Conference napalm::heavy_metal

    So...there I was, typing furiously away at my keyboard, but as I 
    plugged away at some drivious DATATRIEVE code, my mind slipped into
    the subconscious...
    
    I daydreamed that Kim Gallant was the main charater in that Janet
    Jackson video where she is in the desert with all these naked black
    men!  Suddenly, during one of the dance sequences, she whips out a gun,
    and comes after me!!  AHhhhhhhhh, now *I'm* in the video!!
    
    During the guitar solo, I avoid the ruthless Tigga~~ by hiding behind
    that big white thing that some dude is rocking on the top of...luckily,
    I manage to escape her til the end of the video, where I slipped off
    into a Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch video to punch him in the face!

    Then Buck did a quantum leap into the body of totally deaf Beethoven,
    who just so happened to be standing backstage at a gig by rising 
    superstar Wolfy A. Mozart and said, "Dude, you play cheesy licks!
    I much prefer running a C arpeggio down the tectonic scale of the 
    leftmost quadrant of a harmonic divebomb, then 4 picking a B minor
    under an E humbucker during full shred. You couldn't lick the 
    boots I wear under my tight leather pants during your best wet dream!!"
    
    

    >Then Buck did a quantum leap into the body of totally deaf Beethoven,
    >who just so happened to be standing backstage at a gig by rising
    >superstar Wolfy A. Mozart and said, "Dude, you play cheesy licks! I
    >much prefer running a C arpeggio down the tectonic scale of the
    >leftmost quadrant of a harmonic divebomb, then 4 picking a B minor
    >under an E humbucker during full shred. You couldn't lick the boots I
    >wear under my tight leather pants during your best wet dream!!"
    
    Suddenly realizing that this was a mirror image of a nightmare that 
    Yngwie J. Malmsteen was having at almost the EXACT same time...errie!
        

    
    
    Once upon a time there was a rulin band.  
    
    
    They really played good.
    
    
    The End.

    ConfuseD and Full of Delusions..I reappeared only to Find MySeLf
    DriftiNg OfF Again. The Music CaRrIeD me to an Unconscious state
    of Profuse non-existance. Here I sat looking ThRouGh Out this
    Place, Gathering no thoughts of AnythinG. I was FaLlIng deeper into
    an Irredescent forMality of ThoughtLess Ness........I could HEAR
    Faint sounds of Looming OrGaNism's growing From That Scrathcy peice
    of vinyl...only to rise and fall Like the hindering reality of a
    3rd world....The sounds I once dreamed of...now can conjure up
    an image of stability (or not)...which infact make for a fantastic
    image of sleeping while awakening.... 

    One eve while cruising along the eMpTyV airwaves, I stopped in on a 
    Steve Vai video...I stole some of his licks, but he was playing WAY TOO
    LOUID, so I left.  Not to worry, a KIX video was right down the way!!
    Then, along came a COLOR ME BADD video...AHHHHHHHh, I had to decide
    quick, run for my life, or join in the video and beat on a few of them?
    
    ...

    I was driving into work this morning.  It was grey, misty and cold. 
    Only the palm trees reminded me I was still in Florida.  I pulled into
    the Mobile station a block before the Digital office.  Mysteriously it
    was empty.  I shoved the car into park and reached for my ATM card. 
    Realizing that I had left the little blue wonder at home, I curse and
    head into the gas station with some cash.
    
    Suddenly, my truck explodes, sending a shower of fire and metal
    fragments into the air.  I pick myself up off the chilly, damp asphalt and
    stare back at the burning remains of my beloved El Camino.
        "M******F******" I say in a dazed voice as little bits of what was
    once my vehicle continue to rain down on my head.
    
    I am still contemplating what to tell the insurance company when I hear
    someone screaming behind me. "CUT, CUT, CUT!!!"  I turn and see the
    camera crew and the director emerging from a false panel in the station
    wall.  "You ruined my shot!!" he shrieks. 
        "You blew up my truck!" I shot back
        "I'm $2 million overbudget on this stupid video and you're worried
    about a truck??"
        I find myself making a fist, and then.....
    
     

    I traced my steps in a backwards motion and finally came to the place
    where it all happens. Standing upright, I have a feeling that something
    good is NOT going to happen. Nothing happens anywhere,anytime in
    anyother place except here......Mind Overload...Can't comprehend this.
    
    Standing with a bright illumination of light entering into the windows
    of my world, I shake off the daze and hastily run around in a complete
    circle. In this Circular motion I recognize that this is an ongoing
    event...which takes place daily. I  look inside myself to see if I am
    still here...I see that my most spectacular dream is rising out of
    this daily existance. As I start to realize what is about to become..,
    I feel a strong negative resitance as a magnet to metal. Saying this
    cant happen, this wont happen........but I know deep inside it will.
    I realize that I have the power to do anything I perceive to be within
    reach.....
    
    Spheres of metalic growth fall from the clouds. On a frequent schedule
    I collect the particles only to form an illusion of Grandeur balance.
    Balance which is or may not be anthing to you at all...
    
    Bob

    It was 1:00 am and I was just getting around to trying to eat dinner. 
    I poked lazily at the mealy rice and dried out pork in the small bowl
    thinking that it really did taste as bad as it looked.  No money, no
    food, that's the way it goes.  The greying walls of the tiny apartment
    feel like they were closing in on me as the single bare incandecent
    bulb swayed to and fro from the torrent of noise coming from the
    apartment upstairs.
    
    Someday that moron was going to kill that woman.  It's a damn shame,
    but what can you do about it?  I've never heard two people going at it
    like that before.  The yelling, screaming, bumps and bangs...maybe I
    should call the cops.  
    
    Naw, but I gotta do something to drown that out that noise, I'll never
    be able to sleep through this.  Grab my guitar and crank up my amp,
    about 7 should do.  100 watts of all tube fury fed by some of the
    highest output pickups made.  Yeah, that should keep me from hearing
    them. ...and probably get me arrested with 'em.  Where's the justice in
    this country anyway?  Think I'll play something minor to let 'em know I
    was doing this for them.
    
    It's been a couple of hours and I'm starting to get tired of this.  The
    volume is making my ears ring and my hand's tired anyway.  Guess I'll
    give it up.  Only silence from the apartment above, either they're both
    dead or they got the hint.  It's a good thing not many people live in
    this building.  Then again, who'd want to, what a hole.  
    
    There's no way I'll be able to sleep now.  Maybe I'll just go out for a
    walk.  I pull on my leather and head for the door.  Aren't they ever
    going to fix that f*cking light??  Someone could fall down these stairs
    and kill themself.  Not that death would really be much different then
    trying to live in this pit, but I guess that's no solution.  It would
    probably help if they'd pick up the trash laying on the stairs.  Then
    at least you could feel where you're going.  
    
    I pause to slid the little piece of paper into the edge of my door, as 
    always.  If it's still there when I come home, then I know nobody's
    been in.  This isn't such a great place, so you can't be too careful. 
    
    The air outside is cold.  A kind of blue light is cast everywhere from
    the street lights.  They really don't light much.  Three in the
    morning, this isn't really such a great idea.  Only the real scum of
    the earth are out right now.  But I'm out of cigarettes and there's no
    way I could stay in that nasty room any longer.  Steam comes from my
    breath as I step out into the brisk night air.  Smells like garbage,
    man, it *always* smells like garbage around here.
    
    Guess I'll go around to the Freemarket.  It's a pretty lowlife place,
    but it's only a couple of blocks and there'll be a band.  There's
    always a band at that place, no matter what hour of the day or night it
    is.  People that stay around here need that kind of escape.  Doesn't
    really make any difference if they're playing or watching, but the
    music seems to help.  I wonder who's on tonight? 

    I think my eyes opened first.
    They stung,just like the throb in my back.I was able to put my hands
    over my eyes and count backwards,from 1 to 10.I dunno,this works for
    me.Helps me try to compose myself in these situations.
    When I opened my eyes I realized that I was layin on my back on a 
    cold,hard cement floor.(thus the pain in my back,I guess)
    The room was empty.It looked like I might be in an old factory with
    the room closed off.The door had multiple locks and chains on it.
    All were un_hitched.I rose to my feet and my knees cracked as I
    made it fully up_right.
    There were amplifiers and empty beer cans all around.A dirty blanket
    was draiped around,what I knew had to be a drum set.There was pieces
    of an Acoustic guitar laying all around me.It started hittin me that
    I must be interested in the guitar(as an instrument),because I quickly
    made it out to be a LTD92.What was left of it.What Ass@ole would do
    this to such a beauty?
    
    Allright.What happened last Nite?Why am I here?
    
    Can't remember.........Was I Mickeyd??__or did I do it to myself?
    My Lord knows it wouldn't be the first time.
    Check my back pockets of my jeans for a wallet or sumthin....NOT!!!!
    Strange.Either I was Rolled or ??????.I don't let anyone else hold
    my wallet.....Not like some wimps I know.  ::--)))))))...(hadda do it)
    
    There was a Leather jacket on an old couch.I knew it was mine.
    As I Ass dived on the couch a musty cloud of dust greeted my nose.
    I searched the pockets and found keys,change, and most importunely,
    a Black Book.         As I looked thru the first few pages__things
    started to come back to me...
    
    "They Call me Crazy_Al. Theres alot of phone numbers and addressess
    but they're not importent now."
    
    "What FACKIN day is it???!!!!" I find myself yellin to the High
    Ceiling as an empty egg carton falls on my head. I hate when that
    happens.    Wait..That must mean I've been here before..or atleast
    in a simular situation...     I'm not wearin a watch so I search
    the walls for a Calender.Theres alot of CenterFolds around but I
    I__II____I_II__AH_AHHH___CChoOoOooOooooooooo*......Damn Dust(drip).
    AH,an Escher Calender..with days X'ed off no less..
    Accordin to this it's April 12th.(Man,thats somebodys BirthDay I know.
    No time for that now...Gotta get comprehension of Self.)
    It's 1982 and there are days circled on the 25th end 29th.
    I think the writtin says"Recordin at EM___"sumthin.....Can't make it
    out.
    I look into the Black Book again_to see what might be written on the
    last few pages.The last page that has wrighting on it says__
    "Call G.Andrews Manness/Erik Lindgren..."
    I'm outta this cold room to find a Phone to put some of this change 
    into...
    
    
              Crazy_2_B_continued_Al
    

I had this dream the other night.  The more I think about it I realize it
belongs here.  I'm sure a psychologist would have a picnic and drop all his
other patients but me.

It all started last Friday.  I had to take my wife to the hospital for some
outpatient surgery.  Now I have this tendency to be late so I didn't want
to be late for this.
							Tim
-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The dream starts out with me being Little Joe (from Bonanza!)  and Lorne
Green is my father.  He gives me a civil war colonel's uniform to wear and
I go outside to get pick up my wife to take her to the hospital.  It could
take some time to get there because I seem to be riding an elephant.  I
seem to adapt pretty well to riding it and it looks like this is going to
work.

When I get to my house and my wife is taking a bath.  But the bathtub is in
the cupboard over the refrigerator.  She tells me that the time has been
changed from 7:00am to 3:30 in the afternoon.  So I have some time to kill.
Thanks for telling me!  Finally we get to the hospital and I drop her off.

Then I hear a splash and a helicopter flies into some water.  I dive in and
pull out 4 people.  The pilot is a girlfriend I had in high school.  Hmmm,
I guess she flew into some geese and crashed.

Suddenly I'm at my old grade school.  There is music playing over the PA
and I am wandering around.  Through the library, down the halls.

As I round the corner I find Dave Mustaine playing with 2 other guys and
the office microphone is taped open.  Ahh!  Here is the source of that
music I've been hearing...

    Gimme a C
    
    
    Gimme a L
    
    
    Gimme an A
    
    
    Gimme an I
    
    
    ...

    gimme a break...............wth are you talking about?  8)
    
    
    
                                                          staynz

I picked her up, held her close, my right hand on her body, my left hand 
around her neck.  I started squeezing her neck and she squeeled and screamed 
like nothing you've ever heard.  She couldn't stop.  As long as I kept 
squeezing, she kept screaming.  Then, suddenly, the noise stopped.  I still 
held her close, still had my fingers around her neck, but she couldn't scream 
no longer.  I then realized what I had done.  How could I?!  How could I
have been so stupid?!  I yelled out....




  DAMN!!!  I STEPPED ON THE GUITAR CORD AND UNPLUGGED IT AGAIN!!!


Chris D.

    "HEY, You can't do that in here!!", the woman said in a loud voice. 
    Followed promptly by "GET OUT!".  I ran for the door, my clothing
    trailing like strings in the wind.  I laughed to myself at the look on
    her face once outside.  Prude.

    The sky was orange as the sun approached the horizon and I walked idly
    toward the beach.  The cars passing honked as they had to slow and go
    around me.  I saw more then one middle finger raised in anger with
    screamed curses that I couldn't hear came from inside of them.  If I
    keep weaving like this, maybe one of 'em will hit me.  I could use some
    time off work anyway.

    Not a lot of people on the beach this time of night, unusual with
    weather like this.  I sat on the railing thinking, "if I could just get
    some cooperation, this wouldn't all have to happen like this".  I felt
    in my pocket for the credit card I knew was there.  The wallet had been
    discarded an hour earlier.  I'll have to use it quickly, before that
    idiot realizes it's missing and cancels it.  Now...where to find a
    liquor store that'll take the thing and not ask any questions.

    If I just had the heat, I could probably burn a hole in this sidewalk,
    but it's just not to be.

    Burn baby burn.  

    Where's a taxi when you need one?  If I had that gun already, I'd blast
    that bozo that passed me by.  Sure, I wasn't gonna pay him anyway, but
    how could he know?  Running from them has become something of a talent. 
    What are they gonna do if they can catch me anyway?  Have me arrested? 
    HAHAHA, fat chance.  

    The ocean sunsets really are the best.  Colors dancing on the waves,
    the purple afterglow.  If it weren't for those pesky birds, this place
    really would be bliss.  

    Old notes are cool .. specially this one!

    
    I had a band. They ruled.
    
    
    

    Then they all got burned....
    
     Friz
    

    RE: Crisco
    
    >I had a band. They ruled.
    
    They were called Madein Iron.  They play an ancient style of HM rock
    music which was uncovered in the Dead Sea Scrolls.  Chris was the
    lead guitarist, and got to make the most faces out of anyone in the
    band.

    Chris was also very good at playing galloping triplet leads and barr
    chords.  He was so dreamy....
    
           Friz
    

    
    But Chris sold 60 million records world wide.
    
    

    
    	... and working at Strawberries also entitled him to a discount
    	on purchases.
    

    Yeah Greg, finish your story!

Friday 8:10pm

So I go to the meeting, like everyone else.  I thought this was supposed to be
a discussion of angst, but no, it's just an excuse to make friends and have a
good time, amongst the whining and negativity.  Who cares about your stupid
life?  You want angst?  Let me tell you about myself and my music...and yeah,
f*ck you! 

I leaned against a wall, staring off into space.  Why don't they have hard
alcohol at these things?  Stupid dork.  Must think he's the only one on earth
with a pony tail and a black t-shirt...  Just another clique, just like all the
rest, I thought.   But, angst.  Interesting though, I pondered the
possibilities.  It seemed more like cynicism and bitterness at this thing then
angst to me, but what do I know.  I wondered if firebombing their stupid
meeting would produce some angst.  

Probably not.

Can't stand much more of this, a meeting about angst and all they do is stand
around laughing and making small talk.  Angst-fest, riiiiight.  If I hit the
bricks now, I might be able to make the show at Chester's.  What a hole, but
it's within walking distance.  Tommy will probably ask me to sit in too, he's a
good bud, but I don't think I will this time.  The covers are getting me down,
I just wanna scream something out.  Maybe they'll do one of mine, guess I'd sit
in for that...

Tuesday, 11:53pm

What I really need is someone to talk to and to listen to me, but nobody's
around and nobody cares.  Nobody'd answer their door if they knew...

The awful truth is that I wasn't the one.  I wasn't even there, they took the
cloths from my place and left 'em around.  Some "friends"...  If I ever see any
of those scum around, then they'll get worse then the people in that restaurant
got.  Now, I can't even go home.  

Saturday, 2:44am

The airport in Atlanta was steaming hot as I stepped off the plane.  I was told
the air conditioning system wasn't working.  Another night, dripping in sweat
in a place I didn't like, I thought.  Lovely.

I found a seat with a pay TV and plunked in my quarter.  Nothing was on, but it
made it a little less obvious that was watching the woman across the way
waiting on her plane.  She had a strange twist to her face, but it was still
quite beautiful.  The kind of woman who wouldn't give me a passing glance, but
then again, that description fit most of them.  The heat was unbearable, it was
probably cooler outside.

A trickle of sweat ran down my elbow and dripped onto the arm of the chair. 
The quality of these TVs really suck, I bet they're a major profit center.  My
business sense waking up again.  That doesn't happen much these days.  It would
simply take too long and have to stay put too much.

Two men down the corridor were shouting at each other.  "I DON'T CARE *WHAT*
YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE DOING, DON'T YOU EVER..."  Clearly the heat was causing
nerves to fray.  The bars and food services had run out of ice hours ago and
there were lines 10 to 12 deep at all the electric water fountains.  Everyone
just trying to find some refreshment.

I pushed past the still flickering television to get up, that's definitely the
last of those feminine hygiene commercials I'm watching today.  It's only 3:30
and my flight won't leave until 8 am.  Even if I see nothing, it's bound to be 
more interesting outside.

The night was clear and hot, very hot.  Hard to imagine it being any worse then
inside, but at least the air was moving a bit and hadn't been exhausted through
a few hundred people before you got to breath it.  I sauntered down the
sidewalk looking at the plants.  There was a lot of trash on the ground,
cigarette butts, paper bags.  A siren wailed in the distance, made me jump
inside a little.  Even though I knew they didn't know my name here, the
memories were still fresher then I cared to think about.  That police station
was a very scary place, just the thought of it made my skin crawl.  The stuff
that goes on that nobody can prove...

I really wished I could take a shower, my hair was getting greasy and sticking
in the sweat on my face. I remember thinking that I probably looked like an
idiot carrying that leather coat around in that heat.  Oh well...  Several more
hours to kill before I can go on.  Even with the breeze, the air was heavy and
thick.  Kind of caught in your throat when you tried to pull it in.  Not like
LA, just really humid and hot.

    The outline of the man loomed on the back wall from the light of the
    fire.  It seemed clear he was the one who had set it.  He looked huge
    in the shadow, running for the window.  Cain dashed toward the window
    to try and catch him, but he was clearly too far away.  Better deal
    with the fire now anyway, he thought.

    It hadn't grown too much, just seemed to be burning a chair and a bit
    of wallpaper in the big room, so he didn't rush to get the
    extinguisher.  A few squirts of the chalky dust and it was out.  What a
    mess, he'd have to clean that up tomorrow too.  Like there wasn't
    enough trouble keeping the looters and gawkers away since the last
    round of bombing.  It'll be easier to manage once the power's restored,
    but the restoration of the old house would literally take years.

    He wandered to the window the man had left though and peered through
    cautiously from the side.  Can't be too careful, he might still be out
    there...and he might be armed.  'He doesn't really have anything against
    me, other then the fact that I work here'.   

    It's amazing how much hatred people can harbor.  Surely they must know
    that the owners are long gone, and didn't support the political views
    of the country they were born in even before they were driven away. 
    Yet people still try stuff like this, over and over.  At least the
    damage was minimal this time.
    

Article: 4497
From: [email protected] (UPI)
Newsgroups: clari.news.law.police,clari.news.interest.quirks,clari.news.law.crime.trial,clari.local.louisiana
Subject: 20 naked pentecostals crammed in car flee the devil
Date: Fri, 20 Aug 93 8:43:40 PDT
 
	COLORADO SPRINGS, Co. (UPI) - A pentacostal minister from Las Vegas,
Nevada remained jailed in Colorado Friday on numerous charges after driving a
car crammed with 20 naked followers through the city at 90 miles per
hour.
	Police in Colorado Springs, Co. said they were surprised when they
stopped a speeding Pontiac Grand Am Thursday and the Rev. Greg House emerged
wearing just a towel, only to get back behind the wheel and speed off.
	But they were downright flabbergasted a few moments later when the
car crashed, forcing 20 people - all of them nude - to climb out of the
vehicle in a baseball field. None of the passengers was seriously hurt.
	Patrolman Shawn Labounty said House claimed God told the people to
take off their clothes to shed themselves of the devil's influence.

    What a riot!  The look on Shawn's face was incredible!  You'd think
    he'd never seen a naked person before (much less 20 of them).
    
    Rev. Greg

    
    	Why do I always get dragged into these things?  I guess I'll
    	have to keep looking in here in case I have to defend myself.
    
    	8^)
    
    							GTI

    And While Yer At it Shawn..Take That Cake_Outta_The Rain.   :_)))
    Enjoy yer New_Car.
    
       Crazy_I'd_Love_A_Copy_Of_The"Duck_Duck"_Tape_Al
    

    The funniest part is that's a true story.  The names were changed to
    make the guilty more interesting.

    
    yeah, they were passing around copies of that at work on friday.

    I was rooming by Charles in the yuppie district of Cambridge in 1978.  It 
    was the depths of winter, we had an old house (built in 1903, with a 
    stone foundation), and the place was crawling with mice.  This was 
    intolerable, cuz word had gotten around among the babes that we had 
    rodents, which impacted [sic] our, er, productivity.
    
    My roomie tried it all: poison this poison that, and the mice only
    sneered back at us with impunity from the woodwork.  It was time for
    Mikey to take command.  A big snow storm was rolling in, and this meant
    that everybody hurried down to the local watering hole to pair off 
    for the duration.  The snow was blowing hard, but we were warmed by
    the throbbing pulse of the jukebox basebeat, slamming Cognacs to help
    fight off the lethargy of partying at 10:30 AM on a Friday morning.
    
    The place was packed and the market was moving.  We scored, and the
    four a us went out to the car to git back to the pad to ride the storm
    out.  I insisted that we stop at the supermarket, where I bought
    some stanky cheese and several heavy duty mouse traps.  As the fun 
    began out in the living room I proceeded to fill the house with traps
    bearing cheese, peanut butter, you name it.  After a great night a 
    partying one a our guests shrieked and wakened me.  She was freaking
    out about all the little cute mices twitching in the traps along the
    woodwork.
    
    Here's what I'm getting at.  I emerged into the hallway in my robe
    and everybody was bitching about how half the trapped mice were still
    alive.  My roomie (who's a charter member of GreenPeace) had ten
    reasons why not to each proposal I made as to how to kill off the
    little rodents.  Finally, I took matters into my own hands, and
    gathered up the half-daid mice and put them in a neat little pile 
    on a drift out in the back yard.  The solution was simple: Toast.
    
    As the ladies and my roomie stared out the frosted back door window
    disbelievingly, I administered the fuel, shivering in my robe as my 
    stones tinkled from the -5 degree temp.  
    
    I lit a match and... POOF.  The fire was on and... the little mice
    actually started making these tiny little screams.  The back door 
    opened and more criticism started.  You cain imagine, words like
    "sadist!," "killer," "animal abuser," and so forth.  After arguing
    with the big mouths at the back door I turned back and the (now brown
    to black) mice were STILL alive!  Squealing high pitched pathetic 
    squeals and motioning with their broken legs to put them out of their
    misery.  I had to make a move and I did: I re-doused them and re-lit,
    but steal more pathetic squeals (both from the poor mice and from the
    ladies and my animal-rights activist room mate).  Confused, under 
    pressure from all sides, I did what I had to do: I picked up the
    snow shovel, raised it, and brought it up and down up and down up and
    down I couldn't stop they had to die I hit them I hit them again and
    again and again smoke puffing girls screaming neighbors poking their
    haids out windows wondering why I was out their naked behind a_untied
    robe in five below beating a snow bank, beating it, with half dressed
    people screaming and crying at the back door.
    
    Well, they finally died.  I couldn't go back in, too hot in there,
    and besides, it was fascinating to see the recently deceased mice, 
    their hair standing straight out, everything black except for the
    terror-stricken eyes and bared teeth.  My "friends" started bitching
    again, this time about how I couldn't just leave the poor things laying
    out there on the snow drift, claws grabbing at the frigid blue morning
    sky, for all the neighborhood to see.  My roomie tossed out some
    ziplocs and I inserted them into their plastic grave, one bag each, and
    buried them in the drift.
    
    I *told* my roommate to let me flush them down the toilet.  That's what
    you should do, flush 'em.  But keep some fuel, matches, and a 
    shovel on hand just in case...  because THIS IS HEAVY METAL LAND!

    Mike
    
    
    have you ever told a therapist about this?
    
    
    						ian

    we used to have a mouse in our house. at weekends, when the pubs
    closed, it was back to ours for some loud music and more beer. every
    time we played Passion and warfare or DLR, the mouse would leap from the 
    pile of newspaper where he slept in and headbang furiously in front o the
    telly (and i'm not joking). he was known as STEVE MOUSE after vai and
    try as we might we could never kill him. (i once tried to smack him
    with an electric iron).
    
    eventually we got him with rodent engineering from ICI.
    
    he died happy though...i think it was the beer dregs which kept him
    going.
    
    jim 8)