119 lines
7.2 KiB
Plaintext
119 lines
7.2 KiB
Plaintext
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_ _ _ _
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((___)) ((___))
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[ x x ] cDc communications [ x x ]
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\ / presents... \ /
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(` ') (` ')
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(U) (U)
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T H E C O W C H R O N I C L E S 1
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~
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Real Life testimonials from those touched by COW. The
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confession you are about to read is real. Only the
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names have been messed with. Though COW is a conscious
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act, she also possesses the unsuspecting, the socially
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degenerative. This is NOT a file for the weak-hearted.
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A CULT Publication by High Priest and Scribe, F. Gibe
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>> Cult of the Dead Cow Dissemination Council <<
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COW CHRONICLES #1: VAN'S STORY
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Like totally Day-glow, hyper-awesome, dude. My name's Van. I'm k-rad.
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This is my story.
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I was born a dude, y'know. The old woman wrapped me in Tie-Dye swaddling
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threads when I popped out. It was all sorta radical. I guess, like, you'd
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call me a 'natural'. Like kinda an Innate Dude. I always did the right thing.
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In Kintergarden, I was like the chief pimp, y'know? Man, I was always so
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wasted. It was totally cool. And like I used to skateboard to elementary
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school. When I started hangin' around with like other dudes, skate-punk types,
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I like developed this social-identity. I kinda thought the world was
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completely fucked. This is really when like my life gets pretty key. I was
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like this total rebel, y'know, like scare mommy and piss off pop. And at the
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height of my total bad-assness, I discovered like the most hyper-cool thing.
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And I changed. I'll like never talk right, but I learned something about the
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conformity of like non-conformity. Heh. Blows m'mind, dudes. Let me tell you
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about this. So kick back, eh, and fire up a dooby.
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Zoned, y'know? Totally. I mean, gag me with a million plastic spoons
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from the Clown Palace. Me and my pals, we were wasted beyond all medical
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limits, and sorta like floated into this kindercare place. Wow. All these
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like little fuckers, runnin' around. Awesome. So like, I pulled out my handy
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crowbar, and m'pals got like their kick-a weapons of deth, and like we went to
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it. Kinda boring, really. Yawnsville. I mean, deth was nothing new. We like
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took out the adults first...tied 'em up and ran a few thousand volts through
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like their nads. Outrageous, y'know. Then like we went to town on these brats.
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Kicked in heads, and like smashed 'em up real good. M'one pal was sorta a
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necrophiliac, and did some nasty stuff to some of the kiddie stiffs. Kinda
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jacked me out, y'know. But, overall, a wicked good time was had by all. Man,
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but like then something blew my mind, in toto like. There was all this fucking
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construction paper and whatever all over the floor. And y'know, I was like
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'I'm so sure', but picked up a few pieces, and like there were all these stupid
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kids' drawings and crap. Like then I spotted one of the pics...looked kinda
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like a goat. But like the little fucker had scribbled like underneath the
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thing, 'Cow, ded'. Man, I was totally flipped. I mean, here we are in this
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fascist daycare nightmare, and one of these bloodied messes had been coloring
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dead cows. I mean, fer sure. Like I didn't understand, and m'pals were busy
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like doin' the horizontal rumble with some of the corpses, so like I kinda
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rolled up the paper, and stuck it in my BVD's (I'm sure...).
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Like a couple days later, I was changing m'clothes, and wanted to like
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bleach out some of my black Levis, and like I found that pic. I didn't really
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totally know what it was, y'know, but like then it all came back to me, and I
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felt sorta dizzy. Yo, I mean, dizzier than I was already feelin' from the coke
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I'd just sucked. Couldn't comprehendo, y'know? But like I started thinkin'
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about m'chick, and so like forgot about that Cow thing for like a while. Uh,
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ike I can't remember much, 'cause it's like sorta blurry, but like then that
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night, m'pals and I were like cruizing, and were wicked zoned, and sorta fuckin
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around, and like then the car sorta hit like some object, and we all like
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stumbled out and kinda laughed. It was awesome. Then like I saw the headlights,
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and they were like shining on this huge thing in middle of the road...and man,
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like there were fuckin' guts and shit everywhere. Man, it was totally a gorry
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mess. I tossed the ol' cookies, y'know. Technicolor yawn, fer complete sure.
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And like, dude, there was this Cow, all fucked up. It kinda mooed, and shit.
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I don't know if it was the 'ludes, or like just somethin' wrong with me, but
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like I went over, and started kissin' the thing. And like I got excited. Like
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I got totally hard, y'know. Steely and shit. And the cow was a bloody mess,
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and like a big chunk of it was a couple hundred yards down the road.
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I couldn't like control myself any longer. Like I started rippin' out like
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these entrails, and rippin' off my Levis. My pals kinda stood there, totally
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tripping. I gave it all to that piece of carcass. I like felt inhuman, like
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some kinda beast. After it was all over, I stood up, naked, and like covered
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all over with red gore. I swear. Like I was just dripping. And m' friends
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tripped completely, and like the fuckers took off, and left me there, like some
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sorta fucked Phoenix, just emerged from like this ded thing. God, I tossed up
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my whole stomach. And like I was stone-cold sober. Totally, harshly
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conscious. I was like wicked aware, and knew something had gotten fucked in
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the ol' head. God, I was like on the rag for a month.
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I can't like really explain all the changes that kinda like took place
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over those weeks. I couldn't like eat, and like hung out in the closet alot,
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and like the lightbulb was torture. No sleep. Like I was Deth Warmed Over,
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eh? Mom and Pop wanted to put me away, but like that was the last decision
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they ever made. Chainsaws and leather are way cool therapy. Like this'll sound
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totally fer sure, but like I came outta the closet (dude..NO! Like I really
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did...closet...like never mind) and was completely different: I could NOT stand
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Tie-Dye. There was some kinda poetry crap laying around, and like I read it.
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I felt like better. I don't know what's like happened, and I'm still totally
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sorting out the details, but like I think the Cow got ahold of me. Now like
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hang on. I know...it's weird. Really. But I dunno, I thought alot about it,
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went through a zillion rettes. It's like the only solution, dude. That Cow,
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the Cows, something about them, and deth. Y'know, I like can't even listen to
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Depeche Mode anymore. I know there's an answer, and like someday I'll find it.
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This is wicked intense.
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=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
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(c)1987 cDc communications by Franken Gibe 12/0/87-29
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All Rights Worth Shit
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