There is very little I can add to what has been written about the net-legend that is Kibo.

If you found your way to this page, chances are good that you already know who he is and what he does.

If not, I suggest you spend some time reading alt.religion.kibology. Or visit:

[Kibo's Page]


Kibo is one of the masters of Wackylacing. He laced one of my mid-sized crossposts, turning a dream of mine into a 258-line adventure with guest appearances by Jesus, Kirk and Spock, Bob "Gilligan" Hope, Loni Anderson, and Ronald McDonald.


Subject:    Re: Apocalyptic Dream
From:       kibo@world.std.com (James "Kibo" Parry)
Message-ID: kibo-1810970318290001@ppp0a002.std.com
Newsgroups: alt.dreams,alt.fan.tom-servo,alt.religion.kibology
Date:       Sat, 18 Oct 1997


Innfinit@ix.netcom.SPAMBLOCK.com (Captain Infinity) wrote:
>
> I am on an island owned by a rich friend, visiting with other members of

Mensa.  Noses run in

> my family. While standing by a large outdoor pool, I realize that even

numbers are trying to kill me.  Loni Anderson's hair was a good
place to put my glass eye,

> though we are supposed to be keeping an eye on her because of the

eerie sound coming from what used to be her career.  God bless these

> kidnapping threats, my niece is missing.  I go looking for her and find

Jesus in a bar of beef jerky.  Eww!  I give it to Loni, pinching

> her in the back seat of a large black automobile which is parked, motor

oil dripping from Loni's mouth as she auditions for the Tokyo Shock Boys.
It comes out her mouth, it comes out my nose, it keeps running and running,

> running, in an underground garage.  Upon realizing that she is involved

and not intoyotad, she confuses the death of Bob "Gilligan" Hope with

> with her own kidnapping, and that it is all a hoax, I get the sheriff

(SHE'S the sheriff!) canceled.  Bob "Gilligan" Hope

> (who looks like a cross between the Skipper on Gilligan's Island and the

tiny, dessicated, jerk-seasoned guy nailed to the cross between them,
says a prayer which immolates the

> fat guy from "Far Out Space Nuts") and the rest of my family.  We all

love ice cream.  Meanwhile, Loni Anderson and her oil-drenched Love Canal

> celebrate having solved the mystery as my niece is lead away in

a mockery of all that is sacred and holy, such as

> handcuffs.
>

THE END!

> Then, I enter a bathroom which looks out on the pool area.  As I enter I

MAY HAVE ALREADY WON!  Pay no attention to the space alien disguised as
your boss.  For your own sake, try not to

> notice that there is a women's one-piece bathing suit laying at the

foot of Loni Anderson's hair.  She was wearing those cool new toe wigs
made by Shakers!  They were made from actual human hair found at the

> bottom of the tub.  I step into the tub to get it, and look out the

bellybutton of the giant sentient hotel we call life.  I throw the glass
eye out the

> window.  The pool area is empty, and I can see past the grounds of the

coffee, to where the eye rolled down the slippery slope of the

> property to the ocean, and out in the ocean, some miles away, there is

another ocean concealed beneath the water.  It's a good thing there
wasn't an island there, because islands are boring; any island looks like

> another island.  As I am looking at the island there is a flash of light

as a fish bites the peppermint eyeball, then spits it out and dances

> upon it which I immediately recognize as a nuclear bomb blast.  The

deadly yuppified portabella

> mushroom cloud begins to grow and I start to watch in awe but I am then

coughing up motor oil, causing Bob "Gilligan" Hope to crash his plane
when he is

> distracted by the growing vision of two huge airplanes heading towards

McDonalds, having seen a breakdancing Ronald McDonald in the movie Mac &

> me.  Behind the planes, flying of it's own accord and spinning lazily,

Jerky Jesus's cross proved to be an Aerobee product with fluted blades
for radical religosity!  Jesus heards his Tamagotchi beep.  It

> is an enormous machine that looks somewhat like a skyscraper on its

mother's

> side, somewhat like a space station.  As the planes pass overhead this

secret other island Earth at the shores of the secret other cosmic ocean,
a giant building made of meringue and custard, a piescraper, looms.
This sticky

> skyscraper begins to fall towards me. It drops with an amazing rate,

SEVEN POINT NINE AY PEE ARRR!!!!  ARRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!  AVAST YE MATEYS!!!
INVEST IN PIRATE TED'S MUTUAL FUND!  LEARN TO PLAY THE PIANO FASTER!
FASTER!  PLAY THE PIANO

> faster than the pull of gravity, and with a horrifying finality.  My

life inside the Tamagotchi of Jesus pauses as he pushes the "toilet" button.
My glass eye's

> vision is hampered by the window frame.  It goes out of sight to my

bellybutton, where Loni Anderson was break-dancing in the deep fryer of
the newest McDonalds.  The glass eye bounces twice and shatters (revealing
it is filled with ants)

> right before it hits the island.
> 

THE END!

> I see another flash of light and expect to hear a boom, but no sound

system connected to Usenet II will propagate a sound louder than 3 dB.
The smell of Loni's deep-fried hair

> reaches me before the whole world turns white.
> 

Everyone votes Bob "Gilligan" Hope president.  THE END!

> The whiteness coalesces into a faceted moire pattern of flashing colors

that I have to repeat in order or I get the dreaded electronic raspberry.
Loni Anderson's excuse for a career fizzles, sputters, throbs, and
coruscates with waves of fitful energy

> and rhythmic pulses.  There is no feeling of the passage of time, except

that it honks its clown shoes as it strolls past at a leisurely hour per mile.
I trade my beloved Joe Shlabotnik pog

> for a sense of endless time having already passed.  I have no body, only

a firmer, fuller bounce in my deep-fried jerk-dried hair, which has been
teased into

> consciousness.  I am aware and completely alone, with no thought but for

ice cream.  We all love ice cream.  We love ice cream in our ice cream
submarine.  I open the bellybutton below the porthole, and the submarine's
air bleeds out, letting in

> the light patterns which surround me.
> 

THE END!

> Eventually the patterns recede and I find myself in an enormous room,

filled with aqueous humour and sparkling drops of Retysn, each

> larger than all the worlds warehouses put together, which is filled with

all the world's warehouses spread far apart.  Jerky Jesus's flying crucifix
knocks down several

> people.  Each person is sitting alone in a cubicle just large enough for

a tubefex worm, with each cubicle decorated with a large tubefex crucifix
that smells like wintergreen library paste.  Don Saklad begins eating the
crucifixes, licking them down to size, nibbling

> them to fit, and the cubicles stretch left/right/forward/back, as well

as the sphericals stretching red/yellow/blue/green, which is as silly

> as up/down.  They are stacked on top of each other, up and out of sight,

like the Hollywood Squares done in endless syndication, which is

> like the Hollywood Squares done in endless 3D.
> 

THE END!

> Off to my right is a huge system of interlocking storage boxes, each box

a king!  A king of a secret undersea country,

> a bit smaller than a shoebox.  Each box contains small items, trinkets.
> 

THE END!

> Each person in each of the cubes has two of these boxes.  They are

filled with either Marilyn Vos Savant or her deep-fried crucifix-shaped hair.
A million chimps get up from eir typewriters and begin

> sorting the trinkets from one box into the other box.  As they finish,

the losers go back to the beginning of the story.  Finding a dilapidated
steam organ, I pull out all the stops, leaving only the go.  I take

> the go to the storage area, replace their boxes, get two new boxes,

and try to breed them to produce a super-race of bellybuttonless baby boxes.
The first offspring name themselves Adam and Eve and

> return to their cubicle, and begin again.  The line of people leading to

the horizon running down the middle of Loni Anderson's hair to

> the storage boxes stretches out of sight, and the flow is orderly and

made of a mixture of motor oil and boiling peanut oil, with an occasional
crispy hair or jerky bit.  I grab a kayak from the palindrome store and
ride the

> rapid.
> 

THE END!

> A booming voice fills my head.

Which explodes!  A puppy comes out wearing a novelty T-shirt.
 
> It says, "This is eternity."

Imagine that!  Eternity in a T-shirt!

> Then I wake up.

I shouldn't have deep-fried my head, or eaten the beef jerky made from Jesus.

>
> ** 
> Captain Infinity

is a darn big number," said Spock.  Kirk was nonplused.
"Spock!  The enterprise is about to blow up!"
"Negative, Captain, it's just the rumbling of Loni Anderson's oil-filled
air sac."
Jesus flew into the room and took a bite of Kirk's deep-fried hair.
"Mmm," said Jesus, "this is good hair.  It's vegetarian.  Hair like
vegetable soup."  And then the newsgroup ended forever.


                                        -- K.


Once upon a time, I posted the contents of my personal spellchecker to ARK.
Kibo turned it into a Spot story.


Subject:    Re: The contents of my Personal Spellchecker
From:       kibo@world.std.com (James "Kibo" Parry)
Message-ID: kibo-2909970244330001@ppp0a005.std.com
Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology,alt.fan.mike-jittlov,alt.tv.brighams-circle,rec.arts.sf.tv
Date:       Mon, 29 Sep 1997

I will now amaze the audience by accepting this challenge in
alphabetical order.

In four newsgroups, Innfinit@ix.netcom.SPAMBLOCK.com (Captain Infinity) wrote:
>
> aarrgh,  admin,  afaiac,  afaik,  agis,  ahhh,  AIKYD,  aitch,  anyhoo,

Poor Spot!  "Aarrgh!" he groaned, as he read his email and realized that his 
Internet Service Provider was kicking him off for being a DOG!

"Dear Spot:  Sorry, we don't allow dogs here on the 'Just For Dogs'
 area of AOL.  Bye.  -- admin"

Spot's stomach rumbled ominously.  Bad news always made him want to throw
up, so he trotted into the bathroom and drank a whole bottle of Syrup of
Ipecac.  Then he realized that was the opposite of what he wanted, so he
had to get the Ipecac out of his stomach really fast, but he no longer
had any Ipecac to drink to make the other Ipecac come up, so he had to settle
for the cheap imitation Afaiac, which was advertised as "Afaik Ipecac Made
In Afun Factory In Agis Nop, Borneo."  He guzzled the Afaic, and sighed,
"Ahhh."  His stomach sighed, "Ehhh."  Spot was happy that now he'd be throwing
up so he wouldn't have to throw up!  He threw up.  "AUBBBLGGGRRRRARRGGGBLBL
AIKYD HIC HAC HAEC!!!" shouted Spot as he threw up all over his priceless
collection of antique lace doilies.

Spot barfed and barfed, vomiting so hard that he coughed up the space
cell from the middle of his brain, the cell that allowed him to space
words correctly!  Suddenly his leg began to spasm.  "Oh no!" barked Spot,
"NowIgot aitch in                          myleg!"  Apparently Spot's
grammar cell had also been destroyed.  "Anyhoo," continued Spot, talking
to the stupid-looking puppy looking at him from that thing on the front
of the medicine cabinet,

> aol,  aoler,  aol'ers,  aolosers,  applet,  arking,  asieoniezi,

"Now that I've been kicked off AOL and can no longer be an AOLer with
all the other AOL'ers and AOLosers, I'd        bettergobuy applet."
Spot drove to the pplet store, and pulled into the lot.  The sign said:

WELCOME TO OUR ARKING LOT
NOTICE THERE IS NO P IN IT

"Asieoniezi!  Asieoniezi!" shouted a crazy homeless man nobody liked.
Spot shot the man nobody liked and continued into the store.

> Asimov,  asshole,  assholes,  awww,  Ayn,  b5,  backdoor,  ballsy,

The clerk was ecstatic!  "Thank you for killing that creep, Spot!  This
proves you're not as dumb as everyone said!  Killing that jerk proves you're
a real Isaac Asimov and not just some asshole dog!"  Spot cried.  All his
friends were assholes, and now he'd no longer be allowed into the Asshole Club!
Worse, he was kicked off AOL and he wasn't even an asshole!

"Awww," sighed the clerk, "don't cry.  It's not manly.  Besides, you're
spraying years all over my store.  You're a regular fountain head."

Just then, Ayn Rand walked into the store and sued Spot for violating her
copyright!  She took all his money, including his valuable B5 bingo token
which would be worth millions of dollars someday when he needed that square.
She left through the backdoor, her ballsy lawsuit completed.

> Barnabas,  bcc,  beable,  Beavis,  bester,  bimbo,  bing,  bitched,

"Waah!  Ayn Rand took all my stuff, including the part of my brain that
remember who Barnabas Collins is!" cried Spot, his head now only half the
size it had been before his last two brain damages.  His IQ was dropping
rapidly, and there was only one thing to do: join the Boston Church Of Christ.
The BCC wouldn't let him in, because he was just a dog, and worse, Ayn Rand
had taken all his money!

"Heh heh heh," said Beavis, "Spot sucks!"
Butthead agreed.  "Yeah!  Spot sucks!  Heh heh heh heh!"

Just then, thanks to a special process invented by Alfred Bester,
the two idiots watching the adventures of Spot became telepathic.
Beavis said this to Butthead, and/or vice versa:

                h
     h          e
heh heh heh heh heh heh   
     h       e
               h       h
     h            heh heh heh
     e                 h
     h

Then Spot forgot the difference between "Rambo" and "bimbo", and had a
VERY unhappy love affair.  Beavis and Butthead turned off Spot, as he
was now even stupider than they were and therefore not funny.

"Bing!" went Spot's brain as another brain cell snapped.  He was down to
four of them!  "If this keeps up," he bitched, "I'll be... what's that word?
Stu-something.  Oh no!  I'll be Stu-stu-studio!  Letterman will make fun
of me for three whole years in the mid-eighties!"

> bizarro,  blahblah,  boogers,  bounceable,  Brigham's,  btw,  Budweiser,

Spot fell down.  He had forgotten how to walk, as his bizarro brain was
imploding.  "Blahblah," he shouted, "boogers!  Ha ha.  I'm a syndicated
communist!"  Erma Bombeck sued him for stealing her joke, but Ayn Rand
had already gotten all his tangible assets, so Erma took Spot's intangibles.
These included his unimpeachability and his bouncability, leaving him
so not bounceable that it wasn't funny.  She drop-kicked Spot across the
street, where he landed on a trampoline, shattering on impact.

Some of the shards of shattered Spot landed in the sprinkles vat at
a Brigham's ice cream store.  A customer drove up in his spanking-new BTW.
"Give me a double Budweiser-flavored cone with EXTRA SPRINKLES and NO DOGGY
AFTERTASTE!"

> butthead,  bzzz,  Carraze,  Carroll,  Castellvi,  cc'ing,  Centauri,

"Heh heh!" said Butthead, "he said 'taste'!"  Then MTV cancelled him forever,
putting a quarter of an animator out of work.

"Bzzz!" went the sprinkle machine, signalling that it had besprinkled
the cone for the nice man, who paid and left, licking his ice cream treat.
It tasted like dog!  Worse, it gave him diarrhea!  He crapped out a
whole Spot.

"Whoa!" said Spot, "That was some ca-razy intestinal tract!  Riding it
could be all the rage, the latest carraze!"

Somewhere on AOL, Carroll Casellvi was cc'ing Alpha Centauri on the news of
the success of his secret plans to rid the world of Beavis and Butthead.

Then the author GAVE UP!

THE END!

> cgi,  chatrooms,  cheapo,  Conaway,  crapper,  Cronan,  crosspost,
> crossposted,  crossposting,  crossposts,  cuz,  cyberpromo,  dammit,
> Davey,  deepthot,  dejanews,  Delenn,  Denebeim,  dickhead,  dipshit,
> dipshits,  dll,  doke,  doubletalk,  Drakh,  dropdown,  drydocked,  DS,
> duh,  duking,  dumpster,  dunkin,  dunnit,  dunno,  durn,  EC,  eek,
> Ellison,  emailbox,  emails,  ep,  eps,  exe,  execs,  faq,  faves,
> fella,  fi,  followup,  followups,  Fon,  Fonzie,  Franke,  friggin,
> fuck,  fucked,  fucking,  fucks,  futz,  fuzzled,  gah,  Gardner,
> Garofalo,  Gharlane,  ghods,  Gidorah,  gleck,  Godzilla,  gonna,
> gotcher,  gotta,  grepping,  grey,  handfulls,  Harlan,  HBO,  headbone,
> headbones,  hee,  heh,  Heinlein,  hellride,  hmm,  hmmm,  homeworld,
> hoo,  hostmaster,  hostname,  HTH,  html,  http,  hugos,  hunh,  iirc,
> illuminati,  illusiion,  imo,  indeedy,  innfinit,  internic,
> ipaddress,  ipaddresses,  irc,  isp,  ispaddress,  Ivanova,  IYKWIM,
> jad,  Jaime,  Janeane,  javascript,  jdn,  jeez,  Jitlov,  Jittlov,
> jms,  jrp,  jvc,  KaBaLa,  Karlo,  Kibo,  kibologists,  kibology,
> kickass,  killfile,  killfiled,  killfiles,  kneejerk,  Kosh,  Kramer,
> kryten,  Lennier,  Lennon,  Limbaugh,  lol,  Londo,  lookups,  lotta,
> luna,  lurker,  Lyta,  mailbombed,  Markstein,  mayhaps,  McCarthyism,
> McCarthyist,  McGoohan,  mediaone,  mensans,  metacrawler,  Minbar,
> Minbari,  morphed,  morphing,  Mothra,  multicoloured,  multiverse,
> myselves,  nah,  Narn,  Neroon,  netcop,  netcops,  netiquette,
> netizen,  netscape,  nevermind,  newbie,  newbies,  newsfeeds,
> newsgroup,  newsreader,  newsreaders,  newusers,  nonny,  nym,  nyms,
> objectivist,  obspelling,  offscreen,  ohmigod,  okey,  Ono,
> oracularities,  Pacino,  pez,  pisses,  plonk,  plonked,  plonking,
> plotline,  plotlines,  polarizers,  poofed,  postings,  procmail,
> punchline,  punchlines,  quicktime,  Rama,  Rao,  rast,  rastb5m,
> redjac,  repost,  resend,  roflmao,  rulez,  rulz,  Sagan,  satai,
> scandisk,  scattershot,  sci,  screwup,  Seinfeld,  Serling,  sf,
> Shatner,  sheesh,  Sheriden,  Sheryl,  shithead,  shotglass,  shtml,
> sig,  sigs,  Sinclair,  skiffy,  smtp,  snippage,  soundstage,  sp,
> spam,  spamblock,  spamford,  spammer,  spammers,  spamming,  spams,
> splurted,  Spock,  sprintlink,  starfield,  starfleet,  starfury,
> Straczynski,  subtext,  supernovae,  sysadmin,  tagline,  Talia,
> technobabble,  teriyaki,  thataway,  thewitch,  thisaway,  thunk,  tng,
> torbet,  tos,  traceroute,  traceroutes,  tracert,  trask,  trekkie,
> tribbles,  trollee,  uce,  udp,  uhhh,  ummm,  unmod,  unmoderated,
> unsubs,  unsubscribed,  unsubscribes,  unsubscribing,  urg,  urk,  url,
> usenet,  vcr,  veggies,  Vonnegut,  Vorlons,  Vulcans,  waaay,
> wannabees,  wb,  website,  webtv,  weeknight,  Wes,  wheee,  whois,
> whomp,  wnds,  wsbk,  wubba,  www,  ya,  yay,  yeesh,  yoicks, ymmv,
> yow,  yowsa,  yum,  Zack,  Zathras.

"Yow!  Yowza!" shouted Spot with glee, "That was some story!  And I
got free ice cream, yum!"  Then he married Zack Zathras, who was a
Rambo-esque bimbo butthead AOL asshole.

                                                -- K.
                                                You forgot "doidy".


During the month that Kermit Krab was clawing his way out of the grave, my mind was wandering. I posted several silly contests, including the following. (See WWS' contest-winning entry on the Wackylacing page for a different one.)

Anyway, Kibo lost the following contest because he took a step backwards with his entry, opting for the easy and obvious. Must have been an off day. However, his version of Kermit Krab, partially revived and in need of some clothes, is a winner.


Subject:    Re: If a Troll flames in the woods, is the bear Catholic?
From:       kibo@world.std.com (James "Kibo" Parry)
Message-ID: kibo-0206982327510001@ppp0a039.std.com
Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology
Date:       Wed, 3 Jun 1998
X-Battlestar-Galactica-Date: 7812 centons, 64 microns, .03 lenorts


In various newsgroups, Captain Infinity (Infinity@world.std.com) wrote:
> 
> [...] what we need is an emoticon that indicates "I'm flaming
> you".  Hey, we have smileys [1] and winkys for jokes, so why not flameys?
> 
> Here's my suggestion for a flamey:
> 
>   :-$#!*
> 
> I'm sure someone else can do better.

    :-$#!+

Happy now?

> I'm offering a box of mostly-fresh marshmallow Peeps (albino Peeps!)
> to whomever comes up with the best flamey emoticon! 

You can send them to Me, care of Me, at My Place, in Me Land.

Now.

> Deadline for submission is July 1, 1989.  (That's for you bozos
> who find this post on Deja News sometime in 2003 and have the absurd idea
> that I'll still have some fresh peeps on hand.)

Oh, like they're EVER going to have four-year-old posts available
(I mean posts that ARE four years old, not posts from Archimedes Plutonium.)
I suspect that by 2003 their archive will have been trimmed down to just
December 2002 through January 2003, and then they'll put up a big banner
saying "WE STILL OCVER TWO YEARS!" even though they're keeping their archive
of three posts on a floppy disk to save money.

And they'll put the disk in an enevelope and mail it to you if you need
to look at it.

> 
> ** 
> Captain Infinity           ,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~,
>              (+)(+)        |  [1] Smiley's were    |
>               |  |   ,-----|  invented by Kibo.    |
>             /      \       `~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~'
>       (  )  \ -==- /  (  ) 
>         \    \    /    /

Oh boy!  It's time for another fun game of Dot Signature Exquisite Corpse,
invented by Salvador Dali's cousin Salvador Plutonium!  My turn:

> 
> ** 
> Captain Infinity           ,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~,
>              (+)(+)        |  [1] Smiley's were    |
>               |  |   ,-----|  invented by Kibo.    |
>             /      \       `~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~'
>       (  )  \ -==- /  (  ) 
>         \    \    /    /
           \  /\\  //\  /
            \/   \/   \/
             \   ==   /
              \      /
               ======

There, I gave your Hensonish .sig monster a Jetsons shirt.  Now the Usenet
reader to my right can draw some feet and we'll have a new TV series.
Or if this experiment fails we can dismantle it to salvage as many
blackslashes as possible to make (T) signage for AUDITORIUM\ICA station.

                                                -- K.

                                                I think they took out
                                                the backslash, so maybe
                                                we can put the backslashes
                                                into that nine-sided asymmetric
                                                pink stop sign at the market.


Kermit Krab makes another appearance in ARK, and catches Kibo's attention.


Subject:    Re: Pop culture shtuff I don't unnerstand
From:       kibo@world.std.com (James "Kibo" Parry)
Message-ID: kibo-0606980148410001@ppp0a010.std.com
Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology
Date:       Sat, 6 Jun 1998
X-Battlestar-Galactica-Date: 7812 centons, 64 microns, .03 lenorts


Captain Infinity (Infinity@world.std.com) wrote:
>

Hey, I just ate a box of your new Captain Infinity With Squishberries
breakfast treat with 999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999%
the daily values of vitamins A through Z, but I don't feel any happier.
So I want my money back.  And take away my vitamin W!

VITAMIN W.  KEEPS YOUR SKIN HEALTHILY TRANSPARENT.  TRY SOME TODAY!

> James "Kibo" Parry wrote:
> > 
> > And halfway between that and the top (93.75% of infinity) would be
> > owning the button that cancels "Star Trek" retroactively and deposits
> > all the money it WOULD have made into your bank account.
> 
> Press one of the secret buttons on my button-fly pants and it deposits all
> the money in existence into my bank account.

Not YOU, you yutz, I was referring to infinity in the general Cantor
aleph-sub-null sense.  You're not sub-null, you're not even sub-sub-null!

> However, I'm not wearing any pants.  I have foresworn all the fortune of the
> world in order to maintain Kibological purity.  Were this publicly known I
> would be declared legally insane.
> 
> But I keep it a secret...I prefer to remain illegally insane.
> 
> WHEN INSANITY IS OUTLAWED, ONLY OUTLAWS WILL BE INSANE! 

I think you should be inlawed before you go outsane.  Then they'll lock
you in an inhouse for your inrageously outappropriate behaviand.

> **                         ,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~,
> Captain Infinity           | My goal in life is to be  |
>              (+)(+)   ,----| both an irrational number |
>               |  |   /     | *and* a major celebrity.  |
>             /      \       `~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~'
>       (  )  \ -==- /  (  )             ^    ^
>         \    \    /    /              //\()/\\
>          \  <\/\/\/>  /              (( (  ) ))
>           '-/      \-'                  /  \   
>         ,--/        \--            .'```````'~.

Your .sig reminds me that I have to create a new Muppet TV series
within two weeks.

                                                -- K.

                                                As a gift for a friend.


Kibo always sticks up for me, because he's my pal!


Subject:    Re: Something I wonder about...about Bubbles
From:       kibo@world.std.com (James "Kibo" Parry)
Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology
Message-ID: <kibo-1002990115360001@ppp0a010.std.com>
Date:       Wed, 10 Feb 1999
Battlestar-Galactica-Date: 3029 centons, 34 microns, 0.02 abians

Captain Infinity (Infinity@world.std.com) wrote:
>
> Where do bubbles go when they pop?

I sense Cap'n Infinity making a big dotted line in the shaped of a sideways
"8" throughout his neighborhood for all eternity, because everyone knows
an "8" is a closed loop but only if you turn it sideways.

Then Mommy asks, "Who left the fresh fish in the microwave for six hours?"
and he points to his invisible friend I. DIDIT and yells "I. DIDIT!"

Next he tries to give his pet bubble a bath by pouring bubble bath on it and
it explodes, and then his pet ant runs away when he's not looking, and then
the big kids take away his favorite rock.  Also they step on ants continuously
for the next twenty-four hours just in case they get the right one.

                                             -- K.

                                                YOU PEOPLE, STOP TRAVELING
                                                BACK IN TIME JUST TO BE MEAN
                                                TO LITTLE CAPTAIN INFINITY!!!


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