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The Billiards ReadMe File
Rated PG13: No one under 13 admitted without Parent
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The Color of Funny (Funny Peculiar, not Funny Ha-Ha)
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You want to know the oddest story I got about playing pool?  Well the thing is see,
the oddest story I got about pool ain't a story in which I get to play a single game,
ya know?  I was touring in Europe.  Heh, touring.  Right.  I was sharking about Europe
taking in everyone from high brow pool snobs in callsy billiards joints to common thugs
hangin out in the local pool halls and bars.  Because I was American, nobody; and I mean
nobody. took me seriously.  That was THEIR mistake, let me tell you.  While they were busy
laughing at me or scoffing at me or glaring at me for being a filthy American pig, I was
hustling their life savings right out of their wallets, piggy banks and mattresses.  Until...

It was in some small eastern European country.  I couldn't tell you which one because they all
tend to blur together in my head, no toilet paper, crappy whiskey, foul cigarettes.  I asked
around for the best pool joint and was directed to a little ramshackle hole in the wall.  I
should have turned around and walked out the minute I saw the inside of the place.  The main
room was all drinking space, no sign of tables (pool tables, that is).  I asked the bartender,
but he didn't speak any English at all until I bought a drink and then only a word or two, so
we fell into that puzzling conversational realm of charades.  Eventually he led me into a small
private room that a large pool table barely fit into.  It was a pay table, but it was broken, and
for an obscenely large amount of money, he agreed to go and get the balls from somewhere and bring
them to me.  I of course had my own stick, but I went over to the rack to see what the house provded.
It was shaped roughly like a sausage.  Any shill I brought in that played with that thing would
certainly lose.  I then inspected the felt.  It was pitted and covered in tiny blood stains.  No good.
I was beginning to get a creepy feeling up the base of my spine.  The only good thing about the place
that I could find was the chalk.  It was completely unused and slicker than any chalk I had ever run
across before.  I got some on my hand and had trouble holding the cigarette I had lit.  I was so
impressed with it in fact, that I pocketed some of it.  I was still waiting on the bartender to bring
me the balls and a rack; nursing what passed for whiskey and smoking one of those god-awful cigarettes,
when I began to hear noises coming from inside the table.  At first there was a small whoosh noise
like when somebody in a cheap SCI-FI movie teleports into a room just in time to stop the hero from
being killed.  Then there was a noise that sounded a little bell like, but more like a flower growing in
fast motion would sound if it had sound, you know?  Then the clicking began.  Like little sword hitting
wood... and I felt like I was being watched.  I know it sounds stupid now, but I was scared out of my
mind.  Something about the whole scene got to me and I knew I had to get out, so I rushed out of the
place and hit the road that very evening.  That night changed my luck.  I started losing... a lot.  
Soon I didn't have enough money to get home.  I was at my wits end.  Then one evening I was losing to some
fat sweaty bugermeister and an old gypsy saw me use that chalk I had pocketed and began to frantically jabber
at me in his native tongue.  Eventually somebody went and got his grandson to translate.  Seems the old man
was under the impression that I had stolen the chalk from elves or some damn thing like that!  He said it was
magic speed dust and he insisted that until I returned it to them that I would never win another game again,
and that if I used it all up... then I would die.  Crazy old man...  still... better safe than sorry.  That
night when I was done losing, I left the chalk on the side of the table, telling myself it was merely to help
the old man sleep better at night.

The next day I headed for Switzerland where I met an Italina student with a huge roll of many and an idea that
he knew how to play pool.  Four hours later I pocketed all his funds and left the now broke student to his misery.
I used my new found bankroll to buy a ticket home.

I'm sure it was just a coincidence, right?  I mean really.  Who ever heard of Pool Elves?


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THANKS!  ...and I mean that
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All hail the Nesters!

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VITAL STATS
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Map Name:	Billiards
Filename:	billiards.bsp
Author:		Praetor Judis
E-Mail:		rookery@otherwhenent.com
URL:		http://www.otherwhenent.com (the site is haunted by a complete lack of Heretic references)

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INSTALLATION
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Unzip the file into your 'heretic II\base\maps' directory

To run the map, simply type "map billiards" at the console.

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VITAL STATISTICS
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Single Player:	I one spawn point for tourists mentalities.
Co-op:		No.
Death Match:	Yes.  Yes.  Yes.

Textures: Palce and Silverspring

Brushes:  187

Compile Time: Well damn me for a fool, I forgot to check.

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QUASI-LEGALITIES
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Copyright (c) 1999 Corvus D. Elrod. All rights reserved.

The file billiards.bsp and attending the_color_of_funny.txt file may be
distributed electronically (over internet or BBS) for no charge.

The file the_color_of_funny.txt must be included with any distribution of
billiards.bsp.

The files billiards.bsp and the_color_of_funny.txt may not be altered in any way.

The files billiards.bsp and the_color_of_funny.txt may not be distributed in
any publication without explicit written consent from Corvus D. Elrod.

The file billiards.bsp may not be used by any commercial gaming service
without explicit written consent from Corvus D. Elrod.

The files billiards.bsp MAY be used on any free Heretic II server.

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CURIOUSITY KILLED THE CAT
SATISFACTION BROUGHT HIM BACK
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Has anyone read this far?  If so; e-mail me, I'm curious...