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Angstmonster 24
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+ _____ ____ ____ ______/ |_____ ____ ___ ______/ |___________ +
* \__ \/ \ / __ \/ ___\ __\ \ _ \/ \/ ___\ __/__ \_ __ \ *
+ / __ \_ | \ /_/ >\__ \| | Y Y \<_> ) | \__ \| |\ ___/| | \/ +
* (____ /_| /___ /____ >|__|__|_| /___/__| /___ >|__| \__ \|__| *
+ \/ \/____/ \/ \/ \/ \/ \/ +
* 04.07.03 angstmonster issue 24 *
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¡edited (poorly) by gir¡
<melty> angstmonster rules
<melty> i fully endorse this zine
§+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++¡contents¡++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§
+ +
+ Brief words from gir +
+ You've Neva Eva wayne +
+ IN WAYNE WE TRUST tweak +
+ Surprise Me ch33z-1t +
+ Pizza Night oregano +
+ Man VS Dog st0vbold +
+ The Mole Chauncy donnie a. gutherie +
+ Speaker Selling Revisited ch33z-1t +
+ Spider Wars steak +
+ The Making and Unmaking of a Text File oregano and ior +
+ Explinizzation gir +
+ +
§+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++¡contents¡++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§
<zhixel> my first impression of the vagina was this horrible dark cavern of
mystery and death
<Quarex> Do not forget sharp, sharp teeth.
<gir> ROADIE! POOPIE!
<atom> you had loose stool?
<doot> i can smell your feet
<asdff> did oregano just say poon?
---------------
: Brief Words :
: from gir :
---------------
The other day, the infamous brian of cheese 'n crackers dropped a bomb that
would revolutionize the way people read textfiles. I'm still wiping the debris
off my keyboard because after reading the fifth installment of one of the best
tzines out there at the moment, I dunno what I'm going to do with myself. It'd
be easy to say "Hey this is our last release because we are never going to drop
a bomb and revolutionize the way people read textfiles like CNC did." But
wait! WAIT JUST AN EFFIN MINUTE! The one thing CNC doesn't have is hamsters.
While we're on the subject, CNC doesn't have lasers either. Angstmonste will.
Coming this summer, live from undisclosed 0day
doublplussupraleetthatshouldbespelledoutwithnumbers locations all around the
globe, there's going to be hamsters, there's going to be lasers, and your
better believe that angstmonster will be behind it all! NOT ONLY BEHIND IT,
BUT ON TOP OF IT, LEADING THE WAY, IN CONTROL! But that doesn't stop the
newest Cheese 'N Crackers release from being very pleasing on the eyes and
minds of tfile readers everywhere. COME H&L DAY THOUGH, CNC BETTER BE READY TO
RUMBLE WITH SOME MOTHERFUCKERS THAT KNOW HOW TO BREAK SKIN WITH FIREPOWER THE
LIKES OF WHICH NO MAN HAS EVER SEEN!
The following is a taste of something completely different though, showing
where our strengths lie in other continents. Always proud of our AM
affiliates abroad...
On the home front I'm afraid I've got some bad news. One of our newest writers
and fellow lover of the dumpsters, wayne, has been found dead outside the
entrance to his secret dumpster abode. Apparently, he was shot up for what he
was to say in the file WE ARE PRESENTING YOU IN THIS ISSUE FOR THE FIRST TIME
EVER! A group of malicious vandals got a hold of his file's "pre" release and
rival writers were furious, flying into a rage and busting caps in that po'
mofo's ass. It is a very unfortunate tragedy. Angstmonster has lost someone
who was going to be our link to the kids on the streets, the ones who don't
know that you can turn your life around. People need to know that like Wayne,
they too can turn their lives around with textfiles. IT'S NEVER TOO LATE
PEOPLE! HOW MANY MORE LIVES ARE WE GOING TO LOSE TO TEXTFILE RIVALRY!?!
We can't let this happen again. IT STOPS HERE! JOIN WITH ME IN A BAN ON
VIOLENCE IN TEXTFILES AND TOGETHER WE MIGHT FORGE A MIGHTY PEACEFUL WORLD WHERE
LOVERS OF THE ASCII YOUNG AND OLD MAY GET DOWN IN ALL SORTS OF FUNKY WAYS...
-------------------
: You've Neva Eva :
: by wayne :
-------------------
Look, can't complain when you stare in my eyes and try to blame (me) you see in
the shadows of misunderstanding eyes that catch dirty reprise records on a
vector plane of garbled vocabulary that's not necessary to tell the story I'm
wanting to convey but today's just not the day for those sort of things
anyways. After every sentence I've still got nothing (to say) I'll remain hung
up, stuck, fucked, drugged, but being hugged wouldn't be the same after that.
She's not even looking after me when I scream really loud in pain only to
complain about the blame being shifted from place to place the same kinda way I
took this word with that one and melded them into another because my brother
used to do this trick where (are you ready for this) a steamliner would hit the
streamline (lakeview even) consciousness, 'specially when he was real pissed,
off his rocker shitfaced even, kept him awake with forever by his side, choked
up on pride afraid to take the full ride down the block where they used to make
their beats walk upside through the alleyways alone at night. (You heard right
but...)
You've neva eva
Taken the chance I just did
You've neve eva
Pulled a gun on a kid
You've neva eva
Spent a night on the streets
You've neva eva
Taken an IV to your meat
But neither have I and that's ok, I don't have to mention my skin color for you
to know that this is lame, an attempt at sounding profound bouncing my text off
the sound of the sunrise late nights on the wrong side of the bed again, hoping
the trains won't leave the yards before I get to say good morning... Fuck, I'm
horny like a trombone or a trumpet frolicking through the steady notes of a
crippled jazzmen grip but I'm not gonna quit, not just yet, not without my
sentence properly punctuated, I'm still afraid my message might've just
cratered.
You've neva eva
Taken the chance I just did
You've neve eva
Pulled a gun on a kid
You've neva eva
Spent a night on the streets
You've neva eva
Taken an IV to your meat
What's it take to talk dirty tho'? Is it enough cash to pay for a fresh hoe
who can tell you what a man you make when she takes it from you in the butt?
What? DID I JUST DISS YOUR STYLE!?! WHEN YOU TAKE THAT BITCH ON A PROFILE
VIEW YOU NEVER KNEW I HAD HER FIRST AND IT WAS THE WORST, I'VE HAD BETTER WITH
BUTTER AND BRITTLE OLD LADIES BATTLING UPSIDE DOWN LIKE THEY DO IN THE NUDIE
MOVIES YOU'RE NOT OLD ENOUGH TO SEE SO JUST WATCH ME DROP MY DRAWERS AND GRAB
MY WEE WEE WHILE I PEE PEE ON THE SEAT YOU WERE ABOUT TO TAKE AT THAT FANCY
AWARDS CEREMONY. YOU BET I'M JEALOUS THAT I'M NOT MANUFACTURED CAUSE I'M AS
REAL AS THE AIR YOU BREATHE WHILE YOU SLEEP AND DREAM, WAITING FOR ME TO MAKE A
MOVE, TAKE AIM CAUSE THEN THAT'S THE END OF THE GAME
You've neva eva
Taken the chance I just did
You've neve eva
Pulled a gun on a kid
You've neva eva
Spent a night on the streets
You've neva eva
Taken an IV to your meat
You've neva eva
You've neva eva
You've neva eva
You've neva eva
KNOWN WHEN TO LET A FILE DIE.
---------------------
: IN WAYNE WE TRUST :
: a memorial by :
: tweak :
---------------------
Like Wayne, I am fairly new to the textfile scene. Unlike Wayne I am still
alive. My previous two statements imply two crimes: one) Wayne and I did not
stumble upon textfiles sooner and two) Wayne is dead. Being the brother and
roommate of a dead person is kinda weird. Our dumpster hasn't felt the same
and it's only been a few days. All of our pygmy tribesmen refuse to dance
their magic happy dance to the dumpster gods since Wayne was ganked at the
corner where our dumpster is located. He didn't know what hit him. HE'S NO
50 CENT! HE CAN'T TAKE BULLETS LIKE THAT! FUCK 50 CENT ANYWAYS! IT'S ALL
ABOUT THE 2PAC MANG! 2PAC WAS A REAL THUG AND LET THOSE BULLETS CARRY HIM
AWAY! WAYNE DID WHAT A THUG DID WHEN IT WAS HIS TIME TO GO...
I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me... This is all happening so suddenly. I
mean it's not OUR FAULT GIR WAS DIVING IN OUR DUMPSTER! HE SHOULDA KNOWN
BETTER THAN TO BE TRESPASSING ILLEGAL TO PLAY AROUND IN PEOPLE'S TRASH! THAT'S
NOT A VERY POLITE THING TO DO ANYWAYS!!!
So what I guess I'm trying to say is that I'm going to miss my brother now that
he's dead. He's probably better off in the great dumpster of all great
dumpsters. There's probably lots for him to do there right?
YOU KNOW WHAT!?! FUCK YOU GIR! I'M OUT OF THIS FUCKING EZINE! IT'S ALL YOUR
FAULT THAT MY BROTHER DIED!!! FIRST YOU TRY TO STEAL STUFF OUT OF OUR DUMPSTER
AND THEN YOU GET HIM INVOLVED IN THIS TEXTFILE "SCENE" THAT REMAINS MORE SAVAGE
THAN ANY GANG COULD BE! I'M GOING TO DISS ANGSTMONSTER AND DECLARE VENGANCE ON
FOR MY BROTHER BY STARTING A RIVAL TEXTFILE ZINE AND BRINGING YOU DOWN!
YOUR DOUCHEMONSTER HAS SEEN ITS FINAL DAYS! NO AMOUNT OF HAMSTERS OR LASERS
CAN STOP ME!
---------------
: Surprise Me :
: by ch33z-1t :
---------------
After reading for many long hours, I have a bunion on my foot.
The neverending stream of stupidity that spews from the editor is unbelievable.
When will I ever reach mokksha?
I AM MISSO FROG, I KICK YOU IN THE FACE, I AM MEAN, I AM RAW, BECAUSE I AM
MISSO FROG!!
Those four sentences wore me out, so you get this piece of shit sentence.
---------------
: Pizza Night :
: by oregano :
---------------
The waitress left the table with the pizza order
on her notepad. Brad watched her walk off and Jess
spoke up.
"Why do we always have pizza when we go out? Why
is there no variety in where we go? Sure we go to
different restaurants, but you always insist on
pizza."
Brad said, "But Saturday night is pizza night,
what are we supposed to have?"
Jess said, "But that is so silly, you don't have
to be a slave to some marketing campaign."
"But it is not a marketing campaign, it is just
what the night is."
Jess replied, "Then why don;t we go out some
other night of the week, then we'd be free to get
Chinese, or French, or anything but pizza?"
"Saturday night is date night. It is out of my
hands," said Brad.
Jess said, "You are impossible. If you ever want
to go out with me again, we have to go somewhere
without pizza. I will let you choose whether we go
out on a day other than Saturday, other than date
night, or if we eat at a place on Saturday that does
not have pizza."
Brad gulps.
Brad does not let the impossibility of the
situation interfere with his plans to bed the lovely
Jess. Sure it seems impossible, what other night can
one date but on but Date Night? The logic is so rock
solid that it defies any challenges to the foundation
of that wisdom. And Saturday night is as surely Pizza
Night as Christmas falls on the 25th. Lets drop in on
Brad and Jess a week later, Saturday, on their date.
"This is lovely, Brad, a beautiful Indian
restaurant. I love Indian food so much, thank you for
listening to me and not taking me to get pizza again.
I was going to scream if I had one more pizza date
with you. Why are you not eating your food? Is there
something wrong? What? You did what? You had a
pizza before you came out on the date with me?! You
pig! You are just impossible, Bradley Hank Davidson,
this is too much, take me home right now, I never want
to see you again."
There is a lesson here. Don't mess with
tradition.
The End
---------------
: Man Vs Dog :
: by st0vbold :
---------------
What is the difference between a man and a dog?
Have you ever wondered about this? I doubt it.. But for me this is an essential
question, since there are the most obvious reasons; the legs, tail and fur
issues. But also a much more important reason, which most people seem to forget
about: The way girls react, when you take dump.
Dogs can easily get away with taking a dump in the garden, and the girls just
say things like "good boy!" and such. But it's totally out of the question, if
you're a man. It's simply not accepted by the general public, and we have to
use the toilet, which is ok, as I see it. But when you have finished your
business and flushed, you are met by comments like "christ, what have you been
eating?", "ewwwwwwww!" etc. but why? What is the difference? I mean, it's shit,
right? There shouldn't be that huge a gab between man and dog. We all eat food
and shit, it's that simple. It's a well known fact, that what goes inside ones
body has to come out eventually. The smell of human and dog shit doesn't really
differ that much.
I just don't see what the big deal is.
But then again.. this is just my little rant about being accepted as equals in
the society. After all humans are higher evolved than dogs and therefore should
be more privileged. If I want to take a dump in the garden, I don't. I use the
toilet for sanitary reasons, and I feel that I should be respected for that.
So girls, before you start judging a man by the way his shit smells, think
about this. And afterall, your shit stinks too.
Well, I guess this is it for now.. I'm just writing this to get a place in
angstmonster :)
-------------------------
: The Mole Chauncy :
: by donnie a. gutherie :
-------------------------
Bio:
Donnie Gutherie has a collection of animal molars that he has pulled from
the carcasses of over 2,000 road kills. He feels that hunting--in its
accepted form--is ludicrously unfair. When hunting, Gutherie covers his
naked body in deer poo, and, brandishing a butter knife, disappears into
the woods of Pennsylvania for weeks at a time. So far he has yet to kill
an animal. (However, he seriously wounded a stray cow, but after tracking
it for three days, he came up empty handed.) His hobbies also include
llama photography (llamas are very photogenic), toad licking
(non-hallucinogenic toads only), and greeting card writing. His current
greeting card, a birthday card, reads: "Happy Birthday! You're one year
closer to death! Soon you will return to the ashes from whence you came,
you undesirable fiend!" So far he has sold no greeting cards, but has a
collection of over 100,000. He also eats and goes to the bathroom
(usually in the morning between 10:00 and 11:00).
The Mole Chauncy
Michael and Barry Tomaswick were born on April 14, 1975. It was a
difficult birth that finally resulted in a cesarean section. When they
were finally pulled, kicking and screaming, from their mother's womb, it
became apparent why it was such a hard birth: Michael and Barry were
Siamese Twins. Most "Conjoined Twins" share organs or limbs. The only
thing that Michael and Barry shared was a large, brown mole on their
backs. Michael and Barry were lucky; the doctor separated them via
removal of their shared mole with no lasting side effects...except for a
large scar on each of their backs that looked an awful lot like Abraham
Lincoln's profile.
Michael and Barry's mother, Kim, kept the mole in a large jar filled
with formaldehyde. The mole held a prized spot on the mantle in their
house. It too looked a lot like Abraham Lincoln--the mole, not the
mantel.
Michael and Barry didn't look like Abraham Lincoln. However, their
mother, Kim, did.
Which brings us to Michael and Barry's father, Grant. How did a man fall
in love with a woman who looked like Abraham Lincoln? He didn^Òt. Grant
met Kim at a bar in Winsong, Kentucky (birth-state of Lincoln,
coincidentally). Grant had nine or ten scotches and, as anybody who has
drunk nine or ten scotches can explain, thought that Kim, who looked a
little like Abraham Lincoln, looked a lot like Farah Faucett.
Consequently, Grant and Kim made sweet and beautiful love in the back
seat of Grant's 1973 Pinto Stationwagon in the parking lot of The Sweaty
Moose in Winsong, Kentucky. For Kim, it was a dream come true. For Grant,
after the myriad scotches wore away and his perception returned, it was
like a reenactment of the Lincoln-Douglas debate except with a whole lot
less discourse and a bunch more sweaty, blurry sex. After the copulation,
Grant saw Kim's gaunt face, sunken cheeks, and overly-large head and he
conceded the debate. He kicked Kim out of his car and, after trying
unsuccessfully to start his Pinto eight times--which was embarrassing for
both Kim and Grant--drove off, puttering up the highway and into Kim's
memories, never to be seen nor heard from again.
Nine months later, Michael and Barry--and their mole--were born.
When Michael and Barry were five, they asked their mother about their
dad. She sat them both down and told them, in true Republican style, that
their father was a fucking douchebag asshole who sucks cocks and eats his
own scabs. She also told them that she hadn't talked to him for years,
but the last time she did, he was working as a jizz mopper at a peep show
in a porn shop. She told them they were better off without the
jizz-mopping fuck face. Barry asked her what a jizz mopper was. She told
him to shut the fuck up.
At that very moment, Grant was a lieutenant in the United States Army,
working as a chemical engineer. Not that it matters, though.
Michael and Barry led exceedingly normal lives, except for one small
detail. Like the Corsican Brothers, they shared senses. But truly, it was
only one sense: The sense of smell. So when, say, Barry smelled some
rotten eggs, Michael, no matter where in the world he was, smelled rotten
eggs. This was a terrible tragedy for Barry, because Michael had the
smelliest bowel movements in the long, smelly history of bowel movements.
Kim never met another man. In fact, Kim never had sex ever again. Besides
the fact that she looked like Abe Lincoln, she was also very coarse and
rude.
Except to the mole.
The mole on the mantel she treated with love and respect bordering on
reverence. The mole could do no wrong (not that the mole did much of
anything besides float around in formaldehyde.) Once a week, Kim would
take the mole--which she had named Chauncy--out of his jar. She would
then clean The Mole Chauncy and the jar then replace its formaldehyde.
She would give The Mole Chauncy a kiss on what would be Abraham
Lincoln's lips, then replace it gently into its formaldehyde medium. The
mole would float for about 15 minutes then sink. Kim thought that meant
it was happy.
It wasn't.
At age eleven, Barry and Michael had an argument about what exactly is a
jizz mopper. To get back at his brother, Barry made a mixture of bleach
and ammonia and sniffed it till his brother fell into a coma. Michael was
in the hospital for two weeks but never woke up. Barry felt terrible
about the whole thing; not because he felt guilty about Michael's
condition, but because he had to smell the rotten-sick-antiseptic smell
of the hospital for two weeks until Michael finally died. After his
brother died, Barry never smelled another thing for the rest of his life.
One day, when Kim was giving The Mole Chauncy his weekly formaldehyde
change, something miraculous occurred. Kim had terribly chapped lips that
week, and had been liberally applying ChapStick Medicated Lip Balm. When
she kissed The Mole Chauncy before placing it into its formaldehyde, a
chemical reaction occurred. The Mole Chauncy's father, Grant, who was,
in reality, a chemical engineer for the United States Army, could have
told Kim never to let menthol--which makes up 0.6% of ChapStick Medicated
Lip Balm--come in contact with amputated blemishes. However, Kim didn't
know this. So she put The Mole Chauncy back into his formaldehyde. This
time, The Mole Chauncy didn't sink at all. Kim thought that meant it was
excited.
In it's own fashion, it was.
That night, Barry woke up screaming in pain. He rushed into his mother's
room. She was watching "Harry and the Hendersons" on cable with the
remote in her hand. He told her his back felt like it was on fire. Kim
told him to shut the fuck up. Then she asked him if he wanted to grow up
to be a jizz mopper, just like his father, because that's where he was
headed. Barry said he didn't know if he wanted to be a jizz mopper or
not cause he didn't know what they were. Kim told him to shut the fuck
up. Just then, Barry fell onto the floor and began to wail. He said his
back was melting off. But as quickly as it started it stopped, and Barry
got back on his feet, tear streaks drying on his face. And then Barry and
his mother heard a muffled voice that appeared to be coming from Barry's
back. When Kim lifted his shirt, the voice came out loud and clear:
"Four score and seven years ago, our forefathers...." When she saw the
lips moving on the scar on Barry's back--the scar that looked a bit like
Abraham Lincoln--she screamed. She beat Barry and the talking Abraham
Lincoln scar to death with the remote. Then she fainted.
At that exact moment, downstairs, on the mantle, in a jar, The Mole
Chauncy was undergoing some menthol-induced changes.
To this day, there has never been another case of twins that share a
sense of smell joined by a mole that looks like Abraham Lincoln. Never
ever.
When Kim regained consciousness she saw her dead son on the floor. Of
course, she wasn't really looking at him; she was staring at the profile
of Abraham Lincoln on her son's back that was no longer reciting the
Gettysburg Address. She sighed in relief. As she was walking down the
stairs to call the coroner for her dead son and Abraham Lincoln, she
heard a crash from the living room. When she entered she saw The Mole
Chauncy's broken jar on the ground. And there, in the middle of the
broken glass and spilled formaldehyde lay The Mole Chauncy, who had
miraculously split in two. His two halves were conjoined by a small pink
head that looked surprisingly like Woodrow Wilson. When the small pink
head started spouting off about the terrible nature of civil rights and
about American military and economic interests in South America and the
Caribbean, Kim stabbed herself in the throat with a shard from the broken
jar.
When the authorities found her, The Mole Chauncy/Woodrow Wilson had
placed pennies on her eyes and was snuggled up on her chin, complaining
about black people in government.
Epilogue:
The Moles Chauncy were separated from the small head of Woodrow Wilson.
They now live relatively normal lives in Greenwich Village where they
both work as jizz moppers at Bob's House of Flesh and Rubber. They keep
the small pink head of Woodrow Wilson in a jar on their mantel. They're
both smart enough to stay far away from ChapStick Medicated Lipbalm.
-------------------
: Speaker Selling :
: REVISITED! :
: by ch33z-1t :
-------------------
Well after my last Hamfest experience I didn't want to ever sell speakers
again. But after some coaxing from gir, I sucked up my pride and decided to
dawn my speaker selling hat. It is a hat that was made entirely from cloth
speaker covers. It was a success to say the least. I made so much money this
time I decided to make a checklist or a howto list for selling speakers at
Hamfest. Here it is:
1. Make a unique speaker selling hat.
2. Make the price very low.
3. Make signs advertising your merchandise.
4. Call out to people as they walk by.
5. Make a catchy slogan.
6. Show you are not above killing someone if they don't buy from you.
7. Always smile.
8. Be sure to always find what the customer wants.
9. Take out all competition.
10. If all else fails, use the speakers as weapons, to take out the Russian
Mafia and eat their sandwiches.
---------------
: Spider Wars :
: by steak :
---------------
I just wanted to point out that there is a little known method for having large
amounts of fun just sitting, right under your noses. Or more precisely, just
above your head. Try it; look up, unless your sitting outside on a wireless
network then I imagine that you see the roof. Good, now look into the corners
of the roof, what do you see? Cobwebs? Perhaps the occasional spider sitting in
it's thrown?
Well these very webs, the one's your probably procrastinating over instead of
actually getting up on your step ladder and getting rid of, can be wonderful
sources of fun, excitement, adventure and really wild things. These humble webs
can be the arenas for SPIDER WARS.
Forgive the crappy title but believe you me; the idea did not come from some
lame version of "Starship Troopers" some spotty nosed brat made up in a film
school, I promise, this is the real thing. Nature has never been more
terrifying, no wait scratch that, make that entertaining.
Make a resolution not to clean the cobwebs, you know every six months or so
some one stands up on a chair with a broom handle or vacuum cleaner and gets
rid of all the spider webs in the corners of the ceiling. Well don't let them,
nurture your kingdoms of arachnoid splendour, let them spread through out your
ceilings, even capture daddy long legs from out side and let them free on your
roofs to breed and develop.
I realise that at this point you probably are thinking this is all a bad idea,
especially if you have one of those much-publicised irrational phobias but just
bear with me, it will all make sense.
When your spider kingdoms have grown to a magnificent scale with many little
critters making there home there to sit around all day and watch the goings on
far below them, their left over meals scattered about the place (that's their
web by the way, not your home) make a map of your premises and map out where
each spiders "territory" begins and ends and which webs intersect with which
other webs.
Then pay close attention to where about said territory owners enjoy taking
their mid evening strolls and notice when they venture too close to where any
of the other spiders are sitting. If they do happen to get too close then the
threatened spider is quite likely to try to defend his/her territory, to the
death.
And this is where the fun comes in, spider fights are awesome, they jump on top
of each other lashing out with all eight (read: E-I-G-H-T) of their legs trying
to grab hold of anything they can get, tumbling up side down all over one
another and ruining webs as they do it, and all this happens at a blistering
180 degree angle, suspended upside down, it really is crazy.
One other really good thing about letting spiders come and start their colonies
on your roof is the fact that all kinds of other bugs that's aren't as cool,
like flies and my arch nemesis's mosquitoes get caught and devoured by our
eight legged friends it's like one big free, organic bug zapper. Rockin!
------------------
: The Making and :
: Unmaking of a :
: Text File :
: by oregano :
: and ior :
------------------
Screen capture form #acromp3 channel
<oregano2k> we were just now upgraded from Winter Strom Watch to Winter Storm
Warning
<iox> Winter Strom (Thurmond) Warning
<iox> :D
<iox> what a brilliant idea
<iox> we really should institute that warning
<iox> along with Winter Rummy Warnings
<oregano2k> write it as a txtfile, you can still make the angstmonster.org
deadline for tonight
<iox> ahahah yikes
<iox> haven't done that in a while
<iox> but oregano
<iox> it was your idea
<iox> i can't steal it from you
<oregano2k> it was my typo
<oregano2k> your idea
<oregano2k> Winter Storm Watch
<oregano2k> is what I meant to type
<iox> no you didn't
<iox> don't lie
<oregano2k> if you don't want to write it, just say so
<iox> i have no problems with writing it
<iox> but i am certain you would do a better job
<oregano2k> I have no idea where you are going with the idea
<iox> nor do i
<iox> since it was yours :p
<oregano2k> you can read the file I *did* write tomorrow morning
<iox> or you can write another and i can read two
<oregano2k> ior, if you write a quick outline of this, I will write the file
and even give you a co-writing credit
<iox> um
<iox> define "quick outline"
<oregano2k> just write a paragraph explaining your ideas for the text file, and
I'll add my stuff and flesh it out
<iox> the problem is that you are assuming i have an idea for a textfile
<oregano2k> you only have a title?
<iox> i have only your typo :
<iox> :p
<oregano2k> "winter strom warning" and "winter rummy warning"?
<oregano2k> I really do not see a file in that
<iox> nor do i
<iox> despite my inebriation
<oregano2k> okay, we shall let it drop
------------------
: Explinizzation :
: by gir :
------------------
A near death experience can change a person. I'm sure the full out dying thing
is pretty drastic too, but my story deals with a near death experience. One
that happened to me tonight while I was trying to enjoy some experimental music
with a couple of friends. That's right, I was attacked by a performance
artist.
When you spend the majority of your time rallying for freedom of speech and
propagating memes for the unwashed arteest masses, you begin to wonder if they
even care. Then when you least expect it, one comes right out and kicks you in
the face. WHAT, DO YOU LIKE EXPLAINING YOUR ART TO ME!?! YOU CERTAINLY TOOK
TIME AFTER EVERY SONG TO DO SO!
But I'm just kidding folks. The band was hella cool and exciting. Punk synth
rock (OH LOOK AT ME I JUST MADE UP A NEW GENRE LIKE I WAS SOME SORT OF RECORD
REVIEWER) is definitly down with me y0h. Energetic and full of golden shoes!
The near death experience however, left me frightened for my life.
When you come that close to being kicked in the face by someone with gold shoes
you begin to realize that every moment you spend not doing what you love is a
wasted moment. So I decided I'd stop writing this file and do what I love:
write.
As I take a break from this file, I am still writing it because writing is what
I dig and do for the passion and all that. Woah, we just broke new
experimental ground with this file. It's making me really happy.
And when all is said and done, I can't ask for more but a tfile that makes me
happy.
TAKING US HOME THIS TIME AROUND WORLD RENOWN DANNISH POET ST0VBOLD BUSTING
LOOSE WITH SOME ANGSTMONSTER ANIMAL BEATNIK POETRY TIME!
<st0vbold> Ill tempered badgers running up my legs,
<st0vbold> furry sensation grows in my brain.
<st0vbold> Ill tempered badgers biting my sex,
<st0vbold> furry sensation turns into pain.
<st0vbold> My knees weaken and I fall to the ground,
<st0vbold> ill tempered badgers scattered all around.
<st0vbold> ...
æææææææææææææææææææ
æ Æfterthought(s) æ
æææææææææææææææææaæ
Macaroni & Cheese has and always will taste better when milk and cheese is used
in the mix, rather than that powered stuff. Ain't nothing like a good batch of
mac and cheese to get me going.
Then again, if I ate too much mac and cheese I'd probably not wanna go
anywhere. Not going anywhere can tire a person out, so I'd probably end up
making some more mac and cheese and eating it. I'd gobble it up like a five
year old eating pizza at Chuck E. Cheese's.
I could stop right there but this issue is best ended with a ANGSTMONSTER fun
fact. Ready?
FOR HIS 18th BIRTHDAY CH33Z-1T HAD A PARTY AT CHUCK E. CHEESE'S. IT WAS THE
COOLEST BIRTHDAY EVER. SO COOL THAT IT COULD ONLY HAPPEN ONCE... JUST LIKE
THIS FILE WILL ONLY HAPPEN ONCE. THIS IS THE ONLY EDITION OF ANGSTMONSTER THAT
WILL BE NUMBERED WITH A TWO AND A FOUR (IN THAT ORDER) UNLESS OF COURSE WE
DECIDE TO RETAKE THE COURSE AGAIN AND HOPE WE COULD REPLACE A POTENTIAL FAILING
GRADE WITH ONE OF EXCELLENCE. THAT STILL WOULDN'T MAKE UP FOR THE FACT THAT
YOU MISSED CH33Z-1T'S BIRTHDAY AT CHUCK E. CHEESE'S, NOW WOULD IT?
_____
/ |\ |\ /\ |\ |
\ | | |/ |/ < > |/ | *
/ |_| | | \/ |\ | *
http://www.bubblemonkey.org/cheesencrackers/ !CHEESENCRACKERS!
http://www.neo-comintern.com *THE NEO-COMINTERN*
http://turd.angstmonster.org THE UNDEAD RISE, DAMMIT!
http://www.textscene.com CURRENT TEXTFILE SCENE
?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?
What you have just read was a step into the unknown spontaneous and poorly
edited thoughts for sharing collectively known as "Angstmonster." All thoughts
on the matter can be sent to <gir@angstmonster.org> or you can just visit the
site http://www.angstmonster.org and see what you think. Submissions of all
sorts are welcome! Everything from prose and poetry to rants and opinions,
creative text art, recipes for yummy food, reviews of stuff, etc.
Thanks and enjoy your day...
copy-spwep 2003 issue 24
angstmonster.org 04.07.03
Feel free to redistribute this document, although no fee can be charged and the
content must not be altered or modified in any way. Unauthorized use of any
part of this document is prohibited. All rights reserved. (and stuff)
