Remember the days of Banquet Boneless Pork Riblet Meals, Lava Jumps and the ShugaShack?

Well maybe you remember SQP, bringing you the important stories that no-one else dared to tell. Take a trip back in time to read up on our Quake heritage with your narrators: Lonewolf, Fragmaster, Jo Nat Han, Narr, Henry Melo, Ernest Shambler, Tritian and The Sandman.

Here's one of my favourite pieces:

'Twas the night before QuakeWorld,
when through all the lag,
Not a creature was stirring
not even a Scrag;
The boomsticks were hung
by the wind tunnel with care,
In hopes that ST. Carmack
soon would be there;
The Deathmatchers were nestled
all snug in their beds,
While visions of llamas
danced in their heads;
And sCary in his Quakehole,
and I with my Flag,
Had just settled down
for a long winter's LAG,
When out in the level
there arose such a clatter,
I ran from my camp
to see what was the matter.
Away through the level
I flew like a flash,
Tore through the bandwidth
and right past Cash.
The fire on the breast
of the new-shed blood
Gave me stomach sickness
as I puked like a flood,
When, what to my wondering
eyes should appear,
But a miniature terminal,
and eight tiny Quake-a-tier!,
With a little programmer,
so clever as to make this hack,
I knew after my ping
it must be St. Carmack.
More rapid than T3's
his worshipers they came,
And he typed, and pounded,
and called them by name;
"Now, Disruptor! now, sCary!
now, Blue and Sujoy!
On, Tokay! on Wedge!
on, Choryoth and Whale Boy!
To the top of the Level!
and into the wall!
Now ice skate! ice skate!
ice skate all!"

As bloody gibbage that before
the wild Tokay fly,
When they meet with a rocket,
mount to the sky,
So up to the level-top
the worshipors they flew,
With the terminal full of skins,
and St. Carmack too.
And then, in a ping,
I heard by my camp
The gibbing and fighting
of each little champ.
As I drew my axe,
and was turning around,
Down the Wind tunnal
St. Carmack came with a bound.
He was dressed in his PJs,
from his neck to his knee,
And his clothes were all boody
with gutts as anyone could see;
A gig of skins
he had flung on his back,
And he looked quite psychotic
as he opened his pack.
A click of his gun
and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know
I had much to dread;
He typed not a word,
but went straight to his work,
And filled all the boomsticks;
then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger
aside of the mouse,
And giving a nod,
up the wind tunnal, the louse;
He sprang to his termnal,
to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew
like the down of a missile.
But I heard him exclaim,
as he drove like a clutz,
"QUAKEWORLD WILL BE OUT,
SO STOP BOTHERING
ME YA PUTZ!!!"

by Zalazo

Visit the page here:
Nov 96 archives
Dec 96 archives