Date: Wed, 16 Feb 94 16:02:18 -0500
From: Daniel Appelquist (dan@porsche.visix.COM)
Subject: The Golden Weasel of the Apocalypse
Once there was a little boy named Cire Redins who lived in a cabin deep in the woods with his uncle. Once every fortnight, little Cire would travel two days over the mountains, into the big city. He would bring with him a cart full of nuts and furs and cured meats and other treasures from the deep wood. He would come back with a cart laden with tools his uncle had requested, guns, beer, pornography and other necessities of the city. Often when he returned to the woods, after his long trek, his uncle would drink much of the beer. Then he would become enraged with poor Cire, because there was no more beer, or because of the quality of the pornography, or simply because he felt like it. Cire's uncle would then club him fiercely with a baseball bat and often threatened him with a gun, sometimes one of the very guns Cire had bartered for with the fruit of his own hard work.

Since Cire had grown up accustomed to this situation, he saw nothing particularly bad about it. Although he was not happy, he felt that this was his lot in life, to be continually working towards no foreseeable goal and to receive no reward except to be regularly abused and mistreated. Sometimes Cire's uncle would touch him in funny places and make Cire do things to him, things that were often quite painful, but since Cire saw this as the only manifestation of his uncle's love for him, he also found this quite natural and did not think to complain or fight back in any way.

One day, when Cire was on his trek towards the city, his cart laden with various and sundry items of the deep woods, he noted that a small creature was following him on his journey. The animal was darting in and out from behind trees, keeping pace with Cire quite well, and managing to remain mostly out of site. If it were not for his innate tracking skills, Cire would not have seen him at all. Presently, Cire stopped in his tracks and sat down. "Come out, my friend," he said in a small voice. "I won't hurt you." Then the bushes parted and what emerged was a sight to behold indeed. A golden weasel, crept out from the bushes and stood in front of the boy. Cire had, of course, heard tales of the golden weasel that roamed these woods, but he had never given them much credence. Such was the state of his mind that he found all such frivolous tales a waste of time, as they represented to him a happiness and a freedom of thought that he felt he could never attain.

"Why are you crying, Cire?" the golden weasel inquired of him.

Cire touched his cheek and found that he was indeed crying. He had not even noticed, such was the level and uniformity of his deep depression. Cire did not answer the weasel, for fear it may be a trick. His uncle would beat him about the legs with a piece of tree-bark whenever he caught Cire crying, so he fully expected something awful to happen next.

Instead, something quite wonderful happened. The golden weasel of the forest said "I know why you're crying, Cire. It's because of the awful way your horrible, deranged uncle treats you. Our organization has a lot of information on your uncle. Information you may be able to use against him." The Golden Weasel of the forest then told Cire that the man pretending to be his uncle was not his true uncle, but was, in fact, David Koresh, the mad messianic con-man who had caused the deaths of his followers and in a mass-suicide at Waco Texas. He had not, in fact, died as FBI investigators had reported, but had escaped to the remote forest, here to bide his time until he could once again work his evil upon the unsuspecting world.

Cire listened carefully as the golden weasel laid out a detailed and intricate plan whereby the agents of good and right would trap Koresh and burn him alive for his crimes against humanity. Cire liked that idea very much, so he became a willing participant in the golden weasel's plan.

Except that the golden weasel had not told Cire that it was actually a messenger from a race of alien beings who were at this moment in orbit around the planet Neptune, biding their time while the Earth was prepared for the coming onslaught.

So Cire, unbeknownst to himself, became the linch-pin by which the entire Earth was overrun and every human being alive killed in preparation for the coming of the aliens circling Neptune (who were actually from a world in one of the smaller Megellanic clouds). Such was this race's statistical sophistication that they had calculated to 15 decimal places (although their race used a base-60 numbering scheme) that by only a small action on their part, they could effect the sterilization of the Earth with no energy expenditure on their part. They simply had to sit back and watch as we annihilated ourselves. The golden weasel's message to Cire was that action, and everything that proceeded thereafter was part of the Neptunians diabolical plan.

Cire killed his uncle and then became a famous celebrity. He soon entered politics and climbed the political ladder until he was president. Then, because of his latent hostility towards all human beings, he started a devastating war with every country on earth which ended in the complete and utter devastation.

So remember, kiddies. If some mythical woodland creature tells you to kill someone, even if it may sound like a good idea at the time, report it to the nearest authorities at once. The safety of the free world (and international big business) depends on your vigilance.


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