On Thu, 3 Oct 1996, G.L. Sandborn wrote:

        Now you've done it!  Here I am, trying to write serious
fanfic and you guys go off and start this psudo-spam story stuff.
And *now* you've infected me!  Aaaarrrrrrrghh!

Heh - it just keeps going, and going, and going ;)

BTW, If I've left anyone out, sorry.  It's getting late.  I'm tired.

understood.  I think you did a fair job ;)

                      A Five Fosters Experiment
                (An experiment in Anime Revenge Fics)
                           by Uncle Fester

Kun-chan in a Beer Can... I think I'll skip the comments on that, save to
say it'll save on travel to A-kon... maybe thats how Team Ranma intended
to send her to A-kon.... ;)

     "That's okay, pal.  Drink your beer.  It'll all be over soon." 
Greg turned back to his keyboard.  "How about Kergma?"
     "Don't ask.  When I saw the results, all I could do was go over
to a corner and throw up."

*grin*  of course, I haven't finished my 'lil Revenge Fic ;)

     "Sorry to hear that."  Greg stopped typing and stared out the
window.  "At least the three Kansas musketeers made it."
     "Haven't you heard?"  Zen almost dropped his Fosters.  "Kun-chan
trapped them in Australia, just after she got doused...  You've no
idea."
     "Hmmmmm.  Kun-chan too, huh?"

No!  Not poor Kun-chan.  At least, not until she sends those tapes up to
me ;)

     "Any word on Arromdee or Jack Ji?"
     "They must have gotten between Ranma and Ryoga during one of
their fights.  Someone reported Ryoga yelling:
'Twoallbeefpattiesspecialsaucelettusecheesepicklesonionsonasesameseedbun' 
before the attack."
     "Ah, yes." Greg nodded knowingly.  "The 'Big Mac Attack'.  Not
much left, I suppose."
     "Are you kidding?  It took out most of the West Coast."

*snapclick*  Oh Mikey... where are you... you started this with that
'Chaos Weather Strike' thing... 

     "That tears it!" Greg stomped over to his gun safe and pulled out
his HK91.  Snapping in a, now illegal, twenty round clip, he chambered
the first NATO standard 7.62mm round.  Pulling down his sawed off
shotgun and shoving two automatic handguns in the waistband of his
pants, Greg stepped out onto his back porch.  Kuno's smoldering body
cast a sickly sweet smell to the air; the Indians had switched to
roasting weenies.  This was going to get messy.

Oh-o.  Can we say 'Falling Down'?  Aaah.  I knew we could ;)

                                      ~~~~~
                     The Chaotic Trickster - kergma@sv.net.au

Ok, so I couldn't resist... Can you get Kun-chans in six-packs?  

    ( Kergma waits for Sebastian to point out what that sounds like in
      German, then runs-like-hell ;) )