Sunday October 29, 2000
Book 1: The Tub of Happiness — BOARDERS!!
The twentieth-century reader, mind poisoned by the fantastic science-fiction of television, might wonder why there are so many bullets, and so few blasters, phasers, masers, lasers, light-sabers (sorry, Mr. Lucas) or other futuristic weapons in this sequence.

The fact is, bullets are incredibly versatile. Stunners are often easy to shield against, and on board a space station or space craft heavy energy weapons have an annoying tendency to breach the hull. Bullets, however, are nearly perfect.


Narrator: There is, in countless variations of the gunslinging mythos, found scattered all over the galaxy, a recurring archetype. It is the "Bullet with your name on it."
Doctor: They've got the Captain! Open Fire!!
Der Trihs: They're shooting in there!
Kevyn: Open fire!!
KFDA commando: We're being attacked! Return fire! Return fire!
Narrator: Hundreds of bullets fly right now: Only one of them has an inscription, written by the hand of destiny.
Narrator: So, while the mercenaries and the foodservice commandos unload clip after clip of ammunition at each other, we will meet this archetypical slug, this chambered round of fate, this ballistic dum-dum of doom. . .
Tagon: Cease fire! Cease fire!!
Narrator: It begins as an ordinary bullet, sitting on a standard gunfoam� propellant casing.
Schlock: Stop that! It's really annoying!
Narrator: To the naked eye, it is no different than any of the ninety-nine other rounds it was packaged with.
SFX: (Schlock diving) LUNGE
Narrator: But to those with psychic sight, or a really nice UV lamp, it is startlingly, no, frighteningly different.
Schlock: Back at'cha, baby!
Narrator: Fair reader, can you read this psychic inscription? Do you dare scry the bloody hieroglyphs?
Kevyn: Cover!
Breya: Get down! Get do--
Bullet: Yeeehah!
Breya: Get help! They've shot
Narrator: Certainly you saw this coming. . . Now tune in tomorrow.