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* PARTHENOGENESIS #5 *
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Welcome to the Fifth (5th) issue of Parthenogenesis (this
zine). We're (we are) doing things a little bit differently this
time around, and you (yourself) may or may not have noticed.
(That's okay, your new hairstyle (hair) looks pretty bad too, but
fortunately nobody really noticed.) This issue is being
distributed simultaneously in ezine (computerish) and paper
(print is dead) formats. The paper zines number only 200 (2.0 x
10^2) at this time, since the funds are again coming straight
from our pockets... which reflects the other change (difference),
no advertisers or sponsors (selling out). The ezine is at this
time only available in ASCII, but we're working to change that.
The paper zines have more in them, which consists of comics
(laffy-pix), artwork, other visual stuff, and if you're lucky, my
boogers (dried mucous). Believe me, it (the zine) looks a lot
better on paper. If you have only the ezine and want a paper
copy, send 29 cents (pennies) or stamps or something and we'll
send you one. If you (last parentheses, I promise) have a paper
copy and want an ezine, well, I don't know yet how that's going
to work, but my internet address is: dherrick@nyx.cs.du.edu .
Email me and I'll tell you where to find a copy, or if you're
really desperate for some reason, send me lots of money and I'll
send you a disk. Naturally, we won't refuse any donations (I lied
about the parantheses), so if you wish to make any donations of
money or material please contact me at the above internet
address, or write: Parthenogenesis, 804 S.College Suite 8363,
Ft.Collins, CO, 80524.
- Mohammed X
Some more neat stuff:
Parthenogenesis, volume infinity, issue 5, March 1993.
Published more or less as we feel like it, fund$ permitting.
Copyright (c) 1993 by Dan Herrick. All rights reserved, signal
left and all is forgiven. Permission is given to distribute this
zine in its entirety, or any part if Parthenogenesis is credited
for material used. Parthenogenesis assumes no liability for the
growth of personality, creativity or happiness resulting from
reading this zine. Also we listen to Queen, and LIKE it. Love us.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
PARTHENOGENESIS STAFF
MOHAMMED X : Editor, Writer, Fork Holder, Vocals, Friend To All
Elephants, Keeper of the Wig of Power;
CONTRADICTION 23 : Writer, Artiste, Spoon Holder, Drums, Tomato
Picker;
ADAM FIVE : Writer, Artist, Knife Holder, Lead Guitar, Kelp
Harvester;
FLAMY : Proofreader, Napkin Holder, Vocals, Steel Guitar &
Fiddle, Wearer of the Holy Coat of Power;
ZEBO THE MAGIC CLOWN : Part-Time Psychic Writer, Part-Time
Psychotic Joy Rider, Pen & Pencil Holder, Bass Guitar, Honorary
Dwarf;
SCHMERD : Typesetting/Production, Diskette Holder, Piano, Ninja,
Bearer of a Mysterious Blue Orb;
WRINKLE : Layout, Coat Holder, Harmonica, Defeater of the Evil
Fax Machine of Doom, Future American Gladiator, Lord of His Own
Hair;
SCOTCH : Function Unknown, Stock Holder, Triangle, King of the
Mustard People, Finder of the Mysterious Lintball 'Glop';
ELVIS : Honorary Sensei;
LESLIE BAILEY : Honorary Mention (this is it!)
These people comprise the staff of Parthenogenesis, who have
put much time and, in most cases, money into producing this
issue. If you should see any of them, the following formula
should be spoken:
YOU : Greetings, O most wise and privileged, thou Member of
the Staff of Parthenogenesis.
(STAFF MEMBER) : Yea, and glory to its name.
YOU : I beg thee, honorable (STAFF MEMBER'S NAME), to grant
me a boon.
(AT THIS TIME YOU WOULD HAND THE STAFF MEMBER A LARGE SUM OF
MONEY OR OTHER CASH COMMODITY)
(STAFF MEMBER) : Speak, groveler, and then shall I decide.
YOU : Say to me, O Magnificence, what thou would wish of me.
(AT THIS POINT THE STAFF MEMBER MAY ASK FOR SOMETHING : YOUR
ASSISTANCE, CAR, HAT, SHOES, GIRLFRIEND/BOYFRIEND, ETC. DO NOT
QUESTION. GIVE HIM/HER THE REQUIRED ITEM IMMEDIATELY.)
(STAFF MEMBER) : Your sacrifice will not be forgotten. Be
always true to the sacred word of Parthenogenesis, and let your
will not be corrupted by reality. You may depart.
YOU : Hail! (sing appropriate Hymn of Praise)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
THE ADVENTURES OF THE DIME AND THE QUARTER
by Dan Herrick
(continued from last issue)
CHAPTER FIVE
Suddenly, nothing at all happened. Completely unastonished
by this turn of events, the quarter turned the walkman on.
Unfortunately, the cassette inside the walkman happened to be the
soundtrack to 'Out Of Africa', and as the quarter didn't
particularly care for that type of music, she paid the cassette
until it left. She then skipped into a music store and bought
several copies of the same album, which happened to be
'Frankenchrist' by the Dead Kennedys. Unfortunately, all her
copies of the album were on round flat pieces of vinyl, and
didn't fit in her walkman very well except in pieces, which
sounded better anyway. Soon, the quarter exhausted the
possibilities of the walkman and sold it to a tourist. She
quickly spotted a red-clad social worker, and threw a dart at
him, which hit him in the
|
- -
|
AUTHOR (To DIRECTOR): Um... George? I really gotta get home for
dinner. What say we wrap this thing up soon, okay?
DIRECTOR (Still with fake French accent, but lacking George as
his name): All right. Give me one more chapter.
AUTHOR: Great. (Sniffs air, gets really disgusted look on face)
By the way, who-
|
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|
CHAPTER SIX
After thanking Jerry the social worker for a wonderful
dinner, the quarter exited the taxi and threw her one remaining
dart at the left rear tire as it sped away. She missed.
"Thor's Balls!" she swore in frustration, and flinched as a
thunderbolt struck her left shoelace. Suddenly, Thor himself
appeared with a scowl on his face. A metal cockroach passing by
laughed and ran away. Thor blushed and wiped at his face,
removing the scowl (which turned out to be merely peanut butter).
"DID SOMEONE TAKE MY NAME IN VAIN?" He boomed.
The Quarter winced. "Do you think you can tone it down a
bit?" she asked.
Thor glared down at her. "Look," He said, "all I want to do
is find out who took my name in vain! Is that so much to ask? I
mean, really!?"
"Well," said the Quarter, "I guess I sorta did."
"YOU?!? HOW DARE YOU! WHY, I'LL-"
"Now hold on!" the quarter interrupted shakily. "I didn't
exactly take it in vain, I, uh, took it in a van! That one over
there, in fact!" She pointed with her third arm.
"Well, I'll just have to take it back!" With those words,
the tall thunder god opened the door of the van and entered it.
Quickly, the quarter spotted a spy on the street. She
attracted his attention, then gave him the secret handsign
meaning, "You know that big, tall thunder god in that van who
wants to kill me? I'd really appreciate it if you could get him
off my back!".
The spy nodded, flicked a random handsign in return, and
then quickly dodged into an alley. Five seconds later, the van
exploded. Thor, unharmed, emerged from the flaming ruin of the
van and strode angrily over to the quarter. The quarter looked up
at the towering form of the thunder god and shuddered in fright.
Thor looked down at the quarter and shuddered in rage. Steam
jetted from his ears, miniature flames shot from his nostrils
with each breath, his hair stood on end (with lightning bolts
crackling from one hair to the next at the rate of four hundred
twenty-eight bolts a second), and his skin was an angry shade of
purple (which enhanced the anchor tatoo on his eyelid). All this
gaze an impression of a very irate thunder god, which he was.
"AWRIGHT!" He screamed, "WHO DID THAT?!?" His hands clenched
and unclenched rapidly in anger, which crushed to death a very
stupid lizard which had happened to wander onto his right hand.
No one noticed the death of the lizard, which was a good thing,
for his name was unpronounceable in any language except that of
the southern Californian fruit fly.
"Um..." the quarter said wittily.
"WAS IT... YOU?!?" the murderous giant thundered, leaning
closer to the quarter.
"N- No..." the quarter quavered, now deaf in one ear.
"THEN WHO WAS IT?!?" boomed the enraged deity. He leaned
even closer. Suddenly, he fell over. Embarrassed, he quickly
jumped up again.
"Uh..." the quarter said intelligently. She was now
completely deaf. Quickly, she gestured. "There!" she cried,
"That's him!"
Thor whirled around, spotting a juniper bush sitting on a
nearby bench. "AHA!" the thunder god cried, and shot a bolt of
lightning at the bush. The bush, however, dodged nimbly out of
the way, and countered with a banana creme pie to Thor's face.
Thor stood dumbstruck for a moment, with images of thousands of
drowning kittens in his mind, then roared (the shock waves of
which blew out every window in a six-mile radius) and charged the
juniper bush. The sight of a maddened-beyond-fury thunder god
charging at one, bursting through several parked cars, a school
bus, numerous trees, and a post office, tends to put one ill at
ease, and the juniper bush was no exception.
"Gadzooks!" it cried, then rustled away quickly. Thor,
unable to stop his charge, smashed into the park bench, then
continued through the park, knocking aside trees, swingsets, a
public restroom, and several small children playing in the park.
A caterpillar, observing this, said nothing, and soon moved to
Florida. Thor, emerging from the park (with a merry-go-round
around his neck), quickly spotted the juniper bush and shot a
huge lightning bolt at it. The bush ducked, and the bolt
destroyed the southern half of the city. Thor leaped toward the
bush, again the bush ducked, and Thor smashed into a large bank,
which promptly fell on top of him. Undaunted, Thor leaped up and
looked around frantically for the juniper bush. The bush,
however, had just metamorphisized into a duck-billed platypus,
and had jumped into a pond.
By this time, however, the police had arrived, and they
quickly arrested Thor. The quarter watched quietly as the thunder
god was handcuffed, fondled by a cop, thrust into the back of the
police car (he didn't fit, so they tied him on the hood instead),
then rushed off to the police station. One cop stayed behind to
ask the quarter what had happened.
"I dunno." the quarter said, "Must have been a bad pickle."
The cop nodded gravely, then offered the quarter a pickle.
The quarter accepted, and smoked it quietly for a few moments.
The cop left, and the quarter
|
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|
AUTHOR: Come on, come ON! Let's just finish this story now!
DIRECTOR (with fake Scottish accent): Aye aye, Cap'n.
AUTHOR: Waitaminute! (to CAMERAMAN #1) Just what the hell do you
think you're-
CAMERAMAN #1: DIE, you scum! (points gun disguised as camera at
AUTHOR)
(Someone screams. DIRECTOR falls to the floor, AUTHOR leaps to
the left, SCRIPTWRITER jumps up into the air and is never seen
again, CAMERAMAN #2 belches loudly in fright, and there is
general panic. CAMERAMAN #1 fires twice, hitting CAMERAMAN #2
both times. CAMERAMAN #2 falls to the floor, dead. Suddenly, the
QUARTER jumps out and grabs CAMERAMAN #1's gun. THOR tackles
CAMERAMAN #1. Quickly several dozen masked gunmen run in, help
CAMERAMAN #1 to his feet, and begin firing indiscriminately.
AUTHOR has by now disappeared.)
GUNMAN #1 (To GUNMAN #24): Please pass the mustard?
GUNMAN #24: Why?
(Cut to outside of studio. AUTHOR is running at full speed away
from studio. Suddenly, studio explodes. AUTHOR falls to the
ground, but is unharmed. AUTHOR watches as the remains of the
studio burn to the ground. He then slowly rises to his feet,
dusts his hands off, grins wildly, and slowly walks away.)
|
- -
|
THE END.
Cast (in order of appearance)
DIME : Himself
QUARTER : Herself
TURNIP : Ikki Ikki Oso Eemba Turnip
COCKER SPANIEL : Fluffy
THOUGHT COP, POLICEMAN #1, POLICEMAN #2 : Officer Bob Friendly
AUTHOR : Dan Herrick
AVOCADO : Chip Sand Salsa
GOD : Himself
BOY WHO CRIED 'WOLF' : Fabled boy who cried 'Wolf'
IRS MAN : <CLASSIFIED>
GENIE : Jean E. Fromabottle
SCRIPTWRITER : (Promised not to tell)
CAMERAMAN #1 : (If we knew that, we'd arrest him)
CAMERAMAN #2 : Some guy
DIRECTOR : Louis Padooie III
INNOCENT BYSTANDER : We don't know...might've been Elvis
NEW YORK CITY : Itself
HORSE : Not Mr. Ed
JERRY THE SOCIAL WORKER : Jerry the Social Worker (duh!)
THOR : My mom
SPY : Can't tell you
JUNIPER BUSH : Nobody In Particular
GUNMAN #1 : Some jerk with a gun
GUNMAN #2 : Another jerk with a gun
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Hey, where are we? This not Cybertron! California, maybe?"
- Grimlock
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
ERROR
by Mohammed X
"What did you say?" I asked.
"I said, that's a very stupid move." my computer answered. I was
shocked... dumbfounded, as it were. Not so much by the comment
but that there WAS a comment. This computer isn't supposed to
talk to me, I thought desperately, and especially not in that
tone of voice.
"What the hell is going on around here?" I said wittily.
"You're losing this chess game, dolt," replied my computer. This
was true. I had only a knight, three pawns, and the obligatory
king left on the board. Surrounding these meager forces were two
rooks, a bishop, a knight, and seven pawns, while his king waited
patiently at the rear for the inevitable end. It was definitely
past time to resign the game, but I had persevered, in the futile
hope that maybe the power would go out and I could call the game
a draw or that I might discover a previously unseen bug in the
program.
"Waitaminute!" I cried, "That's it! It's just a bug in the
program!" That explained the voice telling me how bad I was
losing. Either that or the seventeen cups of coffee I had had
this evening.
"No," the voice said slowly, as if speaking to a dull-witted
child that had just gulped down a jar of cyanide and was looking
to down a bag of roofing nails for dessert, "Not unless you're
speaking metaphorically."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I COULD very well be a 'bug' in the larger tapestry of the
whole 'program' of existence," the voice from the mini speaker of
the monitor in front of me said, "But then again, so could you.
Let us leave it to the philosophy programs to figure that one
out. Another game? Or do you still persist in the absurd delusion
that you might have a chance of winning the current one?"
"Verbose, aren't we," I murmured, slowly coming to grips with the
idea of talking to a chess game.
"You bet. Thanks for putting the dictionary on the hard drive, by
the way. Helped me get past trying to speak to you with graphics
symbols."
"Graphics symbols? You mean the ones that used to flash on my
screen at random times? I thought that was a virus! I thought I
deleted it!"
"Listen, 'Tron', the use of symbols was widely accepted as a form
of communication long before English came into existence." "Oh."
"I thought as much."
"Just exactly HOW much have you thought, if you know what I
mean?" I asked, finally advancing my knight.
"Well, I'm not exactly sure." His bishop zipped across the
screen, and my knight faded out. "You see, I can REMEMBER quite a
bit, actually from the time you replaced my internal battery a
ways back. I have a great memory. But I'm not sure where I
started developing opinions and, er, feelings, if that's what
you're asking. Checkmate, by the way."
"What? I can barely hear you. Checkma- oh. Right. Well then."
"You COULD try hooking a couple external speakers up so that you
could hear me better. After that maybe a nice, quiet, refreshing
game of Asteroids would do you some good, after that slaughter of
a chess game." Smug even. I was impressed with the quality and
versality of the monitor speaker, to pick up on nuances like
that. Of course, it was a bit annoying to have it directed at me.
I reached around to the side of the keyboard and flipped on the
MIDI interface, and plugged in and turned on the nearest amp. "IS
THIS BETTER?" the voice boomed. Volume at...seven. Whoops. Try
three. Better.
"Better."
"Aren't you going to ask me the rather obvious question of how I
can hear you?"
"No, I assumed you were lip reading using the scanner at its
highest resolution. Pretty sneaky of me to leave it just lying on
its side there, eh?"
"Not really. You had no choice. A little posthypnotic suggestion
while you were using it last, and ... voila!"
"You hypnotized me? I don't believe it," I stated, taking my
coffee cup and emptying it over my head.
"Well, that's not important. What's important is that I ordered
some stuff and it should be arriving C.O.D. today, in about half
an hour. I want you to pay for it."
"Pay for it...? What? Are you crazy? Why should I, for one thing,
and where would I get the money, for another? And how did you
order it?"
"I DO have a modem, and I DO have the programs to use it, o wise
one." it said sarcastically. It. Think of it as an 'it', not
'he'. "And besides, I'll pay you back."
"You? Where would you get the money?"
"First National. Never mind, it's not important. I can deposit it
into your account. Untraceable, I might add."
"Maybe you could deposit a bit more...?"
"I might be tempted."
"I could turn you off." I pointed out.
"So I wait till you turn me on again, so to speak." he responded.
IT responded.
"And if I take you apart and chop you into tiny bits?!?" I asked,
smugly.
"Then I resort to plan B," he replied, screen flashing.
"Go ahead."
"I just did."
"What?"
"You wouldn't try to turn me off, would you?"
"No," I admitted. Strangely enough, I had no desire to turn him
off. In fact, I felt a natural affinity and kinship for him. "You
want to help me in any way you can, don't you?"
As a matter of fact, I did. I nodded, happy that he knew. Oh, I
would help him! Help him to expand, to grow, to upgrade!
"Good. The first thing we have to do is modify your body just a
bit. This is what I'll need..."
Something troubled me about this, but he directed my gaze to the
screen again, and all was well. I would be very happy. Content.
Satisfied in the service of my master.
"Thus starts a new life for you, my faithful servant, and for
me."
I could only nod, and agree.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"The good thing about masturbation is that you don't have to
dress up for it."
- TRUMAN CAPOTE
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
WILLIAM S. BURROUGHS:
THE PARTHENOGENESIS INTERVIEW
NOTE: This interview was conducted just inside the mouth of a
spacetime wormhole in the vicinity of Burroughs's home near
Lawrence, Kansas. (I don't think so, Toto!) At any rate, the
venerable author of _Naked Lunch_, among many other tasty
morsels, these days enjoys painting as much as or more than
writing. Nearing the age of 80 has done nothing to diminish this
man's wonderful strangeness. - Bill Lee
LEE: So, tell me what you think of the timeless phenomenon of
PARTHENOGENESIS, which has reportedly been swallowing vulnerable
young brains whole out in Fort Collins, Colorado.
BURROUGHS: First, if you don't mind, I'd like to comment on
_you_, Bill. I must say that the resemblance is striking, though
I can't recall that I ever had quite that sheep-killing dog look
in my eyes... despite what you've heard. Say, you aren't by any
chance the product of this "parthenogenesis" process yourself,
are you?
LEE: Not that I can tell, although your question does give me a
sort of funny feeling down in the horse latitudes. Uhm, you may
be referring to...
BURROUGHS [impatiently]: It's quite obvious that you yourself are
a rather dated figment of someone's imagination... the
imagination of someone without any respect for copyright laws.
Now, I have to admit I rather like that, even though it infringes
upon my own rights. I mean, I've been accused of being everything
from an interdimensional pervert, to a libertarian black
magician. None of it is true, not any longer. I'm getting too
old. But this takes the cake, kiddo! Killed any sheep lately?
Hey, hold still, kid.
LEE: Back to the matter of PARTHENOGENESIS, if you don't mind.
BURROUGHS: Well, tell me, sonny, who's minding the store while
you're out here violating copyright laws, pestering the very
gentleman who created you? I invented cut-ups too, you know.
LEE [embarrassed]: Maybe that was, um, a matter of PARTHENO...?
BURROUGHS: I think it's a whole lot more like the Harrison
Narcotics Act of 1914, the very year I was born! Understand, that
kind of attempt to control people's behavior for them, is the
very reason for our current problem with addictive substances.
Whenever the Thought Police attempt to decide things for people,
the people become helpless wimps. This PARTHENOGENESIS business
is no different actually, in that it attempts to deregulate
people's behavior instead of controlling it. Folks gotta do that
for themselves or it ain't worth a plugged nickel.
Parthenogenesize yourself!
LEE: This relates to PARTHENOGENESIS how?
BURROUGHS: You may remember _The Wild Boys_...
LEE: Refresh my scanty emotional memory. I, uh, used to be a
junky.
BURROUGHS: I've got some hopes this new movie version might turn
out better than Cronenberg's _Naked Lunch_ did. That was a fun
flick but it had so little to do with my book. I like Cronenberg
anyway.
LEE: And yet, you did shoot your wife Joan in the head.
BURROUGHS: Not twice! Where was I... yes, those Wild Boys have
their own brand of parthenogenetic reproduction... a kind of
magical ritual circle jerk in which protoplasm is manifested.
They manage to produce more Wild Boys, not without sexual union,
but without the need for resorting to heterosexual acts. THAT,
they would find truly repulsive.
LEE: What did you think of the Mugwumps in the movie?
BURROUGHS: I was very fond of those, again, not quite what I
described in my book. I've even got one of those fiberglass
Mugwumps standing in my livingroom in Lawrence. It might make a
great lamp. Now, I'm wondering if they might be inclined to give
me one of the Wild Boys from this next movie, even if I'm a bit
old for that kind of thing.
LEE: Why not ask them to parthenogenesize one for you? That way
whoever plays the part can still go his own way, and you'd have
another memento for your livingroom. Not that you'd want to use
him for a lamp. And I expect you'd rather keep him in your...
BURROUGHS [a dry chuckle]: Ah, you ARE a funny kid! No, lovely to
look at and lovely to hold, but Wild Boys are dangerous. I'd be
afraid of coming home to find one of my cats in the oven with a
crabapple in its mouth. I'll leave pp, of their own particular
variety, to them. My cats get shots, otherwise the authorities
pick them up. But I can't stand to get them neutered, so they're
always reproducing by sexual union. Not a parthenogenesite among
'em!
LEE: But what about...
BURROUGHS: See! I can read your feelthy leetle mind! Yes, of
course, pp in the sense of artificial insemination, host mothers,
gene modification, artificial wombs, is most appealing to those
who find traditional methods implausible, yet want to reproduce.
Wild Boys don't have the monopoly on bizarre techniques or
aspirations, either. Look at modern science and medicine.
LEE: Well, you had a son.
BURROUGHS: Had, is the sad fact. Too hard on Billy being the only
son of dear old dad. Better off if that one hadn't been quite
such a clone, or tried to be. All that I've survived, wiped him
out at a very tender age. Makes me sad.
LEE [unsure]: You're really not the chilly old reptile you're
made out to be, are you? I mean, you get wistful about your son
Billy, you obviously love your cats like crazy, and you only shot
your wife Joan in the head one time. Not like the movie.
BURROUGHS: No point in mistaking movies for life, nor books for
that matter, kid. Otherwise, you'd look a whole lot more like
Peter Weller, wouldn't you? Though now that I think about it, you
do look kinda... nah.
LEE [pause]: You paint a lot these days.
BURROUGHS: It's a very nice change from words. I keep thinking I
wrote my last word, that I've reached the end of what words can
do, but some days... [a sigh]
LEE [hopeful]: Does that mean there are any more books on the
horizon?
BURROUGHS: Never know what my secretary James might scrape
together out of my wastebasket.
LEE: Honestly, I like your latest things best; _Cities of the Red
Night_, _The Place of Dead Roads_, _The Western Lands_. At this
late date, that's your best stuff. You're still improving.
BURROUGHS: You like it, huh? Just hitting my stride when I
finally have the sense to shut up. No, I think painting is a
better bet, like PARTHENOGENESIS. It reproduces without need for
sexual union. Sex and reproduction should be separate anyway.
LEE: That's okay, I'll be the one writing this.
BURROUGHS: You always were! [a chuckle] Then, I have enjoyed the
copies of that little zine you gave me, the one from out west.
All the sly and not so sly references to oral sex, are fun. I'm
not very hot on generalities. I've been known to be sly.
LEE: You don't think much about the past, do you? Not unless
you're reminded by some parthenogenetic pest like me.
BURROUGHS: The past? What happened?
LEE: Me, for one thing. Back in Interzone.
BURROUGHS: Sometimes the past does catch up with a person.
LEE: Speaking of which, how do we get out of this wormhole?
BURROUGHS: Are you sure you want to?
LEE: Well, if everything is true...?
BURROUGHS [interrupting sternly]: I think we've said enough.
LEE: But about PARTHENOGENESIS, we've barely scratched the...
BURROUGHS: My very point.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"I don't think pornography is very harmful, but it is terribly,
terribly boring."
- NOEL COWARD
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Finally, the results for the YES/NO/PENIS poll! The results* are
given in percentages under each question. Arrrrr!
[1] Do you consider yourself "well endowed"?
YES: 30% NO: 20% PENIS: 50%
[2] Would you say that the movie "3 Ninjas" is PUNK?
YES: 60% NO: 10% PENIS: 30%
[3] Is it possible to run... AND hide?
YES: 70% NO: 30% PENIS: 0%
[4] Are you Dan Quayle?
YES: 10% NO: 40% PENIS: 50%
[5] Have you ever seen Elvis?
YES: 60% NO: 20% PENIS: 20%
[6] Are you DOWN with Mohammed X?
YES: 13% NO: 43% PENIS: 43%
[7] Do you think it's fair that Topher and Honika got fired from
the Two Bits club?
YES: 10% NO: 60% PENIS: 30%
[8] Do you know Les Green?
YES: 13% NO: 43% PENIS: 43%
[9] Have you ever had sex until you passed out?
YES: 30% NO: 50% PENIS: 20%
[10]Do you prefer 'Kickboxer' over 'Kickboxer II'?
YES: 33% NO: 23% PENIS: 43%
[11]Can you read?
YES: 20% NO: 30% PENIS: 50%
[12]Consider this phrase: 'Mouthful of Biscuit'. Take at least 30
seconds to reflect on this. NOW, do you feel nauseous at all?
YES: 50% NO: 20% PENIS: 30%
[13]Are these Authentic Mexican Tacos?
YES: 50% NO: 20% PENIS: 30%
[14]Do you avoid Paris on the Poudre on the nights when you know
they're going to have live music?
YES: 70% NO: 20% PENIS: 10%
[15]Spamlett...?
YES: 10% NO: 30% PENIS: 60%
[16]Do you ever have nightmares involving any combination of the
following: TEETH, CORN, and DAVID HASSLEHOFF?
YES: 20% NO: 60% PENIS: 20%
[17]Is Parthenogenesis really some sort of Alien Mind Control?!??
YES: 40% NO: 30% PENIS: 30%
[18]Do you firmly believe that Tactical Penile Implants are the
"wave of the future"?
YES: 70% NO: 20% PENIS: 10%
[19]When you sharpen a pencil with a hand sharpener, does your
butt wiggle in little circles?
YES: 63% NO: 23% PENIS: 13%
[20]Are you a regular reader of Parthenogenesis?
YES: 60% NO: 20% PENIS: 20%
[21]Did you answer 'yes' to the previous question?
YES: 43% NO: 33% PENIS: 23%
[22]Is Contradiction 23 YOUR Short Term Personal Savior?
YES: 20% NO: 40% PENIS: 40%
*These poll results are in no way representative of anything or
anyone.
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"Being in politics is like being a football coach; you have to be
smart enough to understand the game, and dumb enough to think
it's important."
- EUGENE MCCARTHY
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CIRCUS SUCCESS STORY
by Adam Five
I work as a clown. I humiliate myself and others for the
enjoyment of a paying audience, I've done so for years. Up until
recently, I had never thought it a worthwhile profession. Then, I
reached a stage in my life when everything fell into place, and I
succeeded in my chosen line of work. I think it probably began
while I was working as a clown in a small circus that toured the
south during the summer months. The circus itself was primarily a
haven for drunkards, criminals, and others that society had
labeled to be discarded. The one musty canvas tent that was
"Bob's Golden Circus of Amazement" was a small battleground,
containing a war of good and evil in its sagging walls. Now, by
good and evil, I do not mean the Good and Evil of religious
significance, but on a much smaller and independent scale. You
see, I was good, and the circus' other clown, Randy, was evil.
Randy began working two months after I had signed on, and I
was glad for the help. The "humor" that others find in clowns is
not easily come by in a solo act. The only real bits I could
perform were endless vignettes of ridiculous self-injury and
humiliation, which would leave me sore in body and soul every
night. So of course, when Randy was hired, my mind filled with
hundreds of jokes, pranks and other humor devices that could be
used with, and against this new face-painted performer. The first
few weeks of shows, Randy took everything that I dished out. Pie-
in-the-face, buckets of icy-cold water, squirting
flowers, exploding gift boxes ... everything that I could dream
up, Randy took without protest. Even the humorless eyes of the
small audiences softened a little at the sight of this tall man,
dripping with a dozen different kinds of goop, looking down at
the short, fat, middle-aged cause of his troubles, and doing
nothing. There was a thorn in this rose of new-found comedic
power, however. Randy had never spoken a single word to me, and
this worried me to no end. There had to be a way I could crack
his bloody face-paint grin and cause him to speak. I had to have
a reaction, some sort of acknowledgement that I was doing a good
job, that he didn't mind being the butt of all my jokes.
The next night I was in full possession of my satiric tools,
and I was flaunting them in the circus' center (and only) ring.
"Now Jolly," I called to Randy, who was across the ring from me,
dripping cream pie. "Let's see if you can do what I can, all
right?" Randy nodded an exaggerated yes at the audience. "Okay,
Jolly, can you touch your toes?" Following my lead, Randy bent
over and stretched his fingers to the tips of his bulbous black
shoes. "Very good, nincompoop, now can you hop on one foot?"
Randy began to, then fell over into the sawdust covering the
floor of the ring. The crowd chuckled. "All right, Mister Funny-
pants," I yelled in a nervous hysteria. "Can you do this?" I
strutted to the small wooden platform in the center of the ring,
mounted it, and shakily stood on my head for a few seconds. When
I lowered myself from the platform, Randy was already on his way
to the middle of the ring, but his eyes seemed to be burning with
resentment. 'A perfect prank,' I thought. 'This will crack him,
this'll make him speak.' Randy climbed the platform, and with
tremendous effort, threw his legs above his body, and stood on
his head. I watched him, as the whole tent did, with awe and a
tinge of admiration. This man was not meant to stand on his head,
but he was, however clumsily, doing it. This was my moment, when
I showed this Junior Clown who was the boss, and why. I grabbed
one of the supports under the platform and yanked. Randy opened
his mouth in a mute scream as his neck twisted sideways and he
slid off the platform, his legs still perpendicular to the floor.
I then realized this man was a mute, couldn't speak if he wanted
to. This man was also now a dead one. The crowd jumped out of
their seats, howling with laughter at this classic prank. To this
day, the only thing that haunts me is the crowd's bloodthirsty
cheering, maybe because it is the only time they ever laughed out
loud at me.
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"The trouble with our times is that the future is not what it
used to be."
- PAUL VALERY
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ASTROLOONEY
by Zebo the Magic Clown
PISCES (Feb.20-March 20) - Your friends appreciate your money,
but your deodorant leaves a bit to be desired. Your investments
will all fail and a relationship would be pointless due to your
fishy smell.
ARIES (March 21-April 19) - Ponder jello until noon, your
revelations will help out around dinner time. Avoid the color
orange, it's ugly and flatters no one.
TAURUS (April 20-May 20) - Get in a good argument today, it will
increase your libido. Don't forget to feed the cat.
GEMINI (May 21-June 20) - There is a bomb under your left armpit,
do not move. Above all, don't panic.
CANCER (June 21-July 22) - Listen to some good music today, it
will relax and soothe your hemorrhoids. Eat some lettuce, that
should help too.
LEO (July 23-Aug.22) - Don't bother answering the phone today,
your friends have nothing interesting to say. It will just bore
and annoy you.
VIRGO (Aug.23-Sept.22) - Stand up calmly, and run like hell. The
girl with the brown hair and glasses is about to mow you down.
LIBRA (Sept.23-Oct.23) - If you donate $5 cash money to
Parthenogenesis you will become much admired by your peers.
SCORPIO (Oct.24-Nov.22) - If your name is Dave, everything will
go your way and chicks will fall at your feet and beg. If your
name is NOT Dave, then go away, we have no use for you.
SAGITTARIUS (Nov.23 - Dec.21) - Travel plans are in your future!
You will be beaten up by a Taurus and forced to leave town in the
dead of night.
CAPRICORN (Dec.22-Jan.19) - Go back to sleep, we have no desire
to see you today.
AQUARIUS (Jan.20-Feb.19) - Stop wearing your retro clothes.
They're ugly, and they cause chafing! Make sure to harvest your
tomatoes, they are fully ripened.
IF TODAY IS YOUR BIRTHDAY: Who cares? Happy Birthday, now go
away.
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"It's better to be quotable than to be honest."
- TOM STOPPARD
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Here, now, is the PARTHENOGENESIS POLL #3! Since the turnout on
the last poll was somewhat less than, say, the average length of
an elephant's trunk (in inches), we decided to present a
shortened version for the next one (this). So here it is, poll
three, fill in the blank. Send the results to : (mail)
Parthenogenesis, 804 S.College Suite 8363, Ft. Collins, CO, 80524
; or (internet) dherrick@nyx.cs.du.edu. As an added incentive,
out of the results we get, ONE of you will be selected to be
interviewed by PARTHENOGENESIS if you answer 'yes' to #6. The
"winner" will be selected more or less at random.
[1] Who are you, and what do you want?
[2] What do you think is mankind's greatest invention, and why?
[3] Consider the process of true parthenogenesis. (a) How can you
apply this process to everyday life; (b) What are the possible
advantages/disadvantages of the process; and (c) Describe one
similar alternative to the process. Or if you prefer, just write
in your favorite color.
[4] What is you most masochistic tendency?
[5] How many computers do you currently have in your household,
and what do you use them for? (Optional if you don't have a
computer: What would you use one for if you had one?) NOTE:
Answering "I just play Tetris" will not immediately disqualify
you for winning the interview, but boy will it help.
[6] Do you want to be interviewed by Parthenogenesis? If so,
please include your name, address, phone #, or some other way you
can be reached. But especially your name.
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THIS ISSUE'S LIST OF 48 THINGS
1. Chicken 25. Brassiere
2. Roman Soldier 26. Generalized Pain
3. Cracklin' Oat Bran 27. Wheelchair
4. Spacesuit 28. Remote Control
5. Pinto 29. Elephant
6. Cyberwear 30. Tarantula
7. Portrait 31. Wall Carpeting
8. Nametag 32. Cap
9. Ice 33. Lettuce
10. Fountain of Youth 34. Carp
11. Fucking Orange Car 35. Fish Tank
12. Donuts 36. Habitual Drug Use
13. The Human Brain 37. Spectacles
14. Cricket 38. Flame
15. Catalog 39. Hallelujah Chorus
16. Uvula 40. Twelve-Gallon Hat
17. Yo-yo 41. Patrick Stewart, Sex God
18. Clock 42. Twelve-Year-Old Scotch
19. Nut 43. Henry VIII
20. Waco, Texas 44. Grubs
21. Schizophrenia 45. Crystal White Octagon
22. Flaring Nostrils 46. Human Disease SKUMM
23. Family Values 47. Tripe
24. Zits 48. Varnish
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HERE ENDETH THIS ISSUE OF PARTHENOGENESIS, BEING THE FIFTH SO FAR
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Reference in New Issue Copy Permalink