293 lines
16 KiB
Plaintext
293 lines
16 KiB
Plaintext
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #591
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`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
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888 888 888 888 888 "A Personal Rekolektion &
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888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 HIStory of TELETYPE"
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888 888 888 888 888 "
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888 888 `88b d88' 888 o by AIDS [4/24/99]
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o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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When I first started getting involved in the [401] modem scene,
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sweet Rhode Island, there was always this character on the fringes, this
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weird guy that didn't seem to have a modem anymore, but that everyone knew
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about, and that everyone thought was one of the two biggest lunatics that
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the BBS scene had ever known. (The other, of course, being Keith Pepin,
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A.K.A. ATDT911--INSANITY!!!!, A.K.A. DecWolf, who was *also* long gone by
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the time I arrived. He was in a boarding school (mental hospital) in
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Conneticut somewheres.)
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Well, this guy, his name was Teleterror or Eternity or something,
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and everybody had a story about him. He was the only RI hacker to actually
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get busted, (yours truly became #2), the Secret Service had come to his
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house and stolen his disks and tried to take his list of phone numbers, but
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he had eaten the notebook, he wasn't allowed legally to have a modem
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anymore, or his father kept him locked up in the basement, etc. etc. This
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guy was a thing of mystery. He was fucked up.
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I'm not sure how I became acquainted with a fellow who called
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himself Vladimir Spazojevic, but I suspect it was because of my own growing
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reputation for being an inchoate moron combined with me being one of the
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only self proclaimed "elite d0udz" who called his BBS, The Total
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Perspective Vortex, which he ran off an Amiga 3000. I'm sure this wasn't
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the splash screen that displayed when I first called it, but it is the only
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one that I have buffered:
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2400 baud connection established.
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<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20> <20> <20> <20> <20> <20> <20>
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Welcome to oooooooooo <20> <20> <20><> <20> <20> <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20>
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\ oooooooooooooo / <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
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The Total <20> |\oooooooooooooooo <20> /| <20> <20><> <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20> <20>
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Perspective Vortex / \oooooooooooooo / \ <20> /\ <20> <20>
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<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> / / \oooooooooooo / \ / \ /\ /\ <20>
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/\ <20> | / / \|(o)\/(o)| <20> / / \ \ / \/ \/ \ /\
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<20> / \ /\ | | | / \\/(oo)\/| / // |\ \<5C> / /\/ / \/ \
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/ \/ \ | | | | \______/ / / | || \|/ <20>/ \ / <20> \ /
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/ \ \ <20> | | | | / \ \// \ / / || || || / \/ \/
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/\/ /\ /\ \/\ \ / / / | | | | \/ /| || || ||/\/ /\ \ /\ \/
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/ \/<2F> \/ \/ \ \/ / / / / |______/ /| \ \ || || \/ \ \/ \ \
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/\/ \/\/ \/ / / / / /\_____/ |/ \__\ \ \ \ \ / \ / \ /
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/ \/\ / \ <20> /| | | / / /\______/ \ \__| \ \ \ <20> \//\ \/\/
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\ \/ \ | | | | | /_______ \_ \__|_| \ // \<5C>/\/ / /
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\/ /\ \ | | ____ /\______ ____ \_ \ | // / \ /
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\ / \ \ | |/ /\_____ / \ \__ \ | // / <20> \/
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<20> \/ \ |/ | /\______ |Vlad | \___ \| // / \ .
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\ \ | | \_______ |is | \_ | / / _ \
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\ | \_______ |eleete| /\ \ / / SysOp-_- \
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\ \ \________\_ @! _\____/ / <20>\__\ /
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<20> \ __/ / <20> __/ / \__/ Vladimir Spazojevic
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<20> <20> / ___/ / ___/ <20> <20>
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<11><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> |/|/ |/|/ <20> <20>
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<20>
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Well, Vlaad and I became buddies, chatting it up. I appreciated the
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fact that he was so unrepentantly geeky and had such a terrible sense of
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humor, and he was a really nice guy, and we clicked, and blah blah blah.
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We talked quite a bit, (and as a result, at one point, I decided that I
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should go to Vlaad's private high school, which I did, and was expelled
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from) and eventually I discovered that he was best friends with this
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strange beast named TeleTerror.
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(I did not know the profound and loving nature of their friendship
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until later, when another scene member named Daver informed me that they
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may in fact have been homosexual lovers. While both deny it to this day,
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even if they have not physically consummated their feelings, it is quite
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clear to those who observe that they are spiritually in love.)
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Eventually I convinced my mother that getting three-way calling
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would be a real boon to my misspent teenage existence, and she finally
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acquiesed. One of the first people I called was Vlaad, and conferenced him
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in with Daver, and it was one miserable geek fest. At some point Vlaad
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realized he could connect his BBS line to his two-line phone and conference
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in ANOTHER person, and in prototypical fashion, Daver said, "Eh eh he eh!
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Call TeleTerror! Eh eh eh eh!" So Vlaad did.
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I'd heard from Daver & Vlaad & even the man hisself that Teleterror
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was enormously fat. We're talking Donahue in the house with a chainsaw
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cutting open a wall to make a suitable entrance and exit FAT. Enormous!
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People had also told me that his hair was green due to some sort of
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photosynthesis. When Teleterror and I agreed to meet, I was much afeared
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that I was about to hang out with some gelatinous blob of flesh topped with
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the lightest green film, but my fears were undue. Teleterror indeed did
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have skeletal structure and his hair was normal, if not a bit thin, as far
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as I could tell.
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But, oh my god, was he ever fat. He was so fat that I was forced to
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stop calling by his real name, Rob, or his handle, or anything other than
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"Fatboy". For years I called him Fatboy. My mother calls him Fatboy, but
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then feels guilty about it, and amends it to "Chubbyboy".
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He took me to Providence in his ghetto blasted car, which,
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unfortunately, the driver could not enter on his respective side, so I was
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forced to watch Teleterror slither across the seats like some
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super-villian, after he went in the passenger's side.
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After that, he started calling me regularly and we hung at least one
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a week. Things were very restricted because of his Father, with whom
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Teletype did not have the best relationship. If his Father came home,
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teletype would immediately hang up the phone without saying goodbye, and
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every time we hung out, tty would be constantly checking the clock against
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his father's schedule, to make sure he'd get him before his father.
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Keith Pepin had a name for Teletype's father, but I can't remember
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it. It was something like "Hurricane Headless."
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Scenes from the life of Teleterror:
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Teletype comes over my house, and shows me this new Swiss Army knife
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he's just bought. Later we go to Bickford's to meet my girlfriend, and I
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introduce her to Fatboy. The whole scene is very awkward, and no one
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really knows what to say. Teletype starts fiddling with his Swiss Army
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knife, and I turn to him, saying, "Cut some of your hair off!"
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He pulls the scissor attachment out of the knife, and starts
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chopping away as his hair, throwing it to the ground. My girlfriend and
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her friend are aghast.
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Teletype and I had the odd fate of going to the same schools, but
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NEVER met through them. He went to Gorton Junior High in Warwick at the
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same time as me, but he was in 8th grade when I was in 7th, and we never
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met. After being expelled from Rocky Hill (Vladimir's school), he had
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nowhere to go except Gorton.
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The day they expelled him from Gorton goes like this: Early in the
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day, Teletype pisses off some thug or something, and almost gets into a
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fight. Later, the thug catches up with him and pulls a gun on him in the
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boy's locker room. Teletype is driven so nutty by this incident that when
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he is in his math class, next period, he starts ripping up text books and
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throwing them in the air, screaming "FIESTA!$@$!"
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What did Teletype do to be expelled from Rocky Hill? Well, at the
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time of his expulsion, he wasn't exactly on good terms with School
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administration, as he was a general jackass, and they suspected him of an
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earlier atrocity.
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Someone had taken it upon themselves to take a big shit in one of
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the sinks in the boy's bathroom. Everyone thought it was Teletype, but
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couldn't prove it. He denies it, and I believe him, but I think it's funny
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to tease him over it, so I bring it up occasionally.
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In the Apple ][e based computer lab, Teletype took it upon himself
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to start putting food inside the computers. Some chicken in one, milk in
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the other, etc., etc. Well, this other lunatic named Eric came along and
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screamed "MILK SHAKE" and shook up the computer with the milk inside of it,
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which fried the whole thing entirely. Eric recieved some censure, but
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teletype got the full blast of it, and they threw his ass out.
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Later, when I was at Rocky Hill, I had the opportunity to go through
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the old Apple computers lying around in the closet, and I found the carcass
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of the milk shake computer. what a fucking disgusting mess.
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On IRC, one random night, an extremely drunk teletype comes on and
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says, "ehhahehaehaheheaueaeahhuahaeh$@!!$!@$! I am so drunk and lonely$@!$
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I am going to commit suicide! Muahahahah! I just ate 40 sleeping pills!"
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What teletype did, of course, in order to get up the fortitude to
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attempt suicide is drink himself silly with Everclear, which had a nasty
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reaction with getting all these pills shoved into his body, so he fucking
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vomitted all over the place.
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Scratch that, he vomitted all over MY FUCKING STEREO which I had
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lent him in exchange for a monitor, or something. MY FUCKING STEREO was
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covered in his god damned vomit, and he was busy passing out somewhere.
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Anyway, he cleaned it up. At least I can say that for him.
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The real real real suicide attempt also started on IRC. Good ol'
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Teletype had gotten hisself staggeringly drunk and decided to end it all.
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Well, I was god damned sick of his failed suicide attempts, so I decided to
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give him some advice. A (reconstructed) sample of hte conversation is
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something like this:
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<teletype> ehehheh i am going to do it!
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<squinky> Listen, fatass, if you're oging to do it, do it fucking right
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this time. Don't fail! Make sure you can't escape!
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<teletype> ehehehe ok I am going to gas myself in my truck!
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<squinky> Lock the doors, you fat fuck!
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We went back and forth with this for quite a while until teletype
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had devised a (basically) failproof system. He signed off IRC to write his
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suicide letter e-mail. He finished drafting it and I sat around wondering
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how I would find out about his death, as he had always been too scared to
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let his father know I existed. I figured I'd tell my mom to read the
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obituaries for suicide notices, and see if he appeared at all.
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I went away from the computer to watch some television or jerk-off
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or whatever, and came back to read my email. There was a message from
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teletype, and it was his suicide note!!! I was surprised he sent it so
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soon, and decided to go check the channels he hung around in on IRC,
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interested in the reactions of other people.
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They were all going apeshit wild freaking out. I could totally
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imagine these people at their terminals at home weeping with grief and
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misery, pulling out their hair with anguish. I decided it was probably a
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good idea to pretend like I didn't know what was happening. So, finally,
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one of them called the Rhode Island State Police.
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The police went to teletype's house and found him in the truck,
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slowly dying from carbon monoxide poisoning.
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(Teletype's suicide note, by-the-way, was SUPPOSED to be released
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at 12:00 noon the next day. However, in his drunken stupor around 11:45
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or so, he set the at job to run it at 12:00 MIDNIGHT, thereby saving his
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own life.)
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Well, the next day, I went into one of the channels and convinced
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some guy from 401 that he needed to come pick me up so we could go find
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Teletype. I guess we must have called the hospitals to find him or
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something, but I don't really remember. All I know is that we found him at
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Rhode Island Hospital in Providence, and when we saw him he, he said, "Oh,
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christ!"
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Then he pointed at his shoes, which had no shoelaces, and said,
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"Look! I'm suicidal! I can't have shoelaces! hahahahah!"
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We laughed about that and then he told us that he was listed as a
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hernia (or something equally ridiculous) patient, so that his Dad's health
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plan would cover his time in the hospital. He mentioned some intense
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vertigo, I told him he was fried beyond belief, and then we left.
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He later fucked Meenk while she was startlingly underage.
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Once, on IRC, it had been at least six or eight months since I had
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seen teletype, (he having moved to Boston), I messaged teletype to see
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what was going on. He told me he was in RI, and that he had totally
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abandoned his apartment and was about to move to Minnesota. Somehow we
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started talking about his old Unix machines, and he revealed that he had
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just left two or three of them lying around in the apartment for no good
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reason, and I was horrified. I told him that we should go get those
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fucking machines, and that I'd pay for gas. He didn't have anything better
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to do, so he said, "OK".
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It was about 6 AM when he got to my house, and we went and had some
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food at Bickford's, and just recollected on old times.
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We drove to Boston in about 35-40 minutes, with Teletype driving at
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his typical 100 miles per hour, and nearly killing us seven or eight times.
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It was disorienting being in a car with him again, because I had grown soft
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and forgotten what it was like to be with someone who was a truly reckless
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driver.
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I have never seen such a terrible and miserable shit hole as his
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apartment. I looked over this barrier that completely barred entrance to a
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room and saw trash piled AT LEAST five feet high. Teletype said, "That
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used to be the kitchen."
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The bathroom mirror was smashed out from when Teletype had punched
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it in a drunken ramoage, and the sink was partially pulled out of the wall.
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There was filth everywhere, and an unbelievable amount of broken computer
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equipment. A cum spattered poster of Tori Amos adorned one wall, and old
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Doors LPs hung above the doorway. I felt like I had been transported into
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a parallel universe. It is not possible to express the feeling of walking
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from a (relatively) decent hallway into that seething pit of chaos.
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We moved the computer equipment out and into his car, and drove
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away. As far as I know, teletype never attempted to clean the apartment
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up, and never attempted to go back. He just decided that losing the $550
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security deposit was and ok thing, in contrast with having to face that
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mess. Which isn't a bad decision, because it would have taken a couple of
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thousand to get the apartment back up to speed.
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Teletype ratted me out. I had stolen something and convinced the
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police I hadn't and they were going to charge him, and so he ratted me out.
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I don't blame him for it and I don't hold him responsible for it.
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I wish I could remember more, but so much of my time with him was
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spent in transitory states, driving or eating, and don't make good memories
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or recollections. But Teletype has been, undoubtedly, one of my true
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friends throughout time. He is a weird, weird fucker and I was his beloved
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disciple, the one he loved best.
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This is the disciple which testifieth of these things, and wrote
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these things: and we know that his testimony is true.
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And there also many other things which Teletype did, the which, if
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they should be written every one, I suppose that even the world itself
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could not contain the books that should be written.
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Amen.
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[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #591 - WRITTEN BY: AIDS - 4/24/99 ]
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