From: Darla

Subject: Okay, This Is Really Strange.

Date: Tuesday, November 23, 1999 6:57 PM

  I was doing some housework today.  This is what I do now, since they led me away from my desk drooling and screaming about capitalist insects preying upon the life of the people.  Or similar.  Anyway. I was in the process of hauling my cleaning supplies out of the front storage closet in the mudroom.

I couldn't get the damn bag full of Windex and Fantastik and rags and stuff out of the closet--- it was stuck on something.  Further investigation revealed a handle--- like a drawer handle--- screwed into the floor.  Closer inspection revealed the outline of what appeared to be a trapdoor.  I tugged on the handle for a bit, and suddenly there was a deafening noise like airplane decompression, and I was sucked into pitch-blackness.

  A moment later, I was sitting up on what seemed to be cold wet bricks, peering out through what seemed to be binoculars.  I was looking down at a bowl full of--- of *bees* that was sitting on a beige Formica (tm) table.  A crusty spoon and a paper napkin had been carefully placed next to the bowl. A chipped yellow Fiesta Ware (tm) sugar bowl held blue packets of Equal (tm). A Mason jar full of what looked like watery orange juice stood just above the spoon.  "I" glanced to my right, then left.  I seemed to be in a dingy flat.  The left arm of my threadbare sweater (beige) was stuck to the table top by what appeared to be a smear of grape jelly.

  I stood up, not very far up, and walked unsteadily into what seemed to be the bedroom.  It was a large room but furnished sparsely, with a mis-matched mattress and box spring on the floor, a broken wicker chair in one corner, a small table with an even smaller mirror hung crookedly above it, and an old maple student desk on which rested a computer.  Well, sort of a computer. It was gas powered and had a small, flickery screen.  Next to it was a daisy wheel printer that was cranking out copy after copy of spam email messages. Piles and piles of spam messages were everywhere in the room.  Orange cones safely cordoned off those areas of the room that were already stacked floor-to-ceiling with spam.

  "Time to go to work!" I said, startling myself.  I rubbed at the remnants of the jelly on the arm of the beige sweater, and lurched over to the table that served as a dresser.  I picked up a pin-on name badge and stabbed it into the front of the sweater, covering a small bee stain.  I opened a plastic jar of Dippity-Doo (tm), and picked up a black plastic comb.  I loaded the comb with the pink goo, and looked up squinting into the small mirror.  I looked at the name badge before I looked at my face.

  "WELCOME TO WORLD SOFTWARE TOOL AND DIE

HI! MY NAME IS KIBO!

HOW MAY I HELP YOU?"

  I only had a moment to glance up at the thoughtful, elfin face with the jelly smear at the left corner of the pouty, sensual mouth before the realization of what had happened smacked me like a wet banana leaf, and I started to scream.  Instantly, there was the big noise again, and I found myself, Darla, spat out in front of Fanueil Hall like a plug of cheap tobacco.

  So great.  Now I *have* to go to Filene's Basement, and I look like hell, and I still haven't washed the mudroom floor, and WHO is going to pay my way back to Nova Scotia?!

  Nice going, Kibo.  Just leave your damn portals lying around ANYwhere.

  Sheesh.

  Darla