A vote for FutureShock is a vote for the Blackbirds

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If you do not vote for me We're all going to die.

-- FutureShock (gray@matter.think), October 28, 2000


Sing a song of sixpence, A pocket full of rye; Four and twenty blackbirds Baked in a pie. When the pie was opened, They all began to sing. Now, wasn't that a dainty dish To set before the King?

The King was in his countinghouse, Counting out his money; The Queen was in the parlor Eating bread and honey. The maid was in the garden, Hanging out the clothes. Along there came a big black bird And snipped off her nose!

-- Peg (em@i.l), October 28, 2000.

And if we do vote for you??

-- (hmm@hmm.hmm), October 28, 2000.

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