From: 99 and 44/100% pure. (ewrobbin@nyx.cs.du.edu)
 Subject: Out of the Pit of Hell (long, but worth it) 
 Newsgroups: alt.tv.barney, alt.barney.dinosaur.die.die.die, alt.tv.dinosaurs.barney.die.die.die
 Date: 1993-10-11 11:29:06 PST 


A true story that will clear up a few things:

He stood silhouetted against the pre-dawn sky, alone, vulnerable, running
scared. Ever since he had left the Holy Jihad to infiltrate the ranks of 
the B'harne (B*rn*y) loving Sponge-Minions, he had lived in fear of losing
his mind, indeed, even his soul. It was a terrifying descent into the 
hell that was B*rn*y & Fiends, but it had to be done. He had served the
Jihad well, flaming into non-existence Linda Ruoff and her son "dave", 
attacking the Purple Pedosaurus whenever possible, and was afraid that the
Jihad would not recognise his defection for what it was: an infiltration.
He had not dared make his intentions known, for fear that the Foul B*rn*y
was spying and monitoring the mail and news feeds, grepping them for
any occurrence of his name, in a Kiboesque manner. 

Now, in the early morning chill, he was making his way back to reality,
to the Jihad. He was terrified that he would be seen, or that the guards
in the camp would find the dead Loved One, who had almost stopped him.
And he knew what happened to those who tried to escape. Oh yes, he knew.
He had seen the ceremony, heard the helpless screams, seen The Creature
rip out the still-beating hearts of those who would dare try to escape.
Everyone in the camp had seen, for B*rn*y had made a point of doing
it in front of everyone, so they would know better than to try and
escape. So he crept through the brush and weeds in fear, hoping, praying
that he would make it.

                        *       *       *

He had decided in the latter part of September, when there had been discussion
about infiltrating the "Alliance of L*v*", that he wanted to be the spy,
the bringer of intelligence and information about the alliance to the Jihad.
He knew that to inform anyone of his mission would doom it before it even 
started, would give his true intentions away. If that happened, his mission
would be useless, a failure before it even began. So he decided to go it
alone, hoping that the Jihad would accept him back into its ranks, would
recognise his spying mission for what it was, and not believe he had truly
defected. So with heavy heart, and fear for his brain and life, he went
to enter the "Alliance" under the guise of a reformed Jihad member.

When he arrived at the camp, he was amazed at its size. It encompassed
an area the size of a football stadium, and was totally underground. He
was picked up about 4-5 miles away from the camp by an advance patrol
of Loved Ones, assigned to guard the perimiter. They had approached him
with guns drawn, ready to kill him. He told them his story of being
disenchanted with the Jihad, and they swallowed it. Hook, line and Sinker.
He knew that they would, that it would be the Purple Styrosaur that would
pose the true challenge. They were merely foot soldiers, brainless, 
mindless, thoughtless autonomitrons, programmed and sent out on their 
mission of defense and security. B*rn*y would pose the true challenge.

They took him down a long corridor, and into a room marked "Arrivals",
where they stripped his clothes off and searched him. They threw him a
uniform, and left him, saying, "Our leader will be in shortly to interview
you." He put on the uniform, which consisted of Purple Pants, a Purple
shirt featuring an armband with a visage of the Creature himself, and
Green gloves and boots. There was also a bracelet, which seemed to be
some sort of tracking device. It was silver, and consisted of 52 links
with a sort of amulet in the middle, with a blinking red light on it.
It locked in place on the wearer's wrist, and apparently needed a key
to unlock it. Our spy dressed himself in the uniform, and waited for
the Saurian from Hell to arrive. There was a camera with a wide-angle
lens in the corner of the room, and he suspected that he was being 
watched by His Hellishness. So he flipped on the TV, and stomached
an episode of B'harne & Fiends, waiting for his "interview".

About 15 minutes later, the door opened (it only opened from the outside)
and IT came in. 
"It's suuuuuuuuuuuper to have you here!!!!" IT said.
"Well, it's suuuuuuuper to be here!!!" he said, holding back his last meal.
IT started off by asking his Jihad serial number,  rank, and duties.
When IT learned of his UNIX and (ugh) DOS knowledge, IT danced a little
dance and sang a little song.
"That's stuuuuupendous!!," IT vomited, "I'm always looking for people with
computer knowledge to post on Usenet and program and maintain Gerry-bot!"
He (our spy) (me) said, "Well, I'd looooooooove (annoying, isn't it?) to
post to Usenet and program Gerry-bot!" while barely managing to keep his 
stomach contents down. "That would be suuuuuuper!!!"
With that, B'harne assigned him to his Data Systems Division, making
him the sys-admin for his TCP/IP SunOS network. His secondary duties
included programming Gerry-Bot, and developing Windows NT (hmmm...).
This was a pitifully easy job, as posting involved B'harne telling him
what to write, and then writing it. He didn't even have to think for
himself most of the time. Programming Gerry-Bot, on the other hand, was
often frustrating for him. It was such nauseating, disgusting work that
he often downed several Dramamines before starting each morning. Gerry-Bot
was so primative, so pre-historic, that it required a wind-up key! There
were several keys around, but B'harne always wore one around his neck on 
a silver chain, so it could not be lost. He continued in this position 
for his entire stay in the compound.

Life in the compound revolved around viewing B'harne & Fiends. There were
VCR equipped TV's in every room, often several. The tunnels and corridors
echoed with the sound of "I love you, you love me" night and day. It was
only his specialized training in mind-control and brainwashing techniques
that prevented him from becoming captured by the constant barrage of sights
and sounds telling him to love B'harne. Most people in the compound had
been totally subjected, their minds destroyed, their will sapped by the
sacchrine of the Styrosarus. Night and day, day and night, they sat around
and sang songs and danced. When they weren't singing and dancing, they
were involved in more sinister pursuits, often expending hundreds of 
rounds of 7.62mm ammo on the shooting range, or constructing explosive
devices in blockrooms deep in the basement of the compound. Much time
every day was devoted to target practice, and hundreds of paper Julie
Kangas targets were stacked in the corners of the shooting range. All
of peoples' free time was occupied with "correctness training", the
purpose of which was to teach what thoughts were "correct" to have and
which ones were "not correct". The daily grind in the compound was
a repetitive cycle of shoot, eat, worship B'harne, sleep, repeat. It
was truly life in hell.

                        *       *       *

A helicopter roared overhead, its rotor wash ripping like a tornado through
the brush. "Shit!!!," he thought. "They've found the guard!!" He crouched low
in the brush, looking for any sign of approaching Loved Ones. He knew it
would be the Loved Ones, for they were the only ones allowed outside the 
compound. Unfortunately, they also had excellent night vision. He scanned
the valley, looking for any signs he was being pursued. He could see the
bouncing of flashlight beams coming through the brush up the hill towards
his position. He nearly panicked, until realizing that since the chopper
had passed him, they didn't know exactly where he was. He hunkered down, and
continued across the ridge using the bushes for cover. He hoped he could
make it to the interstate before it was too late.

                        *       *       *

The computer network was truly primitive. He (me) was able to easily
read B'harne's secret files, as B'harne didn't realize that root could
read any file on the system. He was able to copy B'harne's entire
plan of world domination to a floppy disk, which he would return to 
the Jihad with in triumph. This diary does not have enough room for
the plan, so you will have to wait until he returns for the details.
Suffice it to say that the plan is horrifying in its prospects. It 
will be revealed in its entirety as soon as he can get it to the free
world.

During the time he was in the compound, he attemped to ascertain if there
were any free-thinking occupants of the hellish place. What he found was
a small underground resistance within the compound, struggling to find
a way to kill B'harne and free themselves and their unfortunate 
brainwashed compatriots. He attemped to convince them to try and escape,
mainly to see what would happen to someone who tried to get out. Cold-hearted,
but necessary if he was to ensure his escape. The horrible result, 
spoken of earlier, convinced him of the need to carefully plan and execute
his own escape. Clearly, the bracelet with the transmitter would have
to go, and the Loved Ones guarding the perimeter evaded. The problem 
with the bracelet was that it sensed body heat, and if the temperature
dropped below 90 degrees (F) it would set off alarms on the central
monitoring panel. The simple and obvious solution was a pot of hot water.
The problem of the entrance and perimeter guards was not so easy.

                        *       *       *

From his vantage point, he could see the Loved Ones proceeding up the hill
behind and to his right. He continued to make his way along the ridge, 
knowing that its position enabled him to see both sides of the hill. He
froze, his blood turning to ice. Ahead of him, another group of Loved Ones
was ascending the hill. In the distance, the helicopter had turned, and was
now speeding directly towards him. Had they seen him? His mind frantically
searched for a way out. The two groups of Loved Ones were now also following
the ridge, approaching him from both directions. The helicopter was only
seconds away, its searchlight turning day into night, searching him out,
looking for its target.

                        *       *       *

He had devised his plan carefully, thinking of every eventuality, creating
a plan for every emergency. He secreted away a 9mm pistol from the range,
simply reducing the inventory in the computer by one. He did the same with 
ammo, and prepared to get the hell out of that inferno. He packed a canteen
of water, and moved out. He approached the entrance guard station, where
there was only one guard on duty, due to the late hour (it was 3AM).
"Hey, man, I got a call that you were having terminal trouble."
"Duhh. I am? OK. Take a look."
"Could you lift that monitor off there for me? Yeah, the `TV thing'. Thanks."
The guard lifted the monitor, and he (me) swung once with the pistol, its 
butt impacting the base of the guard's skull, smashing it in, a gout
of blood flying everywhere and splattering all over everything. The
guard went limp, and slumped over the terminal. He propped him up in the 
chair, and hit the button to open the gate. It sprung open, and he set it
to close in 15 seconds. He ran out the gate and to freedom!

It was easy going at first, as he worked his way through the brush towards
the hill that seperated the compound from the rest of the world. The
only resistance was from coyotes, and they only wanted to get away from him.
Occasionally, he came across a gutted carcass, which explained why the
coyotes were so afraid of him. The coyotes had been gutted by the Loved
Ones, apparently in search of a Healthy Snack. He moved through the brush,
and arrived at the top of the hill after what seemed like hours. On the
horizon, the first faint glow of the coming sunrise was apparent, which
meant that it *had* been hours. He looked around, and paused to catch his 
breath.

                        *       *       *

The chopper closed the remaining mile in seconds, and slowed into a hover.
Its searchlight turning night into day, clearly outlining me against the
vegitation. The Loved Ones closed in, and surrounded me. I was trapped
like a rat, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. My life hanging
in the balance, I tried my last-ditch idea. 
"Hey! HEY! REMEMBER, CARING MEANS SHARING!!! I want to share your chopper!
I SAID, I WANT TO SHARE THE CHOPPER!!!"
Unbelievably, a rope ladder fell out of the sky and dangled next to me!
Making sure the pistol was well hidden, I began to climb the ladder. 
I reached the chopper, and was dragged inside and thrown into the co-pilot's
seat. 
"Well, you wanted us to share," the Pilot Loved One said.
"Yeah, I did. Do you want me to share with you?"
"Yes!" the pilot squealed, and sang a little song.
I pulled out the pistol, and pumped its contents into the Loved Ones
in the chopper. Blood flew, and styrofoam chunks filled the air. The
Loved Ones in the rear of the chopper dived for the door, forgetting
that we were 100 feet off the ground. They impacted far below in an orgy of
squealing and flying blood. The pilot slumped forwards onto the controls,
throwing the chopper into uncontrolled flight. It began to drop towards
the desert floor below, and I grabbed the controls. I righted it, and pulled
off a few hundred yards. I sighted up the Loved Ones on the ground, and
emptied the unguided rocket pods on the chopper into their midst. There
was complete pandimonium, Loved Ones running everywhere, explosions
lighting up the sky, throwing Loved Ones and pieces of Loved Ones dozens
and hundreds of feet in the air in an orgy of death and dismemberment.
The remaining Loved Ones scattered into the brush, and I was unable to 
kill them as I had no more ammo. I peeled off, and flew to the nearest
airport, Las Vegas Int'l. My adventure in the Cult of B'harne was over.

                        *       *       *

As I write this, I cannot help but wonder what will be my fate. I can only
ask the High Prophet of the Jihad to forgive me for any insults, apostasy,
or other offenses incurred during my time undercover. My alliance with the
Jihad has never wavered, and I can only hope that you realize this. I humbly
ask that you recognise my role as what is was, ONLY A ROLE. I HATE the
Purple Pedophile, and always will. The fact that I convinced everyone, 
however, shows my effectivness.

DEATH TO THE PEDOPHILE!
LONG LIVE THE JIHAD!!

Zeke, spy, NOT Seer and Revelator.