A Stash, A Bible, A Rifle & A Bagga Doughnuts - Episode II: The Milne Factor Strikes Back

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Episode II

"Now just exactly how did I get into this mess?" Jimmy Bagga Doughnuts wondered aloud as he hung upside down by his scrotum. The pain had long since numbed his brain's ability to register it, and the fact he managed to wrap his right ankle around the thin wire had taken most of the weight off his swollen sac.

The barn he was trussed up in had been a host to the many domesticated animals Farmer Milne had tended for food and field work. There stood "Butthead" over in the corner stall of whom he had to unfortunately milk one painful morning. The tender bruise on his ass quite sore from the vicious butting he had received on top of the buckshot from a well-placed aim. Milne's "team" horses North and Survivor whom had dragged him across the frozen fields when he attempted to bridle them, neighed in amusement at Bagga's current condition. Ironically, Heathcliff - the sow- has managed to snort vile oily pigshit up upon his dangling form right before Bagga had lost conciousness the first time. Bessie the cow scarecely paid him notice, even before this "embarrassment", but now he was sure she would watch him with every breath. And then of course there was always Mr. Milne's pet Doberman "Daisy" whom sat beneath him, jaws barring fanged cuspids that eagerly awaited the opportunity to sink into Bagga soft flesh. This was of course for prevention Bagga deduced if he should somehow free himself from this sadistic trapeze act he found himself participating in. Bagga was sure Daisy spoke in Swiss-German, not broken Spanish. So much for appealing to the minority injustices for leniency.

Bagga Doughnuts had lost track of the time he had been swinging naked like a sick bat from the rafters. The frozen cold and excruciating pain made time seem an eternity, but time as of late, appeared to be most plentiful for everyone since Judgement Hour had turned the Western World into chaos. Bagga's world especially.

It seemed like yesterday since he was posting moronic propaganda and hubris taunts from his comfy Northeastern hovel on the "Yourdonfers" forums. Until that fateful moment he awoke with his Wifey-poo's frozen toenails in his crotch. From that moment on, his world as he knew it was forever changed. Amazing how quickly one could chortle with glee at the obvious foolhardy of doomsayers, to living in their nightmares within a click of an atomic clock. It all seemed a medieval blur.

The rioting, looting and scouring of his entire neighborhood. His almost subsequent starvation and dehydration. Sammy Sacka Bagel's ornamentation on a fence post. His wigging-out and clobbering nagging Boopsie upside the head with a seven-pound rock that precipitated his entry into brain cannibalism. The witnessing of Buddy DC's and troll Maria's untimely acrobatic ambush on the freeways of death. His dashed hopes and dreams of a new life with the now-slaughtered Amish Community. His quick stint on a military-run Virginia coal-line and stowaway trip on a rail-car to the turnip fields of Maryland, to his horrific helicopter ride on a NWO Death Squad copter through the treetops and subsequent encounter with armed Milne juveniles left indelible impressions on his mind - as well as Bagga's ass and body.

But now here he was, hanging around with nowhere to go. As he faded into unconciousness again with Daisy's razor-sharp fangs glistening in the subzero moonlight of the mind's eye, Bagga was grateful his groin area had been "conditioned" by many years of yanking that prevented his bulk from simply ripping away from his noosed genitalia.

Bagga remembered that first night after nervously explaining his presence to farmer Milne about how he had escaped death at the hands of a crazed Turnip Ninja that vowed to use Bagga for field fertilizer. He remembered the luxury of sponge bathing in warm dishwater, and the energy he felt after a warm bowl of mashed Great Nothern Beans with jerky, even against the insistence of Milne's offspring. Bagga Doughnuts had never felt so indebted to anyone before then. This- this farmer who had a name that rang familliar- but whom Bagga couldn't quite place, had shown Bagga that there were indeed things more important in life than himself. Namely a good food and water source.

This Milne farmer definitely had an intense aura about him. He was calculated and determined, in a way that Bagga had only read about in Early American History books. Bagga noted his appreciation and offered to stay and enjoy the Milne's hospitality awhile longer. Farmer Milne made no pretense to Bagga while he was finishing his meal that night. Bagga would have to carry his own weight, and chore the farm. Earning food and warmth for pay. At the time, in destitution and starvation, Bagga couldn't see the re-emergence of his arrogance upon full and satisfied belly later on, or the sudden realization that would overcome his need for logical thought. Bagga hadn't equated farm life with that of the Amish. Milne was apparently smart and savvy, not as quaint and giving as the Amish were.

Chore life on the farm had been done in gratitude at first for Bagga. Farmer Milne had allowed Bagga a spot on the rug by the wood burning stove next to Daisy as his quarters and the first month passed by with chores Bagga could never have imagined. He had grown to feel comfortable there. As comfortable as one could in the first three months ofY2K. But soon Spring would arrive and the farm creatures would show signs of the mating urge. Bagga had still festering signs of his encounter with the Dark Turnip Lord and wondered in fear if the enraged Bulb Ninja would find him and carry out his vow. With communications and phones non-existant (though Milne had a ham radio Bagga discovered), Bagga grew less worried each day as the possibility of the Oriental Turnip Master finding him. The Doughnut becomming more zoned in comfort as each sun set on the frozen horizon.

Primarily Bagga was assigned the task of garden weeding and "fertilizer (manure) acquisition". Despite the obvious bare tolerance of farmer Milne to Bagga as "A shit shoveller", Bagga began to sneak into the farmhouse every so often and spend time coaching Milne's daughter to experiment with various dough recipes. This continued until Milne took Bagga aside after a perogi experiment had gone awry and exclaimed "You're a chore hand, not Martha Stewart. I got no use for a sissy kitchen klutz with smooth balls. Now you mind me, or be out - you're choice, but I warn you- you got it made here. Earn yer keep, or I kick you out."

Kicking him out. The nerve. Bagga's balls began to sharply ache again as conciousness stirred him awake. The cold and pain in his groin had reminded him of a similar pain he felt on the learning of it all that fateful night before in the great room.

That night as an evening blizzard had the entire company huddled around the firebox, Bagga had the balls-er I mean the nerve to ask the question apparently no one else had wanted to ask before. "So, what do you hear? I mean about all of this, and who's to blame - what's going on with Europe or Washinton?"

"What makes you think I know?" Milne replied.

"I hear you at night fiddling with that radio thing of yours. I just think that it's only fair you share with the rest of us what's going on."

Milne looked at him hard. And a bedtime story began.

That night, Bagga Doughnuts got more than he bargained with that request. He wished that he could burn it out of his brain forever, but the words and the pictures he conjured with it - would frighten him almost as much as a mild-mannered Asian Turnip farmer with a sword....

"I tried to tell them like it would be, but they wouldn't listen" Milne began. "Now they get what they deserve. And I told them about it too. If you set the way-back machine to a year ago, - I was a laughing stock. A fear-monger. But who's laughing now? I don't think anyone is. "We all know the small failure rates, bankruptcies and glitches that were capitalized early on by the media fueling the push for a centrallized government plan early last year. The Euro caused it's own havoc and generated a push for liquidity when the Central American and Asian Banks collapsed. But when the stock market reacted to the crash of internet stocks as more info about non-compliant companies surfaced and real concerns hit the general public, that sent the whole mess to the brink and every idiot that wasn't paying atttention up til then demanded action. "That cry went up as daily, companies laid-off thousands upon thousands as deflation and remediation costs cut deeply while companies began a mass bail to save themselves from potential litigation. When the Nasdaq crashed and the FDIC implemented it's cash withdrawl limits, the bank runs began. Couple that with Y2K news about potential summer brown-outs and the shutting down of the nuclear power plants fueled the food panic. Until the day before the Senate vote on Impeachment, the day we ceased to be a free nation. No one could be sure whether Clinton wagged the dog again by declaring a state of emergency, or saving his own ass - well it doesn't matter now anyway does it? We could all be shot now just for talking about it. "But all that set the stage for what led to the mess we're in now. Once the rioting in places like Los Angeles, Chicago, Atlanta and New York put troops on the streets, our fabric ripped apart. The ATF and the FBI raided every militia and survivalist group and arrested thousands. Church groups and Christian communities in Y2K preparation were suspect and maligned by the government and the state and ordered to take part in community reorganization and reappointment of goods. Martial law made things worse for many. Distrust of the government authorities started skirmishes all along the South, and many road blocks and barricades stopped travel and transportation altogether. If you weren't from there, you didn't get in there and chances are didn't get out either. Suspicion led to fear and distrust of everyone and everything. I doubt if anyone will ever again. "By the time New Years got here the world was already pretty much up for grabs. Central America was in civil chaos. Russia was even more so. When China took Taiwaan and the Phillipines we were in no position to do anything. Japan looks to face the same fate as many Chineese still remember Japanese occupations in WWII. Korea was a foregone conclusion as the nuking of our forces there by the North didn't even raise anyone's eyebrows. The bio-scares and anthrax attacks from Islamic fronts on our metro areas pretty much put us in our hidey holes. Europe went nuts screaming for salvation. The Vatican excommunicated the American Catholic church and declared the U.S. as Babylon for causing this new "Dark Age", A centrallized Germany with the blessing of the Church promised a new European superpower that could confront the Syrian and Palestinian forces that attacked and captured Jerusalem. "But what about us right? Well, from what I hear Emperor Clinton has requested help from the EU to help with farming in the Spring, at this moment no one gives a shit about poor little old us, because we are to blame for the mess. Guard units that contained the major city rioting were eventually overrun or disbanded when the real hurt set in. New York just about torched to sea level when the fires got out of control. I hear stories about what happened to folks in the suburbs, how thousands came like tidal waves, rushing in and raping, killing and wiping areas clean. Some areas banded together like hamlets. But the desperate numbers just overwhelmed them. Starvation and thirst are powerful motivators, even when staring down a barrel of a gun. Suburbanites didn't stand a chance. Of all the folks in the country - they were the ones least prepared - and the most surprised by their false sense of security. I hear the vilest acts took place in the 'burbs. I'm not even going to go into detail about some places I know. "Soon exposure and malnutrition took the bulk of them, even some of the gangs that had fed off the living soon bought it. By-in-large, the Guard units kept the roads closed, consigning most urban residents to slow agonized deaths either by violence or, or by hunger, sickness & thirst. They stopped sending in relief trucks about the fourth day after many were overrun by angry mobs that grew impatient. The Guard's orders were to simply contain what our government knew would be an out-of-control disaster. A deal-with-it-after-the-fact situation, or fix-on-failure as I call it. "They knew. Hell, Clinton banked on it. He had no desire to step down in 2000 anyway. Y2K was just his trump card. Everything the government did was to preserve itself, to hell with the rest of us. But that's the way all despot leaders have historically run things. "But these asleep idiots in this country had it coming. They kept saying 'Things are great! Don't bother us with negative waves Moriarty!' I mean, how the hell do you explain Emperor Clinton having the "Most Admired Man in America" rating double-digits over even the Pope!!! They didn't want to hear or see the danger. All they wanted to see was an ever-skyrocking stock market, a ballooning 401K program, low inflation, cheap gas and a good-looking President! Fools." Milne flicked a tear from his cheek. "I promised myself I'd laugh at them when it happened like I said it would, but I just don't have the stomach for it. There's disease gonna come big time when the thaw comes. Military work details and internees from camps will be sent to bury the millions of dead in the cities next month I hear. Roadside groups are killing and eating any wayward passers by. Pyres for the dead light up the night sky in Boston and Pittsburgh. Out West it's worse. If you aint self-sufficient and in a hole somewhere, night raiders will kill you, strip you clean and have you in a stew pot in seconds. California, hell - That's a whole other world there. Except for those that got into the mountains. But unless they can live off the land, they'll be coming back to the valley, and be facing a fate they would be better off dying in the mountain forests for. "After a time we had stragglers here that stumbled onto the farm. Some just needed a bit to eat then moved on, others decided to "help themselves" to my generosity. They didn't fare to well with that decision, but I made good use for them anyway. Preparation goes a long way towards health and wealth I'll tell you that. I suppose that right now, I'm one of the richest men in the country. I got some good standings with some other scattered homesteads, but the small communities 'round here that banded together right before it happened just became easy targets for the roving rats that missed us. "There's groups and communities scattered about the country that are hopeful they can pull through this. They have water, food stores, a defensive contingent and a community spirit they think will preserve them. But they won't last long. Renegade military units are "requisitioning" all supplies from these so-called towns. What the Guard hasn't acquired, the rovers will. I have yet to hear a report about a commune winning in a firefight against the Guard. What they requisition, or steal, signs their death warrants. It's survival of the fittist. I mean, how many Americans could can their own veggies? Grow their own food? Butcher a wild or domestic animal for meat? Face it, most American's didn't prepare, even for a week's worth of food, and by the time the panic set in - only a small-percentage did any good. All the yelling and screaming I did was for nothing by -in large. Most turned to Emperor Bill for salvation, and again like idiots they believed the propaganda, and turned their anger on those of us who prepared. And that was before the race and class wars set-in. " Today the rules are different. Ammunition is king. Food and water are currency. It's a time of the quick and the dead. The only other worry I got now besides fending off unwanteds from my place and disease and such is; a foreign invasion. With all the seperation, distrust and misery around us, we are ripe for the picking by any country that can muster the forces and numbers to take the richest farmland in the world, and I aint got the firepower to go up against that. Be it a combined South America or the pissed-off Europeans, all it would take is a little forethought and the promise of good chow. My bet is Europe. They want some payback for all the bossing we've done and the trust in us that they had shattered. China's busy imperialising all of the Pacific right now so I don't think they got the time for little old us. The Islamic world is partying big time right now at our plight, and Saudi Arabia doesn't stand a snowball's chance in hell against Iran. "It's not a pretty picture. But I never said it would be either. "Anyway, I delivered the truth. At least I can look myself in the mirror. I doubt the shitheads from Washington like Koskinen, DeJager and other morons could stand to even see their own shadows. And you know, - it serves them right."

Silence engulfed the great room for a long while, as light from the dancing flames from the fireplace cast shifting shadows on the drawn faces in the room. Bagga looked away.

How could he have been so wrong? All the reports he had read and posted, all the compliancy reports. The doomers were wrong! They had to be! The government and corporate infrastructures wouldn't lie to him. Not to Bagga Doughnuts! America is the land of opportunity and no big problems! We could fix anything! right? Right?

Right? Bagga winced again as another blast of cold shivered his inverted carcass. What a mess to be in. Wired upside -down naked by the balls in a stinky barn. Freezing to death. If only he had looked a little harder at the facts. If only he hadn't shunned truth. If only he took heed to the POSSIBILITY of disruptions. If only he had spent an extra ten bucks a week on extra groceries and water. If only he spent time learning about sinking a well and growing an indoor garden. Hell, if only he bought Wifey-poo that Chia-pet herb garden! If only he hadn't been so smug on Yourdonefers Forums. If only Boopsie Wifey-poo hadn't hacked into his personal mail file and discovered all the unsent explicit sexual love letters to Diane J. Squire. If only he hadn't discovered Wifey-poo's torrid on-line depraved fantasies for Diane J. Squire. If only she hadn't told him to his face that she was in love with Diane's mind. If only he hadn't told her that a donut was more stimulating than she. If only the feds hadn't discovered all that internet porn. If only Dunkin Donuts had a Frequent Eaters card....

If only he hadn't seen that addressed envelope to farmer Paul.

M - I - L- N- E. In a flash it recognition hit Bagga like a ton of frozen feces as he looked at the addressed envelope sitting innocently in the kindling pile next to the stove. Milne, Milne MILNE!!! A rage boiled withing Bagga's bosom as the silence within the great room continued upon everyones reflection at Paul's revelations.

If only the "Doomers" didn't start the panic by shutting up and going away!

"You!" Bagga growled at Paul, "You're the one. You're the one who made it all happen." Paul looked incredulous and puzzled at first, but the surprise melted when Bagga grabbed the envelope and began screaming incessantly, accusing Mr. Milne of abject genocide.

"Y-yyy you DID ALL THIS! You're that Milne guy that freaked half the country to death with your negative rantings about Y2K!!!" The others in the room were shocked at the outburst but Bagga Doughnuts went on raging. "If it hadn't been for your scare-mongering - those bank runs would have never happened! Sam's Club wouldn't have been pillaged! Quentin's Bakery WOULD STILL BE OPEN!!!!"

Now wait a minute "friend'", Milne began, "I don't much like the tone of your"

"Fuck my tone!" Screamed Bagga. "You're the one who caused my neighborhood to freeze and burn! You're the one who made me eat Boopsie's brain!" Bagga's rantings and rage grew yet stronger, and the hate flowed through him.

Bagga's incoherent dissertation enraged Mr. Milne until the epiphany struck at the realization of whom he had boarded these last weeks. "I know who you are." Milne began as the realization filled him. "You're the Doughnut troll that lurked on Yourdons Forums".

Bagga stopped foaming for the second it took for their eyes to lock in complete understanding of each other's identity. Bagga stuck out an arm and pointed at Milne who was up out of his rocker with rifle in hand. "You stay away you fear-mongering sonofabitch!"

"Get out!" Milne screamed and approached menacingly.

With the renewed strength through many bowls of pinto beans and dried jerky, Bagga turned and headed for the door, whipping it shut into the face of a seething farmer Milne, sending him staggering back into the cabin. Hopping across the snow driven drifts Bagga headed for the barn. Vaunting accross the field he jammed his toe into a frozen rock in the field and bowled over somersault. The lightning-sharp pain shooting up his leg assured Bagga that he broke the toe. Leaning over, he angrily reached for the rock that hobbled him. But it wasn't a rock at all. It had hair and a surprised gasp of shock frozen on the face. The body had been buried up to the neck and appeared like some macabre head cabbage. Bagga startled and shrunk back, seeing many such snow covered lumps in this particular area of the field. Bagga realized that these were the ones that Milne had said had "helped themselves" to Milne's generosity. It was disgusting, almost as absurd as a Turnip Warrior with a shotgun.

Bagga staggered up for the barn. He would fix Milne and take revenge for causing all of Bagga's misery. He stormed into the barn and hurridly glanced around until he found the plastic pails stacked high in the near corner. Grabbbing the hoe that hung from the spike, Bagga went beserk and flailed at the pails, spilling feed and storables in a pile about the barn. Bagga kicked a pile of Bessie poop onto the feed pile and began stomping the mess into a sick miasma. That's when he noticed Butthead chowing on his shoe strings. Enraged he grabbed a manure bucket and swung at the goat's head, knocking him clear to the side as the hollers of an approaching Milne were heard. Bending quick to tie his chewed shoes, he didn't see the revenge coming from pissed-off Butthead.

It's funny when dumb animals appear intelligent. It was as if Butthead knew all about the festering ass wound Bagga sported form his Hamasaki encounter. It wasn't so much the pain from the slamming horns as the almost slow-motion feeling of being airborne. Flight was an exhilirating feeling without restraints which is why so many folks apparently loved skydiving or bungee jumping Bagga assumed. Look!, there was the horse stall way down there with North and Survivor looking on. He sailed over the bunny pen and the chicken coop, heading for a pair of large pillows that were apparently in place to break his Bagga's fall. At the last second Bagga realised that they weren't pillows, because the tail was a dead giveaway. The hands never made it up to stop the horror he would soon find himself in.

The sound was more like that of a wet plunger, and there was very little real pain, although light stars had danced before his eyes. It took a second for Bagga to realise he couldn't feel his body, and that nothing felt quite right. There was a firm but soft grip on his entire head and strangely enough his feet were touching ground. His hands were encountering some kind of soft warm fur and his world was now blanketed in eternal night. Was he dead? The soft wet grip on his head had tightened a bit and Bagga opened his mouth to scream when he realised he couldn't breathe because a stench of the likes his synapses refused to register had choked off all air.

That's when he realised what had happened. He had just given Bessie a rectal exam like some kind of sick bovine proctologist.

He heard some distant laughing, and he struggled to free himself from his anal imprisonment. Each resistant tug had sucked him up further it seemed, and the sound of his own muffled cries for help were of no comfort. Real panic set in as Bagga refused to give up the ghost affixed to the ass of a milk cow. He slapped and punched Bessie's fur haunches, causing the squeeze on his face to intensify before the hard-sharp thwaks of Bessie's hoofs kicking up into his groin. He flailed about like a rag doll with Bessie bucking like a wild bronco while using his balls as a kick bag. Bagga feared his neck would break when a sudden wave of intense pressure on his head blew him free in a staccatto blast of methane and manure over the stall and into the bunny pen, crahing through the chicken wire and squashing the cages flat. Before he lost conciousness, he imagined hopping furballs all about and a cottontail tickling his nose before he was treated to warm rodent caviar. Bagga never saw an amused Milne family take hold of his inert form by the legs. The pain finally overloaded his brain into quick shut-down, but more so because Bagga conciously refused to think about what just happened to him.

When conciousness finally came to Bagga Doughnuts, he was unaware of the time that had passed. Was it all a dream? Was there still time to send for the Christmas goose and visit the forum posters that had spent time and love trying to warn him over the months? Was he still a bah humbug? And who the hell is this Bob Marley?

Well he heard a bah. More like a baaahhh. Butthead was laughing at him from the corner stall and Bagga realised his upside-down birthday suit predicament was all too real.

He was just about resigned to his fate when the creaking barn door opened to reveal a black sillouhette, shrouded in misty breath and the gleam of an exceptionally sharp blade that appeared so sharp, Bagga was sure it would cut him just to look at it. By now Bagga couldn't tell if he was shaking from cold or fright.

That's when the Cory's cackling laugh of revenge rose to greet his shit covered ears......

-- INVAR (gundark@aol.com), January 04, 1999


Sorry, INVAR, I tried but I find this completely vulgar and unreadable and an utter waste of time. (mainly YOUR time!) I personally also find it offensive for you to use real people in this trash, though they may not care. I'm sure you had fun writing this, but it's no fun to read. Oh, and aren't you one of those folks goin' around talkin' bout God? Jeez, what a galoot!

-- pshannon (pshannon@inch.com), January 04, 1999.

Good job, Invar, it's hilarious ;)

When's the next instalment coming?

-- Leo (lchampion@ozemail.com.au), January 04, 1999.

INVAR, Bravo!! Looking forward to the next issue. Will Jimmy Bagga meet up with the Barney Frank's boys? Will Emperor Bill and Queen Monica make him the court jester? Could he become leader of the Pissed off Pollyannas gang?

-- Bill (bill@microsoft.com), January 04, 1999.

It's all a matter of perception pshannon.

Jeez whatta maroon.

I would suppose there are many who enjoyed the antics of the Three Stooges, or "Something About Mary" while not affecting their standing with God.

It's a work of prophetic Fiction at this point, and a bit of humor on this forum is just what the Y2K doctor ordered. Even if you think it's crass and vile.

Diff'rent strokes for diff'rent folks.

-- INVAR (gundark@aol.com), January 04, 1999.

Well done INVAR, we need cheering up now and then and this is just what the doctor ordered.

-- Andy (2000EOD@prodigy.net), January 04, 1999.

A wonderful blend of pathos and humor. Hat's off t'ya.

-- Mitchell Barnes (spanda@inreach.com), January 04, 1999.

Try here.

-- pshannon (pshannon@inch.com), January 04, 1999.

I wouldn't read the NYT - it is just a tool of the NWO for the blind and foolish sheople :)

lighten up pshannon, this is intellectual on it's own level!

-- Andy (2000EOD@prodigy.net), January 04, 1999.

Could you include PShannon in your next story? I'm sure she will fit somewhere in there.

-- ROTFLMAO (ROTFLMAO@net.com), January 04, 1999.

Thanks to all. Your reviews read like a hit movie ad.

I have grand plans for pshannon. I'm seeing much useful fodder.

The serialization of this saga and everyone's input might well make this the first internet soap opera. I wonder if we should have a "Who Freed Bagga?" episode.

Ahhhh, life produces such vibrant characters that fiction doesn't really quite touch.

The Bagga Saga will continue.

-- INVAR (gundark@aol.com), January 04, 1999.

Bump him off then bring him back as a government DNA experiment gone bad. Part Bagga (with partial memory) and part farm animal.

MoVe Immediate

-- MVI (vtoc@aol.com), January 04, 1999.

Donut troubles in the present. Invar, here is news that is sure to ruffle JBD. He cyber-frequents New York, you know, at least trolls the New York Times Y2K Forum. So does pshannon.

1/4/99 Dunkin' Donuts files lawsuit to shed store with mouse problem

NEW YORK (AP) - Dunkin' Donuts is trying to end its affiliation with a midtown Manhattan franchise where mice were photographed nibbling on doughnuts.

Last week, the New York Post published a photograph of a mouse resting on a glazed doughnut while munching a coconut-covered one. The caption read: ``EEEEEEK! Guess who's eating the donuts.''

The newspaper followed up for two days with stories headlined ``Mouse Trap'' and ``Under Mouse Arrest.''

Inspectors last week found numerous fresh mouse droppings in the basement and storage areas .................

-- jelly glaze (shakingwith@cackles.pfft), January 04, 1999.

Are you kidding? New Yorkers expect rodent droppings in their donuts and hot dogs. It's why we're New Yorkers! JBD is simply a fat porky son of a bitch greaseball that thinks he's gods gift.

He'd probabley go into cardiac arrest without the mouse poop in the fried dough.

More Bagga saga INVAR!! JBD is getting his just desserts!

-- Elitist (Dershowitz@racebaiter.com), January 04, 1999.

See new thread - we are trying to locate Jimmy in New York City to put him out of his misery. Please help. All donations gratefully accepted. Even doughnuts for Mr. Canon.

Would you contribute money for a Search Engine for Jimmy Bagga Doughnuts' brain?

If you've been lurking around here for awhile, you know this is a pretty slick forum. That's because it's not a simple static web. Essentially it's a database, and features such as search functions have to be added to it. Some really smart folks build and maintain the software that present this content. And, for a contribution to their foundation, they make brain search engines, too. They're creating a brain search module for Rick Cowles' EUY2K Forum, and are willing to build one for this forum. TimeBomb 2000 is a bit more complex, so requires more effort, especially for our cranially challenged friend.

Now, here's the question (I know they'll ask me this when I approach them): How much money would you contribute to their non-profit foundation for a brain search engine?

Now I know that this is a pretty tall order - the possibility of actually finding Jimmy so we can hook him up to the brain search engine will be daunting in and of itself. And then we must all hope against hope that Jimmy actually has a brain to search for once he's located, otherwise our efforts will have been for naught.

However, being that most of us are of a scientific disposition, the benefits to society of finding and thoroughly documenting the inside of young James's jelly sack are incalculable. For this reason, the following plan is proposed for your consideration:-

First we have to hire a Private Dick to locate Jimmy - I was thinking of persuading Canon to come out of retirement. He is, quite frankly, the only man for the job - think about it, he has the same girth and junk food proclivities of our cranium distressed friend, and will know the hangouts (bakeries) that Jimmy frequents to feed his habit.

Failing Canon not being availble, Longstreet would be my next choice, being that he has highly developed olfactory senses, he will be able to detect the smell of doughnuts, unwashed socks, skidded underpants (burnt) and stale breath miles away - no problemo.

Once located, Jimmy will be taken to our facility where we will have a few volunteers ready to hook up the brain search engine to Jimmy's ass (thanks in dvance to Diane, INVAR and especially Leo (we'll try and refund your airline ticket if we raise enough cash Leo.))

I've alreay spoken to Ed Yourdon and he has valiantly agreed to stump up $5,000 to get the ball rolling. I'm personally bunging in a further $5,000 as I know how important to society (and, yes folks, even to Jimmy), that his brain be located and "processed".

So folks we have $10,000 to retain Canon - we need more MONEY - please respond in kind, you all know how important this is for all of us - and remember, think of the children.

-- Andy (2000EOD@prodigy.net), January 04, 1999.


I appreciate your efforts in the "Save the Doughnut Foundation". I like it. I however have questions about working that scenario into the saga.

Are we talking a "Doughnutstein" or a "Donutator" story arc? Hmmmmm. Possiblilites......

-- INVAR (gundark@aol.com), January 04, 1999.

Oh please, include me in with Pshannon as your next target. Fame is fame, negative or positive. I too find it distastful that you've gone on so long picking on Jimmy Bagga Donuts, he's been picked to shreds already and I can't imagine anything left of him for your saga to make any sense whatsoever from now on, no matter how I try to stretch my imagination.

-- Chris (catsy@pond.com), January 04, 1999.

Oh I can find ways to strech your imagination Chris. You don't know me too well. Bagga will get to experience the full measure and possibilities that exist in the hypothetical post-Y2K world.

As to your plea for inclusion ......as you wish.

-- INVAR (gundark@aol.com), January 04, 1999.

a la the Roadrunner animation.

-- coyote fox (bebeepmemeep@honk.squish), January 04, 1999.


You're lethal. Please DON'T pick on me. I'll "lurk" forward to your next JBD installment.

Instead of a plain caffe latte, think I need it spiked with rum about now. Skiing up in Canuckia sounds good too, Chris.

Can we get off this planet yet?


-- Diane J. Squire (sacredspaces@yahoo.com), January 04, 1999.


Wasn't picking on you love. It was a JBD slam on his infantile attempts at playing cupid.

Do lurk nearby. You got a major role upcoming soon, and I think you'll like the portrayal. After all, someone has to keep the legend of full-bodied caffe lattes alive in the post-Y2K world.

Any thoughts on how Bagga gets out of his stint as a bat?

-- INVAR (gundark@aol.com), January 04, 1999.

Infomagic lives in Northern Arizonia and so do I. If JBD makes it past the Ozarks and Gary North, please send him our way. Perhaps one of our local elk or mule deer can perform a rectal exam on Jimmy with their antlers while on a failed hunting trip. We would be happy to have Jimmy tag along on a hunting trip.

-- Bill (bill@microsoft.com), January 04, 1999.

That was disgusting, pointless, and without a shred of literary merit. I loved it! But, I do think you've been a little rough on JBD. Perhaps it's time that things *finally* go his way. How about JBD escapes and hooks up with some of his ex-con buddies from Rikers. You, know the only ones bad enough not only to escape the infamous "Sunday Night Massacre" at the prison, but also able to exit NYC with a load of serious weaponry courtesy of some less than scrupulous National Guardsmen they hooked up with. By blind luck, the newly escaped JBD runs into them on an interstate and takes them to a location only a few miles from Paul. The stage is set for the final, historic, "Battle of Milne's Farm" which will be declared a national holiday (for reasons not too well understood) by the conquering hordes from south of the border.

-- YourFullName (email@ddress.com), January 04, 1999.

"Any thoughts on how Bagga gets out of his stint as a bat?"

Didn't Cory just show up with his long sharp array of knives?

Skin the noose. Or maybe something more drastic, since all the swelling has made access well nigh impossible by now.

-- oochiewawa (castration@last.resort), January 04, 1999.

With no blood flow, they will just fall off. This is an effective method of castration. Gives graphic meaning to, "he's got no balls".

-- Bill (bill@microsoft.com), January 05, 1999.

What you need to do is find an excuse to make Jimmy travel. Not simply across the US, but across the Pacific to Australia.. because I want part of this *g* (Eye Tookay is set in Sydney, but that's 60 years from when this is happening).

Getting through Asia could be quite adventurous..maybe Bagga could even do some good deeds on his way through ;) (like helpfully stopping bullets, or teaching the people of foodless Hong Kong how to eat brains)

-- Leo (lchampion@ozemail.com.au), January 05, 1999.

Jimmy Bagga No Nuts

-- Keep Them On (heneedshis@whore.moans), January 05, 1999.

The Bagga Saga will be a continuous series of Jimmy's adventures post Y2K.

Yes my friends, the saga of continuous run-on sentences will go wherever we lead it. The future looks bleak for Bagga but hilarious, as I forsee future Bagga's adventures down under, in China and India.

We got to get him across the continental U.S. first, and experience every state's unique situation. If the saga ever concludes, I think Bagga will be a more well-rounded and less imbecillic character.

YourFull-ness, I appreciate your contribution, but Bagga is kind of like a cross between Jason in the "Friday the 13th" series and Wile E. Coyote - he keeps coming back. I'm afraid "The battle of Milne's farm" is not possible, but stay tuned for another encounter with Milne.

Bill - I feel an elk hunt is in the works.

And to everyone else, how Bagga gets out of his stint as a sick circus act and escapes Milne's farm I was going to leave to your scenarios. Please,....

This saga is a community effort. You can thank Diane J. Squire for helping me see the need for community togetherness.

What fun we'll have.

-- INVAR (gundark@aol.com), January 05, 1999.


Please. This vision isnt even remotely close to my preference for community togetherness!! See also...

A Lighter Y2K Choice


(INVAR, please e-mail me. Got a question for you).

-- Diane J. Squire (sacredspaces@yahoo.com), January 05, 1999.

I guess I just "Don't Get It." I tried reading Episode II again, and I just don't find it the least bit amusing. It just goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and...

-- pshannon (pshannon@inch.com), January 05, 1999.

Just like the rhetorical belief system of a pollyanna pshannon; on and on and on and on good things will go.

Diane, It's a "community effort"in putting this saga together. You're welcome to flesh-out your "vision" in the saga. Could be a fun backdrop to another hapless Bagga experience.

Consider this saga "Troll relief".

Read two episodes.....and call me in the morning.

-- INVAR (gundark@aol.com), January 05, 1999.

No, INVAR, sorry, pal. I'm no pollyanna. Believe me. I just think you're writing sucks...

-- pshannon (pshannon@inch.com), January 05, 1999.

pshannon, Forgot to insert comma. Wasn't accusing you of being a pollyanna. Should have read: Just like the rhetorical belief system of a pollyanna, pshannon.

However, I shall anticipate with bated breath, the literary genious and mastery of your own narrative works. I'm sure it will far surpass any work I could muster.

-- INVAR (gundark@aol.com), January 05, 1999.

Understood. What a difference a comma makes!

The fruits of my literary genius should be available soon. Of course, you'll have to go to a bookstore and pay for it...

-- pshannon (pshannon@inch.com), January 05, 1999.

Do they sell toilet paper in bookstores? :)

-- Andy (2000EOD@prodigy.net), January 05, 1999.

Story: A too easy yawner. (And all Love Letters probably really should be sent directly to Paul, doncha think?)

And even though these guys are probably just more elitist mutants (except when everyone's quoting the first guy to help point out why we're all gonna be dead next year), thought this might be a good place to put this. Doesn't mean anything, I know, but there ARE a couple of interesting addresses on the list. So just for the yell of it:

Date: Mon, 04 Jan 1999 20:06:56 -0500
From: Declan McCullagh

Subject: FC: How Y2K doomsayers got it wrong

I remember how early this year many Y2Kers were gleefully predicting widespread panic by early 1999, combined with a nose-diving Dow Jones industrial average and (get this) plummeting home values as the masses fled cities.

Well, it didn't happen.

Asking for prognostications and replaying them is a good way to evaluate the predictive abilities of doomsayers.



Subject: Winner of the Y2k-1 DJIA prediction contest

Author: Bradley K. Sherman

Date: 1998/12/30

On 8 September 1998 I stopped taking entries in a DJIA prediction contest with the Dow Jones Industrial Average standing at 7872.74.

The DJIA now stands at 9274.64.

The stated ending point of the contest was 12:01 PM UTC, 31 Dec 1998. There is another 1/2 day of trading tomorrow but that will begin after 12:01 PM UTC.

Therefore the winner of the contest and the grand prize of $5 is carey.fisher--AT--gecm.com who predicted the *highest* DJIA, 9250 and still was short of the actual mark.

These were the predictions:

0 dbinder--AT--sympatico.ca
934.50 gears--AT--idir.net
3000.50 charlie--AT--cryptek.com
3200 jrbaker--AT--ipa.net
3645 hkaul--AT--lava.net
4675 build--AT--alaska.net
4800 croaker--AT--access.digex.net
5199.99 fieberg--AT--xpoint.at
5245 smoser--AT--hsonline.net
5280 roger--AT--natron.demon.co.uk
5950 brooksbane--AT--msn.com
5975 m.purves--AT--jach.hawaii.edu
6150 brian--AT--user1.teleport.com
6200 egan263--AT--ix.netcom.com
6640 phil--AT--clark.net
6913 jwilliams-ceo--AT--bigfoot.com
6942.8 slaven--AT--rogerswave.ca
7100 email--AT--is.private
7500 james--AT--mail.state.mo.us
8001.50 bks--AT--netcom.com
8400 mikemye--AT--bellsouth.net
9250 carey.fisher--AT--gecm.com

If Carey.Fisher will contact me at bks@netcom.com I will mail out the winnning check. Congratulations!

I'm sure the group would be interested in your Y2k prognositcations as well.


So if anyone knows Carey, be sure to pass the word...

And by the way... What were your (anyone who had any) predictions last winter or spring for what would be happening by now? How they panning out so far?

-- Arnold (justcant@wait.com), January 05, 1999.

Oooh, Invar, can see an Arnold Beensodicked in the story. Traitor and confused spy in the melee.

-- donu't (interrupt@the.story), January 05, 1999.

But Emperor Clinton is already IN the saga. What use do we have for ANOTHER traitor?

-- INVAR (gundark@aol.com), January 05, 1999.

What? No historic "Battle of Milne's Farm?" Well, when people ask me what I'll miss most post-Y2K I guess I'll know what to tell them. ;-)

Passerby: So, what do you miss the most? YFN: The Battle of Milne's Farm, I guess. Passerby: Huh? What the h*** was that? YFN: Exactly my point. Passerby(edging away cautiously): Oookay. I see what you mean. Suuure. YFN: Wait! Come Back! You haven't even heard the ballad I never got around to writing about it!

This is pretty much how I see post Y2K society. Except more dimly lit, of course. And beans. LOTS of beans. Baked beans, refried beans, chili beans, navy beans, well, you get the picture.

-- YourFullName (email@ddress.com), January 06, 1999.


Perchance you submit a storyline about Bagga's exposure and education of myriad bean recipes?

I can smell a flatulent extravaganza in the Bagga saga already.

-- INVAR (gundark@aol.com), January 06, 1999.

All that gas, plus the nonhealing ass wound. Ouch!! Will Jimmy No Nuts seek revenge on Milne or continue his journey?? Stay tuned....

-- Bill (bill@microsoft.com), January 06, 1999.

The Buttle of Milne heads into bean warfare ....

-- more beano (too.hot.hoot.toot@to.trot), January 06, 1999.

"The Buttle of Milne heads into bean warfare ..."

that might be one of the most perfect lines I've ever seen written.

-- pshannon (pshannon@inch.com), January 06, 1999.

"The Buttle of Milne heads into bean warfare .... "

Only Robert could have written this. He's got a gift for slip-of-the-tongue typos. But he's also smart enough to have thought it all out on purpose ;-)

-- Gotya! (hehe@hehe.he), January 06, 1999.

Okay, okay, okay, I relent!!! There WILL be a "Buttle" of Milne's farm in a future episode. It will be the Gastro-intestinal mother of all cramps and battles.

And you people thought pie fights were disgusting.....

Hahahahaha!!! Pass the Ammodium AD!! The stink is afoot!

-- INVAR (gundark@aol.com), January 06, 1999.

With a churning feeling in the stomach, Bagga strained his belly to pull his upside down pounding head into a better position to see the silhouette in the doorway. Squinting his tearing, burning eyes he . . . an odd squeezing cramp began blocking his concentration ... the glint to the razor-sharp blades ... something nightmarishly familiar about the full satisfied cackling reverberating out of the shadow ... Cory? The recognition brought a lightning volt of anxiety!


A thermal shockwave blast slammed Cory back out the doorway. Moments later, coming to dizzy concussive consciousness, a sick feeling pervaded him. Staggering, he climbed to his feet, only to see the barn structually shaken, damaged by the blast.

He spotted Bagga's body laying face down in the dirt outside the barn.
Seeing Bagga's backside instantly made the cause of the blast identifiable. Prolonged upside down hanging had caused fermented encrusted donut paste to unseal itself from Bagga's intestinal walls. Apparently the shock of recognition was all it took. A terror-instigated noxious inner gut explosion caused an instantaneous flash point reaction of highly toxic chemicals which at once spread throughout the entire barn.

Cory had to turn away from Bagga to vomit.

Afterward, turning back around, he heard a sigh of semi-conscious relief coming from Bagga who had since rolled over onto his back, eyes still closed in oblivious respite. Seeing Bagga's front side, Cory knew Bagga was numb.

Charred twisted twigs of thin molten metal still clung to Sagga's frontal, which resembled an overripe watermelon. The smell of rot rising was overclouded by a devastating biting fog of foul putrid gut effluvium. The grey paste beblotched with black, brown and red blobs spattered everything in sight. Cory staggered to puke.

A dark ominous stomping approached. Milne and family stood surveying the damage in horrified, angry disbelief. Dodging the steaming blotches, Milne stooped and quickly plucked one of the long blades near Cory's retching form. Holding it as Damocle's sword, Farmer Milne tiptoed through the mine field of pattie plops to carve Sagga's watermelon. Just then a Milne youngster yelled, "Dad, stop, I hear the ice cream circus!"

The surgically determined Milne impatiently motioned his offspring to hush, but her sibling echoed, "Music! There's someone coming!"

Stiffening, the butcher Farmer heard it too: wavering strains of faint repetitious melody, an odd assortment of caca.phony cranking out a jingle jangle jiggle tune like the ice cream trucks of yore. Feeling surreally threatened, Milne strictly ordered his eldest son to guard the groaning Sagga, and his daughter to help the enfeebled Cory.

Walking briskly to a nearby tree stump, Milne raised his pocket binoculars to survey the peculiar apparition now coming into view. A grimy carnival caravan was careening up the winding farm road, a motley crew of ragtag motorcycles, footbearers, mules, an elk with antlers, and a wagon decked out like a tattered gypsy movable encampment. Perched on the top of the wagon was a woman waving her hands beckoningly, the queen of the mirage float in a time-warp Mace-ease parade. A large hand-lettered calligraphy sign advertised: Beano Barter - Chafe Late !! A smaller sign affixed to the motorcycle entourage's pirate flag pole read: Barney Frank's Boys.

A lookout in front, standing on a tall platform borne by two mules, spotted Milne watching from the tree stump. Five warning horn blasts punctuated the jingling tune. At once the troupers encircled their wagon queen, quite systematically, while increasing the volume of their Pied Piper tune.

Confounded and dumbfounded, but highly suspicious and on guard, becoming increasingly irritated by the chaotic events of the day, Milne scanned keenly. Nearby, Sagga's cramping groans grew louder, and Cory's cur

-- Buttle Ground Roast (percolace@hot.strain), January 06, 1999.

Mr. Buttle,

Thank you for that stirring narrative that made my very bowels quiver. I wiped a tear from my eye upon it's conclusion. I for one am most grateful for your explanation of how Bagga gets down from his inverted perch.

The next question is, how does Bagga escape? And what will he encounter on his ventures to warmer climes to his South?

Plot points anyone?

-- INVAR (gundark@aol.com), January 07, 1999.

Mr. Gun With Night Scope,

I do believe the arrival of Queen Communal Togetherness above will herald some tyranny escapades in Sagga's tribunes. How will Farmer Milne react to Franks' invasion? The plot clues are ripe for picking.

-- ReButtle (ItHasBare-ly@Be.Gun), January 07, 1999.

Barney's Boys will be fasinated with Jimmy's watermelon sized balls. I belive some sort of trade is in order. What will Paul take in return for this worthless piece of Butthead flesh? What will Barney's Boys do with Jimmy? Will a bottle of Beano cure Jimmy's gas problem? Can Barney's Boys heal Jimmy's festering ass wound, or will they make his condition worse?

-- Bill (bill@microsoft.com), January 07, 1999.

Jimmy Sackka MoNuts

-- drool (Frankie@look.at'em), January 07, 1999.

"Barney's Boys will be fasinated with Jimmy's watermelon sized balls. I belive some sort of trade is in order. What will Paul take in return for this worthless piece of Butthead flesh?" Bill

Can Paul Milne be tempered patient enough to barter negotiate? Clever enough to trade? Naw, he's more likely to just give Bikers a sacka beans so the caravan has more ammunition for Beano sales?, with Bagga thrown in to get them all off the property. But will Queen let this happen without a communal fest-ering? What will Paul demand in return? What does Farmer Milne need so we can get Jimmy heading south?

INVAR, where have you been? Letting the Saga languish isn't a model Y2K example. Procrapstination not allowed. Get the balls rolling.

-- Missing (bagga@tricks.fix), January 10, 1999.

boldly go tag along

-- b (@@@.@), January 10, 1999.

That damn lurker De-Clan hunched under a Bagga-pattied tinseled bush, writing an account of Milne's farm, crap blobs splattering his pad, making Jimmy Bagga GoNuts out to be the hero ...

The whole kit n kaboodle gonna get caught at the same time ...

Invar ...

-- Bundled (theydeserve@each.other), January 12, 1999.

Stuffed in a sweaty clammy clump in the back bin of the wagon were a tangled heap of trolls, teethered with rusty chains they jerked amongst themselves. When the Pied Piper tune became loud enough to hear through their spitting hissing reviling, they craned their greasy necks to sniff what was up.

-- Repellent (postY2K@Milne.farm), January 16, 1999.

I told you so

-- bagga donuts (baggadonuts@aol.com), October 26, 2002.


-- Root (of@the.feud), October 29, 2002.

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