LNH: Classic LNH Adventures #26: Retcon Hour Phi

Arthur Spitzer arspitzer2 at gmail.com
Tue Jul 26 17:50:53 PDT 2016

LNH: Classic LNH Adventures #26:  Retcon Hour Phi

In this weeks reposting of stuff you can find in the eyrie archive
we have the seventh chunk of Retcon Hour.

The 15th issue of Retcon Hour is Nicks of Time Limited Series #3 by
Joltin' Jeff McCoskey, which has various War Comic parodies enter
the action.

The 16th issue is Tales of the LNH #310 by Hubert Bartels where the
main character Panta finds herself in the NTB imprint.

The 17th issue is LNH #88 by Martin Phipps where Master Blaster gets
sucked into the Retcon Hour craziness.

And finally for the 18th issue we have U-Force #10 by Robert "Mystic
Mongoose" Armstrong which becomes another cancellation casualty of
Retcon Hour.

             | |      Classic			
             | |                      =
             | |      ____    ____    _    ____    ___
             | |__   | [] |  | [] |  | |  | [] |  | _ \  

             |____|   \__]    \__ |  |_|   \__/   |_|\_\
                                |_|  OF NET.HEROES

                                     ADVENTURES #26

                             Retcon Hour Phi

From: Jeff J McCoskey <jjmcc at ix.netcom.com>
Newsgroups: rec.arts.comics.creative
Date: 26 Feb 1997 05:32:57 -0800

Author Credits:  RH15 -- JJMcC, RH16 --  Hubert Bartels,
                 RH17 --  Martin Phipps, RH18 -- Robert Armstrong

 _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _  
(<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) 
 _                                                   _
(>)                 RETCON HOUR PART 15             (<)
 _                                                   _
(>)           Nicks of Time Limited Series #3       (<)
 _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _  
(<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) 

			T H E  N I C K S  O F  T I M E

			    N U M B E R  T H R E E

			      "N I C K  W A H R ?"

{with Nicks' special guests:
		The Spooky Tank, the Unknowing Soldier and Enemy Acne}

	Nick Naime sat rigidly upright in the chair he was bound to.  The
harsh lighting cast his already dark features in black and white.  His eyes
were hidden beneath the impenetrable shadows of his fearsome brows.
	Before him were arrayed several Net.sis with unlikely-looking torture 
instruments.  The head Net.si, Oberdaribberundtrudewoodsenfuhrer (OF from here)
Blitzkreigkopf, leered menacingly as only Net.sis in American propaganda
adventures could.  His head rose to an evil point which, as his arch-enemy Nick
Furry once learned, had been the model for the German helmets.
	"Vell Herr Naime, you haff run out uff time.  Either you giff us ze 
secret uff ze Fez, or mein _specialists_ vill extract ze information by force!"
	"The only thing you'll get from me Net.si is an express passage to
	Blitzkreigkopf began spluttering, "Zee here, Herr Naime.  Zere iss no 
call for zat lankwich.  Some uff zese boys are young, ja?  Und so impression-
able.  Now, shall ze toenail extraction begin?"
	Nick's eyebrows flexed.  "Very well, Blitzkreigkopf.  You win.  But 
I'll only tell you alone.  Some things are too important for enlisted ears."
	The Net.si officer puffed up importantly.  "Ja.  I zee vhat you mean.
Out!"  At his command, the Net.sis scattered from the room, leaving the two 
alone.  "Now Herr Naime, vhat iss der secret uff ze Fez?"
	"First you must agree to leave Helen unharmed."
	"Agreed," said Blitzkreigkopf impatiently.
	"The Fez only works once every new moon."  The Master of Minutiae had
luckily scanned a lunar chart the day of his abduction, and so knew that the 
next new moon was weeks away.  "You'll have access to it then, but I tell you 
this because when I touched it, I saw...."
	"Ja, Ja?"
	"I saw Oberundunderfuhrer Eidescop stealing it from you and using it 
to usurp Hitler himself.  Normally I wouldn't spill this, but Eidescop has been
PULP's enemy for years.  I'd rather see that Fez on a distinctive head.
Perhaps one with a _point_?"
	Blitzkreigkopf stroked the sharp peak of his bald crown pensively.
Eventually an evil smile broke across it.


	Transmission Kwerks, the only Agent of PULP not trapped in Stalag 61, 
was in a garage in a secret training site at Fort Ben.Net.  For nearly two 
weeks, he had grumbled impatiently while his hosts had prepared the military 
mission.  This night it was finally to begin.  Transmission listened while 
Sargeant Nick Furry inspected his troops.
	"Awright you four-flushin' shim-kneein' momma's boys.  Dis here is
Transmission Kwerks, a' Agent of PULP. His gang was nabbed by some pig-stickin'
Net.si spies.  Tonight we fly out ta rescue the group a' folks that bashed more
Net.sis homefront dan we have in alla our missions."
	"Maybe that's 'cause we never actually kill anyone, Sarge."
	The bulky Nick Furry jumped up in Corporal Kubert's face, his cigar 
cocked to the side.  "At ease corporal.  If this mission goes like I t'ink 
dey'll be killin' a'plenty."  Corporal Kubert's closest literary parallel was 
Pig-Pen from Peanuts.  He perpetually smoked bent cigarettes and appeared 
unshaven, though next to the hirsute Furry he appeared positively baby-smooth.
Despite that, his gear was always in perfect military order.  He was the only 
of Furry's men that could claim that.
	Furry stepped to the next man in line.  PFC Severin was a short, round-
faced man.  Instead of a military hat, he wore a white painters cap.  His mind
appeared to be somewhere around Jupiter.  "You gettin' dis Severin?  We're 
fixin' ta go miles behind enemy lines, bust out PULP and get back.  Wit' only 
da whole chicken-stuffin' German Army in da way."  Severin continued staring 
blankly around.  As he did his hands rapidly assembled and dissambled his 
weapon repeatedly, making it into a drive train, a nutcracker, a Playbill and 
back into a machine gun.
	Furry grunted and moved to the next man, a hulking brute with an entire
army's worth of gear piled on his shoulders.  "Sarzhent!  Private Jacques
Ishy-Cr'em ready for ze duty!"  He doubled as the unit's chaplain.  Furry 
clapped him roughly on the shoulder, almost toppling the huge pile of stuff.
	"Good man French Fryar.  Whadda 'bout you Mamushka?"
	The next 'man' was extremely overweight, but never appeared even 
slightly hindered by it.  Sasha Lowenstein was actually a Jewish mother from 
the Bronx, but so she could serve her country she hid that fact even from her 
stalwart fellow commandos.
	With a tilt of the shoulders Mamushka said "Ach, we must save our boys.
Who could say no?"
	"Well Private Spandexski's sainted mom and cowed pop to name two."
The last soldier was Private Spandexski, a former beatnik and layabout that 
barely won his way into the unit.  He provided a hip, if a tad swishy, element
to the group.  The six:  Nick Furry, Corporal Kubert, PFC Severin, French 
Fryar, Mamushka and Spandexski were the finest fighting force in War Comics....
	The Scowling Commandos of Cheesey Company!
	"Dummy up Spandexski an' give our rallyin' cry."
	"Keep workin' on it, Spandexski."


	Nick Eggbeater looked for someone to blame.  Shot back through time on
a full then abruptly emptied stomach, battered about in a teamup fist fight, 
then captured by Net.sis and dropped in a POW camp.  Which, if his knowledge of
history was worth a flip anymore, was not the choicest vacation spot of holiday
	Decibel Dude's first impulse had been to level the camp with white 
noise, or blue or mauve or whatever it took, but his PULP allies had convinced
him not to.  The conversation had gone something like this:
	Nick Naime:  "Scrich-scrich-scraaach-scrich-scrachh-scrich-scrach."
	Nick Eggbeater:  "Aaaah!  Geez not rats!  Anything but rats!"
	Nick Naime:  (cough NO cough) "Tik-tik-taktik-tak-tictictic-tak."
	Nick Eggbeater:  "Oh man, they're goosesteppin' Net.si rats!"
	Nick Naime:  (cough ARE YOU LISTENING cough) "Bum-bum-bumbum-buuum-
	Nick Eggbeater:  "Gemme outta here!  They're headhunter goosesteppin' 
Net.si rats!"
			(some time later)
	Nick Naime:  (cough NO!  THEY ARE NOT cough DEMON POSSESSED, HOCKEY 
	Nick Eggbeater:  "Thank heaven.  Make one helluva toy though."
	Nick Naime:  "H-ub-ow ab-ub-out n-ub-ow?"
	Nick Eggbeater:  "Ub-ub-ubbie Dub-ub-ubbie l-ub-angu-ub-age!  G-ub-eni-
	The Master of Minutiae, despite never having watched Zoom!, managed to
convey the plan to Decibel Dude.  You'll just have to take our word for it, 
since the 'u' and 'b' keys would be stressed beyond capacity to reproduce the 
rest of the conversation intact.
	All of which led to the current encounter between Nick Eggbeater and
Uberundunderfuhrer Karl Eidescop.
	"Zo.  You are sayink zat ze Fez told Herr Naime zat Blitzkreigkopf 
vould try und shteal ze Fez from der Fadderlant?"
	"Hey, would a Fez lie?  Me, I think that baby needs to sit on a normal
round head.  Like maybe your own?"
	"Herr Eggbeater, I like ze vay you think."


	"Whaddya mean da Net.sis stepped up air cover over Stalag 61?!" roared
Nick Furry.  The mission to rescue PULP had been cancelled due to the increased
Luftwaffe presence.
	"What language did you find imprecise?" politely asked the British 
military airman.  "While there is indeed a chance the aircraft might complete 
its route, any parachutists would surely torn to ribbons."
	Transmission grabbed the Brit by a collar and pulled him forward.
"Look.  Dem's my friends down dere.  I con't care how many Net.si's is guardin'
	Kubert spoke up.  "Ey Sarge?  The Brit's right, y'know.  I doubt the 
German flyers could miss a big target like a C-47...."
	"Dummy up Kubert.  Realism ain't helpin' now.  We need sumpin' a little
off da wall."  As the hairy Sargeant stroked his grizled face, the Scowling
Commandos of Cheesey Company moped. Transmission was positively beside himself.
Another American suddenly entered the hangar.
	"Furry? Sargeant Nick Furry? I hear you need a ferry into Net.si land."
	Furry spun about.  A crooked grin spread over his face.  "TC?  You 
boys from Spooky Tank lookin' fer work?"  The new arrival was a gangly,
freckled man wearing a bowler.
	[Editors note:  Unknown to the top brass, Sargeant T.C. and his crew
'Gunner' Gunnison, 'Driver' Drivison and 'Loader' Loadison manned a special
tank.  To all outward appearances it was a battle hardened Sherman, but in
reality it was possessed by Spooky the Tuff L'il Ghost.  This supernatural 
edge made the crew one of the Army's top guns, but also had the unfortunate
side effect of rendering other tanks in the unit especially vulnerable to scary
practical jokes.  This left the Spooky Tank alone and available for 'special'
	TC continued, "I think maybe the Spooky Tank could see you safely to
ground, and then some."
	"Y'hear dat Scowlers?  We're back in business!  Spandexski?"
	"Ok, ok."


	Nick Naime, Nick Eggbeater, Helen Weils, Six-Yen and Sinful all 
occupied the same cell, as a reward for "cooperating" with the Net.sis.  Helen 
and Sinful had taught Nick Eggbeater the Ovaltine code the Agents of PULP all 
knew by heart.  It was doubtful anyone over age ten knew the code, and PULP 
used the code to insure privacy.  Plus it was much easier on the nerves than
"Ubbie Dubbie language."
	<Missah Naime,> began Six-Yen.  <Confooshus say,  'men tlapped in fou'
walls often go alound the bend.'  How long we stay heyah?>
	<Not long, Six-Yen.  If I'm any judge of Net.sis, Eidescop and 
Blitzkreigkopf have spent the last few days jockeying for power.  Before too 
long, they'll be at each other's throats over the Fez of Prophecy.  We can
take advantage of the confusion to escape.>
	<Ovaltine is good food?  Tastes good and it's good for you?> asked 
Nick Eggbeater.
	The Agents of PULP looked at him blankly.
	<Hey Mom, I want Ovaltine?  Can't beat that chocolatey taste?> he asked
more urgently.
	<I don't believe you've quite got the hang of this code yet Mr.
Eggbeater,> said Sinful.
	<O-V-A-L-T-I-"Smeg the code!  Why don't I just level this Bob Crane 
weekend retreat...."
	<Agents!  Positions!> barked Nick Naime.  Sinful, Helen and Six-Yen 
immediately jumped to places around the door.  Nick Naime lowered his head 
close to Eggbeater's.  "In all the confusion at the museum, the others might
not have noticed your strange weapon...."
	"They'd have to be deaf not to."
	"Nevertheless.  You seem to have some sort of futuristic ultra-sound 
weapon concealed beneath your clothing."
	"I think that weapon is best left in reserve.  If the Net.sis suspected
such a thing they would no doubt dissect you to find it."
	"I, ah, see what you mean.  So we wait until the chaos breaks out to 
lower the BOOM.  So to speak."
	Naime would owe five months salary at the humor bank.  "Indeed."


	Flak dotted the sky around the military transport.  The tailgate 
opened and the pilot gave thumbs up.  "Ok Driver.  Take us out!"
	The Sherman rolled clumsily out the back door.  Clinging to the turret
were the Scowling Commandos of Cheesey Company and Transmission Kwerks.
Corporal Kubert jumped out on his own.  The tank tumbled heavily through the
sky until a massive silk chute opened up.  The huge Sherman swayed beneath the
canopy as Messerschmitts streaked around, spraying them with bullets.
	"Awright Scowlers," gnawed Furry, "Let's earn our keep!"
	Transmission grinned as the tank's machine guns and main gun picked
enemy planes out of the sky.  The Scowlers made good account as well, their 
machine guns destroying any plane that got close.
	Suddenly stray bullets chewed at the parachute lines, snapping a few.
The tank began plummeting faster.
	"French Fryar.  You got spares?"
	"But of course mon sarzheant!  If you would please to help me Zeverin? 
	The three shimmied up the good lines, fastening replacements where the
ones had been shot out.  Amidst the flak, screaming Net.si planes and whizzing 
bullets it was quite a feat.
	A stray bullet clipped the loader's hatch cover, which slammed open 
knocking loose a pan from Ishy-Cr'em's mammoth pack.  The pan spun through the
air, into the Spooky Tank clipped Loader in the shoulder.
	"Aah.  TC, I'm hit."
	"Loader, you ok?"
	"Just a, unh, shoulder wound but I can't fire."
	This was bad.  Without Loader, the Spoooky Tank could not reload.  It
would be at the mercy of the attacking planes.  It was a dark turn for the
Spooky Tank.  A man tapped TC on the shoulder, which was a bit unnerving since
they were plummetting through thin air.  TC looked up to see a soldier whose
head and hands were entirely swaddled in bandages.
	"Perhaps I can be of some assistance?"
	"Yah!  Who're you?"
	"Wherever fighting men need help in a righteous cause, the Unknowing
Soldier shall be there."
	"Great!  Why don't you jump down and load for us?"
	"I shall.  Uh, where is the loader's station?"
	"Through that hatch right there," gestured TC.  The Scowling Commandos
did their best to keep up a defensive fire as the Unknowing Soldier slid into 
	"Now load us up some rounds and Gunner can start...."
	"Where exactly do you keep the rounds?" asked the Unknowing Soldier.
	"Behind you."
	"I see.  Um how....?"
	"Open the door and pull it out," said TC impatiently.
	"Okay.  Then what?"
	"Open the breach and, wait don't set the round down, no that handle,
okay now pull, no all the way down...."  After several moments it was clear
the mysterious Unknowing Soldier didn't really know anything about tanking.
	TC made a mental link with the tanks' own supernatural patron.
<<Spooky!  Things look tough!>>
	<<Golly, TC I can see that.  Sounds kinda dumb dropping a tank outta 
a plane.>>
	<<Can you help?>>
	<<Geez I don't know.  Casper's gone and done some do-goody thing again.
Maybe I can get someone to help you though....>>
	Meanwhile, Corporal Kubert glided in to the tank.  "Sargeant Furry!
This is silly!  We'll all die when this thing hits the ground!  I mean the
engine alone must be shaking apart from the strain."  As if in answer to 
Kubert's words, a loud clunk sounded from the engine compartment.
	"Kubert!  Dad-blame it, I told ya, keep dat realism ta yerself!  An'
help us shoot down dese 'schmitts.
	"Don't worry 'bout da engine Furry," said Transmission smugly.  I c'n 
handle it."
	"Good job shorty.  Severin, help 'im out.  Da rest of ya keep shootin'.
Looks grim fer da Scowlers...."
	Suddenly, an ethereal triplane roared through the Messerschmitts, 
spraying lead.  Schmitt after Schmitt exploded, barely allowing the pilots to
parachute to safety.  Enemy bullets passed harmlessly through the triplane as
it mowed them down. The enemy flight wheeled and fled from the ghostly assault.
	"Oy vey, Sarge!" said Mamushka. "That man, he flies like, like butter!"
	"Aw don't go 'way," mocked Spandexski.  "We got ghosts ain't begun to
	Kubert whispered to Sargeant Furry.  "What was that?"
	"Didja see his face?  Like a pizza.  Dat was da ghost a' Hans von
Hamster, da Enemy Acne."  Furry saluted the ghostly triplane and its fabled
zit-faced pilot as it faded away into the sun.
	"Von 'Amstare?" asked Jacques.  "Was he not Ghermain 'imself?"
	Furry bit the tip off a new cigar and shoved it in his mouth.  "Even
the Huns ain't got no use fer these skanky Net.sis.  Now as soon as dis PULP
guy fixes da engine...."
	"Done," said Transmission.  At his side, Severin patted his hands
together smugly.  The ground rushed up to meet them.
	"....next stop is Stalag 61."


	D-Dude and the Agents of PULP listened at their cell window.  Outside,
Eidescop and Blitzkreigkopf were in tense argument.
	"Look you verdammt pointy-headed frenchman.  The honor of presenting
ze Fez iss mein!"
	"You dare call me _French_?!"  Blitzkreigkopf lowered his pointy head 
and charged at Eidescop.  Only the spy's quick reactions saved him from being 
impaled.  Eidescop drew a pistol and fired at Blitzkreigkopf, who ducked for 
cover.  Abruptly the camp split in half, one side with Bleitzkreigkopf, the 
other with Eidescop.
	"Is this the signal you were waiting for?" asked Nick Eggbeater drily.
The Master of Minutiae nodded.  D-Dude pointed a finger to the door of their 
cell.  With a resounding BOOOM that was lost in the gunfire above, the door 
flew off its hinges.
	"Six-Yen, find and disable the radio room.  Helen, free the other
prisoners.  Sinful, find the lab and see if you can't mix up some explosives."
As the Agents darted off on their various missions, Eggbeater spoke.
	"So, uh, tell me again how this rampant chaos is part of your plan?"
	Naime motioned and ran out, followed by a sighing Eggbeater.  Naime
handily dispatched any Net.sis that D-Dude didn't blast into unconsciousness.
At some point, Naime found his double Luger and added his deadly accuracy to
their trek through the prison camp.
	Over the wall, D-Dude sighted a lone Sherman tank rolling towards the
compound.  "Oh goody.  A little military discipline.  Just what we need."
	On the Spooky Tank, Sargeant Nick Furry called to the Scowlers and 
their hosts. "Ok Scowlers, let's bust dem PULPsters outta dis Rat.si Sing-Sing.
So fire when ready and Kubert don't you touch da ammo.  Spandexski?"
	"Wahoo?  C'mon Spandexski ya ain't even tryin' no more."
	The Spooky Tank fired a shell that started perhaps the loudest single 
encounter of World War II, short of the A-bomb.


	After the dust cleared, much much later, the Scowling Commandos of 
Cheesey Company, the Spooky Tank's crew and the Agents of PULP mingled with 
Decibel Dude.  Despite the profound carnage, the only dead could be traced to
either Corporal Kubert or Nick Naime.  Most were simply, improbably
	"Nick!" called Sinful.
	"Yeah?" said Naime, Eggbeater and Furry in unison.
	"Here's the start of an ugly running gag," muttered D-Dude.
	Looks like Blitzkreigkopf and Eidescop got away with the Fez in all
the confusion.  But I found this."  The gentle giant presented Nicks with an
official German document.
	"Too bad they don't write in Ovaltine."
	Naime ignored D-Dude.  "These are the orders for the Fez.  It describes
where exactly in Berlin the Fuhrer's Vault of Antiquities is."  The Master of
Minutiae's thick eyebrows arched meaningfully.  "And it lists the Tiara as one 
of the artifacts."
	"Lemme guess," said Eggbeater.  "You scanned a German phrase book a 
few weeks ago for just such an emergency."
	"As a matter of fact...."
	Nick Furry piped up.  "Hang on here.  You guys ain't talkin' like yer 
goin' back ta the states."
	"Eggbeater here is a....special agent," said Nick Naime.  He needs 
to retreive the Tiara of Destiny from Hitler.  I'm going to help him."
	"I got orders ta return PULP safe an' sound," pointed out Furry.
	"Then that is just what you'll do.  Agents!  You will return with the
Commandos.  The remainder of the mission will be ours alone."  Helen and 
Six-Yen complained almost as loudly as Transmission.
	"It'll be confusing enough without the high character count," explained
D-Dude helpfully."Besides between a Jewish woman, a Frenchman, two New Yorkers,
a Chinaman and all these Germans, I could get Transliteration poisoning."
	"You heard 'im Scowlers.  Mount up.  TC, you get dese folks back 
across da hundreds a miles a enemy territory safe and sound, right?"
	"Piece of cake, Nick," grinned the freckled tank commander.  "Aren't
you coming?"
	Nick lit up another cigar and slung his machine gun.  "Naw.  I figger
in dis war da best I could do is meet ol' Uncle Adolf himself.  'Sides, dese
civilians need a military hand in t'ings.  An' don't say a word Kubert."
	"But Sarzheant, zuppoze you do not come back?"
	"Den at least I'll give Fritz what-for."
	"And they wonder why there's no more War Comics," mumbled D-Dude.
	Nick Naime's dry voice cut through.  "If memory serves, the next
freight train to Berlin runs by here in an hour.  Let's get...."
	"You memorized a train schedule too?" asked D-Dude unbelieving.
	"Didn't you?"








Decibel Dude is the property of the Tick.
Nick Furry was created by Drizzt.
The Agents of PULP, the Scowling Commandos of Cheesey Company, Spooky Tank,
 the Unknowing Soldier and Enemy Acne all the products of the fevered mind
 of Jeff J McCoskey
Original idea by Dave who'll keep these things to himself in the future.

Jeff J McCoskey experienced a teary-eyed nostalgia halfway through this one.
Why _don't_ they make War Comics anymore?

 _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _  
(<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) 
 _                                                   _
(>)                 RETCON HOUR PART 16             (<)
 _                                                   _
(>)                Tales of the LNH #310            (<)
 _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _  
(<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) 

	     | |      Tales of the
	     | |                      =
	     | |      ____    ____    _    ____    ___
	     | |__   | [] |  | [] |  | |  | [] |  | _ \

	     |____|   \__]    \__ |  |_|   \__/   |_|\_\
				|_|  OF NET.HEROES

		     #310: Retcon Hour and what it means to Panta

[ In Tales of the LNH #309, Panta is forced to go job-hunting when
  the money from her BloodKitty series stops coming in. Kid Anarky
  and Curly had gone to the Alt.verian embassy to get visas. Apparently
  Pliable Lad is Dark Pliable Lad(tm) at the moment, so he was not asked
  along. ]

"Hi! It's me, Panta."

Panta wrapped the phone cord around her fingers and twisted the end. The
leopard girl was standing at a phone booth outside the Net.ropolis Comics
Center. She wore her skimpy skin-tight one-piece, her collar and cat-bell,
and little more.

The fanboys entering the comics store behind her, drowled; the others passing
her on the street sneered; Panta ignored them all. "Is Kid Anarky back yet?"

Over in the direction of the LNH HQ, a huge figure stood, shilouetted against
lowering dark clouds. From the black veil of clouds, lightning stabbed at the
HQ building. A cold ominous wind blew through the streets of Net.ropolis,
whispering of doom and disasters.

"I'll wait." Panta said, trying to free her hand from the knotted phone lines.

The air itself was charged with a feeling of change. People on the street
walked a little faster, anxious to get inside and away from the sight of the
RACCelestial ReFoDis floating over the city.

"I see. I'd better get back." Panta replied. She shook the last coil of
phone cord off her hand. "I should be-"

Someone was tapping her on the shoulder. "Excuse me," she said to the phone
before turning around. There was someone standing behind her.

"Passing in the night, you would little note, nor remember the person sitting
in the next booth at the truck stop; your paths crossed not, nor shall they
again. For that person is, as I must remain, a STRANGER."

Panta glanced at the mysterious trenchcoated figure carrying his Editorial Staff
and sighed. "What is it now? Everytime you show up, things get... strange."

"Come with me," the Dvandom Stranger said, flinging his trenchcoat over the
little leopard girl. "For in the great troubles to come, you must play no part.
In the shifting and melding of history to come there is a danger that you may
be removed from the tapestry that makes up the Legion of Net.Heroes."

"Uff!" Panta said from underneath the Stranger's coat.

The Dvandom Stranger gestured with the Editorial Staff and the two disappeared
from Net.ropolis, leaving the phone receiver swinging back and forth.

A faint 'Hello? Panta? Are you there?' could be heard from the receiver before
the sound of the rising wind drowned it out.

		  *                *                    *
The Deutsch Reichsbahn Rheingold Express' whistle screamed for the tunnel,
somewhere in the Frankish Alps. There was a brief moment of darkness and the
train roared back into the daylight.

Panta blinked. She was sitting in a compartment across from the Dvandom Stranger
on a train - probably somewhere in Europe. The two were the only ones in the
compartment. At her side, the compartment's table had been pulled up; on the
table was a vase with a flower, a plate with croissants, a teapot, and two
saucers. The Stranger was sipping from one teacup, the other gently steamed
into the cool air.

Outside, Germany steamed by; fields and woods rushed past, interrupted now
and then by crossing gates at which horses and wagons waited. Panta glanced
at the passing scenary before turning back to the Dvandom Stranger.

"Where are we, you... you... stranger?" Panta sputtered, her ears flattened.

"Patience, Panta. I've brought you over in the NTB world. It's really the
safest place for you until the RACCelestial Madonna is chosen." He sipped
from his teacup again. "Come, try the tea; it is quite good."

"Why?" Panta asked as she reached for her teacup.

"As a STRANGER," the Dvandom Stranger started grandly, "much that is hidden
to others is revealed to me. I know that you are neither a WC nor a NWC at
the Legion of Net.Heroes."

"So?" Panta sipped her tea. The Dvandom Stranger was right - the tea was quite

"Already the effects of Retcon Hour have begun affecting the NWCs at the Legion.
What effects Retcon Hour would have on someone like yourself are not quite
clear - even to myself. Rather than having you take a risk, I decided that the
Net.Trenchcoat Brigade would be a safer place for you." He returned the teacup
to the little sidetable.

Panta put down her tea. "You decided! You decided? Who gave you the right-" But
Panta was speaking to a empty seat. The Dvandom Stranger had disappeared, taking
his Editorial Staff with him.

The compartment door slid open. Panta turned to see a Reichsbahn offical in
a black uniform and thick glasses enter the tiny compartment. "Entschudling,
gnadige Fraulein. Ihrer Papiern und Fahrekarte, bitte?" he said, squinting
at her.

Panta realized at that moment that she didn't speak German, that her one-piece
had no pockets for papers, and even if she had pockets, she had neither
identification papers nor tickets to put in them.

"Damn you, Stranger," she thought to herself as she looked up at the offical.
Then she suddenly saw the logo on the offical's buttons. The Nazi swastika.

[Any resemblence to a PULP adventure starting is purely concidental. What is
 going to happen now? What year is it anyway? Can a leopard girl find happiness
 and peace in a world about to be engulfed in war? And what of Retcon Hour?
 Will anyone able to bring Panta back to the LNH side? Or is she going to
 be stuck in the world of the Pulp Hero and the trenchcoated mystic? ]

[ Panta is Copyright, Hubert Bartels, 1994. All other characters are
  copyrighted by their creators. ]

 _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _  
(<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) 
 _                                                   _
(>)                 RETCON HOUR PART 17             (<)
 _                                                   _
(>)                     LNH #88                     (<)
 _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _  
(<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) 

Warning: the following story was written after I'd spent some time
over in the alt.* hierarchy... and I don't mean alt.comics.*
(Hint: it wouldn't be strictly appropriate for Aili to read this.)

 ==========        ____
  // //H// //== / / /____ ___ ___________ ______ ___   ___
// // // //== / / // ___//___\\__  _____//___  //  |  /  /
============/ / // ___// //~~\==|  |===/ /=/ // /| |/  /=================
          / / /  \    \\ ~~~ //~~  ~//  ~~~// /  |   /      OF
        / /  '~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~   ~~~~/     NET.
      /____________________________________________/      HEROES

                      #88 -- This Is Your Life!
                        (Retcon Hour  Tie-In)
                    FINAL ISSUE COLLECTOR'S ITEM!

  Master Blaster felt his way along the wall; as dark as it was, he
didn't want to turn the lights on just yet.  After just a few steps,
he'd found the doorway he was looking for and found it open.  With
the touch of the door's frame telling him exactly where he was, he
was able to simple reach out and grab the device he'd come for.
He turned it on and smiled as he listened to its familiar buzz.  He
then proceeded back to the bedroom.  There she was, lying in their
bed.  He could see her thanks to the dim light that shone through
the window.  She looked so peaceful that he hated to have to wake her.
He turned on the light nevertheless.
  "Panta?  It's time!"  He waved the electric razor in front of her
as though she'd already openned her eyes and could see it.  "Come on,
Panta!  You promised me I could!"
  Then she woke.  Master Blaster was startled by the look in her eyes:
it was one of raw fury, of unbridled anger.  He instinctively backed off.
  "Uh... Panta?  Remember me?"
  She did not answer; she simply hunched her back up in the air, letting
the sheets fall away.  For a moment, he wondered if perhaps this was her
idea of foreplay... but then he noticed that her claws were erect.
  "Alright... we'll forget about the razor."  He shut if off, figuring
that that was all he needed to do to calm her down.  Her expression did
not change.  Her posture, meanwhile, became that much more threatening.
Master Blaster knew better than to turn his back on her and try to run
away: after all, this was clearly a case of her having woken up in a
strange bed and not having gotten her bearings yet.  He figured that
she'd stay put as long as he didn't move... until he noticed how her
pert little behind had begun to wiggle behind her.
  "PANTA!!!  NOOO!!!"

  Master Blaster woke up in a cold sweat... literally.  He unbuttoned
his pyjama shirt and threw the offending piece of cloth on the floor
next to the bed.
  "Another bad dream?"
  "Who's there?"
  The light went on.  "Calm down, Lover!"
  "wReanna?" Master Blaster asked, startled.
  Sister State-the-Obvious leaned over and placed her hand on his chest.
"You're really rattled, aren't you?"
  Master Blaster mused for a moment.  "wReanna?"
  "What issue is this?"
  Sister State-the-Obvious looked up and read the subject line above
her.  "Number 88.  Why?"
  Master Blaster grimaced.  "I was wondering if maybe these stories
were being posted out of order: I remember Deja Dude said uplink was
planning a story about us along these lines.  I'd _really_ hate to
have missed it!"
  Sister State-the-Obvious gave him a blank look.  "I don't know
what you're talking about, Lover."
  "That's another thing!  You never used to call me 'lover'!  Hey,
_nobody_ ever calls anybody 'lover' 'cept in stories scripted by
  She drew a deep breath and slowly let it out.  "You always used to
like me calling you that."
  "I did?"
  She walked her fingers up his chest and looked into his eyes.  "Do
you want me to call you something else."
  "No... you call me whatever you like," Master Blaster replied,
hooping that the narration wouldn't specifically mention what was
happening to him.  (Deja Dude told him about The Woody Scandal back
in LNH #31 -- MFP)
  "So... have I managed to calm you down?"  She drew her attention
away from his eyes and sighed.  "Nope... I see I've had just the
opposite effect."
  "I'll say," Master Blaster said.  He decided to accept whatever
was happening.

Meanwhile, in Net.ropolis Cemetary:

  Bizarre Boy gasped.  "Something _did_ happen!"
  "What?" Bad-Timing Boy asked.
  "We've just had another retcon: Continuity Champ Junior has become
'Double Deja Dude'!  (See Generation Y Annual #1 for the whole story
-- MFP)  My G*d, Aili was right!"  Bizarre Boy started to panic.
"Oh no!  What if it's been me all along?!  What if these retcons happen
every time I use my powers?!"
  "You're forgetting about the Time Crapper," Continuity Champ Junior
told him, "and the move to rec.arts.comics.creative."
  "It's probably a coincidence," wReamhack told him.
  "But this time I remember things the way they were!  Do you know what
this means?  It means that people we've known for months have suddenly
ceased to exist!"
  "All the more reason for us to see to it that things are set right,"
wReamhack assured him.  "If you're right and you _can_ trigger retcons
then we should try again: perhaps this is a way we could learn to put
things back to normal."
  "No!  I don't want to take the chance!  What if I make things worse?!"
  "If two of our friends have ceased to exist then what could be worse
than that?"
  Bizarre Boy preferred not to answer.  "OK... I'll try."  They joined
hands once more.

Meanwhile, back in Master Blaster's quarters:

  Sister State-the-Obvious layed with the sheet pulled up tight under
her arms and over her chest.  Her eyes sparkled.  Her mouth was hanging
open.  Master Blaster was sitting in bed next to her and smiled at her.
  "That was great," she stated.
  "My Mac-Daddy Vibes," he replied.  He looked up at the ceiling and
smiled.  "You know, wReanna, there's been something I've been meaning
to tell you for a long time: you and me --"
  "wREANNA?!  That's _her_ name!"
  Master Blaster looked down at the woman next to him.  "JEAN?!"
  "Why?  Were you expecting someone else?!"  Ordinary Lady rolled her
eyes back, shook her head and sighed.
  Master Blaster was, in a word, confused.  He was quite certain
that he had just been with Sister State-the-Obvious and not Ordinary
Lady: it wasn't as though he hadn't gotten a good look at her.  _Darn
redheads_, he thought, _they ALL look alike._  There was still one
thing he didn't quite understand.
  "What about Innovative Offense Boy?"
  "What about him?"
  That seemed to satisfy him.
  Now she was puzzled.  "Rob, there hasn't been anybody else in all this
time!  Ever since that first night, I knew that you were the one for
  That didn't sound right.  "I thought you were just trying to make
Ultimate Ninja jealous!"
  "So I was."  She smiled.  "I guess your Mac Daddy Vibes did their
  Now Master Blaster _knew_ that something was wrong.  _Perhaps I'm
still dreaming.  Yes!  That must be it!_  He looked down at her as
she rubbed his chest.  _Man... It's never been so real!_


  _Aw, man!_  "I'll get that."  Master Blaster got out of bed and
went over to answer the door.
  "Rob!"  Sister State-the-Obvious embraced him with a kiss on the
cheek.  "Is something wrong?"
  "Who's there?" Ordinary Lady called out from the bed.
  Sister State-the-Obvious, familiar with Master Blaster and being
able to guess what he might be capable of, sized up the situation


  "What's the meaning of this?" Ordinary Lady asked, having gotten
out of bed and wearing the bedsheet like a toga.
  "I might ask you the same question!" Sister State-the-Obvious pointed
  Ordinary Lady nodded in agreement.  She looked at Master Blaster.
"You told me that things were over between you and wReanna!"
  "Oh?  Really?" Sister State-the-Obvious asked him.
  "I said no such thing!"  Master Blaster found himself on the receiving
end of a devestating kick and learned first hand why Ordinary Lady's
skill as a ninja is considered second only to that of Ultimate Ninja
himself.  "Ouch!" he said, his eyes beginning to water.
  "You deserved that!" Sister State-the-Obvious stated.
  Master Blaster curled up into a ball.  _Oh, G*d, please let me wake
up now!_
  Just then, a figure appeared in front of them.  It was seven foot
tall, thin and covered in a purple costume from head to toe with only
the eyes showing.  It raised a finger at the trio.
  "The Legion of Net.Heroes is cancelled."

WON'T EVEN BE A LEGION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


 _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _  
(<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) 
 _                                                   _
(>)                 RETCON HOUR PART 18             (<)
 _                                                   _
(>)                     U-Force #10                 (<)
 _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _   _  
(<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) 

Maximum Stimulation Press presents:

***   ***   **********************************
***   ***   ***
***   ***   ***      ***   * ***   ****  *****
***   ***   ******  ** **  *****  *****  ** **
**** ****   ***     ** **  **     **     *****
*********   ***     ** **  **     *****  **
 *******    ***      ***   **      ****  *****

< < <  C  O  L  L  E  C  T  O  R  '  S  > > >
< < <  E    D    I    T    I    O    N  > > >
< < <  *    F    I    N    A    L    *  > > >
< < <  I     S     S     U     E     !  > > >

I  **   ***  Tremendous Tenth Issue of: United-Force
S ***  ** ** "Force over Time": RETCON HOUR 18 written by:
S  **  ** ** The Mystic Mongoose, aka Robert W. Armstrong
U  **  ** ** This issue dedicated to: Neal Adams and Todd McFarlane
E ****  ***  Without whom this issue would not have been possible.

'Maximum Stimulation Press' and 'MaxStim' are copyrighted 1993, 1994 by
Maximum Stimulation Enterprises. U-Force characters, names, likenesses, and
indica are copyright 1993, 1994 Maximum Stimulation Press. U-Force was
created by Robert W. Armstrong, with certain elements created by Kristen
Armstrong and Jonathan Trull.

The Controller is created and copyright Kristen Armstrong.
wReamicus Maximus is created and copyright wReam.
IMPLO is created and copyright Stirge.

 [Author's note: This story was posted directly after #7.1, although
it occurs storywise after issues #8 and #9. Why? Retcon Hour nuttiness,
commentary on the schedule of _Spawn_, and the IMPLO scene. Thus, the 'x.5'
numbering of issues 8 and 9. Now, on with the comic. -TMM]

The Story before: 

U-Force is: Argonaut, Astral, Atlas, Backlash, Bristle, Compass, Hardcore,
Knockdown, Mongoose, Nightbeast, Optik, Pointblank, Red Raptor, Reflex,
Seismic, Telekinetech, Topspeed, Tourniquet, Transmit, Total, Vector,

  "GET HER! Get that bi... urrrmm..." Backlash's eyes slowly glaze over, as
heturns to the rest of the team, his eyes full of hatred. 
  "Nice try, Backlash. It's convienent having mental control powers... now,
my slave, attack U-Force!"
  "Oh, crap."
  "Vector! Teleport up to that platform and stop her!"
  "Gotcha, Argonaut!" Vector immediately warps up to the Controller's 
platform, compleely passing through Backlash's force-field. He raises a
fist to punch her.. and his eyes similarly glaze over. Simultaneously,
Backlash's turn back to normal.
  "#&$^! She had me under her control!"
  "Picked her name pretty well, then, don't ya think?"
  "Enough wisecracks, Seismic. She can only control one of us at a time.. 
so let's get her ALL AT ONCE!"
  With this, U-Force rushes into the fray in one of those huge two-page
splash panels. Almost instantly, they run into the army of clones, all of
whom bear a strange resemblance to Ultimate Ninja. Of course, these clones
don't fight nearly as well. 


  "What the.." Argonaut feels a sharp stabbing. One of the 
clones has just plunged a syringe into his leg, and before he can act, 
pulled it out again. Argonaut quickly taps his communicator.
  "Watch out, everybody! Some of these guys have syringes, and are trying 
to take blood samples."
  "*#&!", says Backlash in reply. "if she gets our DNA, she could clone
any of us.. including our powers! Watch out, team!"
  .o(Kind of good to have Backlash here. Takes the pressure off of me, 
since he's group leader...  Still can't be sure I trust him, and since he
might disappear just as fast as he came... time to do what I do best.)
Nightbeast grins grimly as he hauls out two longswords.. and starts dealing
heavy damage to the clones.
  In fact, all of U-Force is doing well, and as new members keep dropping
in, the tide of battle starts turning. The clone corpses keep piling up, 
and The Controller is using her power just to protect herself. Soon, the
battlefield is literally covered with dead clones, and U-Force's motion is
hampered even more. Even Nightbeast can barely balance on top of the 
bodies, and he gets 'sampled'. The clone dodges his sword just long enough 
to pass the syringe along.. and then gets gruesomely decapitated. The
syringe gets tossed from clone to clone, and then up to the Controller.

  "Ahahaha! That's the samples from the original six.. plus this 'Backlash'
and the big one. Now, onto the next phase..."
  The Controller taps a few buttons on her wristband... and a hologram 
projection of wReamicus Maximus springs into view!
  "Yes, Controller?"
  "I've got the samples I needed. U-Force is at your disposal... but 
there's a lot more of them here than I had planned on."
  "This is to be expected. Contraption Man's alterations have caused 
unpredictable side effects. Wait there." The hologram flickers off...
and a few seconds later, wReamMax materializes next to the Controller.
  "My. Twenty of them."
  "About twenty-five, actually. They've been causing no end of trouble."
  "I shall take care of it." wReamMax raises his fist... and the room 
and stops.
  The room is now completely bare, except for the Controller, wReamicus
Maximus, and U-Force... and all of U-Force are chained to a wall, with 
those nifty power damper gloves on their hands. [Where do bad guys *get* 
those, anyway? -TMM] "Good retconning. How'd you manage that?"
  "In this reality, Coma Kid accompanied them.. and you took him over, 
sending them all into slumber. They lost the fight. Not a hard change, but 
a tricky one. Oh, and you'll have to take the samples again."
  "No trouble at all. Just let me get the extractors.."


  "That's that. DNA samplings from all of them, perfect for cloning. And I 
thought you said Coma Kid was with them." 
  "He *was*. Unfortunately, his power backloaded onto you for a brief
time, putting you in a coma and letting him escape. <*shrug*> Can't have
everything. Now, to permanently take care of U-Force..."
  wReamicus focuses yet again, and portals open... slowly engulfing various
U-Forcers, two or three at a time.
  "That ought to do it. Split up into little groups and scattered throughout 
time, they'll pose no threat to either of us."
  "Well, wReamMax, glad that we could be of service to each other. And now,
if you'll excuse me, I have to start transferring my staff to our South 
American site."
  "No trouble at all, Controller. Feel free to notify me again if you have
any more propositions."
  "Certainly, wReamicus Maximus." .o(Fool.)
  "Very good. Goodbye." .o(Unsuspecting moron.)


  "Hello? Anyone?" Nightbeast stands on a island, not much bigger
than a college campus. No repsonse comes forth from anywhere. He begins
walking around the shore, disappearing from sight...
  And re-appears a hour later. "Great. Stuck alone on a tropical island,
with a non-functioning communicator. The plants are all completely
unrecognizable, the birds have scales, and the land creatures are all tiny
lizards. <*Slurp*> Good-tastin' lizards, too. wReamicus Maximus must have
put me in the Looniverse's prehistoric past.
  "THE PAST! I'm here alone, a million years before I was born! I'm 
alone... alone."



  "Where are we, Tourniquet?"
  "Let me see... this appears to be LNH Headquarters... But it is 
completely empty. White Fire, Blare- check the rooms."
  "Nothing. Completely empty, no furniture, nothing."
  "What could have happened?  Where is everybody?"
  "*$&%! Communicators are picking up only static."
  "Wait... Organic Lass said the Looniverse was having problems
with the timestream. We must be in either the future or the past."
  "But... which is it?"
  "I do not know, Blare. But we're going to investigate. Follow me."

  Close-up shot on a notebook. The text on it reads:
  "Elijah's Log. Day 5 on this island. I have found fresh water and
several edible plants. I'm trying to catch fish, but having minimal 
success. The tiny lizards are still plentiful, but they're growing wary.
I will have to be careful to leave enough for a breeding population."


  "*#$^! *%^@! #*$&! It's #*$&-in' World War Two!"
  "Nazis! Ten o'clock!"
  "In this reality, they're Net.zis, Backlash."
  "I don't care what they are. Let's kick their #*&$^-in' @$$es, Bristle!"
  "Will you settle down NOW! And stop that language. I thought you got over
that phase. Let's just get hide quickly, and try to figure out how to get 
  "Okay. Da..rn it, Bristle, you're worse than my mom."
  "Thanks. I try." Bristle readies herself, and jumps with Backlash... 
landing on one of his force fields. They're propelled steadily higher into 
the air, and vanish over the horizon...


  The notebook, looking much more faded.
  "Elijah's log. Day 31, Have explored the entire island, including a
nearby reef. No sign of anything big enough to hurt me, except in the 
water. Fishing is hard, but I am weaving nets out of clothing. Much meat
from a sort of crocodile, but have expended last of bullets."


  "Who's here?"
  "Me... Hardcore... and you, Playwright."
  "Can you get a fix on our postion, Atlas?"
  "Ummm... Oh, #%$@."
  "What's the trouble?"
  "Guess what, Playwright... we're not on earth anymore. My geomantic
abilities aren't much help at all... but I think we're somewhere on the
moon. Maybe Mars or Venus."
  "Oh, brother."
  "Speaking of brothers... Compass must have been dumped into a different
time. I can't sense him anywhere."
  "Okay. We appear to be safe for now, though..."
  Someone opens a door. The LNHers squint at the light, and see a tall 
figure in a shiny metallic uniform. Behind him are even more identically 
dressed individuals.
  "I like how you define 'safe', Playwright."
  "Silence, criminal. Nothing you say will stop your execution."
  "Wasn't planing on saying much at all, sucka." Hardcore punches the guard 
with a alt.amantium covered fist, and sends him reeling into the wall behind.
  "Let's book!"
  "Grab his gun, Atlas! Let's GO!"
  "Got it. Hey, how the heck do you fire this thing?"
  A loudspeaker crackles to life as the U-Forcers run down a series of 
tunnels. "Attention all units. Three prisoners, at least one meta-human, 
have escaped. They are armed and dangerous, and have been convicted of 
treason against the Empire. Kill them."
  "Whoah boy."

  Nightbeast sits nude on the beach, scrawling slowly in his notebook.
The writing is almost illegible.
  "Alhija. My writ... wthi... writings. Day II III II. The all-same-time 
has gotten to me. Words... fading. Still much water, but less food. Fish 
not here much anymore. Cannot keep mind ist.. ith... intact much longer.
Hardly have memories of friends, if humans or my people. Funny how... last
of Rathani will die before any born. Cannot make-final the Kil'oktha. Fyr..
fur... forgive me, Salete. My last clear thought is of you."
  He closes the book, and puts it inside a crude wood box. He picks up his
sword and raises it in front of him. He pauses... then lowers the point 
until if faces his chest. He takes a deep breath...
  ...then collapses, the sword barely nicking his chest. Seconds later, a
portal opens across the beach... moves close to him... hesitates, and then
swallows him up.


  wReamicus Maximus, meanwhile, is watching all the U-Forcers in his
headquarters, on a series of monitors. We catch glimpses of Argonaut in the
midst of ancient greece, Optik, Knockdown, and Compass in the middle ages.
None of them seem to be having an easy time. Suddenly...
  ...A figure in purple and green bursts through the celing. He lands, and
boldly proclaims:
  "U-Force is... CANCELLED."
  "IMPLO! Where have you been?"
  "Is something.. the matter, wReamicus?"
  "You moron! This is issue 10! You were supposed to cancel the series at
issue 8! I had to personally step in and stop U-Force!"
  "I cancelled the next issue to be published, as you wished."
  "But they *skipped* two issues! Issues 8 and 9 are a total blank! For all
I know, they could have planted a bomb in my command center, or poisoned 
me, or.." 
  "wReamicus Maximus, the series is cancelled. Whether another two issues
are published or not is trivial. The eventual result is the same. U-Force is 
cancelled, and I am satisfied."
  "Very well. It is not as they had near enough power to get in my way...
now that I have the Ring of Retcon, none will oppose me!


Next Issue... Retcon Hour Omega, y'all! You won't know what's happening in 
Issue 11 unless you read it!

     Jeff J McCoskey       |M|   "Preservatives might be preservin' you all:
        DoD# 750A2         |c|   I think that's somethin' you mighta missed."
   jjmcc at ix.netcom.com     |Q|   -- Jefferson Airplane
           >>your Ad here!  low $$, commensurate visibility<<

Next Week: RETCON HOUR Chi!!!

Arthur "Same Classic Channel.  But Same Time?  Probably not." Spitzer

More information about the racc mailing list