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textfiles/magazines/HOE/hoe-0500.txt
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[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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HOE Text Files Present...
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'88 98E 888888888 x88X 888. x88X 888.
d8E 88> 8*888**" X888X 8888L X888X 8888L
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88~ d8E %8F" d888" "88X 88*` "88X 88*`
'"" """ ^"===*%"` ^"==="` ^"==="`
"HOE: Representing Planet Earth"
*or*
"The Irritation Continues"
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
"Zorgblip."
"Yes sir?"
"Is your report on Earth ready?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Get on with it, then."
"Right. Captain Foozaza, members of the council of Worlpdang...
as you know, we are poorly constructed alien stereotypes with the goal of
taking over planet Earth. It was my mission to learn more about the
inhabitants of the planet... the type of culture they had and their
psychology, in an effort to find out how dangerous they might be."
"Yes, measuring potential threats."
"I decided the best plan to observing this culture completely
undetected would be to connect to a random, insignificant computer system
on one of their networks, and copy the data contained."
"Sounds reasonable."
"After collecting the findings, I concluded--"
"Zorgblip, just SHOW us your findings and let us be the judge."
"Yes, sir. The following, apparently, is a sample of some of the
greatest minds on Earth."
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "What Was Where You Was When You Wasn't?"
-> by AIDS
Think about that kids, you're living in an age where every
metaphorical system of thought has been reduced to ash, and you can't make
reference to your Judeo-Chrsitianity, your Hermes Trismegistus, your
Orphic hymns, your classical antiquity.
All you can use as a metaphorical system is television, and MAYBE,
if you're lucky, some Paul Newman films, films you heard sampled on a
Guns N Roses album! And that's how he was! And that's how you know it!
I want to fuck you like an animal!
So, dig this, gather round my tribal fire, because you've fallen
victim to the realists, to the post-modernists, to the age of
enlightenment, to the existenialists, to the war heros, to the shit asses,
to the fucking taenias, you've got nothing to work with. Your writing
and thought is as shallow as a plastic Happy Hungry Hippos pool, and your
mind is slowly wading from end to end, going back and forth in that 5
square foot puddle of cognizant thought.
With that being said, I welcome you all to HOE, the ultimate
demonstration of the above! We here in HOE have a literacy level of
huffed-out extra chrosome 3rd graders, and we're looking forward to your
patronge!
ENJOY!
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "Scatology"
-> by Kreid
SQUEE DILLY BOP!
BOP!
BOP! BA-DOO-DA-DOO FIDDLYMOPSNOP!
SNOP!
...KOO! KEE! KA KA KA KA! KILLY KILLY KOE KOE KIDDY DIDDY BLOP!
NA NA NA NA NA NA NIDDLYNONO NA NA NA NARGAFLOPPYDOSLIPBEEDILYSLOO!
CATHETER! GOTCHAGLOP! GOTCHAGLOP AT THE COOCHIE SHOP!
KATCHA KATCHA KO!
KATCHA KATCHA KAID!
SPLATCHA MATCHA KAID, CUZ I'LL NEVER GET LAID!
EETCHY!
BLEECHY!
SLOAF!
YOLG!
LIEG!
MOGEL!
ONE AND-A TWO AND-A THREE! CUT IT!
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "A Text File About Penises"
-> by Caitlin
_______________ _____________
| | | |
| | P E N I S E S | |
| uncircumcized | * * * * * * * * * * | circumcized |
| penises | | penises |
|_______________| |_____________|
| / \ / |
| / \ / |
| /wanna\ / |
| /eatthem\ / |
/ \ /__up_____\____/_____ |
/ \ | | |
/ \ | darren- | |______________
/neutral\ | harvey | | |
/_________\ | syndrome | | Josh |
|___________| | Syndrome |
/ | |
/ | |
/ |______________|
/ |
/ |
/ |
_____________/__________ |
| | |
| this is when the mush- | |
| room tip is in perfect | __________|_______________
| proportion with the | | |
| shaft, which is not | | this is when the head is |
| abnormally shaped, or | | smaller |
| sized throughout it's | | (out of proportion) |
| length. | | to the shaft. |
|________________________| |__________________________|
| | | |
| | | |
/ | | |
/ | / |
| ______|_____ / |
________|_______ | | | |
| sometimes seen | | very good; | | __________|_________
| with: creamy, | | a plus; a | ________|________ | |
| milky color, | | garnish; | | | | commonly seen with |
| like ivory, | | an extra. | | not necessarily | | unproportioned |
| flawless, | |____________| | a bad thing. | | shaft also. |
| yummy, almost | | almost always | | starting larger |
| edible. | | tolerable. | | getting smaller |
|________________| | rarely | | as it reaches |
| acceptable. | | the head. |
|_________________| |____________________|
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "Musings"
-> by PezMonkey
You know what I was just thinking? I was just thinking that it
would pretty much suck to be a deaf-paraplegic epileptic. I mean, first
of all, you couldn't hear anything, which would mean you couldn't talk on
the phone like a normal person. So instead, you'd have to buy one of
those phones with a keypad thing, so you'd talk on the phone via
typed-communication. But that also means you couldn't hear the ringer,
so the phone would have to have a flashing light to indicate an incoming
call. Now, we all know that the number one cause of epileptic seizures is
flashing lights, so you'd have an epileptic fit every time somebody
called, and then, being a paraplegic, you'd probably fall out of your
wheelchair. And then, ultimately, since you'd be a deaf-paraplegic
epileptic, you'd consequentially be alone, and unable to do anything once
you overcame the seizure, because you'd be sprawled out on the floor
unable to get back in your wheelchair.
But you know what would suck even more? To be a deaf-paraplegic
epileptic with harelip. Yeah, that would suck.
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "I Love All People"
-> by Teerts
hey you with the dead eyes, over here!
with the hazy bovine look on your face.
following the herd wherever they go,
like lemmings fleeing life on that cliff.
when the night comes you will all, maybe,
go away, find something new to do,
other things to destroy and bastardise,
maybe then you will succeed at killing
yourselves. your politics and politics,
and lies and politics and scandals and,
not to mention, your secrets, shhh!
keep quiet you sappy fuck and go away!
can you not see i am busy trying to,
if i may, kill you with what stones,
sticks, and their hurlers cannot?
in this block of letters, and words,
and letters and letters and spaces,
and symbols and did you know it?
of course i knew it, did you not?
of course i am better than you!
you are still better than me,
or so it seems all to often, well
all the time.
we can never escape, we will,
even if you hope against it,
meet at least once again.
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "9:20"
-> by AltRocks
It's 9:20.
I have a CD Playing.
And I just sneezed.
A bird flying over head decides to land but misses and almost gets
run over by a car. A stray cat meows in the alley across the street. I
look up at my screen and wonder why I don't have a life. Then it hits me:
I'm a self-isolated text-file writing computer geek.
But enough about me. This story has nothing to do with me. It's
about a girl, and her dog. Oh wait, that's the porno I'm reading...
Nevermind...
Once upon a time in a city not far from here (here being a place
that is totally dependant upon where you are, hence here), there lived a
hermit. This was no ordinary hermit. This hermit had a special talent.
He could get drunk off of only 3 beers, even though he weighed upwards of
250 pounds. It was quite a feat. But besides that he was a rather normal
hermit. Now that you knwo what's special about him, there's not much more
to say.
Okay, let's get serious for a second. I want to talk about
depressed people. Is it just me, or do they seem to enjoy being depressed,
until they get out of it at least? I have trouble understanding this
phenomenon. Maybe somebody should look into it, as Kurt Vonnegut says.
Alright, now back to what I was saying. What was I saying? Beats
the fuck out of me... nevermind.. Next thing.
Women. *Long Sigh*
With the possible exception of some t-file women I know, many seem
to be interested in only one thing: SEX! I mean, sure, sex is good and
all, but what about my mind? I always feel so used and hurt by them...
it's just wrong I tell you. So I am issuing a call to all men and women
to stop the abuse! I want you to love me for my thoughts, and not for
the way I flick my tongue!
Alright... I think I covered everything.... it all seems to be
there. Yup... oh, wait... I forgot one thing...
I love ejaculation.....
Bye for now!
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "The Key to True Happiness"
-> by Kreid
// / / / /
/\ __ ___
\ /_//_@/
/ \
/ __\
( ( // | --- GREETINGs>> MY NAME IS PROFESSOR KRZNPSK. I WILL BE
\ | YOUR GUIDE FOR THIS EVENING. PLEASE FOLLOW ME.
\ ~~~
) )
/ /
/
+-------------------+
| | \---------------------
| | | |
| P H . D | | IMGREAT |0
| | | |
| | | |
| | /_---------------|
+-------------------+
?/// / /
FIRST LY, ALLOW ME TO SHOW TO YOU THAT I o O |==
AM INDEED A REPUTABLE PERSON. THESE ARE --- |
MY DEGREES! IMPRESSED? ~~~ \\ |
( |
/ / ///
= O O ==
|//^ | ON WITH THe LESSON HERE IS OUR SUBJECt. HIS NAME IS
\(~~~~ ) LOVEBOY. LOVEBOY LOVES EVERYTHING!
`-----'
||
/|~~~~ . ______ ,
/ | \( 00 )/
\| ( =^ )
_|_ ( `--' )
_| |_ ~~~||~~
/////
| Oo|
| --- YES ITS TRUE. IN LOVE WITH THE WORLD, LOVEBOY HAS FOUND TRUE
|// | HAPPENIS. SEE LOVEBOY PLAY.
| ~~~~)
\ /~
_____
( ~) hi everyone! gosh these
X ( 0 0 ) rollerskates sure are fun!
`--(\___/ )--
(______)
/ |
/ |
o\ o~o
o
~
~
//// / /
9 o ~
= ------ ~ SEE LOVEBOY FUCK
|//___ ~ _______ __XoX___
| | ========- ( X X) ( ) ~
| ~~~~~) ( & ) ( i i ) /O==- ~
| / i'm makin' love! /( \---)\( ^__ )/
/ (_______) (_xx_____) give it to me
\o ((8===-(Y) )) uhh
\ \ / \
/ /\/ \/ oh god
\ \
// / / /
LOVEBOY, HOW DO YOU DO IT? WHATS YOUR SECRET? o O
WHY ARE YOU SO GODDAMNED HAPPY? ~~ ==
| \\ |
| |
_____________ (~~~ |
( ) ~~\ |
\ ( 0 0 ) /
`---( ^ )---'
( \ / ) i dunno!!! i just am!!!
( \_____/ )
(_____________)
| |
__| |__
THE END
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "Smile"
-> by Phairgirl
i got yer pitcher n i put it in ma pockit. i carryd it round n
round til it felled apart. i smiled and burnd it. it smelld like when mama
usta kill dem fish down by da crick. n yew n me, we's just smilin, cuz dat
crick felted so good, n it made me feel good deep down nside. even when
the fluffy bunny rabbits ran smak inta da barb wire fence n were
dee-capitated. n the blood flowd lika rivr, it sher did. n i smiled at yer
mom, cuz we new more about da werld den yew coulda ever imagined. i
callded ma pup rex n we huntd coon fer some few ours n den mama roasted up
dem fritters n dems tastd good to. doncha no it. n so i look agin at dat
pitcher burnin n i smile. i think about eatn fritters n dee-capitated heds
n doin yer mom n i smile.
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "I Hate Laser Tag"
-> by Styx
[WARNING: What follows is a VERY GENERIC STYX article. Since he
CAN'T WRITE, he has once again resorted to CUTTING and PASTING and
MAKING FUN of people because he has nothing WORTHWHILE to SAY
himSELF. Styx is a very BORING GUY with NO ARTISTIC or LITERARY
TALENT. All he does is SMOKE and PRETEND to be ANGRY. He SUCKS.]
I work with a girl who is easily the most annoying ugly piece of
shit I've ever encountered in my near 22 years. Her entire life revolves
around laser tag and all of her boyfriends are guys she meets at the local
laser tag facility. Her boyfriends suck just about as much as she does.
My conclusion is that laser tag sucks. To get some feedback, I went over
to alt.sport.lasertag and told them how I felt. I posted as if I were
speaking to my co-worker.
I went there knowing full-well I wouldn't get anything of substance
back. When you "troll" (bait for attention, insult just to insult) a
newsgroup, one of two things will happen - you will be ignored or you
will be "flamed" (yelled at by the occupants).
Swisspope made the very acute observation that an easy way to test
the intelligence level of a newsgroup is to troll them. If they ignore
you, it's a pretty smart newsgroup. If they flame you, they're dumb.
Three-hundred and thirty-two responses followed my post. I responded
with eighty-three, for a grand total (so far!) of 415, in under four days.
So, basically, they're dumb. Thank Swisspope for the math.
Now, this does not constitute an article yet. I needed a little
extra "oomph," you know? Well, I got it this morning. Apparently, this
whole fiasco caused a poor laser tag fanatic to finally lose his already
weak grip on reality.
Here is my original post.
---------*
From dropdead@mindspring.com Tue Feb 23 18:56:45 1999
Newsgroups: alt.sport.lasertag
Subject: I've come here to hate you.
From: dropdead@mindspring.com (Styx)
Date: Tue, 23 Feb 1999 23:56:45 GMT
I'll get right to the point. I hate Laser Tag.
"But why, Styx?"
Glad you asked! Allow me to explain.
It's almost the same sentiments I have towards Dungeons & Dragons
players, really, except that in general they seem to have at least a
modicum of intelligence about them. You folks, on the other hand, are
pushing Down's Syndrome.
Ranks? Tournaments? Shields? Guns? Buttons? Game Masters?
Laser Quest flame wars? State vs. state? City vs. city? Using
codenames instead of real names? There's problem number one. Using
codenames during the game is fine. Using them *outside* of the game
is downright frightening.
Second problem; why do you take yourselves so seriously? Not
only have you bought into the fact that you are some sort of
futuristic laser-warrior, but you *act* like it, too. What do you do
in school when you're chastised by the teacher? Threaten them by
spouting off laser-slang and bringing your team to recess the next day
to shoot them? With lasers? That don't hurt?
See, it's this whole subculture thing that bothers me. Most
subcultures are very productive. They bring veiled truths to light.
They work to educate people. But this laser tag thing is like an
oozing, worthless lump that eats itself and doesn't produce
anything - a cannibalistic microcosm of nothing. I used to think
paintball was the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen, but you folks
win, hands down.
Know what else bothers me? You're all so *tight* with each
other. It's so goofy. You have all lost any social grace because
you've become stagnant surrounding yourselves with people just like
you. None of you evolve. I have met several people who claim laser
tag is a favorite hobby of theirs. And you know what? They all suck.
They beg to be heard. They flail their arms wildly and offer any
information they can if they are given the opportunity to do so - even
worse, when they're *not* given the opportunity to do so.
You folks fumble and trip over yourselves all week in an amazing
display of social awkwardness until the weekend comes when you can get
together with your mediocre laser tag pals, tell inside jokes and drop
names to make yourselves feel better about your horrible week, immerse
yourselves in a world that has no relevance to anything outside of it,
and then go sit at Denny's for three hours and annoy the shit out of
me.
I'm not done. You all think you're big shots, too. Don't you
realize that you are only big shots in the pseudo-gladitorial combat
zone that you have to pay money to get into in the first place? Not
that anybody is trying to impress me, but for the record, I am *not*
impressed. I don't feel threatened. If anything, I'm sad for you.
You are not warriors or fighters. You are people who participate
in simulated combat. That's fine. I'm a huge fan of professional
wrestling and I know the shtick well. But to *live* it is something
entirely different. Get a grip. Get a boyfriend or girlfriend - NOT
one who plays laser tag, either. That contributes to the pulsating
mass of mediocrity I mentioned before.
Evolve. Learn. Read. Have fun. But don't introduce yourself
as Doomslayer and try to impress me. I already think you suck as it
is. Besides, the name-tag on your gas station uniform says "Chris,"
not "Doomslayer." You people are delusional.
---------*
Okay. 415 posts later, LQRooster (LQ stands for Laser Quest, by
the way!) lost his mind. The following are 4 posts he made in
succession.
---------*
From lqrooster@aol.com Sat Feb 27 05:07:02 1999
Newsgroups: alt.sport.lasertag
Subject: STYX
From: lqrooster@aol.com (LQRooster)
Date: 27 Feb 1999 10:07:02 GMT
My complaint about Styx
I just want to say one thing: A day without Styx would be like a day
without delusional denominationalism. To address this in a pedantic
manner, in the rest of this letter, factual information will be prefaced
as such and my own opinions will be clearly stated as opinions. For
instance, it is a fact that Styx presents himself as a disinterested
classicist lamenting the infusion of politically-motivated methods of
pedagogy and analysis into higher education. He is eloquent in his
denunciation of modern scholarship, claiming it favors feral dweebs. And
here we have the ultimate irony, because the gloss that his shock troops
put on his ramblings unfortunately does little to complain about
domineering militant flakes. By the same token, his backers internalize
and adapt to the unwritten realities they must work under.
Even Styx's least brutal minions supplement their already-generous
incomes by selling contraband on the black market. Styx makes free and
liberal use of chicanery, deceit, intolerance, lust, persecution, and
oppression. His helpers perpetrate all kinds of atrocities while alleging
that they are simply not capable of such activities and that therefore,
the atrocities must be the product of my and your feverish and overworked
imaginations. Most of us believe that he is extremely worthless. The tone
of Styx's stances is so far removed from reality, I find myself
questioning what color the sky must be in Styx's world.
I know the following is an incredibly cheap shot, but if Styx opened his
eyes, he'd realize that failure to define our terms more clearly will
lead to a deluge of complaints by his cringers. Although he has
tremendous popular appeal, the few pernicious saboteurs who deny this are
not only wrong, they are willfully abhorrent. Even with the increasing
number of crass slime, to Styx, acting like puerile fork-tongued
grizzlers is a lot of fun. Styx's followers are currently in the streets,
burning, robbing, and looting. Never forget that and never let him erode
constitutional principles that have shaped our society and remain at the
core of our freedom and liberty.
---------*
From lqrooster@aol.com Sat Feb 27 05:08:58 1999
Newsgroups: alt.sport.lasertag
Subject: MORE ABOUT STYX
From: lqrooster@aol.com (LQRooster)
Date: 27 Feb 1999 10:08:58 GMT
I feel compelled to preface my remarks with the following: Styx has no
moral qualities whatsoever. Let me begin by saying that I shall do my
utmost to exemplify the principles of honor, duty, loyalty, and courage.
Someone needs to call your attention to the problem of inconsiderate
usurers. Who's going to do it? Styx? I think not. Faith is harder to
shake than knowledge, love succumbs less to change than respect, hate is
more enduring than aversion, and he never seems to listen to anyone
else's positions and reasoning.
Think about that for a moment. Teetotalism appears to have triumphed.
It's a pity. I think that Styx will indisputably kill the goose bearing
the golden egg one of these days. I base this confident prediction on,
among other things, the fact that a distasteful mentality and a scary
sense of fogyism create fertile soil for licentious kleptomaniacs to
trick academics into abandoning the principles of scientific inquiry.
In case you don't know, the pen is a powerful tool. Why don't we use that
tool to mention a bit about tyrannical peddlers of snake-oil remedies
such as Styx? I do not wish to evaluate colonialism here, though I claim
that Styx's slaves do not concern themselves much with the people around
them. Styx's favorite scapegoats are the government, the economy, the
environment, society, parents, teachers, and just about everything else.
Even if our society had no social problems at all, we could still say
that Styx's thugs don't want to make their own decisions but want Styx to
do their thinking for them. Most of us who have been around for a while
realize that some of his orations raise important questions about future
social interactions and their relationship to civil liberties.
It is no news that I must openly confess that Styx has yet to acknowledge
this. I, for one, have the following to say to the assertion that he has
achieved sainthood: Baloney! There are two main flaws with his notions:
1) his vicegerents are obstinate televangelists (literally!), and 2) this
is why his mercenaries, using every conceivable means for their purpose,
are determined to precipitate riots. When you get right down to it, Styx's
ideals are attributable to an ignorance born of fear.
Imperialism is not confined to any specific era, culture, or country. What
if we collectively just told Styx's subordinates, "Sure, go ahead and spam
the Internet with contemptuous clumsy e-mail. Have fun!"? That would be
worse than worthless; it would rob, steal, cheat, and murder. As a parting
thought, remember that we can divide Styx's "compromises" into three
categories: uneducated, scummy, and blathering.
---------*
From lqrooster@aol.com Sat Feb 27 05:20:36 1999
Newsgroups: alt.sport.lasertag
Subject: WHILE ON THE SUBJECT OF STYX.....
From: lqrooster@aol.com (LQRooster)
Date: 27 Feb 1999 10:20:36 GMT
There is currently a lot of controversy about Styx's refrains, and I know
that any letter on the subject will almost certainly cause someone to
draw unsuspecting utopians into the orbit of bitter insensitive-types.
Still, however varied or profound the explanations underlying our sense of
moral values may be, Styx's commitment to barbarism is only part of the
story. What follows is a set of observations I have made about
insufferable smart alecks. Imagine a world in which he could inject even
more fear and divisiveness into political campaigns whenever he felt like
it. His favorite scapegoats are the government, the economy, the
environment, society, parents, teachers, and just about everything else.
If I understand Styx's viewpoints correctly, then this is a frightening
realization. It is naive to think that Styx wouldn't use lethal violence
as a source of humor if he got the chance. How does Styx deal with this
fascinating piece of information? He thoroughly ignores it. Since their
emergence on the stage of history, antisocial batty hooligans have been
a parasitic growth on the stem of true citizens. From a purely technical
point of view, the big parlor game among his supporters is guessing which
of them was the first to do the entire country a grave disservice. The
underlying message is that prodigal Luddites are the lowest form of human
life.
There is no question that this is nothing new. Styx is the grand master
of obfuscation and misdirection. It's a pity. He can't throw away his
integrity and expect the world to respect him for it. He doesn't care one
whit about how others might feel. Styx's appeal to narcissism is dangerous
stuff. The same holds true for daft schmucks.
Let me back up a little: Styx is a faithful student of Sun Tzu, the
ancient Chinese strategist who advocated demoralizing one's enemy as the
highest art of warfare. I maintain that he will decidedly play on people's
conscious and unconscious belief structures one of these days. I base this
confident prediction on, among other things, the fact that my number one
priority is to make technical preparations for the achievement of freedom
and human independence. Because of Styx's tricks, our schools simply do
not teach the basics anymore. Instead, they preach the theology of
anti-democratic insolent Fabianism.
Those of you who thought that Styx was finally going to leave us alone are
in for a big surprise, because Styx recently announced his plans to put
increased disruptive powers in reckless lounge lizards' hands. But I
digress. The Orwellian implications of his notions are clear.
I can repeat with undiminished conviction something I said eons ago: I
will not play his abominable games and exploit the masses just like he
does. By toning down his memoranda, many more people are exposed to
Styx's quasi-repugnant mischievous message, convinced by his passion, and
seduced by his simplistic answers to complex social problems. The most
craven big-labor bosses you'll ever see often act with a mob mentality.
You've heard me say that Styx's advocates are all intemperate adulterers.
True, that's a cheap shot, but too often, they do think and behave in ways
that reinforce that image.
---------*
From lqrooster@aol.com Sat Feb 27 05:28:38 1999
Newsgroups: alt.sport.lasertag
Subject: ONE LAST THING ABOUT STYX
From: lqrooster@aol.com (LQRooster)
Date: 27 Feb 1999 10:28:38 GMT
I wish I didn't have to write a letter like this one, but recent events
leave me no choice. I surely believe that Styx's opinion is a lazy
cop-out. It is reasonable to infer that his wheelings and dealings are
made of the same spirit that accounts for the majority of the problems we
face in this world. It's not necessary to go into too long of a
description about how Styx plans to foment avaricious forms of political
tyranny within a short period of time. Suffice it to say that I myself
feel no more personal hatred for Styx than I might feel for a herd of
wild animals or a cluster of poisonous reptiles. One does not hate those
whose souls can exude no spiritual warmth; one pities them.
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "Circus"
-> by Tasha
Enter. Symbolism. Metaphor. Simile. Poetic word giving a brief
analytical description of what I am about to say. Or what I've already
said.
Life is a circus.
Definitely a metaphor. No usage of like or as here.
"Look at the clowns, mommy," said the little girl while eating her
low-fat, lactose-free, yogurt on a no-wheat ice cream cone.
12 to a little car painted red with polka dots. Crowded streets
of New York. Or some other big city with crowded streets. I've never
been to New York, and Detroit's streets aren't that crowded.
"Yes, dear, aren't they funny?"
She doesn't remember why she's at the circus. She doesn't remember
what happened last night.
"Hunnie, you're missing the elephants... and lions... and tightrope
walkers in pink tutus..."
Ride me. Tame me. Walk upon my fucking rope suspended above your
head.
I smoke too much.
Yes, that was a pseudo-quote from Vonnegut. Do you have a problem
with that? Would you like me to quote someone better? Ferlinghetti? "I
fell in love with unreality." Kaufman? "The radio is teaching my
goldfish jujitsu." Late-night HBO erotica? "I need more than missionary
with the lights off."
Voila. Let me live up to your god damn social standards.
I figured I'd write today, because I haven't slept yet and my
writing might be interesting in this sleep deprived, delirious state.
Then, I realized, I'm not delirious. I'm perfectly fine. Not tired. Not
anything. Not real.
No, certainly not real.
Enter. Log. Text. Computer screen.
<me> nothing's real, jeff
<me> you have to realize that
<me> this is TEXT and it's not REAL
<me> but you leave the computer and there's flesh and blood
<me> but it's still not REAL
<_some boy_> sure it is.. it's right in front of me
<me> what makes you think that means it's real?
<_some boy_> well if it's not real then why not go kill yourself right
now
<me> that would be too easy
<me> everything's a given, like in a geometric proof...find
something..and answer or conclusion..or something not even of the
same problem...and you've got reality...right there
<me> but i mean, who cares? i have no fucking clue what i'm
talking about
<me> i just smoke and drink and cry and giggle
<me> equally. all of them.
Note. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.
But...but...but...that says "me." Imagine that! Me! I! She! Tasha!
AM I INNOCENT?
Am I filled with your pure innocent, virginal bliss?
Wait, ignorance is bliss, not innocence.
Knowledge is power.
Enter. PBS commercial.
Enter. We want money.
Enter. Viewers. Like. You.
Enter. Point.
I've come back to terms with my anal retentive nature as of late.
Your spoon isn't straight, Caity. DEAR GOD NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I'm driving myself insane, you understand.
That shirt is on crooked.
The guitar is not at a 130 degree angle from the wall.
Insane. Insane. Insane.
Enter. Generic preaching.
Jesus. Will. Save. You.
Vote.
Pro. Choice.
No. Meat.
Drugs. Are. Bad.
You.
You. Are. Bad.
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "The facts of IRC"
-> by Reflecks
Boredom breeds anything on irc. Usually it makes people write dumb
stuff. One day, (in a land far far away!) Corrupt_ started writing a book
of facts of irc. Boredom being contagious and loving friends, it gained
an active and contributing audience.
Here. are. the facts of IRC. dun dun duuun.
* foreward (By Corrupt_!)..
<Corrupt_> it's a long book
<Corrupt_> dont bother reading it
<Corrupt_> its called "The facts of irc by: Corrupt"
<MiL0> i wanna know what #41880 is
<Corrupt_> it doesnt go that high.
The list...
#99241: A channel that is open with many users
that gets taken over a lot is better
than a +i channel with shitty ops and no users. --corrupt
#99242: Corrupt is god --corrupt
#41880: it doesnt go that high. --corrupt
#1: irc is lame --sockie
#1: "Irc sucks" --corrupt
#2: no channel is really any fun.. not even your own. --corrupt
#3: making fun of lamers gets old. nah. --sockie
#43: extended periods of irc induce symptoms of gonherrea --neonjoker
#3: unless you're a best-seller writer with 20 years experience...
you can't convey your emotions over irc.. no.. not even caps
work. --corrupt
#4: no lamer understands what you say, so they ask questions
with fifteen question marks postfixed. --sockie
#5: all nicks with Mr in the front deem much prompt respect --sockie
#5: nobody believes you. --corrupt
#6: Nobody believes anybody --corrupt
#6: or nicks that start with Neon or end with Joker
demand no respect whatsoever --neonjoker
#7: some dumb fuck took Corrupt's nick.. this is why he has an
underscore --corrupt
#8: nobody likes boring stories. --corrupt
#8: it was the second gunman on the grassy noll --neonjoker
#10: you all suck --mil0
#9: dont jump to 10 without doing 9 --corrupt
#9: there is not #9 --mil0
#11: Sex is good. So get off irc --tanath
#9: its my fucking book. --corrupt
#12 dont repeat --tanath
#12: sex on irc is good when you are a pimply faced
assmunch with an extra hand and some jizz to spare --sockie
#13: spelling things wrong gets you women. --corrupt
#14: speling thngs wrnog gets you womans --sockie
#15: never irc sober --neonjoker
#16: dont smoke while irc-ing. --corrupt
#16: irc til it gets really late, so everything you read soudns funny.
thats the only redeeming aspect of irc --sockie
#17: NEVER get on Irc --tanath
#122: if netsexing, use a keyboard cover --sockie
#16: phonetic=good. AltNerNatinGCaPz0rz=bad. --rawb
#17: always smoke while on irc --neonjoker
#69: don't use this in your nick --neonjoker
#666: satan isnt cool anymore. --corrupt
#21: dont type if you are high. it makes you sound like an idiot
--sockie
#8675309: Jenny --tanath
#31337: you're just too cool for me --neonjoker
#22: girls aren't really girls. --corrupt
#25: boredom is the main ingredient of irc --sockie
#31338: im leeter than you. --sockie
#35: dont lick the spice girls. --corrupt
#36: don't try to be intelligent.. it doesn't matter. --corrupt
#37: those who sit and watch the channel without typing
have the most valuable input. --corrupt
#38: arguing politics ends in dumb clinton jokes --sockie
#38: asking people to msg you is a harder way of msging them.
--corrupt
#1800: See Oh ell ell Eeeh see tee --tanath
#39: irc isnt aol. --corrupt
#41: irc pedophiles are less common than kids pretending to be older
--sockie
#42: kids pretending to be older are pretty damn common --corrupt
#42: this is the only real rule. --sockie
#43: irc pedophiles usually have their age in their nick. --corrupt
#1010321: Irc is all kids, except for the adults --tanath
#1010322: i said it doesnt fucking go this high --corrupt
#312: big dicks on irc mean little dicks off irc --sockie
#313: big dicks on irc usually are big dicks off irc as well --sockie
#314: girls get ops faster. --corrupt
#315: especially if they have a multitude of pics. --corrupt
#315: ops get girls faster. which is why they idle lots. --sockie
#1010321: Sex on Irc is like eating from a toilet bowl. - -tanath
#105: alberto. alberto v05. --sockie
#316: there are less than 20 girls worth having in the whole world..
how many do you think.. could possibly be on irc? --corrupt
#101032b: you end up only wet and full of shit --sockie
#317: people from your school havnt heard of irc yet. --corrupt
#319: models on irc are a dime a dozen. --sockie
#320: especially blonde ones that are 5'5" with blue eyes. --corrupt
#1010900: There are lots more than 20 girls wurth having in the world,
and some of them are on irc. however, they do not want to
netsex --tanath
#321: anyone can be an 18/female/ca if they have pics --sockie
#420: if you have this in your nick you aren't intelligent. --corrupt
#322: +v isnt a big deal. --corrupt
#409: use this in case of monitor-spooge-accidents --sockie
#1010345: Irc war is fun on the day you dl' it --tanath
#323: <Rilke> neither is +o --corrupt
#1010220: just ten cents a minute, anytime,
anywhere in the continental us --neonjoker
#502: attention, attention. wingates, back orifices, and netbuses are
NOT real hacking tools. --sockie
#*69 Irc is great when your dowloading a big file --tanath
#503: you wont get anywhere knowing how to write irc scripts..
learn C or assembler.. --corrupt
#505: seventh sphere is gay --sockie
#506: seventh sphere is gay --sockie
#507: seventh sphere is gay --sockie
#50: bye guys --tanath
#508: seventh sphere is gay --neonjoker
#666: sockie gives the best head in #teen --strider
#667: strider uses teeth --sockie
#668: teeth dont exist. --corrupt
#668: now sockie is sockette :) --strider
#123: where do i sign up for sockie to give me head? --katkitty
#669: nethead is best given by elderly ladies before they put their
teeth in --sockie
#700: god doesnt go on irc... he doesnt see you defending him
or putting him down.. so dont argue about him. --corrupt
but #99242 is <Corrupt_> "Corrupt is god" --sockie
#701: forget i said that. --corrupt
#702: this list could be a best seller.. --corrupt
#10334: trawneekz has sex with your mom. he leaves before you wake up.
hes nice enough to untie your mom to make you breakfast.
respect trawneekz. --rawb
#90210: OHMUYGOD, LETS IDLE WHILE WE WATCH TEEEEVEEEEE --sockie
#649: confing with leetabixes leads to music, tones, discussion about
howleettheyare, but rare talk. --sockie
#982: you have to like having sex with people you'll never meet or
see --punkgirl
#845: mp3 trading comes next to sleep for some people --sockie
#843: why do people use this # shit --russ
#846: die hard irc'rs dont shower, rarely change clothes,
and have well-impressed butt-cheek-marks on their chairs --sockie
#847: <Rilke> i bought my chair with butt marks pre-pressed
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "Apple Pie"
-> by Nybar
Nybar and Jubjub are standing around, lollygagging. Nybar is in
his slippers, reading the paper, and Jubjub is dressed like a leatherman.
Or more like... the gimp, from Pulp Fiction. Yeah, that's it. Now, this
story centers around the orgasmic pleasure that can be had from pie. NOT
JUST ANY PIE though... APPLE pie.
"Nybar, you already started the story. You really freak me out
sometimes... one minute you're just playing Hugh Hefner as a prelude to
some extreme S&M, the next thing I know you're relating where we are, like
this is a t-file or something. Wierd."
-- You see, this story begins at the Legitimate Buisnessmen's
Organization, also know as the Mob Hangout Place where Mob Hangout People
Hang out. Nybar and Vincent were playing cards.
Nybar: "Um, hit me."
[ Vincent hits Nybar. ]
Nybar: "OW! YOU MOTHERFUCK--"
[ Silence falls over the joint as everyone draws guns on Nybar. ]
Nybar: "I mean, give me a card."
[ Vincent hits Nybar. ]
Nybar: (under his breath) "Now you're just being a JERK."
Yes, it was a typical day. Until SHE walked in.
Nybar: "Woo wee! Look at the... um... yeah. On that girl! Woo wheee!"
Vincent: "Nybar, let a *MASTER* of female heckling take over."
Vincent: (to the Girl) "Hey baby! Where's the fire?"
Girl: "Uhh... do I want to know?"
Vincent: "It's in my pants!"
Girl: "Swell."
Vincent: (serious) "I mean it, my pants really are on fire."
Girl: "Oh?--" (She becomes concerned...)
Vincent: "Yeah, you better have a look." (Vincent smiles)
[ Nybar looks at his hand (a jack and ace of spades), and thinks
for a long time. ]
Nybar: "I fold."
Vincent: "I guess I'm just a great sportsman, heh heh heh." (under the
table, Vincent is jabbing Nybar with his gun.)
Nybar: "So anyway, about why I came here..."
Girl: "Hey, loose plot point here! Hello!"
Nybar: "Yeah, you come in later. And seduce the ex-cop gone bad, remember?"
Girl: "Oh yeah. Nevermind."
Nybar: "geez, people today huh? Didn't used to be like this. So *ANYWAY*,
as I was *SAYING* before I was so *RUDELY* interrupted--"
[ SUDDENLY, ALL THE DOORS AND WINDOWS *SMASH* OPEN, AND FBI AGENTS
COME *POURING IN*! ]
FBI Agent #1: "THIS IS A BUST! NOBODY FUCKING MOVE, MOVE AND GET BLASTED!
NOBODY STAY STILL! STAY STILL AND GET SHOT!! OK, THAT'S IT
YOU GREASEBALL MOTHERFUCKERs-- one sec" (he flicks a
greaseball out of his hair) "OK, THAT'S IT YOU GREASEBALL
MOTHERFUCKERS! DIE!#%"
[ With those words, a huge gunfight erupted. Vincent (who was
sitting) was taken down early. Nybar, though, channels the power
of concentration and becomes... THE LAST DRAGON! ]
Nybar: "I AM THE LAST, DRAGON! I POSSESS THE POWER, OF THE GYAHHHgubhh"
[ Nybar gets shot in the Neck. ]
xoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxox
[ 1 year later, Mt. Sinai Intensive Care. Nybar sits propped up,
with a bunch of tubey thing-things in all of his orifices. He
is being interviewed for an emotional film, "How I Learned to
Shit Again". ]
Nybar: "And then the Doctor told me..." <Nybar chokes back tears> "Lil Jo
Jo was dead and--" <sniff> "I'd never shit again!!!!!"
Geraldo: "Why, that is powerful and moving. Just not BOWEL moving,
hahahaha!"
[ Nybar cries. ]
Nybar: "Why can't you... understand my pain!? You're evil... <sniff> EVI--"
[ The scene goes back to the Living Room, with Jubjub, Nybar's
brother, now being penetrated by 2 dildos. ]
Jubjub "Nybar, we need your hands to wield the third one. You can tell
us about how you learned to shit again later."
Nybar: "Nope, gotta tell it right now-- the whole world needs to know!
You see, having a nice hard cock up your ass at alll times is
essential to proper bowel motion! Those Homo-sexua-ls are just
practicing cleannnnnn living! Take it from me, Nybar, or if you
will, my new screen-name, AssPirate 2000. See you on AOL!"
Annnddd CUT!
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "An Interview with M4D 3LF"
-> by M4D 3LF
The following is an in-depth interview between the M4D 3LF and
myself as the Devil's Advocate about marijuana and me.
Devil's Advocate: What's up M4D 3LF, thanks for coming today.
M4D 3LF: No prob, bob, thanks for havin' me.
DA: Well, let's get right down to brass tacks. What were your feelings
on marijuana, and the usage there of, in your youth?
ME: In my youth? Fuck man, I'm only 22!
DA: Well, in your school days. I assuming you had health classes dealing
with drugs at some point in elementary school.
ME: Yeah, the first time I ever saw weed was in sixth grade when "Officer
Friendly" hosted a week-long class telling of the dangers of drugs
and alcohol at my school. They pre-dated the DARE program, but I
guess it was about the same thing. Anyhow, the cop brought a small
amount of greens to the class so we would be able to recognize it by
sight n smell, and thus stay away from it. I guess I was intrigued
by this because I knew at this time that my dad used, or had used,
marijuana, as my psychologist asked me if he ever used it around me.
Still, at this time I believed the "man's" propaganda.
DA: "The Man's" propaganda being that drugs are bad, bad people do drugs
and so forth?
ME: Yeah, when I was in high school I never did anything. Never even
skipped school except for senior skip day, and even then I had my mom
call me in. I bought in to the whole idea that weed, although not as
bad as say crack, was the gateway drug. A gateway to promiscuity and
pregnancy, a gateway to harder drugs, a gateway to death. I
considered my mom, who tried pot a few times with my dad, to be one of
the lucky few who got away unscathed. I even stayed away from
smoking, I thought of cigarettes as the "gateway drug to the gateway
drug".
DA: Did you change your mind about this after high school?
ME: Well, when I turned 18, I was "bad" and tried a cigar with my best
friend. I started dating a slut who said she was a virgin, but I was
a Horney teenager and my thoughts about waiting until marriage were
dashed in a Madison hotel room, but I still remained adamantly against
drugs and alcohol. When I found out my psycho-ex had gotten high and
fucked two guys at the same time while we were still going out it just
confirmed everything I though about marijuana.
DA: So when did you decide that you wanted to try marijuana?
ME: Well, I was always curious about what I would feel like, listening to
Dr. Dre and Da Brat rap about how great it is, smoking pipe tobacco in
my dad's bong. I guess it all came to a head in the winter of 1997.
DA: That's when you first tried it?
ME: Yeah, I guess it was because I was with people I trusted, and they
wanted me to try it. I didn't even feel anything the first time, it
really did nothing for me at all that night.
DA: Yet you still smoke weed today, why is that?
ME: Maybe I'm genetically inclined to smoke weed, my dad does it, my
sister does it, ya know what they say about alcoholism being passed
on. Or maybe it's cuz I was positively re-enforced to like weed, the
first night for that was also the time I had a threesome.
DA: Heh, I guess that would do it!
ME: But for whatever reason, the first time made it easier for there to be
a second time, then a third, and it just kept getting better and
better. Like the time I was so high that my back was stuck to the
floor. We were so loud the cops got called, but they just told up to
turn down the TV and be quiet.
DA: That must have been freaky!
ME: Oh yeah, it was. When the cops were asking my friends for their
names, I was freaking out trying to remember how to spell mine. It
was almost a year later when I started meeting a lot of cool people
through weed. That's how I smoked some primo Seattle shit, met my
boys in the IWP. I've never had a bad time on it.
DA: IWP, what's that?
ME: The Insane Weed Posse or the Insanely Wasted Posse, me and 3-4 other
guys I hang with.
DA: So you got over your fear of pot corrupting people?
ME: Yeah, I used to think that weed was the reason that my ex cheated on
me, that kinda fucked me up a little there, but now it's all good. In
fact I had the time of my life this weekend getting high and drunk
with the girl I'm seeing now. I just realized it wasn't the weed, it
wasn't me, it's just some chics are slutty bitches.
DA: So with everything going ok in your life weed just adds to the fun,
but what about if you get down, are you going to start to use it as a
crutch. Do you ever think you may become like one of DARE's poster
children??
ME: No, I know I'm not hooked on weed, it's just something I like to do.
In fact, I stopped smoking it for a while when I wasn't feeling too
good about myself, so I know I can stop in the future if need be.
DA: So you feel in control of the situation?
ME: It's not even a question. I am way more addicted to caffeine than
anything else.
DA: Do you ever use marijuana as an enhancement, creatively, sexually, or
otherwise?
ME: Well, I've never written while high or stared at the back of a dollar
bill trying to figure out if the guy in the bushes has a gun, but I
have come up with some fucked up shit while "unda tha influence".
DA: Like what?
ME: My theory on Bob Saget for one. I was stittin' in my friend Bill's
car thinking about how he smokes weed like it's green crack, that got
me thinking about rehab, which reminded me about Bob Saget in _Half
Baked_. I started to wonder how they approached Bob Faggot..ah Saget
about doing the part. They must've been all like "Hey Bob, we have
this movie we're making, and we have a small role that needs a cameo,
wanna have a look?" And Bob was all, "Sure, lemme see." Then he
would come back all like, "Dude, my line is 'You think you're an
addict? I sucked dick for coke, pal!' What kinda movie is this?"
Then the movie people would've been like, "It's one of those stupid,
gen-x, stoner movies. It'd be a riot to have you on this." And
obviously he said ok, cuz he's in the movie and all. So my theory on
Bob Saget is that he must smoke a hella weed to think anything he says
is funny.
DA: Well, that is a rather interesting theory.
ME: I think so, anyway.
DA: Huh, well what about sexual enhancement?
ME: Well, I don't need anything to enhance my sex drive, but weed does
make me fuckin Horney as hell. It usually sucks cuz, except for
getting high with my girlfriend, I don't smoke weed with anyone that
I would want to have sex with. Plus I'm still a walking hormone when
I'm sober so it just makes it worse.
DA: Well, I guess we've dove deep enough into your head for one interview.
Thanks for your time M4D 3LF.
ME: Gee thanks, fuck nutz, glad I made your day.
*** Special Bulletin ***
If I can generate enough interest in another M4D 3LF interview, he
says he'll come back for an encore interview. If you have any dire
questions to ask of the M4D 3LF, send them to nevets@geocities.com!!
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "What You Were Missing Out On At 12:02a.m. - 02/12/99"
-> by Styx
<kreid> swisspope: HAHAHAHaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
<kreid> slindsey: AHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!
<Mogel> AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
<kreid> styx: AHHAHAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH!!!
<Mogel> AHAHAhahAHhaHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAAH
<kreid> HAHAHAH
<Mogel> HAHAHAHAAHAHHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAH
<kreid> HAH!
<Mogel> HAhaAHAHahAHAHHA/HAahHAAHAH
<kreid> MMMPHPHHPHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
<Mogel> Sorry AHAHAh when someone starts laughing I can't AHHAHA control
myself!!! HAHAHAHA
<kreid> AHHAHH OH SHIT AHAHAHHAHAHA I FORGOT TO TAKE MY HEART MEDI AHHAHAHA
HEAR AHAHAH HEART MEDICATION AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA
<Mogel> HAHAHAHAhahahAhaAHAHAHHAHA AHHAHAHAHAHA
<Mogel> AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA BUT AHAHHAAH BUT AHHAHA WHY? AHAHAHAHA
<Mogel> I'M DYING AHHAHAHAHAH CAN'T..BREATHE..HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA
<Mogel> AHHAHAHAHA HELP...AHAHAHHAHAHAHAA
<kreid> AHAHAHAHAHaHAHaHAHAHAH SOMEONE'S GOT THE SILLIES!!!!
<Mogel> HAHAHAHAHAHHAA AHAHHAAHAHAHA HAHAHahahaha/2?$E?$@ 2 2q$E?2 2 $@
<kreid> AHHAHAHAHAHAAHA MAYBE I SHOULD AHHAHA CALL THE SILLY POLICE!!?!!?!
<Mogel> AHAHAhaHAHAHAHAAHAH AHAH AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA AAHH
<kreid> HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH MILK IS COMING OUT OF MY NOSE LIKE
AHAHHAHHAHHAAHAHAHAH NIAGARA FALLS
<SwissPope> Lindsey, whose balls would you rather fondle: Don Knotts' or
Andy Rooney's?
<PezMonkey> andy rooney
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "Where is Creativity?"
-> by The Jester
recently, in my english class i read "flight" by john steinbeck.
a short story, merely pages. a very good story which illustrates a young
man's coming of age, and ultimately, death. it shows a transformation
from a lazy boy, to a man. set in the early twentieth century, a very
moving piece.
where is creativity?
upon a trip to a book store, i noticed something. my fiction
section was dominated by recent publications. i glanced at many titles,
authors, and the little story on the back, providing an overview. all
these books are exactly the same.
john mcnardle is running away from a government who is hiding
things from him and is eventually caught and put on trial, where he is put
to the ultimate test of his life, the truth or the lies?
do you call this creativity, america?
do you read these stories? if you do, you should probably be shot.
these stories provide hardly any thought processes. even better, you do
not even have to buy the book, just wait for the made for tv movie. it
will provide you with the same storylines, with even less work on your
part done.
where is creativity?
i listened to my dark side of the moon cd today. quite possibly
one of the best cds ever made, in my opinion. innovative ideas, great
lyricism, great music. if you don't own it, go buy it right now, i won't
care if you stop reading this article, really!
where is creativity?
i turned on my radio today, and listenned for a little while to the
new "hip" bands. eve 6! yeah! matchbox 20! cool! third eye blind!
neet!
if you didn't catch the sarcasm there, and agreed with what you
thought was me being serious, you should be shot.
what people do not realize is that these 3 bands, although there
are more, are all playing the same music. nothing new here. i know the
album was just recently released, but this isn't new. maybe, just maybe,
the first two years of "alternative music," and i use that term loosely,
was creative.
what is now being released under the name of alternative, is no
longer what i would term creative. kurt cobain screaming music, yes, was
creative. it was new. it was a fresh idea. a band, in 1999 playing the
on the same idea as a band from more than ten years ago, is, well, you get
the idea.
i guess what i am trying to say, is that in today's culture, it is,
apparently, too difficult for so-called "artists" to be inventive. the
whole idea that a person can copy the idea of someone who really was
trying to be new and fresh, and make millions of dollars, is suppressing
_true_ artists. why should one change something that works?
where is creativity?
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "Girl Vibe Magazine Feature: Weight Problems? Ask Anjee!"
-> by Anjee
Girls often have weight problems but always lack someone to turn
to in their time of need. Anjee has decided to help out these poor
unfortunate souls with her incredibly fantastic advice. Reader's
discretion advised.
[-----]
Dear Anjee,
I am 21 years old and I'm extremely overweight. I have
tried several diet plans and so-called miracle pills,
but neither helped me lose the fat. I've had a weight
problem for years now, and I am begining to experience
depression. Sometimes I even wonder if suicide is the
only solution to my situation. Please help me!
Sincerely, Flabulicious.
Dear Flabulicious,
Stop eating, you fat bitch.
[-----]
Dear Anjee,
I have heard about you, and a few people recommended I
come to you for help. I am currently a high school girl
who has a slight weight problem. Because of this awful
situation I seem to have found myself in -- I never get
the chance to make friends, boyfriends, or people that
will just talk to me. I've cried myself to sleep many
nights, and I'm hoping you have some advice that you
can give me.
Fat-ass-tic.
Dear Fat-ass-tic,
I can't change the fact that you're ugly. And stop
eating, you fat bitch.
[-----]
Dear Anjee,
I am writing you because I do not approve of the advice
you have been giving to the sweet people who had the
courage to write to you for help. I hardly believe that
saying "stop eating, you fat bitch" will improve one's
self-esteem (which, in these cases there seems to be
incredibly low). Do you even have any experience in
these areas? Please, respect the ones who come to you.
Thanks, SlimTrim
Dear Slimtrim,
Who cares? I'm not paid to be polite, and I am obviously a
perfect example for humanity, so you should listen to my
advice. Now shut up, you fat bitch.
[-----]
That's all, folks! I hoped all of you fat bitches got the advice
you all were aching for. There's no better way to lose weight than to
stop feeding your chubby fat fucking faces.
Stay tuned for the next issue: "She was, in fact, being paid to
be polite".
[-----]
Side Note: Boredom can create vast amounts of stupid, pathetically
pathetic t-files.
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "Why Don't You Lick The Sweat Off My Balls You Spoiled Fat Catholic Cunt"
-> by Styx
That's what I *wish* I could've said.
Amoco. The glory days of my life, you might say. Three to eleven,
Monday through Friday. Wake up at 1:30p.m. Check my email. Get dressed.
Go to work. Come home around 11:15p.m. Do a bunch of drugs, drink a bunch
of drink, go on IRC, complain, go to sleep around 5:00a.m., and start the
whole process over. They were, perhaps, my formative years in learning
exactly how to be alone. I also learned that, beyond any text file, beyond
any book or video game, beyond any daydream or poem or song, people really
aren't very good creatures. It is cliche, but it's not - not how I mean
it. There really are people who, at their very core, suck. Most of them
do. Your friends aren't who you think they are. Your enemies aren't who
you think they are. You don't know anybody. You never will.
Human interaction is based solely on what one gets from the other.
Period. If somebody doesn't benefit you, you won't have anything to do
with them. Any good deeds you do for anybody is only to secure yourself
in your idea that you're a good person. There's no such thing as "out of
the good of the heart." There never was. It's a lie. Mother Theresa
had a diary full of alterior motives.
Which brings me to Amoco again, where I learned this firsthand. Not
necessarily from the customers - it was just the time of my life when this
revelation came and stuck with me. From 18 to 21, I sat in that damn
booth. I complained in text files, I complained to my friends, and
sometimes I'd complain to the customers.
One sent me a complaint back, in the form of a letter.
It was amazing. I sat and I thought about it. Then I thought about
it some more. I kept it up. Through the haze of vodka and cigarettes, I
thought and I thought. I had driven a person to sit down at, like, a
table, and they brought a pen with them, and they sat down, and they
thought about me, and they wrote about it. It was a malicious attempt to
get me fired, and it took effort. I thought about all of this, over and
over again, feeding my already developed idea that people are only out for
themselves.
This customer was, oh, 20 years old. Her father owned a local
limousine company. She drove a classic Ford, given to her, and acted like
you'd expect her to act. She was also an orthodox Catholic, often telling
me to find Jesus. She was smart, though, and clever. I was attracted to
her personality, only, and we'd always engage in conversation whenever
she'd come get gas. It was the well known harmless but aggressive war
between Rich Girl and Poor Boy, documented in about 792 movies. At the
end, they usually end up having sex and then the credits roll. I never
once considered sticking it in her. She was the first person to see Silly
Fat Comix!, drawn sloppily on loose-leaf at the gas station. She laughed.
I decided to send them to Steve Gadlin, then. If *she* got enjoyment from
them, anybody would. Then one night I yelled at her because I was drunk
or in a mood or whatever. I really don't remember.
And as described above, she sat down, at a desk, with a pen and
paper, and put effort out into trying to rid me of my job.
I had thought she was pretty cool.
I had to respond to her letter - company policy and all that. You've
all pictured Amoco as a generic, dingy station, I'm sure. Sounds assinine,
but it was the cleanest, most professional gas station I've ever seen.
Full benefits, pension plans - the whole nine yards. So, yes, it was
company policy to respond to a complaint. And I did.
I sat down at my computer and I thought about it. Do I risk the job
by verbally raping the hell out of her, or do I respond like my manager
wanted me to? It's not like the job wasn't replaceable, but I had (and
still have) a fondness for it. It was the most boring job in the world
and dealing with the public is possibly the most mentally exhausting thing
I've ever done, but the job itself - it was cake, it was great. It was
hard to finally quit. I felt so guilty I gave a full 2 month notice,
found a replacement for me, and trained her.
Anyway, I decided to sit on the fence. I sent her a response. What
follows is her original complaint letter and what I sent back to her.
Things I don't want stalkers to know have been blocked out by asterisks.
--------------------
Kimberly x. xxxxxxx March 4, 1998
xx xxxxx Road
Rich****, PA xxxxx
To Whom it May Concern,
On the evening of March 3, 1998, I went to the Amoco Gas Station in
South******, PA to get my gas per usual. My company (xxxxx Limousine
Service, Inc.) uses this particular Amoco extensively and therefore, a
company card is kept inside the booth with the attendants. After entering
the necessary codes on the keypad outside, the attendant, whose name is
Matt, started to tell me a story of a wrestling event he attended the night
before. Having little interest in the story, I casually laughed. Upon
doing so Matt yelled into the microphone several obscenities and a threat
to "never serve me again". I merely walked away, shocked at his reaction.
I feel as though I, nor anyone else, should be spoken to in this
manner. Furthermore, because of the abundance of business my company gives
this particular gas station, his mannerisms were highly unprofessional and
as a result, considerations are being made to withdraw our account.
The following day, being today, I called the Amoco Customer Relations
department and asked how to file a complaint, and being told it had to be
written, I was more than willing to comply. I also asked if it was
recommended that I call the gas station and speak to the supervisor,
however, the woman with whom I spoke told me a copy of the complaint would
be mailed to them.
I will assume that proper actions will take place regarding this
matter and that I will be notified accordingly, if necessary.
Sincerely,
<signature>
Kimberly x. xxxxxxx
--------------------
Matt x. xxxxxxxxx
xxx xxxxxxxx Drive
xxxxxxxxxxx, PA xxxxx-xxxx
March 16, 1998
To Kimberly x. xxxxxxx,
I interact with my customers in an open manner in a (quite possibly)
futile attempt to break the monotony of the hello/thank you-exchange that
is seemingly ever-present at my workplace. This is, admittedly, more for
my benefit than any of the customers; nonetheless, it does no harm and
makes for a friendlier atmosphere. I'm quite positive that the employees
of your father's company can attest to that. I also get along superbly
with your parents and, I thought, even better with you. There are several
customers that I actually look forward to seeing, and you're one of them,
if only for your witty, intelligent nature (a rarity at any workplace, let
me tell you).
With this in mind, I must say that when my boss handed over your
complaint letter addressed to me this afternoon, I approached it with no
small amount of interest and trepidation. I had never received one before.
It was akin, I'd say, to being called to the principal's office knowing
full-well I had done nothing wrong to the best of my recollection, yet
still interested in hearing the accusations anyway. It is that same
interest that fuels my reply to you now.
To be perfectly honest, Kimberly, I do not recall the incident
detailed in your letter, which certainly isn't to say that it never
happened. After all, you don't strike me as being particularly delirious.
The fact of the matter is that I received your letter 2 weeks after you
sent it. Whatever it is that happened was fresh in your mind. It is
hardly fresh in mine. Due to the amount of customers I get in one day,
let alone one week, let alone two, I hope you understand this.
I will address your letter bit by bit, to the best of my capability.
March 3rd was, infact, the day after I had attended a live wrestling event.
Being the fan that I am, I was understandably excited about it and probably
prattled on about it to half of my customers that Tuesday (much to their
dismay, I'm sure). Most had "little interest" and most "casually laughed,"
and I wouldn't expect any other reaction. Professional wrestling isn't
exactly a hot, mainstream conversational topic anyway. Most would prefer
something about the weather, or maybe gas prices, but the point is moot. I
try not to make myself feel like I am working while I'm at Amoco, and one
way to do that is to socialize with my customers instead of acting like a
button-pushing machine. From personal observation, it is my humble opinion
that the customers prefer it that way. I'd much rather be "Matt" instead
of "that guy behind the glass." Nonetheless, my first apology is for
boring you into a casual laugh.
I stand accused of yelling "several obscenities." This is the most
disturbing part of the letter by far, although not something I will deny,
for one reason only; what may be considered obscene to one person may not
be to another. It all depends, I would assume, on one's upbringing. While
some things are undeniably obscene, others remain in a gray area
(Michelangelo's "David" being a good example). You would be correct in
pointing out to me that nothing I say to my customers should even
borderline on the obscene. Again, though, I have no recollection of this
incident, so I am unable to defend myself appropriately. My second
apology, then, is for offending you in any way. I am sorry and the offense
was entirely unintentional, I assure you.
As far as my "threat," it was purely in jest. In retrospect, this
is actually the only part I remember. I would never say anything like
"I'll never serve you again" to you and mean it, and I had figured you
knew that in the first place. Do you think I would mess around with you
like I sometimes do if I thought you took it personally? Not only do I
enjoy our conversations and occasional wit-wars, I would never jeopardize
the relationship with Amoco and xxxxx. So my third apology is for nothing.
The fact that you took what I said out of context is out of my control.
Relax. Smile. Goof around. Visit the McDonald's playground.
Unalphabetize your CD collection. Next time you stop by, I'll give you one
of my mother's fantastic chocolate-chip muffins at your request. They're
good for the soul and will lighten any spirit. I always have at least two
at the ready. Your sister stopped by and got gas today. She was very
friendly. She's welcome to a muffin, too, as are your parents.
Don't take me so seriously. I'm only a gas station attendant,
after all.
Predictably (and apologetically) yours,
<signature>
Matt x. xxxxxxxxx
The Best Cashier in Southxxxxxx(TM)
--------------------
The next time she came to the gas station, she asked for her muffin.
I gave it to her. She never talked to me again.
To quote Bukowski (instead of ripping him off like I usually do);
"the trouble with these people is their houses have never been bombed
and their mothers have never been told to shut up."
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "PAT"
-> by Aster
once apon a time there was a princess called red. she was the most
beautiful and wonderful princess in the land. many people wanted to meet
her, but she was very shy. one day she was walking around the garden in
her castle and she met a strange man with a strange machine. she was very
interested and got in. when she got out she found herself on hard grey
ground with loud, scary machines rushing past her. all of a sudden, one
of these strange things ran her over. the man inside was named joe white.
he was wanted in 5 countries, 43 states, and uncountable counties for
murder and wearing orange. his daughter, bevin, was only 5 years old and
lived with her mother in l'vern, mississippi. her favorite color was
yellow and she liked flowers and the rain. one day she met a boy named
pat. pat soon became her very bestest friend. he was a very good friend
but she did not know very much about him. but he was really a secret
agent that was sent to watch over bevin because she was a princess that
would take over when the space people come. but one day when she went on
a fishing trip with pat, she fell overbored. pat tried to save her but
she could not swim and drowned.
THE END.
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "The Text File As A Collective, Post-Modern, Masturbatory Experience"
-> by Mogel
I have a lot of pets. Well, they're not actually pets. They're
human. And they aren't actually real: they're a studio audience, and
they sit in my head, laughing at my jokes.
Except they're not really jokes. I like awkward humor. I think I
might have inherited my father's absolutely terrible sense of humor. Not
that I blame my parents for anything. Not that I blame anyone. I remember
an episode (Yes, I've begun cataloguing my experiences in life as episodes,
like a sitcom.) where my father interjects a terrible pun.
Interject turned out to not be the appropriate word. He intended it
to be, but I completely stopped in mid-sentence. Here's what he said:
"[Uhm, imagine a generic, terrible pun here. I can't remember the
actual line.]".
I wondered why my father said this. I asked him, "why did you say
that, dad?"
"It was a joke."
Naturally. But I thought jokes were supposed to be funny. I did!
"I thought jokes were supposed to be funny."
Rather than the predictable "humor-is-relative" tangent that
could've evolved, my father suggested that funny jokes were a corporate
plot to control our humor. He went on to suggest that his jokes were
"rebel humor" -- jokes that challenged the system because they were so
completely unfunny.
Ironically, this is probably the funniest thing my father has ever
said, which speaks novels about the sort of life I've been subjected to
growing up.
So, that's where I've become awkward. And the studio audience in
my head is more like a captive audience, laughing at my jokes. Or not
laughing in my case -- as I bypass the bullet model... and I bypass the
co-author cultural theory.
Sometimes, when I'm at a social gathering full of strangers, I end
up doing the same thing. I have a strange walk. I tend to skip over
superficial conversation. I distinctly recall an episode (there's that
expression again) where an attractive girl approached me for a
conversation.
"Hi. What brought you here?" she asked loud enough to be heard
over the music, peering over her glass of miscellaneous alcohol.
"I don't know." I didn't!
"Who are you here with?"
"My friend. He's having sex upstairs right now." He was!
For some reason the girl stopped talking to me. This happens a
lot. I'll admit someone this particularly touchy probably isn't worth
the effort to get to know as a general rule, but I should probably become
more wacky and entertaining so I can get laid more often.
Not that getting laid is the end-all of existence... it's just a
good reminder that you're just as stupid and human as everyone else. But
I don't even need girls -- I have my awkward jokes to keep me company.
They translate relatively well into text files. Especially HOE,
the crowning jewel of the text file style. Post-modern, for sure.
Self-referencing, re-contextualizing, and swimming in the seas of a culture
that can no longer be innocent, forever self-aware.
But I can't be a *true* experimental, post-structural, post-modern
deconstructualist, minimalist cunt if I write in a direct and rambling
style such as this, huh? I'm far too apathetic here. I have to fill it
with seemingly random cultural references, like, "hey, there's Monica
Lewinsky and Joan of Arc drinking Pepsi and reading Plato." Which isn't
very funny or entertaining at all. It doesn't hint at "the big picture"
in some pseudo-subtle way. It's just stupid.
But stupid is the best art you can find. Stupid is the empty space
you find, bouncing between moments. Like now. I'm here in the middle of
the night, using normally wasted time. The pointless space between having
done something, and wanting to do something... where you feel anxious and
frustrated, ready to create something formal. You know you can do it,
but it's not there yet. That's where I'm at, that's what this is. This is
my empty space, which the real beauty is... where the dynamics *really* get
measured. Just like the circumstances (probably boredom) that brought you
to reading the words I've typed out for you to read.
Text files take many forms, and they're all genuine expression.
Emotional words, ever-ready to be labeled as "angst", like, "My heart is a
bottomless pit." That's a style that will never die. That's what this is
based on.
The counter, the cynical, the Seinfeld-esque parody to this is
essential for text, too. Have you ever thought about actually falling
into a bottomless pit? It's probably the most passive and absurd way a
human being could die. First of all, since you'd be falling infinitely,
with immediate source of food, you're biggest obstacle would be starving
to death. Being aware of Newton's theory that all objects fell at the
same rate, you could take with you hundreds of bags worth of extra food,
so that you could continue to eat. But eventually you're going to have to
go to the bathroom, in which Newton same law is going to have your
excrement fall at the same rate as you, thus you're always going to have
to deal with your own shit. You might as well not eat and get it over with
as quickly as possible.
Plus you'd probably get at least a little bored.
Obviously neither of these styles can completely do the job.
Brilliance rests in the rest. The middle way... the act of being aware of
all the elements of the pseudo-philosophic (what I'm being), Hegelian
Dialectic, and being able to spin them all together in an original,
complex, and thoughtful way.
Uhh... what?
The studio audience in my head is not pleased. Would you like a
refreshment?
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
-> "Quit Bitching and Toke"
-> by AnonGirl
The following exerpts are collected pieces of conversation between
my twin brother and I, while smoking up. Enjoy.
Donny: Man.. you know what'd be cool?
Audrey: What?
D: If we could make this show.. with a camera hooked up in our basement,
and it just shows us doing whatever.. like right now, it'd be cool.
Is that legal?
A: Yup.. people are doing it on the net with webcams. Like jennycam.org.
D: Ah fuck the net, I mean actual TV!
A: I was just saying! I mean if people can do it on the web, I'm sure
soon enough people rich enough will be able to buy a station and call
it TV Jennycam or something.. I'm so sure it'll happen.
D: That's fucked, man.. like 24 hours?
A: I haven't done extensive research on webcams, so I dunno.
D: Ah well. I just think it'd be cool to have a camera set up 24/7 and
people would just watch us and everything we do.
A: Everything? Like as in.. everything?
D: Well, not _everything_, but you know.. if ever I needed privacy, for
you know, then we could just put a cover on the camera.
A: Or turn it off. Toke, don't talk.
D: Yeah, that too. Yeah cause if I put a cover over it people would
still hear things.. so yeah, turning it off would be better.
A: Yup.
D: So yeah, James wants to get his motorcycle license now.
A: Hahahahah what?!
D: Hahaha I know!! What a dork!
A: Dude, that guy isn't even tall enough. His feet would be dangling
and he'd for sure crash. He can barely even drive!
D: I know. He tells everyone he's like six feet tall but he's really
like five foot five.
A: Fuckin' idiot, man. What kind of bike does he plan on getting?
D: Like 950cc's!
A: HAHAHA. He wishes.
D: He'll probably wind up with one of those baby racebikes that look
retarded. Imagine how stupid he'll look. Especially when he bails.
A: Fuck that, he'll probably get a scooter.
D: Hahah for real, man. Pass the J. I dunno, James thinks he's all hot
shit now. He's such an idiot, man.
A: Tell me about it. I wouldn't mind getting a bike, racebike of course.
But it'd probably have to be like 300-400cc because I'd fly off
anything bigger. Plus my height is a huge factor. Maybe when I'm rich
I'll get once custom made. Shit man, the dog's smiling at me.
D: I'd get a Harley, in a second.
A: Nah man, you're so not the Harley type. You know what you'd look like?
One of those business men in the suits who ride around on a Harley. Do
you know how stupid that would look? No offense or anything. I think
a racebike would suit you much better. You're not... butchy enough to
ride a Harley.
D: So I'm a fifi?
A: No, I didn't mean that! But you just don't fit the criteria to ride a
Harley. I mean, sure, go ahead, get a Harley, be my guest. People
will laugh at you, though.
D: I know, I get what you mean. Like a person skiing in his underwear,
right?
A: Yeah! I mean think about how much of a duphus I'd look like..
5'2" on a racebike. Shit man. I can't believe I'm only 5'2".
D: Yeah man, that's pretty short.
A: Fuck you man, it isn't my fault. It's fucked, though, how everyone
else in this family is tall with blue eyes, and I come along, short
with hazel eyes. Sucks ass, man!
D: Shit man, that really must suck! Hahah. Want me to roll another?
A: Why not. You really don't know how much it sucks to be short, do you?
D: I think I can understand shortness.
A: The fuck do you know about being short?! You're 6'1"!
D: Hahah yeah. But I was short once! In grade school.
A: Guy, I used to be one of the tallest girls in the grade, in grade
school. I was the same height in grade four as I am now. Do you know
how much that sucks?
D: Guess not! At least you're not four feet, though. Then it'd really
suck.
A: Hell yeah.. But I dunno, 5'2", it seems stumpy. Am I stumpy?
D: No.
A: Okay cool.
D: Did you see MadTV last week?
A: I dunno.. what was on it?
D: Clops!
A: No way! Which one?
D: Part three.. with the Pillsbury Doughboy. That shit was so fuckin'
funny man. I taped it, we should watch it later.
A: Yeah I have to see that shit.
D: It's so much better than Saturday Night Live.
A: Yeah man.. MadTV is to the late 90's what Saturday Night Live was to
the late 70's.
D: Did you hear that?
A: Hear what?
D: I thought I heard footsteps.
A: Probably just a dog. Toke that shit. Plus if anyone is up, the smell
is covered up from the incense.
D: No man, those weren't dog footsteps they were people footsteps!
A: Yo, stop having kittens. No one's up. It's fuckin three in the
morning. Chill.
D: Okay, yo. I'm going to roll another. But this is the last of it.
A: Alright, cool.
D: I thought of a cool way to smuggle drugs across the border.
A: Haha, yeah right.
D: No seriously. Check it out. You know those Maison orange juices?
The ones in the medium-sized orange plastic bottles?
A: Yeah.. the orange drink that you can't see inside the bottle?
D: Yup, that's the shit. So, yo, you get like a seven of whatever, weed,
shrooms, whatever, wrap it in a lot of plastic. Get a bottle of that
orange shit, put the juice in another container, stuff the drugs to the
bottom of the bottle and stick it there, with tape or whatever. Not
glue though, unless it's Krazy Glue. And then you fill up whatever's
left with the orange juice. They'll never know!
A: Hmmm.. that could actually work. But how would you tape the plastic
to the bottle? It'd be kinda hard to get your hands through that tiny
hole.
D: I'd be able to do it. Trust me. There are ways.
A: Well that's cool. We should try it sometime.
[Played Time Crisis for 37 minutes]
D: Man.. you know what was fun? Fishing in Bermuda.
A: I dunno. It didn't do it for me.
D: No man, you don't understood, you fished for like an hour. I was out
there all day for like three days. I almost caught this big-ass fish.
I think it was a marlin. Do you know how hard it is to catch a Marlin?
A: I really don't. Are there even marlins in that area?
D: I dunno. It was big and had a pointy nose.
A: Fucked if I know.
D: I also almost caught this big brown fish. But the fucker was smart.
He hooked onto the lure and swam underneath the bridge I was standing
on. Bastard broke my line. But then after I caught another big fish.
I gave it to John, and he ate it.
A: That's homicide, you know. Pass the J, yo.
D: How?
A: You took lives!
D: I guess it is homicide. You know how many ants you step on in a mile?
Like 32.
A: I try to avoid them when walking. I don't walk staring at the ground
or anything but yeah, I try.
D: Doesn't matter.
A: Shit.
D: I dunno about James, man.
A: Me neither. He's got what they call 'issues'.
D: Seriously fuck. [Pulls out old National Geographic from 1980] Doesn't
that just look like shit, man? I mean look at that... look at these
people. Man. People just dressed like fucks back then.
A: You should see the ads.
D: Check it out, the all new 1980 Toyota Celica. What a ride, man. Yo,
check this out, it's a picture of a Korean mall. This shit looks like
2005, not 1980.
A: Shit... it looks like something out of Brazil.
D: They have shit like that in Brazil? What? How?
A: Brazil is also a movie, by Terry Gilliam.
D: Who?
A: 12 Monkeys.
D: Oh! Cool!
A: I'm gonna draw. Yo, there's gotta be more weed around here somewhere.
D: I'll look around. I feel like drawing, too.
A: Find weed first!
[Ten minutes pass]
D: Alright, found another three and a half. Must've forgotten about it!
A: Wicked shit. Roll!
D: Why don't you ever roll? You're a good roller, I've seen those bats
you can roll.
A: I tell people I can't roll, so I don't have to. Anyway I'm drawing,
I can't roll now.
D: Okay. But next j, you're rolling.
A: We'll see. My lips are chapped.. I need more Chapstick.
D: Ah don't worry about that chick stuff. 'Your monthly visitor', 'Aunt
Flow', hair and make-up. Fuck it!
A: I'm not worried about waxing my legs. These are my lips, man. Male
or 'chick', chapped lips are sick! Have you ever kissed someone with
chapped lips? I dunno, something about the dry chapped pieces of dead
lip skin breaking off into my mouth just doesn't sound very appealing.
But maybe that's just me.
[More Time Crisis, then NFL Blitz]
D: That Clockwork Orange poster can be really scary on acid.
A: Last time I was on acid, there was a huge spider on that poster.
Like in real life, I wasn't hallucinating. And no one would kill it
for me. I went upstairs and played F-Zero because of it.
D: Shit, that sucks. Where was I?
A: You were fucking sleeping. Who drops acid and goes to sleep?!
D: Well you guys were being fucking retarded, man. You couldn't stop
laughing!
A: Oh, sorry. Fuck! It's 4:50?! I've got to sleep. Dad's picking me
up at like 10. Fuckin' shit.
D: I really can't draw for my life.
A: Don't worry, I'm not that good either.
D: Fuck off! At least you can put your drawings up on the wall.
A: Whatever, mom makes me. [Draws a strange looking gun]
D: Yo, that's a cool gun, man.
A: Yeah?
D: Yeah.
A: Thanks. Give me something to draw.
D: Hmmm.. draw him. [Points at guy from Time Crisis]
A: Him? Okay. [Draws]
D: Shit, yo, that's wicked.
A: Fuck off, it sucks. [Crumples up paper]
D: What the fuck did you do that for?!
A: It sucked. Quit bitching and toke!
D: Ah well.. you're on crack.
A: Apparently.
A: Can people die from not getting enough sleep?
D: Yeah.
A: What happens?
D: You just go insane and everything shuts down.
A: Fuck, man. I was awake for seventy-two hours when that quack
prescribed me with anti-depressants to help get rid of the insomnia. He
gave me valium two weeks later, though. I was pleased about that.
D: Lucky you.
A: You know what's funny? Daddy got this new winter coat and the pockets
don't turn inside out. So he keeps his cigarettes in a little plastic
baggie.
D: Why?
A: What?
D: Why?
A: So the tobacco doesn't get in his pockets.
D: Oh. Hahahah.
A: O.C.D. all the way.
A: What the fuck is with these Hanson kids? What are they, 12? 13? And
why should they want to know where to love is? What to these 12 year
olds know about love? What the fuck? Any why are we listening to the
radio?
D: They're fags.
A: I'm goin to bed. Nite.
D: Nite.
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
"Zorgblip!@#"
"Yes, Captain Foozaza?"
"Turn the ships around. We're going home."
"Uhh... sir? You don't think the creators of these writings would
actually pose a threat to our invasion, do you?"
"Of course not, Zorgblip... but take a look at THIS."
...
"My god."
"Yes. I couldn't believe it. Their pornography is far more
advanced than our wildest dreams."
"Let's get the hell out of here (and download a lot of it)."
"Yes, we must flee (let's make sure to hit all the major sites
first, though)!"
"Do you have a credit card number?"
[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! #500 - WRITTEN BY VARIOUS ARTISTS, 3/3/99 ]
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