From: Bizarro7@aol.com To: blakes7@lists.lysator.liu.se Subject: Re: [B7L] zine editing Date: Sun, 1 Apr 2001 11:13:56 EDT

In a message dated 4/1/01 10:59:30 AM Eastern Daylight Time, hflysator@jarriere.demon.co.uk writes:

<< Yes, I think I'm sharing Fiona's puzzlement and, er, sentiments, in what is intended to be a non-aggressive and inoffensive way. >>

Suffice it to say that in the long run, actions will speak louder than declarations.

I'm sorry, but that message brings out the imp in me. Intended in a spirit of humour, with no wish to offend, marster.... those who are puzzled by the format/universe may find the link http://redrival.com/nyder/rontane.html useful.

THE POSTHUMOUS MEMOIRS OF SECRETARY RONTANE 8.5: HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE LYST

"Rontane," said the President, "There's evil about on the good ship Lysator."

"Oh yes," I said. "Some of the puns in the Cantab's last fanfic..."

"No," said the President, standing up. "I have in my hand a piece of paper which lists the Lysator Ten. These are all people who have at some point in the past year, been known aliases of the Communist sympathiser Shane Little."

"Shane Little!" I fainted dead away and had to be revived with a torrent of abuse. "You mean the man who actually made a sensible if forcefully put anti-slash case from a gay perspec--I mean, of course, that terrible and dreadful evil man, horrible, isn't he."

"Shut it, Rontane," said His Highness, helping himself to another chip. "He is a devious and cunning man who could be masquerading as anyone. He could be you. He could be me. He could even be Calle Dybedahl. I want you to go and find anybody who could possibly be him, traveling on the Lysator under another name. Look for people who have booked their tickets within the last 48 hours."

"There's one!" I lept forward, truncheon at the ready. "Are you, or have you ever been, Shane Little?" I bellowed, lashing out repeatedly.

"Um, Ron," said the President a moment later, "That was Harriet Monkhouse."

"Oh." Hastily I turned away and pretended nothing had ever happened--actually a surprisingly easy thing to do in a police state. "Oh look, there's another one!" I began beating up this one too. "Are you, or have you ever been, Shane Little?" I shouted between blows.

"Lay off! I'm Jacqueline Thisjien!" the figure shouted.

"Prove it!" I exclaimed, and prepared to start again, but the President waved me back. "It's OK, Ron, she is...." he said.

"Excuse me," said a figure, "but I think what you're doing is wrong, unethical and damaging to other people."

"That's GOT to be him!" Immediately I began to batter the figure into a red and slimy pulp.

"Um, Ron," said the President after a pause, "That was my mother."

"Oh." I scratched my head. "Crikey, this spreading terror and paranoia business is a lot harder than I thought."

"No, actually," said the President, "you're doing a damn fine job. Keep it up!"

The End

More Posthumous Memoirs of Secretary Rontane Available for public perusal at http://nyder.r67.net

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