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<h1>{{PAGENAME}}</h1>
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<h3>by Bruinhilda</h3><br>
<h4>Rated: Unrated</h4></center><br>
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<poem>
 
Gordon Bennett sat in his office, pawing through sacks of fan
<hr><br><br>
mail. Normally, most messages were electronic, and could be called up
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on a computer terminal. However, the respose to the "Ranger Danger"
<!--  PERMISSION DERIVED FROM: GRCD
series was huge. Much more than anyone expected.
      YES or PERM comes from messaging and\or email.  RB has attempted to keep track of this.
        The computer server had overloaded two weeks ago. The computer
      GRCD1 or RANGER-L derives from posting or inclusion within the fan community.
couldn't accept any more messages, but the fans had refused to let this
      Archive.org, OoOCities.org, etc derived from rescuing material that was publically available and has fallen to the archives as the original website has gone away.  BetaMountain is attempting to provide a collective archive of material.
stop them. They simply used older mailing techniques, resulting in
      *********** IF THERE ARE ANY DISPUTES ON THE ABOVE OR CHANGES REQUESTED PLEASE CONTACT RB DIRECTLY WITH DETAILS ********
sacks of data chips, letter disks, and actual paper mail, some of it
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*handwritten*. Bennett hadn't seen handwriting since he left grade
<poem style="border: 2px solid #d6d2c5; background-color: #f9f4e6; padding: 1em; font-family:verdana;"><p style="text-align: justify;">Gordon Bennett sat in his office, pawing through sacks of fan&nbsp;mail. Normally, most messages were electronic, and could be called up&nbsp;on a computer terminal. However, the respose to the "Ranger Danger"&nbsp;series was huge. Much more than anyone expected.</p>
school, and paper mail had gone out of style over 50 years ago. He had
<p style="text-align: justify;"><br /> The computer server had overloaded two weeks ago. The computer&nbsp;couldn't accept any more messages, but the fans had refused to let this&nbsp;stop them. They simply used older mailing techniques, resulting in&nbsp;sacks of data chips, letter disks, and actual paper mail, some of it&nbsp;*handwritten*. Bennett hadn't seen handwriting since he left grade&nbsp;school, and paper mail had gone out of style over 50 years ago. He had&nbsp;never expected to see a traditional letter, much less several hundred of&nbsp;them.&nbsp;&nbsp;Of couse, it could be worse. One smartass, apparently miffed at&nbsp;having to do this the old-fashioned way, had sent in a baked clay&nbsp;tablet.&nbsp;</p>
never expected to see a traditional letter, much less several hundred of
<p style="text-align: justify;">He was busy trying to decipher a letter with handwriting that&nbsp;seemed to be in shaky Japanese, and failed to hear the knock on his&nbsp;door. His secretary poked her head in.</p>
them.
<p style="text-align: justify;"><br /> "Mr. Bennett? Sir?"</p>
        Of couse, it could be worse. One smartass, apparently miffed at
<p style="text-align: justify;"><br /> "Hmmm...?" He glanced up, and blinked confusedly. "Oh, Carol.&nbsp;Yes, what is it?"</p>
having to do this the old-fashioned way, had sent in a baked clay
<p style="text-align: justify;">Carol walked in, shutting the door behind her.</p>
tablet.
<p style="text-align: justify;"><br /> "Um, you've got some more fan mail out here. What should I do&nbsp;with it?"</p>
        He was busy trying to decipher a letter with handwriting that
<p style="text-align: justify;"><br /> "Just put it on the table with the rest of it."</p>
seemed to be in shaky Japanese, and failed to hear the knock on his
<p style="text-align: justify;"><br /> She cast a critical eye over the pile. "I don't think it will&nbsp;fit."</p>
door. His secretary poked her head in.
<p style="text-align: justify;"><br /> "Well then, just dump the excess on the floor! It can't be&nbsp;*that* much."</p>
        "Mr. Bennett? Sir?"
<p style="text-align: justify;"><br /> "Sir, are you *sure*?"</p>
        "Hmmm...?" He glanced up, and blinked confusedly. "Oh, Carol.
<p style="text-align: justify;"><br /> "Oh, for God's sake Carol, just bring it in!" He was getting&nbsp;annoyed.</p>
Yes, what is it?" Carol walked in, shutting the door behind her.
<p style="text-align: justify;"><br /> She shrugged. "Whatever you say, sir." She turned and opened&nbsp;the door. "Okay boys, you can bring it in!"</p>
        "Um, you've got some more fan mail out here. What should I do
<p style="text-align: justify;">Fifteen burly men marched in, carrying overflowing crates that&nbsp;dropped disks and other letters with every bump. Two of the movers&nbsp;towed an anti-grav lift, with even more crates.&nbsp;As Bennett sat staring in open-mouthed shock, they stacked the&nbsp;crates wherever they could find space, and exited with snickers.&nbsp;</p>
with it?"
<p style="text-align: justify;">"I think I'll take an early lunch, boss. See you." Carol&nbsp;followed the movers out, leaving a stammering Bennett in the overflowing&nbsp;office.</p>
        "Just put it on the table with the rest of it."
<p style="text-align: justify;"><br /> "Wha, wha, what?" It took him a few minutes to regain his&nbsp;voice. "What the hell is all this?!" He stumbled over to the crates.&nbsp;&nbsp;Every single one was stamped "Property of BETA Mountain".&nbsp;&nbsp;He whacked his leg on one left near his desk. Looking down, he&nbsp;noticed that under "contents listed", someone had typed "Hate Mail".&nbsp; Shaking his head, he staggered over to the largest pile, which&nbsp;was stacked near the door.</p>
        She cast a critical eye over the pile. "I don't think it will
<p style="text-align: justify;">The contents on these read "Fan Mail, reply&nbsp;to: [email protected]"&nbsp;</p>
fit."
<p style="text-align: justify;">Faced with all this, he did the only sensible thing he could do.&nbsp;He fainted, knocking over the table, which buried him under a drift of&nbsp;envelopes....</p></poem>
        "Well then, just dump the excess on the floor! It can't be
 
*that* much."
<!-- FOOTER START -->
        "Sir, are you *sure*?"
[[Category:Fanfic]]
        "Oh, for God's sake Carol, just bring it in!" He was getting
annoyed.
        She shrugged. "Whatever you say, sir." She turned and opened
the door. "Okay boys, you can bring it in!"
        Fifteen burly men marched in, carrying overflowing crates that
dropped disks and other letters with every bump. Two of the movers
towed an anti-grav lift, with even more crates.
        As Bennett sat staring in open-mouthed shock, they stacked the
crates wherever they could find space, and exited with snickers.
        "I think I'll take an early lunch, boss. See you." Carol
followed the movers out, leaving a stammering Bennett in the overflowing
office.
        "Wha, wha, what?" It took him a few minutes to regain his
voice. "What the hell is all this?!" He stumbled over to the crates.
Every single one was stamped "Property of BETA Mountain".
        He whacked his leg on one left near his desk. Looking down, he
noticed that under "contents listed", someone had typed "Hate Mail".
        Shaking his head, he staggered over to the largest pile, which
was stacked near the door. The contents on these read "Fan Mail, reply
        Faced with all this, he did the only sensible thing he could do.
He fainted, knocking over the table, which buried him under a drift of
envelopes....
</poem>
[[Category:Cleanup-Format]]
[[Category:GRCD1]]
[[Category:Fanfic-Unrated]]
[[Category:Fanfic-Unrated]]
[[Category:Fanfic-Bruinhilda]]
[[Category:Fanfic-Bruinhilda]]
[[Category:Fanfic]]
[[Category:GRCD1]]
 
 
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[[Category:Gordon Bennett-OC]]
[[Category:Buzzwang-Fanfic]]

Latest revision as of 10:04, 23 August 2020



Fan Mail

by Bruinhilda


Rated: Unrated





Gordon Bennett sat in his office, pawing through sacks of fan mail. Normally, most messages were electronic, and could be called up on a computer terminal. However, the respose to the "Ranger Danger" series was huge. Much more than anyone expected.



The computer server had overloaded two weeks ago. The computer couldn't accept any more messages, but the fans had refused to let this stop them. They simply used older mailing techniques, resulting in sacks of data chips, letter disks, and actual paper mail, some of it *handwritten*. Bennett hadn't seen handwriting since he left grade school, and paper mail had gone out of style over 50 years ago. He had never expected to see a traditional letter, much less several hundred of them.  Of couse, it could be worse. One smartass, apparently miffed at having to do this the old-fashioned way, had sent in a baked clay tablet. 


He was busy trying to decipher a letter with handwriting that seemed to be in shaky Japanese, and failed to hear the knock on his door. His secretary poked her head in.



"Mr. Bennett? Sir?"



"Hmmm...?" He glanced up, and blinked confusedly. "Oh, Carol. Yes, what is it?"


Carol walked in, shutting the door behind her.



"Um, you've got some more fan mail out here. What should I do with it?"



"Just put it on the table with the rest of it."



She cast a critical eye over the pile. "I don't think it will fit."



"Well then, just dump the excess on the floor! It can't be *that* much."



"Sir, are you *sure*?"



"Oh, for God's sake Carol, just bring it in!" He was getting annoyed.



She shrugged. "Whatever you say, sir." She turned and opened the door. "Okay boys, you can bring it in!"


Fifteen burly men marched in, carrying overflowing crates that dropped disks and other letters with every bump. Two of the movers towed an anti-grav lift, with even more crates. As Bennett sat staring in open-mouthed shock, they stacked the crates wherever they could find space, and exited with snickers. 


"I think I'll take an early lunch, boss. See you." Carol followed the movers out, leaving a stammering Bennett in the overflowing office.



"Wha, wha, what?" It took him a few minutes to regain his voice. "What the hell is all this?!" He stumbled over to the crates.  Every single one was stamped "Property of BETA Mountain".  He whacked his leg on one left near his desk. Looking down, he noticed that under "contents listed", someone had typed "Hate Mail".  Shaking his head, he staggered over to the largest pile, which was stacked near the door.


The contents on these read "Fan Mail, reply to: [email protected]" 


Faced with all this, he did the only sensible thing he could do. He fainted, knocking over the table, which buried him under a drift of envelopes....

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