From  the  creators  of Star Trek, the Next Regurgitation...  From the mind
that spawned an argument simulator...  There comes...

		S I X   M E N   A N D   A   B A N A N A
		---------------------------------------
			-----------------------  
				-------  


A  NEW  THUMPING  GOOD  TRANSDIMENSIONAL,  TIME  TRAVELLING, PASTIE EATING,
LEMMING  FLATTENING,  NETWORK  CRASHING, CRAMP INDUCING TEXTFILE BASED ON A
FEW KEYBOARD FREEKED LUNATICS AND...  A BANANA

 It`s  one-  thirty-  PM,  which  is  quite a coincidence because the story
starts  in  room  D-130  at  the  Henley College.  D-130, by the by, is the
computer room, as borne out by the sign on the wall, which reads:

			    HACKERS HAVE DENS

			GRAPHIC ARTISTS HAVE LAIRS

			  SYSOPS HAVE DOMAINS!!
			  ---------------------

 In  the  Room,  Steve  "The  Mad  Hippo And Part- Time Local Gravitational
Anomaly"  Lake  is  working  on  a  Silly  C  Program.   Bog "Conifer Tree"
Hennessy-Barrett is working on a silly picture involving lemmings, vaseline
and  Yaks.   There  are  assorted  nonentities doing relatively unimportant
things with the various Psuedocomputers scattered around.

 Steve is having a problem with his current proglet...

STEVE:  BUGGER!

 Steve is a fun, fun fellow.  Almost totally silly, with an eternally happy
outlook on life, until he gets angry, he is most renouned for being able to
catch  buses.   Literally.   This  phenomenon  is due, in most part, to his
ability  to generate an instant 6000 metres per second squared acceleration
in any direction.  Given enough Coke and sugar, that is.  His other talents
include  squashing things, and making totally logical constructs do totally
illogical things.  He is, in short, the ultimate Amiga owner that Evolution
could possibly have produced.

BOG:  Problem?

 Bog is...  Bog.  Too tall for most shoes, too longhaired for most glasses,
too  violent for most vending machines, Bog`s primary method for expressing
himself  is  to  strafe the object in question, and bayonetting people with
Hypothetical  Bayonets.  Bog`s most spectacular ability is the capacity for
taking  a mundane, menial task, and turning it into an excuse for not doing
anything  more  like  work.  This minor failing is made up by the fact that
when  it  comes  to  boring  tasks  (EG,  maths  or boring parts of Physics
(Equations,  but  not  detonations),  he  has  a  head like a sponge.  As a
further  peep  into  his  Psych  Profile,  he is lemming- obsessed and F-16
posessed.  Another Amiga Phreeeek, his pet love is insulting PC owners.

STEVE:  MY BLOODY PROGRAM ISN`T WORKING!

Now, Steve makes a critical error.  He stamps his foot in frustration.  The
building  quakes,  and windows shatter.  A mousepointer is jolted clear off
one  screen  and  lands on the desk with a sound like a winded lemming.  On
the  other  side  of the globe, six million chinese people are bounced into
orbit.

 Just  at  that  moment,  in should walk Nick Hatton.  Most people call him
Nick,  but  his freinds call him Nik.  Y`see, he doesn`t like the "S" sound
in  the  middle,  to rhyme with Disk.  That`s the sort of person Nik knows.
The  really  odd  thing  about  him  is the flight path ladder and gunsight
etched on his specs.  And the fact that he gets contrails off his knuckles.
The  current  totally, utterly, unutterably odd thing about him is the fact
that he`s covered with fine white plaster dust.

NIK:  Steve, is there a problem?

STEVE:  How did you know?

NIK:   Well,  Bob  (The  lekkytronical teach) just got brained by a lump of
combo  readybrek/  plaster,  and  everything`s  covered  in fine white dust
downstairs,  plus  the fact that six million chinese people are now orbital
sushi.

STEVE:  Ah.  So that`s how you could tell.  I`m having trouble with my C.

BOG:  What, does it keep stock still, and the beach washes up and down?

Everybody throws large, hefty objects at Bog, who ducks, allowing it all to
hit The Kevin which just at that Most Opportune moment entered.

THE KEVIN:  Aaaaaaooooowwww.  Ha ha ha.  Good joke everybody!

 Sadly,  Kevin U.  Palmer (The "U" standing for "Uuuuhhh....") is under the
delusion  that  everyone  likes him, and just pretends to want to kill him.
However,  if  you  swapped the operative words in the above sentence, (Like
and  Kill),  you  would arrive at the truth.  Another home truth is that if
you  know  The  Kevin,  you  will already mentally have done this, and also
substitude the word "Sadly" for the word "Hilariously".

Nik examines Steve`s sourcecode.

NIK:  Oh, no wonder!!!!

STEVE:  What is it?

NIK:   You`ve  written  this  like  we were taught to!  That`s why it`s not
working!   If  you  just  do  the  reverse  of  what Graham said, you`ll be
allright!

STEVE:  Okie dokie, matey.

BOG:   (Aside to Camera):  Now the real reason that Steve`s program doesn`t
work, is because it was written on an IBM clone.  If it had been written on
an Amiga...  YOW!!!

 Nik  wipes  the  blood  off  of a suddenly- dented keyboard and carries on
talking to Steve.

NIK:   Dead  simple.   Just pretend that you know precicely nothing about C
programming.

STEVE:  Uhhhhhhh....  OK.

 Steve  whips  out  his Big Silver Roar Gun and riddles the monitor and CPU
box  with  hypothetical  bullets/  rockets/  Lemmings  squeaking "Fire" and
napalm.

NIK:  Perfect!  It`ll work now!

 Lo  and behold, the screen goes blank, and a banana drawn in ANSI graphics
appears.

BOG:     Now,    if    you`d   handdrawn   that   in   DPaint   4   on   an
Amigaaaaaaghghghghghhh!

 Nik pulls a PosiDrive out from underneath Bog`s shoulderblade, wipes it on
the carpet and reinserts it in his pocket.  After some gasping, Bog manages
to get himself upright in his seat.

BOG:  You`re just jealous.

 WHUMP!  (Squidge)

BOG:  Whhaaaaaaaargggghh!  Ye BASTARD!!!!!!!!

 Leaping  from  the chair, he takes Nik down in a tangle of mice, headphone
cords,  glasses,  tape  streamers  and  PCs.   A cloud of dust obscures the
proceedings  until  finally  there  is  only one person left standing.  And
that`s Steve, who has been brassbanding "In The Mood" during the fight.

NIK:  Goaaar, that was fun.

BOG:   Can`t thank you enough, old man.  Been moons since I`ve had a decent
scrummage.  Fookin` great.

 Three  minutes  of sorting out glasses, headphones, cables, body parts and
assorted  fractures  later, the twain retire for a relaxing fag and another
enlivening  round  of  personal  insults.   The sound of grunts, clangs and
thudding body blows reaches us from outside.

 Steve  shakes  his  head  sadly,  and  continues with his Banana Simulator
program.   All  in  all,  a  totally  gnormal  day at Henlej College.  Must
remember  to  change  back  from the Swedish kejmap.  But, as our heros are
soon to discover, even the ones I haven`t written in yet, today is not just
your common- or- garden Collij day.

STEVE:  (Pushing buttons) Oh, my god!

NIK & BOG (In Dolby B):  What?

STEVE:  We`ve got a new server, and nothing`s wrong with the Net.

Just as he speaks, The Kevin utters that Dread Phrase:

THE KEVIN:  Hey everybody, I`ve just done something really interesting!

NETWORK:  Dwwwwwweeeeeaaaarrrrooooooouuuuuughhhhhhh, kerthunk.

 All  the  monitors  darken.  The lighting gets dimmer, and the temperature
drops  five  kelvin,  but  then  if  you had an armload of kelvins and that
happened, you`d probably drop some of them as well.

ALL EXCEPT THE KEVIN:  !>ohshit<!  (Hushed)

THE KEVIN:  Hey, wow, I didn`t expect THAT to happen!

ALL:  (Still hushed) ?>what<?

THE KEVIN:  (EXTREMELY loudly) THE NETWORK`S CRASHED!!!!!!!!!!

ALL:   (Relaxing),  Oh  is that all?  (Etc) No quantum- level disturbances?
No wars starting?  Nobody faffing around with transmission (wince) lines?

THE  KEVOID:   Naaahhhh  don`t be silly.  Nothing like that ever happens in
real life!

  Everyone  suddenly  goes  silent,  and looks toward the camera ominously,
then to a big lighted panel on the computer room wall.


			 (---------------------)
			 |                     |
			 |  D A F T C O N   5  |
			 |                     |
			 (---------------------)


 All wipe sweat off foreheads, and breath sighs of relief.

 PATINGGGG!  The sign changs to:
 

			 (---------------------)
			 |                     |
			 |  D A F T C O N   4  |
			 |                     |
			 (---------------------)

 And  everybody  starts acting nervously, looking over their shoulders, and
under desks and thing looking for anything Out Of The Ordinary.

STEVE:  Maybe the sign`s broken?

NIK:   If  the  sign`s reading wrong, how do you explain it`s presence here
any way?  Did we always have a Sillyness State Indicator on the wall?

STEVE:  Uh, I can`t explain it.  I just hope it`s wrong!

BOG:  Twiddle dee dee.

A ByStander looks worried.

Nik notices this.

NIK:  (Reassuringly) Don`t worry:  He`s always like this.

BYSTANDER:  You mean that`s supposed to reassure me?

NIK:  Good point.

BYSTANDER:  OK.  (Bystander points).

BOG:   Caution, all personnel:  Daftcon State Four has just been justified.
Daftcon  State  Four has just been justified.  You can stop taking life too
seriously, `cos you can bet your arse it`s stopped taking you that way.

STEVE:  It generally takes me with a grain of salt.

NIK:  Jammy sod, all I get is a glass of water!

ALL:  G R O A N N N N N N!

KNIGHT WHO SAYS NI:  Ni!!!

Nick  Clayton  enters,  and  everyone swings through 180 degrees and sticks
their  fingers  down  their  throats.  Disk crawl out of diskboxes and hide
under  keyboards,  and  a muffled gunshot from the SysOp`s office marks the
fact  that  Alastair  just can`t take any more.  Ser Clayton is everybody`s
favorite:   The guy who can make anybody`s program his own baby, and always
does.  The progenator of the phrase "Vorsprung Durch ASCIIEditor, as we say
in  D132".   He`s  also  known  as  The  Great  One,  on  account of being,
essentially, a fat bast.

BOG:   Serves  Alastair  right  for  taking  me off the CP directory.  I`ve
wanted to do that for ages.

NICK:   Awight?   (Inner tube jowls slapping the sides of his head with the
sound  of two six- hundres- foot radius waterbombs willed with orange jelly
impacting once every point- eight seconds)

NIK:  We were.

STEVE:  Sort of.

BOG:  Oh fuck.

THE KEV:  Now I am.

N/S/B:  You fucking joking?

THE  KEV:   Ah, well, you see, Nick here is the only one here who knows all
the keyboard shortcuts to every windows application ever written.

STEVE:  Yeah, `cos he wrote `em all!

NIK:  Last weekend.

BOG:  At four PM.

S/N/B:  I N   G E R M A N !  !  !  !

NICK:  Dutch, actually.

Nik, Steve and Bog collapse with laughter.


ADVERT TIME!

 A  man  and a woman are cudled up on a soft sofa in front of a lovely warm
fire.   Their  lips  draw  near.  Suddenly, the bloke burps, then pukes all
down the gel`s cleavage.  The legend


	 TREVOR`S BLADDER SALTS:  FOR THOSE...  DELICATE MOMENTS

 appears.

Fade.

 There`s  a  youngish  looking  bloke  sat  in  total darkness except for a
glowing   screenful  of  assembly  language  instructions.   His  eyes  are
strained, haggard and monitor- irradiated.

 VOICEOVER:   Sometimes,  you  just  feel  as  if you`re at the end of your
tether.  The deadline for the next scrap of code is ten hours away, failure
means  the  end  of your career, and you`re stuck.  Total brain- lock.  You
don`t  have  a  chance in hell of getting that substructure right.  There`s
only one solution.

 The  progger pulls a gun from his pocket, puts it to his temple, and blows
the contents of his head all over the monitor.

 VOICOVER:   Remington:   When  you just can`t take any more from life, our
.22, .38 Special and .44 Magnum calibre cartridges won`t let you down.

Fade back to the SIX MEN AND A BANANA logo.

 Craig  is  walking  down  the corridor leading from Norcot Centre to Lekky
labs, and he has a syringe stuck behind his left ear.  In one hand he holds
six mars bars, and in the other a can of Coke and a pair of skis.

 Freind  Craig  Bapty  is  an oddbod.  This is the person who has become so
attatched  to the character he plays with during roleplaying games, that he
has  come  to  beleive  that  he  DOES  in  fact have meshed skin and bone,
cybernetic eyes, and a sodding great titanium alloy arm, with hidden rocket
launchers.   This makes taking the piss out of him great fun, `cos he whips
his  right arm up at you, chenches his fist, then yells "BUGGER!" then rams
a screwdriver into it to find out what`s wrong.  Sad....

 As  Craig  approaches  the  doors  at  the end of the corridor, there is a
muffled BLAM from behind him, somewhat reminiscent of an Iain- sized object
suddenly displacing it`s volume in air.  Craig turns.

IAIN:  Bugger.  Missed the lab again.

 As  with  most  of  the  Henley College Crew so far, Iain is gnot gnormal.
Iain  is always...  lurking.  Lurking and plotting.  Plotting and Scheming.
Plus,  that odd faculty of self- displacement through The Cirucits of Time,
which  he`s  been  doing  much,  much  more  of  recently.  (Ed:  Check out
Bill&Ted`s Henley College Adventure [C] 1992 Hippo Enterprises)

 Craig simply looks baffled and continues down the corridor to the computer
room.   As  he climbs the stairs, he hears another BLAM from above him.  On
entering  the  computer  room,  Iain  is  up to his knees in floor.  Or the
carpet  is  up  to  it`s eyeballs in Iain, depending on your point of view.
Nobody has noticed this apart from Craig yet.

CRAIG:  Iain, what the fuck are you doing?

IAIN:   Missing  the bloody electronics lab again!  I bet you anythign that
any minute now, Bob`ll turn up with the carpet I displaced downstairs.

BOB:  Does anybody know how this bit of carpet appeared inside my Thermos?

IAIN:  Told you so!

Craig  holds  his head in his hands, (Clatter, clatter, splooosh, and sound
effects  for  six marsbars impacting on the floor which I haven`t cooked up
yet.) and gibbers.

BOG:   Steve,  d`you  reckon it`s worth walking up that bloody hill just to
sit  in  tutor  for  five  minutes and then spend forty minutes waiting for
maths to start?

STEVE:  Uh, no.

BOG:  Me either.

Both Bog and Steve turn back to their respective computers for exactly four
point   seven   zero  three  nine  six  seconds,  then  turn  with  pricise
simultaniousness  to  look at Iain drumming his fingers on the floor whilst
standing vertically.

Nik  turns  to ask Steve something, and notices that Steve isn`t interested
in being asked anything at the moment, and sees what`s got his attention.

NIK:  Oh, SHIT!

Even Nick Clayton is speechless.

IAIN:  What?

BOG:  Iain, Iain, Iain, you`re, like, part of the floor, dude!

IAIN:   So  I`m  a  lousy shot.  So what?  It`s perfectly normal to commune
with carpets nowadays, you know!

STEVE:  Wooooahhhhh.....

NIK:  How the HELL did you get there?

IAIN:  I got distracted.

CRAIG:  Whine.

STEVE:  If this is DAFTCON 4, I`d love to see DAFTCON 0.

BOG:  Believe you me, you really, REALLY don`t want to.

IAIN:  Whyever not?

BOG:  It`s disturbingly like being on TV.

CRAIG:  Do I want to know why that`s so terrible?

BOG:  Ever seen the Twilight Zone?

NIK:  Oh, SHIIIIIIT!!!

Even Iain is looking worried by now.

BOG:   But  don`t  worry.   We`ve only got, what, two hours `till the buses
come.

Gareth  sticks  his  head  around  the corner, and Iain`s natural SEP field
successfully deflects his attention.

GARETH:  Yeah, but then we have to wipe it off!

ALL:  Baaa!  Baaa!  Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

GARETH:  Allright, allright, no need to get rude.

ALL:  BULLSHIT!

GARETH:  Smartarses.

*****BLAMMO!*****  Iain  dematerializes  for  exactly a small fraction of a
something before reappearing two feet off the deck.

IAIN:  Wah!

(Thud)

BOG:  One hour fifty seven minutes.  Oh God, which sadistic bast made these
units  so  big?  Even a second`s a long time.  Wankers.  I know!  There`s a
cure for this one!

STEVE:  Oh, yeah!

NIK/ CRAIG/ IAIN:  Oh, NO WAY!!

BOG:  Yes, way...
     
STEVE&BOG:   Some  thing  in  life are bad.  They can really make you
mad...

 PTINNNNGGG!!!

			   (---------------------)
			   |                     |
			   |  D A F T C O N   3  |
			   |                     |
			   (---------------------)

ALL:  Oh, bugger.

 Suddenly, Graham`s voice comes from the Office of the Tenders of The Lan.

GRAHAM:  Waaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!

NIK: <ouch> 
BOG: <Gnnn>  
STEVE: <Oooo>  
IAIN: <Yahh> 
CRAIG: <Mmph>
GARETH: Can I have a go?

N/B/S/I/C:  Fu...  uh...  no.  You can`t.

BOG:   Only one thing for it, dudes.  It`s starting to get silly.  You know
what that means.

STEVE:  Yeah.  Nothing does what we expect it to do.

NIK:  Right!  So if we`re playing it at it`s own game...

BOG:   Then  this  computer (If I can bring myself to call it that (sneer))
expects me to use the mouse, then by simply doing something else...

IAIN:  You outwierd it!

Craig pulls the syringe from behind his ear, and shoves it into his arm

CRAIG:  God, I wish I had something stronger than Insulin on me...(Squirt)

BOG:  Reet.

He  grabs  the  mouse,  which starts squeaking, and attempting to drive his
hand  crackingly into the CPU box.  Sussing it`s game, he grips it, hoys it
three  feet  it  the  air,  and,  an  expert  eater, catches it in his gob.
Krrrunch.

BOG:  Guuuuumph....  bruuuuuuuup.  Hmmm.  Needs oregano.

Steve,  Iain,  Craig  and Nik start chewing simultaneously and agree all at
the same time.  They look at one another.

NICK:  Oh my God, they`ve gone mad.

As The Claytoid passes by a diskbox, it`s contents start rippling out of it
and  onto  the floor in a pretty fanspread relational to tidal gravity from
his paunch.

STEVE:   Bloody  hell.  Not satisfied with taking other people`s code, he`s
ripped off my bloody gravity flux as well!

BOG:   Well, at least now it doesn`t seem like we`re looking at you through
fisheye lenses anymore.

IAIN:  How`s that?

BOG:  Well, now photons should warp around him any longer.

STEVE:  Bugg...  uh..  no, I mean...

The  ICL  that  Stevey  Babes  is  sat  at suddenly...  phases.  The banana
disappears to be replaced with a cabbage flashing red and purple.

STEVE:  Aaawwwww, SHIT!

 At  this  point, Dan "Pastie" Powell walks in, and seeing as I can't think
of  anything  for  him  to do right now, he just leans against a wall for a
bit.  While he's doing that, I'll tell you about him.

 Dan is marked by the fact that he's the only person in creation to have an
alien  lifeform  living in perfect simbiosys with him.  The creature's real
name is totally unpronouncable, so everybody just calls it by it's function
in  life :- "Hair".  The other remarkable thing is, he's the only person in
the  Team  who's  room  is  always tidy:  The reason for this phenomenon is
simple:  Dan uses pasties for energy.  Hair uses the rubbish on Dan's floor
for energy by grazing whilst he sleeps.

Craig has finished logging in, but is confused by the Henley Kollidge login
screen`s replacement by a glowing red orb.  He hits the break key.

HAL:  I`m sorry, Craig, but I can`t allow you to do that.

Craig looks overhis shoulder at everyone else.

CRAIG:  Can somebody tell me what the HELL is going on here?

STEVE:  I`m afraid IT`s happening again, Craig.

CRAIG:  No, not...  THAT.

NIK:  Yes.  We`re re- entering...

ALL:  THE A LITTLE AFTER LUNCHTIME ZONE!

Soundtrack:  nee nee nee nee, nee nee nee nee, nee nee nee nee, nee nee nee
nee!

HAL:   Craig,  why  don`t  you  take an anti- stress pill and we`ll discuss
this.  After all, I have the utmost enthusiasm for the mission.

STEVE:   Hmm.   We appear to have had a fragment of 2001, a Spaced Odyssey,
penetrate our personal reality- space.

NIK:  Can you justify calling THIS reality?

IAIN:  Ever seen inside an Amiga?

NIK:  Oh, yeah.

BOG:  Shurrup.  (Sulk).

STEVE:   Actually, guys, this is a bit of a change!  We`re staying where we
were this time, and everythings coming to us!

 Cue  backdrop  fade out to inky black space, pierced at intervals by stars
scattered  like  diamond  dust  on  jet- black velvet, then to a clinically
white   room:    the   monitor   with   the   glowing   red  orb  has  been
transdimensionally  replaced  with  a dull red scanner eye and a seventies-
like  Bolton-  ferbruary-  day-  grey  console  with  the nameplate "H.A.L.
9000".   We  just  have  enough time to hear our heros` jaws hit the ground
before it`s time for the credits.

IN NEXT WEEK`S SIX MEN AND A BANANA...

-----

STEVE:   OK.  It seems that Iain here has turned reality into swiss cheese.
We  just  happened  to  randomly pop up on the Discovery, just before Frank
Poole gets killed by Hal...

DAVE:  Whaaaat?

HAL:  Oh, bugger.  Er, it was just going to be a joke, Dave...

-----

DAN:  Need a hand?

BOG:  Thanks.

(POP) Bog pockets Dan`s left hand.

DAN:  Oi!  Give that back!

BOG:  Soz.  (Skwudge)

-----

HAL:   I`ve  got some people trying to take control of the Discovery.  They
want to destroy my mind.

KILLEMALL:  Will three Mark IIX assault droids and a disruptor unit do?

HEL:  That should be perfectly adequate.

KILLEMALL:  I`m despatching them now.  They should arrive in a couple of...

-----

 That last part has been removed on the grounds of maintaining suspense.

Fade.
