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** /\ /\ /\ | | || ~|~ || |~~| ** Society
* \ || \ |_| || | || |__| * Of
* \ || \ | | || | || | * Skene Harmony,
** \/ \/ \/ | | \/ | \/ | ** Unity, Trust & Unbiased Propriety
Issue #2 - The Swallow and Digest
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\ | /
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.--. .|\o.......
+---\ |_| o .....
+----\______ð_.......
The Painful Introduction Task.
by fifteen
Okay okay, it took a little bit longer than we expected and hoped. That's
just the facts of working with little or no creative talents and attempting to
magically conjure up humourless and annoying pieces of non-work. Also for the
critiscizing reader there is much here to consider in the process that is
undertaken to put together even such a low quality fanzine as this one.
Battling fits of hypochondria and those paranoid anti-authority hallucinations
tends to topple even the most dedicated "provocateur"(<-- if this is not a
word, I coined it. Gibson watch out!). The other consideration(many will accuse
me of lying, because of course it's true) is that between two people it is hard
to write things that are consistently inane and test the limits of the word
pointless.
Much has happened since the detonation of the first issue. Since this brave
day there has been constant confirmation of our original purpose, which at
times seemed to mock what we thought originally were just our own deluded
attitudes about the way things just are. The Calgary Modem Skene has delved
deeper into an ocean of despair. Again and again in attack waves, we have been
forced to witness new feats of cowardice, avarice, ignorance, and
quietism(especially when it hurts). We are guessing blindly when we take a
little bit of the credit for socially conditioning the Skene populace into such
a condition. As result of subterfuge, [SOSHUTUP!] has caused utter apathy and
the concealed and often praised emotionlessness ones now characteristic to the
Calgary Modem Skene. This was just the first step in achieving status in our
skene. This second issue is a further attack on free-thinking and educated
modem users located in Calgary. Like a deadly gas, we are releasing it into the
expansive rooms of the local BBS community and intending it to be inhaled by
the most aware(and therefore dangerous) users around. We harnish it as one of
many means for smashing reactionary positions and thus advancing the movement
of our thousand mindless robots. For the months to come, the observers will see
drastic changes in the activities of local users as all bastions for freedom
and individuality are quite cleanly removed from Calgary. By the time this
issue has reached distribution, we will have already secured the important
tactical positions which would prepare us for eventual world domination.
This introduction is not only an entertaining and educational appetizer to
the contents within, but it is a very indeed serious warning directed to both
authorities and citizens. The last few months we have built weapons for
subversion and infiltration and we are quite dedicated in our purpose of
forever destroying the state of the Calgary Modem Skene. As days pass, we
replace one seemingly honest citizen with a [SOSHUTUP!] spy and our message of
cultural revolution has even reached the districts of the Internet. You are not
safe, as we lurk at the very edge of the networked phone system and imbed
ourselves inside the data which passes nonchalantly across. The illusion of
your own security is a petty joke in the face of our penultimate power.
Tomorrow will be the achievement of our destiny. No Genre Immune!
***** *****
==== Table of Contents ====
From Here On IN!
a) An Author's Earthly Longings(w/ special guest Bruce Sterling)
b) Nite of the HackerZZ
c) Harvestmen and Media Lies
d) Creemo and the Canvas
e) The Conspiracy File I
f) - P@W3 Salute and Articles -
1- The Blow-up Doll Death Machine
2- How to MOP!! (abbreviated title)
3- How to Make the Ultimate Sex Doll
4- How to Seduse Alternatve ChickZZ!!
5- How to Seduse Modeem ChickZZ!!
6- How to Have an Out of Body Experience with a Zippo
7- How to Make a Stealth Bomper (abbreviated title)
8- Various Uses for a Television Remote Control
g) The Conspiracy File II
h) Telemate V4.12
i) Urban Hero(an action story about a curler's rise to fame)
l) A Fish In A River Of Violence(confessions of a homosexual police officer)
p) Exile from the Wasteland(the only [SOSHUTUP!] editorial ever!)
t) Phiber Optic Man(part 1 of the continuing saga)
u) Quotes
z) Thankzxxzs!!
***** *****
Here follows an article which cyberspace author Bruce Sterling graciously
contributed to [SSU!]. You will find a historical view of cyberspace genre and
Mr. Sterlings views on fellow cyberspace author, William Gibson. At first we
had reservations about publishing this article because we felt on the spot that
an established author would take interesting in our magazine. But then we saw
it as an opportunity not to pass up. (Jack the Lad)
AN AUTHORS EARTHLY LONGINGS
Special guest writer Bruce Sterling
Author of:
Islands in the Net
Schismatrix
The Artificial Kid
The Hacker Crackdown
And co-author with William Gibson:
The Difference Engine
A new legacy of literature started in the year 1977. It was then that
science fiction needed a new direction, a blinding beacon of light to guide us
into the post-modern age which we are well into now. In the mid-to-late
seventies there was very little innovation in the genre of sci-fi, and with
exception of a few authors the proud world of futurist literature was scarred
by stagnation. Writers then could agree that the style needed some sort of
prophet, like a god-send or an omen from outer space. 1977 was the year that
William Gibson had his first story published; "Fragments of a Hologram Rose".
A new archetype for science fiction was defined the day that story reached
print, a hope given to the unemployed science fiction writers of a confused
age. Gibson offered an inventive and titillating sci-fi world in which
Corporations competed with people's lives and a few dark future cowboys gave us
the endurance to overcome, in our minds, the evils of monetary conquering. Now,
unlike the 70's, our world much resembles the example that William Gibson has
given us. He was the last apostle of our time, and his electric prose shone out
into the night sky like a gleaming diamond!
If priests are there to peddle and interpret religion, then science fiction
writers have the soul purpose of interpreting the ethereal messages sent to
humanity from some unknown sattelite. We are brave templars who tempt the
beast, dance on the edge of the abyss, show over-confidence in the face of
disparity and occasionally, search for a cold grope in the lonely night. In a
universe bound to physical laws, William Gibson is the solitary exception. In
the joint book I did with Bill (The Difference Engine) I had the rare
opportunity to experience his vast intelligence and insight first hand. During
the writing of The Differnce Engine, we spent many long hours together
exchanging ideas, and I was absolutely amazed with his spontaneity. We rejoiced
in each others talents, infact, to this day I revel on the experience that we
shared together. It is true that I think of Bill as a close brother that I
never had, but also he is a messiah capable of feats that are beyond that of
the normal man. His high tech speculative poetry is above fiction as we can
conceive it. Cyberspace is a necessity for our generation, it represents the
speed which our minds are expanding. No man since Timothy Leary has opened our
cognitive processes to such magnificence.
My mind fills with fear in the reality that one day William Gibson, like
all of us, will die. His message has the potential to penetrate so deeply into
the conscienceness of mortal man. Truly, Gibson, has masterfully attained a
status of techno-enlightenment. He is like Siddhartha, in front of a
type-writer, reaching a state of knowledge instantly and coining the word
"Cyberspace". I cannot fully express with words, and it's known that my trade
is words, my true adoration for this alien intelligence. I am glad to be
contained in some format, in the expansive realms of Gibson's mind. To have
worked with this man, no, this saviour is a task I will proudly carry in my
mental resume. Gibson's touch, his sensitivity for the romantic, is inspiring
to me at the very least. For all intents and purposes, I -- Bruce Sterling,
renowned science fiction novelist -- would seek and breach the ends of the
earth to share a single embrace with Gibson's intellect. I will gladly be his
modern NeuRomancer, in seeks of creating something even more theologically
moving as his cyberpunk. Anything I would do for this man, my devotion and
dedication will never buckle. Sometimes I get lost in a dream, my world-view
fills with his body and soul and I shriek in loneliness never to reach the
climax of his new-style prophecies. THIS IS WHY WILLIAM GIBSON WAS INVENTED!
***** *****
Many years ago, in the distant era known as the 1980's, there was a style of
hacker fiction which has never really resurfaced since. In the movie WarGames
was portrayed the true hacker identity: the vital cyber-anarchist placed steps
ahead of police and computer experts by ingenuity and determination. Many times
has the hacker been slotted in-between the forces of Good and Evil in a
national or global struggle. This story was written to portray in a romantic
sense the caste of the computer hacker in Reagan's America. I hope that it
communicates a proper message towards the hackers of the 1990's and helps to
set a standard for the direction that they will be asked to take. (fifteen)
Nit3 of the Ha(k3rZZZzz!
by
fifteen
The smell of chinese fried beef filled the room as a group of teenage
data-thieves cooked some hacking fuel on their rusted wok. A night most
memorable was in the making as they searched the Date-a-pac World Network for
the special codes that they would need to infiltrate the US government and stop
the iron hand of imperialistic class-driven slavery in the United States.
The week before saw many excursions into the lonely alleys of corporate
headquarters, just narrowly avoiding the street scum and their distant
relatives the police in a trash gathering spree which would prepare them for
this data heist. The 3 boys had compiled a password list from the mysterious
encrypted corporate memos that had eventually ended up in a Secretary's small
paper bin and armed with this deadly information they were about to set for
themselves a new path in military espionage. Corned-Beef, the angst-filled
leader of the trio of information burglars seemed determined to overthrow the
economic structure of America. But deep behind his pre-cyber gaze was an edge
of fear. The others, ManiKKK M0nday and the Silicon Umbrella, sensed the
cornered fear of their leader and attempted to boost the moral of the entire
group by surrendering their portions of chinese fried beef to Corned-Beef but
there was no avoiding of the realization that this day would be the day their
lives all changed drastically. They tapped away at the keyboard in utter
dilligence, attempting the first shot at the system's password codes.
---
Meanwhile in Washington, the jaded federal agents worked around the clock to
uncover the alluring path which somehow caused top secret government
information to fall into the hands of one of the countries most successful
corporations. Dale Busst, a bright young NSA rookie for the Code Cracking
Division was also working away at his computer. In front of him was a coveted
list of known hacker aliases and the pertinant information which would make or
break this case. Dale Busst was not familiar with the hacker mentality yet and
the criminal information was hard for him to really accept. He viewed the
hackers as white collar vandals and terrorists, and while the country entered
head-first into the information age he shuddered with pangs of fear thinking of
the unthinkable damage that they could cause to the United States of America.
He saw a certain deliberance and intention behind the aliases and sects of
these computer pyro-technicians and with this his mind was set perfectly for
the impossible task ahead.
---
The wok cooled with a background sizzle and the monotonous keystrokes filled
the tense silence of the hacker hide-out. Corned-Beef had discovered a few very
interesting leads, the russians had hided a crack computer commando to steal
some vital missile information from the Pentagon and had stored it on the
system which they were attempting to break into. He had originally keyed into
it after using phreaker tones to monitor the calls of various military
officials and was sure that the information in question could play a vital part
in the de-economization of the US. In another room were ManiKKK M0nday and the
Silicon Umbrella, discussing in hushed tones and emotional filled words, the
multitude of the situation and how from it they could achieve their wildest
fantasies. Among the three there was much affection, and in any situation they
could rely upon each other. They had also come together on occasion to satisfy
the dire wants and needs of one another and it only helped create a unison
often unseen in hacking circles.
"I have run the code liquifier program on the government encryption and soon
we will be able to read all the text on the corporate system", excitedly
proclaimed Corned Beef to the passion-dazed couple. In brotherly harmony, the
two hackers on the floor rose to the occasion and entered back into the
computer room. Now all three minds were set forth in equal force to crack the
code.
---
Dale Busst was on the edge of exhaustion and he sleep deprived mind barely
churned and interpreted all the information on the hackers in America. Perhaps
his semi-deluded state could somehow become an efficient tool in the search for
the hackers. He extracted a phone number for a famous Hacker-Pirating BBS
somewhere in Alaska and proceeded to make an account. Almost with premonitious
vision he wizzed through the difficult hacker questionaire and was allowed
instant access to the system. Four hours lately(and after innumerable coffee
breaks), Agent Busst finally found the fledgling of hope in a cryptic message.
Many references he found in it were actually directly correlatable to the name
of the corporation which was suspect and he had found out that it was a russian
hacker by the name of Penguin who lifted the military secrets from the
Pentagon. He cross-indexed the name in his database.
---
On the 1984 model of the CoCo 2, the three hackers continued the tedious
process of cryptographically searching for known methods of encryption to
somehow manage to un-encrypt the file. From one of the local Pirating-Phreaking
BBSES they had uploaded a grind function which they could adapt to their
programming of the liquifier function. After hours more of intense work they
found themselves wedged very deeply into the corporate system. Wedged so deep
even, that metaphorically, it began to bleed the vital information forth.
"Maybe we should use the Shaven Pe.. oops, the Smooth Criminal Virii to
disrupt to DOS of the Mainframe" whispered ManiKKK M0nday to the other two
elite hackers.
"The problem with that is all the work we are going to have to do to copy
all the information to soft disk and then to print it out and erase it" said
Silicon Umbrella.
"I just got the new Copy-write program off of the InfraNet and also a new
printer utility which will allow us to receive the information at 600 baud"
comforted Corned-Beef as the others stared in surprise.
---
Dale Busst had prospected some very surprising information from his files.
It seemed that the user Penguin had been busted just recently when an American
Astrology Professor used spirits summoned by his Ouija board to calculate the
speed of the Gonzo upload protocol. The name of the Astrology Professor was
Cliff Ratchet and he had just signed a contract to release his account of the
events called "The Cuckoo's Nest". Agent Busst methodically obtained the phone
number for Mr. Ratchet and then asked him some very important questions. He
found out that the missile information had been downloaded to the corporate bbs
by Penguin from a university using the Gonzo upload protocol and that Penguin
had been accepting tuna-fish sandwiches laced with Crack Cocaine in payment for
the run against the corporation. Also a police report indicated that some
hackers had been messing around with the corporation and that their phone
number could be obtained through a modern phone trace, the problem was that
they had not been able to keep them online for the 20 minutes that were
neccesary.
---
Corned-Beef was having a datarush, a migraine caused by stream of
information which his monitor displayed. He could not think, but deep inside an
emotion called for him. A moral reservation. He could not bear to destroy the
economic status of America anymore, his conscience and sense of national duty
reached out for his hacker-capable mind. Once the thought was completely
registered, he had little difficulty convincing his two loyal companions that
the information which they had side-loaded from the corporation could not be
used for evil.
In the instance of a few exchanged kisses(if the hackers were kissing,
which they were not by the way!), an assault was led against the hacker
hide-out and Agent Busst burst into the room with the entire Swat team and
proceeded to arrest the youths. As the CoCo 2 was being taken away, along with
the stack of Gary Numan albums, the hackers protested that they had no intent
of using the information to harm the US and that they only wished to retrieve
the information to give it back to the Pentagon. Some coaxing and more kissing
led Agent Busst to believe them and the hackers were made into National Heroes.
THE END
***** *****
This is an artical which I felt was absolutely necessary to write. I am a
firm believer in the Harvestmen Threat, and with all the recent dis-information
about it because of the media, I felt it as my duty to inform you, the public,
of the truth of the situation. (Jack the Lad)
Harvestmen and Media Lies.
By
Jack the Lad/ssu#5
Today I had a discussion at work with a fellow co-worker. She told me that
she saw a segment on a TV show which disregarded the pending Harvestmen
revolution. For readers who have read the last issue of [SOSHUTUP!] you
already know about the Harvestmen threat, and you also know that it is no hoax.
Let me just say that the Harvestmen threat is VERY real. The only people
who would disregard it as a hoax are the left-wing politictians and supporters
of NAZI governments around the world because they are afraid of the truth, when
the revolution comes, the Harvestmen will have them up against the wall first.
It really sickens me to the core of my stomach that these people, the
respected media, are collaborating with the left-wing communists and those
dirty NAZI's are spreading lies the discount something that is so threatening
to the very existance of the human race?
Although it sounds surprising, it is not totally unbelievable. Certain
people within the media are either NAZI's or communists. It is well known that
members of certain CBS newscasts are members of the Communist Party and they
would rather spread their communist influenced point of view rather than that
of the truth. When first becoming a news person, it is well known that you must
have a NAZI heritage and a NAZI attitude to become a news broadcaster.
Just a few hours ago, I saw on my television a show that contained many
of the secrets on how to defeat the Harvestmen. It was encoded deep inside the
dialogue and narration but I swear that there was a direct message from the
legions of private individuals who have acknowledged the threat of the very
ill-behaved Harvestmen. In this I found the last hope inside the media for an
uprising against the 8-legged plotters we know as the Harvestmen. The
television show was about the conquests of the heroes of the bible, and it was
hosted by Charlton Heston(who reportedly uses his Hollywood affluence to help
arm anti-Harvestmen freedom fighters). It came to me instantly that our
movement would need a leader, and the first person I considered of course was
myself but then after seeing this monumentuous display of anti-HM fervor I was
motioned seemingly by God to consider Charlton Heston as the leader of our
stalwart movement. Now I wouldn't want to suggest any sort of left-wing or NAZI
terrorist organizing, we are all simply democratic thinking capitalists with
traditional values who want to see our society rise for the better and the
enemies of the state beaten down.
Unfortunately, the chances of us being beaten down are greater than the
average layman thinks. Through out the world, the Harvestmen grow, in strenght
and in numbers. Their jaws of death are soon to devour us if you and I do not
take direct action. Unless Charlton Heston steps forward as the God ordained
champion for our heavenly cause to smash the insipid creatures that plot to
destroy the world.
As in the Planet of the Apes series, Charlton Heston rose above his
primate captors to shine as a last hope for the human race, if this was not a
demonstration of his character and grit, then we are truely lost. Even in his
old age, he is a couragious warrior and a dedicated christian willing to fight
once again to save humanity. It is obvious that the Harvestmen are to be
compared to the Prince of Darkness himself, the scale of the threat and their
numbers speaks very well of the holy battles of the middle ages. This is a
battle cry to Charlton Heston, to save us from the evil grip the Harvestmen
have on us. Anybody who could possibly pass this message on to the savior
himself, will be deemed a hero in the forthcoming war.
***** *****
Very near to the scheduled release of ssu2 we received some very unfortunate
news about the state of what was an ever-growing pro-[SOSHUTUP!] freedom force.
The scene of the incident was painted by a lethal and final standout between
authorities and [SOSTUPIDA!] renegades. Gun blasts and screams of despair
called out on the night of March 6th as police moved in on an abandoned
community centre which had become the site and base for all [SOSTUPIDA!]
activities. They had recently been entrenched in a campaign to spread the first
issue of [SOSHUTUP!] onto many local bbses and authorities had obtained the
assistance of many local SysOp's to pinpoint the location of this aggressive
action and eventually moved in with help of the SWAT team to apprehend the
heroic bandits of the Society of Stupid Antics!. The death toll of that final
night was counting up over 100, and casualties from both sides were about even.
The police were unsparing in their slaughter of [SOSTUPIDA!] members and
launched nerve gas rockets into the windows of the community centre, not
seeming to care about the innocents who lived near to the building or about the
lives of the people that they were "intending" to arrest. After the last shot
was fired and the mess finally cleaned up, we sent an agent in to investigate
the ruins of the [SOSTUPIDA!] headquarters. In a typewriter there was one last
sheet of paper:
Creemo and the Canvas
JOAN'S FISCAL BUDGETING
CHAPTER ONE
===========
The steroid pumped wrestler sat under a tree. It was a pretty tree. The
tree was magical. It was a magical tree. The tree spurted out the magical
nectar of ring-side-bells. The wrestler was on a mission. A mission of
revenge. His mission was to beat the world champion.
CHAPTER TWO
===========
"Ohhh." said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"Oh what a brutal Roman Spear he just performed." said the Overweight
Announcer.
"Oooh." said the Rowdy Audience.
"For those who dont know, there is an interesting set of circumstances
which led up to this prolific contest of the human spirit." said the
Overweight Announcer.
CHAPTER THREE
=============
The growth hormone pumped wrestler sat under a tree. It was a pretty tree.
The tree was magical. It was a magical tree. The tree spurted out the magical
nectar of glittery-wrestling-robes. The wrestler was on a mission. A mission of
revenge. His mission was beat the world champion.
CHAPTER FOUR
============
"Ohhh." said the Greek Specter.
"Oh what a brutal Fleshy Impaler he just performed." said the Obnoxious
Announcer.
"Oooh." said the Crazy Audience.
"For those who dont know, there is an interesting set of circumstances
which led up to this prolific contest of the human spirit." said the Obnoxious
Announcer.
CHAPTER FIVE
============
"Hey baby, how would you like to have a one night stand with Rampaging Ray
Victory?" said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"Oh that sounds delectable." said Samantha Strong.
"Oh your words sound so deep." said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"I've got something else that is deep." said Samantha Strong.
"What? What do you mean?" said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"Err forget it." said Samantha Strong.
CHAPTER SIX
===========
"Hey baby, how would you like to have a one night stand with the Greek
Specter?" said the Greek Specter.
"Oh that sounds delectable." said Samantha Strong.
"Oh your words sound so deep." said the Greek Specter
"I've got something else that is deep." said Samantha Strong.
"What? What do you mean?" said the Greek Specter
"Err forget it." said Samantha Strong.
CHAPER SEVEN
============
"Oh that was wonderful Rampaging Ray Victory." said Samantha Strong.
"Oh man. That was the best thirty seconds of my life." said Rampaging Ray
Victory.
"Steroids will do that to you." said Samantha Strong.
"What was that? I didn't quite hear you Samantha Strong." said Rampaging
Ray Victory.
"I was just saying that for me the earth has just moved out of orbit."
said Samantha Strong.
"Oh I love you Samantha Strong." said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"Your the very best Rampaging Ray Victory." said Samantha Strong.
"Steroids will do that to you." said Rampaging Ray Victory.
CHAPTER EIGHT
=============
"Oh that was wonderful the Greek Specter." said Samantha Strong.
"Oh man. That was the best thirty seconds of my life." said the Greek
Specter.
"Growth hormones will do that to you." said Samantha Strong.
"What was that? I didn't quite hear you Samantha Strong." said the Greek
Specter.
"I was just saying that for me the earth has just moved out of orbit."
said Samantha Strong.
"Oh I love you Samantha Strong." said the Greek Specter.
"Your the very best the Greek Specter." said Samantha Strong.
"Growth hormones will do that to you." said the Greek Specter.
CHAPTER NINE
============
"Did you know that I was a pro-wrestler?" said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"Ummm no I didn't Rampaging Ray Victory." said Samantha Strong.
"You betcha." said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"Oh can you win me a teddy-bear at the amusement park?" said Samantha
Strong.
"That was easy, here's your teddy-bear." said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"It's just too bad that you had to pummel the stand owner into guava
jelly." said Samantha Strong.
"I said I was a pro-wrestler didn't I?" said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"Giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle." said Samantha Strong.
CHAPTER TEN
===========
"Did you know that I was a pro-wrestler? said the Greek Specter.
"Ummm no I didn't the Greek Specter." said Samantha Strong.
"You betcha." said the Greek Specter
"Oh can you win me a teddy-bear at the amusement park?" said Samantha
Strong.
"That was easy, here's your teddy-bear." said the Greek Specter.
"It's just too bad that you had to pummel the stand owner into guava
jelly." said Samantha Strong.
"I said I was a pro-wrestler didn't I?" said the Greek Specter
"Chuckle, chuckle, chuckle, chuckle." said Samantha Strong.
CHAPER ELEVEN
=============
"I am expecting a friend to come by soon Rampaging Ray Victory." said
Samantha Strong.
"Oh please let me stay just a little longer." said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"If only you'd stay when we were in bed." said Samantha Strong.
"What? What do you mean?" said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"Err forget it." said Samantha Strong.
"Oh okay." said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"Oh my friend is here you had better go." said Samantha Strong.
"You!" said the Greek Specter.
"You!" said Rampaging Ray Victory.
CHAPTER TWELVE
==============
"I am expecting a friend to come by soon the Greek Specter." said Samantha
Strong.
"Oh please let me stay just a little longer." said the Greek Specter.
"If only you'd stay when we were in bed." said Samantha Strong.
"What? What do you mean?" said the Greek Specter.
"Err forget it." said Samantha Strong.
"Oh okay." said the Greek Specter.
"Oh my friend is here you had better go." said Samantha Strong.
"You!" said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"You!" said the Greek Specter.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
================
"Now listen up the Greek Specter I am going to kill you to pieces." said
Rampaging Ray Victory.
"And what do you think will happen after the upcoming match?" said the
Arrogant Interviewer.
"I'm going to tear you apart the Greek Specter." said Rampaging Ray
Victory.
"And do you think that you will get the title match?" said the Arrogant
Interviewer.
"Wham. I'm going to kick you teeth in the Greek Specter." said Rampaging
Ray Victory.
"Thanks for the interview Rampaging Ray Victory." said the Arrogant
Interviewer.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
================
"Now listen up Rampaging Ray Victory I am going to kill you to pieces."
said the Greek Specter.
"And what do you think will happen after the upcoming match?" said the
Condescending Interviewer.
"I'm going to tear you apart Rampaging Ray Victory." said the Greek
Specter.
"And do you think that you will get the title match?" said the
Condescending Interviewer.
"Wham. I'm going to kick you teeth in Rampaging Ray Victory." said the
Greek Specter.
"Thanks for the interview the Greek Specter." said the Condescending
Interviewer.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
===============
"Ohhh." said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"Ahhh." said the Greek Specter
"Errg." said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"Baah." said the Greek Specter.
"Oh baby." said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"One, two, three." said Geeky Referee.
"I won." said Rampaging Ray Victory.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
===============
"Ohhh." said the Greek Specter.
"Ahhh." said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"Errg." said the Greek Specter.
"Baah." said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"Oh baby." said the Greek Specter.
"One, two, three." said the Sexy Referee.
"I won." said the Greek Specter.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
=================
"It looks like I won the match AND the girl." said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"Yes, you did, but there is a catch." said Samantha Strong.
"What would that be baby?" said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"Well it turns out you both won the match AND the girl." said Samantha
Strong.
"Hahahahaha." said Rampaging Ray Victory.
"Hahahahaha." said Samantha Strong.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
================
"It looks like I won the match AND the girl." said the Greek Specter.
"Yes, you did, but there is a catch." said Samantha Strong.
"What would that be baby?" said the Greek Specter.
"Well it turns out you both won the match AND the girl." said Samantha
Strong.
"Hahahahaha." said the Greek Specter.
"Hahahahaha." said Samantha Strong.
THE END
***** *****
The Conspiracy File
by
fifteen
In pre-conflict times(circa before issue #1), it was observed and therefore
prophecized that in the calgary skene there remained a certain deficiency. A
group of people deemed superior by themselves and peers alike had opposed the
general goings on in this community. Not uncommon is the ambition of creating
something vastly expansive compared to typefied run-of-the-mill calgary
unprogress. This urge, quite lascivious(is that the word?) in nature,
was not only set in our minds but in the minds of our enemies.
The basic obsession for change suffered to exist for all parties
self-aware enough to contrive it. For us of course, it motivated and inspired
but some designed very sickly longings and thus did not immediately exercise
their freedom of expression but instead through use of cunning attempts to
create a master race!!!
How I personally became aware of this hitleresque plot was through the power
of mass-distribution. Others, I am quite sad to say, were enlightened through
the direct enslavement of their peers and brothers. Shortly after the release
of our pestilent first issue I received an interesting piece of mail. A cry
for help most definitely, but furthermore A piece of news that moved me
almost into dire catatonia. I will excerpt out of it to provide insight yet
not gloat of the far-reaching ideal of [SOSHUTUP!]
"On some of the boards I heard some talk about certain impressionable users
being taken, by verbal manipulation, from their safe homes to attend lazer
quest and pool meets. I didn't think much of it at the time because people are
always prodding you to attend those stupid things. But not so long ago,
my brother actually ventured to attend one of these things. I bugged him,
had a little fun at his expense you understand, but when the Time came he
still attended. I was a little thrown when he did not return that night but
then I began thinking 'maybe he got lucky, 17 is about the proper age'.
surprised to find him not returning The next day, I began to seriously worry.
I've seen all those weird abduction cases on tv, biker gangs into white
slavery and shit. By monday not even a phone call to remind me of where he is,
or to comfort us. Our parents were out of town on a cruise for that entire
week so I ended up being responsible for us both and the house. Anyways, I
filed a report of missing persons with the police and hoped that they could
turn up things. I asked started asking some questions on the boards I
called to find out more about these meets, with little luck of course.
The week went through without any findings from the police and I eventually
found myself comptemplating whether or not to go to one of these little meets
and find out what was really going on. I ended up on friday night driving down
to black wolfe billiards and using some sleuth skills to deduce the events of
calgary modem users. The night swept by almost uneventfully until late and
after I believe a few too many drinks, a user slipped on a spill and toppled
to the ground. Humorously, I observed that he was wearing a hair piece and it
popped right off when he hit the ground. When he arose, he hadn't straightened
the toupe properly and the top of his forehead could be exposed. I thought I
saw something resembling a rough straight scar but I wasn't sure. This was the
moment in which I felt I should introduce myself as a fellow modemer..."
He continues to ramble about the strange scar and eventually ends up being
chased out of the pool hall by a gangly trio of modemers after querying as to
the cause of the scar. For two weeks more, he turns up nothing on his brother.
He receives an invite to a modem party, and sees another opportunity to
infiltrate the popular modem gatherings. He does attend and later in the night
he discovers something very disturbing.
"I used the old gimmick of asking where the washroom was to allow myself to
sneak around the house and inspect a little bit. It was upstairs and I had to
go through the kitchen to get to the stairs. A fork in the road, as they say:
in the kitchen there were stairs up and stairs down. I theorized that if they
had the bathroom upstairs, then the upstAirs must not really have anything to
hide. The basement was probably my best bet, if I was looking to uncover
anything truly startling or secret. Half-way down the stairs was a reinforced
door with a padlock, lucky for me the padlock was open although still in it's
latch so that only somebody on my side of the door could pass.
I slipped the padlock off and quietly opened the door. Downstairs was heated
to a humid summer temperature and it seemed to be lit by some small light
source, or sources as the shadows implied. I reached the bottom to find
something very frighteningly peculiar. A teenage boy with his head shaved
completely raw was typing almost robotically away at a computer terminal. On
the other side of the room another kid at another terminal with his hair a
little more grown in typing in the same constant directed manner. I tiptoed
up behind the first teenager completely unnoticed and observed the screen. He
appeared to be on one of the multi-line chat bbses, it appeared that he wasn't
really saying that much and his typing was mainly to access the userlisting
features of the system. I then waved my hand in front of his face, no blink,
not even a shadow of a glimmer of recognition in his eyes or on his face. The
front of his head was also adorned with the same width-wise straight scar. I
panicked and began to neurotically explore the room for a back exit. a secret
panel opened when I had inadvertantly caught my shirt on a nail in the wall
and pulled to loosen it. The other room provided a unique sight indeed. Along
the back wall were lined up two feet apArt 10 hospital beds with life support
units and patients. Approaching closer, I observed that many of the patients
were impressionable looking teenagers of ages 14-18, both boy and girl. Among
them were a few adults who appeared to be in their thirties and a few infants.
They were all being fed intraveneously and their life signs were being
monitored by machine. On the left wall there was what Appeared to be a
dentists chair with a portruding adjustablle head-vice and clamps to seal in
the arms and legs. A dish sat near with some scalpels and other barbaric
instruments in it. The right siDe was even scarier. It was wall-to-wall with
big windowed freezers -- cryogenic chambers perhaps? in what could only be
described as frozen blue tonic were various cuts of beef, livers, kidneys and
All manner of cow and pig organs."
The description of that night's events ends there. He then writes that he
feels he has uncovered a scheme truly ominous and that perhaps the people
at [SOSHUTUP!] could put an effort forth to expose the belly of this
strange conspiracy. Truthfully, we searched and could not find answers. The
police have also put in an effort, not knowing the scale of it of course, and
their methodology did not bring us all any closer to finding this man's
younger brother. From the information that we do have, we have put together
a rough composite of the events occuring.
A: Teenagers are being lured into kidnapping attempts at the various local
user meets. (not just teenagers, but also adults that are fairly weak of mind)
B: They are then being kept alive until they are needed for whatever part they
are to have in this scheme. We believe that they are then being given frontal
lobotomies and programmed to imitate real thinking people on calgary chat
bbses.
C: We believe that there is some modem cult involved and think it may have to
do with vampiric witches making attacks on livestock from ranches just out of
calgary. There seems definitely to be some sort of occult overtone.
If anybody, whatsoever, can give us any information about the occurences of
private modem parties and public user meets we would be thankful. Also if
anybody could offer any insight or inside information about what this is all
about then it would bring us so much closer to cracking the case wide open.
There are no rewards, but we can over you sanctity under our wings while we
set the bombs which will eventually tear this skene into unrecognizable
pieces.
Note: We had decided to take this effort to the public and search for
for the assistance of other skene-goers. This could not be kept a secret
for any longer and we regret that it was kept as such for a few weeks.
It seems of late that many people have put themselves into social groups
and tried to instill something that they feel is pure. This effort is
commendable and while we do feel that brainwashing is not a crime of any
sorts, abductions and illegal lobotomies are stretching the very limits
of morality. We ask you to stop your actions and return the victims of
yours to the families who already own them. Creating a race of
lobotomized teenagers to populate the modem skene, while a good idea, is
not the proper way of causing utter annihilation. Nor should it be
encouraged as a means to secure political power. We oppose On all fronts
for breaking the rules of selective mental re-programming. Please find
a more benevolent way of creating an army of robots to die for your
cause.
***** *****
===============================================================================
With all pressure in today's rotten society, we must prepare for the final
revolution. In this issue of [SSU#2] the writers and some contributors have
provided you with anarchy text files that we have dug up for your benefit.
The following years will be a difficult few, but with these helpful files, it
will make them just a bit easier. Some people well known to the [SOSHUTUP!]
crew have stood up as modern data pirates(no WAREZ connotation sorry!) and put
forth an effort of great intensity. These immoral(in the good way) soldiers
have hidden themselves behind the moniker of P@W3(Phuck Are We Elite). We have
agreed to help voice their and take them on as brothers in arms to help us rise
against the oppressions of a sickly thing called free thought. Hopefully they
will help us achieve new heights of apathy. These files provide the readers
with devious tactics to advance the cause of safe and legal urban warfare. We
hope that no injuries occur because of their use and that the worst thing that
happens is that people end up losing their individuality. It is timely and
appropriate that they have risen to replace the sad memory of our sister
organization [SOSTUPIDA!]. (Jack the Lad & fifteen)
===============================================================================
P@W3 Info-Phile
(Phuck @re We 3lite.)
The Blow Up Doll Death Machine
by
|<R0|<US
This method of execution is simple and very effective. With the
revolution at hand, we must be prepared to fight and to strike back with
vengeance. As in any revolution, the majority of the so called 'freedom
fighters' are male, this will provide you with a quick and easy way of
racking up the casualties.
MATERIALS:
- One Blow Up Doll
- A Light Weight Paper Thin Piece of C-4
- A Light Weight Paper Thin Timed Electrical Charge Detonator
- Surgical Knife
- Glue
- Clear Scotch Tape
SETTING UP:
Setting up is probably the hardest part. Getting the materials is easy,
since all of it can be purchased at the local drugstore.
Lay the doll out flat on the floor, make an incision on the doll's navel
section wide enough for the detonator and the C-4 to be implanted. Remove the
piece of rubber from the doll and carefully smear glue over the inside of the
navel and carefully place the detonator and the C-4 in the navel making sure the
timer is facing the legs of the doll.
Next, put tape around the edges of the rubber which was removed and gently
and VERY carefully stick the rubber back in place.
The next step is to mass market these dolls, as any good marketing student
knows, this is not hard to do. Just buy a factory in Mexico and hire willing
workers for .25 an hour.
Next, you must convince the 'freedom fighters' to purchase your dolls
instead of those corrupting, dirty magazine that the communists sell to them.
After all, lonely soldiers want the closest thing to actual sex, hey, blow up
dolls beats choking the chicken. TRUST ME. Not that I know or anything.
During the revolution, soldiers will have the urge to seek sexual
confrontations, with all the civilians hiding, the only thing around them are
corpses, enemy male soldiers, and there own soldiers. But wait, whats this?
It's a good thing that they bought thousands of those inflatable dolls, it will
save the day from the mens sexual cravings.
Okay, your a sexually frustrated soldier, you want a quick lay but there
are no women or any small furry animals around. Ah! but you have blow up
dolls. You, the unsuspecting soldier, quickly inflates the doll with drooling
lips and then you proceed to remove your uniform, thinking of anything that
remotely resembles a woman, a glorious erection emerges from your mid-section.
"Ohhhhh man!" you cry as you insert your big spear into the awaiting
artificial pleasure palace, and 5 seconds later, your body parts are scattered
for miles.
HOW IT WORKS:
When the person inserts his member into the inflatable doll and starts
happily pumping away, the tip of his penis presses the countdown button on the
timer. Now, taking into consideration that this hard working soldier has not
been laid in several long days or weeks, we will assume that he will achieve a
climax in 5 seconds or less, you set the time for five seconds. Once the five
seconds has been set, an electrical charge is sent from the detonator to the
C-4 which then immediately explodes scattering pieces of flesh and rubber over
the landscape. It's that simple.
A good thing about this is that the explosion is likely to take out
several soldiers that are fighting to be 'free'.
Do not wait until it is too late, we must mass produce hundreds of
thousands of inflatable dolls now!
***** *****
HoW TO KKKLEAN YOUR KAITCHEN FLOORRRA WITH SPIKKK AND SPAN AND A MOP{P!!!!!!!
By
AnaL INtrUder
RadIKKKaL ANNE-R-KISSE
Larry Day
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presents
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step !!!!
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GETT A MOPP!
//
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___//__
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)()()())
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step TWO!
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Geat A PAIL!
________
/ \
\`--------'/
\ /
\______/
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steo 3!!!
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GeT SOme PSik ANd SPnA!
____
( )
| |
/ \
/ \
/ \
/ \
/ \
| |
| SPIK |
| & |
| SPANN |
| |
| |
| |
`--------------'
NOTE: VEN TRHO*UGF IT MAY LOOK LIKEA BOTTLEA OFR WIN OR KOOL-ADI!m, DO NOAT
DRINKGF IT! UN LEASS YOU KNOW WHATS YOU ARE DOINGK!
****************************************************************************
stepa FOOR!
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Takea thea psick a dn span!, and puta it in the pail.. i mena pur it in the
pail, dont jst put the ottle in the pail you r morron! mix in somea water,
and ten put thea mop in athe pail (thinkg aboy this, myou cananot por the mop
in the mail!) leta the mopa soak for abouy 10 minuitesa, and thnen you take
the amop and you wipe iat cross the floor! it wiall take asome time to get
used to doingk this, nbut skillz ocme with time! iaf tou awant to knowa moor
anbout his, i will bea condiucting an employment semianr at the 153 LEGiOn in
redneckville, massachusettetes sat 9:15 pmp, on april 9th 1994! ui wailkl
show tuou the technqiesu in volved with this in geatting a job, and larry
will ne talking anout he moviea theat is soon to bea realesxed on this
ubeject!
****************************************************************************
END CAPTURE HERE
STOP CAPTURE HERE
DO NOT CAPTURE ANYMORE
THIS IS THE END F THE FILE
Stop apci
***** *****
P@W3 Info-Phile
(Phuck @re We 3lite)
HOW TO MAKE THE ULTIMATE SEX DOLL
Written by OHMOSEKZYUL LUVIR
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
DISCLAMER: THIS IS A VERY SENSITIVE FILE ITS FR PEPLE 18 AND
OVER ONLY!!! THE CREW OF P@W3 IS NOT RESPONCIBUL IN ANY WAY IF
YOU GET IN TRUBLE FOR THIS OR GET YOUR MIND ALL FUKKED UP!
ok now that's over we can have some real fun.
ok what you need for this is:
- 2 silicone breast implants (ask for them at the emergensy room
counter at your local hospitol - i got mine at the foothills one
they give out the ones they removed for free there)
- one of those things from san francissco the store that is
like a little rubber thing full of water with a hole in the
middel of it it's a kids toy that you use to hand to people
and it flops out of thier hand because it has a hole in it you
know what i mean it looks sorta like this:
v--------- Hole in the middel
__---__
|--___--|
| . . |
| . . |
| . . | <<--- rubber like a balloon
| . . | filled with water with
| . . | a hole in the middel
| . . |
| . . |
| . . |
| . . |
| . . | .
| . . | . = the hole going thru it
| . . | .
| . . |
|__ __|
---
- a pair of panty hos with a hole in the krotsh
- a lot of cotton balls or some kind of other stuffing like
that to fill the panty hos legs & shirt.
- a t-shirt
- bra (steal it from yoru mom haha)
- A womens blouse or shirt with buttons on the *FRONT* and
long sleeves
- some kind of lateks mask you can buy them at costume stores
or something just make sure it's a GOOD LOOKING MASK WITH A
OPENABLE MOUTH!
- high heel shoes
- gloves
- a rubber ball about the size of a head
(note if you want to make a male sex doll then omit the
breasst implants and put the hole in the back of the panty hos)
step 1
first you gotta fill the t-shirt with stuffing of some kind
if you don't have enough cottin balls you can use underwarez or
socks or your sisters bras or somethign then also fill the
legs with it but make sure you do it in a way that they FEEL
liike real legs and can move at the nees and hips. Ok now put the
breast implants into the bra, and put it around the t-shirt
that should be filled up to the right proportions like a
woman. now take the shirt with the long sleeves and put it
over the t-shirt, and fill up the arms with stuphing so they
are like real arms. ok now put the rubber ball into the mask,
and padd it whith stuffing so it's like a real head. ok now
sew or glue or tape or use dried cum hahahaha to stick the
head to the body (you put it where the kneck hole in the shirts
are)
ok now you take the little rubber thingy and put it in the
krotsh of the panty hos so the hole is lined up with the hole
in the rubber thing and find a way to make it stay there
(because you are going to be pouding away at it if you get what i mean
hehehehehe)
sow the gloves onto the arms of the shirt
now put the high heels onto the feet of the panty hos, now connect the
legs part to the top part somehow. the hole thing shud look like this:
$$$
$$___$$
$|o o|$
| O |
____ \ / ____
/ ___| |___ \
/ / (.) (.) \ \
/ / | | \ \ (you cant really see the
////- | | -\\\\ nippuls because there
/ \ isnt any hehehe)
| o |
/ / \ \
/ / \ \
< / \ \
| | | >
| | | |
__| | | |__
/__ \\ // __\
im not a very gud drawer so thats just an idea of what it look
like when its done ok but you get what i mean!
if you do it rite then you will have a gud sex doll! i know it
suonds really sick but i kmnow you will want to try it so do
there is nothing to be ashemed of!
ok then when you are done make sure you first put some water
in the hole or something or you can lick it or something to
make it whet otehr wise you will get rub burns and they hurt
for a while. if you get a good lateks mask you can also kiss
it whle you put your dick in the hole and it makes it feel
even more real trust me in the dark you dont no the differents!
ok some of you mite be kinda backwards so if you are you can
just forget about the silicun brest implants and insted get
mens shirts and stuff but maybe still panty hos then you can
put a hole in the bum insted and put the rubber thing there
insted and maybe if the smell turns you on yu can put some cat
poo from the litter box in it. then also get a guys lateks
mask insted.
also you mite wanna cut a hole in the front of the lateks mask
and put another rubber toy thing in it so you can get a blow
job too.
if you want the truly good experans then put some vaselin and
sardeen juice in the hole if its a girl one you made. also
girls can make this thing but put a dildo on the front of it
if they want a man doll.
make shure you wipe the cum out of the hole whenyou are done
other wise it can get rotton and smell bad then you have to
replace the stuffing i had to do it a few times.
Try It It Works,
OHMOSEKZYUL LUVIR
***** *****
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HOW TO SEDUSE ALTERNATVE CHICKZZ!!! |
------------------------------------'
1st thing u hgave tro do is get yourself a pop/punk T-SHIRT!
2nd thingf u have do to is go to a GIG (a pop/punk GIUG) and find the alter
NATIVE babe of your dreams.
3rd thing\ you do is check out what T-SHIRT the babe is wearingk, and then
you have to make sure that the gug you are at is for that BAND! If it's not
then you're screwed, oir getting screwd, or could be screwed.
4th thingk you do is drag her into the back alley and ra... err, now\! Thats
a different technuqe!
4th thingk yuou do is, go up to the band and pretend you now them! then you
start to stare at the chick, and then you tell gher that you can get her the
next taoee for free if she gives you a blkow hob!
if you haven sedused here by thius time, you'rte hopeless!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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***** *****
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PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP
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HOW TO SEDUSE MODEEM CHICKZZ!!! |
------------------------------------'
1st thing u hgave tro do is get yourself sum vAmpyre teeth!!!
2nd thingf u have do to is go to a MEET and find the modeem NATIVE babe
of your dreams.
3rd thing\ you do is ask her what CompUter the babe is wearingk, and then
you have to make sure that the MeeT you are at is for that CompuTer! If it's not
then you're screwed, oir getting screwd, or could be screwed.
4th thingk you do is drag her into the back alley and ra... err, now\! Thats
a different technuqe!
4th thingk yuou do is, go up to chick and tell her you r a membbber of P@W3
start to stare at the chick, and then you tell gher that you can get her the
next P@W3 file for free if she gives you a blkow hob!
if you haven sedused here by thius time, you'rte hopeless!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK
KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK
KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN
NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
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KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK
KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
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***** *****
P@W3 Info-Phile
(Phuck @re We 3lite)
HOW TO HAVE AN OUT OF BODY EXPERIENCE WITH A ZIPPO
Written by OHMOSEKZYUL LUVIR
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
You need a zippo, a pencil, and your favorite hallucinogen
Take the first hallucinogen...
write the entire alphabet on your face without making a
mistake, using your pencil
underneath that write "Oubla Ogawa I Wanna Leave my Body"
ignite the zippo, by striking at the flint with the little
wheel (oh, make sure there is fluid in it, otherwise it won't
work)
stare at the flame
Now utter "I call the Ghoul I want to be at one with zuul!"
wait...
wait some more...
wait a bit longer...
wait even longer, even if you can't stand it...
Your head should look kinda like this: /\
|--------------------------| \ / \
| ABCDEFGHIJKLM | || / \
| NOPQRSTUVWXYZ | \ \ \
| ( o) OUBLA OGAWA I ( o) | ---\ /
| WANNA LEAVE | | o |\ /
| MY BODY | |o o| \/
| O O | |--------|
| | | |
| |-------------------| | | |
| | | |
|--------------------------- | |
|--------|
Now summon up your deepest darkest thoughts and concentrate on
them so you can feel your head expanding
Chant something like "Xythxnasha Sakkaxthx am I there"
you'll be surprised!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
after a while you might be able to do it without hallucinogens... but it's
very scary at first
Try It It Works,
OHMOSEKZYUL LUVIR
***** *****
HoW 2 Maak Your OWN StealT BompEr with ThoSe ScRapS frOM The SiDeS OF PrinTEr
PApepr
By
PeNiS eNVY
RaDiKKKaL ANNE-R-KSSED!
Implamentatshuns and tequniques by
Two HoLE HarryEttE
(THE only FEMAiL HACKER EbER!)
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3
A P@W# PRESENTATASAUTION!
Grretingks GO out TO:
YOU (HAHAHAH!!!)
DRINKFIX!!!
KNIGHT LIGHTNINGK!!!
DECIDE!!!
THE CARETORS OF MORTAK LOMBAT!!!
MY GRADEA # ENGALISH TEAACHER!!! (YOU ABITSH! HAHAHA!)
THIAS FILEA WOULDZ NOT BEZZZ POISI|IBLE WIATHOUT HE HELAP OF:
THE KKK (HAHAHAH!!H!H@H!H!)
JAMEAS DEAN!!
FAT MIC!
IANA MACKEYE!
THANKSA GUY!
***************************************************************************
STEPA ONE!
**************************************************************************
Firsdt you hagvea to go and get aosme scrap paper, aksd you r mom for some
yor you can us the scraps from printinagk oyut all those xxXXXxxx rated txt
phislaexz we all know ayou read!!!! You wilak need at elast 500 tonZZzz!
Of ocurase you caould always jyst use paperi insted of craps! BBut then you
owuld bea a lkamer cauz you would have to by some more papier to print our to
the x rated txt xapohilex!
**************************************************************************
STEPA ONE!
**************************************************************************
Secondsas thing you have do to ios to get aosme poaper maschey! Cozas you
neaad to havea bbit of cohesion or else tha whole thing will just fall apart
at 30,000 feeat anddda then you'll feal you really stopid sand should have
listened to us and as ayou r fallink gdown ato year death adnd you see god
yhell tell you that s you have should some papery mashc EH!
**************************************************************************
STEP TTREE!
**************************************************************************
3rd Thing you have dO to is get someeething you can us for a wireeframe,m
like say some coathnagjerzzZZzz ouyt of your clsoet or by 10 km of wire from
the locat wire shop! i thinkg you may even e abble to get a prebuild wire
framez for the stealt bomper!, but i am unsuro!
Oncea you have athe wire you have tro sttart moplding it and shapingk it in
yoru bakc yard (or youe frint of you life on a farm!!!!) it sahould look
somethinkg like this!:
______________ .--------------.
/ / <-----------------. | |
/ / WINGK!----------+---------. | |
(=====/ / | | | |
/\ \ \ | | | |
| \ \ | | | |
| \_____________\ WINGK!----------+------. | | |
| /\ | | | | |
| | `------+--' | |
| | | | |
| `----------------------------------' | |
`------------------------------------------------------+--------------'
|
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part fiuve! |
|
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|
4th thinkg you have to edo, is hack into the goivernment |omputers and gsat
the plans oneh howthea steath bompers electrical systemw |orks and set itup!
thena you can start to put the papier mnasge on! onceas /ou geta the papier
mashe eh on ythen you have to wait 3 yearsz (or 156 wee/kksssssss, whcich ever
is easiest for you!) to for it have dry! afster it has/driedx, you can ado
whatever you ewant with it with whoevrra you want in /he backseatha and i'm
not goingak to say a think g about it to anytone! bb/ carefeul thouygkm,
i'vea heard that the agovernment ias not tgoo kean /n oriadinary citishens
owning their own stelath bompers! |
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COCKPITSH!---------------------------------------'
***** *****
|<R0|<US was a famed member of the deceased group 'f!te WARZ n0t WAR'. Now
he is an independent anarchy text file writer. I got ahold of him in late 1993
and asked him to write an anarchy file which would be simple to understand and
simple to construct. From the brilliant mind of |<R0|<US came the various uses
for a television remote control. I have tested this file and found it to be a
useful weapon against the insipid creatures that crawl at night. (Jack the Lad)
P@W3 Info-Phile
(Phuck @re We 3lite.)
Various Uses for a Television Remote Control
By
|<R0|<US
Your television remote control can do more than you think. Sure, it can
change channels and such, but have you ever used it as a mind controlling unit?
or a disrupter weapon or even a hologram projector? Well, read on and find out
how you can change your T.V. Remote into something just a bit more useful.
TELEVISION REMOTE CONTROL MIND CONTROL UNIT.
This is a simple and effective way of controlling someones mind, this is
especially handy when you want to get that special babe but she wont go for
you!
Okay, snag your average television remote control and take it apart so the
innards are exposed to you. Find the DC convertor and switch the plasma flow
so it reads positive. Once that is complete, you have to locate the ion control
switch and convert it to a positronic pulse flow, the best method is to make
the pulse pulsate at one second intervals. Once this is complete, besure to
switch the infra-red output to gamma ray output- gamma rays are a most
effective way of mind control, beta waves are another method, but if you use it
too much on one person, that person could become a vegtable, trust me, I did
hard time after I over used beta waves on my girlfriend. So once you have
finished all of the above, piece the remote back together again and plug it
into any electrical wall unit and let it power up for approximately 48 hours,
then all you have to do is press the power switch and use the number pad for
the strenght level, one is the lowest, and zero being the highest.
TELEVISION REMOTE CONTROL DISRUPTOR UNIT.
Have you ever wanted to just destroy a persons mind? Well the following
will teach you how to do that.
Take a t.v. remote control, preferably a Zenith model, and open it up.
Switch the DC flow to an AC flow. Then, locate the fuel tank, (all Zenith
models have a fuel tank) and fill it up with gasoline dilluted with Spray Buff
Emulsion, then recap the fuel tank. Convert the plasma output to an
anti-matter flow. And that's it! The only drawback with this is that you can
use it once then you have to let it recharge for 10 hours and refill the fuel
tank. One last thing, besure to take the batteries out because it will hinder
the disruptors performance.
TELEVISION REMOTE CONTROL HOLOGRAM PROJECTION UNIT.
Heres something that should fascinate everyone of all ages. This
holographic projector has over 4096 colours, and can project an image up to 300
feet.
Open up the t.v. remote control. Once it is open, find the quantum
controller which is present in all Zenith and Sony remotes. Switch the quantum
controller to a hydo-spam converter, which is quite simple to do and if you
cant do this, then dont bother reading on. Next, place a small piece of carbon
filament in between the titanium sheet sensor and the infra-red projector.
Power up for 72 hours and then press power, program the remote with the number
pad and animate them with the mute button.
***** *****
With the recent hype about alien abductions on people these days, SSU's
writers Jack the Lad and fifteen went deep undercover to explore the
possibilities that these so-called alien abductions might have affected the
Calgary BBS skene. (Jack the Lad & fifteen)
THE CONSPIRACY FILE II
by
Jack the Lad
In December of 1992, there were reports of some very mysterious activities
on farms located just outside of Calgary. Though such events are commonly
reported all-over the United States and Canada, they are still quite
inexplicable and baffling in nature. To recount the events, late at night there
were strange howls emanating from the grazing field just past the ranch of a
local farm. The farmer(who shall remain anonymous) had ignored it and continued
to sleep peacefully through until the morning. When he went back to inspect the
grazing cows in the field, he discovered to his horror that the herd had been
completely obliterated. He found the mutilated corpses of all his cows
scattered miserably across the grassy field. At first inspection, he cringed
but later he noticed that the sight was not so terribly horrific as the blood
of each cow had been completely drained. Also, various organs had been
removed(genitals, heart, tongue, liver), with clean efficiency and the cuts had
all been strangely cauterized. The farmer reported the slaughter to the RCMP,
which immidiately started an investigation.
"This is truly a baffling case, although other farmers in this same area
have also had cattle mutilated, and each time there is never an explanation to
be found. " said Inspector Gerry Busst.
Constable Phillip Busst, another RCMP officer who was also investigating
the cattle mutilations reports that one farmer claimed seeing strange lights
in the woods just outside of his house before he heard strange howling sounds.
Another farmer had managed to get a tape-recording and there was suspected
record back-masking, although analysis proved nothing. However, as sudden as
these mutilations happened, the cases were closed and another supposed "hoax"
had seen it's final day in the sun.
We, however, did not close the case and feel that there is information here
enough to make some feasible guesstimates as to the real goings-on behind this
spree of cattle dissections. Many UFO advocates would so easily pin it on an
extra-terrestial intervention, but that is perhaps too far-fetched. There is
something behind this, and we need not jump to conclusions about alien
visitations when there are tools for investigation at our hands and some
reasonable conjectures that can be made. We will re-examine the case for you
and present a conclusion as reasonable(and even more so) than any that have
already been made.
The tell-tale warning signs of these events were strange distant lights in
the yard and in the fields of the farm owners. Also following were ethereal
sounding howling sounds(record back-masking). These would indicate one thing
immediately and suggest another thing. There was someone, or something in the
field and they were taking preparatory measures before making a sweep of the
cow infested grasses. The second hypothesis is that these "someones" were
performing some sort of ritual(think of the media investigations on the effect
of record back-masking), definitely paganistic in nature; a religious ritual
perhaps to collect offerings for some heathen God(or pantheon of Gods). The
lights in the distance were perhaps torches or lanterns and they were used to
of course illuminate the area of the satanic gathering.
The mutilations themselves offer a few clues as well. The wounds were
cauterized, and the cuts clean, which suggests perhaps the use of a
laser-projecting instrument. But nowhere on the corpses was there found a speck
of blood. Where did all those gallons of cow plasma go? Certainly they did not
just vanish into thin air. We offer an explanation which should seem so plain
but which will elude even the mind of the most advanced Police Inspector. Cow
blood is often used in experiments because it is quite similar in nature as
human blood. May I suggest that the ones accused of laser-beaming the cows were
consuming the blood as well? It's very possible. This theory also implies that
the beings I speak of are needing the thrive on human blood, like they are
somehow unable to exist without large quantities.
In human mythology there are many references to blood sucking creatures
known as vampires. Of course, the existance of mythical supra-human vampires
can very well be contested but would the theory I described not point to the
validity of such a myth? Belief in vampires is not as scorned as it would have
been many years ago and among the cities of the world there are many
organizations endorsing the reality of vampires. One has to wonder if
there is not some fact to their claims, especially given the rise of livestock
mutilations in the last 20 years. In Calgary even, there is a small community
of vampire supporters and self-proclaimed vampires among the modem skene. Of
all the "vampires" that are to be encountered, a large percentage participate
in the Wiccan religion(a pagan sect invoking the animistic policies of Druids
and other ancient cults). A connection is almost obvious, as the use of record
back-masking has been used on many heavy metal and punk rock albums that
support the Wiccan faith and the ideas are very closely tied. This presents a
picture of cultists, witches, and vampires in a wooded area near the farmers
field standing around with lanterns and torches and playing the back-masked
messages of heavy metal and punk rock albums on a large amplifier as to pay
some homage to an evil God. Then one could imagine them raiding the field to
collect "food" for the vampires among the group, or perhaps the vampires are
leading the raid and using witches and cultists as lackeys.
One element is still a mystery -- Why are cow organs taken? If we are
dealing with the aspect of an alien theory, then the answer is quite unclear,
one possiblity is that the aliens use the organs for some sort of scientific
tests, perhaps genetic cloning. But what use would cows be to aliens? If the
aliens have the technology to travel from another planet to another, surely the
could think of something better to eat than beef. This theory is just totally
illogical.
In the Conpiracy File #1 it was discovered that a group of modem users have
been storing frozen cow innards in cryogenic chambers for reasons unknown.
There seems to be a direct corellation between the event of the first file and
these of the second. Although the first was a special warning, in the meantime
we have uncovered enough evidence to connect a very suspicious time line of
events. The result of this time line proves that even before users were
disappearing, the cow mutilations had begun and that perhaps the lobotomization
of certain Calgary users is only a small part of this plot. One idea that came
to mind coincides with the thought that someone is attempting to create a
master race of lobotomized modem users. Perhaps, and this is completely
speculation, they are attempting to create a hybrid of cow/human lobotomized
modem users. Now given all this mysterious information, you can now understand
the scope of this truly fear-worthy conspiracy.
Alien abductions?
You could only wish.
***** *****
Recently while flipping through Calgary's own Computer Paper, I gleamed from
it some interesting insight. The following is an article(reprinted with
permission) from Febuary's issue of the Computer Paper, from their reviews of
popular shareware programs. We find the Computer Paper to be an invaluable
resource for the Calgary Modem Skene, as it provides BBS listings, contact
information for Special Interest Groups and newsbreaking articles on current
computer issues. Not only is it informational, but it is free!! You will
invariably find the article below to be entertaining, well-thought and
surprisingly accurate. (fifteen)
REVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEW
Telemate V4.12
by Adam Sukimata (oralbob@spyhill.cuc.ab.ca)
[For postal correspondance address letters to Adam Sukimata PO Box 134
Kensington Street Postal Outlet T2N 0L3]
Once again I was pleasantly surprised with this version of Telemate. I
sat down at my computer and booted both versions of Telemate (4.11/4.12) and
noticed a world of difference. It is nice to see that 4.12 has several features
that 4.11 did no have. For instance, I was surprised to see the running speed
of 4.12. It booted extremely fast as compaired to 4.11. Another great aspect of
4.12 was that it has several different transfer protocols which 4.11 did not
have. It also has several terminal emulations which also were not included in
4.11. 4.12 has an interesting feature in the phonebook menu. You can enter more
than one number for one bbs, for instance, if you were to call my bbs Starship
Spyhill BBS, you could enter both of the numbers under the one name.
It is a very handy feature which 4.11 did not have. The bugs in 4.11 protocols
were plentiful, but in 4.12 they are non-existant. I must admit though, I was
estatic when I booted 4.11 because the booting screen consisted of a naked man in
on a satin bed dressed only in sheepskin chaps. I was surprised to see that the
picture itself took very little memory and I observed that it was an svga
picture which arroused my curiousity even more, so what I did was reboot and I
enabled the Ad lib feature. A consistant feature is for all sound capabilities
the erotic moans that the brazen stallion made. If you had the 4.12 version of
telemate, you would of noticed that there was a picture of a naked man on a bear
skin rug wearing loosened suede chaps and sweating like marathon runner after a
long race. At first sight of this magnificent hi-res/SB Pro capable picture, I
immediately dropped my trousers and masturbated furiously and after a few
moments I climaxed like a latino sex king all over my keyboard. Since that
initial moment, I have managed to gain much more self-control, I find that I
can last through some of the other features in 4.12. For instance, when you
download a file, another sweaty naked man in heat hi-res picture appears on
the screen and shows you the list of available protocols. Once you pick your
protocol, the muscle bound lover says to you, "Don't touch me there!". Now I
download files like crazy just to hear his masculine voice speak to me in that
seductive tone. When the file is downloading, the picture of the man does not go
away. As you continue to download the file, his penis get more erect as the
download gets more complete. I found that my penis gets harder as his does, so
I could not control my sexual urgues and I proceeded to masturbate like a dog
in the summer heat. After spewing out hot juicy load, I decided to explore the
program some more. I booted the host mode terminal and had a close friend of
mine call. Once the person connects to your computer, the 1994 edition of the
Firemans Nude Calender is displayed as a title in RIPterm graphics. Once again,
I was compelled to masturbate like a madman at such a display of shameless
virility. So needless to say, this is a program worth getting, not just for the
new protocol features, but also for the well-endowed male play-things. I give
Telemate 4.12 the highest rating possible.
***** *****
Obituary:
On March 10th of 1994, Los Angeles writer Charles Bukowski died after a
bitter year long battle with leukemia. We will mourn his death and take his
life as inspiration. He was age 73 and lived a life with very little literary
recognition, only making a real break with his autobiographical screenplay of
the 1987 film Barfly.
***** *****
Urban Hero
==========
Written by
fifteen
----
There she stood, among the last beautiful in this city. She was an angel
in this hell, an advancement upon the sickness of it all. The wooded brown
hair hung in the hair, invulnerable to the pollution. The healthy bosom
pushed out of the corners of the faded yellow sundress. The skin made a
perfect contrast against the grey air, the gummed cement and the godly red
sky. I feel so distant from her, withdrawn from the bay which she pays her
attention. I'm not unworthy, but I feel as though I am living this experience
through another's eyes, almost vicariously. I need to touch her, but my own
body I could not feel. My legs could not walk, my arms could not reach. I am
trapped, forced to look at the thing I needed most, from a distance. The
barrier is illusionary, I know, but it is there and it strikes back when I
charge it. If she could walk to me, if she knew I was there watching, than I
would not feel this strain. But for now she is the lone image, trapped on the
edge under the pink sky. Nothing but a siren calling out to me. I am a
voyeur, and what I see will quell all my desires if I were given but a chance
to chase it. What disconcerts me more is that all my striving is just a
memory, a memory which forces me to be more withdrawn from whom I am. As the
dream continues, I feel myself pulled violently from her. It's the wakedness
I hate most, because at least in this dream world I can see the shadow of my
former self.
----
Brian awoke amidst the pile of stained and abandoned pizza boxes. The room,
once nice, was a shattered and tormented misery box -- a true reflection of
the one who lived there. He had to leave, to his only appointment, to the last
standing vestige of normality in his shell of an existence. The doctor, he
thought, the greatest condescender of all. People sat in his sterile chair
while he weaved strange circles of words, so that "he" could sear in and
crush their defenses. Curative measures, is destruction curative? Is
ignorance of the self curative? A charlatan, a twisted profession, bound by
egomaniacal con-artistry. Brian would have no part of his game, the only word
games played would be won by him. He dressed steadily, a painful task,
grooming assumed only a day a week now that his groceries were being
delivered. What was assembled was more than a crippled doppledanger, rather a
concurance of grace and style unseen in normal days. Perhaps his appearance
was not tended to as dictatorily as before but there a certain slyness, a
certain attractive edge. Transit provided a way to the office, too early.
----
"What have you dreamt of since your last visit?" opened the Psychiatrist, in
the usual feigned manner. "The dreams have not come with so much ease, it's
hard to remember them, they're not so ready, not so important". "You could be
repressing them, sometimes horrible dreams, or perhaps things you don't want
your conscious self to face are forgotten, wiped out as if they never occured"
replied the Doctor, trying to provide insight. "I had one dream, which I
remember quite clearly. It was terrible, it fills me with dread". "Go on, it's
important that we try to interpret these things". "Well, it was about the gun
I had in my closet, it kept on giving me suggestions, talking to me, the
barrel opened and closed like lips" said Brian, pushing for realism. "A gun
in your closet.. hmmmm" the Doctor mused, taking note of it for a later
session. "It kept on telling me to kill God, to wipe the arrogant sonofabitch
off the face of the earth, to snuff out his pathetic little afterlife". "And
what do you think that means?" the Psychiatrist said, comfortingly. "I think
it may have to do with the teacher I had in Catholic school as a child, he
was a priest you see and he used to tell me about chastity and sexual decency
and all that, except that he would, well sodomize me almost nightly". "Brian,
I think you are making this up, there are no traces of that kind of dam--". "I
mean, you haven't discussed this with me in other sessions, we have probed
deeply into your life and this has never come up" commented the Doctor, trying
to save the situation. "Okay, okay, maybe it was just a few gentle gropes".
"Brian!". The session matured, and cycled through the ask and answer
procedure; Psychiatrist always asking, patient always answering. "Have you
thought about 'Her', Brian?" inquired the Doctor, attempting to approach the
real issue. "My mother? My sister? You'll have to be more specific, you
prying little lecher, I'll have you know that I had no sexual relations with
either" said Brian, mockingly. "You'll accomplish nothing with insults, we
both know why you're here" parried the learned Shrink. "I'm here to line your
pocket you libidinous pig, while at the same time feeding your sick
incestuous fantasies, there's no analysis, just questions about who fucked
who in my family" slashed Brian, triumphantly. "I don't think that there is
any need to continue this session Brian, but I want you to think about the
things you have said". "You're probably a pedophile too!". A success, a
cunning victory. There is no masculinity in Psychiatry, it's a science
strictly for cowards. Brian headed home on the same bus which took him on his
excursion into medical fakery.
----
Brian was avid about his telescope, interested in all the complicated
equations and gadgetry that surrounded it and made it better for spying.
Months ago he had gone about adding certain features which allowed for better
night sight, night time was when the city had provided the most to see. Brian
loved his telescope, the power it gave him, the personal growth it allowed
him. "Fucking little sewer rats, race relations my ass, that nigger is raping
that white whore", Brian said enthusiastically, almost proud of the fact that
only he knew what was happening. The scene below was nothing but an encounter
between a mixed couple. In the other windows, arguments, moments, many things
to be witnessed all at once by Brian, spectator of life. "Guy works all day
just to come home and beat his kid, real tough, I admire that" sneered Brian
again, still fleeting on pride. Down in the street, a deal commensed, an edgy
junkie begged at the knee's of his lord: the dealer. A sick city, but all
that most people have, whether the sum of human intelligence or a provoked and
intended disaster. 'I could kill them all, every single one of those depraved
freaks' thought Brian in meditative superiority. Another night of viewing,
letting things pass with only the strangulated complaints of a single
destitute to comfort the dawn. Slumber was a godsend after a night of
confined tension.
----
"This time I'm closer". The face he confronted was the likeness of faded
paper, browned by the sun, aged but youthful and capable. The eyes curl into
rounded cheeks, and softed nose. The lips of perfect depth, softer than the
eyes and more welcoming than the face added up. Bare, therefore unkissable.
The hair, with magnificent lustre and complexion, even too perfect for the
head it covered. Limbs which held her up were fragile, so cute but full of the
strength to embrace. The bay she looked up was still far too worthy of her
amazing gaze, for the beauty it possessed was far more temporary and was
complimented by sun and rock, the nature which had endowed her in the
beginning. The sky, still godly red, was tempted by edges of blue, lilts of
white as God loosened his fury to allow the day to commense. A ship in the
distance, a thin black form, leaving into the ocean to practice it's
worldliness. Sand refined this picture, giving it that last quality of
symmetry; it was not even undermined by the demanding blows of the morning
tide. This all, compartementalized into some nearing recess of Brian's
forcibly sickened mind. An almost final lapse into the things he knows are no
longer real. His arms, not long enough, but his eyes even more aware of this
spiritual painting. Like everytime, he is ripped from it again. The day
beckons, the evening rather.
----
"An early start" said Brian, talking to his favorite friend, himself. He
lifted and adjusted the other soul companion, allowing his eyes a slight
fringe benefit in their mechanized tubular sight. The light inside shimmed
against his retina, providing a perfect trajectory onto the nights events.
Brian thought of the one act that made his parents saints, the trust fund
which bought his spy-glass and the freedom that accompanied it. Poor, modest
folk they were, but still capable of the emotional abuse common in so many
homes -- denial of attention, lack of recognition. The military was an early
escape, a chance for a future. He learned strength, and morality, despite
their current uselessness. The same circles of abuse continued though, being
beaten down after regrouping to rise. He was glad to escape from that, the
abuse was bound to stop. The time and attention given, it did. He thought
never to resurface. "Those pugnacious little fucks, robbed the store, need a
lesson in respect" howled Brian distastefully. "An hour or two with me would
show them, take their livelihood away", words now turning into a mumbling
drone. Shortly following, an event to further engross Brian. A mugging, a
young woman flanked by two undescript thugs, a tug at the dress and movement
of the purse and the woman is left not even with her dignity as the bandits
escape down the block. Brian fumed into early morning, opposing from above in
word and thought the common lives of those below and their desperate patterns.
----
"Nearer still". Arms entangled, the warmness of friction of flesh against
flesh. Dreams vanquished, the two of them clinged with no restraint for all
security, warmth and oneness. It had been forever, all things done and set
aside, a time waited for the liberation of this single moment. Opposites
collided, joined each other, walked away indifferent in this single embrace.
The earth moved, tried to push but their bond resisted the powers of force
itself. No barrier, no distance, no observance -- just the consummation of
earthly desire. Clothed fondles, powerful grips, the caressing of lips was
all there was, enough to blank out the eternal sky. The couple joined, tied
hands and fulfilled vows, at last. Brian, a man of whims, no longer a prisoner
seperated from his love. They moved apart, partaking of the splender out
there beyond their love. Now longer joined, they were dependant of each other,
each a symbiote of the other. They moved apart, farther still, and a few lust
saturated words were exchanged. "Brian, I really need my sweater if we are
going to walk along the beach" uttered Joan, in her greatest lover's whisper.
"Out at the car right? On a day like this I knew we should have parked
nearer" said Brian, with poor wit, still managing to make Joan chuckle. Joan
clutched the railing, reaching for warmth as Brian walked away. Brian made it
to the car, grabbing the crumbling home-made sweater. He began walking back,
out to the railing by the bay as he noted an abrupt change. The sky called
down to him with a blast of thunder. Rain at such a time of harmony, Brian
previously thought this impossible. Thick rain tempted Brian's limits even
more, Joan would freeze. He licked a small raindrop from his palm, this rain
was stronger than the embrace which had temporarily blotted the sky from his
mind. The taste of blood teased his outstretched tongue and he exclaimed "The
gods have no right to bleed on me!".
----
The bed shifted as Brian spun up in strict hatred, he bellowed his hearts
discontent, the repression folding out in front of him. They killed her,
conspired to take her away from him, destroyed him. They, the junkies, the
scum, the putrid human waste which cluttered every megalopolis in America. The
unpurifiable disease traced through generations of the melting pot, the
spirit devouring grub of urban despair. "You'll prey on me no longer!!",
Brian hurled his words against the thin walls of his pigpen apartment. It had
all been planned out for him, as if a destiny, fatigues and rifle in the
closet. On his balcony precious minutes later, the hi-tech telescope replaced
by a well-kept rifle. Brian had hunted after the military, an accomplished and
equipped marksman lacking only one thing. Brian found a target, a homeless
person collapsed in the street, covered by half of a cardboard box. Click, no
bullets, no harm done, Brian lived as vicariously as ever. Several more
targets found, shot at, missed but in his mind maimed and killed. This
behavior was seen to continue through the night and even beyond. "There's no
prejudice in this, they're destroying our country, treason is not extreme
enough a charge" Brian justified to himself. "What kind of sick, emotional
core of a human being feeds off the bottom of everybody's hard work? Rapes,
kills, thieves, corrupts, conforms our youth to their sex driven abuse,
perverts all of them!". Sadists.
----
Weeks later, thousands of imaginary murders later, Brian was on top of his
game. Sniping the guilty, hunting the hunters, raping the rapists. It all
continued like this, with little variation. Brian wouldn't remember how his
love was raped and killed by morning thugs overlooking the bay while he
innocently and unknowingly retrieved a sweater. He wouldn't even brim up to
see that the victims in the street went on living as he sunk invisible bullets
into their vile bodies. It was all like before, in her moment of dying, how
he refused to accept what happened. He cradled her and would not face that
she was dying, bleeding to death. He wouldn't extend an effort to call for
help, to maybe see her live. He'd just sat there, refusing to fathom how they
could have knived and raped her in so short a time. Or even how any human
being could be so tormented as to rape a dying woman, leaving her purse
behind, the only purpose being to intensify the inhumanity of it. What else
could they possibly gotten out of it, but to prove how inhuman they were?
While he refused to reflect and think, something else was on the prowl.
Someone not so vicarious, or helpless.
----
Brian sat on his perch, aiming his .22 onto the crowds, onto the prositutes
probing deeper than their customers ever dared. He cleaned the city, his own
way, murders in his mind. An executioner sat higher, a pedestal stronger,
earned. He aimed his rifle on heroic little Brian, a sicker urge to fill was
present as Brian's face entered his crosshairs. This man was a harbinger of
destiny, a gloombringer. He was an expert, so much as expert as to murder
with coldness for the sake of death. The Executioner spoke aloud to
himself, also driven neurotic by his isolation. "Who does he think he is?
Cutting in on my corner of the market, the heathenous putrescant little pile
of animal droppings" raged the Executioner. A bullet struck, in the eye, with
a sexual squeeze of the trigger. Gray matter sprayed against the balcony
window and Brian slumped to the ground. The Executioner disassembled his
rifle and equipment and made a quick escape down the fire escape of the
adjacent building. Brian's body grew stiff in an efficient sit, fatigues
clean, chips of skull were scattered amongst eye fluid on the cement balcony
floor near him. A horrible way to die, left as a fable in the newspapers of
Los Angeles.
----
The Headlines read:
"Citizen spotted gunman on roof, fetched rifle in hopes of
administering vigilante justice. Police say that this is an example of what
happens when a private citizen attempts to enforce the law. People cheers his
failed effort anyways"
----
A year later:
"Rooftop gunman never found. The murder of Brian Grimshaw an isolated
incident. Police now speculate that it was a planned killing."
The question is: Planned by what?
***** *****
Fish In A River Of Violence
---------------------------
by fifteen
Duck sped down the freeway on his motorcycle. Under his greased hair and
leather jacket could be seen the reckless shirt of his youth rebellion. The
smog choked him, the city lights beckoned to fulfill his longing for oblivion.
He moved faster, pushed the chrome steed even further. Characteristic was his
heavy chopper among the cycle gangs of Tokyo, but among all his other traits he
was still much the same as the others. Like them, he lived out the postures and
realities of a dead generation. He was left behind when others made their rush
at an almost self-cancelling jump for success in the many Zaibatsu's of this
land. While other kids died in the exam room, he drifted in their water of
unstated needs and antagonistic cries. He was not afraid to swim in the
polluted and disdained pool of regret. In this country, to which he was born,
he strove to advance in a new generation of outcasts. Although tarnished and
barely maintained, he held pride in the uniform that screamed his dirge of
faith against Japan's society of forced conformity, bastard traditions and
correct actions.
The motorcycle crawled to the curb under the english text welcoming him to
the club. The Gaijin Podium was the casual and safe home for the
retro-rockabilly japanese who swore themselves against the state. Although
they really didn't have any conception of what the name meant, in their
hearts they felt a nostalgia of a world painted by Marlon Brando, James Dean
and Dennis Hopper. Inside the others waited for the Porcelain Duck to settle
in, for it was time to discuss the most important thing in their one-minded
lives. "You're all here for one thing. We all need to agree on a just action to
settle our problems" opened bold-and-nervous Yoshiaka, the bleach-blonde gang
leader. "We should take it right back to those faceless worms" shouted a
concerned gang lurked, but it went ignored. "If we don't act we will appear
weak but we also have to appear shrewd, it's important that they know not to
touch one of ours", Duck said to enter the conversation. The others happy to
accept whatever fate was dealt only offered nods, boos and varied shows of
support as they continued. The follower mentality was stand-out, even among
these cursed social miscreants. They took the option most available to them,
meeting the enemy where it was not stronger or weaker than them. If a thing
such as turf really existed, they were to meet on what was specified as being
neutral.
A matter of feet separated them in the heat of confrontation. To one side
stood Yoshiaka and his Ugly Americans and opposite were the Bandits of Angst.
Both sides stood as equally disillusioned by the forgotten hymns of 50's
youth culture, and both stood as determined to trap the other in a sweet
arrangement of social debt. They took their positions, relaxed but ready to
pounce and the issue settled dangerously into discussion. "You hit one of
ours Manzo, we were in truce and you ran one of us off the road. We want
payment" said Yoshiaka. "We have expelled the one who took it upon himself to
act on personal vendetta, if this is not enough than you can hunt him down
and punish him. I have done what I can" Manzo replied in a refined and
japanese manner. "If this were to occur again?". "I have done what I can, do
not deal insults to me. If my brothers do not take the lesson of reprimand
than they will also be expelled. If yours do not accept that I have acted
responsibly, than there will be no truce" snapped Manzo. An agreement was
reached, dealt in the same delicate fashion for which their fathers would
handle a business deal. It was all about pavement, the turf they imagined
possession of was simply a road to ride on and with the other gangs they had
all decided who is entitled to which part of it. The asian greasers parted
and went their own ways to discover entertainment for the night ahead.
The Porcelain Duck had defaulted into the pseudonym by trait of his pale
complexion, and his aristocratic but western looking face which jutted forth
in the exact way that the japanese considered ugly. His friends called
him Duck. They saw something untamed in his appearance, using the name in
respect but disregarding that a duck is anything but untamed. Although Duck
was a japanese like the rest of them, he resembled most their american pop
culture heroes. In the way he carried himself, he did seem like a rockabilly
icon as well. Before really stepping out of his pre-ordained education and
career, he had spent hours in front of the mirror emulating the body
language, grimaces, sneers and casuality of his heroes. Originally a shy boy,
he trained himself into a careless extroversion calmed only by an inherited
feeling and understanding of how business was handled. Behind Yoshiaka, he
was leader of the gang. Without Yoshiaka, Duck had ambitions high enough to
destroy the sense of security the Ugly Americans had created. They acted as
both left and right hand, adequately ambidextrous.
Before reaching their home area, the Ugly Americans stopped by the friday
night youth congregation spot. This was the place where daring loners and
curious groupie girls went to shove off or avoid thinking about the tough
times of school. It was called the Eye-Gouger's Pit, and rightly so as it is
most remembered for the gang-fight from a few years back where in the midst
of teenage aggression some kid lost his eye. It is a harsher reality than
most of the gangs were accustomed to, so now the events of past are rarely
talked about but the name remains for the sake of not having anything else to
call it. It was located off in the cemented area of a park, right below a
wall topped with railing. Someone usually brought an oil-drum and some other
material to start a fire and for the early part of the night the gangs and
others were allowed to act out their tribal urgings in front of the fire. The
police came later on to check it out and make sure that everybody had moved
off but they both tended to tolerate each other to this extent.
The Eye-Gouger's Pit was still a short walk from the lot where they parked
their scooters and bikes. The way there was made as the gangers preened
themselves for the only female company they'd see all week. The commonly
accepted idea among them was that you were supposed to use this time to try
to get down a girl's pants, brag about the false or true victories of your
game, get everybody into bad habits and most of all feel safe enough to relax
and maybe have something to drink. The girls that came here were usually 3-4
years younger than most of the bikers, and they were still in school, as life
hasn't passed them by yet. The lone-wolf ideal appealed to them because they
were impressionable, but most girls were too sheltered and too adapted to
what their parents had taught them to do more than watch it. The other girls
also served as example to everybody, as the most they did touch it and dared
to satisfy an arrogant gang members need than they were outcast but the other
girls and the guys as well. She was often left in worse shape than anybody,
used and abandoned as they were. This was another part of american youth that
the gang had adopted and mastered.
Upon finally taking seats and stuffing their hands in the zipper pockets
for warmth, they had already begun to prey on the innocent estrogen. As if he
were a very social panther, Yoshiaka had already managed to attract the
attention of a girl. Yoshiaka, behind his purposeful freakishness, was an
example of the classical japanese virility. The jaw was squarish and rigid
looking, the eyes flashed both a sensitivity and a cruel determination and
his body was kept well in shape. The bleacher hair and leather jacket provided
yet another appeal to the opposite sex. Between Yoshiaka and Duck, the other
gang members were just members of the crowd and as they were not very
socially capable they often watched as the two created seduction legends. They
talked, acted obnoxiously, drank and generally became an anti-girl magnet.
Duck's girl interest was named Keiko, and she was a shy beauty of sixteen,
with a plump face and liquid eyes. In their corner, they were chatting and
kissing and reaching for a sense of acquaintance. Duck did not know that
around the other gangs she had developed some ill-repute, and was known as
some sort of put-out queen. Duck was one to heed to popular gossip as a policy
and a matter of survival, but tonight he was not aware and was bound to lose
face for being around one deemed so "shameless and sultry". Yoshiaka, on that
very level, was a complete diametric. He did not rather care for the loose
gossiping mouthes. To him also came the realization that the way these guys
used girls, and on the not-so-rare occasion forced themselves upon them that
they really had no place calling somebody a slut. Especially after they have
been duped into lowering themselves into naked embraces with these strange
youths. Yoshiaka would not stand to be leader with that attitude though and
he selfishly kept his mouth closed.
A short amount of time passed, all had become comfortable and warm at the
Eye-Gouger's Pit. Some more came, and others left. The night passed much the
same. They avoided having to deal with other gang's who frequented here and
were thus avoided. On Saturday morning, aggression had made it's full circle.
Fisherman has just recovered after the motorcycle skid that was orchestrated
by the now expelled member of the other gang. He was timid and
non-threatening but a genuinely talented rider who owned a green sports cycle.
From falling off his motorcycle, he had sustained a broken arm which was now
casted and although he was forbidden to ride his bike, he could still hang
around his friends and play the part of war hero for the moment. His dad was a
modest Okinawan boat-fisher and Fisherman had been very lucky to be able to
attend school in Tokyo. His family felt very much grief to see that he had
squandered it and he had the toughest time of all the gang because he had no
relatives to stay with and it was very often that he barely made do with food
and shelter. His friends received him with much elation and the first thing
to be discussed would be a return of favours to the expelled Bandits of Angst
member. The thought of violence returned made Fisherman feel uncomfortable.
He was not really into the competition of the gangs, and never by his
rebellion did he intend to hurt anybody. Fisherman wanted more than all of it
to feel acceptance among these people and to just live happy and isolated,
riding his bike for kicks and having friends to sometimes fall back upon. The
others insisted revenge though and Fisherman was not one to overcome their
wills with his personal complaints. He understood how things had to occur, he
just did not feel content with them. He was not prone to these pacifistic
ways because he wanted to be, there was just nothing else for him and he
constantly became frustrated with the ways of his friends but still saw the
need to conform to them. Noon arrived and the boys set out. Fisherman stayed
back to wait for the news, he could not ride with his arm broken anyways. His
low-class upbringing did provide him with the ability to have fun without the
need for money or people and he went into the park to explore.
The Ugly Americans had set themselves on the concrete warpath, tearing up
pavement and racing down the roads of hot after-noon Tokyo. It did take them
a few hours to find the doomed ex-Bandit of Angst, but eventually the
outcasted kid was cornered. The Ugly Americans moved in on him and studied
for a moment of sheer exposure, and six-to-one, the moment provided itself
with no delay at all. Slaps and thuds hit with a thunderstorm as the
distraught gang-members mobbed their unarmed victim. Splats of blood and dull
hopeless whimpers crowded the thin Japanese alley and the kid hit the ground.
The attack was cancelled and the forever peace of diminuendo and the teenage
body grinded against the urban floor. The Ugly Americans had completed their
duty to breathren, at the expense of a kid beaten mute and retarded.
Fulfillment was the consensus but in the distance Fisherman mourned the
passing of gang justice.
When the Ugly Americans returned, Fisherman had wandered astray and eventually
back to Okinawa to pursue the life his father considered unworthy. The thought
of seeing a friend turn his back on them did bother the Ugly Americans, but only
in the moment they discovered he was gone. They didn't really think about it
much, and never did they feel guilty for what they did. They weren't asked to
do it, they simply had to. The blame Fisherman projected on himself, although
he never heard anything about the fate of the beating. He did what he had to as
well. If he ever was called ungrateful, there could be nothing further from the
truth. Fisherman has more now than he ever did, he has a direction. The future
that was held for the Ugly Americans was a bleak one. Eventually they ended up
as muscle in a Korean violence gang and were forced into labouring out the
vengeance of the Yakuza much like they did in their cycle-gang. The untamed
fire of adolescense was steadily molded into criminal violence, and that is
something which none of them could ever escape.
***** *****
Exiled from the Wasteland
by fifteen
As of this day, March 14th of 1994, I was deleted from Calgary's third and
final free Chat BBS. The story I am about to tell is not a story of wronged
innocents, or even one of justice. It is story my own observation of the state
of the modem community in Calgary at this time and date. I know that there are
people out there who agree with my perspective out there, but most of the
people(especially those who put themselves above reading this) will take
great offense to the words I will speak. I find it greatly unfortunate that
this kind of article has to be included in the [SOSHUTUP!] magazine, but I can
no longer find it just to shirk the responsibility I have as a literate and
self-published human being. To provide a fair, non-malicious outlook I will
refrain completely from detailing specific accounts. The case I wish to make
is simply that the majority of the populace, who all consider themselves fair
and open-minded have sorely miscontrued the intents of [SOSHUTUP!]. I wish
also to account to the reader the potential danger of what I consider to be a
blatant misunderstanding and to suggest the commonplaceness of such an
attitude.
I have never been an upstanding, or even a respectful user on any of the
bbses I call(exception: the systems run by friends). My behaviour has always
set me aside. Whether it was the malicious personal attacks or bashing of the
past or the abrasive cries for freedom of recent times. I can make no excuses
for who or what I may be. But I know that above my devotion to self and the
burden of my relents for purity that I am basically a decent and honest
person. I know that inside my heart there lurks a bitter need for
confrontationalism and reaction(usually sarcastic as the existance of
[SOSHUTUP!] will definitely strike you as). I know that as a person, this is
the very worst of my sins and if anything it is the best thing to be held
against me. When something happens, I see it as usually my best way out to
stand up to it and state in whatever form how I honestly and truly feel. For
all intents and purposes, I individually choose to run uphill without fear of
failure or reprimand(sorry Dave Smalley). And because I do not wish to
rationalize this to myself or others I openly accept the consequences of my
own decisions. I do not really feel that my actions are wrong, nor do I feel
that my extremism is in any way evil. There is a certain safety I will even
declare for myself in the fact that none of my motives are politically or
religiously founded. I personally don't really care what other people believe
in(well not until I am made to care). I continue to support the standpoint
that my freedom is the most invaluable thing in my life. To maintain a
distance with my freedom at the bow, I dilligently attempt to avoid the
conceptions of left and right wing policies and I seek for myself an
understanding which transcends the barriers that I feel humans are putting up
for themselves.
My case is a troubled and confused one as I do feel like I am
the victim of full political classification, as well as certain social and
cultural prejudices. I do admit to feeling a bit ripped off because of the
fact that somebody has decided "what I am" without listening to how I feel
about things and how I interpret ideas. The people I have talked to, who have
wanted to listen to what I have seen have managed to understand(partially at
the least) my sense of humour and my passion for writing about things that
truly matter to me. Ashamedly I am an artist, and to me the definition of
artist is a person who feels a painful need to express themselves in whatever
capacity that is available to them. The tactic I have attempted to refine
consists of two diametrics; one of humour and no-holds-barred satire and one
of gross and hopeless despair(as represented in my fiction stories). With
humour I find that I can approach almost any topic and tear it down to some
tasteless and inane analogy/idea. The lower end of the scale my strength will
be when I am writing about something that terrifies or moves me in a way that
smears or holds judgement on the concepts of good and evil(the theme I am
attempting mainly to deal with currently is violence). I do this for myself
ultimately, but in an audience I find great pleasure and I can usually get
from them different observations that I would normally be blind to. I do not
feel like I have really any talent or extraordinary vision but sadly I do
expect others to be able to discern at least some of what I am trying to say.
Locally I have received some acceptance from outsiders, but more
importantly I have received great acceptance from the people who are closest
to me. The modem has been a useful resource(and the only resource I have) in
spreading my work. I hold great admiration for the abilities of the
information industry as far as artistic expression goes. I would not be as
daring to say that the modem could work successfully as any sort of social
device but for information distribution it is overly efficient. As I have
sent out my writing I have obtained all sorts of critiscism. Too often I have
found that other people will often develop an attitude as to exactly what I
am like from the aspect of how I write and what I write about. I can
understand and sympathize this if it were the only way that people could be
allowed to communicate with me but in this case it simply is not. From
basically being myself and promoting my writing by attempting to send it out
I have been given a very negative response and a few people have even shut me
out completely. I have been called a number of things, many of them completely
unfounded(among these: nazi and pornographist). I have also been deleted from
one of our free chat's and an internet/usenet site because of either my sense
of humour or my sensitive and "weak-willed" need to spread the material I
have worked hard on and put a lot of emotion into. Also very few BBSES will
carry my stories or the magazine because others feel that they could be held
liably from some ridiculous imaginary crime(and under the tone of current BBS
persecution I can ALMOST sympathize as to why they'd want to be so
spineless). I don't blame the want by system operators to moderate the
material which will be offered by their file sections. But I do tend to
question the impulse which would cause a sysop to punish users when they
upload material that is deemed offensive by a very select few users and
deemed okay by somewhat of a majority. On a somewhat different level I would
have to also question why a system operator would be begin to develop a
personal analysis and grudge towards the user who has uploaded somewhat he
wrote.
I am quite clear and just in my recognition of the fact that my ideals
are too high but when a person is punished for who they are as opposed to
something which is a dangerous and harmful action than I do feel that the
state of things is on the decline. I won't mention what kind of attitudes are
tolerated as it's not my place to point the finger at individuals who would
rather function by arrogance and condescension. I also will not mention what
kind of individuals also are tolerated by our skene(and not just the system
operators and bbses) because that would seem petty. I just feel that what I
have written is harmless(or harmful in a benevolent way) and that to further
the proliferation of original ideas it should be at least acknowledged.
Perhaps this is just my own belief that all ideas should be in the open.
Perhaps I am even quite wrong to think that in any idea there is at least one
valid thing or one thing that could possibly enlighten or help people explore
their own beliefs. I am maybe even completely deluded when I say that outside
of what I have written there are many worse ideologies to subscribe to. My own
feelings are not hate-motivated and I have not attempted to promote any
philosophies which stamp out the livelihood of any human being(or group of
human beings). I've simply made the mistake of satiring certain political and
emotional states, and attempting to explain to myself others. The violence,
whatever the cause in whichever story, that I have written about is graphic
because I need it to be so that I can feel it through and define it as being
a wrong. The nazi's, or political activists or cultural refugees that I have
written about are involved in the violence because it is the most human thing
that I know of. Everybody in my stories is a victim of their passions, their
problems and their lifestyles. I seek not to justify it but to state it as a
fact and hopefully show it as one of the possible realisms that in a society
we must deal with.
I am greatly disappointed that anything I have written has been construed
as gratuitous or supportive of a violent solution. This is the thing I tried
most to stray from in writing it and I do feel that there is a large
difference in the types of extreme violence that can be expressed. I cite my
influences mainly in film, as I have not really found much writing that deals
with this topic. I owe very much of my inspiration to these screenwriters and
directors: Martin Scorscese(Taxi Driver, Mean Streets, etc), Quentin
Tarantino(True Romance, Reservoir Dogs), Paul Schraeder(screenwriter for many
Scorscese films and to his credits are also the film biographies of Patty
Hearts and Yukio Mishima). Also I have found great power in the works of
sci-fi and fantasy author Harlan Ellison who has also stated to me aggression
and passion in the most meaningful of ways. These people have all given to me
something which kicks me in the face and their styles I have learned very much
from and owe a great credit to. My highest dream, at the great distance it
is, is the receive even just a fragment of the recognition that these people
have for the work I have done. I feel that I must show what I am trying to do
to as many people as I can so that for each person that does realize it I can
be motivated by.
I would like to apologize for this entire statement. I know that the
plight I bear is an ugly and incomprehensible one. I did not want to waste
your time with how I feel, it is just that I had to. In the future I will
feel worse and what I write will hurt me more. If I am made jaded by it, or
if what little sensitivity I have is depleted than it is so because I am
condemned to it. If I seem like I am somehow prostituting myself or
exhibiting my feelings than you also have my reverent and considered
apologies. If tact was a choice, I want you to be assured that I would take
it. For those who have taken the effort to follow me into impending danger, I
am reserving most of my tears and I thank you for your own empathy. I want it
be by known that I am giving myself up to all of you for whatever purpose you
will have me for. To me, it is really all the same if you choose to ascend me
to the top or to tear me down to shreds and ashes. That is what is left for
me, I just hope that you will understand. Thank you for your time.
***** *****
When I was in Vancouver visiting Bill Gibson, I mentioned to him that I
was going to write a revolutionary short story. With his inspiration, I
proceeded to write up Phiber 0ptic Man. I sent Bill the original manuscript for
this story which he enjoyed immensly. Here follows the first part to Phiber
0pitic Man, which I hope you will enjoy it as much as I did writing it.
(Jack the Lad)
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|----| |----| | |---- |---- |----| | / | |----| | | |
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| | | __|__ |___/ |____ | \ |/___| | | __|__ |____
/
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| \ / | / \ | \ |
| \ / | | | | \ |
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| \/ | | | | \ |
| | | | | \|
By
Jack the Lad
The wind whipped at Tek-racer as the rain pounded down upon him. Water
was pouring down all over his trench coat. He had his deck tucked under one
arm beneath the trench coat. Tek-racer had to make it to the site in time,
his friends were counting on him. He turned a corner and entered a dark and
musty building. Tek-racer sits down on the ground, takes off his jacket and
pulls out his cyberdeck. He plugs the deck and and closes his eyes.
The world of the matrix takes over. He looks down at his hands. The
skeletal form of his hand comes into view. "Good" he thinks "this icon
works"
* * *
The rain poured down as he consulted a paper from the high tech printer.
Phiber 0ptic Man was almost ready for the giant net-hack that was about to
take place. One more working icon, and he would be rich beyond his wildest
dreams. He was Phiber 0ptic Man.
No matter how this run turned out, he would be still running from the law.
The Cyber-Bot Police would chase him around the globe until they caught him.
Phiber 0ptic Man would not have that though.
"My god!" exclaimed Phiber 0ptic Man, "I have found the missing icon!" I
can now achieve my darkest, most phantasic desires!"
Phiber 0ptic Man did not have to celebrate his finding because at that
very moment, the Cyber-Bot Police come bursting through the door of Phiber
0ptic Man's rat hole.
"Okay Mr. 0ptic, don't move and no one will get hurt." said the Cyber-Bot
in a mechanical tone.
"My god!" said Phiber 0ptic Man, "its the Cyber-Bot Police!"
Phiber 0ptic Man raised his arms at the Cyber-Bot Police officer and like
lightning, he spewed out the deadly phiber optic cable from his finger tips
immediately engulfing the Cyber-Bot into a blinding coil of electric chaos.
The mechanical body of the Cyber-B0t fell to its knees and toppled over like a
heap of rubbish.
Phiber 0ptic Man continued to scan the print out looking for the single
icon that would make him a wealthy person. He found it.
* * *
The Chief sat at his desk reviewing some paper work that he was attempting
to finish up, when his top agent spoke to him.
"Hey chief, this Phiber 0ptic Man sure is an elusive one." said Agent
C0de-Busster.
"You know it." said the Chief not looking at Agent C0de-Busster.
"But dont worry, I will have that thief behind bars in a matter of days,
and we will put an end to him life of crime." said Agent C0de-Busster
The Chief finally looked up at Agent C0de-Busster and said, "We do have
some leads, one of our agents managed to infiltrate his rat-hole and retrieve
one of his diaries."
"What was it like?" inquired Agent C0de-Busster.
"It was like high tech eletric poetry." said the Chief.
Agent C0de-Busster stirred his coffee some more and then said, "I'll get
the thieving bastard."
"You better, your job is on the line on this case." said the Chief
pointing his finger at him.
* * *
The rain poured down heavily as Agent C0de-Busster worked his way down the
rain soaked streets up to Phiber 0ptic Man's rat-hole. He knocked on the door.
"Open up Phiber 0ptic Man, I have you surounded!" screamed Agent
C0de-Busster
Phiber 0ptic Man jumped out of his seat and proceeded to rip out the
neural implants from his brain and slowly walked towards the door, at that
moment Agent C0de-Busster opened the door with fury and ran in with his finger
implant that shot heated plasma all ready for action.
Phiber 0ptic Man ran out the door into the rain away from Agent C0de-Busster.
"Hey you!" cried Agent C0de-Busster, "get back here!"
Agent C0de-Busster pressed a button on his watch-phone and instantly five
holographic police appeared and proceeded to chase Phiber 0ptic Man into the
streets.
"My Lord!" exclaimed Phiber 0ptic Man, "holographic police! Perhaps my
television remote control will turn them off, but first I have to alter the
plasmic polarity to the proper infa-red coordinate!" said Phiber 0ptic Man to
himself.
The five holographic police officers ran in a mad fury after Phiber 0ptic
Man, and were almost upon him. Suddenly Phiber 0ptic Man turned around and
aimed the television remote at one of the officers and pressed the MUTE button
and it vanished.
"One down, four to go."
Phiber 0ptic Man adjusted the plasmic polarity a bit more and pressed the
MUTE button again.
"This is going to be difficult. They are only going away one by one!" said
Phiber 0ptic Man
"It is useless to run Phiber 0ptic Man. We know
who you are and I will personally get you myself." said Agent C0de-Busster from
Phiber 0ptic Man's rat-hole.
"God damn! Those holographic police are tough bastards to get rid of.
Thank god for my television remote control." said Phiber 0ptic Man.
Agent C0de-Busster kicked at the ground and muttered, "He got away again.
I hate Phiber 0ptic Man."
* * *
Onboard the plane to see his friend in Brazil, Phiber 0ptic Man pondered
the possibilities of his master plan succeeding.
"I should consult my friend, Joseph Schindler on my master plan of
destruction and riches."
The plane landed softly in Brazil, and as soon as Phiber 0ptic Man stepped
off the plane, he stepped out into the rain where Joseph Schindler was there
to meet him.
"It is definately good to see you again Phiber 0ptic Man."
"No time for idle chit chat, we have some serious work to accomplish over
these next few precious days." said Phiber 0ptic Man in a nervous voice.
"No problem," said Joseph Schindler. "I have a few local icons that might
be able to help you out."
"I have located two icons, but my house was raided by the police and I
left in a hurry forgetting my print out of all my icons that still worked."
said Phiber 0ptic Man.
"No problem, I contacted a fellow net-hacker in Brazil and he has got some
brand new icons that will get you what you want. But for a price of course."
said Joseph Schindler.
"How about this." said Phiber 0ptic Man, "why dont I just give you a
certain percentage of the moeny I make in my run?"
"Okay, that sounds almost agreeable, I will mentioned it to my contact and
see if we can come upon an agreement." said Joseph Schindler.
* * *
A day later, Agent C0de-Busster was on the plane taking off for Brazil
where he learned from a source that that was were Phiber 0ptic Man was hiding
out. Agent C0de-Busster already suspected that Phiber 0ptic Man had the final
icon for the net-run he had so masterfully planned out.
Agent C0de-Busster arrived in rainy Brazil at about 6 am, already to make some
arrests.
* * *
Inside a small apartment, Joseph Schindler and Phiber 0ptic Man sat at a
table discussing the proposal that Phiber 0ptic Man suggested.
"My contact agrees with your suggestion." said Joseph Schindler.
"That is excellent, I will have many riches within the next few weeks."
said Phiber 0ptic Man
Suddenly the door swung open and Agent C0de-Busster ran into the room
aiming his deadly finger at Phiber 0ptic Man.
"Ha! you are not quick enough old man." said Phiber 0ptic Man.
Phiber 0ptic Man quickly altered the plasmic polarity on his television
remote control and pressed the FIVE button and transformed himself into an
electric pulse and danced down the phone lines with his new icon's address
memorized...
TO BE CONTINUED IN [SSU#3]
***** *****
Quotes(this time because we're dolts):
fifteen's:
"We've got beat hearts and the rage of punks,
We're the bug up the city's ass!"
-Timco, from the song "Ballast"
"Cold keeps us quiet. Snow, snow is pearly white.
Wind will bite our ears, isolation feeds our fears.
We'll hide our faces."
-Trenchmouth, from the song "Siberia"
Jack the Lad's:
"When you're a skinhead, you're the
first guy to have a beer and the last
guy to leave the party."
- Dwayne, black Chicago skinhead.
"Inflammable material is planted in my head
It's a suspect device that's left 2000 dead
Their solutions are our problem
They put up the wall
On each side time and prime us
And make sure we get fuck all
They play their games of power
They mark and cut the pack
They deal us to the bottom
But what do they put back?..."
- Stiff Little Fingers, from the song "Suspect Device"
Now the Thank You list:
Jack the Lad would like to thank:
Nicky Crane for dying (hey man, your art work sucked fag.), Jason Marshall
for kicking me off his bbs for no apparent reason, Bruce Sterling for being a
celebrity guest writer, Bill Gibson for putting me up in his guest room during
my 3 day stay in Vancouver, P@W3 for being so dedicated and free of VD's, Mom
because SHE IS going to order me a new pair of Rangers, Dad because he makes
great beer, Macc Lads for still enduring, SHARP for murdering Erik Banks,
Melissa Hall for actually writing me back, all the Calgary Oi! Skins, James
Moffat (RIP), George Marshall (*NO* relation to Jason) and S.T. Publishing,
Synapse for no reason at all, Adam Sikamutu for writing that amazing review for
Telemate 4.12, Cheesey 80's metal bands because their names make great
aliases!!, Black Dragon for actually enjoying MY poems, Candace because she is
Synapse's girlfriend and if I didn't thank her he would beat me up, Tim Leary
for helping create a stupid cyber-space genre, Timothy Good for being such a
dedicated UFO hunter, the sysop's of Quantum for being such paranoid fucks,
Peter Kay for the amazing Riddelin buffer, all the disillusioned teenagers who
think Quantum bbs is in the middle of cyber-space (wake up, its a phone line),
everyone who reads this magazine and actually enjoys it and finally I would
like to thank the late John Holmes for writing that book on how not to
prematurely ejaculate, god bless you John, you will live in my heart forever.
fifteen would like to fuc.. err thank(damn gayboard typoes again):
Billy Jack for being a pacifist, everybody who waited out the release of
ssu2, The Computer Paper for letting us reprint that shareware review, Mr.
Gridlock for being the ultimate male plaything and for spreading the magazine
and famine and my stories, All those wonderful people who called us nazi's or
threatened us with charges of hate literature, Vince for just being neato!,
Anybody else who spread the food for decay called [SOSHUTUP!], Anarchy BBS(now
underground) for their new idea of Anarchy through the instrument of Fidonet
policy and obeyance to the family values stricture, Drule Tesseract and Artemis
Entreri and Diabolical God for undying support(although we wish you were cute
nubile girls), Kitten-Blackie for tolerating any of us because we are
stiff-necked vampire hunters, Rali Baby for maintaining a [SOSHUTUP!]
mini-haven on his bbs, Everybody who supported me & friends through
trying(haha) days of Quantum BBS post-deletion, Earthlings who have been
revealed to the quintessential priviledges of friendship and loyalty, Synapse
for showing Green Panthers to lots of people, Calgary SysOp's for being fearful
and ignorant, Jack Busst for making Calgary SysOp's fearful and ignorant, and
finally for Oatmeal in the morning.
- Since we don't really call many bbses anymore, the best way for a big loser
like you to contact(a loser is defined as somebody who wants to get in contact
with us because they have some compliments)us would be to leave us
Internet/UUCP mail. This is the address: fifteen@flash.cuc.ab.ca -
Stop reading now!!
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