Dancer/Non-Visionary Special Slightly-After-Easter Edition #2 (insert Shep's caustic comment about lack of replies to her last story here) was made by Dancer via HH on 4/23/2003 at 5:34:55 AM.
Dancer/Non-Visionary Special Slightly-After-Easter Edition #2
Note: Since Visionary kindly put out #1 of this series under the pseudonym (sp?) of “Surplus to Destiny” (see down the board) it seemed only fair for me to get on with chapter two. But since Vizh unaccountably missed Dancer out of the first part I’ve been obliged to leave him out of #2. But that’s the whole point, really :-)
[The scene: Mr Papadapopolis’ Bean and Donut Coffee Bar in Parodiopolis Plaza – “where the pastries never have human body parts in them”]
Sarah Shepherdson, Waitress 2nd Class: Hi, Mr Burch. What happened?
Greg Burch, Seedy Journalist No Class: Grumph.
Whitney Darkness, Waitress 1st Class: Looks like he got beat up again. Another big crime and corruption story, Mr Burch?
Greg Burch, Human Cloud of Despair and Cynicism: Grumph.
Cheryl Shexenmeyer-Boyne, Waitress All Class: Perhaps we should just give him his coffee and back off?
Andy Dean, Writer in a Paisley Sweater: That’s probably wise. Give me the mug and I’ll take it over into the Danger Zone, okay?
Sarah Shepherdson, Waitress Who Has Had a Narrow Escape: Thanx, Mr Dean. You’re in a good mood today. Don’t tell me you have news, by any chance?
Andy Dean, Grinning Madly From Ear to Ear: Yeah, the tests were positive. It’s going to be twins.
Whitney Darkness, Waitress Waiting for Her Boyfriend to Pop the Question: Aw, that’s great. Give my regards to the little wifey, okay?
Bill Reed, Delivery Boy On a Schedule: Hey, Shep, can I get a coffee to go? Old man Bryan’s bustin’ my hump again about late deliveries. What’s so urgent about human heart transplants anyway?
Sarah Shepherdson, the Fastest Expresso-Operator in the West: Sure. And don’t worry about Scott. He’s a sweetie at heart. He’s just sore over his divorce. It can be a tough time. Right, Cheryl?
Cheryl Shexenmeyer-Boyne: I guess so. My first three were hell. The last two weren’t so bad. By then I was already in the full throes of nervous breakdown so I kind of missed them.
Sarah Shepherdson, Winning Award for Least Tact in the Known Universe: But you’ve almost paid Mr Papadopopolis off for the crockery, right?
Lee Bookman, Browsing the Paper and Nursing His Laté: Hey, look at this! Another galaxy’s gone missing. Scientists are baffled.
Al B. Harper, Doodling Equations on His Tablecloth: We’re not baffled. We just don’t know where they’re going. It’s… nothing to worry about.
Sarah Shepherdson, a Waitress Who knows How to Worry: You’re saying that half the sky being blacked out in a big letter A isn’t anything to bother us?
Mark Hopkins, High School Drop-Out, Wearing His Tin-Foil Anti-Mind-Ray Helmet: It’s the end of the universe. It’s a sign of the last days. He’s coming to get us, and then we shall all be doomed. Can I get another donut please?
Joe Pepper, Resting His Paunch on the Counter-Top: Yeah, and can I get a refill before the apocalypse?
Sarah Shepherdson, a Waitress Who Supports Her Little Brother and Sister Through College: Not the way you tip.
Al B. Harper, a Scientist Who Has Seen All Those Panic Scenes in 50’s Sci-Fi Movies: There’s nothing to worry about. Now I have to go stock up on canned goods and shotgun pellets.
Dreamcatcher Foxglove, a College Kid Who Reads Too Many Comics: What we really need is some superheroes who can investigate cosmic mysteries and stuff. And there’s no such thing as too many comics.
Joe Pepper, a Man Who Has Seen Not One but Several Thousand Burgers Too Many: Aw c’mon. There’s no such thing as superheroes in real life. That stuff’s great for movies and the funny books, but real life is…
Cheryl Shexenmayer-Boyne, A Waitress Who Thinks Too Much For her Own Good: Scary?
Lee Bookman, A Worker at the Parodiopolis Municipal Library: Oh yes. And there’s still those weird cultists who claim the stellar anomalies are the sign of the coming of their god to cleanse the world with blood and fire.
Sarah Shepherdson, Who Has to Cleanse the Diner With Bleach and Mop Each Night: How can anything actually get cleansed with blood? It tends to be kind of sticky. And red.
Mark Hopkins, Looking Round for the Men In Black Before He Speaks: Those cultists are right. But it’s not a god that’s coming. It’s evil incarnate. And it’s coming to take us all.
Andy Dean, a Proud Husband and Father-To-Be: To dinner? I don’t hold with this kind of rubbish. There’s no such being as the Apostate.
Sarah Shepherdson, thoughtfully: Has anyone ever had the feeling that something is missing from our lives, as if somehow some vital thing has gone wrong and now eternal darkness and doom are descending on us and bringing an end to everything we hold dear? As if some small, neglected, insignificant part of the universe had gone missing, allowing something much greater and more terrible to take it’s place? As if… as if some kind of cosmic placeholder had failed, hurling us all into an abyss of desolation from which there is no escape? More coffee?
[To be continued, hopefully by Vizh. Er, Adam Diller still exists, right?]