========
Newsgroups: alt.surfing
Subject: Bye bye Foondoggy [was Deja-Screw you Too. Just kidding]
From: gadgetpjt@aol.com
Date: 12 Apr 1997 14:11:54 GMT

alt.surfing's village-elder goes walkabout.

As Big-Chief Foondoggy's shamanic power waned, the younger braves 
quit turning up the the ritual storytellings around the global campfire 
[fueled by stoke, and raked by the witchdoctor Sandman's flame-stick].

And so, the grizzled old man hauled himself up to his full height, all
4 foot 6 inches of it, spat the remnants of the peace-stogie into the 
embers.  In his best Hog-calling voice, he boomed out to the gathered
throng, 
"I have lost the stoke...  I can no longer lead you on the good path...  
choose one amongst you to lead the tribe...  I must leave you, and 
gird my loins for the search..."

"But Chief Foonsponge, who can replace you?" cried the braves.  
"Do it, I will", hissed the Sandmage with an evil, toothless grin, waggling
his green pointed ears.  "NO!!  You speak with forked website" snarled 
the old Foon, "You shall not lead the tribe down your evil path.  Mark my 
words good people, there be giant, log-strewn waves waiting at the end of it."
With that, he smote the Sandman across the temple with the jawbone of an 
ass, liberally coated with polecat jism.  The evil dwarf reeled and hissed, 
"you will not be rid of me that easily, Kookdoggy", before slinking off into 
the inky blackness.

"Who then?, Who shall it be? Should it be Rick?
"Ahh, Rick...  he is indeed a mighty brave", purred Foondogy, "but he is
hot-headed...  he should be left to guard the sacred land of the Wedge 
from the insolent tribe of Bodeebod.

"What about the one they call Surff from the land of Ohio?"
" Yes, he is a good man.  But he is no warrior.  Soft words alone cannot
keep the ravening hordes of the Spam and Crosspost tribes at bay.

"I WIL TAK THE F*#*IN JOB", yelled the obnoxious young jOCKO.  "Oh no
you won't!!" cried old Squaw Savage, clipping his ear.  "Get to bed this 
minute, before I wash your mouth out with buffalo dung.  And throw out that 
picture of the Reef girl, I don't wan't to catch you wanking under the blanket 
again."  "I think I better take that, thank you Squaw Savage", said the Foon,
tucking the crumpled picture into the pocket of his ragged magic coat.

"Perhaps the man they call Gadget is the one."
"No don't let his ample butt fool you, he is young yet, and still full of the follies 
of the young.  His tongue is silver, but he is like the crooked arrow, twisting 
and turning in the air and falling short of it's mark.

"Mad-Dog Tim of the Rincon, he is a good man"
"Yes indeed, he is good.  But he has his quest and must follow that path.",
and with a sigh, the Foon added, "Maybe one day he will return with the 
fabled Worlsurfday of legend, and scattered tribe of Surf will be as one.

"Oh great Foondog, tell us who shall it be?  Could it be Ric of the Faq, Will B, 
the Bear from the continent of the South, Tauras the wise, Sponge who lives
in the islands of paradise, who, Oh Foon, who ?  Should we ask the advice of 
the prophet Mountain Man?"

"You must look into your souls.  Look into that pool of water just in front of you
as you sit on your board.  You will find the answer."  With that, the Foon 
wrapped his magic coat tightly around his enormous belly, checked the pockets 
for pastries, and shuffled away into the night.