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Capital of Nasty Vol. 07 Issue 14
Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume VII, Issue 14, AD MMII
Monday, October 28, 2002
ISSN 1482-0471
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"So as we set out this year to defeat the divisive forces that would
take our freedom away, I want to say those words again for everyone
within the sound of my voice to hear and to heed, and especially for
you, Mr. Gore. From my cold, dead hands!"
-- Charlton Heston
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"When I stand on a mountain and say `do it', it gets done!"
-- Charles Manson
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1. Democracy is Bad for Business
2. Life in the Collector Lane: The Roommate
3. CoN @ the Movies
4. Lake Roommate
5. Cabbage Patch Clerk
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This week's Golden Testicle award:
http://www.irubmyduckie.com/
And it sure feels good.
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1. Democracy is Bad for Business
Business is Bad for Humans
By Tim King
Recently I've been struck by the confusion Americans have over
understanding the Indian subcontinent. Pakistan sided with the U.S.
in the "WAR ON TERRORISM" and suddenly this military dictatorship
that overthrew a democratically elected government to gain power are
the good guys. That means their enemies, the Indians, must be the
bad guys... right?
I can only imagine the confusion swirling around in American brains.
Indian already has a negative connotation to it thanks to Columbus'
five hundred year old mistake. It's easy for the Americans to see
Indians as the bad guys. Of course these Indians and those Indians
are completely different, but that kind of distinction is simply too
difficult to ask for.
So here we have the good guys, the Pakistanis (or 'Pakis' as George
Dubleya likes to call 'em), fighting the evil Indians. I've heard
more than one American say, "we've got to stand up for democracy
around the world," when referring to supporting Pakistan versus
India. I try to politely point out that India is actually the
largest (population wise) and one of the largest (geographically)
democratic societies in the world. They are a liberal country with
many religions and races living within their borders, you know, just
like the United States. Confusion still fills the air though as
Americans struggle to understand their own foreign policy.
Here's the brief synopsis in case you missed it. American foreign
policy is to support Pakistan (the aforementioned military
dictatorship) because they assisted the invasion of Afghanistan,
even though an overwhelming majority of very Muslim Pakistanis hate
the United States and a large number of the Taliban shooting at U.S.
forces were in fact Pakistani. India, which has had a democratically
elected government since Pakistan separated from it fifty years ago,
has never been in the good graces of American foreign policy. During
the cold war they were forced to buy military hardware from the
Soviet Union because the United States wouldn't deal with them. How
can America, the supposed champion of Democracy be so cruel to one
of its own? The answer is a simple one: it's all about business.
American foreign policy directs billions of development dollars into
China, a country that shoots its citizens and likes to use them as
slave labour for foreign interests. Why would the US do this?
Stability. Why wouldn't the U.S. instead put that development money
into the liberal, multi-ethnic, democratic India? Lack of stability.
You see, if you have a military based dictatorship you have a high
degree of certainty that things will remain the way they are. The
factories you are building will still be there next year and the
labour you purchased for ten cents an hour will still be working for
your interests years from now because if they don't, they'll get
shot.
If you put that money into India, where democracy has empowered the
people and made laws to protect them from abuse, you won't actually
be able to buy slave labour. If your business won't pay reasonable
wages in reasonable working conditions you'll find yourself with no
employees volunteering for your sweatshops. If you force people to
work for you (because their government won't do it for you) you'll
find yourself in jail. You see, slaves are much cheaper than paid
employees, they don't have silly things like benefits or rights and
you can use them much like you would use a machine - until it
breaks. The best part is that you don't have to claim any moral
responsibility for what happens because 'that's the way they do it
in China!'. Of course, if that's the way they do it, you're
supporting it by paying the people who do it that way, but I
digress. The United States has a long and ignoble history with
slavery. I suppose it's hard to break old habits.
Back in India, which has an enormous population (like China), but no
support from the U.S., business men scratch their heads and try to
understand why China is "an economic miracle" and they are a threat
to U.S. interests in the region. If you talk to an Indian
businessman you'll find a savvy individual who has a startlingly
clear grasp of what U.S. interests really mean. The U.S. acts on the
best interests of its own citizens. They often hide them in the flag
and paint them with words like freedom and democracy, but what they
really mean is control and the self-interests of a very small
percentage of the world's population (only about four and a half
percent of the world's population lives in the United States and one
percent of them own over ninety percent of the country's value).
Even though there is an extreme gap between the rich and the poor in
the United States, the government there strives to raise the
standard of living for all its citizens. Since the rich aren't
willing to surrender their power, security and comfort, the
government needs to find a way to gain value without it costing
anything to its richer citizens (many of whom, incidently, run that
government). Fortunately the ninety five and a half percent of the
world who don't happen to have U.S. citizenship provide a large
reservoir of value from which to siphon worth. U.S. foreign policy
unabashedly goes about ensuring that American companies have a
competitive advantage in order to provide and avenue for this wealth
to pour back into the country.
Frankly there isn't enough to go round for six billion free human
animals walking the Earth. In current human society we make
commodities of our fellow humans. We do this to make value for our
own benefit. All current economic systems are based on this fact.
Anyone living a first world lifestyle does so as a result of the
cheap products made in third world poverty. Anyone living in the
third world does so because they are the commodities of more
powerful individuals who use them as beasts of burden. We farm human
beings to feed and cloth other human beings.
"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created
equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain
unalienable rights that among these are life, liberty and the
pursuit of happiness..."
The American constitution is a powerful document that has caused all
manner of problems within the States. Their crime rate is a direct
result of human animals living without the limitations that exist
elsewhere. Bragging about China's low rate of crime is like saying
that domesticated cattle are less violent than wild ones, it's a
truth that doesn't point to the real reason why it is the way it is.
China farms its population. Its people, supposedly living in
communism, are actually cattle used to produce value for the elite
few.
If there were only one billion people in the world resources would
still be taxed to give us life, liberty and the pursuit of
happiness. Imagine that the five nearest people around you at this
moment disappeared and try and think how much emptier the world
would be. Human relationships would have much greater value, murder
and death would have a much greater stigma and business would mean
much more if only one out of every five were available to make and
trade value. Given sufficient resources societies of human beings
could flourish without using one another as fodder, but in the
adolescent crush of industrialization we find ourselves in now there
is little hope for an end to monopoly and control.
---
Tim is a value theorist with a poet's heart who is currently
agonizing over whether or not to go to teacher's college. Often
seen watching humanity make fools of themselves, Tim has been known
to talk back to authority, make too little money and feel like an
outsider in his own skin.
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2. Lake Roommate
By Rolo
Life, for all its complexities, throws a lot of things our way.
The best parts are the really juicy experiences that you never
expect. School, work, family, friends all weigh heavily on our
minds. To add to this, some of us have the additional experience of
having to deal with a roommate. Compared to some of the stuff you
face everyday, dealing with a roommate is a completely different and
horrid affair, especially if you are quite new to it all.
Take, for example, my case. I moved out more than a year and a half
ago, and now I am at this beautiful dilemma. I came home last night
at 10:00pm to find my roommate mopping the walls with a towel. I'm
not sure about you, but normally this isn't the sort of thing a
semi-sane person is used in seeing. Nor had my roommate suddenly
turned into a clean-freak. But I took it all in stride, feeling it
before I actually saw it.
You know, it's that shattering sensation when you finally arrive to
your assumed safe and happy home after a long hard day and you
discover, much to your horror, that you won't be relaxing anytime
soon. It's similar to knowing that you've walked into a minefield.
You don't know how or why, but you definitely know it's not directly
your fault. Something is amiss, but you just can't put your finger
on it.
Dick (I have changed his name to protect his identity) had left the
shower running since the morning. Well, I thought to myself, shit
happens.
Then it hit me.
He left the shower running for nearly twelve hours. Now, normally
I'm a very forgiving and patient person but this is the last straw.
Yes. The very last, last straw.
This "very last straw" comes after the other last straw that
resulted in the destruction of my prized wok and baking pans.
The first last straw came after his fat long-haired cat projectile
vomited chicken bones, and peed all over my carpet and stairs. I
won't even bother mentioning the five pound bag of used cat litter
that he somehow forgot to throw out, much less try to figure out how
he managed to accumulate five-pounds worth. Used kitty litter has
everything but a benevolent smell.
Last straw number one stems from the life lesson that you should
never (EVER!) give a pet as a gift or do certain things on a whim.
As a note to all, just because a person is capable of getting a
credit card, pay bills, drive a car, vote and legally drink does not
ensure that they can take care of a pet properly (or worse) a child
of their own. The reverse is also true: just because you already
have the above-mentioned things doesn't mean that you are a mature
and responsible person.
Yes, I could understand and forgive issues like leaving the
household heater on, which nearly set my futon on fire. Yet, this
was but a prelude to the many things that would come later. Allow
me to elaborate.
Last straw number two was leaving the stove and then later leaving
the oven on, "cooking" everything stored inside.
Last straw number three was taking my lunch to work. If there is
ever a mundane rule to know, it is one of those that everyone should
come to know and understand: sandwich making is truly an art and no
man or beast shall ever come between a person and their precious
lunch.
Last straw number four is complimentary to last straw number three.
When you have a roommate that cannot cook for himself and therefore
consumes large amounts of mayonnaise, bread, peanut butter and jam,
you are left with no lunch to make (which in my book is
sacrilegious). Nothing shall come between a Filipino and his love
for food.
Last straw number five was the roach I had found happily roaming my
living room. As I happily invoked my roach-smiting vengeance upon
it, I began to ponder that something was definitely wrong here.
You'd think it would be common sense for most people not to leave
food out. In this modern and wonderful world, one has to realize
that there are exceptions to every rule.
Now it has boiled down to the very, very last straw, my beautiful
sage coloured hallway is now wet as a swamp and running paint dye.
My bathroom is quite literally soggy. It's raining in my kitchen.
My stairs look like a stream.
I shake my head at the possibility that all the walls may have to be
replaced; not to mention the cost in damages for the repairs. Thank
god we do not pay a water bill. You may ask yourself, what is this
dumbass author thinking? Why is he so murderously generous to his
obviously incompetent roommate?
Perhaps it is because, you could say, that I'm generous to an
extreme fault. "Too generous" is too light of an expression to
measure the magnitude of my mistake. Perhaps it is my human belief
that eventually everyone will learn how to do things right. I
believe in the good in every person and that through classical
conditioning they will learn one way or the other. It would also
help to explain that this fellow, Dick, just happens to be my
friend. In addition, Dick is obviously a guy.
So much for "positive reinforcement", its time to bring in the
"negative". If there is ever more life lessons to be learned, it's
that anything can happen, and understanding and kindness should be
used sparingly like horseradish on a steak. Maturity and
responsibility is all in the eye of the beholder.
For all those out there who are living with a roommate, I commend
you and your bravery. May you all be more fortunate in dealing
with those Dicks out there.
As for Dick, sorry, but eight strikes and you're out...
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3. CoN @ the Movies
By Jeff Wright
A little late, and not the least bit great. That's the way I often
be. That that's the way that this piece be.
So I went to see some movies at the Toronto International Film
Festival again this year. Saw some movies. Leo asked me to write
something about my five favourites. Here they are in the order I
saw them. Enjoy, or don't enjoy. I could give a toss. Go see at
least one of the movies when it's released though.
BUBBA HO-TEP (dir. Don Coscarelli)
Bruce Campbell stars as a geriatric Elvis, whose nursing home is
under attack by a soul-sucking (via the ass) mummy. Along with his
friend John F. Kennedy (played brilliantly by Ossie Davis), he
investigates where the mummy came from, and tries to send it back
there.
This was the most fun of the midnight films this year. Lots of
laughs, really good performances from Campbell and Davis, and a
hilarious question and answer session with Campbell and Coscarelli
in which Campbell without hesitation made fun of any geek who came
armed with a stupid question.
Sadly, I don't see the film getting a better distribution than a
couple prints that tour around North America or even worse, video.
It deserves better than that, but isn't really that financially
viable a film. It'll be out at some point no matter how, and when
it is, check it out.
MY LITTLE EYE (dir. Marc Evans)
A group of twenty-somethings try to stay in a remotely located house
for six months in order to each win a prize of a million dollars
each. Their lives are monitored by gazillions of cameras, and sent
over the internet. If even one person leaves the house, then the
game is forfeited. The first few minutes of the film set it up, and
fast forward us through the majority of the contest, bringing us to
the last week of the competition.
Sounds boring, yes? Well it isn't. Ya seez, things start going
wonky. It seems as though the people who are running the contest
don't want the contestants to make it. They start feckin' with
their heads, and all that good stuff. This here's a horror flic,
and for me to spoil any of the spooks would be wrong of me. Once
the scares start coming, they're not quick to slow. The flic gets
down and nasty in its last reel, so if you like horror flics you'll
love this. If you don't, then stay away. This is probably the most
effective thriller/horror film since KAIRO (I know that was only
last year, but.).
It's out right now in the U.K. and I think is getting North American
release round the end of this year, or beginning of next.
DIRTY PRETTY THINGS (dir. Stephen Frears)
I thought this was a French lolita porn starring little Amelie
Poulin. It wasn't. Was I disappointed? A little. Did I pretend
it was anyway as I watched it? A little.
I kid, I kid. So funny, huh? Ugh.
A couple of illegal immigrants, who work in a hotel get mixed up in
black market organ sales.
It's more of a character film, so it's pointless giving much more of
a synopsis. It's a really good film though. Definitely check it
out when it's released. The performances are all top notch, and
Stephen Frears does an assured and solid job directing.
I'm getting sleepy. I woke up three and a half hours ago, haven't
eaten yet (it's 7:38 pm), have a sore stomach, and am getting
sleepy. But fear not! I won't eat or sleep until I've finished
writing this!!!!!! Dedicate yourselves to the Capital of Nasty!!!
Herr Leandro demands it.
A SNAKE OF JUNE (dir. Shinya Tsukamoto)
Best film of the festival! Best film of the year (so far)!
Rinko, a help phone operator, is blackmailed by one of her "clients"
to go out in the world and be as sexual as she wants to be. Stifled
by her older husband, her mini-skirt wearing is restricted to her
bathroom with the door locked. Her masturbation, to when he's not
home. The blackmailer has pictures, and threatens to give them to
Rinko's husband if she doesn't do as he says.
That's the setup. It goes deeper than that, but I don't really want
to ruin past that point. Tsukamoto is one of Japan's best
filmmakers, and also one of its strangest. I can't say enough about
this film and its greatness, so I'll say very little (Yes, I'm
really getting hungry).
KEN PARK (dirs. Larry Clark & Edward Lachman)
Sorta like KIDS, but a whole lot better, a more explicit, more
episodic than plot driven, and dealing with youth sexuality.
This film ain't getting a theatrical release in its current form.
There's a lot of boundary pushing sex in it, which will keep it from
even getting an NC-17 rating. It's sad too, because it's a really
good film. The main cast (well the youngsters at least) are a bunch
of unknowns, and all give really strong performances. Tiffany
Limos, who plays Peaches (and who I can't believe is Larry Clark's
girlfriend), gives the best performance of the bunch. She's going
to explode once people in Hollywood see the film.
A lot of the audience seemed to at least enjoy the film's sex
scenes, but judging from the question and answer period, it seemed
like most liked or hated it as cinematic wank (not 'wank' in the
literal sense, mind you).
Should I say more? Yes. Am I going to? No.
There's a cool little write-up on KEN PARK in this month's Vice
magazine. It's a hell of a lot more articulate than my hungry ass
is capable of being right now (or at anytime, truthfully). Check it
out at: http://viceland.com/issues/v9n8/htdocs/bosom.php
I'm going to get something to eat now. I'm sorry, though I'm sure
many are thankful I'm done. I know my stomach is.
---
Jeff is listening to a Rolling Stones bootleg, but for the life of
him, can't figure out why.
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4. Support Safe Mosh Pits
Punch a Crowd Surfer
By John Iadipaolo
Just recently, I attended an outdoor music/extreme sports festival
at the Exhibition Place here in Toronto (`SnowJam', if anyone
cares). In addition to the BMX, skateboard and snowboarding demos,
there were a variety of fairly popular bands, ranging from hip hop
and punk to rock.
After spending the summer in Whistler, BC, I really enjoyed watching
the athletes perform, and the majority of the reasonably
entertaining musical acts were made even more palatable by consuming
unreasonably priced beer. My only mistake of the weekend came
during the set of the headlining band "Filter", when I decided to go
up front into the mosh pit.
Before I go on, let's back track a little. There was time, a few
years ago, when I really enjoyed going to rock concerts. It's
important that I clarify and explain that when I use the term `rock
concert' in this article, I'm not talking about those `sit-in-your-
seat, applaud-when-appropriate' deals. I'm talking about a loud
band in a small, standing-room-only venue filled with crazy, moshing
teenagers. This is the kind of concert where, if you aren't looking
to be physically assaulted, you either stand waaaay at the back, or
wait outside.
Anyways, my friends and I would get liquored up and make our way
downtown, usually to some hole like The Warehouse (recently renamed
the tragically uncool "Kool Haus"). Once inside, we would spend
approximately 90 minutes bashing our bodies against those of our
peers to the musical stylings of such acts as "Orgy" and "Slipknot".
Afterwards we'd return home sweaty, dehydrated and considerably
harder of hearing. Hey, when you're 16 or 17, it's great fun.
However, my recent experience at `SnowJam' reminded me of exactly
why I no longer bother.
If you've ever seen a rock video, you've probably got some sort of
idea about what a mosh pit looks like. As I mentioned above, it's
basically a large number of people pressed into a small space, where
everyone is trying to move to the exact same spot at once (namely,
right in front of the band). It's hot and sweaty, and--needless to
say--there's a lot of physical contact. I know I'm not making a
very attractive case for moshing. Nonetheless, there is something
to be said for experiencing a full-blown "rock out" with an
innumerable bunch of your peers, where everyone participates in a
sort of organized, self-contained riot. While moshing appears to be
violent, there's an amazing sense of camaraderie in most pits where
people really take care of each other by helping up those who fall
and making room when someone wants to move out of the crowd.
The feeling of camaraderie becomes severely diminished, at least in
my mind, when people start crowd surfing. Crowd surfing basically
involves getting boosted on top of the crowd and lying spread eagle,
while the people underneath propel you from one place to another.
Your `ride' usually ends when you either, a) get passed over the
security gate in front of the stage, or b) fall to the ground.
Personally, I hate crowd surfing. I'll admit that I tried it a few
times when I was younger (and liked it), but it didn't take me long
to realize how dangerous and inconsiderate it is to everyone else
trying to enjoy the concert. Keeping your balance and ensuring both
feet stay on the ground is difficult enough in a mosh pit without
having to worry about contact from above. Surfers aren't `passed'
across the pit in an organized fashion so much as thrown from one
place to another, flailing limbs and all. If you happen to be the
poor sucker they land on, well, better hope you can get your arms up
in time to brace for the impact.
Of course, most people possess a fairly low tolerance for having
heavy objects fall on them. This forces many moshers to either
constantly look over their shoulder for the next torso, foot or head
that's about to be unceremoniously dropped on top of them, or
(better still) turn their back on the band they paid to see in an
attempt to avoid getting injured. And believe me, surfing does
cause injuries. I've got the gory stories to prove it. Regardless,
what kills me is the fact that surfers can't be oblivious to the
fact that it hurts when someone lands on you (as I'm sure they've
all gotten a few shoes in their faces as well), yet they selfishly
and inconsiderately continue to submit the rest of the crowd to
their antics.
Back to SnowJam: About ten minutes and five surfer collisions into
Filter's set, I remembered something I'd come to believe when I was
younger. It isn't fair that surfers continually annoy and/or
endanger the very people they entrust their safety to (namely,
everyone else in the crowd). I keep them in the air, I get hit in
the head with their feet, and they have all the fun. Something.
Isn't. Right. Reflecting to myself as I rubbed the bruise forming
on my head, I decided it was time to give a little bit back.
For the remainder of the show, every surfer that passed over me
received, whenever possible, a personalized `thank-you' for helping
to ruin my concert-going experience. I didn't do anything overtly
malicious, and I left the girls alone entirely, but every able-
bodied young dumbass I saw got a punch (don't worry, it's hard to
`punch' someone hard when you're in a mosh pit), pressure-point, or-
-when it was my only option--a pinch. Hey, as long as it gets the
message across.
As I said above, I wasn't trying to hurt those surfers, just make
them uncomfortable. Whatever discomfort I caused them couldn't have
equalled the aches and pains they gave me, but that wasn't the
point. From what I've seen and the majority of people I've talked
to, I'm not the only person who's fed up with crowd surfing. The
thing is, surfers can't surf if the crowd refuses to keep them up.
Contrary to the title of the article, I'm not saying that people
should necessarily start punching and pinching every surfer that
comes their way. When someone motions for you to help them get on
top of the crowd, don't do it. When you see a surfer coming your
way, `help' them into a controlled fall to the ground instead of
passing them along. Surfers make up a small percentage of the
entire crowd; it's up to you to decide if you want them on the
ground or in the air (and your face).
I think that I, on the other hand, will be staying out of the pit
entirely.
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5. Cabbage Patch Clerk
By REVSCRJ
This was the first position I officially held in the lettuce
industry of the Salinas and Imperial Valleys, and industry that was
and still is pretty foul.
Before lettuce reaches your table it has to go through a whole lot
of stages. The ones I was concerned with, working at a lettuce
cooler as the receiving clerk, was getting it delivered in large
flatbeds freshly cut off the field, documenting its arrival and
delegating it out to be cooled to just above freezing in the huge
vacuum tube coolers.
Someone in the process gets paid for the weight of the lettuce so
another aspect of my job was to weigh the trucks out on the scales
we had deep in the back lot area of the cooler, this eternally dusty
area was where I spent most of my time.
My snot turned hard and dark brown. Most of the guys that would
drive in the lettuce from the fields were Mexican and spoke little
English so communication was sometimes a bit difficult.
I remember one of the loaders making fun of a guy because he
couldn't communicate. I thought to myself "Fuck man, all you can
say in Spanish is 'puto', at least this guy is learning!"
I only thought this without actually saying it because, well, one
simply does not say those sort of things to guys who can not only
bend nails with their thumb, but found it fun. Here, this might put
it in perspective: it used to be that the boxes of lettuce would be
hand-loaded into railcars or trailers before the T-1 forklifts and
tilt-machines automated a lot of the process.
Each of those boxes would weight from 50-65 pounds, so in order to
pick them up all day long (and at a fast pace), stack them up to
eight boxes high, required as close to an "ogre" as Human genetics
would allow.
If these guys were smart they would've been soldiers or pro-
wrestlers but they instead hefted these boxes all day long from the
cold room to the loading dock. Even with their ox-like physiques
the nature of the work was so hard that it commanded a toll of
constant soreness and exhaustion. Management didn't care, they were
well paid, and there was always someone who'd take up your shift if
you wanted to drop it.
This resulted in a non-stop stream of speed, painkillers, and
barbiturates that floated in a virtual ocean of beer for these guys.
It kept them capable of going on. Never fuck with a drunken, speed
spun ogre. And that was the loading crew, the bulk of the folk that
worked there.
Next you got the truck drivers. Loath as I am to make sweeping
generalizations I do it all the time; the drivers came basically in
two catagories:
1) Redneck sociopath that is just simply for the best that they have
as little social contact as possible.
And 2) people for whom being able to drive is their only marketable
skill.
Truck drivers are most often pissed off. They get paid per job so
if you see a parked semi or a driver walking around you can know
that every second that they remain that way is another second till
their next job, and thus paycheque. It is due to this that truckers
have such an affinity for amphetamines. So add amphetamine delusion
to basic rage and the whole mess of them become this volatile
inertial potential: they are either doing NOTHING (all jacked up and
pissed off) or driving like a bat out of hell (all jacked up and
pissed off).
The magic between those two groups of folk was oh-so-lovely--drugs
sold, whores bought, bones broken, guns or knives pulled on each
other. Pure magic.
I got this job because my father was a dispatcher here--nepotism
really does run the world--and somehow I think I was subverting the
Union by working there because I was supposed to keep my mouth shut
as to the capacity in which I was hired.
I was never really clear on this, but if ever I had a problem I
couldn't just get on the CB and ask how to do something. I had to
use one of my five nicknames (Spider, Slim, No-Bluff, Kilroy, or
Half-Dome) in conjunction with some oblique code like:
"'Tention David T: this is Spider scuttlin' in to say there a knot
in the web, over."
I hope I wasn't subverting the union, I mean I am pro-union but it
was nepotism: I was working in my Dad's business. So if I was, its
a shame, but one that I don't regret. I didn't work there long in
any event. The pay was good and the routine was easy. I should have
stayed there, in that back lot.
Sure, the dust was slowly filling my lungs and the carbon monoxide
was likely shaving percentage points off of my potential but it was
easy and non-demanding.
Instead I was promoted to dispatcher.
---
REVSCRJ is a writer/musician living in Monterey, California.
Constantly on the verge of homelessness, he hopes that you enjoy his
work or else his life has been in vain. Contact REVSCRJ at
revscrj@cloudfactory.org to lodge complaints, notify of lawsuits, or
receive spiritual advice.
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Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine "media you can abuse"
In memory of Father Ross "Padre" Legere
Published every second Monday (or when we get around it)
Disclaimer: unintentionally offensive
Comments, queries and submissions are welcome
http://www.capnasty.org ISSN 1482-0471
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Brought to you by C.C.C.P. (Collective Communist Computing Proletariat)
Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro Colin Barrett
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ZimID 708EC8D1 1994/09/14 EC B0 97 59 1D FE 7C 32 7E 04 2C 66 47 41 FB 7D
