114 lines
6.4 KiB
Plaintext
114 lines
6.4 KiB
Plaintext
Ü ÜßÝ Ü Ü Ü
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ßÝ ßÝ Ý Ý Ý
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Ý Û Ý Ý Ý
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BLaH Ý ß Ý ÜßÜ Ý Ý
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File ÝßÜ Ý ÜÝ ÝßÝÜÝ Written March 21st, 1993
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#037 Ý Ýig Ýong ÜßÝ Ýnd Ý Ýairy
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Ý Ý Ý Þ Ý Ý Ý
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ÝÜß ÝÜÜÝ ßÜÜßÞ ÜÝ ÞÜ
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Presents
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Ú ÄÄ ¿
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"Judy Blume Nightmare"
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³ by ³
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Guido Sanchez
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À ÄÄ Ù
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Judy Blume Nightmare
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Insomnia keeping me up that fateful night of April 30th, I opened up
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the old suitcase of crap that I had felt worth bringing back from my
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parents' house, just in case I wanted to relive the manipulated
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childhood I had recently given up. These were the old books that were
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too moist and discolored to be sold for twenty-five cents at our garage
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sales which Mom treated like a circus with her colored flags strung up
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throughout the front yard and 'Teddy Bear Picnic' streaming forth from
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speakers put on display to prove that they were worth the five dollars we
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were asking for. These were the books I loved and cherished, being a
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literate child of the late seventies and early eighties. These were
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from that unique era of literacy which was somewhere between Dr. Seuss
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and science fiction novels. These were the works of Cleary chronicling
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the epic struggle of Beezus and Ramona, the hard luck story of Henry,
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and yes, even Ralph the motorcycle mouse. These were the choose-your-
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own-adventure books which I had liberated from the school library in the
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fourth grade. These were the sagas of Jupiter Jones and the rest of The
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Three Investigators. And yes, among them were the sweet magnum opuses of
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a woman named Blume.
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A maelstrom swept over me of memories and feelings. Of the times I'd
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had back in the fourth grade. Back when the immense cult appeal that is
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the crux of my being manifested itself. Fondly I remember the friends
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I'd made as president of the self-founded unofficial Meditation Club
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where we sat about during recess with eyes closed chanting "Oh-lolli-
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pop-i-um" ad nauseum while my friends <I think there were at least two>
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slyly slipped lollipops into their laps, keeping most of them for
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themselves <thus insuring our friendship>. Ah, we were masters at
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knowing when someone was peaking, and only the submissive would get
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their reward. We could have tamed them all if it were not for that
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bothersome Cult Watch representative having an unfortunate liason with
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the principal. That and the fact that I was physically repulsive, quite
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the opposite of the primal Adonis that I am now. Small, fat, and with
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glasses made for not a pretty scene. But that never stopped me from
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being the social acolyte that I am now. Ah, the times I spent reading in
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the library, reading on the playground at recess <I lacked the skill and
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desire to swing>, reading on the bus ride home, and reading before I
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went to bed. Yes, you truly cannot keep a well-rounded individual down.
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Yes, from the 2nd to 6th grades I peaked. And from these newly
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re-discovered tomes, I could get the ego-boost that I so desperately
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needed. I grabbed the first one I saw, a pale blue book with a litte boy
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jumping up and down on a bed gracing the cover. My lips trembled as I
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read the title. "Superfudge", I whispered as I would the name of
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anything else I held as sacred. As I turned to the back cover to read
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the plot summary and book reviews, a warning light went off in my head.
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There had been a first one. Yes, _Superfudge_ was but a mere sequel to
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another book. I racked my brains and the suitcase trying to find what it
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was. Both my brains and my hands found what I was looking for
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simultaneously. There, in a coverless book with a sea green spine, was
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the primer of the Fudge saga. _Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing_ rested
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in my cradling arms, rocking back and forth until my brain made me hear
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it croon. I turned the first page, and prepared myself to sally forth
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into my childhood.
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About 70 pages through the book, I nodded off to sleep. My dreams
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were filled with the sadistic images I had just encountered. I saw
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myself as a turtle, being plastered with stamps, dangled cruelly above
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someone's mouth, and finally eaten by a small child. I saw myself as a
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little girl, brought to a little boy's house and then forced to urinate
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on the rug and commit other devious acts which involved teeth. I saw
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myself as a little boy, neglected by my parents, ridiculed and scorned
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by my older sibling, and exploited in television commercials. I saw
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myself as Sheila Tubman, subjected to exposure to cooties, called ugly,
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and having my older sister called fat. I saw myself as all of these
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characters and others from the other books Blume wrote. I awoke
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screaming out loud for Jesus Christ, knowing that a scream for my mother
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would almost certainly bring forth the flames from Judy Blume's personal
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Hell. This was the first time I felt in my heart that I had truly
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accepted Jesus Christ as my saviour. It was also the first time I
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realized why my childhood was so happy. No matter how much my
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drunken father beat me, no matter how many times my mother made sexual
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advances toward me, and no matter how many times my older brother threw
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me outside on the snow nude and locked the door; I knew that what I was
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going through nowhere near rivaled that of the ordeal of Fudge Hatcher,
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and that none of this really mattered anyway because Jesus loves us.
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Thank you, Judy Blume, for being my Beatrice and showing me that Divine
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Love is the way. Praise Jesus!
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--GS <Great Saviour!>
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{---End of File. Welcome to the valley of the great white sleep.---}
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From the Ayatollah of Rock-n-Rollah!...
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BLaH <Sigh>ts..
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Nun-Beaters Anonymous <708>251-5094
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The Battle of Evermore <312>476-1508
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The Obloid Sphere <708>965-3098
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Yes, there are fewer sights to be seen because I have made no contact
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with any of them in a long time. If you'd like to be a BLaH sight, then
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call yourself one. If you'd like to be mentioned in this propaganda area
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and receive our WaReZ the day we release them <0 day WaReZ!>, then
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contact a member or sysop on the above boards.. We're back!
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{---Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls... Dyin' Time's Here---}
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