The Brief History of Everything - OR - Recipe for Plastic Spoon
Chapter 7
Octoberary 20st, 1999
By: Wuckfad

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Chapter 7 - One small step for a man, one giant step for Hoog.
"Where is my hat?"
-Someone, probably no-one.

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This is my computer. My computer is telling me. C:\. C:\. C:\! No! Stop poisoning my mind with your useless Jabroni Trash! My computer is a compilation of circuits. Of wires and the such. Yet I am seeing a screen with letters, and I am hearing sound. How can this metal and plastic box do such a thing, with electricity yet? How does this machine reliably turn on in such a way that is flawless in everyway? How? I don't know. Why, because, computers are cool. NO. That's not it. Remember back in the year 1942. The war had started. The only reliable mode of communication was the mail, the telegraph and the phone. And even back then it was still just an infant. Bombs and soldiers were the main mode of destruction. Now it is the virus and the hacker. Times have changed. Back then nobody had ever heard of Windows. Windows was a pane of clear glass. No it is making a dork with a bad haircut BillionsTM of dollars. Now we have cell phones, pagers, computers and color hi-definition television. Back then we had radio. Radio with music. Today's music is noise. Beautiful Noise. Powerful noise. Noise with the power to change the course of history.

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"4 iron."
"What the hell are you talking about? This is definitly a 5 iron shot."
"Listen Neil. This is a 4 iron!"
"You are so wrong. If you use a 4 iron, you will completely overshoot the pin."
"Yeah, but if you use a 5 iron you will land fall short and end up in the bunker."
Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldren were walking towards their balls on a trecherous 18th hole, 1500 yrd. Par 5 dogleg at the Royal Lunar Country Club.
"Ha, my ball landed further than yours." Buzz exclaimed as he whipped a 4 iron out of his bag.
"Maybe if you didn't cork your clubs." Neil whispered.
"Are you implying that I cheat?" Buzz replied as he addressed the ball and took a couple of short swings.
"No not at all." Neil bit his toungue.
"Bah! Now check a master at work." Buzz gloated and swung at the ball. The ball sailed over the pin and into a crater.
"No. NO. NO! Aw dang it!"
"Haha! You deserved it." Neil broke out laughing.
"No, really the wind, caught it!" Buzz explained pitfully.
"There is no damn wind on the moon." Neil replied.
"Oh yeah, Moon boy! Lets see you do better!" Buzz yelled.
"Okay." Neil smiled as he walked back to his ball. He took out his prized 5 iron and stroked it. He tryed to give it a kiss as the club klinked against his visor.
"Okay Old Abagail, do your stuff." Neil whispered to himself as he stepped up to the ball. Buzz looked on in disbelieve.
"You talk to your clubs all the time?" Buzz shouted sarcastically.
"If you could shut your trap for a second, maybe I could make my shot." Neil said as he took a few chops. He started his backswing and suddenly Buzz coughed.
"DO YOU MIND?" Neil exclaimed angrily.
"No not at all. Go ahead my good friend." Buzz laughed.
"He took his backswing a hit the ball a good 400 yards, the ball was in the air for around ten seconds, it then plunked lazily on the green about five feet from the pin.
"Fa... You cheated you..." Buzz yelled as he bounced towards Neil.
"I did not!"
"Did too!"
Neil raised his club and smacked Buzz in the visor with the rubber end of the club putting a considerable smudge on it.
"What in the Hell was that for?" Buzz yelled.
"Ahh. Go find your ball while I hole out." Neil said angrily.
"Find my ball? I have more balls! Why can't I just drop?"
"One stroke penalty." Neil explained.
"Damn!"

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Questions? Comments?
Wuckfad
wuckfad@hotmail.com
-or-
wuckfad@bolt.com

Rip Farts, Not War.
Just Speef it.

Reefers for the legalization of Marijuana.
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