textfiles/magazines/MISC/schidt.4

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Subject: Schidt #4 **Approx. 300 Lines**
Message-ID: <sanderso-250293205402@ch-lab-mac-b.gac.edu>
From: sanderso@gacvx2.gac.edu (Scott Anderson)
Date: 25 Feb 93 20:55:23 -0600
Organization: The Schidt, etc.
Lines: 437

THE SCHIDT
ISSUE #4
CHRISTMAS 1992
Published by Scott T. Anderson with Dale L. Houston

E-mail correspondence:
sanderso@gacvx2.gac.edu
This issue of the Schidt was converted for e-mail on 23 February 1993.


"Monster, I do smell all horse-piss, at which my nose is in great
indignation."
          --Trinculo, The Tempest (Shakespeare)


Scott's Top Ten George Bush Quotes
or Ten Reasons why I voted for Bill Clinton
All of these quotes have been verified by reputable sources.

10. "I just am not one who--who flamboyantly believes in throwing a lot of
words around."
 9. "Fluency in English is something that I'm often not accused of."
 8. "Please don't ask me to do that which I've just said I'm not going to
do, because you're burning up time; the meter is running through the sand
on you, and I am now filibustering."
 7. "Obviously, when you see somebody go berserk and get a weapon and go in
and murder people, of course, it troubles me."
 6. "I've got to run now and relax.  The doctor told me to relax.  The
doctor told me to relax.  The doctor told me.  He was the one.  He said,
'Relax.'"
 5. "When I need a little free advice about Saddam Hussein, I turn to
country music."
 4. "Boy, they were big on crematoriums, weren't they?"  (During a tour of
Auschwitz.)
 3. "It's no exaggeration to say the undecideds could go one way or
another."
 2. "I was shot down, and I was floating around in a little yellow raft,
setting a record for paddling.  I thought of my family, my mom and dad, and
the strength I got from them.  I thought of my faith, of the separation of
church and state."  (Relating his experiences as a WWII fighter pilot.)
 1. "...we have had sex."  (Referring to Pres. Ronald Reagan.)
(DIS)HONORABLE MENTION:
"Hey, hey, nihaoma.  Hey, yeah, yeah.  Heil, heil--a kind of Hitler
salute."  (While greeting international tourists; "nihaoma" is Mandarin for
"how are you?")


Other Top Tens
By Scott T. Anderson

Top Ten Humorous Audio-Visual Entertainment
10. "The Simpsons"
 9. Monty Python's Meaning of Life
 8. 1950s Sargent-Welch physics films
 7. "Fawlty Towers"
 6. The British introductory chemistry film with cartoons--the noble gases
wear
	crowns (If you never saw it in high school you are deprived.)
 5. Monty Python's Life of Brian
 4. Looney Tunes (particularly ones with Foghorn Leghorn and the weasel)
 3. "Monty Python's Flying Circus"
 2. "Ren and Stimpy"
 1. Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Top Ten Alternate Words for Vomiting
10. Barf
 9. Upchuck
 8. Hurl
 7. Blow chunks
 6. Hork
 5. Spew
 4. Ralph
 3. Worship the porcelain god
 2. Chunder
 1. Technicolor yawn


How to play...
THIS IS A BIG CROCK OF SHIT
By Scott T. Anderson

EQUIPMENT:
1 large room or open outdoor area
1 vat, crock, or other large container
5 to 79 players, each supplied with one cup and one large, heavy, bladed
weapon
Lots of shit

OBJECT:
To live to the end of the game.

SETTING UP:
Prior to game play each player should fill his/her cup with shit by any
convenient means.  Once this is done, place the large container (henceforth
referred to as the "crock") in the center of the room or open outdoor area.
 Arrange the players (in ascending order of body weight [the purpose of
this will be discussed later]) in a circle 40 feet in diameter, with the
crock in the center.  Prior to game play each player should fill his/her
cup with shit by any convenient means.  The cup of shit should be placed in
the weak hand, and the large, heavy, bladed weapon in the strong hand.  Now
you're ready to play!!!

PLAYING THE GAME:
All players draw straws.  The player who draws the most convincing picture
of a straw goes first.  Prior to game play each player should fill his/her
cup with shit by any convenient means.  The player attempts to throw the
contents of his/her cup into the crock from the circle (which, for those of
you not as skilled in arithmetic as myself, is a distance of 20 feet).  If
all of the player's shit lands in the crock, his/her turn is over.  If the
player's shit does not all land in the crock, the remaining players, in
ascending weight order (so the lighter participants will get a chance to
put in their whacks before the stronger players have already killed the,
um, victim), are allowed one whack each, with their large, heavy, bladed
weapons, upon the player with bad aim.  If the whacked player is still
alive and can lift his/her weapon at the conclusion of the whacking, he/she
remains in the game.  If the whacked player is dead, or is just a bloody
stump, he/she is thrown into the crock, along with any detached members. 
After that player's turn is over, play progresses to the left.

WINNING THE GAME:
The winner is the last player alive.  If more than one player remains alive
after all have thrown their shit, the game is a tie.  Once the
winner/winners is/are determined, the winner/winners celebrates/celebrate
his/her/their victory by jumping into the crock and rolling around in the
excrement and dismembered corpses.
	As my ninth grade science teacher always said as we commenced experiments,
"Have at it!"


Oh--how I truly love the snow when it comes down upon us,
it flurries and flitters and flies through the air
sticking to hair
I now realize that I do not care
for this goddamn perverse piss from the sky
it makes me ask why
did I come to this damn foolish state
where people ice skate
and I freeze off my balls
while on Eckman mall
oh--woe is me I exclaim
i must have no brain
or maybe my fancy is that I like pain,
yes,
I believe it is true I love to turn blue
while I lay in a snowdrift without any shu
what is "shu" you may ask
well, no you may not
you insolent bastard!
how dare you try that,
I will slice you and skin you and feed you to dogs
for that is all your shit hide is worth,
well I don't know--maybe that is not so,
enough of this shit!
I give up, I quit,
no more of this now because I've gotta go!

		With heartfelt appreciation for your correspondence,
		Nathan M. Bohlig--The Most Excellent Theopolis


David Crowe's section

THAT NOT THIS

"That not This" not "This not That."
Monty Python and Blackadder not "Roseanne," "Coach," "Home Improvement,"
etc.
Jim (of "Hide Jim's Pants" fame) on the cover of this issue of the Schidt
not a
	disgusting looking dog on the cover if this issue of the Schidt.
Sadism not masochism.
Bastard Wear not (fill in your own favorite line of high fashion clothing
here).
The Jizmatron not (fill in your own favorite personal sexual stimulation
device here).
Anything in "That not This" not characters from "Star Trek" in "This not
That."

TOP 3 REASONS FOR LIVING IN WAHLSTROM

3. Walls, floors, and doors that allow the passage of sound through them so
well that it seems that they aren't even there.
2. False fire alarms!
1. The lack of a news story in the Star-Tribune beginning thusly:

	Gustavus Adolphus student, 20, kills roommate, 14 others in brutal
	murder spree

		Gustavus student David Crowe is now in custody for the grisly
	murder of 15 students at the St. Peter, MN, college.  Friends say,
	<09>He hated his roommate....<2E>


Album Review
The Great Deceiver
By King Crimson
Reviewed by Scott T. Anderson

	I was at the Mall of America, in Musicland to be exact, and I was just
about to leave when I decided just to glance at the King Crimson section,
even though I thought I had just about everything by KC that was available.
 I just about lost control of my bodily functions when I saw The Great
Deceiver sitting there in the rack.  I picked it up and looked at it: live
recordings from 1973-1974.  Four disc set.  Sixty-five dollars.  I believe
I was quoted as saying "I'd cut off my penis to get this album."  Well, I
didn't have to cut off my manlihood, but I did shell out the necessary
cash.
	Just what is it that makes this such a grand piece of musical creation,
you ask?  Well, King Crimson's always been an incredible band, but The
Great Deceiver documents their 1973-1974 tour, which I feel was their best
period.  KC's founder, guitar genius Robert Fripp, was joined by John
Wetton (bass and vocals, later of Asia), Bill Bruford (drums, formerly and
once again much later of Yes), and David Cross (never before or after of
anything--there is seldom call for rock violinists).
	King Crimson's ground-breaking, highly influential art-metal sort of style
reached its peak of "energy, intensity, and eclecticism" (as Robert Fripp
would say) in this period.  Their compositions were fantastic sonic
sculptures, sometimes beautiful, often staggering and somewhat frightening.
 But even more incredible was this KC incarnation<6F>s improvised material. 
They regularly performed two or three freely-improvised pieces per concert.
 More impressive than the mere fact that they would take such a risk, was
the fact that these "spontaneous compositions" (or "blows" as the band
called them) actually worked.
	This collection contains songs from the band's three studio albums from
the period (Larks' Tongues in Aspic, Starless and Bible Black, and Red),
plus 13 "blows" for a total of 295+ minutes of music (roughly five hours
for you arithmetically inept).  If this interests you at all, feel free to
visit me for a listen.


A U.S. Postal Service Christmas
Authorship anonymous; submitted by Dale L. Houston

December 14
Dearest John,
	I went to the door today and the postman delivered a partridge in a pear
tree.  What a delightful gift.  I couldn't have been more surprised.
			With dearest love and affection,
			Agnes
December 15
Dearest John,
	Today the postman brought your very sweet gift.  Just imagine, two turtle
doves....  I'm just delighted at your very thoughtful gift.  They are just
adorable.
			All my love,
			Agnes
December 16
Dear John,
	Oh, aren't you the extravagant one!  Now I must protest.  I don't deserve
such generosity.  Three French hens.  They are just darling but I must
insist... you are just too kind.
			Love,
			Agnes
December 17
Dear John,
	Today the postman delivered four calling birds.  Now really!  They are
beautiful, but don't you think enough is enough?  You're being too
romantic.
			Affectionately,
			Agnes
December 18
Dearest John,
	What a surprise!  Today the postman delivered five golden rings.  One for
each finger.  You're just impossible, but I love it.  Frankly, John, all
those squawking birds were beginning to get on my nerves.
			All my love,
			Agnes
December 19
Dear John,
	When I opened the door there were actually six geese a-laying on my front
steps.  So you're back to the birds again, huh?  Those geese are huge. 
Where will I ever keep them?  The neighbors are complaining and I can't
sleep through the racket.  PLEASE STOP!
			Cordially,
			Agnes
December 20
John:
	What's with you and those fucking birds???  Seven swans a-swimming.  What
kind of goddamn joke is this?  There's bird shit all over the house and
they never stop the racket.  I'm a nervous wreck and I can't sleep all
night.  IT'S NOT FUNNY....  So stop with those fucking birds.
			Sincerely,
			Agnes
December 21
OK Buster:
	I think I prefer the birds.  What the hell am I going to do with eight
maids a-milking?  It's not enough with all those birds and eight maids
a-milking, but they had to bring their own goddamn cows.  There is shit all
over the lawn and I can't move into my own house.  Just lay off me.  SMART
ASS.
			Ag
December 22
Hey Shithead:
	What are you?  Some kind of sadist?  Now there's nine pipers playing.  And
Christ--do they play.  They never stopped chasing those maids since they
got here yesterday morning.  The cows are upset and are stepping all over
those screeching birds.  No wonder they screech.  What am I going to do? 
The neighbors have started a petition to evict me.  You'll get yours.
			From Ag
December 23
You rotten prick:
	Now there's ten ladies dancing--I don't know why I call those sluts
ladies.  They've been balling those nine pipers all night long.  Now the
cows can't sleep and they've got diarrhea.  My living room is a river of
shit.  The commissioner of buildings has subpoenaed me to give cause why
the building shouldn't be condemned.  I'm sicking the police on you.
			One who means it,
			Ag
December 24
Listen Fuckhead:
	What's with the eleven lords a-leaping on those maids and aforementioned
"ladies?"  Some of those broads will never walk again.  Those pipers ran
through the maids and have commiting sodomy with the cows.  All 23 of the
birds are dead.  They have been trampled to death in the orgy.  I hope
you're satisfied, you rotten swine.
			Your sworn enemy,
			Miss Agnes McCallister
December 25
From the Law Offices of Taeker, Spredar, and Baegar

Dear Sir:
	This is to acknowledge your latest gift of twelve fiddlers fiddling, which
you have seen fit to inflict upon our client, Miss Agnes McCallister.  The
destruction, of course, was total.  All correspondence should come to our
attention.  If you should attempt to reach Miss McCallister at Happy Dale
Sanitarium, the attendants have instructions to shoot you on sight.  With
this letter, please find attached a warrant for your arrest.


Christmas/Hanukkah THIS NOT THAT
By Scott T. Anderson

Menorah not Christmas tree (decoration preference).
Big pile of shit not fruitcake (food preference).
Nintendo not dreidl (children's toy preference).
A big box full of CDs not a big box full of sweaters (gift preference).
Jesus not Santa (purpose of the holiday).
"Christmas with the Devil" by Spinal Tap not "Winter Wonderland" by Air
Supply
	(musical preference).
Plastic Santa and reindeer in the garbage not on the front lawn with
spotlights
	(tasteful vs. Minnesota).
Dasher not Dancer.
Prancer not Vixen.
Comet not Cupid.
Donder not Blitzen.  (Bet you didn't see that one coming.)
It's a Wonderful Life (black and white) not Miracle on 34th Street
(colorized)
	(film preference).
Three months not two-and-one-half weeks (vacation duration preference).


THE ADVENTURES OF DR. SHNOOGENBLAGEN
By David (Hyphen-man) Crowe
Part Two (the best part)

"What a senseless waste of human life."
	--from Monty Python<6F>s Instant Record Collection
	(said by the man who had just shot and killed the owner of a cheese shop
that
	sold absolutely no cheese whatsoever)

	Shnoogenblagen's first instrument of torture was a large vat of liquid
nitrogen, which, at negative 210 degrees Celsius, is a tad bit chilly. 
(For those people who actually read the first installment of the grand
epic, and are wondering how a large tub of liquid nitrogen could have fit
in the good doctor's mailbox:  as Roadrunner cartoon aficionados know, any
object larger than a mailbox can be stuffed into that mailbox, and
henceforth be taken out of the box later on, whereupon the package will
retain its former shape and size.  This is what happened with the vat of
liquid nitrogen, and for that matter, everything else in the Super-Deluxe
Torturer's Kit.)  Shnoogenblagen opened the top of the vat of liquid
nitrogen and suspended his first victim over it with a rope.  He then
lowered the man in.  Just the feet went in, but the man was in so much pain
that Shnoogenblagen wrote a letter to the maker of the Handy Dandy Liquid
Nitrogen Bath (TM), thanking them for such a wonderful product.  He had
seen many documentaries on the effects of liquid nitrogen on objects and
was fascinated by how the things dipped in the liquid were easily shattered
with a hammer.  A large grin appeared on Shnoogenblagen's face as this
thought ran through his twisted mind.  He found a hammer and watched with
glee as the man's face disintegrated under the blow.  He expanded on this
technique, smashing the victim's hands, legs, and arms as well, laughing at
the sight of shattered flesh the whole time.  When he was done, he left the
man for dead and swept up the shards with a large broom.
	His next victim was an elderly woman.  She fainted when Shnoogenblagen
brought out his new Super-Deluxe Orange Peeler, but happily (for
Shnoogenblagen), the pain of the peeler slicing through her tongue brought
her back to consciousness.  The good doctor took the tongue and stapled it
to the woman's forehead with the staple gun that was included in the
torturing kit.  Now this might have been enough for any
run-of-the-mill-type torturer, but Shnoogenblagen wasn't finished yet.  For
no reason at all, he poked red-hot needles into her eyes and cackled
insanely as the jelly-like substance (Ed. note:  Dave means the vitreous
humor.) issued forth from her sockets.  Then (he had to work quickly, for
the woman was choking on her own blood) Shnoogenblagen cut her abdomen
open, removed the woman's intestines, and hung her with them.
	Shnoogenblagen was really on a roll now.  His third victim was a little
boy.  The good doctor got out his new carrot peeler and tied the boy down
on the table.  The peeler flashed back and forth, and within a minute, the
boy had no skin.  Then Shnoogenblagen got out his watermelon spoon, placed
it over the boy's eye, and twisted it.  The eye popped right out onto the
table, where it started rolling around, much to Shnoogenblagen's delight. 
He reached for a salt shaker and sprinkled salt all over the boy's skinless
body, and into his empty eye socket.  By this time, Shnoogenblagen was
getting kind of tired, so he took a five minute break to collect his
thoughts and to think of more ingenious ways to torture people....

-What dastardly deeds will the good doctor conceive?
-Will anyone hear the hideous screams of his victims and call the police?
-Will the author<6F>s mind get any sicker by the time he writes the next
installment?
FIND OUT NEXT TIME IN...
THE ADVENTURES OF DR. SHNOOGENBLAGEN!!!

*       *       *

The singer paints a picture
as the painter plays a tune.
A philosopher sows the fields
and the plowman questions it all.

I stand against the wall
that I unwittingly built
and ponder how to surmount it.
I shall not but I must attempt.

The harvest moon rises
over a barren field.
The philosopher and plowman
rise to clap their hands.

		--Scott T. Anderson 10 April 1990

*       *       *

Thanks for reading the Schidt....