Crazy things for CrazyEddie to say Mmmm... Nice. Why? You ask me why? Because I *like* brass bands. That's why. Seem's that it's always the military. Morgage rates up? The military. Sun the wrong shade of green? The military. Bugs in the morning breakfast cereal? Military spybugs. So how come the military hasn't taken over yet? Here's a message to all you slave owners out there. I hope your slaves wake up one night, creep into your rooms and cut your throats. What is it with you, a control thing? Does beating people senseless or fiddlin their genes so they got no choice to obey turn you on? Leave well enough along, man. How's you like it if that happened to you? See how you'd handle it with half your brains turned to zombie mush. Hey, 'roiders. Sorry to say, but you guys creep me out. No offence - but how do ou do it? I'm stuck here in this lonely place - nd I hate it. It sucks! How d'you just choose to live on a buncha rocks and whack 'em with a big hammer? It'd drive me nuts, being all alone like that. I'm crazy, but not nuts. What up with taxation? Every time I earn something, the Emperor takes away some of my money? Doesn't he have enough? If he wants more, he should go out and do some work himself, that's what I say. Why does he have to rob me? I'm not rich. And how come we need money anyway? I mean, I've seen on the tridee how some of those really rich folks live. Gold plated spoons. Yeah, let's take away half their spoons, and then we'd have enough to feed and house everyone. And let them send long distance messages to their sweetheart any time they wanted without having to steal time at work. Raindrops keep falling in my head, hate the colour red, dancing now but soon we'll all be DEAD. Aldabaran girls are easy. The new Empress is Aldabaran, and I hear she'll do ANYTHING (*drawled with innuendo*). What do you call a fat cat? A montsucorp banker. What do you call a fat cat at the bottom of the ocean? Raindrops keep falling in my head. God their tunes are catchy, I love montsucorp. {humms 'raindrops'} Three little bears, doing nothing in particular, nothing in particular, no nothing at all - just laughing, singing this song, and that - is - all. Laughing playing singing, dancing, life - is - all. Time for another reading from the almanac. Alpha Cygni. Slavers, pirates, poisoners, despicable jungle savages the lot of them who can't wait for the return of the Master race. And now they're over two hundred years away from the nearest victim. I'm glad their gate died. Almanac time, kiddies. Procyon - Pro-sight-on? Prossy-on? However you say it. Lots of people, on a shiny world with plenty of 'roids to whack. Dangerous rebels, they say. But not very loudly. Or they'll get their shiny metal arses kicked. Beta Eridani. That's odd. All my almanac says is "Ommmmmmmm." "Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm." I'm bored. Let's see what's in my map of the universe. Page one. Sol. Your home planet, you know. If it weren't for sol, we'd all be dead. Oh wait. By the time you hear this, we are. Yay for relativity (discovered on Sol.) Anyway, Sol's got a bit of everything and is a great tourist trap if you like lolcats. Otherwise, a toxic waste dump of culture. Lanladelande-lay. Or something. If you're hurt, or stupid, go there, and they fix you. You'll have to be pretty terminally stupid though, it's about a hudred and fifty years away now.