff along and went to yet another
barber, then finally ended up on the beach again. Time for a
change; I took an item that definitely didn't belong on a nude
beach and was just about to see whether or not I could leave this
place when I discovered some suspicious looking agents; I decided
not to take the chance and put on (and stuff) my bikini now that
I had hair to match the dress. Too bad there was only one place I
could decently change clothes.
I got past the agents and changed clothes again; now I had to
make my way past a very dangerous, steep, slippery cliff.
Anyway, I got to the airport and fooled around a little with a
barber and a bomb, then quietly bought a ticket and also took
along another three indispensable objects that no air traveller
should be without. At least, not the air traveller whose
destination slightly differs from the one on the pilot's
schedule.

I had a good time on the plane where things were a little
cramped and my neighbor definitely had to be distracted with some
moralising literature but where there was no need for anyone to
ever get sick and use their little airsick bags; if you get from
0 to 500 feet (yes, five hundred; cruising altitude they called
it) in two seconds you never get a chance to become violently
ill. So I took the unrequired and left my seat in search for a
drink when wanderlust struck me and I decided to pick the lock of
the (well disguised) emergency airlock. Things sort of speeded up
after that but with my parachute in place nothing much could go
wrong.
What did I just say?

Beehives don't turn me on and snakes should stick to smaller
animals so without further ado I crossed a Piranha-infested river
and with a minimum of equipment I entered a peaceful beach.
And found true love.
Again.
Native.
Lovely.
Beautiful.
TOPLESS!
My wonderful bride-to-be agreed to accept me as husband-to-be
but not until I'd proven myself by a) passing her father's test
and b) destroying the fortress and the power of the horrid dr.
Nonookee whose evil intent prevented capital investment in the,
ah, touristification of the hitherto unpolluted island. I had a
short moral problem there but one quick look at my love had me
all decided and anxious to meet her father.
Assembler programming is not my forte but with a little
thought I managed to cough up a totally crappy operating system
that was outdated before it was ready; it was good enough for
daddy so who cares? Daddy excepted my work and showed me which
problems I would have to overcome before entering dr. Nonookee's
basically impenetrable domain.
I used a vine and some ashes to clear my way and, after a long
climb, finally found myself on the top of the vulcano, looking at
an elevator door that refused to open as the result of a slight
design flaw - a complete lack of outside control. Looking down a
precipice I was reminded of my Random Anxiety problem (Al's idea
of humor) and decided that the time was right for a little mix. I
used the very last of my anti-anti-adventurer equipment and
caused quite a rumble; time to enter that elevator before it
decided to liftoff.

Entered the domain of the insatiable doctor in a bit of a rush
but managed to keep my wits about me and after a terrible ordeal
and some perfectly timed action on my part I defeated the hood
and freed his female slaves from their hypnotised state. I
received a big hero's welcome and, using the transmitter, called
for help. Late in the evening, after a groovy present from the
local witch doctor who managed to do what every barber in the
world hadn't managed, my bride and myself were finally
moonwalking ourselves into blissful marriage.
And this time, I'm going to stay married, no matter who
interrupts my life. I'm not going to tell anyone where I'm
staying, I'm not going to send postcards, I'm not doing a thing.
I'm simply going to stay here with my wife, as long as she'll
have me.
And that's final. No, no way, Lowe, we don't want to see you.
Laffer out.

Thus endeth the second part of Larry Laffer's Love Quests; if
I'm not mistaken our hero's present state of blissful happiness
is bound to end in frustration sooner or later. Let's face it,
Larry - you just don't have what it takes to make a woman happy
for the rest of her life. Right now you're on a nice, clean,
fresh, all-nature island with an undereducated native girl but
before you know it she's boss of a multi-million dollar tourist
palace and you're working your ass off in the kitchen. And that's
no way to live for Larry the Ladykiller, now is it?

Whatever happens to Larry, if this article, which simply runs
over with a million hints, tips and other clues on how this game
should be played, somehow fails to stimulate you, the reader,
into playing and finishing the game, you may do two things. One,
you may draw a conclusion as to the intelligence of the
aforementioned reader who completely fails to see what is so
clearly written. Two, you may decide to bother the writer of this
column but, in doing so, you should never forget that failure to
comply to a rather large (and perpetually changing) set of rules
of decency and flattery immediately results in the activation of
my famous anti-adventurer circuit.
Let's see what we have in stock for you today.

Claus Kuch's free-in-the-mail auto-boot multi-malignant super
debugger (basically a somewhat oversized electromagnet which I
guarantee will remove all bugs; period). Software collectors
beware!
Quink: after playing a good many hours of SSI's Phantasy 1,2
and 3 I conquered the ultimate tough guy (Nikademus, remember?)
but when I pressed reset this Pixie escaped from the domain of
chips & registers and resumed, I should say presumed life in the
domain of yours truly. At first, I was not impressed by another
mouth to feed, but after a while Quink proved to be more than
just an interesting domestic phenomenon. Although I do not take
kindly to people (or pixies for that matter) reading my mail I
was touched when Quink's loyalty proved such that she proposed I
leave selecting my mail to her and she would sort out all the
ugly letters and take her own personal vengeance on those who
dared to annoy her master. This excellent method now not only
takes care of the largest part of my mail, it also ensures that I
have a moment of rest now and then while Quink is on her way.
My third and probably most effective anti-adventurer defense
unit took form when I was fooling around at the university in
some professor's personal lab; I'll not bother you with the whole
story (I certainly never bothered the university staff with it)
but the research included an attempt to cross-breed from restored
original DNA a Tyrannosaurus Rex and a Pterodactyl. The result is
a few tons of flying, well-fanged menace and she's called Pterry,
my darling pet. Now Pterry isn't too bright and after a couple of
minor mistakes including my (formerly) nasty neighbours I decided
to give her into Quink's care. They are now my dynamic duo.
Time to inform you of New Horizons; now that my auto-debugger
is so famous most adventurers immediately destroy any package
larger than a few cubic inches which reaches their door
(resulting in the destruction of many a nice hardware-order and I
don't even need to send anything myself) and the sign of Quink
riding Pterry against a starry adventurer evening sky results in
adventurers everywhere hiding in their home-built dungeons (which
isn't fair because Pterry is too large to enter and Quink is
afraid of really dark places) I have decided to plan a whole new
strategy.
And I'll be darned if I inform you before Crimson's Column
issue #16. Bye now!

All mail welcomed by Lucas van den Berg
Marienburgsestraat 47
6511 RL Nijmegen
-- The Netherlands --

Moral of the Month:

Our doubts are traitors,
And make us lose the good we oft might win,
By fearing to attempt.

I-IV-78
Measure for Measure