511 lines
24 KiB
Plaintext
511 lines
24 KiB
Plaintext
<<<EXTRA-SPECIAL NEATO NOTE: Hello to all who are reading this!
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This is PARTHENOGENESIS, a regular old solid ink-and-paper zine
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based in Fort Collins, Colorado converted to ezine format. Please
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keep in mind that this is a REPRINT of the original issue. Also,
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apologies if the zine is a bit Fort Collins-inclusive (future
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issues won't be). All work by the respective authors is under
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copyright. Permission is granted to copy and distribute this
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ezine in its entirety, or to give the respective author credit
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for his/her work. In the future I hope to have current copies of
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PARTHENOGENESIS distributed physically and on the Net
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simultaneously. I also hope to be independently wealthy, conquer
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the universe, and learn to tango. Of the three, I think the
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second is the most likely. If you should wish to contribute to
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this zine (all submissions will be considered - but I tend to
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stay away from political crap), request a copy of the physical
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zine (it looks MUCH better, and has a bit of artwork in it that's
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not here), or just have something to say (I welcome ALL
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comments), please write me at: Parthenogenesis, 804 S.College
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Suite 8363, Ft.Collins, CO, 80524 or you can send email to us:
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dherrick@nyx.cs.du.edu. Thanks for listening to me babble, and if
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you didn't take the time to read through all this, you're a dork.
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--- Mohammed X >>>
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************************
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PARTHENOGENESIS, ISSUE 1
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************************
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ARITHMETIC
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"Dick Van Dyke looks great in pastels," she said as the paint
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dripped off the walls and the clock smiled. He grinned back at
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the clock, which caused his face to shatter. Shards of
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crystallized skin, flesh and teeth fell inward, leaving a gaping
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red cavity on the front of his head. Unconcerned, he stretched
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languorously, and then gasped as his outstretched limbs and in
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fact his whole body melted into a gray putrid slime which was
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absorbed by the couch. The gasp fluttered about the room until it
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hit a lampshade, then shattered into thousands of myriad tiny
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gasps which visibly shot outward, bouncing off walls and other
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obstacles, until they all at once encountered each other in the
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middle of the room. In the instant in which they all struck each
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other simultaneously, they grew, darkened, developed strange
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shapes, fastened to each other in various complex ways, and
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formed into the shape of a man. He opened his eyes and sighed
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deeply. The sigh turned into a minor gale which shook the
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curtains, knocked over several candles (which, incidentally, were
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not there and had never been) on the brown table by the couch,
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and billowed her hair. She turned to him.
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"Suffocation IS a beautiful thing," she pressed on, trying to get
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her point across.
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"Arithmetic," he said.
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"Arithmetic," he said again, liking the sound of it.
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"Arithmetic," he said once more, impressed with the sheer
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ponderousness of it.
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"It's arithMAtic," she corrected, enunciating carefully.
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"Arithmetic," he said, his way.
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"No, no... arithMAtic!" she said, forcibly.
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He frowned at her and she disappeared. He looked around. The way
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the light bulb in the lamp shone reminded him greatly of the sun,
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and he recalled that some peoples of the world worshipped a sun
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god. Or at least did at one time. He determined to worship the
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lamp god.
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"ArithMAtic," she said, still trying to correct his
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pronunciation, which she was very particular about. He did not
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ignore her, for she did not exist - she COULD not exist, he had
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banished her from his consciousness. She did not know this, and
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blithely continued repeating the word.
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"ArithMAtic," she announced confidently.
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He was kneeling on the floor, bowing to the lamp, worshipping it
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and hoping for its favor. He sand chants to it, which were
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actually just combinations of the word "arithmetic".
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"Ari ithma mati mati tic," he chanted solemnly.
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"ArithMAtic," she stated firmly.
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"Rithma ma ticari ari ari thma," he chanted joyously.
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"ArithMAtic," she grated.
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"Tic tic matic, banana fanna fo-fick," he chanted hopefully.
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"ArithMAtic," she mumbled, then switched off the lamp.
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His world became dark. He fell over, stunned. His god had
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deserted him! He wept, bitterly. She stood over him and smiled.
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It was not a friendly smile, in fact, it was a very horrid
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grimace.
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"ArithMAtic."
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*
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POOBRAINS 'R' US
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Multicolored flowers adorn my buttcheecks. Phallic spheres, gee,
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how I love beers. Fie, yon bluebirds, I've lost me tuna fish.
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"Aie!" cried the jackal, "Why must I be green?" Shnicker
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Schnacker, Shnicker Shnacker, wop wop woo! I've got a problem and
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it might be you! So the squeegee sang aloud:"My loins are for
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you!"
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*
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Now I'm not one to be spreading misleading rumors, but these
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truths just happened to come to me in a series of very sensual
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visions, and I thought I'd share them with you. I learned
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recently a few interesting FACTS about Undertone's owner/DJ, Mykl
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Kryka, either through reliable sources from the spirit world or
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my own sneaky infiltration of Undertones. I first became aware of
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Mykl's romantic involvement with his bartender Sam when I
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observed them carressing each others, um, hands under the table.
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In casual conversation, I learned that Mykl and Sam have been
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regularly dating, but only on Saturdays. But we all have our
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little scandals, don't we? And I know them all. For instance, it
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has been reported to me that on Sunday, May 3, at approximately
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2:40 am, DAN whispered "sweet nothings" into MYKL's ear in a
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public restaurant (NOT pubic restaurant, ya sickos!) which will
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remain anonymous in order to protect the integrity of the
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establishment (which is IHOP). So anyway, I also heard that there
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are plans in the making for Undertones to host a benefit concert
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to help raise money for Mykl fourteen illegitimate children. "I
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don't want them begging in the streets any more, but I can hardly
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support my three (wonderful) wives, let alone these (wondrous)
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(beautiful) (wonderful) kids," someone was quoted as saying that
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Mykl said. He may even bring in the band Cyberslaughter to play,
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a rogue ant reported. I don't know, though... this is the same
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man who claimed that "my flesh piston came (so to speak) from my
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mother's vagina". Tsk tsk.
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In other rumors... er, news... the old Casaguapa is dead.
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RIP. But a new one has risen in its place. We shall see... For
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those of you who don't know about Casaguapa, just pretend.
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Someone told me the Damned is going on tour in June, and
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Gators is on the list of announced venues. This means that DJ
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Schmeg should probably start playing some of their stuff on
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Wednesdays, RIGHT?!?
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And let's talk about Greeeeeley. Actually, Greeley's pretty
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evil. Let's not.
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Oh, and I've also found out about plans for a new skate park
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to be built in Wellington, due to high public demand.
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Some more people news: The BAT TWINS, otherwise known as
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Keely and Jette (pronounced Yet-a, as in "yet a-nother black
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eyeliner pencil used up"), or in some circles (and an occassional
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square) known as "Patricia and Dave", are the ringleaders of a
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Vampiric Lesbian Drug Cortel based in Fort Collins. They have
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openly admitted IN PUBLIC that they have, on numerous occassions,
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shared water and more. Sharing water, you know what that can lead
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to, don't you? Germs... revealing the secret of your bad
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breath... THE COMMON COLD. Stay away from these Amazon Vampires.
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Hey, girls, bats poop a lot you know.
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Also, I was able to find this out at great cost to myself (I
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was nearly killed! I'll tell you the story sometime.): The
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Collins Files, that fine upstanding example of a musical special
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interest zine, is actually a front for an international terrorist
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organization called C.R.I.P.E.S. (the Creative Righteous
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Individuals for Post-Erection Shivers), and they are planning to
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take over the minds of everyone in Fort Collins, starting with
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Undertones! They have reported some success so far, in fact, they
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have all the fraternities in town under their control! Be warned!
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They could be going after YOU next!
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*
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Dream your shadows alive... Find your favorite fever, and build
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the bridge to decadence. With the answer, choose the finger but
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kiss the hand. Ask me, if you fear. Listen not to what I say, but
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to what the blossoms whisper. Am I wise? Answer, and I will
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disagree.
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*
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Here's a good band to listen to if you're into heavy
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bloodletting and acts of meaningless violence: Cyberslaughter.
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With their debut album (self-released), Chrome Dreams and
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Automatic Screams, they've shown that they are a sound to be
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reckoned with in the industrial world. The music sounds
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something like a cross between Front 242 and Operation Ivy. The
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talent for this band is unknown, which is a rarity in today's
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industrial bands. Karakkon Malevil does vocals and guitar,
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Michael the Moist also does vocals, as well as keyboards, and the
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two drummers names are given as Kama and Sutra. On the back of
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the album, though, it does explain that "Sutra" is what they
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named their drum machine.
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The outstanding songs on this six song EP should be played
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repeatedly, preferably at high volume next door to a church.
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"487", the opening track, is a poignantly sad, yet moving, song
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about purity. "Blackie Me" is a twisted song which reminds me of
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pre-Ministry concert fights in the parking lot. "Defecation is a
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Beautiful Thing" is a passable tune, it's happy-go-lucky theme
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contrasting sharply with the rest of the album. "Computer
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Viruses Bug Me" is a whirlwind of frantic guitars, breaking
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glass, and distorted high-pitched screams. "Rippers" and
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"Whipslash" are tunes strewn with pounding drums, completely
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insane electric guitar duels, and Karakkon's gravelly voice
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chanting destruction.
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There are even rumors abroad that Cyberslaughter may be
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going on tour soon, so keep an eye out. Or better yet, poke an
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eye out.
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- Mohammed X
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*
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Dear Mom:
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I was wanting to write to you regarding something very odd
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that recently happened to me while I was walking down this
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road... A small, yellow, furry, smelly creature stepped out. I
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grasped its fury probis and tucked it under my armpit. Walking
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on, it spoke to me, saying:
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"Mortal! Know you that you hold in your hand a God?"
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I stopped, stunned. An involuntary belch escaped my lips. The
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creature, sensing my distraction, wriggled out of my armpit and
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dropped to the ground. I expected it to scuttle away, but instead
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it surprised me by scurrying up my leg and perching on my penis,
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which was erect.
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"Let me tell you a bit about myself," it said...
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"I am Fungus, king of the people of Lundi. Among my
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people, I am known as god of fertility and oral sex. But I
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digress... I have a purpose that begins its fulfillment by
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perching on your penis."
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"You lie!" I exclaimed.
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"No, in order for our people to survive, I must find a human
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mortal specimen worthy of the prophecy. The prophecy states that
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a young mortal, lost to the ways of his world, lonely and
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sexually deprived will, upon being introduced to the ultimate
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orgasm will suddenly choose to redirect his life into a moment of
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complete and utter outer cellular movement. After this
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instantaneous glory, life will be null, void and meaningless on
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the Blue & White Tierra."
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"And if I refuse?"
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"What? But why should you refuse?"
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"Oh, I dunno... just to be a dick I suppose."
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Fungus looked at me strangely, then proceeded to laugh in a
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very annoying high-pitched giggly way.
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Just when I though the creature was going to implode from
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the uncontrolled cackling, he turns to me and says, with a
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twinkle in his eye, "Kiss me or lose me forever!"
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I laughed, the laugh of a maniacal serial killer, and
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proceeded to squash this crazy yellow dork into oblivion. After
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the horrendous task was completed, I spun my heel and continued
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my saunter down the road... and this chick jumped me... I gotta
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quit doing acid.
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Love, Dave D.
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*
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Greetings. By now I bet you're wondering just what the hell this
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bunch of papers you're holding is all about. Well, I can't answer
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that. All I can tell you is it's called Parthenogenesis, and it
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is just a bunch of words put together for your benefit. This zine
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is perfect to stick in the bathroom, so when you're stuck in
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there and feel like you'll be there for a while and you've got
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nothing to read, you'll have this. Plus, if you run out of toilet
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paper you'll have this too. Wow. Allow me to introduce myself. I
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am Mohammed X, and you are not. This zine is dedicated to the
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virtues of Nonrealism, Nocturnalism, Neolithism (not really,
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well, maybe, what does it mean anyway), Naturalism (NOT!), and
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Nonsensicality. And it does not actively promote tooth decay. Any
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donations of money or material (stories, poems, artwork, nose
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hairs, fingernail clippings for my secret voodoo rituals,
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letters, ANYTHING) are accepted; send them to the address below.
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I can't guarantee to print everything I get UNLESS you include $
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for me to print it. The $ to print this zine comes out of my own
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pocket, but that's ok, because who would pay for this trash? I
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KNOW it's trash, I KNOW it's lame, but you're reading it aren't
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you? To quote a poem I wrote with my friend and dartboard Akhmael
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called "Evil is cool, Good is Peanut Butter": "I sacrifice you;
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in the name of Winnie the Pooh; you kill me; in the name of
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hockey.". Really, there was no point in quoting that, but just
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think. Chances are you probably don't do it enough. Think. I know
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I don't. The penIs, mightier than the sword.
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-Mohammed X
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Parthenogenesis
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804 S.College Suite 8363
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Ft. Collins, CO. 80524
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*
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a conversation:
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JEAN LUC: Get that boy off the bridge!
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WESLEY: but captain...
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JEAN LUC: In my ready room! now!
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<exit WESLEY. JEAN LUC straightens uniform and frowns. exit JEAN
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LUC>
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WESLEY: so why do they call it your "ready room"?
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JEAN LUC: You'll find out when you're ready. Har har!
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WESLEY: very funny captain.
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JEAN LUC: bend over and touch your toes.
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WESLEY: no, not again!
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JEAN LUC: <zip!>
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<enter WILLIAM.>
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WILLIAM: Sir, I... why, you're bald all over!
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JEAN LUC: what is it, number one? Can't you see I'm busy!
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WESLEY: I thought I was your number one!
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JEAN LUC: shut up, boy!
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WILLIAM: sir, we're under attack!
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<JEAN LUC and WILLIAM walk to the Bridge.>
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JEAN LUC: by whom?
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WILLIAM: we don't know for sure, sir.
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JEAN LUC: on viewscreen!
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<picture of a spaceship appears.>
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JEAN LUC: it looks to me like a Venorxiian Battleship!
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WILLIAM: we thought so too. but they could be Romulans,
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disguising themselves as Venorxiians!
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JEAN LUC: hmm... you could be right number one.
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<WESLEY wanders in and reprograms the navigational computer.>
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WARF: message coming in sir!
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EERIE VOICE: federation starship! Hand over all your young nubile
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women!
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JEAN LUC: and if we do not?
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EERIE VOICE: we will kill you all!
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JEAN LUC: identify yourself!
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EERIE VOICE: I am Mel Blanc.
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WARF: he could be lying sir.
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JEAN LUC: hmm...
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EERIE VOICE: we have waited too long! We will kill one of you as
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an example!
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WILLIAM: no!
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EERIE VOICE: yes! the BOY shall die!
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<WESLEY bursts into flame and is nothing more than a charred
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cinder in a matter of seconds.>
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WARF: fuckin' A!
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<commercial break.>
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<end of commercial break. JEAN LUC is still staring at the
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picture of the spaceship on the viewscreen and shows no sign of
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quitting.>
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WILLIAM: sir? what should we do?
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WARF: captain? shall we attack?
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GEORDI: captain?
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DIANA: sir?
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WILLIAM: captain!
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WARF: sir! Shall We Attack!?!?
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JEAN LUC: NO!
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WARF: but we could blow them away!
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JEAN LUC: ah, but we are peaceable!
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WARF: but they KILLED one of our crewmembers!
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WILLIAM: it was only Wesley.
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JEAN LUC: true. but we ARE on a mission!
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WILLIAM: to seek out new worlds-
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JEAN LUC: no, besides that. I didn't tell you about it before so
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I could build up suspense. You see, we must find... the secret
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Hair Growth Tonic!
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WILLIAM: but that's impossible! there's no such thing!
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EERIE VOICE: not true! we have it!
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JEAN LUC: you do?
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EERIE VOICE: yes! and we will trade it for... the Counselor! JEAN
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LUC: make it so!
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WARF: but captain, she can only embroider!
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JEAN LUC: she'll have to do. Engine Room! One to beam over to the
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alien vessel!
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WILLIAM: sir, the engine room doesn't beam things. the
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transporter room takes care of that.
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JEAN LUC: shut up! this is my ship, I can do what I want!
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WILLIAM: not any more, I'm taking over.
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JEAN LUC: you can't!
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WILLIAM: I just did.
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JEAN LUC: ok. <pouts>
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WILLIAM: Warf! photon torpedo that spaceship!
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WARF: yes sir!
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WILLIAM: Jean Luc... be in my ready room in five minutes.
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WESLEY: hi guys!
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WILLIAM: what the hell? I thought you were dead!!
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WESLEY: oh no sir. it was just a hologram of me that appeared to
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burn up and die. you see, all I did was-
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WILLIAM: shut up. Warf!
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WARF: sir!
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WILLIAM: stab him.
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WARF: yes SIR!
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WESLEY: aaargh!
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WILLIAM: is he dead yet?
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WARF: no sir.
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WILLIAM: ravage him.
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WARF: yes sir.
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*
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It's Guapa time! Seeing as I am a High Sloppa of Guapa, I really
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should devote some space to Guapa in this zine. Okay, well, for
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those of you who really don't know who Guapa is, he's the god of
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Free Beer. One swell guy. Actually, he's also the god of
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alcoholic beverages in general, but especially beer. And
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especially FREE beer. You see, Guapa gives his blessings as he
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sees fit... mostly when you praise him a lot. When you get free
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beer, you should thank Guapa, for he is the one who got it for
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you. No, it wasn't the guy who gave it to you, that was just
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Guapa's emissary. Who do you think divinely inspired the guy to
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share his beer with you? Guapa, of course. Heck, I find unopened
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6ers of beer lying in the middle of the street late at night, and
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who do I praise? Guapa. And hey, if you don't like beer, you can
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still like Guapa! Aside from him being the patron god of all
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other alcoholic beverages, he has a family of other generous gods
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as well: BOB, the god of smokeable materials; SID, the god of
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hallucinogenics; FRED, the god of free rides and found money;
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GEORGE, the god of sex, to name the major ones. They do not like
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praise or open adoration, but they don't mind if you share their
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blessings with others. I'll quote some passages to you from the
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Holy Scrolls of Guapa:
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"SCROLL 2: Praise Guapa, for he gives us beer! For free!
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That's right, beer! For free! Yeah!"
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"SCROLL 19: Hope for the hopeful, for it only will defeat
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hopelessness. Hopelessness is for those with no hope, and those
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with no hope are quite hopeless. Praise Guapa! Praise be unto
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praise, for with it we praise Guapa. And don't forget the orange
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juice!"
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"SCROLL 51: And one day Bob sayest unto Sid: 'Lo, am I
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high!'. And Sid replieth unto Bob, saying: 'Lo, where'd you get
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that extra eye?'. And George walked in and sold them each a
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concubine."
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"SCROLL 78: Gee, though I walk through the valley of
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sobriety, I shall fear no policeman, because Guapa loves me. Yea,
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I am most pious and never stray from the path of drunkenness and
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beer (free) is man's best friend. I think that maybe I'll pop a
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cerveza now and ponder this dry little valley..."
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Okay, here's a little story I thought you might like... it's from
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Guapa's Bedtime Stories, a compilation of various writings and
|
||
stuff about Guapa. This is from Genesis of Drunkenness.
|
||
|
||
CHAPTER 1: OF THE CREATION OF BEER
|
||
|
||
In the beginning, there was water.
|
||
|
||
Lots of it.
|
||
|
||
High on Mount Guapa (which is a good state of mind to be in
|
||
that Holy Place), Guapa sat upon his throne and pondered. What he
|
||
pondered was anyone's guess. One day, while out for a stroll, he
|
||
happened to notice the vast amounts of water that existed on the
|
||
world. Our Lord Guapa was troubled, and the reason for that was
|
||
this: Why should there be just water? And so Guapa Most High
|
||
(believe me, he is) uttered the legendary phrase:
|
||
|
||
"Let there be beer!"
|
||
|
||
And there was beer. Guapa was pleased. He set about to
|
||
drinking most of it, and was even more pleased. Soon his days and
|
||
nights were taken up with drinking the Beer, and making more, and
|
||
drinking, and making more... and all was good. But soon again
|
||
Guapa was troubled, for he wished to share his Brew with someone,
|
||
for as everyone knows, it's no fun to drink alone. And so Guapa
|
||
rose, fell, and rose again; he was very drunk, that being his
|
||
nature. Guapa clapped his hands together seventy-six times (Guapa
|
||
swears it was seventy-six, but it has been speculated that it was
|
||
closer to three), belched, and created the People. The people
|
||
cried aloud with joy that they had been created such. Guapa
|
||
offered them beer, which the people promptly drank; and lo, it
|
||
was good shit. The people cried aloud with joy that they could
|
||
drink this Divine Brew, and drank some more. Guapa wished that
|
||
they would stop crying aloud with joy, and he said so; and lo,
|
||
the people stopped crying out with joy. The people and Guapa then
|
||
got down to some serious drinking.
|
||
*
|
||
god (that's me), how I love these. Each of these says the same
|
||
thing backwards as it does forwards. If you know any more good
|
||
ones, send 'em in!
|
||
"Rise to vote, sir." "A man, a plan, a canal - Panama!" "Was
|
||
it a cat I saw? No, Miss, it's Simon."
|
||
in reference to that illustrous periodical:
|
||
"Live on, Time, emit no evil."
|
||
Napoleon Bonaparte, as he was being escorted to the island Elba
|
||
after being exiled from France, was supposed to have said:
|
||
"Able was I ere I saw Elba."
|
||
personally,I think all he could say was "Shit shit shit shit..."
|
||
And here's one even in Latin, though I don't know what it means,
|
||
probably something obscene: "Sator, arepo, tenet opera rotas." *
|
||
|
||
----------------------------------------------------------------
|
||
PEER PRESSURE INC.
|
||
|
||
our motto: "Do it! Everybody does!"
|
||
|
||
We here at PP are devoted to convincing our fellow peers of
|
||
the vast benefits of joining with us in anything we do. Besides,
|
||
everyone else has joined. Non-members of PP are ridiculed, tarred
|
||
and feathered, and shot with rock salt by their peers. And if
|
||
that's not enough incentive to join, we offer a newsletter,
|
||
called PPP (the Peer Pressure Post). PPP is published somewhat
|
||
semi-periodically... usually. When we get around to it. Don't
|
||
force us, though! Hey! Okay, we'll do it, since you insist.
|
||
|
||
To join, send your $1.00 (initial membership fee) + $2.00
|
||
(yearly dues) with the attached sheet filled out completely to
|
||
the address below. Membership is $2.00 per year. Membership
|
||
privileges include: A membership card, the PPP newsletter, and
|
||
the satisfaction and prestige that goes along with being a part
|
||
of the whole.
|
||
|
||
A non-profit organization (pretty much).
|
||
|
||
Peer Pressure Inc.
|
||
804 S.College Suite 8363
|
||
Ft.Collins, CO 80524
|
||
|
||
P.S. Remember to photocopy the sign-up form and distribute
|
||
it to at least 2 other people, before you fill it out.
|
||
|
||
P.P.S. You won't regret this.
|
||
|
||
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
|
||
NOTE: Before filling out this form, please photocopy and
|
||
distribute to at least 2 other people.
|
||
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
|
||
NAME _______________________________________________ AGE ________
|
||
ST.ADDRESS ______________________________________________________
|
||
CITY, STATE ________________________________________ ZIP ________
|
||
SOCIAL STRUCTURES YOU BELONG TO _________________________________
|
||
_________________________________________________________________
|
||
EVER GIVEN IN TO PEER PRESSURE BEFORE? __________________________
|
||
(IF NO, THEN INCLUDE AN EXTRA $1.00)
|
||
WHO/WHAT CONVINCED YOU TO JOIN? _________________________________
|
||
WILL YOU DO IT? (Come one, EVERYBODY'S doing it!)
|
||
(If you don't, nobody will ever respect
|
||
you!) YES [ ] NO [ ]
|
||
(NOTE: If you marked the NO box, you're a reject.)
|
||
|
||
Enclosed is my $3.00 ($1.00 initial membership fee, $2.00 for
|
||
first year). Please sign me up as a member of PP. [ ]
|
||
|
||
Enclosed is my donation of $50.00 or more. Please make
|
||
me happy. [ ]
|
||
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
|
||
******************************
|
||
END OF PARTHENOGENESIS ISSUE 1
|
||
******************************* |