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Lettuce From Brechnev [128byte] by Reservoir Gods [web]

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    LETTUCE FROM BRECHNEV :: A 128 BYTE INTRO :: BY RESERVOIR GODS
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 The fourth in "Last Among Sequels" trilogy
 by Jeffery Archer


Jeff ran  his  fingers  through  his  fine  dark  hair  whilst staring
admiringly at himself in  the  mirror.  His  handsome features grinned
back  at  him.  Jeff's  face  broke   into  a  charming  smile.  Being
intelligent, rich, powerful and  wildly  attractive  came naturally to
him. Women flocked around him like whores around a suitcase of cash on
a railway station.

Jeff was an  important  man  and  he  had  important  thoughts  on his
colossal mind. He reasoned that only  someone of his massive intellect
could possibly solve the problem that lay before the country today.

He turned his attention back to  his  desk, a fine example of jacobian
architecture. Jeff's furniture was as  suave  and sophisticated as its
magnificent owner.

Perched nervously on this ornate bureau was the source of the malaise.
It was a single, rather limp, lettuce.
Jeff glared at it intensely.  The  vegetable didn't frighten him. Jeff
was a man with nerves  of  steel,  hardened  by  years  at some of the
finest academic institutions the country had to offer.

"So you're going to play the silent game eh?" Jeff sneered.
The lettuce made no reply.
"Well let me tell you it  doesn't  cut  any  ice with me. I've reduced
some of Canterbury's hardest tree protesters into floods of tears. I'm
going to make you sing like a canary."
Jeff turned his angle poised desk lamp  towards the lettuce and let it
fry under the full force of the 60 watt bulb.
"So Mr Lettuce, you claim to have  come from the.." here Jeff spat out
the syllables like undercooked brussels sprouts "U.S.S.R. as a grocery
import."
The lettuce sweated slightly under the bright light.
"Don't try and contradict me. I've  seen  your papers. And let me tell
you, it doesn't fool me. Not one bit."
Jeff smiled to  himself  at  his  brilliance  for  seeing through this
complex charade.
"Now admit it. You're a communist!"
The lettuce remained silent.
"A-ha! Ashamed to admit it eh? You dirty pinko puffs make me sick. You
think you can just waltz  into  this  great  country of ours preaching
your marxist claptrap and try to  turn  the people against us. Well it
just won't wash."
Jeff thought the lettuce looked suitably rebuked.
"No-one is interested in your  ideology  any  more.  When was the last
time 'Das Kapital' topped the W.H.Smith  bestseller charts eh? My last
book "Not a penny whore, not a suitcase less" was number one for eight
consecutive weeks. Eight weeks! And when  was  the last time that Marx
was invited to a coffee, biscuits and booksigning session by Guildford
W.I.? Never, that's when!"
Jeff congratulated himself  on  destroying  the whole marxist-leninist
philosophy with such a brilliantly constructed speech.
"Now you filthy little  socialist  rat,  you  are  going  to spill the
beans. Who sent you?"
"...I'm waiting."
"Come on, answer."
"You're wasting your time not mine."
"I can wait here all day."
Jeff started whistling in a finely cultivated tuneless manner which he
hoped would annoy the lettuce into speaking.
"Now listen to me you loathsome  leafed Lenin-worshipper. I am soon to
become Mayor of London  and  I  can  make  life very uncomfortable for
you."
The lettuce looked incredulous.
"You don't believe me? The  country  have  spoken with one voice! They
say 'Jeff you must  become  Mayor  of  London  and  make Britain Great
again. You must then rule  over  the  whole of southern England before
sending your troops north  to  militarise  the  Sunderland and capture
Scotland and all those strange  towns  where  they can't speak English
properly.' Soon I shall be supreme  ruler  of the universe! It must be
true because it is written in my book 'Lame and Able'."
The lettuce looked bored.
"Hmm, I suppose an ill-educated  commie  like you hasn't the intellect
required to grapple with my miesterworks."
Jeff pondered for a minute, then tried a different tack.
"We are both men of  the  world.  We  like  manly things like cricket,
smoking pipes and getting a  good  spanking  on  the bare bumcheeks by
schoolmasters at Eton. In return  for  certain  information I can give
you access to some 'manly pleasures' if you take my meaning."
Jeff moved his head nearer  the  lettuce  and  reduced  his voice to a
whisper.
"I know  this  girl....she'll  do  anything...  kinky  stuff, football
shirts, doctors  and  nurses,  domination,  shoplifter  and  sweeties,
French elbow, three in a lift, waiting for the bus, roadsweeper, mount
the penny farthing even Polish condom games!  You just need to leave a
suitcase of cash at  a  railway  station.  She's very discreet, you'll
only make 4 tabloid back pages, tops."
The lettuce looked disinterested.
"I knew it. Bloody communists are all the same. Bat for the other side
do you? Back door lettuce? Walk the  'other side of the street'? Drive
the 'wrong side of the road'?  Turn  the other cheek? Uphill gardener?
Drink out of the 'opposite side  of  the cup'? Playing the 'other side
of the record'? Watching the 'other  channel'? Ploughing your own side
of the field? Hoovering your own stretch of carpet?"
The lettuce looked perplexed.
"I'm saying you are an  homosexual.  Those  are  phrases we use in our
country to describe this abhorrent activity. Of course they are rarely
used as homosexuality does not exist  in  our fine god fearing nation.
Apart from at Eton and at Tory party conferences. I can not understand
why anyone could derive any pleasure from waiting in the showers after
games for four hours for the  sweet  arse  of Anthony Hamilton from 3B
and then giving him a good..."
Jeff went slightly red.
"Obviously that wasn't me I was  describing  there, it was a friend at
Eton. Well not a friend, a casual  acquaintance. I hardly knew him. In
fact I never met him. I don't even know who he is. IT'S ALL LIES DON'T
BELIEVE A WORD OF IT I DIDN'T TAKE THE MONEY IT WAS ALL MY ACCOUNTANTS
FAULT."
Jeff loosened his tie. He was  sweating. The interrogation was getting
to him. He couldn't believe he was  losing  the  plot in a back he was
writing about himself.
"You never have a plot worth losing!" shouted a voice.
Jeff whirled round. "Who was that."
"One of your readers. You spend so long telling everyone how wonderful
you are there is never any room for a plot."
"Look, keep your mouth shut. I'm writing this book.
"Unfortunately."
"What do you mean unfortunately! How  dare  you criticise me in my own
book!"
"I'm just trying to liven it up a bit."

"You impertinent oaf! My books  are  humming  with vibrancy. The Daily
Mail said so."
"The only thing this  book  is  humming  with  is  the smell of sweaty
lettuce."
Jeff went purple.  "Your  sort  make  me  sick.  You  cardigan wearing
guardian reading loony lefty school teacher  types who think they know
everything but never even went to Eton. You, sir, are a joke."
"I'm not the one writing a novel about a KGB lettuce."
"Listen to me you Michael  Foot  loving donkey jacketed CND supporting
hippy if it wasn't for the likes  of  me this country would be overrun
by reds in no time. This lettuce is a threat to national security."
"It doesn't look very threatening to me."
Jeff's face allowed a tight lipped  smile.  "That, my friend, is where
you and me differ. Your clumsy eyes  look  but they do not see. I have
the eyes of a hawk in the Himalayas..."
"Are there any hawks in the Himalayas?
"Shut up! What I am saying  is  that  I  have the insight to recognise
potential hazards and dangers. If you were  a KGB agent would you come
into  the  country  holding  a   big   placard  that  said  "COMMUNIST
INFILTRATOR" whilst wearing a "I  LOVE  LENIN"  T-Shirt and sporting a
Das Kapital baseball cap? Or would you come in disguise?"
"I wouldn't disguise myself as a lettuce."
"Exactly. No-one would expect an agent to come disguised as a lettuce.
That, my friend, is why  its  such  a  brilliant disguise. As Sherlock
Holmes would  say,  use  your  little  grey  cells."  Jeff  tapped his
forehead lightly.
"Hercule Poirot."
"What?"
"That was Hercule Poirot's saying, not Sherlock Holmes."
Jeff waved his hand dismissively.  "Now,  dear reader, you a splitting
hairs. Fiddling whilst London burns."
"Rome."
"I'm quite happy where I am thank  you.  The  real issue is what to do
with this lettuce."
"Eat it?"
"Well I'm not surprised that  your  a  pygmy  sized intellect has only
half baked ideas."
"No, no. Eat it raw."
Jeff sighed.
"You are missing the point. I am  planning to turn the lettuce then we
can use it as a double agent.
If the lettuce had eyebrows it would have raised them at this point.
"Jeff, has anyone told you that you have the finest mind in England?"
Jeff flushed with pride. "Of course. Many have."
"Were they all character in one  of  your  novels or were some of them
care in the community cases?"
"Look don't try and be funny. If  I  wanted a comedian I would ask for
Ron Atkinson."
"Rowan."
"No Ron. The Sheffield Wednesday defence is the biggest joke I've seen
all season."
"Who do you think you are, David Baddiel?"
"No, I'm going to be the  next  Nick  Hornby. I'm quite jealous of his
success and I want to do a  Fever  Pitch style novel, but aimed at the
female conservative voters. There  is  masses  to  made  from the blue
rinse brigade. My novel is going to  be  a  blow by blow account of an
elderly constituency worker who is knitting  a jumper for her husband.
It will document the  highs  and  lows  of  their  life as the diamond
pattern is slowly formed and will have a triumphant end as he wears it
to his golf club."
"Have you got a title for this drivel."
"Fever Stitch."
"Appalling."
"I wasn't asking your opinion." Jeff  sniffed. He had been planning to
take over the Hornby market  for  some  time  now. The thought of that
balding little liberal taking sales for his novels had angered him for
some time. Hornby's work was so  downmarket. How could people stoop to
reading  this  stuff  when  some  of   the  finest  works  of  British
literature, such as those of Archer,  J,  were left gathering books on
the shelf.
"Goodbye"
Jeff was awoken from  his  daydream  by  the  voice  of the reader. It
sounded somehow more distant. He looked up and was struck with terror.
The lettuce had gone.  Jeff  rushed  the  window  to see the vegetable
astride a high powered motorbike.
"You devil!" he roared shaking his fist out of the window.
"For a first class mind you  are remarkably dim!" Shouted the lettuce.
"I used my ventriloquism trick, a  staple  of KGB training, to pretend
to be the voice  of  your  reader,  and  whilst  I distracted you with
thoughts of Nick Hornby I sneaked out of the fire escape!"
"You fiend! You'll never get away with it!" snarled Jeff.
"Oh but I already have." laughed the lettuce.
"This can't be happening! The Tories always win in my novels!"
"Ah yes," retored the lettuce, "but I hacked into your Amstrad PCW and
changed the ending."
Jeff's face contorted with rage.
"Oh, and I also made some  changes  to your forthcoming novel. Imagine
D.H. Lawrence meets the Marquis de  Sade  in an Edinburgh crack house.
Should go down well with the blue rinse brigade. I've already faxed it
to your publisher."
"I'm ruined!" wailed Jeffery.
"Nonsense." replied the lettuce. "Your  going  to  be Mayor of London.
Its all arranged."
"Really?" Jeff's face brightened.
"Its the only way of  stopping  you  writing more novels." replied the
lettuce roaring off into the London traffic.


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    LETTUCE FROM BRECHNEV :: A 128 BYTE INTRO :: BY RESERVOIR GODS
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Your Chef serving up the FPU instructions:

 MrPink

Recipe:

 Take 1 Atari Falcon030
 Add one FPU
 Place into 320x400/480 True Colour mode
 Beat LETTUCE.PRG twice with your mouse button

The Result:

 A high definition 320x320 multi-layered Mandlebrot fractal
 Leave to simmer for 40 minutes to let the true flavours flood out

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    LETTUCE FROM BRECHNEV :: A 128 BYTE INTRO :: BY RESERVOIR GODS
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Contact:

 mrpink_rg@hotmail.com
       sh3@zetnet.co.uk
    msg_rg@hotmail.com
 ripley_rg@hotmail.com

 http://www.acs.bolton.ac.uk/~msg1css/maison.htm
 http://www.users.zetnet.co.uk/zmoe3/three.htm

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    LETTUCE FROM BRECHNEV                  [C] 1998 RESERVOIR GODS
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