248 lines
10 KiB
Plaintext
248 lines
10 KiB
Plaintext
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up in the sky, is it a bird, is it a plane, is it a thermo-nuculear
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device? no, it's...
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.- /)__(\ -------------------------------- /)__(\ -.
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| ( oO ) i don't care if you read this #3 ( Oo ) |
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`-- |..| ---------------------------------- |..| --'
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~~ ~~
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here we are... idciyrt #3... seems just like yesterday
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that i was releaseing the third going ape shit press
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in just as many days... man... those days were absolutely
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wonderful...
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in this issue, we have the adventures of the white power
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ranger and his side-kick, redneck boy. just as i promised in
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idciyrt #2.
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but, as usual,<2C>we first have to have our complimentary poem
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dedicated to james hetfield, the one who hates poetry.
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.- /\__/\ ------------------------------------------------.
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| ( %o ) i shall never see a poem as beautiful as a tree |
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`-- |..| -------------------------------------------------'
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<20> ~~
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ode to my unix shell
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oh unix shell, i love you much more than beer
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set prompt = "mogel is the one i phear> "
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all of the power that you hold for me is what i hail
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did someone write me? well then i'll type mail
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there are so many porno stories that i want to see
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so i'll saunter to nifty.andrew.cmu.edu via ftp
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illegal copies of softare, don't get caught with them
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your wories are gone in a flash with my friend rm
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are those hackers trying to crash my system again?
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oh boy, they just got their very own copy of satan
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if i don't want to type today, i can use the window of x
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is this file complete garbage? let's check it in hex
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as i've said before, i really love my unix shell
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the outdoors? sorry, those words don't ring a bell
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.- /\__/\ -----------------------------------------------.
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| ( @o ) when hemmoridal pain strikes up, i take heroin |
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`-- |..| ------------------------------------------------'
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~~
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[setting: a sleepy southern trailer park in georgia. a grown
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man and a young boy are swimming in an aboveground pool. a car lies on
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cinder blocks in the driveway while the yard is littered with children's
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toys. the man is looking up into the sky.]
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man: looks like rain.
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boy: chips. need more chips.
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[suddenly a freak accident accurs, a lightning bolt rips through
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the pool and through the ground striking several leaking waste
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cans. the cans were set there twenty years ago by the government
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to dispose of radioactive waste. the reaction between the waste
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and the bolt of electricity is insurmountable. the waste shoots
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directly up through the fissure in the earth into the pool and
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bathes the two in it's toxic glow.]
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man: i feel... strangely invigorated by this... this... wait,
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what was that word i said? in vinegar? was i talkin'
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again? i shore hate it when i do that.
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boy: beer. need more beer.
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man: we need more than just beer, we need costumes. and secret
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identities, i feel as strong as twenty monster trucks! i shall
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be called... THE WHITE POWER RANGER!
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boy: chips. need more chips.
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wpr: yes... yes... you also need a name... you shall be my faithful
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sidekick... REDNECK BOY! we shall stand up for all that is
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right. when we see injustice being done, we shall be there,
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when we see a mexican crossing our sacred borders, we shall
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be there. when we see some lousy blackie taking a white man's
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job, we shall be there. we shall stand for truth, justice, and
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the inbred way.
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[with that, they went down to the local liquor store to stock up on
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chips and beer. ready to spread their twisted views on politics, they
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are suddenly distracted by a strange alien force.]
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wpr: ... so i tell her that either she gets me a beer from the
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fridge, or i'm going to have to beat her, again. so she
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threatens to call the cops on me... hey! would you look
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at the jugs on her, what i wouldn't do to that...
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rnb: beer. need more beer.
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clerk: doesn't he say anything else?
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wpr: well, he hasn't been quite normal since the 'accident'.
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clerk: oh.
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[enter a man wearing ski-mask holding a loaded .22 rifle]
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man: if any one of you honkey's move, i'm gonna fill your chest full
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of lead. now fill up the bag with your cash, white bread. oh,
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nice costume whitey.
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wpr: foolish negro! not realize who i am? i am:
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[tinny sounding music by garth brooks]
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wpr: THE WHITE POWER RANGER!
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man: dude, i don't care if you're the fucking duke of earl. empty your
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pockets before i put a cap in yo' ass, fool.
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wpr: alright, i gave you your chance. now you will have to taste
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the wrath of my CROWBAR OF JUSTICE! taste the pain of a
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thousand episodes of mork and mindy!
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rnb: beer. we need more beer.
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[the white power ranger pulls out a glowing crowbar from his sack. he
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swings it at blinding speed at the head of the assailant turned
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victim. the man attempts to duck but the crowbar slams into his head,
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slightly denting the skull]
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man: oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit...
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[enter two other masked men carrying shotguns]
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man2: leroy! fuck man, what the hell happened to you.
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man3: dude, check out the funky white bread. thinks he's superman.
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man1: don't mess with him... he's the one who fucked up my head
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man. let's just the the hell out of here. move, move, MOVE!
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[as they make their getaway, the white power ranger sticks his head
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out of the door]
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wpm: y'all come back now, y'hear?
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[the white power ranger and redneck boy get into the IncestMobile, a
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converted chevy pickup with special minority group finding
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equipment. wpm checks the MinorityFinder camera for anyone who may
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be close by. it catches a glance on some skater punk kids on their
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way home from an offspring concert]
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rnb: beer. need more beer.
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wpm: there's some foul evildoers, let's show them what a little hate
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misunderstanding can do.
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[with that, wpm engages the refried beans jet fuel and takes off at an
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alarming rate. they catch up with the punks easily, then get out of
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the pickup]
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wpm: halt, ye of little genetic makeup.
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skater1: what's your beef, bro?
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skater2: don't mess with us. we'll school you man.
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skater3: jim's a blade-man, man. he'll cut you, man!
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s1: yeah dude, jim's more punk than you.
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s2 (whispered): shut up dudes, my piece is at home. mom took it away.
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s1: bummer. listen, we don't want any trouble, we're just on our
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way home for dinner. just let us through.
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wpm: don't try to talk your way out of this one, i know about
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your type, i watch inside edition. you and your drugs and
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rock'n'roll. if you ask me, i'm about to do the world a
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favor, you polecat.
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[the white power ranger pulls out another of his weapons of
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ignorance, a glowing baseball bat]
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wpm: say hello to mr. wilson, shithead. feel the sting of a thousand
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mighty budweisers! he-yah!
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[wpm starts to swing his baseball bat towards the punks, gets one of
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them down, then a police car pulls up]
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cop: well shit-on-me... if it isn't the white power ranger, what do
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i owe this honor upon, sir?
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wpm: these bastard hippies were skating up the street, wearing
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horrible clothing, probably coming from a rock concert and
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on some sort of drugs.
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cop: izzatso? looks to me like i'm gonna have to do some
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regulatin' here. c'mere boy, let me show you what the law
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thinks about your type.
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s1: shit...
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[the officer pulls out his billy club and starts to whack away at
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the helpless skater punks. the next day the paper headlines with:
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THE WHITE POWER RANGER SAVES TRAILER PARK FROM CERTAIN DOOM.
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in the insuing months, tales of wpm's crusade spreads far and wide
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throughout the county. the news falls upon the ears of the north
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east coast's number one superhero, politically correct man. he
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is agast at the atrocity.]
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politically correct man: great scott! how can someone come up with such
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a dastardly plan? these are all potential
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voters... i feel as if i should do something to
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help them...
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[a voice sounds from the other room]
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voice: just make sure that you don't damage your image, sir...
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pcm: but of couse, thank you democratic party boy; i don't know where
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i'd be without you.
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democratic party boy: you'd still be in arkansas kissing ass...
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pcm: yes yes yes, but that's not important now. there _has_ to be a way
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i can use this to my advantage and win votes for 1996. hmmm...
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wait, i know! and it's been done before... come into the planning
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room al... errr... i mean democratic party boy...
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dpb: sure... lemme just wipe first... (to someone else) thank you
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hillary.
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hillary: any time, big boy.
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.- /\__/\ -------------------.
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| ( Oo ) tO bE k0NTiNUeD@#! |
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`-- |..| --------------------'
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~~
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what plan does politically correct man have in store for the white
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power ranger?! does this mean that the story's finally developing a
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plot, going against pip's original plan? why can't democratic party
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boy wipe his own ass? and why was hillary doing the dirty work? these
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and other questions to be answered in the second part of our story, in:
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THE WHITE POWER RANGER RIDES OFF
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or
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MOMMY, HOW MUCH IS THAT SHOTGUN IN THE WINDOW, THE ONE WITH THE
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WAGGILY CLIP?
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.- /\__/\ -----------------------.
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| ( oO ) chips, need more chips |
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`-- |..| ------------------------'
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~~
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.- /\__/\ -------------------------------------------- /\__/\ -.
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| ( #o ) information on i don't care if you read this ( o# ) |
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`-- |..| ---------------------------------------------- |..| --'
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~~ ~~
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idciyrt number 3 was written by pip the angry youth
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he's just this guy, you know?
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now now NOW! you can get your very own copy of idciyrt along with the
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other i don't care lines... i don't care if this phunkshunz, our
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programming division (pip's learning c, kurdt does pascal, and ilsundal
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is heading up the batch file division.)... i don't care if you like
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this, our art division (pip, hal08, and ilsundal)... i don't care if you
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listen to this, our music division (ilsundal)... if you want to apply
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for a position here, or want to submit an article... write to
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pip@cybercom.com... and our zine... i don't care if you read this...
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we also have an internet mailing list... mail pip@cybercom.com,
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krad@nj5.injersey.com, or cyclone@nj5.injersey.com to get information on
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our mailing list for the magazine... we shall soon enough have a spot on
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someone's ftp site...
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