190 lines
10 KiB
Plaintext
190 lines
10 KiB
Plaintext
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #533
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`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
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888 888 888 888 888 "Murphy's Pub"
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888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
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888 888 888 888 888 " by Trilobyte
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888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 3/27/99
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o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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i have the ability to think. no, really, i do; it was given to me
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by august. everything that happened in that fateful month led to heavy
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brain activity. the anchors were released, and the ship of thought went
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out to float about in search of clusters of seafoam. when some was found,
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the nets were released, and the foam was grabbed up in large as possible
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quantities and stored in the bays beneath the deck. and then when the bays
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were filled, the ship began its return journey to the dock. that journey,
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though, that the ship of thought tried to make, was never completed,
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because eventually the seafoam in its bays became unfoamy water. lots of
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water stored in the bays of a ship is bad, i think. so the ship sank.
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my ship of thought sank. i guess i can't think. at least there was
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a beautiful sunset on the horizon at the moment that the ship sank. and
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they made a really good movie about it, with this teen heart-throb. and
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though my ship of thought was completely unmanned and robotized, the author
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of the screenplay for this movie managed to work in some sort of plot
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involving this teen heart-throb's character falling in love with a bar
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steward. the movie was a big hit in the artsy film crowd.
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with their facial hair and their black mice collections, they stood
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and cheered at the end of the film's initial screening. i was not patted
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on the back, because i was not there, but the director was there, and he
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got a pat or two on the back, and so did the author of the screenplay.
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he's now writing some movie about overweight women fellating fish, which
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might strike right to the heart of enthusiasts of a different type. the
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enthusiasts of pornography, which i am not a part. i know people who are
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involved with pornography. i also know people who were formerly involved
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in pornography, though they would never admit it. some people buy
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pornographic material in stores! some people create that pornographic
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material in the stores! i can't believe it. i can't even think about it!
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quit! stop! plug up my head with red plastic, man, i can't take the
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preshah!
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boO! beat me! i am a ghost of yearling horse, run about the
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pasture with reckless nature, pee on trees and fart on my facial openings,
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please! please, horsey! i will feed you oat bran and food! it's not fair
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that others should have to suffer while i sit here and enjoy the pleasure
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that you are! for everything you are, in every single way, i'm pushing
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you too far, there's nothing that you want to say. you're a horse, i'm a
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horsey, we're all sauce in the great world of portable pee containers, of
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which there is a big market, and i participate in. free enterprise, man,
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in the portable pee pots, in which i write poetry for the masses. they
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digest the words and ingest the soul. fried okra and yummy grits, imperial
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apples with terrible twos. run about the cafe'. climb onto peoples'
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laps. they enjoy children. they enjoy LAUGHING AT CHILDREN. children
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make life FUN. children usually have FUN LIVES unless they are the lousy
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poor children that i went to church with when i was young. those kids
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smelled bad and had sex with each other. i didn't.
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at least i don't have scraggly long nasty blondish hair. i am not
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considered the matron of my universe. i am the patron of the goods of the
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free market. matron or patron, it's all the same, in this grand space of
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umbrella economy. boing, boing, down and up it goes, like an umbrella in
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a storm that's not really raining but not really dry either. or when you
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go indoors and it's not raining anymore because well it's raining outside
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but you're in a building and buildings usually have rooves. rooves are
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there to keep out "elements", though they themselves are made of elements,
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as are you and i.
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did you know that all the little atoms that make up all of your
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things and stuff are self-contained universes? it's the truth, it's
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satisfactchll. our earth is an atom in a universe that is actually a small
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microscopic piece of some big thing that we don't know about. like it's
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probably not a person, because how could people as we know it exist on such
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a completely different protoplasmic pot of universal freaky stuff?
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or what if everything was all mixed up? like what if our universe
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was actually a small, small portion of YOUR HEAD? say that. say it LOUD.
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make my MOTHER hear what you say, because I originally said it, and she
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would be proud enough to whoop my ass. sampladelic.
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it's just not enough these days to sit and enjoy the rampant crime.
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people have to go out and DO IT. steal my chair out from under me. fun.
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i sit on my porch in the ghetto and rock and drink lemonade and eat
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watermelon, just like my grandfather used to do. you should too, but
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instead you're participating in my worldview. you run into it like the
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Green Lantern and are very fast and then you steal my chair! at least i
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still have my watermelon. no, it's gone too.
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hey, look, i'm in the universe.
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i've had too much pee-pee. it melted my hairbrush. the bench in
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the pub is where i get on with love. the wooden table is the battleground,
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hands vs. hands, eyes to eyes. there's lasers between the eyes. yours
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and mine. zoom-zoom boom-boom, if ya know what i mean. and we will go out
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afterwards. you will go out to home and i will go out to home too. homes
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are different. someday that will change, with your home and my home being
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the same home.
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it's just not enough these days to sit and enjoy the rampant crime.
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i can break off protruding plastic and underlings will anger. RISE UP FROM
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THE ASHES, their leader says to the crowd. BREAKING OFF IS NOT TO BE
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ALLOWED. EAT THAT, BITCHES, and the masses collide and conform and
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correlate into a conglomeration of common goals of conquest. what's that
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knock at my door?
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me: hello?
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them: we're the underlings.
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me: oh, yeah, i'm thinking about you all night long. your enormous member.
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them: tis.
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me: yes? yes! yes yes yes yes. <pant pant pant> blow my whistle. ring
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my bell.
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them: let us in.
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I open the door for the underlings. they are small and look scary
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with pointy noses and big skin and muscles. they come into my room and
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sit down all over the place. they don't want to watch movies, or sing
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along, or play with the others. i beat upon them with a wooden stick. i
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pry open their hearts with meaningless love. their eyes are glued shut,
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where is the pain i remembered? it's buried deep beneath the concrete,
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and cars travel over it every day, from night til morning, and back again,
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and planes fly overhead so i can see their bellies but their bellies do
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not look back. planes are on a mission, and i don't understand that
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mission. the people on the planes sit in comfort, or vomit, they drink
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their martinis and droning, they growl. their success is critical to our
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mission. they should not be hampered in any way.
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sea, sex, sun, and fun. i miss. on the beaches of sunny florida,
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the sex, with beautiful young french starlet-harlots, they are looking for
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something much better than they are getting. besides, the hotels are bad.
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the lamps catch on fire and sliding glass doors are always unlocked and
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open and Sea Thing comes in at night and stands in the room.
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my butt tans as i release my
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coca-cola [ha ha, it's on fire]
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into the warm, pink pleated cushion of her
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throat
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as we lay on our beachtowel. i am on top of her. it is a glorious
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moment. her
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uvulas
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are large, like many of the girls of the region. her wavy wild
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black hair accentuates the features of her delicate, womanly
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face
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that's what i said. that's what i meant. it's natural to want to
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beef up tactics to conquer the foe, but that is one foe that just ain't
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bein' conquered. bitch.
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we both know that we are kindred souls. the way that we can just
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talk and talk about things that really are important to us but have little
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to do with the goings on in the world. you are beautiful, and we are
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beautiful. that is how it will be, must be, and is meant to be for the
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rest of our time. how wonderful that two people should have been made for
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each other, as you and i have been; how terrific that we should have met
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so nonchalantly. you are my light in this world. i am happy to have been
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blessed with you. though we've only known each other for these few weeks,
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they are as important as any of the rest of our weeks we will share. our
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weeks together will be countless, timeless periods of cosmic love.
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unspoken. understood. meaningful and blessed. there will be so many good
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times. any bad times will not be ours, but rather the evil that is put
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upon us by the world, jealous of what we have. surely this world will try
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everything it can to pry us apart, but they will hardly matter. i will
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keep them from affecting you and i, my dearest, my heart has been connected
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to yours since birth, and no surgeon will pry us apart. our corpuscles
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will flow between the two of us as shared and magical corpuscles do.
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milk. it's what makes my bowels ROAR WITH ANGER. it crushes me to
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a pulp. kill the milk. bash it and smash it with all your might. it is
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not worthy of the bacteria it contains. ice cream tastes good, though, i
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must admit.
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that's what one girl would always say, WOULDN'T YOU, ONE GIRL???????
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YOU TELL ME!!!! TELL ME NOW!!! I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR FUSSING WITH
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REPEATING PHRASES, RASTAWOMAN! IT'S TOO MUCH! BEAT ME! TELL ME I'M
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YOURS! I'VE HEARD IT SO MANY TIMES, THE WAY YOU REPEAT PHRASES, I MUST
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ADMIT.
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hey, hey, charlotte, if you want pizza, you go ahead and tell
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grandma, and she'll get it.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #533 - WRITTEN BY: TRILOYBTE - 3/27/99 ]
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