In article <AscMg.13507$j7.327324@news.indigo.ie>,
superman@xxblockxxuksf.org.uk says...
> "Martin" <news@mandab.co.uk> wrote in message
> news:MPG.1f6b52f8dafa0b0c989b69@news.individual.net...
> > Next time you're in meetings with Microsoft, ask them if they need any
> > tall fat IT Programme Managers down in NZ. I'm getting a yearning to
> > come back. Me and Cypher were meant to be together.
>
> I wouldn't recommend it.  When the world collapses, Cypher is
> just going to whack you over the head and steal your last sandwich.

I'll also make sure to relieve him of his collection of boutique beers.
These will be used to marinade his man boobs. I reckon the Feast of
Martin's Arse will be popular in the commune's oral history, second only
in lore to the night half the commune disappeared while attempting to
prep Ben's Arses.

There is a third tale to be told, though needs must it be condensed as
my throat is very dry:

`In the twilight of his years Lord Cypher ventured across the sea to
seek the Poleson Oracle. Harvests had failed, disease had decimated the
population and His Lordship's broadband connection had finally failed to
transmit.

After many months at sea, with countless hours wasted looking for
mermaid booty, Lord Cypher arrived at the foot of the mountain upon
which the Oracle lived. By emissary, as he wasn't actually allowed to
see the Poleson Oracle, Lord Cypher conveyed the reason for his quest
then retired to his tent to draw pornographic stick figures.

Adept Parkes knew he shouldn't but he couldn't resist reading Lord
Cypher's letter to the Oracle.

"My land is sick and needs to be washed clean, what would you have me
do, Oracle?"

p.s know where I might find a dialup modem?"

Parkes frowned, readjusted a sandal strap and continued upward, ever
upward.

Seconds became minutes, minutes became hours, hours became days and days
became weeks because that's what life feels like without broadband. In
reality Parkes was back 6 hours later with the Oracle's reply, and the
bill for services rendered.

Lord Cypher handed over a box of fine cigars and gave Adept Parkes a
hair kaftan by way of a tip for his troubles.

"YOU MUST CAPTURE THE CONLAN FLANGE" he read, wincing.
"YOU MUST STAND HER IN THE OCEAN" he read, gasping.
"THEN MAKE HER HICCUP" he read, dreading.
"WHEN CONVENIENTLY PLACED, GIVE HER SOME CHOCOLATE" he read, nodding

P.T.O (sorry, I only had this zigzag handy)

"COVERED IN PEPPER" he read, marvelling.
"HEAD FOR HIGH GROUND BEFORE SHE SNEEZES" he read, astounded.
"PROBLEMS SOLVED, DUDE" he read, believingly.
"BTW, DO ALL OF THIS ON YOUR SIDE OF THE OCEAN, OR ITS A LONG WALK HOME"

And that, dear listeners, was the last time anyone saw Lord Cypher
alive. Many years later a couple of heroes bravely followed in his
footsteps to discover what had happened to him. After much hardship and
adventure they returned bearing that statue of Lord Cypher you've seen
in the city center. Our finest sculptors have determined the terrible
wounds about the throat and groynes of the statue are deliberate and not
merely damage. Some say the stone contains the shadows of bloodcurdling
screams. Some say that is no statue but Lord Cypher himself.

Can an old man get a glass of water?

--
Cypher