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  ...presents...                Bob Takes a Trip
                                                         by Special Agent

                      >>> a cDc publication.......1994 <<<
                        -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
  ____       _     ____       _       ____       _     ____       _       ____

     "There are times when a man has to be alone.  Sometimes you just have to
take off and get in touch with yourself and with the part of you that is deep
and introspective."

     Those words played over and over in his head like a record with a bad
scratch.  He knew he was right though.  He really did need to take a break.
Hell, he'd been on the project only three months and already he had enough data
for two papers.  "Yeah," he thought, "I guess I deserve a break."  That's where
he found himself as he shoved his tooth brush into the duffel bag.  Bob was
taking a vacation.  His first, and to Disneyland to boot.  He'd heard all
about the insane rides and the throngs of people.  He knew he could lose
himself there, knew that no one would notice that he never talked to anyone
else and always ate alone.  Indeed, he knew he could get in touch with himself
there.  Bob was never the type of kid to play in the woods or even play outside
much.  He preferred to sit and read or watch TV.  As far as he was concerned,
this trip to Disneyland was a trip into nature, into the real world, a world
where Bob had never felt entirely comfortable.  It's hard to feel normal in
such a place when you're a two foot high, dysfunctional mechanical dog.

     At Disneyland, he would fit right in.  Most likely people would just think
he was one of the attractions.  He knew they never talked so he could just keep
to himself and think.  Of course, getting there wouldn't be too much fun.  He
had to call a cab and then put himself in one of those large doggie carriers
with a note on top from himself to the cabbie explaining what should be done. 
"Fucking incompetents," was all he could think as the container slammed against
the door of the cab.  He growled at the cabbie for this but he just ignored
Bob.  So Bob gored him right there.  After he had cleaned the blood off
himself, he shoved the driver into the trunk and drove himself to the airport
parking in a desolated area of the garage so no one would see him getting out
of the cab.

     He grabbed all of his crap and walked to the spot where a porter should
show up to help people with their luggage.  Finally a seemingly young college
student type of person showed and read the note Bob had put on the top of the
carrier.  "At least this chick isn't such a fuck like the cabbie," Bob thought.
He didn't like to kill people.  They didn't taste very good for one thing, and
the blood always made a helluva mess on his plaid vest.  After he was loaded
onto the plane, he set his alarm to go off when the plane began losing altitude
and dozed off to dream of Pluto and how he'd really like to teach him what a
real dog would do to Mickey.

     His dream was left unfinished however, when the plane began to descend
just a little early.  Well, actually it was way too early.  They were still
over Nevada.  Five seconds after he woke up, the plane crash-landed into the
sand.  Bob was not happy.  Being stuck in the damned dog carrier was not the
best place to be when you and the luggage are brought to a sudden stop.  As he
flew through the baggage compartment, he thought about the pain he would
inflict upon the pilot if he was still alive.

     Magically, more than half of the passengers survived the crash.  The
survivors, however, took a secret vote and decided they should use Bob to
obtain parts to fix the broken transmitter in the plane.  This was, of course,
a most unfortunate and fatal move on the part of the survivors and they soon
joined the rest of the passengers as carrion.

     Bob was not happy; not only was his last vest bloodied with the juice of a
hundred ignorant humans but he was at least a day behind in his vacation plans.
"Ah fuck it," he said, and proceeded to launch one of his nuclear missiles at
Moscow.  "I'm so sick of this shit," he thought as he walked towards the
nearest mesa.  "Might as well have a good view of the fireworks."
 _______  __________________________________________________________________
/ _   _ \|Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362|Kingdom of Shit.....806/794-1842|
 ((___)) |Cool Beans!..........415/648-PUNK|Polka AE {PW:KILL}..806/794-4362|
 [ x x ] |Metalland Southwest..713/579-2276|ATDT East...........617/350-STIF|
  \   /  |The Works............617/861-8976|Ripco ][............312/528-5020|
  (' ')  |            Save yourself!  Go outside!  DO SOMETHING!            |
   (U)   |==================================================================|
  .ooM   |Copyright (c) 1994 cDc communications and Special Agent Finerty.  |
\_______/|All Rights Reserved.                               11/01/1994-#290|