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It was the Spring of 95- no, 94.. Actually I'm not certain of the year anymore. My memory isn't what it used to be, and I have been a long time absent from places where calendars matter.

It was Spring certainly, for I have a clear memory of Virtual Robins chirping happily in Usenet Forest. I can remember standing near the end of O'Hare Lane, at the Southern end of the Encampment of the Evil Atheists, having some minor disagreement with an EAC member who objected on humanitarian grounds to my treatment of a gibbering godsoaked creature who had wandered in earlier in the day. I was insisting that rough words were warranted, and was pointing out that kind treatment hadn't helped with the Warden (http:/Personal/Humor/Warden1.html)

It was then that the first phalanx of Grahamites burst into the clearing.

Slack jawed and vacant eyed, chanting "Jesus Loves You!", they swarmed into our Encampment with sharp-edged crucifixes swinging. We were caught unaware, unprepared. We were outnumbered already, a thousand to one, and from the horrible sounds in the Forest beyond, seemingly all of Christnet had descended upon us.

I saw atheists torn apart like bales of hay and scattered upon the virtual grass of our meadow. Fortunately, my Great Sword was at hand, so I was able to defend myself at once, as were several of us who always keep their weapons close.

But the onslaught continued. Behind the Grahamites were Liddites, pinch mouthed and tightly corsetted, screaming "Foul! Pornographers! Foul!" as they pressed their way into the fray. Behind them was a contingent of Farwellites, somewhat confused as they always are, but still wreaking havoc and destruction.

My Sword tasted the blood of many a theist in that first rush, I'll tell you. The blood ran thick, and it was hard to keep my footing, but I was possessed of a fury such as I have never known before, and hope never to know again. I struck, and slashed, and struck again. Theists fell before me like dandelions in the path of a mower. Though the number slain was beyond my counting, my arm never tired, and my rage just consumed me, driving me on and on through their ranks.

And then game the massive Engines of Destruction. The first I saw was an Argument From Design, looming above the virtual treetops, lumbering along like some large ship tossed by unseen waves. As it broke into the clearing, I could see that it was propelled by legions of Fundies, and that behind it was yet another terrible Engine, this one a First Cause, surrounded by eager Dualists flanked by dozens of Jesus Freaks.

And from the North was approaching the most awful sight to behold: a fully equipped Pascal's Wager, spewing Death and Destruction from above upon the hapless atheists in its path.

I was backed against a tree, surrounded by a group of Robertson's. They hesitated to move too close, lest my Sword nip at their necks. The sounds of the battle raged about us, and suddenly the Robertson's broke ranks, and parted to open up a way, and I saw walking toward me a creature of such vile description that its memory still torments my dreams to this day.

Filthy it was, with yellow teeth, and spittle dripping from its chin. Indeterminate stains on its ragged clothes, foul of breath, and terrible to behold, it lurched toward me.

I knew immediately that this was the dreaded Br*c* creature. What else could it be? Virtual birds, had the battle not already driven them away, would have choked in mid note if their gaze happened upon this monster.

"Hello, Tony", it wheezed, and broke into spasmodic laughter as the words escaped its tongue.

This is all that I remember of that fateful day. I awoke in another clearing, sorely wounded, being ministered to by my dear Wife, whose tears of joy at my first muttered words told me how close to Death I had been. I pressed her for news of the Encampment, for word of BAAWA, of EAC, but she bade me rest and not think of such things. And though I have asked her again and again for news of my loyal comrades, her lips have remained sealed, and she has kept me abed these many months and years.

But now my wounds have healed. I have been practising with my Great Sword, and though my arm is not what it used to be, I feel I can hold my own again. So I have returned to the Encampment of the Evil Atheists, and stand ready to do my part in the on-going battles.