Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters and events depicted in this story are fictitious, except for those that aren't. All resemblance to people, gods, animals or objects either living or dead is coincidental. Some of the ideas might not be mine. No newts, krakens, dogs, ice devils or other monsters were injured in the course of writing this story.
Spam
From: V'rgo (email no longer valid)
Subject: Re: YAFM
Newsgroups: rec. games. roguelike. nethack
Date: 2001-04-25 05:05:07 PST
Raisse the Thaumaturge wrote:
) "Hello, Ayande! I have some mail for you."
) Not such a funny message as such, but I got it *on the Astral Plane*
) while fighting my way through hordes of priests and angels and ants.
) It was spam, too; real incoming spam from outside (I was playing on
) the mail machine because it has gpm installed and ascension or a
) *really* stupid death was imminent).
"Hello, Ayande! I have some mail for you." The mail daemon drops a stamped scroll and stands expectantly, apparently waiting for a tip. Priests, Angels and Riders politely halt their attacks to allow the hero to read her mail. One of the ants tries to bite her and is promptly stomped on by a priest.
"Darn," says Ayande. "It's spam!"
"SPAM?" Death roars. "You dare bring *another* scroll of spam here?" The mail daemon swallows hard and tries to sneak away. A random priest grabs ahold of the daemons tail and the entire group who, mere moments ago, were busy trying to do everything they can to take Ayande down, start to pummel the spam-carrying mail daemon. Ayande wisely uses her intrinsic stealth and sneaks away.
"Hmmm," says Pestilence after a few moments. "Weren't we supposed to kill that Ayan..."
Pestilences voice is drowned in the distorted sound of the heavenly choir singing praise to mighty Ayande. Someone has maladjusted the mixer. Again. Probably Loki who often uses it as an amplifier for his electric guitar.
The Astral Plane crowd sighs. "Another one," says Death. "Where do they find the room to fit all those demi-deities in, I wonder?"
They turn back to the mail daemon, but it has utilised Ayandes techique and disappeared. All that remains is a pile of scrolls of spam.