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Subject: SCHIDT #3 - NOV 92 **14K**
Message-ID: <sanderso-030393225451@ch-lab-mac-h.gac.edu>
From: sanderso@gacvx2.gac.edu (Scott T. Anderson)
Date: 3 Mar 93 21:55:13 -0600
Organization: Schidt, Schidt, My Kingdom for Schidt
Lines: 356

THE SCHIDT
ISSUE #3
THANKSGIVING 1992
Published by Scott T. Anderson and Dale L. Houston

E-mail correspondence:
sanderso@gacvx2.gac.edu
This issue of the Schidt was converted for e-mail on 23 February 1993


"Sorry, we're not seething cauldrons of testosterone like you."  --David
Crowe

Condom Boy's Corner
By Scott T. Anderson

	There's a first to everything.  Someone had to be the first person to hear
the real singing voices of Rob Pilatus and Fab Morvan (Milli Vanilli for
those of you who didn't know what I was talking about in "This not That"
from issue 1; also, I wonder if Rob is a distant descendant of Pontius
Pilatus).  Well enough of that gibberish.
	Here's something I was pondering as I felt the blustery winds in my silken
hair today:  I bet Jesus had dreadlocks.
	And now just a moment to officially congratulate Bill Clinton and Al Gore.
 Way to go, guys.  Now get to work.
	I would like you all to know how much work goes into every issue of the
Schidt.  Endless hours and effort are expended on every article to make
sure that the Schidt is pleasing to you, the reader.  In fact, just coming
up with the name The Schidt was a major undertaking.  Now that I've set
this up properly, here I present our top ten rejected names for the Schidt.

10. Pneumoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis
 9. Rodent Molesters' Journal
 8. The Only Thing Between Me and a Decent GPA
 7. Dale
 6. I Can't Believe it's not Garbage!
 5. Foreskin Today
 4. Your Destiny
 3. The Better Bedwetter Letter
 2. Genitalia-R-Us
 1. The Fuhque

Have a happy Thanksgiving, and remember what they always say; Don't eat
pumpkin pie and drive.  Thank you.  (There, I've done my thanks giving.)


SOMETHING FOR CII STUDENTS:
Livy Paper Titles
By Chris Roberts

Livy:  A Man, a Machine, or Just Another Fool?
Livy:  The Historian, the Roman, the Slam-dancer
Livy and the Origins of Rap
Livy Unclothed or Livy in his Skivvies
Livy and the Communist Dream
Livy:  Hope for Feminism or Nixon Mark I
Livy:  A Man of Few Words and Great Deeds
Fundamentally Oral Livy
Middle-aged, Bald, Obese Black Slaves and Why Livy Loved Them
Livy:  Just Another Chew Toy
Livy:  A Boy and his Dog; a Man and his Sheep
Livy and a Cat Named Bill
The Apathetic Livy:  The Origins of Perspective
Why the Romans Drank Wine, not Beer
I, Livy
Livy on the Brain
A Freudian View of Livy the Sex Machine
Livy and the Guys--Hanging Out
An In-Depth Psychoanalysis of Livy and his Effect on the Collapse of the
	Roman Empire as Related to the Post-WWII Era Desire for Twinkies
King Livy
Long Livy, the King
Livy Tells the Tales
Bedtime Stories of the Roman Empire:  A Lengthy Dissertation by Livy
From the Depth Rises Livy
Livy and the Roman Soultrain
The Effect of Livy on Modern Heavy Metal Music
Livy:  Einstein or Gomer Pyle?
I Dream of Livy with the Dark Brown Hair
Livy:  Live in Central Park
Livy's Greatest Hits
Livy and his Bearded Wife
Long John Livy
When it's Livy, Livy, Livy on the Label, Label, Label then it's Good,
	Good, Good to Read


The Top Ten Reasons for Men
By Judy Willemssen

10. Lawn care and vehicle maintenance
 9. To kill creepy, crawly things
 8. To take out the garbage
 7. So girls have buns to admire
 6. Who else would watch football?
 5. Dogs need friends, too
 4. Someone has to be wrong
 3. Hey--not everyone likes nailing Jell-O to trees
 2. To give the word "ego" a reason to be in the dictionary
 1. So the penis has a life-support system


Attention All Sexual Deviants!!!
The JIZMATRON, which has gained international recognition for quality in
the world's finest brothels, is now available for home use!  The JIZMATRON
is the finest personal sexual stimulation device on the market.  For a free
brochure, call Rhonda 24 hours a day at 1-800-421-2444.


This not That
By Scott T. Anderson

On the toilet not in the bushes.  (This is the classic "this not that.")
Erik Estrada in 1970's TV series not Erik Estrada in a Taco Bell
commercial.
	("Excuse me, ma'am, but do you have a license for that taco?")
This not that not Livy paper.
Sunny San Diego, California not pleasant-smelling St. Peter, Minnesota.
Half-and-half (cottage cheese style) in the "hot dog house" not
	green-and-black moldy yogurt behind the couch.
I reiterate:  Clinton/Gore not Bush/Quayle!!!
Bass not bass.
'Cello not trout (just to clarify the previous).
Picard, Data, and Worf not Riker, Troi, and Yar.
Anyone on earth or in hell (even the Ferengi) not Wesley Crusher.
Picard and Beverly Crusher not Picard and Wesley Crusher and
	Definitely not Beverly and Wesley.

Grandma's Big Adventure
By David Crowe

The tale begins one dreary night,
When grandma went insane.
The brutal killings didn't stop
Until the town was slain.

She went to bed, and slept till morn
That night she went insane.
When she awoke, her mind was gone,
And scrambled were her brains.

Her maid came to her house and said,
"My God!  She's gone insane!"
So grandma went and stabbed the girl.
She used a weather vane.

She went outside her door and said,
"I'll show 'em I'm not insane."
She found a big construction site
And got inside a crane.

She drove it into town that day.
The woman was insane.
She crashed into a crowded bus.
The people died in pain.

She killed again and then some more
She clearly was insane.
But then she stopped, and killed no more,
For everyone was slain.


How to play...
HIDE JIM'S PANTS
By Dale L. Houston

"Hey!  Where the hell did you put my pants?!  I want my goddamn pants
back!"
			--Jim

Players:	2 or more (the more the better)

Equipment:	1 person named Jim (wearing pants)
		1 pair of pants (property of Jim)
		1 large area to hide pants

Object:  To hide Jim's pants so he cannot find them.

How to play:  All of the players whose names are not Jim must hide and be
very quiet.  When Jim walks, runs, jogs, skips, mambos, jazzercises, or
meanders by, all of the hidden players leap out and tackle him.  After
that, Jim's pants are removed and hidden.  The fun of the game is watching
Jim run around in his underwear trying to find his trousers.  If Jim finds
them within one hour, he wins.  If it takes him more than one hour,
everyone else wins.

Places to play:  The mall, school, church, football games (any sporting
event), concerts, town meetings, a neighbor's house, the police station, or
Tibet.

Optional equipment:  Hand grenades, land mines, yak hairballs, catnip,
bananas, egg substitute, liquid heat, flags, small dogs, or barbed wire.

HAVE FUN!


How to Take Notes
Submitted (but not written) by Dale L. Houston

When Professor Mitchell says:
"Probably the greatest quality of the poetry of John Milton, who was born
in 1608, is the combination of beauty and power.  Few have surpassed him in
the use of the English language, or for that matter, in lucidity of verse
form, 'Paradise Lost' being said to be the greatest single poem ever
written."

You write:
John Milton, born 1608

When Professor Mitchell says:
"When Lafayette first came to this country, he discovered America.  The
Americans needed his help if their cause was to survive, and this he
promptly supplied them."

You write:
Lafayette discovered America.

When Professor Mitchell says:
"Current historians have come to doubt the complete advantageousness of
some of Roosevelt's policies."

You write:
Most of the problems that now face the United States are directly traceable
to the bungling and greed of President Roosevelt.

When Professor Mitchell says:
"...it is possible that we do not understand the Soviet viewpoint...."

You write:
Professor Mitchell is a communist.

When Professor Mitchell says:
"The puissance of hydrochloric acid is incontestable; however, the
corrosive residue is inharmonious with metallic persistence."

You write:
Hydrochloric acid eats the hell out of steel.


Ode to a Piece of Shit
By Wayne Boeke

Praise be to you oh piece of shit,
for sliding out and relieving my
tightened sphincter.
Many a day have I dreamed
of this load
to be dropped
with such ease and stature.
Yet, others must know my feeling
as I say, "Man, I tell you, I must take the throne"
or "I declare, I must excuse myself, for I will lay some cable,"
and they emerge from the water closet
with smiles bright.
This praise be dedicated
for the lack of extreme firmness
and the riddance of the watering blotching grungies.
I say again,
Good fortune to the crap that flows out one's asshole so nicely.


Turkey Day Exposed
By Dale L. Houston

	Why do we still call the 4th Thursday in November Thanksgiving Day? 
People don't give anymore, and they sure as hell don't thank with any
sincerity.  The name implies that it is a joyful holiday, but it isn't. 
Thanksgiving marks the beginning of a horrible time in our history, when we
stole and plundered and generally took from the Native Americans and said
not a word of thanks for their land.  I think, as my roommate put it so
eloquently, the name should be changed to "Rudetaking Day."
	Have you ever noticed how at the Rudetaking Day feast you have to at least
try everything your relatives make?  The pungent odor of cranberry sauce
makes you hurl, but you must take a big bite and smile, trying not to let
the goo slip out of the corners of your mouth.  Then after the
ever-so-happy cook leaves to get the next course, you let the glob of
wretched food fall into the gaping maw of the family pet, Spotty the llama.
 Soon after, just before the chef returns, everyone shreds the cooking
ability of the absent party.  How nice.
	After the meal comes football.  Why football?  I think that a sport that
uses the two worst aspects of American society (violence and committee
decision) should not be televised.  Why couldn't there be the Rudetaking
Day Family Follies, where hidden cameras pick up the conversation when the
chef left the room.  That would be great (until the year it happened to
your family; then the shit would really hit the proverbial fan).  Just
imagine Aunt Betty punching Uncle Harold in his quivering gut with a
fistful of sharp, dry turkey shards... how pleasant.
	Well, that's my idea for this holiday.  Have fun, and watch out for the
cameras!
Gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble....


NITROGEN FIXING BACTERIA
By "Big Del"

	Although the title of this persiflage may lead you to believe in stainless
Kool-Aid, I am not trying to do anything along the lines of creating a
super-ultra-deluxe beef patty.  Rather, my aim is to show how important it
is to distinguish between the two varieties of living beings--vertebrates
vs. invertebrates, more commonly known as things that go squish-crunch, or
crunch-squish.  The reason for this is because a small band of left-handed
lemmings invaded a small tobacco shop in London and claimed the crown of
France.  Regarding this situation, a reputable source (a sincere
quarter-sized spot of semi-coagulated tomato soup) was quoted as saying,
"Divine-human relationships are esoteric."


The Adventures of Dr. Shnoogenblagen
By David Crowe
Part One

"To murder him I lust,
 And up his nostrils Hot bananas thrust!"
	--From "Blackadder the Third"

	Dr. Shnoogenblagen awoke to the sound of a German cow chanting "Waaaake
up!  Don't shleep your life avay!"  A quick shot with a .357 Magnum soon
solved the problem of the noisy (and quite annoying) alarm clock.  Dr.
Shnoogenblagen then went (A note on the official title of the story's
protagonist:  Shnoogenblagen is not really a doctor.  More precisely, he is
a sadistic and demented homicidal maniac.  Thank you and sorry for the
interruption.) outside to check his mail.  For weeks he had been waiting
for his package to arrive, and was constantly dejected when he opened his
mail box, only to find Badge-A-Minit catalogues and Mormon video tapes. 
But today was different.  When he saw the Torturers-R-Us label, he was
beside himself with joy.  He quickly snatched the package and ran inside
with it clutched to his breast.
	Once inside, he opened the wrapper and took out his Super-Deluxe
Torturer's Kit.  The brochure had promised hours upon hours of wild and
wacky torturing fun, and Shnoogenblagen was sure he wouldn't be
disappointed.  Leafing through the instruction booklet, the good doctor
noticed that the kit didn't actually contain any victims on whom he could
perform any acts of mindless violence.  "Damn!" he thought, "I forgot.  The
Super-Deluxe Torturer<65>s Kit doesn't come with victims.  You only get
victims if you order the Super-Deluxe CLUB MODEL Torturer's Kit.  Oh well,
I guess finding victims shouldn't be too hard."
	Shnoogenblagen hopped in his van and drove off to the mall.  Once there,
he said to the first passer-by that he met, "Excuse me, sir!  Would you
like to get in my van with me, drive home to my house, and let me try out
my new torture devices on you?"  The man gave Dr. Shnoogenblagen an uneasy
look and buggered off.  After trying this approach for about an hour and
only getting one volunteer (a high school-aged kid in a tie-dyed shirt who
was obviously stoned agreed to come with the good doctor), Shnoogenblagen
started to try a different, and much more successful tactic.  With a large
club, Shnoogenblagen bashed five unsuspecting victims senseless and dragged
them off to his van.  When he got home, he was giddy with anticipation of
the gratuitous brutality to come....

-Can our hero finish everybody off in time for dinner?
-What fiendish devices of cruel torture will he use?
-Will the audacious Shnoogenblagen leave anyone alive?
Find out in the next installment of...
THE ADVENTURES OF DR. SHNOOGENBLAGEN!!!


Thanks for reading the Schidt.