textfiles/magazines/PARTHENOGENESIS/parth-03

<<<EXTRA-SPECIAL NEATO NOTE: Hello to all who are reading this!
This is PARTHENOGENESIS, a regular old solid ink-and-paper zine
based in Fort Collins, Colorado converted to ezine format. Please
keep in mind that this is a REPRINT of the original issue. Also,
apologies if the zine is a bit Fort Collins-inclusive (future
issues won't be). All work by the respective authors is under
copyright. Permission is granted to copy and distribute this
ezine in its entirety, or to give the respective author credit
for his/her work. In the future I hope to have current copies of
PARTHENOGENESIS distributed physically and on the Net
simultaneously. I also hope to be independently wealthy, conquer
the universe, and learn to tango. Of the three, I think the
second is the most likely. If you should wish to contribute to
this zine (all submissions will be considered - but I tend to
stay away from political crap), request a copy of the physical
zine (it looks MUCH better, and has a bit of artwork in it that's
not here), or just have something to say (I welcome ALL
comments), please write me at: Parthenogenesis, 804 S.College
Suite 8363, Ft.Collins, CO, 80524    or you can send email to us:
dherrick@nyx.cs.du.edu. Thanks for listening to me babble, and if
you didn't take the time to read through all this, you're a dork. 
         --- Mohammed X                >>>

************************
PARTHENOGENESIS ISSUE #3
************************
Welcome once again to Parthenogenesis! (And you thought you'd
seen the last of me... well, no such luck!) Finally, the third
issue (this one, for those of you who haven't caught on yet) is
out, and I really have nothing else to say about it, as the zine
should speak for itself! Oh, a disclaimer: the views expressed in
this zine are ours and not yours, so if you want to use them feel
free to write in and ask for permission. A $5 processing fee is
mandatory for your request to be considered. But seriously... All
articles, stories, and other writings printed in this zine are
copyrighted by the respective author. Artwork by Ben Hunter is
also under copyright. 
THANKS very much to Business Express for donating this issue of
the zine.
THANKS also to FlAmY, Contradiction 23, Adam Five, Business
Express, Diva Anna, Dan Quayle (fore inspiratione), Big Brother,
Mimi & Mamie, the town of Intercourse, Pennsylvania (for obvious
reasons), and the people who wrote to me.
WRITE to Parthenogenesis! I WILL reply!
     Parthenogenesis
     804 S. College Suite 8363
     Fort Collins, CO  80524

CONTRIBUTORS for this issue: Adam Five, Contradiction 23, Bill
Lee, Ben Hunter, and me.

                         - Mohammed X
*

     LETTER TO THE EDITOR

     Dear Mr. Ragz Rejected,

     I read and admired your letter. Here I sit in my warm and
comfy flannel over my Exploited shirt, my trusty combat boots on,
and my leather jacket thrown stylishly over my shoulder,
listening to Nine Inch Nails...oops! I didn't mean to listen to
something outside my proclaimed genre of music. No use broadening
my musical horizons when I have that old Subhumans tape lying
around. I guess I should have spent my last fiver on it instead
of stealing it - but I had to use the FIVE BUCKS to get into
Undertones. Boy am I glad you suggested going to Undertones. Now
I can sit in a corner with my friends at Undertones instead of
going to the mountains to smoke pot. All in all, your advice is
sound, and I think I will follow what you say. Isn't that what
you're saying being punk is all about? I have to go now, as I
must try to bum a ride home from Satan, but again, I sincerely
thank you.
               Peace, love, and anarchy...like you say...
               IMPERMEABLE TEABAG
*

             ALIENS VISITED ME AND NOTHING'S CHANGED

A very odd thing happened to myself and my friend Contradiction
23 while we were sitting around in our igloo playing 'Risk'. You
see, I was just about to invade Ural, "the blow me state", with 4
armies when what should happen but a strange arm tapped me on the
shoulder! I screamed and farted loudly, I couldn't help it, I was
terrified! But as it turned out it was only '23 tapping me on the
shoulder with one greasy finger. "Want shom?" he asked, his mouth
full and holding a plate of leftover Sesame Chicken up to me. I
shook my head, which dislodged the glass I had balanced on top of
it. It fell, right on the board, and cappuccino went everywhere!
It spilled onto the Risk board, all over me, the floor, a gecko
which had just been wandering by, '23, and Guapa knows what else.
"Mohammed!" '23 exclaimed in that stern voice of his. I quailed,
but leaped to my own defense. "Wasn't me!" I cried. "Then who was
it?" '23 looked surprised, with good reason, because he hadn't
said that. We looked up and there was a little green ALIEN
floating up near our ceiling. "Shit!" the gecko exclaimed. The
alien nodded. We felt ourselves being drawn up, nearer and nearer
the alien, his slitted eyes getting bigger and bigger, until...
we woke up, lying on our floor. Immediately we jumped up and
began to do jumping jacks excitedly, trying to assimilate this
new experience. We realized that not only had we been contacted
by aliens, but we had been to their space ship! We obviously
couldn't remember that part because they must have blocked it out
of our memory. Just then the gecko began to tell us about how
depraved and boring today's youth had become, especially in
Ft.Collins. We paid him no attention, but he kept right on
talking, like we wanted to hear him go on! Then, when he
mentioned the word "punk", we both suddenly had the urge to spout
off certain words, which we did. We had no control over what we
were saying. When we were finished we looked at each other with
new respect. We realized that the aliens had imprinted a message
INSIDE our heads, activated with the code word "punk"! Not only
had they done that, but set it up so that each of us had only
HALF the message! We quickly wrote down what we had said
(fortunately, the gecko had a great memory), then pondered it
over a dinner of Sesame Gecko. This is the message:

"Hair of the dog biscuit chicken heroin string kitten of the
north sugar hiccup persephone lazarus fingernail black within my
buttocks squid sandwich without gravy tastes like no man or
chicken fried steak nostril bones eating mice tailless upstairs
outside round the corner great burgers and urine for my mother I
would never flatulate on grandmother's grandfather clock blue the
house down with mighty cleanser action works like shit
blasphemous orgasm hairless fingers non-stick weevils smoother
than Jesus longer than Witchboard bitchboard banana fanna fo-
fitchboard let's do Sally Jesse Raphael in New Orleans when the
moon is high and Dan Quayle sleeps with potato dreams which
defecate into seemingly unabridged dicks vans dykes ill-begotten
son who gave his only cheese to a young lady with no turnip-
powered genitals to speak of I feel like my lips have fallen off
color and have entered the urine zone."

Yeah, that's what we said too. Well, we're sure it has some
incredible significance, but we can't really figure it out. What
does it mean? That's why I'm telling you this story and telling
you the message. YOU figure it out. If anyone can figure out the
deep and wonderful meaning of this message, be sure and tell us.
Then, and only then, will we be able to find out what the aliens'
purpose for us really is, for I am sure that once we hear it
explained to us, the aliens' memory implants will activate again
and we could do great things. Like make lots of money. And build
strange temples dedicated to the aliens, and make a LIFE-SIZE
Risk board, and... well, I could go on, but I won't. That's the
story so far. The rest...we shall see.
                                        - Mohammed X
*

PARTHENOGENESIS POLL #1 RESULTS!

Yes, all you who have been eagerly awating the results for the
Parthenogenesis Poll #1, here they are! We had 50 polls returned
out of 50 given, only because we were standing right next to the
polltakers and wouldn't let them eat the papers or throw them
away. Most of the polls (actually more of a survey, but let's not
get picky) were given at Paris on the Poudre. The designation
MORON refers to those who didn't bother to answer the question at
all or answered in a really annoying messed-up way. Nobody gave
us a donation. Expect to see more polls in the future.

QUESTION 1: "Of the people handing out these questions (Rob has
the goatee, Dan has the glasses), whose shorts are the most
'punk'?" 
          DAN     : 17 (34%) 
          ROB     : 22 (44%) 
          NEITHER : 11 (22%) 

As you can plainly see, Rob won the 'punk shorts' category,
obvisouly because he must have bribed the polltakers. One person
wrote: "Define 'punk'." Well, that's easy. It's right under
'Ninja', and just above 'Chickenbutt'.

QUESTION 2: "What is your favorite word?" 
     Here is the list (in no particular order) of some of the
words (Interestingly, there were no repeats) : 
     Rhombiscosdodecdihedron, ahhhhhh..., continuity, yes, slush,
sex, blechaas, antidisestablishmentarianism (curse the one who
wrote that), parthenogenesis (bless the wonderful shining being
who wrote that one), spooge, nuisance, rave, holoblastic, yowza,
dekadence (thank you Ragz), albino, swag, "I can't remember but
it starts with a 'p'", why, wild, comPASSIONate, marijuana, swub,
eviscerate, shmegma, plaster, chunder, deetledeedeedee,
absorbant, plethora, queer, mercurial, random (my personal
favorite as well), verb, moist, duh, cunnilingus, shred, schmuck,
christ.

     There were also 5 people who replied with profanity.   
QUESTION 3: "What is the funniest single word you can think of?"  
    Pickle, implant, mormon, shamboozler, zorch, zit, boob, plum,
Lebowitz, Rob, quiet, goatee, sphincter, ninny, mushroom, uht,
shminkadooble, cheese, butterfinger, Paul, cunnilingus (2 votes
for that one), hello, Perot, squirrel, hermaphrodite,
cumulonimbus, wakka, persnickity, gubernatorial, bwesk, crotch,
Connie, winnebago, pamplemousse (french for grapefruit), yurtle,
"neo-tropical zones for grandma make my knees itch! (It's all one
word, if you think about it)", supercalifragilisticexpedoshut,
moist, doukie, queeb, Dan, dildo.

     Only 3 people replied with profanity for that one. 

QUESTION 4: "What is your favorite word ending in -ism?" 
     Jism (6 votes, the winner), Socialism (3 votes),
Antidisestablishmentarianism (2 foolish votes), Schism (twice),
fascism (2 for this one), sexism, prism, conservatism, satanism,
bipolarism, orgism (stretching things a bit, are we?),
colloquialism, parthenogenesism (hooray! Thou art punker even
than I), existentialism, monotheism, trism, libertarianism,
individualism, ismism, cloroxism, hedonism, organism, stonyism,
unitarianism, triangularism, anarchism, heterosexualism,
communism, sadism, mormonism, taoism, aphorism.

QUESTION 5: "What are you thinking about right now? (3 words or
less)" 
     The answers to this one were of course varied. However, a
predominant thought, it seems, was sex. 15 people responded with
sex-related answers. 4 people had drug related answers. Some of
the more interesting responses: 
     "How to spell", "What to write", "What to think", "Schism is
shit", "I am ugly", "Can't hear correctly", "Anyone for 69",
"white, white, white", "Lemons, pure! Sugar, butt.", "Dan's
shorts", "Answering question 5", "a circus wagon full of diseased
lemurs that are assembling prosthetic arms.", "absorbant cotton
crotch", "words or less", "big green elephants", "killing my
boyfriend".

QUESTION 6: "Are clowns REALLY funny?" 
          NO  : 42 (84%) 
          YES : 8  (16%) 
     Also, of those who answered NO, 4 noted that clowns are
"scary". 
 
QUESTION 7: "Are you currently plotting against anyone to do them
harm? (yes/no)" 
     YES : 20 (40%)           MORON : 1 (2%) 
     NO  : 29 (48%) 
 
QUESTION 8: "Do you believe that anyone is currently plotting
against YOU to do you harm? (yes/no)" 
     YES : 25 (50%)           MORON : 3 (6%) 
     NO  : 22 (44%) 
 
     Note how the statistics change. Are YOU paranoid? These
people are, it seems. "Just because I'm paranoid, it doesn't mean
that they're not after me." 
 
QUESTION 9: "Do you consider yourself an artist? (yes/no)"   YES
: 34 (68%)           MORON : 2 (4%) 
     NO  : 14 (28%) 
 
     One person answered "phlegm-bulb" to this question. We
counted it as a "yes". 
 
QUESTION 10: "Have you ever cheated on your 'significant other'
(does not have to be the current one)?" 
     YES : 37 (74%)           MORON : 2 (4%) 
     NO  : 11 (22%) 
 
     A quote from a respondent: "Cheat? Love is not a game.
Eating disorders are not a crime." 
 
QUESTION 11: "Do you have an 'innie' or an 'outie'?" 
     INNIE : 45 (90%)          "PARELLELAGRAMMY" : 1 (2%)      
OUTIE : 2  (4%)           "UNDERDEVELOPEDY" : 1 (2%)       MORON
: 1  (2%) 

QUESTION 12: "Estimate the amount of your bodily hair on a scale
of 1-10 (with 10 being the hairiest)." 
     AVERAGE AMOUNT OF BODY HAIR = 4.68 
     HIGH = 15           LOW = -1 
 
Females averaged no less body hair than males.
 
     We also cross-referenced this info in an unusual way. We
figured out the average amount of body hair for people who voted
for Dan and voters for Rob on question 1. 
     AVG. BODY HAIR FOR PEOPLE WHO VOTED FOR 
               DAN     : 5.14 
               ROB     : 4.44 
               NEITHER : 4.45 
Draw your own conclusions.

QUESTION 13: "How many cups of coffee have you had tonight? (work
out your own conversion method for espresso drinks)" 
     TOTAL CUPS           : 44.5 
     AVG. CUPS PER PERSON : .89 
 
Interesting to note that the average was less than 1, considering
we did this poll almost exclusively at a coffee shop. 
 
QUESTION 14: "Are you currently under the influence of any mind-
altering substance?" 
     Yes, we mean drugs. Now, who out there knows that caffeine
is a drug? I thought so. The MORON designation for this question
means a person answered NO for drugs even though they admitted to
drinking coffee. The SMART designation means those who noted on
their poll sheet that yes, caffeine is a drug. Congratulations,
smart ones. 
     YES : 15 (30%)           MORON : 7 (14%) 
     NO  : 35 (70%)           SMART : 3 (6%) 
To get the REAL statistics, add the MORONs to the YES answers.   
QUESTION 15: "How many people do you truly trust (as in, trust
your life with)?" 
     TOTAL   : 118.5          NOBODY  : 4 (8%) 
     AVERAGE : 2.37           MORON   : 2 (4%) 
                              SPECIAL : 1 (2%) 
 
One trusting fellow said "40". He's probably been robbed blind by
his 'friends' by now as well as died from multiple stabbing
wounds in the back area, so we won't count that one. The SPECIAL
response was very special, so extremely special, in fact, that I
can't tell you about it. 
 
QUESTION 16: "How many people do you think truly trust you?"      
TOTAL   : 86.75          NOBODY  : 10 (20%) 
     AVERAGE : 1.735          MORON   : 12 (24%) 
                              SPECIAL : 3 (6%) 
 
The same trusting fellow thought that 189 people trust him. Poor
guy. 
One of the SPECIAL responses: "Down with quantitative questions.
The utopian forest of radical subjectivity will only be realized
when we learn to appreciate the QUALITIVE." 
 
QUESTION 17: "Do you prefer the 'Young Elvis', 'Old Elvis', or
the 'Elvis Today' stamp?" 
     YOUNG ELVIS       : 15 (30%) 
     OLD ELVIS         : 2  (4%) 
     ELVIS TODAY       : 10 (20%) 
     NO ELVIS          : 9  (18%) 
     'I HATE ELVIS'    : 5  (10%) 
     DEAD/CORPSE ELVIS : 4  (8%) 
     BLONDE ELVIS      : 1  (2%) 
 
some other options: 
"Elvis as a young journeyman plumber", "the
Dead-streaked-with-pus-and-bloated-decomposing-Elvis stamp",
"Chuck Berry", "Elvis Upside-Down Stamp", and "Cute Elvis".   
QUESTION 18: "Okay, how much money do you think these guys are
making on this poll?" 
     Amazingly enough, 14 people thought we'd actually make a
PROFIT on this poll! How they came up with this idea, we'll never
know, considering we spent about $2 to make these copies, and the
only donation we got was a dollop of coffee on one of the poll
sheets. 


     Well, there it is in its entirety. We hope you enjoyed
learning about facts that have no relevence to any facet of your
life. Thanks to all of you who filled out the poll, and to those
of you who put your names on them... hey, don't feel bad.

*

           THE ADVENTURES OF THE DIME AND THE QUARTER

                         by Dan Herrick


                           CHAPTER ONE

     Once upon a dime, there was a quarter. No, it's not what you
think. They were just exchanging blueberry necklaces.
     "Hey!" called a passing turnip. "Whaddya two think yo
doin'?"
     The dime and the quarter quickly grabbed their assorted
fruit-necklaces (forsaking the less valuable vegetable-jewelry)
and began to run in a vaguely northeasterly direction.
     "Hey!" called the turnip again, "That's MY necklace! Stop,
thief! I mean, thiefs! Help! Po-lice! I been ROBBED!"
     The dime and the quarter narrowly escaped the turnip by
ducking into a nearby alley and tripping the turnip when he came
running in after them.
     "Ugghsplat!" the turnip said. Actually, he didn't SAY it,
quite, but in actuality his whole physical body made that
particular noise as it fell into a conveniently located trash
can. The trash can, disgusted, tried to spit the turnip out, but
succeeded only in thoroughly moistening the turnip's upper body.
The turnip, at this point, fainted, and its farm-grown body went
limp. The dime and quarter decided that a) they had better run,
since a cop most likely by appearing soon; b) the turnip was a
pretty disagreeable sort of guy anyway; and c) this wasn't at all
their kind of scene. Therefore, they exited the alley at the
southern end (the one opposite the north end, which they had
entered originally) and continued innocently on their way.     
"You just wait! I'll show you who's top dog around here!" a
nearby cocker spaniel yelled from somewhere nearby, although the
comment was not directed at either the dime or the quarter. The
dime looked at the quarter meaningfully. Suddenly a loud booming
voice intruded on their nice leisurely run-for-their-life.     
"That look looked as though it contained quite a bit of
unauthorized and otherwise thoughtless thought, young sir!"  The
dime looked up in some surprise. "No!" he breathed, "It's the
Thought Police!" he shrank back in fear. The quarter, however,
was less intimidated. "Madam!" she corrected sharply, giving the
Thought Cop an equally sharp slap to the face.
     The Thought Cop became confused. "No, sir, I'm, uh, sorry,
but you're mistaken." he stammered.  "I'm afraid I'm a man, if
you don't mind?" he finished somewhat lamely.
     "Somewhat!" the quarter snorted contemptuously, then shut up
as she caught the venom-filled glance that the Author cast in her
direction. "I meant, you fool, that I am female, therefore you
will address me as Madam, and not Sir!"
     Meanwhile, the Thought Cop was busily writing out a ticket.
"Mmmm, let's see..." he mused. "Unauthorized Thought or
Thoughtless Thought? Or Unthoughtless Authorization? Damn, this
job is fun!" Finally, finished, he tore off the ticket (written
on a yellow legal pad out of spite) and handed it to a startled
Avocado by mistake.
     "But this isn't mine!" the Avocado insisted indignantly to
the Cop, who uncaringly removed a slightly lint-covered doughnut
from his shirt pocket.
     "Tough!" the Cop said, and snorted his pastry bluntly.  "But
this puts me illegally over my Thought Limit! I'll have my brain
removed!" the Avocado pouted, lower lip trembling.     "Tough!"
God intoned, and reached a Hand down through the clouds to pluck
the Avocado's brain out through its ear.
     Everything seemed to happen at once: the Avocado fell to the
ground, dead and brainless; God withdrew His Hand and
accidentally snagged the dime, carrying him with Him; the Cop
died of internal hemorrhaging due to a very bad doughnut; a boy
appeared, cried "Wolf!", and disappeared just as suddenly; and
the quarter spontaneously multiplied, becoming a Susan B. Anthony
dollar.
     "AAAIIIEEE!!!" cried the quarter-turned-dollar piteously,
"Won't somebody help me?!?"

               (To be continued........!)
*

"What's important is not having a big dick, but being a big
dick..."
                                             - Achmed A'xir  *
     My Memories of CasaKindergarten
                                             by A. Non 

     I remember when K, S, J & D first found CasaKindergarten
before they moved in. It was a pretty nice place, then, although
we later found that it had an unfortunate tendency to sneak out
late at night and get itself dirty, sometimes full to the windows
with Taco Bell wrappers and cigarette butts. This was before
anyone really came over - and it was kinda nice. 
     Later, after the unfortunate (?) exile of S & J, others
moved in - and the house could not curb the habit of sneaking out
and getting filthy - it even dirtied the dishes. Not only that,
it began to invite others into the house. I didn't mind - not
that I really had the right to mind, but I felt part owner of the
house somehow - I had been there before it all started. 
     Then, its social habits got out of hand - it began to invite
all sorts of undesirables, and that's when I felt the need to
leave. This was no longer fun - I mean, these people - these
CHILDREN seemed to think that they owned the playground - When
the owners, definitely outnumbered, went into debt covering the
bills. It was wrong - all wrong. THat's when I left, I think that
might have been before it was called Casaguapa... I mean, people
who impose so much as to live in someone's house without paying
rent as if it were some sort of rehab center of reform school -
and then STEAL from the people who actually had the generosity to
let them stay there... it was very questionable, to say the
least. All of them should have been kicked out regardless of
their criminal activities or ties to people who payed rent there.
I just can't find any justification for the way things turned out
- then again - I never want to be a social worker.

*
                     THE BOOK OF MOHAMMED X

                          CHAPTER, TOO

on Guapa's island kingdom; on off; on the great Happening; on the
floor again.

     For some time I was happy with Guapa, and for some time
after that I was also happy with Guapa. Guapa, at that time,
resided on an island called D'nalsi. We (his worshippers) were
very happy, and never wanted for anything, save perhaps a larger
quantity of public restrooms. But then, one day, it happened. I
recall it quite well; I was sitting in a bar called Guapa's Bar
and Grill (it had once been called Guapa's Bar and Cheesecakes,
but, as you can see, it was no longer), sipping a glass of
something-or-other with vodka in it, when the ground began to
tremble. Thunder rocked the Bar. A huge black cloud covered the
sun. Then the entire Bar was lifted up as if by a gigantic hand,
spun around violently a few times for the amusement of the same
giant hand, then flung through the air! I fell to the ground,
screaming in misery!
     "Oh, knock it off!" said the man sitting at the table which
I had recently vacated. He glared at me.
     I glared back at all three of him, shut my eyes, and opened
them. All three of him were still glaring at me. I jumped to my
feet, hit the ceiling, and rebounded back to the floor. I rose
from the floor slowly and stood before the man. The left-most one
of the three, that is.
     "Lishen," I said, "I..."
     He looked puzzled. "What?" he urged.
     "I... I don't really have anything to say." I told him
indignantly.
     "Mohammed, you fool!" he hissed, "You're drunk! Shut up!"    
 "Oh, great!" I sneered. "And next you're going to guess my
weight, right?" I sat down and finished off whatever he'd been
drinking.
     He appeared mystified. "Huh?" he replied wittily.
     I narrowed my eyes and looked at him. This had the effect of
nearly blinding me, due to the blackness at the edge of my
vision. I did it a few more times for the sheer thrill of it,
then barked, "How'd you know my name, mister?"
     His face showed an expression of extreme bafflement. "Why,
we've known each other for years, Mohammed. I'm Achmed.
Remember?"
     "No," I said coldly, and would have added to that if the
floor hadn't leapt up and pulled me down on top of it. I heaved
myself up to the table. Achmed slapped me in the face a few
times, not unkindly. And then I remembered.

               (continued...if you're lucky!)

*

"I had a dream that I was Bill Clinton at an equal rights march
getting a handjob while wearing a towel."
                                   - Contradiction 23

*

                WHAT YOU DON'T SEEM TO UNDERSTAND

Everyone I have ever met is trying to be someone in a movie that
had a cool scene taken from a 45 mark 16 degree angle.

Consider this scene the mold!

Now everyone is given two pounds of playdough to fill in this
mold.
The problem seems to be that this scene mold of fruitcake
just happens to take four pounds to fill it.

Consider this the problem!

Now you can push all the playdough to the outside
and it will look like you have filled the mold, but
 it will be hollow.
You can not even touch the edges, and you will be solid, but you
won't get any chicks and then what would the fucking point be?

Or you could go with my solution...

Kill another man, take his playdough, and fill the mold.
Frame someone else, because you will look so cool that the pigs   
  WOULD HAVE TO BELIEVE YOU!

And remember kids, hypocrisy is the root of all chicken and
everyone likes oral sex, they just get it more if they say that
they don't. Keep doubting what you know to be true.

                         - Contradiction 23

Contradiction 23 is not a nationally syndicated columnist. 

*

! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
GROUND UNDER'S WRITING CONTEST
------------
Submissions are being accepted for Best Short Story ($30),
Nonfiction ($10), and Poetry ($10). All entries will be
considered for publication. Send submissions on disk [IBM or MAC
ASCII] or hardcopy to :  Shadow Publications, 305 W.Magnolia
Suite 312, Ft.Collins, CO  80521.  Or if you have a modem, upload
the material in ASCII [300-9600 bps]: (data) (303)484-4572.
GROUND UNDER wants all types and all topics. The only requirement
is good writing. Write to the above address or call the above
number for more information.
SUPPORT UNDERGROUND PRESSES AND KEEP FREE SPEECH ALIVE!
! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

*

               THE CHRONICLES OF RIT SOM T'NG


Part 2 : The Mourning of Xsa

     Millions of years ago, a male narrator's voice intoned,
there existed a culture very much somewhat not completely totally
unlike ours.  Many of the problems we face today, though, didn't
exist in their society and that was mainly because all of the
beings on this planet shared one brain, called the Archelon.     
Well, the Archelon was located atop a huge black inverted
pyramid called the Hip Pad.  Each generation was born and expired
at the same time, so every generation one being was selected for
the great honor of carrying the communal knowledge of the
Archelon.  When the time came for the aging generation to commit
mass suicide in a ritual called the Great Manic-Depression, the
one who carried the Archelon inside its body would live on past
its generation's death cycle.  More to the point, they would
become immortal.
     Our story starts high above the city of Bigapple, atop the
Hip Pad.  It starts with the young being named Xsa, a pet
resembling a cucumber and four large windows.

     A new female narrator chimes in.  Xsa, the Pet-Who-Was-Well-
Liked, had died just recently.  The entire Sa household was in a
period of mourning.  Asa, the tall Head-Of-The-Household, wept
quietly, and was followed in turn by Bsa, She-Who-Is-Lady-Of-The-
Household, and Csa, He-Who-Is-First-Born-Of-Asa-And-Bsa.  The
remainder of the Sa clan wailed quite loudly and violently, in
ceremonies involving quite a bit of a certain intoxicating
beverage known as Vvgach'ii.  As a result, the ceremonies tended
to become a bit wild and occasionally dangerous.  Asa, Bsa, and
Csa quietly locked themselves in a sound-proof vault for the
duration of the mourning, which was 370 years.  Inside the vault,
there were few diversionary entertainments, and so with nothing
to distract the Sas, they fell to talking.

     "Not this one again!" moaned C'kriis, goddess of
stereophonics. Her two identical heads swiveled to face the
nearest immortal, who happened to be Amagajho.  "I must have seen
this one eight times in the past week!"
     Amagajho nodded sympathetically. "And how does that make you
feel?" he asked her.
     She turned away, disgusted. "Serves me right, talking to the
demigod of psychologists. Don't see the use of them myself.
Poopchute!"
     "Awhatsthat?" Poopchute replied, startled, from across the
room.
     "Could you be a dear and skip to the next Chronicle?"     
"Surely!" he replied amiably, then added: "That is, if no one
else disagrees?"
     "I'd like to watch this one!" wailed Dummich.
     "Anyone?" Poopchute asked, viewing the room. "Okay then,
it's settled. Next Chronicle!"
     He deftly pushed a button with his toe.
*
*******************************
END OF PARTHENOGENESIS ISSUE #3
*******************************