_ | \ | \ | | \ __ | |\ \ __ _____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________ | ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ | | | _/_/_____ | | > > _/_/_____ | | | | /________/ | | / / /________/ | | | | | | / / | | | | | |/ / | | | | | | / | | | | | / | | | | |_/ | | | | | | | | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | | | |________________________________________________________________| | |____________________________________________________________________| ...presents... COWBEATER #3 by The cDc Cultees 12/01/1995-#300 __///////\ -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc- /\\\\\\\__ \\\\\\\/ Everything You Need Since 1986 \/////// ___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___ |___heal_the_sick___raise_the_dead___cleanse_the_lepers___cast_out_demons___| __| _ \ \ / _ ) __| \__ __| __| _ \ ( ( \ \ \ / _ \ _| _ \ | _| / \___\___/ \_/\_/ ___/___|_/ _\_| ___|_|_\ Number 3 sponsored by the COW DISCIPLINE COMMITTEE "tough love" COWBEATER is published now and then by cDc communications, PO Box 53011, Lubbock, TX 79453. Copyright(c) 1995 by cDc communications. All rights reserved. Title COWBEATER and the distinctive "Dead Cow" logo are ours, and we'll bust everyone's head who doesn't like them. All rights to letters sent to COWBEATER become the property of cDc communications and will be treated as unconditionally assigned for publication and are subject to COWBEATER's right to edit and to comment editorially. Any similarity between persons and places in COWBEATER and any real persons and places is purely coincidental. COW- BEATER's comments on pictures, people, trademarks and/or copyrighted material are only its opinion based solely on those facts disclosed. COWBEATER's use of such items is not authorized by the persons named and/or depicted by the trademark or copyright owners, and no such authorization should be inferred. All nude models are 12 or older. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ A Super-Special Note From The Editor Hey! Welcome to the first issue of COWBEATER since 1992. The name's gained two extra letters at the end... but I can't talk about that right now. You know what's really on my mind? The wide world of RETAIL! I'm always disappointed going to the old K-Mart in this fine city because it's just lame. It screams "We haven't remodeled since '79 and Wal-Mart is destroying us." All the K-Mart employees are sullen and shiftless since Wal-Mart came to town. And Sears employees? Forget it. They might as well work in a museum. Wanna depress a Sears employee? Ask 'em where the big catalog's at. Ha ha ha. Pity the poor toy department Sears employees the most. They're lepers, a BIG BAD JOKE, man, since Toys 'R' Us broke ground. They can't even hold their heads up. You can imagine them sitting around in the employee lounge, drinking whiskey out of Thermos bottles on 5-minute breaks that stretch into 2-hour binge sessions. And don't think I don't know that you guys take my brilliant ideas and use 'em to seem witty with the chicks. I hate you for it, forever. Here's another great idea: go die. Now. Thanks. hugz :) :) :) :) :) :) :) hugz meez ga-goo nee touchie feeelieeez :) :) :) Swamp Ratte' Mack-Daddy Ruling Editor Supreme 'till Infinity X Breaking Necks and Cashing Checks in the 9-6, Kid _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Letters to COWBEATER! Send us letters! Send us short stories! Send us pictures! Send us money! Send us consumer electronics! Send us music! Send send send! MAIL - HEY COWBEATER, I read Ratte's reply to Jazz on alt.fan.cult-dead-cow. I got to thinking. How many other kids have started things just like this? How many 100s of file groups are there in the ether? cDc is a constant reminder that you _can_ take some of childhood with you. That you can take some of the silly dreams and the innocent, crude fun and keep it with you as you grow up. Everybody is so damned serious and bitter about everything and nobody has any dreams anymore. It's just work, eat, sleep, get married and die. No more talking about the future. No more dreaming about writing stories or songs and getting rich. Just plodding through life with your ugly fat wife waiting for your first heart attack. cDc reminds me that there was a time when my friends and I felt hope. Excited about the future. We knew that if we could harness the power of our friendship we could be _legends_. cDc is the flowering of seeds we all planted when we were kids. You've accomplished a good thing here. And you've inspired a bunch of people that are damned hard to inspire about anything. There are a lot of us out there. And like it or not, cDc is where they turn to be part of something. I feel like a fucking motivational speaker. Jaffo -- I THOUGHT YOU'D ALL LIKE TO KNOW ABOUT THIS. Somebody on alt.rumors posted that the CULT OF THE DEAD COW is planning to appear unannounced on _Larry King Live_ this Saturday. King is apparently taking CNN cameras to Groom Lake, Nevada to investigate the unmentionable military base there. According to the post, Cult members are planning to bring a live cow in a horse trailer up to one of the public observation areas surrounding the base. The scheme involves painting giant circle-A anarchy symbols and swastikas on the bovine, and then using firecrackers to scare it onto the base. The Cultees are hoping that the base security will tear the cow to pieces with their M-16s. I saw a response which mentioned that there are ranchers who have adjoining property, and that base security probably won't kill a cow that wanders on base, regardless of the slogans painted on it. But the best rejoinder was from someone who said that they should strap scary-looking but harmless devices to the cow and then let it march on base. I can only imagine how long this cow would survive, once on government property. All of the signs surrounding the Groom Lake observation areas have the words "Use of Lethal Force Authorized" in red letters. Anyway, I'll be watching for the cow on Saturday. Omega -- To: sratte@phantom.com (Swamp Ratte) From: wthomas@netcom.com (Wes Thomas) Subject: You're sick, you're qualified hey swamp, why aren't you writing for mondo instead of spewing your seed opon the ground? --------------------------------- Editor, MONDO 2000 magazine (510) 845-9018 Fax (510) 649-9630 P.O. Box 10171, Berkeley CA 94709 --------------------------------- HEY WES, Because MONDO 2000 isn't macho enough. Hugz, S. Ratte'/cDc/666SATAN666NOSELLOUT!!! -- HI CCOW BEET!! i hav been keeping thisdiary and was told to report my Progress toyall. thank you. 8/10/95 Talked on the phone with the Deth Veggie. Make further plans to be the lamest group in telecom. I agree to release my file "How To Make Cyanide Out Of An Apple". As we get excited over this the phone goes dead. I assume that the phone company has finally noticed I haven't paid my bill, then look down and see that the line has been severed. Can't figure out how. I smell something like diesel fuel mixed with tequila. Decide it must be time to change the cat's litter box. Light some incense instead. 8/15/95 Strange...marks... are showing up on my body. They look like some kind of weird burns. Hope I'm not getting some kind of virus. Got a new phone. Made myself a K-l00h00 and got onto the net. This turned out to be very frustrating, I couldn't do anything at all. Just bad line noise, it's probably just a coincidence that made it delete everything I typed and junk like "Thaha" would appear. Would have been a lot less annoying though if it hadn't printed stuff like "SUFFER MY RAT." Reach for the K-l00h00. It's gone. 8/20/95 Had a terrible dream about something big and scary blowing hot breath in my face. Woke up to find myself buried in C64 warez. They had blood on them! Immediately went to shower and found out I now have one of those marks on my face. 8/27/95 Remembered some vague stories about something called "Demonseed" today. Can't remember exactly what the upshot was cos I thought the person who told me was just trying to make a fool of me. They probably were, but for some reason it seems very important now that I remember exactly what the stories were about. 9/5/95 Went down to Store 24 and then the packie, spent all my money on Coconut Yoo-Hoo and Kahlua. It seemed like a good idea at the time except now I have no money for cigarettes, or food come to think of it. Maybe I should get a job. Nah. 9/12/95 Lately I've been working on this great project, I'm trying to perfect my formula for K-l00h00 and make the biggest and best drink in the world. I was working on it in the kitchen today when my roommate walked through dragging out all her stuff in boxes. Says she can't deal living with this and something like maybe she could deal with the smell of burning linoleum but that the screams were really starting to get on her nerves, then she left. I wonder what her fucking problem is and who's going to pay the rent now. Oh well, I really don't have time to deal with this, at least now I have extra space to work on my important project. 10/1?/95 Got more of the coolest fucking email in the world today, they knew all about the altar and stuff and said I'm on the right track. Offered some really good suggestions how to improve it too, I'm psyched. Haven't slept in three weeks but I really don't have the time. It was a little tricky to hook up the Super Nintendo to the VAX, but I think now I understand where the blender fits in. Really have to get a few more miles of phone cord. October something Used the altar again today, it went beautifully as usual and I really think I'm getting the hang of it. I'm a little scared to think what the phone bill is going to be like but my friend said not to worry he'd take care of it. Oh yeah the landlord came up and was pounding on my door, saying I made the downstairs neighbors move out or some shit, but when I opened the door to tell him to shut up he took one look at me and ran back down the stairs. Couldn't have been too important, and he even made me be late for my chicken-bleeding which is way annoying. Don't think I'll have to paint over the silver walls after all now they're a perfectly normal color so the landlord can't bitch about something else, cool patterns on them too. October Got this idea that maybe the patterns on the wall were actually new ways to encrypt stuff so I was checking them out but really they were messages and stuff for me I've been reading them I think I'm really learning a lot like I don't need a modem or computer even to log into anyplace any more which is pretty cool except I don't have time to anyway cos I'm busy reading the walls, there's new stuff every day and it's better than any board so it's OK I don't want to waste time writing about it I learned stuff that I used to wonder like what happened to Amelia Earhart and who killed Kennedy and what's up with the aliens anyway that was a big deal but compared to the other stuff not as interesting. 11/ 2 month no sleep no food but things goin well i was told i must go to 2600 tonight cos we need more supplies. said Im doing xcellent and to find more dregs of comp underground and bring them. truth told Im a lil tired too but no one notice, this good so i can make sure He is happy. ? askd y not online now i said i am but new handle woudnt say what tho so He wont be mad like when i asked what if i run out of dregs? not scared tho very hapy! so hapy! stil hope i never have to sufr the Wrath like others. i bet He really likes me an ill b ok yea thats the ticket He cant do witout me He needs me in fact HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH` K-LaMe -- xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx >>> DEMON ROACH UNDERGROUND BBS FEEDBACK <<< >From : GRIM REAPER (#170) Hmm, sorry dude, can't handle the no graphics... But hear this is a great board, all things considered that should make ya feel good with the competition, and you being at 2400 and Apple... Grab an IBM, and an HST and look for some of the best LD boards... It will blow your mind... BBS's done right with AWESOME graphics... color... Make sure you get on a ViSiON-X Board... xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx [A]uto reply [C]ontinue [R]e-read ] A xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX...those aren't your REAL parents, you know...XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx Ha. That's funny. Lick my self-cleaning oven, you Hee Haw-watching-in-your-underwear, Froot Loops-spearing-with-your-penis, twelth-generation-West Virginian-product- of incestuous-bestiality-fiends non-person. I'm going to defrost my freezer with your WARM BLOOD! I'm surprised you haven't drowned yet from looking up at the sky when it rains, with your mouth open like that. Geek. S. Ratte'/cDc Hey, your shoe's untied... xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx -- DAMN IT'S cDc, Jeezus Christ .... Greetings from last surviving member of the 1981-1986 group The Wizards of Baud, leaving you with "all that shit" from the long-gone Apple ][ and early PC series... This is, of course, making me wanna wipe away the foot of dust of the Ace 1000 and load up some of the old text files (if the disks are still good). I applaud you in your success. Greetings from: Kilroy Agent Steel Major Havoc Havok Grand Wizard Duckman Count Zero (the old one who's like 35 now) etc. etc. etc. on and on can't damn remember for the cerebral arthritis that struck me several fucking years ago after a few too many nights with Tvarscki Vodka cuz it was the only stuff we could afford back then... Take care. TAG: Take Stock in America --- Buy a U.S. Congressman! (C) 1985 Steel Solutions/TWOB ALL RIGHTS WAIVED Mark Steel -- From: Thrashrman@aol.com Subject: found i found you guys through a search on incest. can you send me any thing relating to this subject? thanks -- From: Brandon Trotter To: Weasel Boy Subject: email pal I need a pal!!!!!! Brandon Trotter From: Weasel Boy To: Brandon Trotter Subject: Re: email pal Have you considered asking Jesus to be your pal? With the advent of the World Wide Web, more people than ever are turning to JESUS due to the large number of Christians putting up sites on the web. Jesus has many advantages that I could not offer you. Consider the following: 1) Jesus is always there. I'm always travelling between Atlanta and San Francisco, so I am not really available. 2) Jesus can perform miracles. I can barely play guitar. 3) Jesus is well-connected - his dad runs the Universe. I really have no contacts whatsoever. 4) Jesus is fun to party with - he can turn water into wine, and if he wanted, he could turn wheat into marijuana or vitamins into amphetamines. That's so cool. So leave me alone, and go tell Jesus I said you could be his pal. Weasel Boy -- DEAR COWBEATER, I'm a 16-year old Virgin, and lately Robby, my boyfriend, has been pressuring me to have sex with him. But I'm saving myself for THE DETH VEGETABLE!! I want all of his Comic-Book Villain-Sized Lovin', and I know that nothing Robby could offer me could POSSIBLY COMPARE!!! Help me out! What should I do?! Veggie-Tarian in FL Dear Veggie-Tarian, You just need to remember that there are thousands of girls out there just like you, who also want to give themselves up to THE DETH VEGETABLE. As you can well imagine, even a libido as Heroic as Veggie's is kept very very busy! But I've forwarded your letter on to him, and who knows... Perhaps he'll be paying you a special visit someday soon! -- From: Crusader Subject: Insult to White dignity Your cDc Web page is an insult to American Patriots everywhere, and I feel it is my duty to convince you to rejoin the fold. If you are at all concerned about the fate Western/American civiliztion and it's people, please take the time to read the attached artcle. Crusader@National.Alliance -- From: Chris Goggans To: sratte@phantom.com Subject: Re: NOBODY LOVES YOU BUT CDC that message of love and harmony brings a tear to these tired old eyes. God bless ya! ->ME -- I WANT TO USE THIS FORUM TO SPEAK TO THE WOMEN OF THE WORLD. Why do you flirt with me so much? Do you really want me, or are you just a manipulative whore who dissipates her nearly throttled sex drive among strangers when it cannot be relieved within the strict bounds of the rewards you allot that operant conditioning subject you call a boyfriend? HA! The more you resist, the more complete will be your ultimate surrender to the power of the penis. I can feel your mind drawn inexorably over the brim into an oubliette of servility. Also, I'd just like to let all 3 billion of you know that even next month, after I have wall-to-wall women in the hot bachelor pad that my really important and manly job will buy, I won't turn mellow and forget how none of you would sleep with me when I was poor. Finally I'd like you to go back and admire that ultra-compound hypercomplex sentence two paragraphs back. Once you're sure I'm a lot smarter than you for having written it, take off your clothes and ring my doorbell. Then I'll ring yours. Eric Boesch -- JOIN ME, COWBEATERS! hello the other day i saw star wars on my VCR. it was coool. i wish i had the force like Luke. then i would use it to make people give me money and to get free sex and to play bad tricks on whities. here is a GIF rendering i made myself of Dark Vader. -^- / 0 0 \ "hello, may the force be with you!!!" o * / ( .. )\ * j [ ] \* l__l J J I rule the dark side of the force. Join me and we shall crush the rebel alliance and control the galaxy. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Feature Presentations! Big Rabbits! .,,,,,,,,,,,, ,;%%%%uuuuuuuuuuuuu%%%\ /%%%%%uuuu====####uuuuuu%%%% /%%%%%uuuu.....===###uuuuu%%%%%% , '''''\%%%%%uuu....##.===##uuuu%%%%%%%% ,'''''''')####\%u....../==#/uuu%%%%%%%%%%% ,'''''/#########\%mmmmmmmmmmmmm%%%%%%%%%%%; #\''/##########(mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmnu%%'%%%%%%% ###############(mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmnuu%%'%%%%%%; u\###########/ (mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmnuu%%'%%%%%%%% uuuuuEEE \mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmnuuu%%'%%%%%%%%% uuuuuEEE .:::,#u,mmmmnnmmmmmmmmmnuuu%%;; %%%%%%%%% uuuuuu\##\:::::##uuummmmmmmmmmmmmmnuu%%;;;; :...%%%%%% uuuuu\#######/uuuuuuuuuu,mmmmmmnu%%...;;; ::...%%%% \uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu,mmnu/ \...;;; ::...%%% >####&&################<%%%% \;;;/ ::...%%% (#####&&&################%%%%%%% ::..%%% (######&&&&##############(%%%%%%%%%% ::%/ (####&&&&&&#############(%%%%%%%%%%%%% (#######&&&&&############(%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% (#########################(%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% (# (######################(%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% (#######################(%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% %%%(#####################(%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% %%%%%%(####################(%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% ;%%%%%%; (#################n'%%%%%%%%'%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% (%%%%%%%( ;%nn############nn'%%%%%%%%'%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% ;%%%%%%% %%%nnnnnnnnnnnnn'%%%%%%%%%'%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%(@@@) \%%%%%; %%%%nnnnnnnn'%%%%%%%%%'%%'n%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%(@@@@@) (%(%/ %%%%%nnnnnn'%%%%%%%%%%%'nnnn%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%(@@@@@@ %%%%%%nnnnnn'%%%%%%%%'nnnnnnnn%%%%%%%%%%%%%%(@@@@@@@ %%%%%%%nnnnnnn(%(%)nnnnnnnnnnnn%%%%%%%%%%%%%(@@@@@@@) .,;%%%%%%%%nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn%%%%%%%%%%%%%(@@@@@@@@ ,nnnnnnn%%%%%%%%%nnnnnn)nnnnnnnnnnnnnnn%%%%%%%%%%%%%%(@@@@@@@) /nnnnnnnnnnn%%%%%%nnnnnnnnnnn)nnnnnnnnn%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%/ (@@@@) (uu(uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu/ (uu;;;;;;;;;;;uu)Dustin Slater (uu;;;;;;;;;;uu) I always shrieked at Gary because (uuuuuuuuuuuuu) he kept shoving the joystick up his (uu)(uu)(uu) anus. Then he'd laugh like a moron and the joystick would fall out of his butt. And he'd say, "I jes' had a baby! A baby! A baby!" It was a song he made up. Now I miss the joy and laughter that Gary brought to us all. I'm sorry I had to... had to... oh dear sweet God. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ FATSHIT GETS HIS ASS KICKED by Fatshit It's such a shame to lose one's vocation... in this case, my band. I broke it up a few days ago because I was tired of working with A.) a metal-head who couldn't play any riff that he hadn't heard Black Sabbath play already B.) An overbearing dyke-type who wanted the band fucking NAMED AFTER HER... in spite of the fact she was the newest member, and C.) A huge, surly drummer with no ability or social skills. So, this afternoon I brought us together for a post-break-up meeting about equipment, songs, etc. Who got what. It quickly degenerated into an argument and two of them ran down the stairs screaming at each other. Well, it was just Bret (the drummer) and myself, so I told him goodbye and got ready to leave. Not so fast... he had to pay rental fees on some stupid piece of equipment and wanted me to pay half, since it had been my idea. I told him he could damn well pay it himself with the gas money he'd save since without the band he wouldn't be travelling anymore since he had no friends. I guess it was a little excessive, because he said "That's it, motherfucker," and began stripping off his leather jacket and chains. We bantered for a couple of seconds and then he rushed me. We took jabs at each other for a little while, but we couldn't circle because we were in a hallway. I was already winded. He wasn't. It was looking grim. I was watching his hands, blocking his shots, when I suddenly felt the tree-trunk that was his calf against mine. "Balls!" I thought, and clamped my knees. He flipped me down with one leg and was on top of me. Damn martial arts shit! We struggled, and I finally got on top of him, and put him in an ugly cross-face. "You owe me that money, you fucker! I've been keeping track!" "Keeping track? You couldn't keep track if you had to! You couldn't pass the fucking math exam for Store 24, let alone keep track of debt." Bret snarled, "I said I had problems with it, that's all, you... FUCKER!" This last as he heaved me off him with muscle groups I hadn't known existed. I landed my left squarely on his nose. Blood went everywhere. Nothing stops a fight like a shot to the nose. Your eyes water, it stings like heck. I had felt the cartilage go under my knuckles. End of story. Nope! Not with Bret the non-human genetic freak gorilla person. He just kept coming, stumbling. He hadn't done me the courtesy of removing all jewelry, and his massive ugly pewter grim reaper ring dug in. Suddenly I was looking at the ceiling. I hurt. When I came to, I saw that Bret had considerately removed the ten dollar bill from my shirt pocket and left. For good, I hoped. I retreated to my room, took a cool shower, and put some ice on. I guess I was lucky... Bret could've killed me. I guess this really is it for the band. It depresses me... I think of Bret back in his shitty little dimly-lit yellow kitchen, nursing his nose, probably blotting the blood with his shirt. The idea that I inflicted that kind of pain on him makes me feel like shit. So petty... I broke his nose for a lousy ten dollars. I grew up getting beaten up, so I can take it, but I didn't grow up hurting people. That's not really a piece of my composition. Still, the instincts seem more or less intact. It was my father who taught me how to fight. Everyone in school hated me, and picked on me. My father's solution was to teach me how to hurt them worse, first. After I dreamed that I knocked someone under a truck and killed him I became a pacifist, and stayed that way for a couple of years. I haven't really given this enough thought before writing it, except to conclude that I hate violence. I hate the queasy, sweaty-palmed sick excitement that comes as I watch it, or participate in it. It's like eating junk food... it may feel satisfying initially, I may hunger for it, but ultimately it leaves me sick, and it makes me unhealthy. It's bad for me. There's enough pain out there, in Bret's life, without me cracking his nose over ten dollars. I feel like such a loser. Not only did I viciously insult him, I broke his nose. I hurt him beyond the realm that he hurt me... that's why he just took the money and left, because he didn't know how to react to my snide remarks. I'd attacked him on a different plain, one he couldn't really move on. I fought dirty. I hate myself, I really do. I see myself in the mirror. Seventeen still, only seventeen, but I look like a forty-year old construction worker. Bags under my eyes, rapidly flushing bruises, stubble, chins, wild blood-shot dilated eyes, the eyes of a rabid dog or baboon. My hair sticking up, sideburns, lined face. Stained clothing that's a little too tight to be flattering. I look like an asshole, and I am an asshole. Not human, not dignified, not cerebral. I'm a lout, a thug. I'm a pervert, a brawler. I have nothing to show for whatever means may have been available to me, nothing. I am, at a base level, a fat piece of shit. I'm dawdling in this Gormenghast of a college while life marches on. Make me fifty. Make me forty. Make me thirty. I failed early, and hard. Why make me lie here face down for the extra decade or so? I'm just going to do the same stupid young-person crap, the same meaningless alternative coming-of-age rituals. Oh, a band. Oh, I'll work in a deli. I'll drink, I'll do drugs. I'll be introspective. I'll fight with everyone. I'll make plans and never follow them up. I'll drive my car and have sex and go to clubs. It's so nice to be young... whoopee. This fucking emotional busywork I get to contend with as a teenager... a fucking teenager who plays in the big people's playground. Treasure your worthless degrees, your empty jobs, your barren marriages. Fuck you all for making it that far. Fuck you for being even outwardly functional. If there was anyone in the actual world with whom I could even have a decent conversation I'd be having it now. I don't even care what's wrong with me any more. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ _The Cat in the Hat_ by Dr. Seuss, 61 pages. Beginner Books, $3.95. Reviewed by Josh LeBeau The Cat in the Hat is a hard-hitting novel of prose and poetry in which the author re-examines the dynamic rhyming schemes and bold imagery of some of his earlier works, most notably _Green Eggs and Ham_, _If I Ran the Zoo_, and _Why Can't I Shower With Mommy?_ In this novel, Theodore Geisel, writing under the pseudonym Dr. Seuss, pays homage to the great Dr. Sigmund Freud in a nightmarish fantasy of a renegade feline helping two young children understand their own frustrated sexuality. The story opens with two youngsters, a brother and a sister, abandoned by their mother, staring mournfully through the window of their single-family dwelling. In the foreground, a large tree/phallic symbol dances wildly in the wind, taunting the children and encouraging them to succumb to the sexual yearnings they undoubtedly feel for each other. Even to the most unlearned reader, the blatant references to the incestuous relationship the two share set the tone for Seuss' probing examination of the satisfaction of primitive needs. Soon, The Cat arrives and proceeds to charm the wary youths into engaging in what he so innocently refers to as "tricks." At this point, the fish, an obvious Christ figure who represents the prevailing Christian morality, attempts to warn the children, and thus, in effect, warns all of humanity of the dangers associated with the unleashing of the primal urges. In response to this, the cat proceeds to balance the aquatic naysayer on the end of his umbrella, essentially saying, "Down with morality; down with God!" After poohpoohing the righteous rantings of the waterlogged Christ figure, the Cat begins to juggle several icons of Western culture, most notably two books, representing the Old and New Testaments, and a saucer of lactic fluid, an ironic reference to maternal loss the two children experienced when their mother abandoned them "for the afternoon." Our heroic Id adds to this bold gesture a rake and a toy man, and thus completes the Oedipal triangle. Later in the novel, Seuss introduces the proverbial Pandora's box, a large red crate out of which the Id releases Thing One, or Freud's concept of Ego, the division of the psyche that serves as the conscious mediator between the person and reality, and Thing Two, the Superego which functions to reward and punish through a system of moral attitudes, conscience, and guilt. Referring to this box, the Cat says, "Now look at this trick. Take a look!" In this, Dr. Seuss uses the children as a brilliant metaphor for the reader, and asks the reader to re-examine his own inner self. The children, unable to control the Id, Ego, and Superego allow these creatures to run free and mess up the house, or more symbolically, control their lives. This rampage continues until the fish, or Christ symbol, warns that the mother is returning to reinstate the Oedipal triangle that existed before her abandonment of the children. At this point, Seuss introduces a many-armed cleaning device which represents the psychoanalytic couch, which proceeds to put the two youngsters' lives back in order. With powerful simplicity, clarity, and drama, Seuss reduces Freud's concepts on the dynamics of the human psyche to an easily understood gesture. Mr. Seuss' poetry and choice of words is equally impressive and serves as a splendid counterpart to his bold symbolism. In all, his writing style is quick and fluid, making _The Cat in the Hat_ impossible to put down. While this novel is 61 pages in length, and one can read it in five minutes or less, it is not until after multiple readings that the genius of this modern day master becomes apparent. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ As for those of you who strike poses of hip aloofness with regard to the deaths, maimings, and sufferings going on in the world today, you will only have credibility when you visit comparable sufferings upon yourselves with the same aloofness. But surely you won't because you do not have the courage to carry your pose to its logical conclusion. You are, ultimately, embittered losers whose emotional machinery fucked up around the age of 12 or 13 and now you have to pretend to be adults. A difficult job, so you reach for a 12 or 13 years old's dumbass idea of what adult means - cold, unfeeling, bitter. At least you found the right place. Brad Norton _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ SNOT NOSE by Mercury Vapor I am a Kid. I am the Kid who approaches the table where the grown ups are talking. I wanna talk too, I know things, I see things, I got something to say. No one listens, no one cares.... I make fart noises with my arm pits. everyone listens, but no one cares. I scream at the top of my lungs, everyone listens, everyone gets mad. I jump up and down, screaming and yelling, "THERE IS A BOOGEY MAN IN MY CLOSET AND I KICKED HIM IN THE BALLS!" Everyone listens, and everyone spanks me for being bad. It hurts. The grown ups don't love me, no one loves me, and I hurt all over in and out. There is something inside me that wants to come out and everyone is afraid. they will not help me beat it up. I will beat it up myself. And then I will play with my army men, and when im real mad because no one loves me, I will light them on fire with mommys matches. I will kill them for not loving me. YYYYEEEEEOEOOOWWWW YYYEEEEOOOWOWWWWW blam bLBAMBLAMBLSD BBBOBBBOOOMMM BBBOOOOOMM DIE DIE DIE DIEKIL KILL DKKKILLL!!! I HATE YOU I HATE YOU ALL BECAUSE YOU WILL NOT LOVE ME! I WILL KILL YOU FOR NOT LOVINGME! and then I will ride my skate board back home and play with my GI Joe doll because he loves me. I love you gi Joe..... _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Ride That Social Engineerin' Train by Scott Stephens Confidence it the key. The call it a "confidence game" because you gain the mark's confidence. Now you can only get someone else's confidence if you are confident in yourself. The key to pulling off a good job of social engineering is confidence that you can do it. Conjure the illusion, and create the reality. Politicians, the pop media and actors are experts. We must believe our illusion to play a convincing role. A psychological study on persuasion was done; people were asked to place an ugly, large billboard that read "Drive Safely" in their front yards. Of course, all declined. Then another group, which had consented days before to display small window stickers with the message "Keep California Beautiful" were asked. Significantly more agreed. Why? These people's SELF IMAGE was changed. This is a key concept in brainwashing. The small sticker helped them feel good - like activists, like community servants. "Getting your foot in the door" and "loss leaders" are what will get you sales. What happens though, to Mr. Hacker, who begins deceiving and lying for selfish gain? My point is, your actions will change you & modify your self image. Will your ends justify your means, or will you deceive yourself? Are you a sociopath? If you feel guilty, you become vulnerable to control. I hear AT&T likes to hire phreaks. Maybe they don't let them forget where they've been. The sleaze-ball who sells NLP to get laid values money more than trust, respect & human dignity. At least a doctor making bio-weapons can think he's defending freedom and country. Would you trust or want a friend like that? How would you like to see that in the mirror? Would you like some more power, Mr. Faust? The feds & Ma Bell spend millions on research and the best persuasion psych's for their ads. The govt. sends their execs to NLP seminars and such, to learn the most effective techniques to manipulate & control. They make me nervous, having worked for some really nasty control fiends. From what I've read, to get profound control - brainwash someone, you need to modify their self image - the sense of self worth, values, and integrity. The military does this with basic training, and many corporations do the same. Religions convert people this way. The "newbie" is initiated by degradation, humiliation, etc. and then re-created based on a system of seniority. Individual abilities are not valued. The genius hacker is not valued by such organizations, the brown-nose sycophant with the me-too T-shirt is. The organization defines reality and worth, based on political priorities. One's self image, integrity and values are vital to the individual, and must be destroyed for an individual to be controlled. I wish I stayed in school 'till I was 28. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ NUMBER by K. Tatroe "She's single again. He treated her very poorly; she dumped him. She, um, could probably use a friend right now." She glances unconsciously at the telephone, and at the wall of numbers above it. I'm between the lamp and the spackle. A shadow of Christ, long hair, weary eyes, and a soothing, pained expression is cast. "No." "She really..." I cross the room, cautiously picking up a small, unmarked book on the way. It is opened. Hand-crafted paper. Inside, an inscription: "Don't ever stop writing; I really need you." I toss it at her... ...and she catches it, quietly, and reads the first entry. "Who's this?" "Someone who really needed me. She killed herself recently." I dig a fingernail into my palm - if it wasn't already marked with scars of a distant pain, it would be now. "That's horrible." She sits up against the headboard. I feel a welling-up of blood. "She really needed me." I turn, suddenly. She cowers a bit, and I am deeply and instantly ashamed; a tear wells. The blood. The shadows grow short. "But..." I shake my head, quietly. "No. She needed me, but I couldn't be there, because she didn't trust me. Not like you once trusted me." "Still trust you," she corrects and smiles, reaching out a hand. I take it, and sit on the floor, below her. After a moment: "What's her number, again?" _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ BIG NUTTY PARADE STORY by Drunkfux Get back to town and spend the night at my friend's house cause he lives right next to the airport. Next morning, stupid Jesus ho knocks on the door and hands out flyers for that afternoon's "Walking Towards The Lord" extravaganza. It talks about a "parade for Jesus" and all this other crap and in unison we all agree... "We're there!" No surprise, my friends are punk as fuck, and one of them happens to be the manager of a local art supply store. With a plethora of tools at our disposal, we set forth on our mission of chaos. We arrive and things are just starting to swing. There are literally thousands of people on either side of the road, all of them total honky ass, white suburbanite jesus lamers. Needless to say, we stood out like Don King at a KKK rally and it didn't take long for people to start staring. We were all already laughing our asses off with sheer ecstasy over our creations. Some head church bitch, complete with name tag comes up and asks if we're from the neighborhood. When my friend answers positively, she says, "I don't believe I know you." "You will." A few moments later, she was about 2 blocks away. Parade starts. Everybody is now gayer than ever and starts cheering for the Lord or whatever. First few minutes are completely lame, not even a tad bit humorous. I was surprised because this is an annual event that typically rakes in a couple of "well knowns." This year, the flyer mentioned Houston Oilers and Astros players as well as a flurry of other local wanky rejects, but for the first 10 minutes or so, we were quite unenthused. After a few cars full of old people passed, we could see a marching band approaching in the distance. As it got closer, we could read the banner leading the way: "FIRST BAPTIST FAMILY BAND - STAYING AND PLAYING TOGETHER IN THE NAME OF JESUS CHRIST." It seemed to be comprised of kids aged 12 to 17 and their parents. Way stupid. Some of the parents weren't even playing an instrument, they were waving or blowing bubbles or trying to validate their worthless existence by doing shit like holding the triangle while their socially retarded kid banged on it. Truly pathetic. We figured now was the time to display our artistic masterpieces. Up came the signs. As the marching band drew nearer to where we were (on top of a term box, putting us a foot or two above the crowd), they were greeted with the usual array of cheers and waves, but this time, they got something extra : SATAN IS LORD! JESUS WAS A HOMO! NOAH'S ARK = BESTIALITY BOAT! NOAH FUCKED MONKEYS! cDc WE'VE COME FOR YOUR CHILDREN LORD SATAN ROCKS MY ASS! KILL WHITEY GOD IS GAY! I think that was all of them. We had made about 4 signs, all on neon yellow and green poster board, and painted on both sides. So, there we are, in the middle of all these fuckheads, laughing hysterically while waving our signs and shouting out whatever wonderful merriment came to mind. All this whilst our friend Shawn hurled out delightful German sayings via his father's megaphone. Most of the people were in complete and utter shock. Some people, especially the teenage boys in the marching band, thought we were fucking hilarious and couldn't control their laughter. A group of fashion-senseless skaters came running up proclaiming how "awesome" and "fucking kick ass" we were and started jumping up and down trying to blend in as part of our now "rad" group. Most of the people around us quickly moved elsewhere. We lasted a lot longer than I expected. I originally figured it wouldn't take long for some of the macho parade watchers to fuck with us, but I believe most everybody there was honestly scared to death of us and took it all way too seriously. The whole megaphone thing probably helped seal that. I guess the police finally showed up 10 minutes after we started our revelation. I thought for sure we were either going to get the shit kicked out of us or get arrested, but as the officers approached us (both male, one Hispanic and the other Black) my friend looks at them and goes "Yeah! Yeah! Right on, brothers!" and proceeds to jump up and down with the "KILL WHITEY" sign proudly displayed. They both almost died laughing and after a trip to the side of the building and a brief talking to, we were told to "go far away" for a few hours. It's worth mentioning that the crowd cheered when the police walked us away from the parade because the police left before we did and we had to walk through the parade watchers in order to get to the car, signs and slogans held high with shouts of victory and German death calls to boot. Yeah, it pretty much rocked, to say the least. It has become quite difficult to remember the last time I laughed so hard that I had severe chest pains for almost a week. In a last ditch effort to annoy society, we decided to make our exit by driving through the parade route, signs out the windows and megaphone on 11. The lame part was we got absolutely NO press coverage out of this. The douchebag cameraman from our local ABC station thought we ruled but wouldn't film us. The local station that taped and then aired the parade did a wonderful job of keeping us out of the final product. If I could have paid someone to film us, I would have because I probably could have sold a billion copies of the footage. It was a decent way to kill a few hours on a Saturday afternoon at least. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ "Being Big" by Julie Lawrence when i am small and lost, then the world is huge. it looms over me, huge and omnipotent, can tell me who i am, who i should be and what i should be doing. when i am big, i am the great director, the kind that is so good at what she does that she doesn't have to speak or ask or push, she only *knows* and it is so. i go from big to small, small to big daily. the world changes. no-one has yet acknowledged my godhood, my ability to change everything in the blink of an eye, the firing of a synapse, but they will, they will. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ LET'S TALK ABOUT DEATH with Doc About the only thing I can reflect on that I learned in medical school other than technical information, was that everyone dies, and that it is unpredictable and that it is most often preceded by a period of tremendous suffering. I am sure that no one wants to hear this. It is most inconceivable for the Generation X'ers in cDc-land. That is why, of course, that when the government wants to fight a war, that 18 and 19 year olds are drafted; they don't believe in their own mortality. Older people generally don't as well, but they at least admit the possibility in public, although, secretly, to themselves, they deny it. The first man I saw die was a black man who was admitted to the hospital with stomach pain. X-rays showed a bowel obstruction. He was 44 years old and unemployed. He wore a cap over his Afro and had an Orioles Jersey on when he was admitted. We took him to the operating room and opened him up and he had cancer all through his abdominal cavity. There was nothing to do but a colostomy, to bypass the obstruction. After that, he was MY patient. As his case was hopeless, the Chief Resident, the Attending, and everyone else, wanted nothing to do with him. I didn't understand it at the time, but the reason they didn't want anything to do with him was that it reminded them of their helplessness, their impotence against the big C and the big D. (Cancer and Death) As time went by he lost weight rapidly. The cancer began to eat through his abdominal wall and fistulas formed everywhere. I applied adhesive strips and hung more stool bags to catch the drainage. He got weaker and weaker and couldn't get out of bed. He was being fed through a tube. His mind was clear through most of this and he used to ask me, "What is going to happen to me?" As a sophomore medical student, I had no idea how to answer. They don't give classes in such things, as no one else knows how to answer either. I would draw his blood, and assure him that I would let him know the results of today's tests. "Hopefully, these things will heal up," I improvised. After about 5 weeks of this, I was elated to find that when I went in to talk to my patient, he was delirious. He made no sense, and didn't know who I was. I felt relief as I had never known. After a few days, his heart stopped. They tried to resuscitate him, but thank God they were unsuccessful. This memory is as clear after 15 years as it would be if it happened yesterday. And I still don't understand anything more about death, other than my turn will come. And knowing that, how should I be spending my time? Doc _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ D I C K A N D J A N E I N S T I G A T E A P O P U L A R R E V O L U T I O N by: The Deth Vegetable and Iskra See Dick. Dick is a peasant farmer! See Jane. Jane is a peasant farmer too! See Dick & Jane grow the food for the masses! Plant, Dick! Plant, Jane! See Spot. Spot is the aggressive, imperialistic fascist dictator of the country! Terrorize, Spot, Terrorize! See Spot oppress the peasants and steal their food! Oppress, Spot, Oppress! Steal, Spot, Steal! See the peasant babies starve! Starve, babies, starve! See Dick & Jane get fed up and rebel! Rebel, Dick! Rebel, Jane! See Dick publish a pamphlet to educate the masses! Publish, Dick, Publish! See Jane form a revolutionary committee! Organize, Jane, Organize! See Dick & Jane burn their flag! Burn, Baby, Burn! See Spot notice the disruption and attempt to stop it! Oppress, Spot, Oppress! See Spot form Death Squads to stop the rebels! Kill, Spot, Kill! See Spot's Secret Police raid Jane's house and capture her! Raid, Gestapo, Raid! See Jane be tried and executed as a traitor! Hang, Jane, Hang! See Jane become a martyr to the cause! Inspire, Jane, Inspire! See the Proletariat rise up against the Bourgeoisie swine! Revolt, Workers, revolt! See the angry masses storm the place and capture Spot! Storm, Peasants, Storm! See Spot as the first one up against the wall! Die, Spot, Die! See Spot left for dead! Bleed, Spot, Bleed! See Spot's body dumped in a ditch! Defile, Dick, Defile! See Dick help set up a fair system! Rule by the people, Proletariat, Rule by the people! See the Proletariat live happily ever after! Prosper, Workers, Prosper! The end, yay. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ STUFF IN MY POCKET by Swamp Ratte Last time I was in Austin being elite and stuff at HoHoCon, I purchased a small lump of glass from a toy store. A malformed marble. It's pretty and I'm intending to keep it in my pocket from now on. Dunno whether it should go on the left, with my paper-towels-for-snot- and-earplugs; or the right, with my keys-and-change-and-knife. Probably the left, it's less crowded. Then I can take it out of my pocket and look at it sometimes and see that it's pretty and imagine that it's pretty all the way through too, in the parts you can't see at the surface. This will matter. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ THEN LET'S TALK ABOUT PUNK ROCK with Bob Conrad! The reason punk was/is so ripe for commodification is because it lacked an adequate critique of capitalism. Instead of, first of all, possessing a clear understanding of capitalism's less-pleasing features, punk rock actually emphasized utilizing an archaic aspect of capitalism under the guise of D.I.Y. - that of entrepreneurship. What inevitably happened is many found punk pleasing, either because of the fashion, or the music, or maybe even the ideas surrounding punk, and punk became more and more of a commodity. When that happens, despite $3 7-inch single prices, profit is made. Punks don't know how to deal with profit. Punk's low-level awareness of how capitalism works, and utilizing a primitive aspect of capitalism, despite erroneously dressing the two up as polar opposites, provided results that got punk panties in a bunch. The shit hit the fan, and eventually, the media and conglomerate corporations tuned in, turned on, and bought out. I think you can see where this is leading. In many ways, it's the reason D.I.Y. has been bullshit from day one. Applying dullard logic to things taken soooo seriously will always give you Nirvana and _Spin_ and Green Day. What's next? Hell if I know. I DO know I'm having a good laugh every time I see a mobile distributor/do-gooder punk kid who thinks he's carrying a revolution on his shoulders. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ the drive by... mary szmagaj Driver: why did you beep? perhaps you mistook me for an acquaintance of yours someone named 'baby' someone with whom you are on intimate enough terms to publicly inquire after her genitalia. perhaps there has been some mistake. i am not she. if you thought otherwise then i owe you an apology for the manner in which i replied. so sorry if it seemed excessive but the grenade launcher was all i had. Pedestrian _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ GOOD GRIEF by Mike DeLong In the house in the hollow in place of ordinary coffee table books my aunt had two big volumes of Peanuts cartoons. When I was six the kids in Peanuts were my age, and they taught me everything I needed to know but didn't learn in school - tantrums, melancholy, and intentional precocity. They also prepared me for a life of mediocrity and failure and loss, afraid to fly a kite or carry anything precious to me in plain sight (lest it be grabbed by some unseen dog), gender-confused and willing to take a number for a name. I probably took Peanuts much too seriously. But I was six, and an Extremely Innocent Boy. But like all sources of great wisdom, Peanuts left me with single words and short phrases that even when torn from their moorings and let loose in an open sea of nonsense took me into new harbors of grace, or glory, or utter confusion. My favorite strip for many years features Linus and his new watch. For several panels he walks along swinging it freely, saying to himself "New Watch New Watch New Watch" over and over. He shows the watch to Snoopy, who being a Dog of Action slurps it. Linus is distraught, because he's Linus, and can't be anything else. He runs off to try to do something about his now-ruined watch, and we're left looking at Snoopy, who says: "I thought it would be rude not to taste it." This one phrase served me well for years, as I fought to be a little less like Linus and a little more like Snoopy - that the best intentions, properly explained, were enough to placate most people, regardless of how disastrous the results. Unfortunately I also took to saying this phrase much too often - I tended to say it whenever I was presented with something good, or fragile, or nice. And so one day when I was 10, waiting around before Little League practice, our new shortstop arrived with her mother. One of the other boys, a long-legged outfielder named Roger, asked me what I thought of her. I struggled to say she was pretty, and did so through what I considered a euphemism: "I think it would be a shame not to taste her." I've never been a good judge of earshot, and this day my euphemism yielded new wisdom, eventually. After a vague but angry lecture. And then one day Someone Smarter Than Me explained that what Charles Schulz Really Meant was just a play on the Timex slogan, "It takes a licking and keeps on ticking." _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Suddenly prosperous? In a new relationship? Maybe cDc is responsible! Discover a cancerous tumor on your penis? Could be cDc's fault! Sudden tectonic plate shifting? You know the reason! Tell the world! Write to sratte@phantom.com. QUESTION: WHAT DOES cDc MEAN TO YOU? To get started, here's a good quote from Video Vindicator: "Being on the road as I am, I am always short of good clean k-rad entertainment. cDc has opened a whole new world of hype to me and fulfilled this shortage. I feel much more interconnected with HIM, the Dead Cow. cDc, I owe you my life." 9/21/91 2:40am CST Subj : Re: #200 From : The Chief (#399) Date : 12/17/91 04:10:48 AM cDc means a great board (DRU) with a somewhat bad LD line to me. cDc was one of the first groups I heard about back in Sweden along with The Syndicate Report and The Convent BBS. These three things made me call the U.S. only to get more of those nifty cDc files, and to join what seemed to be a great underground community which we didn't have in Sweden. cDc stands for amusing and great info. The Chief[uXu] _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ G.A. ELLSWORTH AND SWAMP RATTE' HAVE A CONVERSATION 11/27/91 11:08pm CST G.A.: "Thanksgiving? Ha! I don't celebrate shit. Except my birthday. Which you missed." S. Ratte': "Say 'motherfucker', Matt! 'Motherfucker!'" G.A.: "I think I'm going through another anal stage. I eat a lot of rice and beans. Why don't you stuff down a buncha raw hot dogs!" S. Ratte': "Uncooked!" G.A.: "That's what raw means," said Matt dryly. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ "Moments" by Julie Lawrence when i grin stupidly at someone in the street, just because they look so *real*, and they grin back before they have time to think, before they have time to conceal and protect and evade. then they look away, embarrassed, caught naked, afraid, and i am reminded of the things i try to forget. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ THE 7-11 ATM/BIG GULP HACK FAQ! by Joe VanDeventer All right, I tried this hack a bunch of times and I thought all of you might like it, so I thought: "I'll write a FAQ" so here it is. I: WHAT IS THE HACK? II: HOW DO I DO IT? III: WHAT DO I GET FROM IT? IIII: WHAT CAN GO WRONG? IIIII: WHAT ARE THE LEGAL PROBLEMS IF I GET CAUGHT? 6: WHO ELSE HAS DONE THIS? 7: CLOSING STUFF I: WHAT IS THE HACK? All right, my friend hack3rking at aol wrote this, so I think I'll just quote him so he gets some recognition because he's really cool and when I get the award for being like greatest hacker in the world because of this FAQ, I don't want him to get left out. So okay heres what he said: IGo to ANY 7-11 with an ATM and take out 20 dollars from you'r account!!!! Withdraw the money and then TAKE THE COUPON FOR A BIG GULP DRINK!!!! Do this again!!!! Do this as many times ad you wanted!!!! It never stops working!!! Then now here is the kicker!!!! Go to deposit what you withdrawled back into you'r BANK ACCOUNT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THEN YOU HAVE FREE!!!!!!!!!!! BIG GULP DRINKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DO what you WANT with them!!!! CASH THEM IN OR IF YOU KNOW A FRIEND THAT WOULD BUY THEM SELL THEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! II: HOW DO I DO IT? I guess I already said that in part I so I guess I won't bother you or nothing by saying it again. III: WHAT DO I GET FROM IT? I guess I also already said that in part I so I wont say that again too. Except that sometimes people spit on me when I try to sell them the Big Gulp. IIII: WHAT COULD GO WRONG? Ive had lotsa things go wrong when I try this hack but I guess thats part of being an elet hacker. I already said one of them in part III, I'm real sorry. Also one time I tried taking out 20 at a time from the machine and when I took all the cupons up to the counter the 7-11 guy said: "What the hell are you doing?" and then he beat the shit out of me. When I woke up I didn't have any of the money or the cupons and I wasnt even inside the 7-11. I was like somewhere else and my clothes were gone. So I guess you shouldnt do a whole lot at once. Plus for a while I kept spilling them on my pants (Yes I made a post about that before) and when I whiped it up I accidentally used my 20 Bill and the money got wet and turned all Orange and the guy behind the counter laughed at me and said: "You little pussy" so I guess you should hold on really tight and not drop it. IIIII: WHAT IS THE LEGAL STUFF? I dont know, the only time I saw a cop while I was doing this was when he found me out in the country without any clothes, and he said: "Whats wrong with you son?" and then I told him and he lafed and left. But I gues if the bank found out about it theyd be pretty angry and maybe take all the moneys out of your account or something, so when you go put the money back in the bank dont tell them about the scam. I think the bank almost caugt me once because I told the bank teler and she looked at me all werd and came up to somone else and whispered something to them and they both started laughing I think because they were thinking about what they were gonna do to my acount. But nothing ever hapened so I gues I was luky. 6: WHO ELSE IS DOING THIS HACK? I dont realy know who else but this got on Internet so I guess a bunch of people are doin it and screwin the banks real bad because theres like 20 million people. I even seen like 2 people that are not me or hack3rking making posts about how its not free because the bank makes you pay like a dollar or somethin but I dont see why they say that because the big gulp is free. There is a cupon! But I know anyway that like my little sister did it and also this guy at my school who I told it to and he said it was Cool. 7: CLOSING STUFF Id like to thank hack3rking for giving me like the idea to write this. It was a cool idea and I hope you guys give him credit too. But mainly give me credit because I wrote this FAQ and now you guys can go out and like make tons of money selling hot Big Gulps. I mean hot like illegal not like warm or nothing. I havent made a whole lots of money yet but I know I will becuase Im getting all these Big Gulps for free. I dont want no parades or nothing just like maybe some where's or secret codes to get on other computers. I guess Ill end it here now. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ MISANGLOPHILIA by Reid Fleming Misanglophilia Explained An anglophile is someone who is friendly to or likes England or English customs, institutions, etc. Therefore, the misanglophile hates people who pretend to be British, express or maintain royalist sympathies, or insist upon British spelling and pronunciation. Deserving of special scorn are the American anglophiles. While the misanglophile hates the faux British, he is not to be misidentified as an anglophobe (one fears or hates British customs, institutions, etc). One can harbor no ill will whatsoever toward the British people while at the same time nurture an overwhelming hatred of those who feign British characteristics. You Might Be An Anglophile If... * you pretend to misunderstand American idioms. * you insist upon drinking beer at room temperature, even Coors. * you have stacks of famous English literature but can't recall the plots, characters, or authors of any of the books when pressed. * you watch PBS just to work on your British pronunciations. * you were in a lot of high school plays. * you're in a punk band from California and sing with an English accent. * you're a pretentious jerk. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ SWAMP RATTE' GOES OFF on a tangent to outer space: what is it about this modem/computer stuff that attracts fucked-up, lecherous asshole guys. and butt-blind naive females that can't figure this stuff out. >>THWACK!!<< BRICK TO THE HEAD! OPEN THEM EYES! people are couch/computer potatoes 'cause they're too lame to do anything for "real". bored and lonely, fuckin' ugly, it's the ready-made clique for shitheads and obnoxious geeks and loser freaks. no chin, woulda done yerself in if you could just find the energy. but it's so much easier to sit hunched over in that chair. years and years and face and belly get rounder, hair greasier as showers grow less and less frequent. "it'd be so rad to find a chick who knows UNIX to fuck, huh?" the geek wet dream. female handle hey baby i'm a little heavy but it's a lot of muscle hey let's meet on the MUSH you like every geek cliche i do hey yeah let's fuck and eat twinkies and watch anime and roleplay and fuck and toke and we can talk about star trek yeah be my pudgy pale geek bitch. yeah baby i know nobody understood me either in school, people are so fake, huh? yeah but i understand you yeah yeah eat a twinkie don't forget your towel huh huh i'm witty yeah. you like the Pumpkins? woah, me too, they're my favorite band. no, wait, i used to like 'em 'till they sold out. but i like their old stuff, i agree with everything you say. be my pudgy pale geek bitch." FUCK YOU. GODDAMNIT. I CANNOT BEGIN TO EXPLAIN HOW MUCH I HATE... I *KNOW* YOU. I KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU AND YOUR KIND IN EVERY INTIMATE EXCRUCIATINGLY STINKY AMOUNT OF DETAIL THERE IS AND I LOATHE EVERY BIT OF IT. I HOPE THERE'S A HELL SO I CAN SPEND THE REST OF MY USELESS DAYS DAYDREAMING OF YOU SUFFERING IN IT. IN MY WILDEST FANTASIES, I WOULD BE SURROUNDED BY NOTHING BUT THE MOST WELL-BALANCED, EMOTIONALLY STABLE PEOPLE POSSIBLE AND EVERYONE ELSE WOULD BE INSTANTLY DECAPITATED, TO MY GREAT GLEE. S. Ratte'/cDc From: Bigfoot Re: your rant Hear, hear! I've been involved in computers for almost 22 years, and I'm so thoroughly disgusted with the people I've "met" electronically that I'm about ready to throw away my modem. It seems that our society has made a means (a computer) into an end unto itself. So what if we're "connected" world wide? What does this connection give us, and what is it costing us in other areas of life. I think the Internet mania that is going on right now is just another manifestation of a society that is so narcissistic that its individuals refuse to operate beyond their own selves; that the Internet has replaced television as a mostly passive means of entertainment. ...no need to reply to this message, I'm just echoing your own voice. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ THE MEANING OF "K" by Mini Appler I'm one of the original 4 Midwest Pirates Guild members. MPG was one of the first pirate groups, based around the Apple ][. We started the K-craze in 1982. No, it didn't come from K as in Kilobytes. The "K" concept originated from our style of saying "Okay, bye" on the phone. One late night in a hurry to hack the latest ware before anyone else did, we hung up with a "k-bye". It just happened, without thinking. It sounded cool. We hung out, ate pizza, cracked warez. I believe Sinbad (one of the 4) was the first to go "k-cool dude." It sounded cool and from there, we all went nuts. For months it was K-this, K-that... we made ourselves sick. Eventually we settled down to our original K-cool & K-bye. We had several BBSs. The most popular and well known was the Safehouse. It wasn't surprising how it spread. We had over 10,000 users on our systems combined and habitually wrote "kbye" and "k-cool" on our messages. Heck, I think we even put it on a few crack screen title pages. Anyway, for what it's worth, that's how it started. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ #43 - KING OF THE STOCK CAR RACERS: IN CELEBRATION OF RICHARD PETTY by Swamp Ratte' and Froint When I'm posed with a quandary and don't know what to do, I think about how Richard Petty would act in a situation like this. Does Richard Petty, NASCAR king, drool on himself and yell at invisible chickens who peck persistently at their anuses? The answer is a resounding "NO!" and I like to think that I'm wise enough to follow a good example. A good example from a great man. You saw Mr. Petty there resplendent in his blue and red #43 tearing it up at Talladega and you knew that _there_ was a leader. There's a guy who had it together. And now that he's retired from racing, he's fully involved with managing his racing team and coaching his son at the sport he gave so much to and loves so dearly. So with that in mind, I'd like to introduce this poem by Froint about our subject. I hope you enjoy it. -Swamp Ratte' "A Petty Man in a Petty World" by Froint A world lost in turmoil and thunder Of roaring fuel, crowds, and crew. Fire forged feet forced to floorboards, Leaving others in woozing wonder That a walking human emerges to the hoards. Stripped of gear, dawning trademark Cowboy hat, sunglasses; a link between two Views of the world, old and new. Oh, how I long to belong in this zoo, To be such a Petty man in this petty glue I find myself wading through spring mornings Where nature grows at my feet Enjoyed by too few . . .including myself. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Ok, there are like these two chicks, right. And they like look good and stuff. And one day they're like walking and stuff and they run into this chick or something. The three chicks don't know what to do so one of them says, "Let's like, go fishing and stuff!" The others were like pissed at her because they didn't know how to fish so they almost kicked her ass. The next one said, "Let's go to the merry-go-round!!!" and ran into a wall as fast as she could and fell down some stairs and into some people. The third like said, "Let's like, eat each other till the cows come home or something." The other said, "Then what?" She continued "Then we do it with the cows." So off they went to a motel and like did the lezbo thang. Then, suddenly, a door bell rang. One chick said,"I'll get it!" And got up and asked, "Who is it?" "MOOOO!!" answered the mysterious stranger. The chick like opened the door and it was all these cows there or something. So they like did the cows. The End Confussion? Depressed? Questions? Comments? Email me on America Online Doug7d6ab@aol.com _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ "Mr.T: A Man of Wealth and Influence" by THE NIGHTSTALKER I have here the forth issue of MacWorld magazine from 1984. Inside is an article on the original ImageWriter printer. On page 77, we see a photograph of Own Densmore at Apple HQ. On his desktops are two Lisas, a 128k Mac, and an ImageWriter. On a shelf above all this is an A-Team TV dinner tray, bearing the sacred image of Mr.T, flexing his mighty muscles and conferring his benediction to the Macintosh. The rim of the tray is decorated with the image of a thick gold chain, the very ICON of Mr.T! I think we all can judge from this where Mr.T stands on the Windows vs. Macintosh debate! By the way, Mr. Densmore wrote the printer routines for both the Lisa and Mac, as well as having a hand in the design of the ImageWriter. (Inspired, no doubt, by Mr.T himself!) _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ A BOOK REVIEW: _The Psychodynamic Perspective_ by Erdelyi and Goldberg, 1979. The authors examine paranoia: "This patient continually rails against homosexuals, whom he detests with a violent passion. After a brief, unsuccessful marriage, followed by impotence, he began to experience delusions of persecution, according to which the CIA and the FBI were continually observing him with the intention of getting him to submit to the sexual advances of Richard Nixon. He gave up all attempts at heterosexual sex, because he "would not make love in public," i.e., in front of lurking agents. He soon came to understand also that his impotence has been imposed on him, via laser rays, by Nixon's agents. Satellites specifically sent up for this purpose began to bombard him with homosexual messages. Finally he constructed a special protective hat fitted with a highly complex electrical jamming device. He wore this hat continually, at home and in public places, including restaurants and work (he was soon dismissed). Even so, the messages that he should submit to Nixon increased in intensity and began to "penetrate" at times. Around this period he took all his jackets to a tailor and had the tailor sew up the slits (or flaps) in the back of the jackets. He implored all his male acquaintances to do likewise, lest they be taken for "slot-jacket ass panderers." He deplored tight dungarees because they revealed the buttocks too openly and therefore constituted a disgraceful invitation to sodomy. He complained that the CIA was spreading rumors that he was a homosexual, indeed, they had contrived to find a "double" for himself and a friend and photographed them, the doubles, in "disgusting" homosexual acts, all for the purpose of blackmail, so that he might submit to the homosexual importunings of the "anarcho-communist sodomite" Gerald Ford, who, as he now came to realize, was really "behind" the conspiracy (Nixon, it now turned out was just a "front"). Ford he believed, succeeded in having his landlord evict him from his apartment, so that he would be forced to live in the local YMCA among "faggots." This was meant to be a softening up tactic." It's a really great book. You should run out and buy it. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ HAIKU: DUMB PENIS by Swamp Ratte' my penis is dumb it cannot think at all, no unemployable the virgin mary takes the form of an australian pop singer who starred in _grease_ and many other movies opposite john travolta. and she's my real mother. spirituality is funny like that sometimes. olivia newton-john... catch the excitement! _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ TELE-MANIFESTO by Ron Strelecki I learned a valuable lesson as a youngin'. I was o'er my granpappy's house one day and the phone rang... and rang... and rang. I said, "Ain't ye gonna git the phone granpap?" He said, "Naw, if it was important they wouldn't be calling." The phone USED to be considered a convenient sort of a luxury (is this not all self apparent?) Now I'll be over at a friends place and we'll be talking and the phone will ring and they'll grunt and say, "Damnit! Who the hell is calling me?" and pick up the phone and talk to them. THERE AIN'T NO DAMN LAW THAT SAYS YOU HAVE TO PICK UP THE PHONE! YET! Answering machines are nice but the real god awful THREAT to the future of our sanity is cellular phones and beepers. Find someone who has a beeper - they are invariably one of two types: 1) Pathetically needy people who feel that they ALWAYS need to be in contact with someone EVERY moment of the day. or more commonly: 2) They got it from work and without thinking accepted it. Accepting a beeper is tantamount to saying "I am your SLAVE twenty four hours a day." The only good use I can think of for a beeper is to get one that buzzes until you push a button and give it as a gift to your girlfriend - but only if she agrees to wear it in her underwear. Then anytime day or night you can "get into contact" with her. Now THAT is a friendly reminder to show how much you care. It also is perilously close to the enslavement line - which proves my point - BEEPERS ARE GOOD FOR NOTHING! If your boss says "Hey buddy, hey pal! I got a present for you," and hands you a beeper be real modest and say, "Oh, no you are too wonderful. I couldn't possibly accept this - no thank you." Reminds of that AT&T commercial where the guy in the trench coat is overlooking a mountain vista and the voice over says, "Did you ever have a phone on your wrist?" Then the phone beeps and the guy answers IMMEDIATELY and his loving spouse says, "How you doin' honey?" A more realistic version: Man is sitting down to a delicious meal with his family. Voice Over: "Did you ever have a manacle on your wrist?" Phone beeps - man answers Voice on phone: "Johnson! Get yer ass in here, I need someone to wipe the doggy-doo-doo off of my shoes! Oh and I can see over your wrist video phone there that you are having a delicious Thanksgiving dinner - BRING ME THAT GOLDEN DELICIOUS TURKEY OR YOU ARE FIRED!" Man: "But sir!?! It's Thanksgiving!" Voice: "That's it, YOU'RE FIRED! Report for castration immediately! The authorities are coming to put your lovely wife and children into the Corporate Sex Farm. In fact, I'm going to put a bid in right now." Voice Over: "YOU WILL! And AT&T will bring it to you." So, if you want this to happen to YOU, by all means rush to answer the phone IMMEDIATELY every time it rings. The alternative is simple - don't answer the phone when you don't want to talk. Unfortunately, those needy insecure people can get into power and if you don't answer on the first ring they react like you've committed a crime against them. IT'S MY DAMN PHONE. It's there for MY (ME! ME! ME!) CONVENIENCE. IF I DON'T ANSWER and YOU WANT TO TALK TO ME THEN DO YOU REALLY WANT TO TALK TO ME? Why the hell did we invent these things anyway? _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE FOR MORE INFORMATION, CONTACT: sratte@cascade.net A statement from CULT OF THE DEAD COW/cDc communications: It is our belief that Old Mother Hubbard is to be held accountable for the deaths of thousands of innocent men, women, and children in the "Killing Fields" of Phnum Penh, as we suspect that Pol Pot was a Scientologist! We believe that El Ron Hubbard is actually none other than Heinrich Himmler of the SS, who fled to Argentina and is now responsible for the stealing of babies from hospitals and raising them as "super-soldiers" for the purpose of overthrowing the U.S. Fed. Govt. in a bloody revolution. We fear plans for a "Fourth Reich" to be established on our home soil under the vise-like grip of oppression known as Scientology! In order to preserve our way of life and keep the torch of freedom lit for future generations, we feel it is our duty as responsible world citizens to declare WAR on the so-called "CHURCH" OF SCIENTOLOGY. As future developments occur, we will broadcast them to the free world as soon as possible. Thank you for your time. S. Ratte' CULT OF THE DEAD COW/cDc communications Fearless Leader #### _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ When can I stop being a good boy? When can I chuck the rules and say enough is enough? I am damn tired of being rejected, and that rejection is giving me insomnia. OK, background, I'm depressed, and medicated with Zoloft. Married, and no sex or tenderness, or hugs, or kisses since last year. Going to bed is a dread due to the prospect and reminder of the fact that I am totally rejected there. Is it alright to go out and get tenderness elsewhere? I have been approached by women for that, and as a good boy, I politely turned them away. But should I? To bring up the subject of sex is asking for trouble, and lies, and coldness. I suggest that she too should she a counselor about her "female sexual aversion," but no, she makes the claim that no women like sex, so she is not abnormal. I am so tired of it. Will it be better when her mother dies? The person who told her that sex was bad, and only for making babies? BTW, she had 12 kids. So what do you think? Is it alright to get a physical touch from a woman who is not your wife? Hell, in the past she told me it was alright, so that I would not "bother" her. If requested in bed, I will get an "attack me in the morning." I do not consider sex to be an attack, but a loving sharing. Just how many times are you to be rejected? I would estimate for me that it is about 355 days a year. and I am so tired of it. Hell, when describing it to a friend, I was asked if she was a lesbian? Who knows, is she? I do love her, and have ever since I first saw her and was infatuated with her. No other marriages for either of us, no other sexual partners. Hell, should I try bondage with her? I don't want it, but does she? I am so tired. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ WHY YOU SHOULD HIRE ME TO WRITE YOUR MANUALS: A BEGINNER'S TOUR OF THE TOOLBAR by Morrisa Sherman The Files Menu is the best kind of menu on earth and we are all very grateful to the Godhead on high that it exists else we'd all be surely bereft of knowledge, the light that is the pursuit of intellectual fulfillment would grow dim and burn out, and the world as we know it would decay into a bestial and brutal clime of murder, destruction, and hopelessness. The Edit Menu has never had a self esteem problem. It is self-assured almost to the point of cockiness, and it loves attention. It is charming, to be sure, but can easily get carried away with its own brash dreams, and if you are not careful, it can convince you to invest everything in its schemes, for in its own way, it is sincere, it believes what it says, and what is more compelling than sincerity? The Tools Menu is by far the most attractive of the menus with its sunny disposition and lithe ankles, but it is an elusive menu as well. To try to tame the tools menu is to lose it. If one wants a tools menu in one's life, one must simply let it exist, coming and going as it pleases, like the wind, and like the wind, to try to grasp it and hold it down and set it on a responsible schedule will surely result in capturing nothing at all. The Recorder Menu seems to always be going through "one of those phases." First it has given its life over to Christ, then it has found the kernel of truth at the center of existence employing the "judicious use of sacred psychedelic drugs" then one can't even hold a decent conversation with it because it is so involved in its own solipsism it can't grasp the concrete existence of any entity other than itself, then it wants to go off and start a band that will change the history of rock-and-roll forever. Best to just indulge it in its whimsies and be sure that it gets enough to eat whenever it comes home. The Group Menu is delightful when it works out for all of the parties involved, but it is an unfortunately rare occurrence where some unhappy dynamic does not rear its head. It is difficult to share a group menu equally, and it seems that some member always dominates the scene, some other member feels slighted or feels it is contributing more than its share, and other members get caught in the middle trying, ineffectually, to make peace. It's a dangerous menu indeed when one or more members are not perfectly at ease with the others. I'm sure I don't have to remind you of the Graphic Set fracas of 1992. The Properties Menu has a winsome face with wide blue eyes, and it looks sweet in organdy, but don't let it fool you into believing it any less the competent mechanic, and talented artist than it truly is. When one first considers its difficult upbringing and how it had to work swing-shift in the local cheese factory trouble shooting the fermentation tank system just to survive and save money to buy art supplies, and then examines its valuable contribution to the post-modern movement with such works as "Thickness" and "Layer," one can really grasp the perfection that is human potential. The achievements of the Properties Menu virtually move this tech-writer to tears of rapture. The rumors going around town tying it to the Scientology movement are spurious, and should be given no credence. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ "Celebrity Culture" by Paul Connelly The obsession with so-called "celebrities" that is rampant in our society today seems to me one of the most obvious manifestations of evil around. Celebrities in most cases are manufactured idols who contribute nothing of significance to society. They are almost by definition phonies-performers in the vast entertainment industry that threatens to swamp our culture with simulacra in the place of real do-ers: actors, athletes, musical "stars" who are mostly not musicians themselves, television "personalities" and their attendant parasites-in short, people who become "known" for their ability to generate "publicity" rather than people who make real contributions to the welfare of others. Pornography in its traditional sense of sexually explicit material does not offend me (i was buying it under the counter at 15 and I can't believe it made me any more perverted than I already was), but the snickering, vacuous preoccupation with the made-up sex lives (and religious revelations) of celebrities that i see right in front of the cash register in every supermarket strikes me as deeply offensive. The sad, vicarious involvement in the fictional lives of people who add nothing of value to society strikes me as the worst possible sign of the decline of our culture. And the current trend toward focusing on the "celebrity as criminal" (Tyson, OJ) and "criminal as celebrity" (Tonya Harding, the Bobbitts) seems like the worst manifestation of this sickness. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ TRADITIONAL WASP ETHNIC DISHES FOR YOU FROM SWAMP RATTE' I. FOOD TO EAT A. CANDY CANES 1. CHEAP 2. COMPRESSED SUGAR AND FLAVORING 3. EFFICIENT, PRACTICAL, WASP, JUST LIKE ME 4. EXTRAPOLATING: S. RATTE' IS CANDY CANE B. TANG 1. SPOONFUL OF TANG IS HAPPY ORANGE FOOD 2. NO WATER IS REQUIRED a. WATER IS OPTIONAL b. WATER IS NOT REQUIRED 3. ASTRONAUTS CONSUME TANG a. TO BECOME SPACE TRAVELLER, EAT TANG b. THIS IS OBVIOUS C. SANDWICH 1. PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY a. JIFF PEANUT BUTTER b. WELCH'S GRAPE JELLY c. TWO SLICES WASP WONDER WHITE BREAD (KKK APPROVED) d. NO SUBSTITUTIONS PERMITTED, THEY ARE GROSS AND UNNATURAL 2. HAM AND CHEESE PRODUCT a. HAM b. AMERICAN CHEESE PRODUCT SLICE c. TWO SLICES WASP WONDER WHITE BREAD (KKK APPROVED) II. FOOD TO WEAR A. GUMMI BEARS 1. REQUIRE SALIVA 2. APPLY TO CLOTHING AS FASHIONABLE FASHION ACCESSORY FOR YOU B. TANG 1. DUST IN HAIR 2. CREATES ORANGE TINGE AS FASHIONABLE FASHION COLOR FOR YOU C. PEANUT BUTTER 1. APPLY LIBERALLY TO SKIN 2. CREATES PALLID BROWN GOOKY TEXTURE ON SKIN AS FASHIONABLE LOOK FOR THE '90S MAN/WOMAN FOR YOU D. TWIZZLERS 1. INSERTED INTO NOSE HOLES 2. CREATE RED ANTENNA-SPACE ALIEN LOOK AS FASHIONABLE FASHION LOOK OF SPACE TRAVELLING ABILITY FOR YOU. YOU ARE A GO-GETTER. YOU HAVE BEEN TO MARS. I'M GETTING REALLY GOOD AT JUST TALKING AND TALKING AT PEOPLE WITHOUT ANY SORT OF RESPONSE. YOU KINDA HOPE YOU KNOW, PEOPLE WILL SAY STUFF, BUT MAYBE THEY THINK YOU'RE CRAZY OR STUPID AND IT'S TOO MUCH HASSLE TO SAY STUFF. NOW I DON'T CARE NO MORE I THINK, I JUST BLAH BLAH BLAH I DON'T EVEN LISTEN TO MYSELF, I'LL SEND EMAIL TO STRANGERS AND TELL THEM ABOUT MY DAY OR SOMEBODY ELSE'S DAY HOO HOO I DON'T CARE BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH!!!!!!!!!! TALK TALK TALK I DO A ZINE AND WRITE A BUNCHA CRAP AND IT'S FREE AND JUST GIVE IT TO PEOPLE, "HERE, READ MY CRAP." THOUSANDS UPON THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE READ THIS SHIT HOO HOOO. how come you're so quiet? HOO HOO. I SAW AN EPISODE OF CHARLIE'S ANGELS A WHILE BACK AND IT HAD A FAKE UFO IN IT AND A SLEAZY GUY WHO TRIED TO HAVE SEX WITH ONE OF THEM. GUH GUH GUH. MAYBE I CAN MAKE ENOUGH WORDS AND STUFF ALL THE BIG GIANT QUIET SPACES WITH THEM AND IT'LL BE LIKE A WORLD FULL OF BEANBAG CHAIRS, BIG SOLID SUBSTANTIAL BEANBAGS WITH SMILING FACES ON THEM AND THEY TALK BACK AND SAY STUFF HELL YEAH. SOMETIMES I THINK ABOUT LIKE BUYING A BOTTLE OF THUNDERBIRD AND WALKING OUT TO THIS FIELD BY MYSELF AND SITTING IN THE DIRT AND MAKING MYSELF UNCONSCIOUS AND THEN REALLY REALLY SICK. AND THEN I'D DO IT ALL THE TIME AND WHERE'S KEVIN? KEVIN'S OUTPUKING IN HIS FIELD!@$%!#$! HAHAHA!@# I WONDER WHAT IT'D LOOK LIKE TO PUT A STICK OF DYNAMITE UNDER MY SCROTUM AND SET IT OFF. wham. WHEN MY PUNK BAND'S PLAYING AND PEOPLE WOULD GO "MAN, KEV FUCKIN' ROCKED THAT SHIT HUH? KILLER LAST SHOW." 'CAUSE LIFE AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT ROCKIN' AND MONEY. ALL YOU TARANTINO FANS WOULD BE AWED. I'D JUST THINK IT WAS GOOFY. HAHA. LOOK, HIS GENITALS EXPLODED. HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAA. AND YOU COULD ADD SOME _SEINFELD_-LIKE BLATHERING ON TOP AND IT'D BE JUST LIKE A TARANTINO FLICK. BIG DEAL. AS EXTRA ADDED FUN WITH THIS ISSUE, YOU CAN PRINT IT OUT AND CIRCLE ALL THE IRONIES AND BLATANT CONTRADICTIONS WITH A BIG RED CRAYON. AIN'T THAT HOW IT GOES THOUGH? TALKING TO YOU LIKE WE'RE CHATTING. WHO AM I TALKING TO? NO ONE. THINK I'M GONNA GO STAND IN THE DAMN COTTON FIELD AT THE END OF THE STREET FOR A WHILE. IT'S LATE. TAKE CARE. BYE. S. Ratte'/cDc _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ THE POINT by Bryan O'Sullivan you could spend an hour counting the petals in a flower it might take you a year to count the veins in each petal if you spent ten lifetimes, maybe you could count its cells but you'd have completely missed the point you fuckhead .-. _ _ .-. / \ .-. ((___)) .-. / \ / \ / \ .-. [ x x ] .-. / \ / \ -/-------\-------/-----\-----/---\--\ /--/---\-----/-----\-------/-------\- / \ / \ / `-(' ')-' \ / \ / \ WORLDWIDE \ / `-' (U) `-' \ / WORLDWIDE _ `-' .ooM `-' _ _the drive by_ - copyright(C) 1996 mary szmajag _Why You Should Hire Me to Write Your Manuals..._ _Copyright (C) 1996 Morrisa Sherman _The Point_ - copyright (c) 1996 Bryan O'sullivan oooO / ) Copyright (c)1995 cDc communications and Cultees. / ) / ( All rights reserved. Award-winning CULT OF THE DEAD COW / ) / ( \ ( ( ) is published by cDc communications, P.O. Box 53011, \ ( ( ) \_) oooO Lubbock, Texas, 79453, US of A. \_) oooO oooO / ) oooO / ) / ) / ( Beware Of Cheap Imitations / ) / ( \ ( ( ) Enlightenment Through A Poke In The Eye \ ( ( ) \_) oooO Leaders Of The Old School, Innovators Of The Next \_) oooO