XPost: alt.astrology.scam, alt.astronomy, alt.atheism   
   XPost: alt.atheism.holysmoke   
      
   Dirk was on the West Coast when he got the call. An old   
   friend at the Toronto police department thought he would like   
   to fly up and take a look at a homicide which had occurred   
   the previous evening. He decided to skip the last day at the   
   World Holistics conference and take the next plane out of   
   San Francisco.   
      
   The flight was bad; Dirk had been hit on the back of the head   
   by the Newspaper trolley, the drinks trolley, the dinner trolley   
   and now the gift trolley. When the hostesses weren’t trying to   
   tear his arm off they pestered him to stop leaning into the aisle   
   - ignoring the fact that the guy next to him was taking up one and   
    a half seats. Air Canada used to be the flight which was so   
   good you just didn’t wanna get off - on this occasion Dirk   
   would be glad to see the back of the plane and the over sized   
   alternative comedian wedged into the window seat.   
      
   After breathing in a couple of lungfulls of crisp Canadian air   
   Dirk took a taxi into town. There was a small group of   
   demonstrators outside the MacDonalds and the taxi driver   
   insisted on stopping on the opposite side of the street. ‘Don’t   
   Eat Meat’ the placards read and the demonstrators chanted. A   
   couple of policemen where stopping the crowd entering the   
   restaurant itself - one held up his arm and challenged Dirk. A   
   wave of the fax he had been sent and the policeman pushed   
   open the door.   
      
   There were few customers in the restaurant. Not surprising   
   really with a demonstration going on outside, half the dining   
   area roped off with tape and a dead body seated at one of the   
   tables. ‘Mr Gently sir’ the officer in charge called out as he   
   peeled one end of the tape off a column ‘We were told not to   
   touch anything til’ you got here’.   
      
   The body of the man slumped awkwardly in a chair. Then   
   even a dead body would start getting uncomfortable in a   
   MacDonalds chair after twenty minutes - and this one had   
   been there for at least eighteen hours. Two back legs and the   
   tail of a cat hung out of the man’s gaping mouth. Dirk turned   
   to the officer, ‘I suppose you are going to tell me this is the   
   darndest thing you ever saw?’   
      
   ‘Ain’t this the darnd...’. The officer seemed annoyed that Dirk   
   had second guessed him. ‘We’re removing the body in a few   
   minutes, so if you can get through as quick as possible’   
      
   ‘Many people eat cats in fast food restaurants?’ Dirk asked   
   and without waiting for an answer leant over the table to pick   
   up an untouched burger. ‘And what’s this?’ he asked waving   
   it in front of the officers face.   
      
   ‘It’s a Vedgie Burger’ The waitress, who was cleaning one of   
   the adjacent tables, shouted across. She walked over to Dirk.   
   ‘We started doing them because of that lot out there’ she   
   nodded towards the protesters who were pressing there faces   
   against the windows ‘They’re called Linda McCartney Vedgie   
   burgers - ever heard of them?’   
      
   Dirk suddenly felt faint, perhaps a combination of hunger and   
   jet lag. ‘This is deja vu all over again’ he thought to himself.   
   He glanced at policemen - at the badge on his shoulder ‘OPD’   
   but this wasn’t Ontario this was Toronto. OPD - Officially   
   Pronounced Dead. It dawned on Dirk what was happening, he   
   knew what he would see if he looked out of the window. Sure   
   enough, there it was, the Volkswagen Beetle parked across   
   the road - number plate 28IF - 28 IF Paul McCartney had   
   lived. And amongst the lyrics of the song blaring out into the   
   restaurant he could pick out the words ‘I buried Paul’. Now it   
   was though Dirk was viewing the whole scene though a TV   
   screen. This was conspiracy. Not -a- conspiracy, or -the-   
   conspiracy, but just plain conspiracy.   
      
   ‘You look faint - are you OK mister? The waitress asked.   
      
   Dirk shook his head ‘Probably a bit hungry’ Then to   
   economise on dialogue took out a pack of cigarettes and held   
   it out towards the girl. She was about to take one but Dirk   
   snatched the pack away, held it up to his mouth and drew out   
   two cigarettes. He lit both then passed one of them to the girl.   
   It was the closest he had come to a sexual encounter in three   
   months.   
      
   ‘Want a Burger?’ the waitress asked.   
      
   Dirk looked down at the Vedgie Burger on the table. ‘No   
   thanks - just a plate of fries’   
      
   The waitress walked away and Dirk looked around the room.   
   Apart from a family seated in the far corner there was only   
   one other person in the restaurant - and he wasn’t eating. The   
   guy was about mid twenties and had straggling, shoulder   
   length hair. On the table in front of him were lots of pieces of   
   paper cut into squares. Every so often he would pick up a   
   camcorder and pan it around the room and then, when he was   
   finished, speak into a microphone which was attached to a   
   tape recorder. Dirk walked over to where the man was sitting.   
      
   The small pieces of paper had paragraphs of text written on   
   them and were stuck to the top of table with blobs of mustard.   
   Lines had been drawn, some solid some dotted, on the table   
   top with a marker pen. The lines ran from one piece of paper   
   to another.   
      
   ‘What are the lines for?’ Dirk asked, realising straight away   
   that ‘What the hell are you doing?’ would be more   
   appropriate.   
      
   ‘You see’ The man replied nervously ‘The dotted lines are   
   weak links and the solid lines are strong links. The dotted   
   lines are things which are happening in the rest of the world   
   and the solid lines are things which are happening to me. Now   
   you see I draw over a dotted line, replacing it with a solid line,   
   when I can link something back to me. Like this’ The pen   
   squeaked over the Formica and before Dirk could interrupt   
   the man added. ‘You see I lost my short term memory and, as   
   a consequence have a very short attention span. I write down,   
   record and film everything then put it all together later’   
      
   ‘So’ Dirk interrupted. ‘You filmed what happened here?’   
      
   ‘Yes, yes, it’s here on this tape’ The man pushed the cassette   
   across the table. On the label the words ‘Grassy Knoll’ had   
   been crossed through and replaced with ‘MacDonalds’.   
      
   Suddenly the man sprung from his seat. Dirk turned and saw   
   that the body was being removed on a stretcher. As it passed   
   the man picked a small object off the edge of the stretcher   
   itself. ‘This is important’ he said, laying a blood stained bullet   
   on one of the small pieces of paper on the table.   
      
   Suddenly the room was filled with a deafening throbbing   
   sound as a Black Helicopter landed in the street outside. Two   
   men in United Nations uniforms got out and collected the   
   stretcher. Back at the table the long haired man was replacing   
   all the dotted lines with solid ones. Dirk panicked and began   
   to walk backwards at some speed. Barging through the swing   
   doors he stumbled into the kitchen, tripped and felt himself   
   sink slowly into a large vat.   
      
   ‘The guys fallen into the batter’ Dick heard someone shout   
   before he sunk below the surface. He came to sitting in a chair   
   with the batter solidifying all over his body. He surveyed the   
   room through two eye-holes someone had cut. Suddenly the   
   chair on which he was sitting was picked up carried through   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)