Newsgroups: talk.bizarre From: email@example.com (John Perry) Subject: Almost Knew Organization: Liberal Materialist Party Headquarters Message-ID: <1994May26.firstname.lastname@example.org> Date: Thu, 26 May 94 17:43:03 GMT Hilly and I were driving down the Autobahn looking for a good liter of stout. I call her Hilly because she hates the name Hildegard and because it accurately describes both her emotional disposition and the upper regions of her anatomy. The passenger side wind-wing of the car was still broken from a run-in with some skinheads. Silly me; I thought we'd be safe once we got in the car and started to drive away. We might have been if Hilly hadn't kept shouting obscenities at them (I assume they were obscenities, my German's not so good). Anyway, the wind-wing was still broken and the warm rain was blowing in on Hilly's lap. "When are you gonna get this fixed?" "When I have time." "Or when you're not spending all your money on beer. Seriously, you should get it fixed. The carpets gonna get all mildewed, and the cars already overrun with bugs." As if on cue, a cricket chimed its assent from the back seat. It was actually the crickets that kept me from fixing it so far. I kind of liked the eerie music they produced on a warm evening drive, and since I didn't have a radio in the car at the time, they were the only entertainment available. "You're right. I'll get it fixed on pay day." I thought of a group of transients I once saw back in L.A. standing around a trash can set on fire. I could visualize all the crickets kicked out of my car standing around a little tiny trash can passing a bottle of insecticide, and I started giggling. "What?" "Nothing, sometimes I just think funny thoughts." "The technical term for it is Schizophrenia." There's no talking to her when she gets like this. I was trying to think of a way to maneuver her back to my apartment after drinks when I noticed several groups of men out in a field by the side of the road. They were in groups of four, all dressed the same: long belted robes of some burlap-like fabric, and matching floppy wide-brimmed hats. They were doing some silly looking little dance, each group of four in unison with each other, and singing mindlessly. "Deedle deedle deedle dee, deedle deedle, deedle deedle deedle dee. Deedle deedle deedle dee, deedle deedle, deedle deedle deedle dee." I looked over at Hilly and she was as terrified as I was. "They've found us."
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