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Spacewarp, v. 3, issue 4, July 1948
Page 23
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Simultaneously, of course. ((Pause here while I carry out my blazing wastebasket. Must learn how to blow matches out before throwing them in that direction.)) Around 3:00 a.m. we stopped at a small roadside jukejoint for hamburgs, and just before we left Singer discovered a pinball machine. Before he could be restrained he'd run up about 16 free games. What can you do with a guy like that? We were still playing when who should come in but Korshak and a carload of Chifen. This was the last straw to the proprietor, who scribbled a cryptic note and handed it to George. Translated, it read "Birds of a Feather Flock Together". And they say stfen are nuts! Ejecting a cat which had taken up residence in the car during our absence, we proceeded on our way. Somehow the conversation got around to women, and remained there for the rest of the trip, of course. And then occurred another high spot in our saga: ((If you are Edwin Singer, or share his views on s*x, better skip this)) Anyhow, I told one of my few really funny stories, namely, the one about the new church organist who had such a well-developed bustline that every time she bent over to hit some of the upper keys on the console, things would bump into keys on the lower bank and cause discords. This bothered her a great deal; and she was at her wits' end to find a remedy. Finally she decided to consult the former organist to see what should be done about it. "It's very simple," said the experienced one. "Merely get yourself some alum and rub it in well, to pucker them up out of the way." So the young organist followed his advice, and it worked like a charm. Not a discordant note spoiled her playing the next Sunday. The only trouble was when the minister stood up in the pulpit and said, "Due to tirkimstances eeyond my control, ere ill be no thermon today." This caused everyone to laugh but Singer. Presently he asked, "What did he mean by that? You mean the alum made the organist sick?" After that, everything was anticlimatic until the dawn arrived, and with it the Detroit-Windsor tunnel. Elated at the prospect of soon getting home, we rolled up to the customs guard. He checked the slip which had been made out when we entered Canada. It seems Singer had brought along a radio. "Where is it?" asked the guard. "I sold it," answered Singer. So we were waved out of line and sat chewing our fingernails while Singer was led off to explain why he had violated Canada's austerity ban. This took an hour or so, by which time we were speculating on whether he was being drawn and quartered, or was busily converting the officials to atheism. As it turned out, he had to pay something over eight bucks in taxes, while the Canadian version of the FBI will investigate the guy who bought the radio. Thus, in typical MSFS style, we departed the land of the Maple Leaf, trailing a purple cloud of Singer comment on Canadian laws, customers, and policemen. Look, I've covered eight pages already, and merely summarized what happened at the TORCON. Is anything more needed to show that we had a wonderful time? Here's a pretty good proof of it, then -- before leaving the TORCON, all of us signed up for our CINVENTION memberships. You can do the same by sending a buck to DONALD E. FORD 129 Maple Ave. Sharonville, Ohio. SEE YOU IN CINCy! - END - 23
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Simultaneously, of course. ((Pause here while I carry out my blazing wastebasket. Must learn how to blow matches out before throwing them in that direction.)) Around 3:00 a.m. we stopped at a small roadside jukejoint for hamburgs, and just before we left Singer discovered a pinball machine. Before he could be restrained he'd run up about 16 free games. What can you do with a guy like that? We were still playing when who should come in but Korshak and a carload of Chifen. This was the last straw to the proprietor, who scribbled a cryptic note and handed it to George. Translated, it read "Birds of a Feather Flock Together". And they say stfen are nuts! Ejecting a cat which had taken up residence in the car during our absence, we proceeded on our way. Somehow the conversation got around to women, and remained there for the rest of the trip, of course. And then occurred another high spot in our saga: ((If you are Edwin Singer, or share his views on s*x, better skip this)) Anyhow, I told one of my few really funny stories, namely, the one about the new church organist who had such a well-developed bustline that every time she bent over to hit some of the upper keys on the console, things would bump into keys on the lower bank and cause discords. This bothered her a great deal; and she was at her wits' end to find a remedy. Finally she decided to consult the former organist to see what should be done about it. "It's very simple," said the experienced one. "Merely get yourself some alum and rub it in well, to pucker them up out of the way." So the young organist followed his advice, and it worked like a charm. Not a discordant note spoiled her playing the next Sunday. The only trouble was when the minister stood up in the pulpit and said, "Due to tirkimstances eeyond my control, ere ill be no thermon today." This caused everyone to laugh but Singer. Presently he asked, "What did he mean by that? You mean the alum made the organist sick?" After that, everything was anticlimatic until the dawn arrived, and with it the Detroit-Windsor tunnel. Elated at the prospect of soon getting home, we rolled up to the customs guard. He checked the slip which had been made out when we entered Canada. It seems Singer had brought along a radio. "Where is it?" asked the guard. "I sold it," answered Singer. So we were waved out of line and sat chewing our fingernails while Singer was led off to explain why he had violated Canada's austerity ban. This took an hour or so, by which time we were speculating on whether he was being drawn and quartered, or was busily converting the officials to atheism. As it turned out, he had to pay something over eight bucks in taxes, while the Canadian version of the FBI will investigate the guy who bought the radio. Thus, in typical MSFS style, we departed the land of the Maple Leaf, trailing a purple cloud of Singer comment on Canadian laws, customers, and policemen. Look, I've covered eight pages already, and merely summarized what happened at the TORCON. Is anything more needed to show that we had a wonderful time? Here's a pretty good proof of it, then -- before leaving the TORCON, all of us signed up for our CINVENTION memberships. You can do the same by sending a buck to DONALD E. FORD 129 Maple Ave. Sharonville, Ohio. SEE YOU IN CINCy! - END - 23
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