"I laughed so hard and so long I must have fallen off the crapper at least four times (Feel free to use that in your next issue.)!"

"I just read your premier issue and must say I am appalled. Why, I almost puked in my cereal while reading this unholy collection of smut! Never in my life have I been so insulted and outraged. Hey, if I wanted some woman to flip me off I'd talk to my mate! As for your Imperial Xena Legion information, I must inform you that most of it and your speelling is inaccurate. Although I do agree leather and gold armor is a little more appealing than dull gray, and can I get the address of that cute Xena Meana?"

"This angry admiral will be watching you!"

"Smee, have you seen The Demonic Press?"
"Those Demon Fleeters are anarchists, Smee!"
"Of course, I loved the Imperial Xena Legion section, but the rest - BAD FORM, Smee."
"I'm putting me checkbook away --DON'T try to stop me, Smee."
"I mean it, Smee, I'm putting me checkbook away and I will not subscribe."
"Do not try to stop me, Smee!"
"Don't you DARE try to stop me, Smee!"
"Try to stop me."
"Get off your bloody arse and try to stop me, Smee!"
"SMEEEEEE!"

Frigidaire Kerla is beside herself with joy at having this antique starship with which to wreak havoc.

Well, I have recently made some huge discoveries! As my esteemed friend, KwISt endlessly assures me, reality is a three-edged sword of Damocles hanging over a four-leaf clover. No, I don't know what it means either, he spends entirely too much time inside that damned Vorlon encounter suit (and I'm pretty sure he's not in there alone. Vorlons don't make sounds like that.)

All the intrigue that was supposed to have ended with Hopecon seems to have taken root and spread all over the place like Kudzu. Needless to say, I'm sure that everyone's going to be hearing tons and tons of grumblings, on tons and tons of supposed issues that will naturally involve tons and tons of paperwork. Everyone seems to have an opinion. A conflicting opinion. Well, you know what they say about opinions, I guess they had to find something to do with all that paperwork (but why do we need more paperwork when we've got Northern?
Nor
Quad
Absorbs!)

It's getting so that no one can see through the haze of dissenting opinion. But that's OK, we in the Demon Fleet like a good game of Blind Man's Bluff, or Murder in the Dark, take your pick. All the intrigue in the pursuit of the throne leaves me a bit perplexed, and if you have no idea what I'm talking about, consider yourself lucky. Because in the end, the fight for the throne won't really affect the majority of KAG members.

Hhhmmmm. Paperwork...Northern....Throne. All of these things can be construed as metaphors. Very pointed metaphors about where all the political intrigue belongs.
 

Until it's time to flush,

Cap'n Jack of the Demon Fleet
 ...back to Table of Contents 

Morbius QulyItwI' of the DRAGONS' HEART wants to thank all those who showed concern after his recent transporter accident. He wants to say he is doing fine, and is immensely popular with the ladies!

This reporter was granted an interview with the one and only head of the Demon Fleet, KuurIIs sutai-Qaaluhr, AKA Captain Jack, in response to the allegations that he may actually be SATAN. I spoke with Captain Jack in his comfortable penthouse suite 666 floors below the surface of the planet. It was very warm, but the wailing and gnashing of teeth from the neighbors didn't bother us too much, since the suite had been recently sound-proofed.

Demonic Press: Wow, Captain, this is a lovely place you've got here. And these sofas, they feel like real leather!

Captain Jack: Yes they do......don't they?

DP: You must really be raking them in, huh?

CJ: Truer words were never spoken. But we use pitchforks these days.

DP: Well that gets us straight to the question at hand. There have been numerous allegations that you are not really the generous, kind-hearted, fuzzy-animal-loving leader of the Demon Fleet, but in fact you are instead the Prince of Darkness himself. Tell us the truth, are you in fact.....SATAN?

CJ: Well, since I've been named King, that Prince title's been pretty much taken over by Bill Gates, though I hear he doesn't use that title on his letterhead.

DP: That doesn't exactly answer the question though, does it? Are you SATAN?

CJ: Well, can't I be both? Wouldn't that be a whole lot easier? I rather like fuzzy animals, especially with milk.

DP: But isn't it true that you threatened to destroy the Reverend Dennis Rayburn?

CJ: I didn't threaten to destroy him, I merely said I was going to steal his immortal soul. There is a difference, you know.

DP: It has been noticed that, within the Demon Fleet, heresy and irreverence are tolerated, even encouraged? And isn't it true that one of your own Klingon family members is involved in the infamous Child-Eating contest held every year in Akron, Ohio?

CJ: Hey, don't knock talent!

DP: You're still not answering my questions.

CJ: Truthfully, I'm not sure what you're getting at.

DP: It seems like you're taking every question and changing the subject.

CJ: Well, I do that sometimes.

DP: Look. All I'm after here is the truth.

CJ: Well, what exactly is truth, anyway? It's all pretty relative.

DP: Is it true that Damien Burmeister is your evil spawn whose role it is to destroy order and foment chaos in the civilized world?

CJ: Let order die, let chaos die, as long as I've still got my personalized parking space!

DP: Let me try another tack here. Is it true that you've been abducting entire Navy vessels for use as sacrifices in your black masses?

CJ: Isn't it enough that I've shut down the Bermuda Triangle? Can't you people be grateful for anything?

DP: Ah ha! You've just admitted you were responsible for the Bermuda Triangle!

CJ: Who said anything about my being responsible for the Bermuda Triangle? All I said was that I shut it down. That's the first time anyone has accused me of being responsible!

DP: It's just impossible for you to give me straight answers, isn't it?

CJ: Well I thought you, of all people, would prefer twisted ones.

DP: I can see that this interview's going nowhere. I think it's time for me to go.

CJ: Oh wait, before you leave, you need to sign a few release forms in blood, so I can be sure you won't use this interview in an improper fashion.

DP: Oh, all right. (drip, drip, scribble, scribble) Hey wait a minute. Release forms? I'm the interviewer here. Shouldn't you be signing these?

CJ: Oh don't worry, I'll be signing them sooner than you might imagine!
 

As I got into the elevator, I realized that I should have made him move his cloven hoof off that fine print at the bottom of the release forms...
 ...back to Table of Contents 

Dear Kordite,

I have a real problem. Last month, a taxman tried to take my earnings from me. My protests that, since I was serving aboard a Klingon Bird-of-Prey that only happened to be in Earth orbit for the week, I was exempt from Earthling tax, were met with blank bureaucratic stupidity. In the spirit of fostering goodwill between our noble race and the filthy stinking rotten honorless scum, I did not immediately shove a shockprod into his nether regions. This was a decision I came to regret when I was detained by red tape (a more powerful restraining force than a Cardassian Electroshock Field) for so long that my ship left orbit, and I was marooned on the surface. After my repeated requests for the location of the nearest Klingon Embassy were sneered at with Earthling slang (F***ing loon, thinks he's an alien!) I allowed my better nature to take hold, and began ripping the taxman limb from limb with my bare hands. After this, my natural warrior's instincts so joyously awakened, I went on a killing spree through the local town, during which I utilized, in no particular order, my disrupter, on a lightly fried setting, the aforementioned shockprod, my Klingon hunting knife, a chain saw (a most satisfying weapon, I highly recommend it to my brother warriors), a flag pole, a length of heavy duty chain (which I wrapped around the offenders' necks and used to pull-start their heads), a pump action shot gun, and a small but effective tactical nuclear warhead.

My problem? Do you have any tips on removing bloodstains? My uniform is ruined!

Signed,

Kahr'Nage N'Gor
 

Dear Kahr'Nage,

Removing bloodstains from a warrior's leather is indeed a difficult problem. Seltzer water is effective at removing many common stains, including blood, from delicate materials. Of course, if the stains are too extensive or have set too firmly, simply use the funds you saved in not paying the taxman to buy yourself a new uniform. Treat yourself. You're worth it.
 

Do YOU have any questions for Kordite? Send them to geiselmank@clpgh.org, or snail them to Kevin Geiselman, 301 Overdale Rd., Pittsburgh, PA 15221.
 ...back to Table of Contents 

 

 

This is your fearless reporter, jImInnI' QrIqIt, acting once again as the Conscience of the Empire. Today, this David is going up against the biggest Goliaths of all. We've been invited to that Den of Iniquity called the Great Mall of the High Council. That's where all the Command-types from all the forces throughout all the Empire gather to keep up with the Joneses and play King of the Hill. In the end, there can only be one.

My mission is to seek the Grand Poobah, and offer my services as a Conscience to be his Imperial Guide.

The outside of the building is enticing, littered with glitz and neon. Boy, is that misleading! Your first step inside the High Council's lair is an overwhelming contrast. Immediately, you are hit with the cold, stinking draft of the slaughter house... or is that just the ripening sweat of latex and vinyl under the overtaxed air conditioners? The living dead inhabitants march purposefully forward in their tasks. One must take great care not to cross their paths. Most dangerous are the Mall Survey Opinion Pollsters, and the Imperial Mallwalkers, who march along in sweat suits, stomping out any sign of a Rebel Alliance.
 

THE PUBLIC LAUNDROMAT

Narrowly escaping a platoon of Imperial Mallwalkers, I proceeded to the first store I could find. It was the Public Laundromat--how's that for first impressions? It's no wonder the place reeks... This is were all the High Commanders of Klingondom get their dry cleaning done. It's accomplished by airing their laundry in public, fanning it to the four winds. It seems to be the preferred method over wet cleaning methods, despite the ample supplies of hot water, because it saves time from hanging out to dry.

I decided to try a different tack. I asked myself, "If I were a Grand Poobah, were would I be?" After a quick glance over the neon store signs, the solution presented itself. Just across the Hall was "POOBAHS R US."
 

POOBAHS R US

POOBAHS R US is one of several factory outlets for ranks. As popular as they are, their supply is even greater than their demand, so there's fierce competition over ranks... Prices just keep dropping! All manner of signs cover these stores: "Admiralties 50% off!" "Buy your rank here, and get the honorific free of charge!" "Thought Admiralties free with membership!" "Trade in your friends and colleagues for BIG PROMOTIONS!"

To my great disappointment, the Grand Poobah was nowhere inside. I guess he's got all the rank he'll ever need, and would never be seen shopping with the commoners. As I was about to lose hope, a sign above had restored my confidence. "OFFICEMART: Your One-Stop Office Shop." Now there's a prospect. Surely this guy needs office supplies.
 

OFFICEMART

When I got there, I learned that OFFICEMART doesn't sell office SUPPLIES, they sell actual OFFICES, in all shapes and sizes. 'What's an officer without an office?' The place was crowded... There, ambitious Lieutenants would enter with a fist full of twenties, and exit followed by hordes of cloned zombie minions! Klingons with less ambition or less money could enter and exit alone, but they'd be an official Office of One. At the carry out window there was a fellow who seemed particularly helpful, so I enquired about their store.

"Ya know, offices used to be much more scarce," he explained, "but modern productivity methods are changing everything. It used to be that to get offices, you had to go out and cut down officers. Lots of 'em. I mean, entire Quadrants were being strip mined, just to get offices, until it was causing shifts in the global weather patterns due to the deforestation. But now it's different. Now, we can synthesize offices artificially... create them out of sheer nothingness, in fact. Ain't science wonderful?"

"I'm looking for the Grand Poobah. Have you seen him anywhere recently, by chance?"

"I've seen him frequenting the Divisional Department Store, just across the way. I've often seen him there, right in the middle of all the activity."
 
 

THE DIVISIONAL DEPARTMENT STORE

The Divisional Department store was a bizarre place indeed, filled with partitions, roadblocks, barbed wire, and all other manner of barrier. A ravenous salesman approached. "How about I demonstrate our newest collapsing staircases... When it comes to confusing the masses, these babies are more fun than shaking up ant farms!"

Quite frankly, salesmen like these give me the willies. "No thanks. I'm looking for the Grand Poobah."

"No, you're mistaken," he replied. "What you really need are Chains of Command. We're running a special!" He quickly dragged out a heavy chain, supported by several stanchions. "With these, you can thwart all manner of communication and advancement."

I gaped at him in total disbelief. "You're joking."

"Not at all, just watch... HEY MALTZ!" His associate approached, but as he drew near, the salesman encircled himself with the Chains.

"Oh, man! I HATE it when you do that! Now I have to go around the chain just to find out what you wanted to talk about! Why I would kill you if you weren't protected by those chains!" The irritated associate stomped off.

"See?" he said to me, donning a confident grimace. "Works every time."

My sense of reality was beginning to quake. Surely, my friends and most Klingons I know would NEVER fall for that, would they? The question made my head throb. I wasn't about to find out... my instinct for self preservation drove me to act for my very life. I grabbed the Chains and pulled them as tight as I could around the salesman to assure my escape.

"Ooo, you've done this before, haven't you," he said with a feral smile, as I ran for the Hallway.
 

GAREK'S TAILOR SHOPPE

I was headed down the hall, seeking the first sign of any customer service. Suddenly, this attractive young female Klingon in a red dress was seized by two Cardassian Soldiers. Upon closer inspection, I could see that the victim was Betor herself, from the House of Duras. "Let me go I say! THERE ARE FIVE RIVETS on my belt, I tell you! FIVE!"

"No! There are only FOUR, that's the rules! Now you must pay for your Crimes of Fashion!" They dragged her into Garek's quartermaster chamber, and proceeded to spray paint her 'battleship gray' from head to toe.
 

THE MISINFORMATION DESK

Feeling that I was learning the rules of the game, I approached the MISINFORMATION DESK. "Excuse me, but could you tell me the one place that I would never, ever likely be found by the Grand Poobah?"

The clerk began to pant with opportunity. "Well the LAST place you would ever find him would be the amphitheater. He NEVER goes there, what with all those Admirals and everything."

 

THE AMPHITHEATER

The place sparkled with brass from all of the Admirals which filled it. It was like a giant rock concert, with Admirals from all of Klingondom parading and moshing around the stage. It used to be that they would hold these meetings privately, behind closed doors, until there got to be too many people trying to force their way in. Eventually, they decided just to hold their meetings out in the open. Now, nobody wants to be near them anymore.

The Grand Poobah sat in the center of everything, surrounded by his Vice Grand Poobahs. I almost couldn't see him... he has a lot of Vices. I decided to approach him, and no one seemed to care. While there were plenty of Admirals parading about, none of them seemed to have anything to say.

"Excuse me, Mr. Grand Poobah, sir. I've come to offer my services as a Conscience."

Three Vice Grand Poobahs stepped in front of me. "He doesn't need a Conscience! And if he ever did, he could simply RENT ONE! Now 'NUFF SAID!"

Just then, the Grand Poobah clutched his chest with a pained expression on his face. He tried to get to his feet, but then slumped lifelessly into his chair.

The three closest Vices leaped forward. "Quick! You hold his eyes open, I'll get his wallet!"

"Ah HAH! GOTCHA AGAIN!!" exclaimed the Grand Poobah, springing back to life.

"toH! Don't DO that... you nearly scared us to death!"

"I do that sometimes..." He resumed his stately position in the Great Chair of the Great Mall of the High Council. Taking a Vice Admiral by the arm, he issued an order to be 'carried out' by the Imperial Court of Food. Then he raised his voice to the Admiral Audience, "If you will all take your seats, I have more I want to say." The Admirals then resumed parading about, and he resumed his silence.

There was a sudden crash behind us, and at that point the Vice Grand Poobahs broke off to join the scuffle. "--Sorry, gotta run. Sounds like another Admiral has fallen, and we've gotta kick him while he's still down." Only one Vice Grand Poobah remained, reclining in his seat, chewing.

He had a disturbing habit of reaching into his pocket, and pulling out a handful of insects. He would then grip their legs in his teeth, and pull them briskly from their bodies, which he would discard onto the floor all around him. As one of the Fleet Admirals began to filibuster, I seized the opportunity to ask him the reason for this unusual dietary exercise.

"Well, we all have our vices, and some of us find it necessary to trade old vices in for more acceptable ones. I used to sneak into the Marine freezers so I could break off a few fingers and arms while they were still sleeping. But you know how PC the Empire is getting. I had to quit cold turkey, if you'll pardon my pun. As a compromise, I switched to scraping the spots off of Trills. Well, wouldn't you know it, the Council gets upset at that, too. They say they can't walk three steps without tracking measles all over their freshly shined boots. So now I keep a pocket full of grasshoppers around for pure chewing satisfaction." He flashed an ear to ear grin, those insect legs beaming from his teeth in every direction.

I was getting a little queasy at that point, but the Admiral spoke up again. "By the way, I know its not PC of me to ask, but has anyone ever told you how short and green you are?" At that point, I politely excused myself and made haste, returning to the office with my story, and my life.

  ...back to Table of Contents 

Due to the unfortunate delay in the publication of KAG's new fleet guidelines and rule book, the Demon Fleet has taken it upon itself to bring you whatever excerpts from that book we can get our hands on. The following document was pirated for your reading pleasure by Lt. K'Ersuz vestai-K'Chara (Erma Coventry) of the WOHFLRAND. We hope you find it informative and instructive.
 

Being the leader involves a lot of hard work. It takes more than just sitting back while your just dues roll in or shopping for a bigger hat size. The position of "High Leader" offers a lot of perks, including, but not limited to, ego strokes, bribes, boot licking, not to mention getting to keep all the leftovers from the tribute dinners thrown by your adoring followers in your honor.

After all, you had to put in long, hard hours at the cons, meetings, and coffee shops to gain the coveted title of "High Leader". And you want to keep it! P-O-W-E-R is the bottom line, the final word in keeping on top. The following advice is aimed at helping you to keep your hard-earned position.

In yours, as in many clubs, erosion of a power base can and does happen. INFORMATION and DISCUSSION are the Two Biggest dangers you face. Alone, either one can undermine your authority. Together, they can and will leave you standing alone while your followers act like the proverbial rats on a sinking ship.

INFORMATION is your #1 curse. Followers who are informed and think for themselves are going to insist on asking questions you really don't want to answer. Avoiding this situation, when at all possible, is the best way to deal with it. Aim your recruiting efforts towards the immature and fanatic. Of course, their contributions to your tribute dinners aren't that good but they more than make up for it with their ego stroking, bribes and boot licking. They have two major points in their favor: their loyalty is unquestionable and they are expendable. If you find your group has picked an "intellectual" (how did that happen?), then the use of information management is vital to the security of your position and easier than it sounds. Two ways of countering the "intellectual" are available to you that have proven effective in this situation. Buddy up to this person and leave them with the impression that they can "Ask You Anything". Make sure, of course, that you don't really have the answers or know where to get them! Leave them adrift. As in lost in space. This is a powerful weapon to be used in your battle for ignorance. Then there is the tried and proven, famous "Wild Goose Chase" used to counter those persistent pests. Run them around enough and sooner or later they will tire and go away. Upon their departure is the perfect opportunity for you to explain to your group how the dearly departed obviously was not ready or "made of the stuff" required to join the "inner circle" and learn the methods and procedures that you, in your infinite wisdom, will someday bestow upon those you find worthy enough. To newcomers this is very impressive.

Take time to assure your group that it is one of your duties (one that you are honored to accept) to keep up on current events pertaining to your group. This way you can assure them that sacrificing your time and money to keep abreast of current events will allow them to devote their time and money to more important matters. If necessary, screen your material and make available to your group the material that reinforces your point of view (you need all the help you can get).

Our next topic is DISCUSSION. Groups with opposing points of view should be avoided. All possible contact with them should be eliminated. Remember your immature followers will mature and fanatics will mellow over time. The free, uninhibited exchange of differing views will eventually expand the horizons of your followers. THAT is a DEADLY THREAT to one of your Exalted Position. There is, however, a way of turning this situation around to your advantage while at the same time maintaining your position as The Center Of Attention. To eliminate these troublesome contacts practice the "Fine Art Of Self-Righteous Indignation"! Prime examples can be found in the organized religions throughout the galaxy. When confronted with the facts presented by knowledgeable persons of a differing viewpoint the Leaders of the organized religion immediately pointed out to their followers that the "poor, misguided soul" was in fact a minion of "The Ultimate Evil Being". These "poor, misguided souls" were usually hauled off in order to be shown the 'error of their ways'. After all, what is the "Truth", more or less, compared to the "Self-Righteous Indignation" of you, The Chosen....right?

Take heed to the following advice. Quickly slam the lid down and keep it tightly closed on any new ideas that are not yours or endorsed by you. Drastic measures are called for at this time. Conflicting information must be contained to prevent the wandering of your sheep, pardon, followers.

Your choice of a battleground is all-important. Pick a public occasion and invade, in mass, with your followers. Remember, this maneuver is being staged for your followers. YOU as the persecuted victim is the main theme you want to bring across to all present.. Expound upon this point till none of your followers has a shadow of a doubt as to the persecution you are being subjected to. If any "intellectuals" are still attached to your group, especially if they are knowledgeable in group dynamics, refer back to "The Wild Goose Chase" and implement it on the date and time you have chosen for your attack. If they are present they are sure to ask some of those questions you don't want to be asked. When facing the minions of "Evil", personalize your attack if possible! The use of "picky", "egotistical", "narrow-minded", etc., etc. will point out to your group the opposition's shortcomings. This works to "Label" them.

The next point can not be over-emphasized!!! YOU have the center stage and it is important that you use this to your utmost advantage! Without further ado, you must make it perfectly clear that you will have NO further contact with the opposing group. Use a tone of regret in your voice to convey "that this is a regrettable but necessary decision". This is a two-part bonus. "They" will understand the underlying message in no uncertain terms and your followers will understand that contact with "them", who you have just judged as "unacceptable", would be unwise. This frontal assault will work for you by alienating both groups from one another, as well as all individuals involved. Your goal of "the complete annihilation of information exchange and discussion" will have been obtained. The resulting lack of growth is an acceptable consequence. After all, what do you care, you're safe.

WARNING: If there is any chance that those of the other group will laugh in your face at your over-acting or worse yet ignore you, then avoid a public confrontation at all costs. Keep your performance for your own group.

YOU are the Epitome of rigidity, closed-mindedness, and manipulation which just goes to prove you have a lot to be Self-Righteous about! In order to uphold the traditions of those Exalted Figures who have come before you it is absolutely imperative that you heed this advice you have been given.
REMEMBER:

Torpedoes  from  KruS  by K'RuS zantai-LimbaH  Sponsored by:  The K'RuS Network for Imperial Traditionalism With Indoctrination Training (N.I.T.W.I.T.)  Welcome friends, fellow readers, and adversaries to the latest edition of the Torpedoes from K'Rus column, sponsored as always by the crew here at N.I.T.W.I.T. Hopecon has come and gone, and I was happy to meet many of you there as I signed copies of my book, The Way I'll Make It Be. I appreciate the comments from those of you who noticed that I've been regaining my tight warrior's figure. My beloved consort Mara appreciated the gift she received from the convention goers, and we want to say that we whole-heartedly look forward to seeing you there again.   But alas, things were not all fun and games at Hopecon. The intrigue continues. Many of you have written in begging me to inform you of where the Empire is headed in the future. And speaking of Empires, I just wanted to mention the wonderful new book, The Empire, by K'John GresHom, one more in his endless series of thrilling cookie cutter novels. Buy it now, and don't be surprised. And if you mention my name, your local book merchant will include absolutely free, at minimum cost, a partial edition of a three-year-old copy of my personal newsletter, the "LimBaH Scroll of Power". Get it now!

We have now a letter from Kear Dokken, and he writes, "Dear K'Rus, On form 51A, which must be filled out in quintuplicate, if the green box in the fiftyeth chapter of subsection D is not filled out with the word, "Rosebud", is that sufficient grounds to decommission or destroy a vessel, or would there have to be several other spelling mistakes?" Well, Kear, I had my assistant, KoH, an eminent scholar, as well as a close, personal friend, look into your question. When he returns from his long-lasting stay in the room with the padded walls (if you get my meaning), I'll let you know. But in truth folks, what he says doesn't matter, because this is about what I think, and I think you don't even need the word "Rosebud" to decommission the vessel, just go ahead and do it! And while you're at it, decommission some of their friends' vessels too! That will teach them!   On a lighter note, we have a letter from little Krisk, who shows that he's got a promising career ahead of him. Krisk writes, "K'RuS, recently I have stopped playing with my friends, and have instead nailed them to the wall in the basement of my family's linehold. Every now and then, I go down and randomly gouge them with sharp objects. I sometimes bring some of my new friends down to watch, but they don't seem to be having as much fun as I am, especially when I remark about how many walls there are in this basement. My problem is that we are about to move off-planet. Should I let them go, take them with me to my new house, or nail the rest of my new friends up and leave them all there, and save the shipping cost?" Well Krisk, you certainly seem to have a wonderful career ahead of you as an Imperial Torturer. And I think your best bet is to take the ones who squirm the best with you, and leave the rest of them there to rot.

And speaking of RoT, we suggest that when you consume adult beverages, particularly those of a Romulan nature, you do so within the Hallowed Halls of the Laughing Targ Tavern. You can even visit their K'RuSroom, replete with engraved mugs and wonderful T-shirts that you can take home as mementoes of your experience.   Friends, it has come to my attention that there are those in our Empire who feel that our glorious warriors are incapable of walking and chewing ghargh at the same time. Several of my more dedicated readers have written in to tell me that they have been required to make a choice between doing what they like to do, and what they like to do. Now friends, when we talk about serving the Klingon Empire, we mean just that--serving. And if someone wants to serve in several different divisions, well why in Kahless' name shouldn't they? And who is to say that warriors cannot accomplish glorious things in more than one division? I say that we should allow warriors to serve in as many divisions as they can bear. This way, we can get more out of them before they die in battle.   And while we're on the subject of dying in battle, why not breathe out your last breath on the fields of battle at the Klingon Year Games? If you die well, I myself, as an honored guest of the Games, will hold your eyes open, and administer your death howl. After all, if those in the afterlife won't listen to me, they're not listening to anybody!   Now folks, we've got another letter from one of my many fans out there. K'Naughtie writes, "My Darling K'RuS, I've always wanted to write you, but only now, after several Saurian Brandies do I have the nerve. I am a 5'6" tall, voluptuous woman with long, luxuriant auburn hair, and I spend all my time dreaming about you, K'RuS, and the things I'd like to do to you when at last we would meet. Even now, as I sit here on my fur rug, feeling the texture of the fur caressing my naked body, I think of you, bending down, teeth bared"--Well! K'Naughtie goes on like this for about 17 more pages, and look! She's even included a photo! Uuuhhhhh, well that's all the time we have for today folks, so until next time, this is your host, K'RuS zantai-LimbaH, signing off.

Run off and become a PRIVATEER!

Join the Demon Fleet... 

happy	sad	mad	glad	lonely
excited	baffled	miserable	pensive	suspended animation
itchy	ticklish	hot peppers	Mothra	weasels in my shorts
mmmm, doughnuts	entering a higher consciousness	You may ask 2 questions	You want me to do what?	My God, it's Torchy the Bear!
Now where did I leave Mister Slappy?	Captain Krahl! Put your clothes back on!	I've just sat in jello.	I hope it was jello.	Oh no, it wasn't jello!

 
It was recently discovered that indeed there is no Imperial XENA Legion in KAG. Since Admiral Klag has proclaimed that there are no fantasy characters allowed in HIS Division, the XENO Legion, these Xena Legionnaires have suffered a bitter disappointment. Our roving reporter caught these candid shots and reactions to this upsetting news.

"WHAT?!? After all those months  practicing that double back flip?   - Xena Phobe		"Oh M'god! I mean, like, I am SO, like, totally devestated! I mean, fer sure!"
"...and after all those HUNDREDS of  costumes I made?!?"   - Yoko Xena	"This is all one of Hera's cruel,  wicked schemes, isn't it."  - Xenaphon
"You have GOT to be kidding..."  - Xena's Evil Subconscious		"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!"    - Xena Whiny
"Does this mean I have to put the Klingon head back on?"   - Xenia	"Darn! and after all that plastic surgery!"  - Xena Bob
"Maybe I SHOULD give this up!  I never could get the hang of that flying disk anyway!"     - Xena Kickboxer (formerly known as Xena Lefty)		"I am gonna slap SOMEBODY upside the head!"  - Malcolm Xena

"I don't care whether or not I'm in the Xena Legion... I've accepted Admiral  Kroesh's proposal of marriage!"    - Xena Meana	"We consider this a major setback, but we've all  shaved our legs and are ready to move on..."  - Xenasaurus Rex
"The Admiral could have simply TOLD us that it was an 'O'...	...instead of an 'A,' darn him to the netherworld!	...Is my mascara running?"  - Micro Xena
"We're not ganna take THIS lying down, I can tell you that!!!"  - Teenie Xena

Ferengi Ears   Ears: 1c. All-purpose flour 1/4 t. Salt 1/4 t. Baking powder 1 egg, beaten 1 1/4 c. Milk Earwax: 8 oz. Cream cheese 1/3 c. Confectioner's sugar  Combine earwax ingredients and set aside. Mix ear ingredients with wisk until batter is smooth. Pour 1/4 cup batter in heated non-stick skillet. Cook until brown, then flip and cook other side. Shape into lobes of a large ear and spoon in the wax. Makes 8-10.

Romulan Ale  (Officer Grade) 1 fifth Blue Curacao 1 pint 151-proof vodka 6 oz. Amaretto de Saronno 6 oz. Sweet Vermouth 6 oz. Midori  Combine ingredients and serve. Note: This recipe first appeared in the AGONIZER.   Editor's note: This recipe is more marvelous when aged for a month or two.

Romulan Ale for the Kiddies (Cadet Grade)  6 pkgs. Blue koolaid mix 2 quarts of water 1 c. Sugar 1 large can pineapple juice, chilled 2 liters ginger ale  Combine all ingredients except ginger ale and chill. Add ginger ale just before serving. Makes one punch bowl full.

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DIS Qujmey V  July 11th-13th, 1997 Olive Branch Camp Grounds   For more info, email kuuriis@juno.com,  or contact Jack & Jett at (606) 491-2930.

 

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