123 lines
6.6 KiB
Plaintext
123 lines
6.6 KiB
Plaintext
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_____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________
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| ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ |
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| | _/_/_____ | | > > _/_/_____ | |
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| | /________/ | | / / /________/ | |
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| | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | |
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| |________________________________________________________________| |
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|____________________________________________________________________|
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...presents... The Fart of War
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by Havok Halcyon
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>>> a cDc publication.......1993 <<<
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-cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
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____ _ ____ _ ____ _ ____ _ ____
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|____digital_media____digital_culture____digital_media____digital_culture____|
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I stride toward Period 6, Global Studies. Brooding intently and knowing
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full well that I'm armed and dangerous, I grin to myself. The anger in me has
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been building over countless periods. I hate this class, despise it. There is
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not a more vile group of students and teacher put together on Earth. But,
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today, now, things will change. Today it's my turn to cause the suffering.
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I approach the door, slowly, rethinking my plan, and then walk confidently
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into the doorway. Surveying the classroom, I nod approvingly. I make my way
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to my seat, being sure to take off my coat insuring full exposure. It's
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brewing. I can feel it. Bubbles slowly coalescing in my colon. It's brewing.
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I seat myself firmly in my chair and wait. I turn and look at the back of
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the seat, smiling inwardly, as I realize that it is the kind with that weird
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hole in the back for no reason. Well today, that hole couldn't serve a better
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purpose than for my revenge. You see, last night, at exactly 12:30 a.m. I
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prepared my plan. Spread out before me was the gas connoisseur's delight.
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Refried beans, a deep bowl of chili with extra beans, five tortillas, a large
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container of beef and broccoli from The Golden Palace, and a box of prunes in
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syrup to speed up the entire process. By 1:05, I was finished.
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It takes about twelve hours for the fuel to work its way through my
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system. I've timed things perfectly. It is now 12:20 in the afternoon and the
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prunes obviously worked.
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Fortunately, I remembered not to wear my boxers, so as to get as much
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release with the least amount of filtration. Peeling back the velcro, I open
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the patch on my pants and expose my dark anus beneath.
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Small, quiet, heavy, perfect. It hangs stealthily.
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The first victim is struck. The ugly cheerleader next to me rolls her
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eyes back into her head, turning the corners of her overused mouth in two 70
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degree down angles. Out comes a horrific yelp synonymous to a puppy being
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slowly fed into a meat grinder. She throws her head back in an attempt to put
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her nostrils above the slowly spreading brown cloud, but the cheerleader's
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frail try for survival is without success, and she falls to the ground cold and
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dead.
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As the toxic fumes continue to spread, one victim after another is smote
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by the Stench of Death. Muuuwaahahahahahahahah!!!! I laugh a black laugh.
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Next to fall is the 'roided-up jock. Down prick, down! And then the prom
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queen is felled, grabbing faithlessly at her superficial friends who are too
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busy dying themselves. They are followed by my greasy, ignorant boob of a
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teacher. Yes, down you balding weenie, down! One after another. All
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horrible, painful deaths I love it.
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The cloud consumes all, sucking the life from their lungs and filling them
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with my life-stealing gas.
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The room is quiet now. The death-struggles of my victims have created a
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scene of scattered bodies, the faces of vicious death have surrounded me.
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I laugh.
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But wait, movement! Someone has survived! Did he hold his breath, does
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he have a gas mask, is he immortal!?
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Marc slowly staggers to his feet, grinning broadly. He is in awfully good
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heath for someone who just faced a fate worse than the gas showers of
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Auschwitz. "My nose is stuffed, you asshole," he utters. The bastard.
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"SUCK METHANE, YOU PUTRID ENEMA FROM THE NEATHERWORLD!" I scream. With
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that, I release my second wave of attack.
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His face cringes, as if he had really nasty constipation. Have I got him?
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Has the second gas offensive broken through his defenses?
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No. Damnit. He smiles as the walls begin to shake and the floor rumbles.
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I feel the pain of terror creep into my spine. He cut wind.
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Marc opens his eyes and speaks. "I ate TWO cans of refried beans, THREE
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deep bowls of chili with extra beans, TEN tortillas, an EXTRA large container
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of beef and broccoli, TWO POUNDS of prunes in syrup, AND A WHOLE CURRY
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CHICKEN!!!"
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Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. My second barrage
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had no effect, and his cloud nearly has its mitts on me. I try, in a final
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attempt to save my life, to release another gaseous volley. But alas, my
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weapon jams, only to dump a load in my pants.
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I feel the ghostly hands wring their dark fingers around my neck and
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squeeze the life out of my body. The world becomes only flashing images of
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brown with squishy sounds in the background... then black, then silence.
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_______ __________________________________________________________________
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/ _ _ \|Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362|Kingdom of Shit.....806/794-1842|
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((___)) |Cool Beans!..........510/THE-COOL|Polka AE {PW:KILL}..806/794-4362|
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[ x x ] |Metalland Southwest..713/468-5802|Moody Loners w/Guns.415/221-8608|
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\ / |The Works............617/861-8976|The Body Electric...916/673-8412|
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(' ') |ftp - zero.cypher.com in pub/cdc |ftp - ftp.eff.org in pub/cud/cdc|
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(U) |==================================================================|
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.ooM |1993 cDc communications by Havok Halcyon 07/01/93-#237|
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\_______/|Seven SUPER-CALI-FRAGIL-ISTIC-EXPI-ALI-DOCIOUS years of cDc. K! |
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