textfiles/magazines/MISC/schidt.6

Newsgroups: alt.censorship
Subject: THE SCHIDT; ISSUE #6
Message-ID: <sanderso-100293171614@ch-lab-mac-f.gac.edu>
From: sanderso@gacvx2.gac.edu (Scott T. Anderson)
Date: 10 Feb 93 16:10:21 -0600
Organization: The Schidt and other deviations
Lines: 524

T  H  E     S  C  H  I  D  T
H i g h l i g h t s

Issue Number 6; Jan-Feb 1993
Highlights from issues #1-5
Published by Scott T. Anderson with Dale L. Houston
The Schidt is not authorized or endorsed by Gustavus Adolphus College

SCHIDT Correspondence:
Scott Anderson
Gustavus Adolphus College
St Peter MN 56082-1498

e-mail: sanderso@gacvx2.gac.edu

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AN INTRODUCTION
By Scott T. Anderson

	The Schidt was begun in October 1992 for a variety of reasons:  To
entertain; to challenge the establishment in a safe yet futile manner; to
annoy; and most importantly to waste time.  We as college students have far
too much free time on our hands for our own good, and I have this bridge in
Brooklyn I'd like to sell.  Anyway, if the Schidt is offensive, good.  If
it is entertaining, even better!  If it causes you to delay finishing a
paper and results in your failing a course and taking an extra semester to
graduate, then IT'S A COMPLETE SUCCESS!!!!!
	The Schidt's first four issues were published only in printed format,
which allowed for some nifty things like photo collages... like Donald
Trump wearing a sexy bikini that shows off his supple breasts, or a woman
with a 14-pound tick on her back.  These great Schidt moments are missing
here, but also gone are the troubles associated with large quantities of
paper that will surely be thrown away (sadly from my standpoint, most
people find the Schidt quite disposable), and difficulties in printing
several pages of material in a cost-effective way.  Electronic circulation
also promises a larger base of readers.  The fifth issue of the Schidt was
prepared in printed format, but a delay in copying led me to distribute it
via e-mail, and a new era was born....  Any way that I choose to justify
it, the Schidt is here!  So enjoy.

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A Brief Commentary
By Scott T. Anderson

Briefs are better than boxers.

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Horoscopes
By Madame Rafsanjani (via David Crowe)

ARIES:  Watch out for people with large knobs.  Brutally hack up a Virgo
with a carving knife and prosperity will come your way.  Be ambitious in
your pursuit of iguanas.
TAURUS:  Vegetables figure prominently in your future.  Make friends this
week or go lonely for the rest of your life.  Eat no Spam products (applies
to everyone).
GEMINI:  Your family will come after you with crossbows.  A dream will come
true if it happens to be about bestiality or blenders.  Become a Perot
supporter and show everyone what a loser you are.
CANCER:  Have tons of sex (and come to CONDOM BOY'S CONDOM COTTAGE for your
protection).
LEO:  Your life will end this week.  Choose suicide and be the master of
your fate.
VIRGO:  An old friend visits and stinks up your bathroom.  Insert a cactus
into your rectum to cure any ills.  A senile janitor may be your best
source of fresh meat.
LIBRA:  Have a delicious shake for breakfast, another for lunch, and then
eat a sensible dinner.  Become a serial killer and your luck will change. 
A memory lapse causes the death of a dear friend.
SCORPIO:  You will spend the week in a catatonic trance.
SAGITTARIUS:  You will spend the week in a drunken stupor.
CAPRICORN:  You will spend the first half of the week running from the mob,
and the rest at the bottom of a lake.
AQUARIUS:  Draw the outline of a hacksaw and people will give you a fortune
in disposable razors.  A body-cavity search turns up lost treasure.
PISCES:  A bath with an electric eel proves to be quite an experience. 
Play the saxophone underwater and you will remember where you left your
leather underwear.  Farting in a crowded elevator makes enemies.

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HOW TO WRITE A PAPER
or
I'll Stop Procrastinating... Tomorrow
or
Alternate Titles--Boy They Suck
By Scott T. Anderson

	I used to think I was a hypochondriac, but it was just in my head. 
Nevertheless, seeing as I am such an exceptional student (pooah), I feel
that I should help those less fortunate than me by offering my tips on
writing a top-notch paper.
	1. Put it off until the last day.  No sense in hurrying.  Haste makes
waste.  I like to take my time and do it right.  Mr. Rogers taught me that.
 By waiting until the last day, you allow yourself time to forget any
remnant of what you are to write about, thus freeing your mind from clutter
that might get in the way of your writing.  And definitely do NOT read any
materials which regard your paper topic!  Not only will these clutter your
mind further, but they will influence your writing, keeping your own ideas
hidden within the deep and unexplored caverns of your brain.
	2. On the day before it's due, don't work on it if there is anything else
you need to do.  This includes watching Studs, playing "Sabotage" on your
Apple II+, walking your pet llama, and watching water evaporate from the
bathroom linoleum.  Once all of these vital activities are concluded
(leaving you with nothing to do but finally face that damn paper), sit down
and think about what you will write.  It is often helpful to perform
relaxation exercises to clear your mind.  A favorite relaxation technique I
use is known as sleep.
	3. When you finally wake up from your nap at three in the morning to
discover that your roommate has given you a Mohawk in your sleep, start
your paper.  Yes, three in the morning is the best time to write a paper. 
If you find yourself drowsy, consume large quantities of caffeinated
beverages.  The caffeine will get you wired so you will not be restricted
by a feeling that what you are writing should make any sense.
	4. Definitely do not type or write your paper in ink.  Professors are only
kidding when they tell you to type.  Either they find it a tremendously
funny joke, or they just like to see how many of you are stupid enough to
do anything they say.  They really like it when a paper is written in
pencil (or even better in crayon) on paper torn from a spiral notebook. 
Also, do not obey spelling or grammatical conventions.  Professors know
that true geniuses never follow silly little rules like these.  By avoiding
the formal rules of language, you will reveal your true genius nature to
the professor, who will greatly appreciate having this characteristic
brought to his attention.
	5. On the day that the paper is due, come to class 10-20 minutes late. 
When you make your grand entrance, it will say a lot.  Firstly, it will say
that your paper is good enough that it is worth disrupting class for.  In
addition, it will give your professor the impression that you put such a
great amount of work into the paper that you couldn<64>t even get it finished
in the time allotted, but seeing as you are such a dedicated student, you
would never disgrace yourself by asking for an extension on the due date.
	If you follow these simple rules, you are guaranteed to get an "A" on your
paper.  Well, let's just say that your paper would definitely get special
recognition.  Thank you and good day.

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Scott's Top Ten Uses for the Caf's Grilled Cheese Sandwiches
By Scott T. Anderson

10. Frisbee
 9. Insulation for your house
 8. Paperweight
 7. Sandpaper
 6. Toilet paper (something similar to the old corn cob method)
 5. Missile weapon and/or small shield for light combat
 4. Protection from harmful UV rays
 3. Revenge against a mean-spirited vegetarian
 2. Excellent topic for discussion and ridicule in a humorous publication
 1. Extra trays in the caf when annoying high school students are visiting

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How to play...
JOHN THROWING
By Camdon Edward Draeger
Slightly revised (to correct spelling) by Scott T. Anderson

	This great new sport is fun for everyone except John.  For those of you
not familiar with "John Throwing," here's how it works:

1. Find a man named John.
2. Set him in an office chair with wheels.
3. Stand in one spot with your hands on the back of the chair.
4. With your hands still on the chair, spin your body in a tight circle.
5. Get yourself, the chair, and John going really fast, then let go of the
	chair.
6. Once John has stopped, measure the distance from your starting point to 
	John (not the chair).  The winner is the one who throws John the
	farthest.

This sport also works with people with other names:  Jill, Jim, Nancy,
Cloves, Pan, even Luxury Liner.  But we find that John works the best.

ADDENDUM TO "How to play JOHN THROWING"
	First a new name: "John Throwing (Jon Works the Same)."  You know how it
works.  The rules are simple, but there are rules for other types of games:
A. THE BACKYARD FAMILY GAME
	1. Anything goes, but you have to set some rules or use tournament
		rules.
B. THE TOURNAMENT RULES
	1. The circle is eight feet in diameter.
		a. You must stay in the circle until John or Jon comes to a
			complete stop.
	2. You can spin until you get to the edge of the circle (like discus).
	3. Points are awarded to the person who throws John or Jon the farthest.
		a. The top score is 10 points for the farthest.
		b. Second is 5 points.
		c. Third is 2 points.
		d. 200 points wins.
	4. Option:  You can put stuff in the playing field and if John or Jon
		hits it you get x amount of points.

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Attention All Sexual Deviants!!!
The JIZMATRON, which has gained international recognition for quality in
the world<6C>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.

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Grandma's Big Adventure
By David Crowe

The tale begins one dreary night,
When grandma went insane.
The brutal killings didn<64>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.

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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.

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"Monster, I do smell all horse-piss, at which my nose is in great
indignation."
          --Trinculo, The Tempest (Shakespeare)

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Scott's Top Ten George Bush Quotes
or Ten Reasons why I voted for Bill Clinton
All of these quotes have been verified by reputable sources.

10. "I just am not one who--who flamboyantly believes in throwing a lot of
words around."
 9. "Fluency in English is something that I<>m often not accused of."
 8. "Please don't ask me to do that which I've just said I'm not going to
do, because you're burning up time; the meter is running through the sand
on you, and I am now filibustering."
 7. "Obviously, when you see somebody go berserk and get a weapon and go in
and murder people, of course, it troubles me."
 6. "I've got to run now and relax.  The doctor told me to relax.  The
doctor told me to relax.  The doctor told me.  He was the one.  He said,
'Relax.'"
 5. "When I need a little free advice about Saddam Hussein, I turn to
country music."
 4. "Boy, they were big on crematoriums, weren't they?"  (During a tour of
Auschwitz.)
 3. "It's no exaggeration to say the undecideds could go one way or
another."
 2. "I was shot down, and I was floating around in a little yellow raft,
setting a record for paddling.  I thought of my family, my mom and dad, and
the strength I got from them.  I thought of my faith, of the separation of
church and state."  (Relating his experiences as a WWII fighter pilot.)
 1. "...we have had sex."  (Referring to Pres. Ronald Reagan.)
(DIS)HONORABLE MENTION:
"Hey, hey, nihaoma.  Hey, yeah, yeah.  Heil, heil--a kind of Hitler
salute."  (While greeting international tourists; "nihaoma" is Mandarin for
"how are you?")

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Other Top Tens
By Scott T. Anderson

Top Ten Humorous Audio-Visual Entertainment
10. "The Simpsons"
 9. Monty Python's Meaning of Life
 8. 1950s Sargent-Welch physics films
 7. "Fawlty Towers"
 6. The British introductory chemistry film with 
	cartoons--the noble gases wear crowns  (If 
	you never saw it in high school you are 
	deprived.)
 5. Monty Python's Life of Brian
 4. Looney Tunes (particularly ones with Foghorn 
	Leghorn and the weasel)
 3. "Monty Python's Flying Circus"
 2. "Ren and Stimpy"
 1. Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Top Ten Alternate Words for Vomiting
10. Barf
 9. Upchuck
 8. Hurl
 7. Blow chunks
 6. Hork
 5. Spew
 4. Ralph
 3. Worship the porcelain god
 2. Chunder
 1. Technicolor yawn

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How to play...
THIS IS A BIG 
CROCK OF SHIT
By Scott T. Anderson

EQUIPMENT:
1 large room or open outdoor area
1 vat, crock, or other large container
5 to 79 players, each supplied with one cup and one large, 
	heavy, bladed weapon
Lots of shit

OBJECT:
To live to the end of the game.

SETTING UP:
Prior to game play each player should fill his/her cup with shit by any
convenient means.  Once this is done, place the large container (henceforth
referred to as the "crock") in the center of the room or open outdoor area.
 Arrange the players (in ascending order of body weight [the purpose of
this will be discussed later]) in a circle 40 feet in diameter, with the
crock in the center.  Prior to game play each player should fill his/her
cup with shit by any convenient means.  The cup of shit should be placed in
the weak hand, and the large, heavy, bladed weapon in the strong hand.  Now
you're ready to play!!!

PLAYING THE GAME:
All players draw straws.  The player who draws the most convincing picture
of a straw goes first.  Prior to game play each player should fill his/her
cup with shit by any convenient means.  The player attempts to throw the
contents of his/her cup into the crock from the circle (which, for those of
you not as skilled in arithmetic as myself, is a distance of 20 feet).  If
all of the player's shit lands in the crock, his/her turn is over.  If the
player's shit does not all land in the crock, the remaining players, in
ascending weight order (so the lighter participants will get a chance to
put in their whacks before the stronger players have already killed the,
um, victim), are allowed one whack each, with their large, heavy, bladed
weapons, upon the player with bad aim.  If the whacked player is still
alive and can lift his/her weapon at the conclusion of the whacking, he/she
remains in the game.  If the whacked player is dead, or is just a bloody
stump, he/she is thrown into the crock, along with any detached members. 
After that player's turn is over, play progresses to the left.

WINNING THE GAME:
The winner is the last player alive.  If more than one player remains alive
after all have thrown their shit, the game is a tie.  Once the
winner/winners is/are determined, the winner/winners celebrates/celebrate
his/her/their victory by jumping into the crock and rolling around in the
excrement and dismembered corpses.
	As my ninth grade science teacher always said as we commenced experiments,
"Have at it!"

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Oh--how I truly love the snow when it comes down upon us,
it flurries and flitters and flies through the air
sticking to hair
I now realize that I do not care
for this goddamn perverse piss from the sky
it makes me ask why
did I come to this damn foolish state
where people ice skate
and I freeze off my balls
while on Eckman mall
oh--woe is me I exclaim
i must have no brain
or maybe my fancy is that I like pain,
yes,
I believe it is true I love to turn blue
while I lay in a snowdrift without any shu
what is "shu" you may ask
well, no you may not
you insolent bastard!
how dare you try that,
I will slice you and skin you and feed you to dogs
for that is all your shit hide is worth,
well I don't know--maybe that is not so,
enough of this shit!
I give up, I quit,
no more of this now because I've gotta go!

		With heartfelt appreciation for your correspondence,
		Nathan M. Bohlig--The Most Excellent Theopolis

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"God, he's like a fuck parade, you know?" --Lance Hampton

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Caustic Semen by Leather Congregation
(Hooch Records, 1992)
Reviewed by Scott T. Anderson

	INCREDIBLE!  STUPENDOUS!  UNBELIEVABLE!  EARTH-SHATTERING!  LIFE-CHANGING!
 EAR-SPLITTING!  VOMIT-INDUCING!  CAUSTIC SEMEN!!!!!!
	All of these words describe Leather Congregation's debut album, but they
do not begin to define it.  This is music at its finest moment; music at
its most annoying; music at its day of destruction.  This is music that
goes beyond mere words.  This is music that goes beyond mere sounds.  This
is music that goes beyond mere tolerability.
	Leather Congregation is comprised of the dynamic, cataclysmic musical trio
of Scott Anderson (bass, saxophone, clarinet, and spoons), David Crowe
(keyboards), and Lance Hampton (vocals).  Together there's no topic they're
unwilling to face, no catastrophe they're unwilling to mock, and no
boundary (like that of tastefulness) they're unwilling to cross.
	This review has become little more than a string of cliches, so now I'll
get down to business (there's another).  The album begins forcefully, with
the neo-80s power ballad "Ambivalence."  Hampton's wrought, strained lyrics
segue into Anderson's powerful saxophone, which explores uncharted
territory in out-of-tuneness.  Second up is the uptempo "The Night You Left
me Behind," which sees Hampton dealing in a positive way with the issues he
first addressed in the previous tune.
	Sorrow returns for the self-critical "Pleasures of the Flesh," whose
narrator addresses the struggle to satisfy physical needs as a man of the
cloth.  The Apostle John contributes some insights near the end of the
piece; a hard-rocking tune that begins with calm introspection and features
a nice Latin breakdown in the middle.  Next is the light pop sing-along
"Where the Hell is Dave?" in which Hampton and Anderson masterfully tackle
heavy topics like bestiality and the Somalian famine without missing a
beat.
	The band takes a break to jam with the next number, "Jeff Takes a Piss,"
but before long a surprise visit from Jeff Putney sets things back to
business as usual.  The album's title cut and centerpiece follows, a dark,
mysterious masterpiece that must be heard to be believed.  And believe me,
you will believe.  "Scrotalwurst" is next, a tribute to the hard-working
hometown St. Peterans in a style that is appropriate to the locale.  In the
closer, "Stupid Bastard," David Crowe shows off his inimitable skill at
ragtime piano, and Lance and Scott offer their support.
	In all, Leather Congregation's debut, Caustic Semen, must be considered a
masterpiece not only of our time, but of all time.

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How to play...
MAKE DAVID SAY "FUCK"
By Scott T. Anderson, with gratitude to Lance and Dale

EQUIPMENT:
1 or more players
1 David who will not say the word "fuck"
Any devices with which to taunt David for not saying "fuck"

HOW TO PLAY:
Much of the fun of the game can be searching the world for a guy named
David who refuses to say the word "fuck."  Some of us have already done so
unintentionally, so we're one step ahead.  Once you have located a suitable
David, get David into the room where the players are located.  At will, all
players begin to tease David and encourage him to say "fuck."  Any devices
that may coerce David into saying "fuck" may be used, provided they do not
result in David's physical harm.  The taunting continues until David either
says "fuck" or until he gets away.

HOW TO WIN:
This game is difficult to win.  David will often be very persistent and
resilient.  If you succeed in destroying David's dignity and self-respect
and he abandons his morals and says "fuck," you win.  If he gets away or
kicks you in the balls, he wins.

Note:  I have, since this was written, won a game of Make David Say "Fuck."

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Jim's Quest for Pants
By Scott T. Anderson

"Goddammit!  You damned kids better tell me where the hell you hid my pants
or your ass is grass!  You got me?!" --JIM

	Jim used his baseball cap to conceal his privates (or more accurately, the
fact that his underwear was slightly soiled) and ran off to hide in the
bushes and contemplate his situation.  "This is the fourth time this week
them damned kids've took my pants.  I'm gettin' pissed!" Jim said, in his
excited and grammatically unsatisfactory way.  Jim knew it was time for
action if he was to retain his dignity, and more importantly, so he could
get down to Lefty's before last call.  The only thing Jim prized more than
a good beer was his collection of Hustler magazines.  Thusly, he was
especially peeved tonight, because he had had his favorite issue from 1976
rolled up in his pants pocket.  "Now them damn kids are gettin' their kicks
from my magazine!" Jim complained, but no one was listening.
	Jim decided that he'd best head for home, even though he was only in his
skivvies.  "Damn those kids!" he muttered.  He was really down when he got
home, his high on airplane glue having worn off.  Jim walked in the door,
turned on some WWF Wrestling on the TV, and went into his bedroom to get
some new pants.  The bedroom just wasn't the same since Jim's wife Bertha
left him for that grocery stockboy.  She'd said she wanted someone more
intellectual.  As Jim entered the bedroom, he was overwhelmed with surprise
and delight as he saw Bertha laying exposed on the bed, her 48-56-65 body
glowing in the moonlight.  "She's back!" he exclaimed as he flipped on the
light.  As the room lit up he noticed all his missing pairs of pants had
been returned.  But UH-OH!  The Hustler that had been in his pocket had now
fallen into the hands of Bertha.  He had kept the collection secret for 23
years, but now she knew.  Jim tried to cover for himself, "Uh, those damn
kids must've stashed it there!"  But much to Jim's surprise, Bertha wasn't
angry.  She liked the magazines, and decided that Jim wasn't right for her
after all, so she got up and put clothes onto her fat, quivering body and
walked out of Jim's life forever.
	At least she left the Hustler, Jim thought.

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Thanks for reading....

Coming soon...

THE SCHIDT
ISSUE #7!!!!!!