[EDIT: Once more, with feeling....]
The 'wavium came into my possession much like any controlled substance ever did, by chance and circumstance and without me looking for it. A friend had some, was going to make a flying car, and was feeling generous. He gifted me a small amount, which I tossed in a Tupperware and stuck in the fridge. About a week later, I noticed that the Tupperware seal had popped. The small amount of wavium was larger than it had been, to the point of almost overflowing the bowl. I couldnt tell what it had fed on, and to this day, I havent a clue. I poured it into a larger container and moved it to the living room, where I could keep an eye on it. I felt that I was going to use it, eventually; I just didn't know how.
Frankly, I felt that some of the fen were going off half-cocked. Watching the news and the security theater that the American government was cooking up over handwavium just made me shake my head, and talking to the fen that were planning to take off for the Great Beyond sounded like reinventing the wheel 600 times over. There seemed so much that could be done with it here on Earth that everyone seemed hellbent on ignoring. I knew that the government was considering the stuff (theyd be stupid not to), so I bided my time and waited to see what happened. And then the Professor went off his nut in Paris, and the Really Real World slammed the lid. The 'wavium in my house suddenly became a lot more dangerous to own. I wasn't about to get rid of it, though; there were too many traps in simply turning it over, and flushing it down the toilet would have done God knows what to the local sewer systems.
So it sat, patiently, in my living room, sandwiched in the corner between my pile of comics and my DVDs. Occasionally, the pile would overbalance and fall on top of the container. One particular avalanche knocked the lid off, and some of the comics ended up partially inside. I have to admit it was entrancing, watching the ink slide off the pages and pool in a rainbow pattern like an oil slick on the pavement during a rainstorm, before disappearing into the goo. I spent some time and money buying extra comics, dropping them into the goo, and seeing what happened. It took some of them, and others it just rendered into a soggy mess. The goo grew, and I transferred it to another bucket. After a point, I stopped feeding it, simply because it was getting too big to manage.
And then, one day, I saw an old bus sitting in a junkyard. It wasn't too old, maybe 30 years or so, and in the flat-nosed style that Greyhound had made so well known. It still ran (poorly), and it was decked out for personal residence; I think it had been somebody's tour bus, once upon a time, since it had a second floor. When I saw it, I didn't think much of it, but sitting next to it was an old Ford truck, with a camper shell. Which, by itself wasn't that remarkable, and I didn't think anything of it until I got home and saw the 'wavium.
Archimedes was sitting the bathtub when he had his moment. I, at least, had my pants on.
The bus wasn't cheap, but it wasn't that expensive either. I bought it and managed to get it home. The guys thought I was crazy, but they were all for it, if it meant I would share the glory of a flying bus. None of them really liked their jobs anyway. We reupholstered the seats that we didn't tear out, added some equipment from an old RV, did our best to fix the bathroom and the kitchenette, jammed in a wi-fi and router and an extra generator next to the bathroom, and installed a satellite radio system. One of the guys went to work with the carpentry tools and rigged up a cabinet for storing computers, which we put where we tore out the seats on the second level. It kept the towers protected and gave us an anchor point for keyboards and monitors. He also managed to throw together a set of bunks, modifying the original sleeping quarters to fit eight in bunks. In the back of the top level, behind the computer cabinets, we hung a sliding door, making a small room, which we put down a padded mat and making a makeshift dojo about eight feet on a side. We replaced the tires, tuned the engine, and fixed the windows. We slapped some paint on the outside, and tried to add something approximating the mural. Not a bad job, in the end, but it was a kitbash. In the end, it took about six months of saving and eating a lot of mac and cheese and sharing cars, but we had a working bus. It was time to finish the project.
We drove the bus out to my family's land in the middle of nowhere for the final steps. I was worried about the 'wavium, but since work had started on the car, I had started feeding it again. It had grown to fill the bucket that I had kept it in and then more, forcing me to move it to more than one container. I tossed my copy of the book in last, along with as many of the fanzines that I could find. We coated the outside with a layer, covered the tires and undercarriage, and sprayed it over the engine. We even poured it into the crankcase, radiator, and gas tank. After that, we went to work on the inside. Everything was coated in the stuff. We painted, rinsed, sprayed, and bathed the entirety of the bus and all its contents.
I can honestly I didnt know what to expect from the boxy, black vehicle after we had finished and crashed out for the night. The stampeding yellow mustangs along the side seemed brighter, more developed. Where Gary had slapped on a set of fins ("To dissipate the heat!" he had jokingly insisted), the seams seemed smoother, the welds cleaner. Maybe it was the morning light, but the entire bus seemed more impressive, more heroic. But the biggest surprises were inside.
Wendy was the most noticeable. She'd slipped inside during the night, after we'd gone to sleep. I suspect she'd been hoping for the transgender the hormones were slow and she certainly couldn't afford the surgery, and psychologically Warren had been Wendy for a number of years now. She looked good, positively jubilant. We didn't find out about the ratgirl part of it until later.
As for the bus, it looked much more impressive than I had hoped. The second level was as I had hoped, with the bank of computers, televisions, and other communications equipment smoothly integrated. The satellite radio was already on, and one of the computers was tuned to a streaming radio station, while a second one was rapidly pulling music off three p2p sites at the same time. The small set of bunks still took up the back half of the lower compartment, and the 'wavium had taken the rough fabrication that wed started with and reinforced it.
Looking at the driver's seat made it clear that moving the bus was going to be difficult. I had no idea how I was going to get it off the ground. As I sat in the driver's chair, confessing that my inability to fly the thing without crashing, J. said, in a good-natured, mocking tone, "Nice going, Blackstone. Only you would create a vehicle without any idea of how to run it."
My retort died on my lips as we heard the Voice. "Hey, now. Don't be mean. We don't have to be mean."
The laptop mounted next to the dashboard flickered to life, and we saw his face. He didn't look exactly like Peter Weller, but we could see the resemblance. He smiled, and said, "Howdy, partners. You ready to get this show on the road?"
When Buckaroo Banzai asks a question like that, there's only one answer. We had the bus packed in six minute flat, and in 10, the bus lifted off the ground under my nervous control (with Buckaroo's tutelage), and we headed for orbit.
That was 18 months ago. Weve still got a little bit of the wavium; it responds well to rock n roll and comics. I fed it a copy of Campbells Hero of a 1000 Faces at one point, and it turned the color of mother of pearl and eventually expanded to four times its volume. Im wondering what would happen if we fed it a copy of Hamiltons Mythology or any of Dents stories. Part of me is still a little scared of it.
We grabbed the old Ford truck as quick as we could, and found us a turbine engine that nobody was using. We're still working on the overthruster, but Buckaroo's a patient teacher. It seems that he's managed to download everything from a number of archives, including the Library of Congress and a number of BitTorrent sites that specialize in music. Not legal, I know, but he just made copies, and he didn't touch anything else. Or so he says. I believe him. For now, though, the Jet Car has a nice docking clamp up top, behind the sensor bubble, and it makes for a pretty decent shuttle. As for the bus, only one name was appropriate. You should have heard the first Pulpers we hailed when we identified ourselves as World Watch One.
We got the blazers last month. We even got Earl Mac Rauch's blessing, after he and Mr. Richter had a conversation with Buckaroo over the go phone. Buckaroo keeps us in shape. There's not a lot to do in space between destinations, and he has a good sense of what we need to do to make our minds sharper and our bodies fitter. His room has become our gymnasium; everyone spends at least an hour a day in there. Buckaroo doesnt get mad, if we dont do it, but he does get disappointed, and World Watch Ones performance seems to hinge on our continuing desire to better ourselves and the world. We lost Gary to that; he didnt want to keep it up. Buckaroo was okay with it; we dropped him off at his place with a go phone. He said hed let us know if he changed his mind.
Buckaroo has a lot of fans. Quiet fans that prefer to live on the Earth, helping the planet and her children in ways that have little to do with outer space. Fans that didnt know they were fans until we starting spreading the word. Gary found a way he could still be part of the team. He got the old World Watch One forums expanded, organized, and began discussions how to help seriously people. He and Mrs. Johnson got the Institute up and running. Our global network helps itself solve problems. The Banzai Institute was there for the California earthquake in September and for the evacuation during the Mumbai floods. And were in the Fenspace as well. We spend a lot of time near Earth, occasionally dropping down to the planet to provide help. I can't say the Boskonians are real, since we haven't seen any yet, but we're helping people help themselves and protecting them from the petty evils of the System, both Mundane and Fen.
We're not the Cavaliers, not yet at least. We will be soon, or so Buckaroo assures us. We're the crew of World Watch One, better known as the Blue Blazer Irregulars. We help, because we can. And as the Boss says, "No matter where you go, there you are."
Ebony the Black Dragon
Senior Editor, Living Room Games
http://www.lrgames.com
Ebony the Black Dragon
http://ebony14.livejournal.com

"Good night, and may the Good Lord take a Viking to you."

Min just Hit 48. ARGH! I'm SOOOOO close.
Can I interest anyone in a get Minuet to 49 party for the next few nights?
:-) Cheers! -Cindy

I have characters with the Negotiator badge mission lined up on both Virtue and Infinity. I know people frequently miss this one on the way up, and I like to share my badge missions. So who's up for 'em?
Global: @Jimmy Amp
"Broad-minded is just another way of saying a fellow's too lazy to form an opinion." -- Will Rogers

The first letter didn't worry Tsunade too much. It should have, as it was from a lawyer, but Tsunade had not had enough experience yet with the administrative side of running a Hidden Village to realise the terrible peril that she was in. The lawyer in question was from the Wave Country and acting on behalf of a corporation called 'Great Hero Ramen', which had apparently bought up some of Tsunade's debts. The gist of the letter was a polite request for Tsunade to contact them to arrange a shedule of payments.
Tsunade crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it at the wastebin, missing (she might be one of the Legendary Three Ninja, but it takes more than than to get one ball of paper into a bin already full of of other wastepaper).
Poor Tsunade. Making such an amateur's mistake...
A week later there was another letter, this one with an additional paragraph apologising that the previous letter to this effect had apparently gone unaccountably astray. The pile of crumpled paper at the bin was getting quite large by now.
Another week passed and then the Ninja Postman told the Hokage that he had registered mail for her and could she just sign here, please. Even at her drunkest, Tsunade wasn't that foolish however. She declined and snitched the letter from his bag as he left. Another request for payments. Some people just didn't get a clue.
Sometime over the night, all the papers in and around Tsunade's bin vanished. She didn't bother to check that the clean up had been done by someone who was supposed to have access to her office.
The day after that, another letter arrived. Tsunade didn't have to sign for it so all was well. And it gave her a bit of a laugh. This 'Great Hero Ramen' company thought that they could _threaten_ the Hokage? Hilarious!
Still, there was no point being totally dismissive. They might be a nuisance - deny Naruto his staple foodstuff and sent him whining to her or something - so she had Shizune pull the file on the company. Unfortunately, that was the day that she gave Shizune the slip long enough to get well and truly hammered, and forgot all about it. The file got lost under a heap of paperwork.
The next letter was directly from the owner of 'Great Hero Ramen' advising that they had bought up even more of her debts and that either she could make a good faith move towards repaying them or action would be pursued. The signature on the letter was an illegible scribble.
By this time, of course, the file on 'Great Hero Ramen' was totally lost, so Tsunade grudgingly authorised a C-class mission to investigate it and assigned it to Kurenai's team. Not being a total idiot, Kurenai took Kiba and Shino to check with the local merchants for information while sending Hinata to interrogate Konoha's Number-One expert on all things Ramen.
Hinata took lengthy notes, fulfilling her part of the mission and flattering Naruto, who was therefore a little less disruptive than usual for the next few days, as well as indulging her a little, since they had had their conversation over a Ramen at Ichiraku's and so could, almost, from the correct angle, if you stretched a point, possibly be mistaken for what looked like it might resemble a date (although Hinata discreetly played it down a little when her father absently asked her what she'd done that day).
'Great Hero Ramen', Tsunade discovered, on reading the reports, was much more than a Ramen stall franchise (although it was that as well). It also made cup ramen and a range of fancier family-size ramen dishes that were all the rage amongst those who had little time to cook for themselves. Like Ninja, for example. Their other, less important, subsidiaries dealt with about half the food industry in the southern half of Leaf Country, the company having risen to prominence on the wave of prosperity fuelled by greater access to Wave Country now that they had built a bridge to the mainland.
In other words, they could probably afford ninja debt collectors. It was fortunate that Tsunade need have no fear of such a threat, as otherwise she could really have been in a bind.
A week later, Shizune vanished. No one could find her, or even trace her movements after she left the Hokage tower the previous night. Given her access to classified documents, this was naturally a major security issue. Tsunade was about to panic when another letter arrived from 'Great Hero Ramen'.
It wasn't so much a letter, either, more of a... receipt?
The value of Shizune's services, noted as the per day rate for a jounin-rank ninja assigned to a B-class mission less maintenance, was being deducted from Tsunade's debts. At this rate, the recipt noted, the debts would be cleared in just under ten thousand years. Would Tsunade now like to come to terms?
The Hokage groaned. If this came out - and sending out ninja against 'Great Hero Ramen' would undoubtfully reveal all - she'd be ruined. Konohagakure, her teacher's legacy and a responsibility she was holding in trust for Naruto, would be a laughing stock. She's going to have to face up to her responsibilities, now where did she put the 'Great Hero Ramen' company's address... oh, that's where the sake bottle went, well there's a little left and a day like this calls for a drink...
Without Shizune to keep her under control Tsunade goes on a colossal bender, and wakes up hungover, when Gai is bashing on her door and wailing at the top of his voice about his Team being missing!
Once Tsunade's shut him up and managed to get herself a hangover remedy, she finds another receipt on her desk. The value of three genin working on C-class missions, less the value of their maintenance, is now being deducted from her debts. The debts will now be cleared in a little more than eight thousand years. Could she at least let them know how far they need to push before she deals honestly with them, so that they can skip the intervening escalation?
Now Tsunade would like to have Shizune back, really she would. And Gai being quieter would be nice. But... this is reducing her debts, isn't it? And really, she's the goddamned Hokage, she can assign her ninja any missions she wants, can't she?
.oOo.

Naruto scratched his head as he read the letter from Tsunade. If he was reading this correctly, and a correspondence course in corporate law that was whiling away the spare hours when Jiraiya wasn't in a fit state to train him suggested that he was, then Tsunade was basically offering to rent him he VIllage's ninja en masse to pay off her debts.
She really needed that law course more than he did.
He slurped up another 'Great Hero Ramen' cup ramen (just the way he liked it) and reached for his pen. Now then, time to hone those negotiation skills.
It would go down in history that Konohagakure was the first Hidden Village ever to face a takeover bid, but Naruto was pretty sure that if he managed to get the Hyuga on Tsunade's back (and Hinata would probably be only too glad to 'vanish' and cause exactly that) then she'd agree to just about anything.
"De facto Hokage now," he noted. "De jure when I get back..."
D for Drakensis

You're only young once, but immaturity is forever.

Shizuru finally hits lvl 40. Now if I can just get her to 50 by this time next year, I'll be really happy.When engaging, nothing beats a full frontal.
*********************
In the epic rage of furious thunder
legends create their tales
when the twilight calls and the dark lord falls
our glory will prevail

Just had an amusing thought, and had to share.
We have a Mars Project.
We have a Venus Project.
You know that there's going to be a group of people out there somewhere running the Pluto Project.
Not terraforming. That would be silly. No, this is a bunch of old-school astronomy fanatics, who are trying to win one of the more virulent astronomy debates of the century in the most decisive way possible. Whether or not Pluto qualifies as a planet right now, it sure will when they're done with it.
Basically, the answer is simple. by hook or by crook, they're dragging random celestial bodies out of their corners of the sky, slapping appropriately-sized drives on them, and riding them in at nonfatal speeds. Comets are favorite, but asteroids will do. They'd *like* to grab a moon or two, but acknowledge that the things are too valuable where they are. They managed to drag a consensus definition of how much mass a planet requires, and they're intending to go for that plus about 10% - Just To Be Sure. They'll even normalize the orbit a bit, if they have to.
Mind you, this isn't particularly lucrative, and it is a lot of work. The job is a labor of love - between folks who have money but no time and are willing to donate to the cause, and folks who have time and are willing and able to work for a pittance. the work goes slow - but Pluto is patient.

Remember the Kelo decision on eminent domain in New London? Check out the sequel.
My anger level is rising again.
-----
Big Brother is watching you.  And damn, you are so bloody BORING.

Zwilniks Off the Starboard Bow!
Timewise....this probably took place a month or two before the Convention.
--------------------------------------------------
I was peering through a microscope at a sample of extremophilic bacteria that I hoped to use in my latest chimera for Mars, when Clotho's bright voice came through the lab speakers. "Hey, Kev? We've got company outside. Guy in an RV, says he needs to talk to the Jason." That got an arched eyebrow. While I did biomod work for those that wanted it, normally I picked up commissions at Convention, or through email. Having someone actually willing to travel out to my neck of the Asteroid Belt to look me up was unusual. "OK. Have Fate tell them I'll be right there." I turned off the scope and headed out through my living room, then down the small metal corridor that lead to the right-hand door of my cockpit. Flopping down in the copilot seat, I offered a greeting to Fate. "Record this, please." Fate's 'Greek chorus' voice filled the cockpit, a blend of the Sisters' voices. "Yes, Kevin." I flipped the mike on. "This is the Fateful Lightning. You've got the Jason here. What can I do for you?"
"We heard you did mod work....that you could make any kind of plants people wanted. That right?" The voice was a bit nasal, no horribly-noticeable accents or anything. "If so, me and some friends want something made."
I hmmmed softly, then shrugged and answered, "I'll need more information in order to tell whether or not it's possible. What exactly are you wanting?"
There was a moment before I got a reply, then, "My...company's found some promising new chemicals in some of the life on Venus. But the production's far too low, and we want something that'll grow in less harsh conditions. Think you could do it?"
This got a frown. The guy was being remarkably close-mouthed and that was setting off all sorts of alarm bells in my head. Most of my clients were only too happy to talk to me about what they wanted...in detail. I typed into the keyboard mounted onto the dash in front of me: 'Fate, cross-reference anything we've got on Venus and the lifeforms there. Any possible hints as to what this joker wants?' As I did so, I answered said joker, "Of course I can DO it....but I'll need to know more about the substances you want expressed. Do they need any special requirements, and what exactly do they do? If I don't have that info, I could well lose them when I make the mod." I waited for a reply to that....as well as to the question I'd given Fate.
The potential client hemmed and hawed on the other end of the link. Frankly, I doubted he'd be a client of mine; I really didn't like the feel of this. But I was willing to withhold judgement until he told me more. "Well? I'll need to know in order to do the job." Words scrolled by on the screen in front of me: 'No hints at present, Kevin. But given the man's reactions and a study of his voice inflections and choices, the greatest probability is that it's illegal or close to it, and probably big trouble.' Well, crap....not what I wanted to hear from Fate. She filled the role of Oracle all too well, at times - to the point that even I wasn't sure if she could see the future or not.
The voice on the radio spat out a curse. "You wanna know? Fine. We found some prime pharmaceuticals that'll set us up big. And if you tell anybody, it'll be the LAST thing you ever do." Well....if I DID take the job, the price just doubled.
"And....?" I kept my own voice quiet, waiting to see where this would go. "A drug, then. Something actually useful, or just recreational?"
That got a evil-sounding snigger from the radio. Apparently, not giving a reaction of immediate revulsion made the guy think I was in. Stupid bastard. "Recreational. And if a buyer tries it once, he's hooked good and proper. We'll make a killing. We can get you all the specs you need."
THAT did it. I really had no problems with drugs as such. I'm pretty much a libertarian. A person can do what he wants to with his body; as long as he doesn't hurt others, that's fine. But this sounded far too much like a permanent fate. And one which could be forced on someone at that. In fact....I growled softly, "Thionite. You want me to create a version of fucking BROADLEAF for you! Not only no, but HELL no!" That woke up the guy in the RV, and he started to offer some pretty nasty-sounding threats. Not just against me, but my friends and clients as well. He shouldn't have done that. I switched the mike off. "Fate, switch control to Atropos. Atropos...." Her voice came over the speakers, quite tart, with her Sisters' voices a faint chorus in the background. "Don't teach Grandma how to suck eggs, sonny. Scout-class drone 'Spare' has been redesignated Sword-class, and is ready to launch on your word." I nodded grimly. "Right. The word is 'Republic.' Does Spare have any favorite music?" The rough old woman's voice filled the cockpit again. "Yes - Beach Boys." That got an arched eyebrow. "All right. Pipe him 'Little Old Lady from Pasadena.' Seems appropriate." That got a snort from Atropos, and I flipped the mike back on. The would-be zwilnik was still making threats about what would happen unless I started working for them. "All right, that's enough. Tell me...did you lot give ANY thought to my ship's name before you decided to try and bring me into this scheme of yours?" That got some more cursing on the other end, and I cut him off. "Apparently not, or you'd not have tried to get me to make something that would enslave people. Get this, zwilnik. My ship's name comes from a rather famous song from the 1860s. Maybe you've heard of it. It's called 'The Battle Hymn of the Republic.'" As I finished speaking, a hatch opened in the side of the workshop trailer, and what appeared to be a small go-cart popped out. As it hit open space, every light on the cart flashed on - normal lights, brights, halogen spotlights...even the two ranks of grow lights that I'd installed to help get some mining plants established a while back. It was extremely visible for a split-second, and I heard the man on the other end of the radio link mutter the start of an exclamation as he caught sight of it. Then it flashed into a streak of light that pierced the front of the RV, which promptly exploded in molten metal and glass. Even reinforced by handwavium, things tend to break when hit by a hundred fifty pounds of material moving something on the order of a hundred miles a second. The rest of the RV began to come apart, a trail of debris and air shooting out the rear as the remains of the drone continued on their way. I swallowed hard, turning a little green. "Terrible swift Sword, indeed...."
I sighed. "Atropos? You and the others, send out all the cam-drones we have on hand, and check the wreckage? If there's anything left over there that'll identify these bastards, I want it. You might send out Spool, Spotter, and Succor as well. We can take the largest pieces of that back with us, maybe visit SSX Base and see if anything can be found out from the debris." I got an affirmative from Atropos, and my hand scrubbed down my face. "I'm going to go throw up, I think, then hide in the Garden for a bit. If anything comes up, let me know, and be prepared to take defensive measures as necessary." I considered the image of Spare flashing into a beam of light. "Fate....in the ship's log, mark that Scout-class 'Spare' was designated Sword-class today, renamed 'Saber.' Destroyed in defense of the ship." I sighed, and started for the walkway to my living quarters. "Keep your eyes peeled, ladies. This has a bad feel, and I'm not sure it's over yet." Fate had to chime in. "It will be over when it's over." I sighed again, and headed back. Throwing up, rinsing out my mouth, and a large glass of Johnnie Walker Black in the Garden sounded good right now. I also pondered what I should do about my newfound popularity. Would it help matters if I started some rumors that I had weapons-grade handwavium like the Professor was supposed to, or would that just make me more of a target? Of course, we ALL had weapons-grade handwavium; most people just didn't seem to realize it...at least, not unless they were VERY desperate. I'd have to run the idea past Fate, see what she thought. With that, I entered my living quarters and headed for the kitchen. Right. Alcohol.

Quote:

---

Come up screaming
Come up screaming
I've never seen you look like this without a reason
Another promise fallen through, another season passes by you
I never took the smile away from anybody's face
And that's a desperate way to look for someone who is still a child
In a big country dreams stay with you
Like a lover's voice fires the mountainside
Stay alive
I thought that pain and truth were things that really mattered
But you can't stay here with every single hope you had shattered
I'm not expecting to grow flowers in a desert
But I can live and breathe and see the sun in wintertime
In a big country dreams stay with you
Like a lover's voice fires the mountainside
Stay alive
In a big country dreams stay with you
Like a lover's voice fires the mountainside
Stay alive
So take that look out of here, it doesn't fit you
Because it's happened doesn't mean you've been discarded
Pull up your head off the floor
Come up screaming
Cry out for everything you ever might've wanted
I thought that pain and truth were things that really mattered
But you can't stay here with every single hope you had shattered
I'm not expecting to grow flowers in a desert
But I can live and breathe and see the sun in wintertime
In a big country dreams stay with you
Like a lover's voice fires the mountainside
Stay alive
In a big country dreams stay with you
Like a lover's voice fires the mountainside
Stay alive
- Big Country
"In a Big Country"
The Crossing (1983)

---

Apparantly the RIAA is suing a Russian filesharing company - for 1.65 trillion dollars.
www.redherring.com/Articl...+for+%241B
tech.cybernetnews.com/200...-trillion/
I don't think they are likely to get that much money. 1.65 trillion dollars is larger than Russia's GDP. It's well over half the US federal budget. (Actually that's a scary comparison in itself.) I don't know how the RIAA figured they lost that much money. The only explanation I can think of is that they've heard that parody is considered "fair use" - so decided to do something beyond parody.