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 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: email@example.com (James "Kibo" Parry) Message-ID: firstname.lastname@example.org 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.
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: email@example.com (James "Kibo" Parry) Message-ID: firstname.lastname@example.org 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  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 ,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~, > (+)(+) |  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 ,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~, > (+)(+) |  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: email@example.com (James "Kibo" Parry) Message-ID: firstname.lastname@example.org 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: email@example.com (James "Kibo" Parry) Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology Message-ID: <firstname.lastname@example.org> 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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