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Doomed to Obscurity Issue 01
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ doomed to obscurity + issue one + august 6th, 1994 +
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+ "god made us funky" - m&c +
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ dto spotlight on - gumby
gumby; resident poet - angst! pain! angst!
+-- dto --+
+ undecided
+ submitted by - gumby
undecided
why must it be that i act in two personalities?
one, a well-lived, wise person.
or another, a child with no common sense.
it never makes a decision.
i don't think it can.
i don't think it will.
why must i be one with undecided people living
inside me?
why does it come at the wrong time?
the wrong personality that is.
i wish once that it will make up its mind.
the question is:
which one is my true, rightful person?
i guess i will know when it tells me.
no one cares to find out, except me.
- sam griga 7-18-95
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ dto spotlight on - black francis
black francis; head editor, writer, president-type chap - black francis sure
does like ice cream!
+-- dto --+
+ dto, downhome baked goodness, and you!
+ written by - black francis
why anyone would let me, of all people, introduce a new 'zine is
beyond me, but, here i am. ahh.
greetings & salutations, kids. it's nice to see you all again.
i sure don't miss writing as much as i thought i did, you know.
mogel gave me this list of things to cover here, so, let me get right
to it ;
a) who are we?
we're the doomed to obscurity posse, silly. i would hope you know
that already.
you people never cease to amaze me.
in case you truely are that clueless, i guess it wouldn't hurt to go
over it _one_ more time. first, let's make with the d2o staff.
i guess i'm a good place to start. i'm black francis. i'm a writer.
i've written for a few different 'zines, drawn for a few art groups
(something i'm really not that proud of), and somewhere along the line, i
managed to run a semi-popular 'zine dubbed "pEz monthly". maybe you've
heard of it.
"no."
next up is good ol' mogel. in case you've been locked in a closet
for the past few months, you've probably heard his name muttered before.
mogel is also a writer and has written for such prestegious t-file funsters
such as cdc & vas. mogel was also the president of a pretty large and
fairly successful t-file group named hoe. hoe managed to to spawn ninety
issues of pure unadulterated zaniness before it's unexpected demise early
last month. he's a wacky guy, that mogel.
"whatever."
swoon. it's eerie. yeah, so, eerie is a doodleboy. big whoop. the
boy can write. i bet you didn't know that, eh? eh? or maybe you did.
while not jumping in and out of big-time ansi groups such as acid or
spastic, eerie has managed to run _two_ extremely successful e-mags. number
uno; ace - the music e-mag and number dos; undergrown - the ansi scene
related e-mag with some wit and intelligence thrown into the mix which had
quickly become a cult classic before it's premature death after only ten
issues. eerie also has a really funny french accent. tee hee!
"make me an ansi."
last but certainly not least is our little fuzzy pal, murmur. um.
well, umm, he was the vice president of my 'zine, and, umm, he wrote for
bah a few times. i guess that's it.
he likes donuts.
"what a lame ass."
b) why are we here?
who the hell knows?
screw you.
c) what is dto all about?
well, in a nutshell, doomed to obscurity is a 'zine of the poeople.
yeah. or something like that. whatever.
doomed to obscurity is a 'zine that will _basically_ publish anything
humorous, educational, though-provoking, informative, or anything even
slightly entertaining. as long as it's not poetry, it's all good.
doomed to obscurity is an independant publication that _relys_ on
submissions from people like _you_. if there's something you want to say
and get off your chest or whatever - you've certainly come to the right
place. wether it be a short story you have written or an all out rant,
we're interested in publishing it. if you're interested in submitting or
writing on a regular basis - check out the dto info file for more
extra-tasty-crispy-valueable information file for details.
we also hope to pick up a few chicks along the way.
d) how did this whole elite deal come about?
well, it's a real long story, but i'll try to make it a big ass
run-on sentence just because i think i love you.
mogel ran hoe i ran pez james hetfield runs std and he formerly ran
milk and milk & tea then i killed pez and mogel killed hoe and james
hetfield killed std and mogel asked james hetfield and i if we wanted to
start a 'zine together and we all agreed and we couldn't decide on a name so
jamesy quit and started his own 'zine nihilism monthly and then eerie wanted
to join and so we hooked up with him and then we made murmur a president as
well so we could basically round it off to four guys and here we are now.
e) what are your goals for this 'zine?
two words - geraldo!
oh shit. that's only one word.
+-- dto --+
well, woo hoo. that was a barrel of monkeys. i guess we're all
finished, then. got any more questions? tough shit. i really don't care.
anywho, it's been a blast. you kids enjoy yourselves.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
____
___| |_ _
___| | _______
| | | |
+---------------------------- | | | | | | ----------------------------+
| | | | | |
doomed to obscurity one | | | | | | and all contents therein ..
| | | | | |
+---------------------------- | | | | | | ----------------------------+
|_____| |_____|
|___ _
1 - undecided
by - gumby
2 - dto, downhome baked goodness, and you!
by - black francis
3 - doomed to obscurity one and all contents therein ..
by - black francis
4 - a 'zine carol
by - james hetfield
5 - guns for goths
by - mogel
6 - how to become a conservative nut for love and money!
by - shadow tao
7 - i wanna be a king, baby!
by - mogel
8 - phearnet vs. killer wombat
by - mogel
9 - the question of representive democracy
by - murmur
10 - piss them off
by - eerie
11 - the working class
by - eightball
12 - where have all my children gone? a reflection in six movements.
by - murmur
13 - ozzy, you're the man.
by - fake scorpion
14 - lavender - condiments; chapter 417.
by - murmur
15 - blind love.
by - gumby
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ dto spotlight on - james hetfield
james hetfield; writer - james hetfield is so elite, he's sneaky pete. his
garfield figure and his yellow eyes keep the women far, far away.
very few can say they have the charisma that james hetfield has,
mainly because those that do tend to be small insects. in the near
future, james hetfield will be rapidly changing the meet the growing
demands of a changing global environment. meanwhile, he will be
watching reruns of rerun on "what's happenin' now?" and eating lots
of skittles. "skittles has fur!" - official fod [tm] rumor
+-- dto --+
+ a zine carol
+ submitted by - james hetfield
i've always hated this time of year. all the people going off to
college. everyone all sad and stuff about leaving their friends behind.
bah. humbug. i don't have any friends to leave behind.
this is also the time of year that the most 'zines die and the
most writers stop writing. well, good for them. leaves less competition.
i'm tired of hearing people whine and moan about the scene. maybe they'll
all leave.
unfortunately, soon will be the time that the most new kids get
into the scene. they never have any writing talent. humbug. i hate them
all.
+-- dto --+
i woke up that night to a chill running down my spine. i looked
up, and above me was some type of apparition! i jumped out of bed, trying
to get away from it, but it followed me where ever i went.
"hetfield... james hetfield..." it moaned in its breathy voice.
"what? what do you want with me??" i yelled in fear. it held
it's ground.
"i am the ghost of guido sanchez.." it shrieked.
"guido? is that you?! i thought you were... well, you are..."
"i am trapped on this planet to walk the streets every night
because of my crimes to the scene..."
"your crimes to the scene? but guido, you were one of the best
writers..."
"save yourself, while you can! tonight you will be visited by
three ghosts. each will show you a different time. heed their words,
hetfield, for they are your only salvation... otherwise you will end up
like me... mee... meee..." he howled as he exited the room.
+-- dto --+
i must have fallen asleep for a while, because when i woke up
my alarm clock was blaring. i didn't remember setting it. the time was
12am. midnight.
i felt a light breeze pass me. i looked up, and there was a man
dressed in white robes. he had long, black hair, with a streak of purple
in it.
"epic? is that you?" i asked him.
"it is i, the ghost of 'zines past. i used to be one of your
favorite writers, james hetfield..."
"you certainly were! those articles about sea monkies were
great!" i said as i smiled.
"alas, james hetfield... i am here to show you the days of 'zines
past... take my hand...."
+-- dto --+
"what's this? blah headquarters???"
"yes, james hetfield, blah itself.."
"wow! i've never seen this before!!!"
guido sanchez was sitting at his computer, typing away. he was
drawing out an ascii portrait of bob dobbs, with the title on it "why
we all exist". chessman was at another computer writing "a clockwork
banana".
"this was your beginnings, james hetfield.. trying desperately
to get into blah, and failing miserably..."
"don't i know it. i was such a bad writer then... my stories were
silly, but really bad..."
"they might have been bad, james hetfield, but you had fun writing
them, did you not?"
"well, yes...but..."
"and do you have fun writing anymore, james hetfield?"
"well..."
"take my hand, james hetfield."
+-- dto --+
"i totally forgot about this! this is a chi-chis in chicago!
look, there i am, sitting next to guido and connie and the melter, a guy
that wrote for za/\/!"
"yes, james hetfield, those were good times, were they not?"
"you bet... and there connie is, getting yelled at by mall
rent-a-cops!"
"a topic for a later blah file, wasn't it?"
"yeah, it was... hey! there's nyarlathotep!"
"one of the writers that wrote the most for your zines, am
i correct, james hetfield?"
"yeah...wow. the memories."
"take my hand, james hetfield."
+-- dto --+
"hooey! look! there's me at my computer, typing out blah-die.txt!"
"yes, the file that was never issued, but somehow got to every
blah distro sight, right james hetfield?"
"yeah.. it was an exact copy of the death of superman, word for
word... that was great..."
"take my hand, james hetfield..."
+-- dto --+
"james hetfield, this will be your last trip in 'zines past.
do you recognize this?"
"yeah! this is my house! i'm looking through all the milk
files on my computer... some were horrible, but some were great... god,
those days were so wonderful... everything was happy and bright... epic,
don't make me go back, i just want to stay here forever..."
"we must go back, james hetfield. take my hand..."
+-- dto --+
i found myself in my bed. i tried to doze off for a while, but
soon i heard a voice above me.
"james hetfield... james hetfield..."
"what? huh? who are you?"
"i am gumby, the ghost of 'zines present. you must come with
me and envision my visions."
"uhm.. ok."
"take my hand, james hetfield."
+-- dto --+
"oh. hee. yuck. this is where i wrote all my std files. they
were so pointless. some of them were good writing, but the idea of just
starting the group out of thin air was really stupid of me. hardly anyone
wrote for it."
"yes, james hetfield, that is because the sun is like the moon."
"what?"
"nevermind. take my hand, james hetfield."
+-- dto --+
"hahaha! there's mogel finishing up hoe4_95! that was one of the
greatest packs a 'zine could ever have!"
"yes, james hetfield, and what happened next?"
"oh. well mogel got sick of hoe and wanted me to run it, then
he killed it soon afterwards."
"yes. you are correct james hetfield. take my hand."
+-- dto --+
"that's black francis... writing his gumpy epilogue to pez_025...
that was such a great 'zine too... all the best 'zines are just dying out...
i'm out of the scene, black francis is out of the scene, mogel seems to be
out of the scene...
"light is the opposite of darkness, james hetfield."
"yes... so?"
"take my hand, james hetfield."
+-- dto --+
"oh heh. these were the hoe vs. gasp fights on the network. they
were pretty funny, but really stupid too."
"yes they were, james hetfield. where is gasp now?"
"it's dead..."
"and where is hoe now, james hetfield?"
"it's dead... why are you making me do this? bring me back, i
want no more part of this.. i can't take it any longer!"
"you have to see it all. take my hand, james hetfield."
+-- dto --+
"oh no. bring me back now, gumby. bring me back. i can't take
any more of this."
"no. what do you see, james hetfield?"
"it's guido... he's fucking his girlfriend... and hacking a unix
board at the same time... whatever happened to his creativity? why did he
decide to leave the scene? look what's happened to him now... he just hax
and fux... gumby, let me leave already, i've seen enough..."
"very well. take my hand, james hetfield."
+-- dto --+
my alarm clock woke me up again. the time was 2am.
"wake up, james hetfield, we've got work to do."
"who... what? pip? is that you?"
"yes it is, james hetfield. i am the ghost of 'zines future. i was
such a bad writer in my day, that they made me see the future of writing to
see what i should have been doing. this is my punishment. now it's time to
see yours. take my hand, james hetfield."
+-- dto --+
"aghghghg! what's that?"
"that's mogel, james hetfield."
"but...but... he's so fat!"
"when he decided to let hoe die, his life went to pot. he now sits
around and eats bon-bons and doritos all day and watches soap operas."
"oh god.. mogel? what have you done to yourself?!?!"
"take my hand, james hetfield."
+-- dto --+
"oh... no... who is that?"
"that's black francis."
"no... no.. whats...whats..."
"a homeless woman lived by him, that used to take baths in the river
by his house. after black francis gave up on pez, he had way too much free
time. he's spend his days by that river, throwing rocks at her all day
long. so one day she bought a gun and shot him in the head six times, and
threw him in the river with her. he was never found. this is his rotting
body after 6 months."
"take me away, pip, take me away please... i cannot see any more..."
"we have one vision left to see, james hetfield."
"i cant' handle it! please don't make me!"
"you have to see it, james hetfield, take my hand."
"no! i won't do it! ... these are pictures of the future, right? i
can change these visions, right? this won't necessarily be my fate, will it
pip?"
"take my hand, james hetfield."
+-- dto --+
"noooooo. nooooooo!!!! ahhhhhhhh!"
"yes, james hetfield. it's you. it's you working in an executive
office somewhere in chicago. you make 7.50 an hour and work 60 hours a
week to support your wife and two children. you have no creativity left
inside of you. your a pawn of the establishment, james hetfield."
"god... pip.. i can change, right? this is only the future that
is set right now, correct? i can change my outcome, can't i???"
"you have seen enough, james hetfield. take my hand."
"i can change, pip, i can change!!!!!"
"take my hand, james hetfield."
+-- dto --+
my alarm clock went off. it was 6am. i went directly to my computer
and wrote 5 straight wacky files. they weren't that good, but they kept me
happy. i can change. i will change.
i called up m0g and frannie that day, and i pain-stakingly somehow
convinced them to form a new group. and this group will keep us from what
we are destined to have our fate be. we will change the future.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ guns for goths
+ submitted by - mogel
from: vampyr@bu.edu (eamon daly)
newsgroups: alt.drugs,alt.stupidity,talk.bizarre,alt.pud, alt.party,
alt.fan.biff,alt.drunken.bastards
subject: re: anyone else gothic out there?
date: 31 jul 1995 18:56:03 gmt
organization: boston university
lines: 38
1 glock 19
1 finger
1 sense of direction
1 bullet
inhale here
pull this |
back -----> 8888o.o.o.o.ooooooo00||00oooooooooooooooooooo88o |
88:8:8:8:8:888888800||0088888888888888888888888: <--'
88:8:8:8:8:888888888888888888888888888888888888:
y88:8:8:8:8:8888888888888888888ooooooooooooooop"
`"8oooooooooooooooooooo"""""""""""""""
bullets .88888888888.`::: 8
go in here 88888888888yo `` * 8 *pull this thingy here.
| .88888888888 `oooooooood8o ( <- this way <- )
`----> 88888888888'
.88888888888
88888888888'
.88888888888
98888888888'
``""yy888p <-- release clip here
(point bullet -> this way -> )
- release the long rectangular thing inside the handle (clip).
- put one (1) bullet in clip.
- stick the clip back into the handle.
- pull back on the handle until it clicks, then let go.
- put knobby thing into your mouth.
- breathe in.
- pull the pointy thing that sticks down (see *).
enjoy!
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ dto spotlight on - shadow tao
shadow tao; writer - even while living in the presence of his loving
conservative parents, tao has become a true factor in the politics of
the world. while many people look to him as one of the true
spiritual guides of the planet, he actually has nothing more than a
high school diploma. this student/guru spends his time typing out
odd stories and weird tales to amuse himself and others. shadow tao
is quickly becoming a force to be reckoned with, as illinois has
quickly fallen under his message "the internet does _not_ have *chat
rooms*, that is america online, you morons..." he is attending the
prestigious illinois wesleyan university (also attended by the
more-than-notable murmur) and is a computer science major. he is
hoping to take a minor role within the up-and-coming 'mogel-world.'
+-- dto --+
+ how to become a conservative nut for love and money!@!@
+ propaganda by - shadow tao
has your social life lost it's greater meaning? do you sit at home
and wonder what you *could* be doing to help america? join the conservative
religious right! we're the majority, no matter how many people object!
when you join us:
1. you'll be assimilated into the group! right in the comfort and
convenience of your own home!
2. you won't have to think anymore! just repeat what everyone else says!
3. you'll have a reason to distrust officials and lie on your taxes, 'cause
you'll be persecuted by the government! (even though we control the
senate and house, the government is operated by the bureaucratic satanist
liberals, don't you know?)
4. you'll get a nifty hat!
5. you can make neat-o conspiracies! (more to come)
6. your party is _the_ party of _god_! yes, the holy father is a republican!
(says so in the bible)
7. shitloads of monkeys! rhesus! baboon! gibbon! we got 'em all!
8. the opportunity to oppress peoples here and abroad; all in the name of
'the american way.'
9. we've got all the cash!
10. monkeys! don't forget the monkeys! big nosed, hairy boobed,
pink-intestine-covered-buttocks monkeys!
join now and you'll be able to afford the new tax jockeying. you
belong to us! remember: even if you don't join, in a few years, we'll own
your property anyway. and then, we'll rent it to you at three times the
going rate!
"how?" you ask? it's a four step process!
1. we get a cause. we find something that really challenges the fundamental
principals of the constitution. like "free thought" and "people who
disagree." or "having to treat aliens like human beings" and "not being
able to call foreigners spickywopkrautchinkn"
2. we beat the hell out of it. fax your congressman 10 to 10,000 times a
day! make sure to do it at night so that he can't open his door in the
morning. (btw: if you _do_ elect a woman, make sure it's a good lookin'
one, 'cuz we don't want ugly fat chicks in congress!)
3. we find a conspiracy. the world is full of these beauties. just pick
one and run with it. be sure to be current, though. example: when the
whole davidian deal started, an appropriate party comment would be:
a. i think we should try to figure out what they actually believe.
b. bomb the fuckers. commies from hell. guy thinks he's jesus, fer
crissakes!
c. maybe having tanks there is making this worse.
d. connie chung! aww yeah, i'll hoist her anchor, baby!
<wink, wink, nudge, nudge>
answer: b. well, d is good. yeah, d!@
one year after the davidian assault, the party comment would be:
a. our alien overlords came down to dictate to our puppet government
what to do.
b. it was all a big mistake.
c. my ferrari is in the shop. <sigh>
d. vince foster actually led the raid, and hillary shot him in cold
blood to prevent his damning testimony.
answer: c. (but there were a _lot_ that answered d and a!)
4. we sell it, sell it, sell it! pieces of david koresh's skull! pictures
of the u.n. invasion force! do-it-yourself militia kit! guns! bombs!
hatred! pro-life! christianity! we have it all! (remember, we're not
hypocrites, we're an oppressed group that is crucified by the liberal
media!)
join us for the money; we have all the cash.
join us for the love; we have all the monkeys.
join now!
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ dto spotlight on - mogel
mogel; co-editor, president type - born under poor conditions, the
mysterious figure known as "mogel" has set forth upon an intricate
and "fool-proof" plan to climb the social and economic ladders of
america, only to eventually dominate the world. according to him,
this 'mogel-world' will "become a reality in our lifetimes. well,
that is if the government doesn't stop me." currently, mogel writes
contrived fiction and message-encoded essays on everything known to
man. yes, even turnips. mogel's last e'zine project was the
illustrious 'zine hoe, an anthology of the life and times of each and
every member of congress. mogel refuses to comment on _any_ of the
rumors about his past affiliations with any sort of hacker community
and any of his run-ins with the law. all we know for certain about
this mogel is that he is a philadelphia native attending some college
in new york as a film major, and that he is very, very dangerous.
+-- dto --+
+ i wanna be a king, baby!
+ submitted by - mogel
plop!
i rolled off my bed and onto the floor. thump went my body. my eyes
blinked open.
"three ayyy emmm" blinks the bright red numbers on my annoying clock.
it was a pretty crappy clock. then again, i was never one to care much
about clocks. after all, it did what i needed; it told the time in bright
digital numbers, and it had that always-important eleven-minute snooze
button that was my friend and deadliest enemy at the same time. i had
dueled with that clock many a morning! realizing that i had actually
dedicated this much thought to a damn clock would normally bother me, but
that's okay right now 'cause i'm here now at three in the morning lying on
my floor and i don't have anything better to do but have my goofy mind
wander.
yep, i do have a goofy mind. my emotions do that big stupid yo-yo
bouncy-bounce action every few hours and i can hate myself and love myself
in the same sitting. i think too much. i over kill. i obsess. i don't do
my laundry. i guess it's just my personality. i like to think about things
that aren't actually important to my every-day life. i'm a self-destruction
souflee, babycakes! my life is falling to pieces, but "hey! i found the
coolest pocket lint!" the irony moves on and on with me because i _know_
that i've got all kinds of important ideas to spew than so many other morons
out there that actually _do_ have the chance to be heard, but say nothing of
any value. and here i am doing nothing, wasting away my life in a computer
obsession. sometimes i feel like i've lost everything.
and i look at me, i'm 19 years old, and i'm here. there's people
that go to [insert excellent academic college here] and think and learn
these wonderful thoughts and ideas and they never actually _use_ them,
except to write papers for their class. what a wonderful world we live in
that the _only_ reason we learn something is to do well in that class. not
so, you say? ah, it happens all the time. we live in a bullshit world
where it's implicitly become the national expectation to become a doctor or
lawyer. doctors; who can charge whatever they want. lawyers; we actually
encourage people to become assholes.
hey! a congested justice system in this country is fun! let me sue
you 'cause you looked at me funny.
"who can solve my problems?"
"someone bigger than me!"
"who can i blame?"
"someone else!"
woo-woo! what a fun game! it's easy, baby! play along!
in today's world we have _50%_ of kids going into the hopeful state
that they too can become part of the wacky field of _entertainment_, 'cause
they know that many entertainers today can make a fortune with virtually no
talent. amazing, you say? it happens all the time.
gettin' sick of this train of thought, i pull my tired self up off
the floor and go to my bathroom to pee. it's funny that i can get up like
this. it seems like i have such a natural love for sleep. maybe it's just
an escape. i never bothered to analyze it really, which amazes me, 'cause i
usually make myself puke with over-analysis.
random thoughts are fun. it's a morning thing.
i'm such a rebel 'cause i'm the most normal person alive.
don't get me wrong, it's not like i'm a complete dimwit. sure i've
basically amounted to nothing in my life, but you must remember that most
people have, so it's okay! i'm more hip than those gen-x punks. i've got
so much slack they can't even fuckin' conceive of it. whee! yeah, it is
pretty immature to compare your patheticness to other people just to feel
better, but i mean i'm not all that immature. i don't play with my
transformers anymore. i've passed my comic book phase. i don't even
understand what the hell the appeal is with the power rangers. but wait!
i'm not an adult! adults _suck_! they limit themselves! you can't trust
them! they're not fun anymore!
yeah! i'm so hip it _hurts_.
hey! what if there's a naked girl in the bathroom waiting for me?!
i turn on the light. damn. no naked girl. but i do get a chance to
see the cockroaches scatter. oh boy!
it feels like i haven't slept in days.
"hypothesis: i'm a worthless moron," i mumble. "why am i a worthless
moron?" i actually stop myself for a moment to ask. i proceed to step on a
cockroach and react quite disgusted.
"because," i start "i can rationalize the right thing to do forever
in an infinite number of ways, but i never seem to gather up the motivation
to run out and do what's important."
of course, there is that morning hyperbole thing.
having peed a full 2 minutes and turning the toilet water a very dark
amber, i flush. you didn't want to know that, you say? good. that makes
two of us. sometimes all i know is that i know nothing. hey. someone
famous said that.
"fuck plato," i mutter to myself and head back to my room. i get
back on my bed and i realize that i can't sleep. damnit. i can _always_
sleep. what the hell is my friggin' problem?! what do i want? something
was definitely on my mind. then it hit me how bad my lack of motivation for
_everything_ really was. did i care about anything anymore? i'm just a big
stupid sack 'o flesh that means nothing. okay, okay. enough of this
thought. what the hell do i want this *minute*? money? not really. love?
maybe. sex? couldn't hurt. fame? oh yeah! that's it!
ten-thousand screaming girls clutching themselves at my feet. it
would be an honor just to fuckin' see my face. i want every guy to phear me
and every girl to want me; i want one very special girl to *love* me. but
then again, who doesn't want this? and i'm sittin' here realizing that
typing these characters on this screen do nothing to accomplish that, and i
continue writing this sentence and it's gettin' pounded deeper into my mind
that i'm just venting. what am i accomplishing here? is this just a
pathetic psychological babble to get rid of a little stress. did anyone
care? did anyone relate? what the hell am i doing here? shouldn't i be
outside making good conversation with my friends? the days of my life pass
so quickly i can't even stop for a minute and enjoy anything. wait. that
sounded familiar.
"fuck socrates," i say in a fit.
i'm gettin' all giddy. i'm gettin' into a spaz. i'm starting to get
rootin' tootin' mad 'cause i'm sitting here in the middle of the night
staring at the friggin' ceiling and i'm bored. i'm bored senseless.
don't hate me 'cause i am just so k-rad.
"you should never fear death," someone said to me. i don't! i
don't! you've gotta be special. you've gotta do somethin'. you've gotta
be somethin'. hut! hut! make that mark, boy! without struggle there is
no progress! don't forget it!
"fuck douglas!" i say. i'm boppin' in a tissy now.
i remember hearing about a guy that was so crazy that he loved to
have problems. the man was so damn happy, that he was getting bored and
_looked forward_ to problems just to break the monotony of his life. maybe
happiness = boredom. they say the smarter you get the more depressed you
get. well, i'm fuckin' einstein, baby! feel my brain! rub it! caress it!
make it part of you! you'll _dream_ of having the sexy funk-brain that i
got when i was born!
love me.
"that mogel is so full of shit! die!"
it's pretty ironic that someone like me has never found love. i
_beg_ for it, but i never find it. i've never really connected to any girl
i've ever gone out with. i've never 'truly' loved anyone, and yet i love
everyone in the world. isn't this sick?
i'm gettin' pretty pissy now, so i snap and punch myself hard in the
left eye. ouch! i've got a black eye now. "it'll go away," i mutter to
myself. i've got problems. maybe i can fix them like that man. yeah! i
can fix my problems up real good!
i jump up and run out of my room in a fury. i leap down the stairs,
four-at-a-time, and i run outside, making sure to nab my quick-bag of
assorted rad snacks. it's all quiet outside, and i wanna stop to enjoy it,
but no-way-jose 'cause i got stuff to do. i bop over to my backyard and
climb up my ladder. it would be neat to have a flash light, but i'm too hip
or that sorta of thing, and i'm in a rush to get up. a small collection of
ding-dongs accidentally flop out of my back, but there's no turning back,
baby!
i'm crazy! i'm wacky! i'm zany! i'm nuts-o!
i get up to the roof and i'm lookin' over the edge and it's amazing.
here's my house. here's my neighborhood. here's my city. here's my life.
"fuck you!@#!@#!@#!@#!#@#!@!@!@#!@#!#!@@#!@!!1" i scream out to the
world at the top of my lung and i'm lovin' every minute of it. a light
turns on and someone pokes their head out their window and craftfully says
to me "shut up!"
"fuck _you_!" i say to them. i peg a twinkie and score a direct hit
on the guy's bald, yuppie head.
"die!" i say, "you fuckin' suck!"
the guy retreats with a puzzled look on his face and he goes back to
sleep. he is instilled with _phear_! my anarkee is complete!
"fuck you!@##@!@#@!" i repeat again.
no response. bliss. i pompously devour a box of sunnydoodles. i am
at peace. i am finally free.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ phearnet vs. killer wombat
+ submitted by - mogel
date: 7:53 pm thu jul 27, 1995 number : 48 of 48
from: killer wombat (173:703/1) base : private mail
to : rattle (173:173/0) refer #: none
subj: i'm using jh's aka to piss you o replies: none
stat: private netmail origin : 27 jul 95 19:32:28
you know, when i got the phearnet application pack and saw
"phearnet, the most exciting thing since soup"
-m0g
i thought that this net might have some potential entertainment value, that
the people who run it have a sense of humor. but having been in phearnet, i
realize that you people are some of the most anal, dickfaced elitist
bastards in the computer world.
you people should lighten up and learn to joke around a little. i can
have intelligent conversation in my history class at school. why should i
spend my message writing time making sure everything is perfect and the
message is intelligent? why should i spend my time deleting mail left by
users who spent their message writing time leaving those messages. nobody's
perfect, asshole.
i hope you and your rich little pals have a good time writing intelligent
messages to each other like a bunch of harvard geeks. without bottled
violence. i'll be out with friends laughing at cripples, winos, and
especially geeks like you and the people on your net. having a good time.
maybe i'll even publish a 'zine. a real zine, none of this retarded
e-zine shit. a 'zine that interests people whose hobbies don't include
sitting on the computer all day and arguing about what is a lame post.
fuck you.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ the question of representative democracy
+ submitted by - murmur
i'm not going to amble on endlessly about this; i just want to get a
couple ideas out, and let people think about them.
what is the purpose of a representative democracy, in a simple sense?
even simpler, what is the purpose of the representative? basically, he/she
represents his/her constituents by functioning at a higher level to get
things done for those constituents. a plurality of votes, in most cases, is
what elects a representative to his/her office.
without going into mindless detail, an interesting question that has
recently been posed once again stands out: should the representative vote
in such a way that it falls in line with the constituents wishes? a
majority of the constituents wishes? what if the representative disagrees?
what if the people are simply completely wrong?
this comes up now because of the renewed bosnian question. people
don't want to send in american forces; so far as i'm concerned, we have no
other option at this point. , but i'm not going to debate that. the thing
is: no matter what, the two options are send in troops or don't. no
halfways anymore. and here's the thing: presented with a troops yes,
troops no question, people will say no. so what should our president, our
congress do?
for argument's sake i'm going to say the right thing to do is send
troops in; this is being used as an argument and i'm not preaching about
bosnia.
the question becomes one of priorities: do the wishes of the people
outweigh the concept of doing what's right? if the people vote to do things
the wrong way, should the government do the right thing anyways, because
it's right?
i don't want to get too in depth, but think about that: would you
rather your president did the right thing or what the majority of the
population wanted? which is "constitutional"? what's the correct recourse?
i say right overrules majority. that's me. what about you? this is
an important question, especially when it comes time to vote, which many of
us already legally do and many more of us soon will. do you want a
man/woman that will abide by the people's wishes above all else, or that
will do what's "right" above all else, in such a situation?
just food for thought.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ dto spotlight on - eerie
eerie; president-type, writer - eerie lives somewhere up there in canada. we
don't know where exactly. actually it seems like he doesn't even know
where he lives. all we know is that he is under high observation at
some asylum. his favorite sentence is "the best way to get rid of
suicidal tendencies is to blow your head out." he spends his days
wishing he was thurston moore, which is kind of pathetic. the two
things he does best are: saying "hey! don't fuck with my nigguh
okay?" with an american accent and breaking guitar strings. his main
project for the future is to become an alternative rock star, marry a
pseudo punkette and get rid of his suicidal tendencies.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ piss them off
+ submitted by - eerie
okay, this is kind of a little guide about how to get parents and
other stuck-up people to be pissed off at you. follow it and be glad i
wrote it, cuz who would have been loser enough to write _this_?!
a) _the basics_. of course, the first things to do are pretty
simple, you've prolly done them all already, which is e-wheat. first: you
need to get a funky haircut. grow your hair long, dye it green or just
shave it off, but do something. second: get some tees. violent tees, if
possible. with alot of blood on them. and skulls, maybe. a "legalize it"
tee is always a must too. don't wash your jeans. don't wash yourself at
all. okay, now you look dirty. well, no, actually you don't, but stuck-up
conservative piece of shit lamer people will think that you are dirty.
there, you pissed them off. congratulations, but keep on. three: music.
play it loud. don't listen to any easy-listening stuff. if possible, and
even if you don't like it at all, listen to death metal stuff. (or white
zombie, cf ftg#2 or #3, i don't remember but that was a nifty artikul) play
it even louder. if you have an electric guitar, play it loud too. play
the guitar and the death metal tapes all at the same time. buy a drum and
play it the loudest.
b) _religion_. be an atheist. better even, be a buddhist or a
muslim. follow the cult _religiously_. you need it. i mean, you can have
your hair dyed green, sometimes it just won't do it. you need something
more shocking: religion. well, actually, you can even fake it. it's not
like anyone cares. just try to look really really really involved. if it's
not even enough, then just join a sect.. be a jehovah witness. knock at
your parent's door every morning at 5am to tell them about how to be saved.
c) _sex_. even if you don't, say that you have alot of it.
publicly. support free distribution of condoms in schools. support
condom-free sexual intercourses. support homosexuality, incest, necrophilia
and bestiality. better even, be one of those. have your little sister tell
your mom you had sex with her and she liked it. say that cemetaries are the
most erotic places you know. kiss your dog on the mouth for at least a
minute while your parents are looking. funkier even, be a homosexual. if
you are a guy, well everytime you go out say that you went at paul's, or
whoever the name, make sure it's a guy name, always the same. sleep over at
his house. after a month or two, "break up" and act depressed. your
parents will go bezerk. you don't even need to actually fuck with the guy.
just fake it. well if you want to, go for it. it will only be more
realistic.
d) _opinions_. support everything they don't support, and vice
versa. this is rather simple. explain people that you believe in violent
anarchy. tell them that the schools should teach children how to build
bombs. now you pissed them off. what was the point? there was none. it
was just fun. i mean, why be nice with stuck-up people? i'd rather be
hypocritical a bit so it gives me a good laugh when i see how they react.
it's only a big game, but you're the only one who gnoze.
make good use of this e-wheat information. take care.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ dto spotlight on - eightball
eightball; writer - this is the first 'zine in which any of 8ball's work has
been/will be released. however, eightball is far from a newbie.
this modem warrior has been at the fringes of "the scene" for roughly
six or seven years. he has been writing stories and poems (damn
better than gasp, although that's not notably a difficult feat)
since he was old enough to write. he currently resides in a suburb
of philadelphia, pa, where he continues to work on fresh ideas for
dto.
+-- dto --+
+ the working class
+ submitted by - eightball
"welcome to ihop. my name is <insert stupid generic name here>, and
i'll be your server today."
the words; pounding in my head. the boy, no older than 16, wipes the
droplets of sweat from his forehead as he scribbles down yet another order.
this mere child, not yet old enough to vote for the legislators that decide
the fate of his well-being, has been pressed into a life of servitude.
gazing around the restaurant, he sighs in relief on noticing that his
manager is not present. one little slip-up could mean termination.
i observe his movements for a while. he moves with determination;
with pride. why is he here today, taking orders from white trash scum? why
does he remain within these walls, giving his all for pennies and dimes? i
ponder the answers to these questions while munching imitation scrambled
eggs, powder-mixed pancakes, and the innards of animals who eat their own
feces.
this boy is a member of the "working class". he works 12 hour shifts
of back-breaking labor for four dollars an hour? but just think of how
proud his parents must be of their growing son, earning his keep at a local
eatery.
international house of pancakes: where a raise is the height you fly
to when they kick you in the ass; where job security means your father is
the general manager; where meals are free for employees, but you have to pay
to make a phone call home.
his smile fading slowly as he takes yet another order, the boy
ignores the sneers and jeers of his "friends" hanging out across the street.
"why can't *i* be out there?" he questions the air.
"smile! you're working at ihop!" the boy turns around quickly, to
see his shift manager writing him up again.
"sorry, sir. i enjoy working here. i really do!"
"then haul your ass away from the window! you have three tables
waiting for their orders to be taken!"
"yes, sir."
muttering to no one in particular, he trudges along slowly, like a
puppy after its daily beating from a poor master.
"welcome to ihop. my name is <generic name>, and i will be your
server for today. may i take your order, sir?"
the man to whom the questions are directed looks up, as if noticing
for the first time that he's in a restaurant. "yes, uhh... i'll have the
'rooty tooty fresh 'n fruity combo', with a side of scrapple, and a large
mountain dew. dear?"
the man's companion, a striking woman in her forties, responds
softly, with one of those accents you just can't place, "i'll have a large
salad and.... a small orange juice."
the boy waits for a minute, and says "will that be all?"
"no, no.. a kiddie platter of eggs and bacon for each of the
children," answers the woman.
the boy looks around him; confused. "ma'am, children?" they have no
children!
"yes... over-easy for frank, scrambled for little jessa."
"yes, ma'am." the bewildered waiter enters the list into the
computer data-base at the rail. "man," the boy thinks to himself, "i need
to stop staying up so late. i'm starting to see things."
+-- dto --+
who am i, you may be wondering? i'm a "service assistant", doomed to
the same shit-hours and shit-pay as the waiter aforementioned. and yes, i
too work at ihop. i make $5.50 an hour, plus tips, and i'm the highest paid
"service assistant" in the whole place? that's right. i bus tables, wash
dishes, assist the cooks, clean the bathrooms, mop and vacuum the floors,
and the list goes on and on. why? because i, too, strive for the "american
dream". what's the american dream? come on, now! m-o-n-e-y. i degrade
myself 72 hours a week to bring home a $300 paycheck every week.
and i, like every other teenager in this society, ends up spending
the whole damn thing every weekend. oh, but there's so much out there to
buy... some new clothes? sure! drugs? why the fuck not? i'm already
fucked up enough as it is. that's why i don't watch t.v. i'd go into
debt... t.v. is one big commercial. they want the hard-working members of
the lower middle class to spend their hard-earned cash on this product and
that.
it all comes down to this: everyone wants money. why do we need
money so badly? because money is power. you have the power to buy a new
shirt - now you can laugh at the people who can't afford to. power!@!@ use
it to go see a movie? well, you're one up on the loser who can't afford to
take his girlfriend anywhere... you're out every fucking night! power!!!
we, the working class, just keep getting sucked in farther and
farther. your father has a lease to pay every month for that brand new
lexus (don't forget - i live on the main line of the philly area!), so he
can't afford to buy food. your mom needs a new dress, so you have to buy
your own school supplies. because - we work! and since we work, our
parents figure we have nothing important to want to spend our money on, so
we might as well buy stupid things. "a car? haha, you're only 16." "a
down payment on a house? but you have 4 years of college before that?"
speaking of college... now what would your parents say if you wanted
to, say, drop out of high school, get your ged, and start writing freelance
for a local paper? they'd say this: "but you need an education for any job
out there. you need to get a job where you can make money."
"but what if i think i can do it without going to college?"
"no son/daughter of mine is going to be a drop-out junkie!"
so... they want "what's best for you", huh? they think, "we're poor,
and money means happiness, so that's the best thing for our child." well let
me tell you something dad, money may be power in this society, but neither
money nor power mean happiness... because what does someone want when they
have *some* power? they want more. am i the only one who sees this as a
never-ending cycle, where happiness just isn't to be seen? if i want to
spend my life in a cardboard box in the middle of china town, composing pad
poetry and drawing stupid cartoons to support my drug problem, who cares??
if i'm happy, truly happy, then what do i need large sums of money for?
if you get one thing out of this file, i hope its that you should do
whatever you want. do what will make you happy. don't live your life to
make other's happy. just make sure to remember this: live for you.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ dto spotlight on - murmur
murmur; another president guy, writer - starting off a mere twenty months
ago on peedee boards, this intimidating individual is happy as a clam
to be at the center of the great new text file revolution. he likes
his radishes with potato chips, and is still recovering from an
injury sustained at dummercon from tlorah. murmur's writings often
consist of "seemingly" random essays and stories, but we are told
that "if you look hard enough, you'll see the blueprints for
mankind!" murmur awaits the one mystical day when he will be
kidnapped and molested by an underground team of alternateen girls
that upon saying "yes! _we_ found meaning in it!@" he will be in
final ectasy.
+-- dto --+
+ where have all my children gone? a reflection in six movements
+ submitted by - murmur
alright, you little pantywaists. it's time to take a reflective
look in the mirror. to accomplish this, we'll use six distinct movements.
1 --> put your left foot in. now, do you see a problem? you should. you
should notice your left foot, jammed up against the mirror. what?
you're not using a full wall mirror? you're an idiot. you already
fail.
2 --> check your tonsils for phlegmy oozy yuck. is there white crud on
your tonsils? it sucks, doesn't it?
3 --> turn around, and gaze as best you can over your right shoulder. is
your ass too large? if so, diet, you damn wildebeest.
4 --> jam your nose close enough to the mirror to see nose hairs. now,
that's marvy. can you *see* them little snotties on your nose hairs?
can you? sure you can! you're a better person for it!
5 --> make many funny faces. if you're frightened by yourself, go sell
yourself, fast man, to the highest clown.
6 --> stand tall. if you bump your head on the ceiling, sell me your
volkswagen!
now that you've taken a reflective look at yourself in six movements,
let's see what we've determined. are you demented? do you eat your pinto
beans by themselves, or smothered in potatoes to alleviate the awful taste?
do you even know what a pinto bean looks like? how about a 78 ford pinto?
ever been in one that's exploded? how about a gremlin? those gremlins
were uglier than satan, but still got you from new york to shabbona.
it's nice to see that with just a little coercion anyone can feel a
whole lot better. don't you feel better? i feel so much better i'm going
to eat your children, and you'll be left asking, 'where have all my
children gone?' and i'll say 'to my belly, where they belong, the dirty
little whores.'
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ dto spotlight on - fake scorpion
fake scorpion; writer - otherwise known as the man of many handles; this
man changes aliases like underwear. no one really knows much about
this writer, he's been seen leaving his room only to eat and use the
bathroom. we have concrete proof that he is a recovering angst
junkie who once started his own zine, ftg. he burned out after the
third issue and called it quits. he often mentions how unsatisfied
he is living in the town of smithfield, nc. some call him disturbed,
but we should call him god.
+-- dto --+
+ ozzy, you're the man
+ submitted by - fake scorpion
+ real world scenario border begins
him -> so what music do you like?
me -> i'll name a few musicians; pavement, beck,
nirvana, frank black, shellac, dinosaur jr,
green day, etc.
him -> you fucking poseur!!!
+ real world scenario border ends
i'm being honest, shit like that actually happens to me. i've
compiled ten of the biggest trends of today for your brain to soak up.
thank me later, when all your friends hail you as god.
1. call everyone who isn't a clone of yourself a "poseur", "prep",
"redneck", or "loser". it's similar to stereotyping, but even
worse. (example: "look at his clothes, he's wearing shorts!
fucking prep!")
2. pull your underwear up into your ass so the stripe at the top
is a little above your shorts/pants. fuck the wedgie you get,
it's all for style!
3. wear the "kurt cobain 1942-1994" t-shirts. boohoo, the
spokesman of our generation died. let's wear his t-shirt,
because exploiting dead people is a trendy thing to do.
4. have your wallet attached to your pants by a long as shit
dog-chain. make sure you don't trip over the chain, because
if you do, you're not cool.
5. when people ask you what type of music you like, tell them indie
rock. then tell them how cool your new bush cd is.
6. if someone asks you what your favorite tv show is, tell them
it's "friends". nobody actually likes that show, it's just
been marketed as a "trendy" show, so you gotta tell everyone
you love it.
7. smoke a lot of pot, because pot is pretty trendy. if you tell
everyone that you hallucinated while you were high, they'll
think you're a god.
8. write a lot of angst poetry. make all your friends read it.
they'll crown you as the next messiah.
9. bitch about your favorite bands becoming popular. lie and tell
everyone that you were listening to them in their garage days.
no one will ever know you first saw them on mtv alternative
nation.
10. tell everyone that i'm your best friend, because i am the god
of being trendy.
there you go. impress your friends, become the high school stud.
it's the cool thing to do.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+ lavender; condiments; chapter 417
+ submitted by - murmur
"my hair, it is the eat!" poor oswald was losing grasp, losing his
touch of karma. the inflappable mister jacoby was much more receptive to
this influx of fresh insolvency. alas, poor frannie, i knew your sheep
well. "fight this generation, man!" but oswald was frantically drowning
in his own frantic self-pity. "my hair, it is the meat!" he would not be
rescued by mister jacoby today, who hungrily thirsted over the periodicals
in the burnt out doctor's waiting room. "shut up, you childish lug nut."
"my hair, it is the sweet!" and oswald was at the breaking point, the
lavender slowly oozing out of his cranial cavity. "who do you think i am,
a muddy old jesus?" alas, poor frannie, i knew your sheep well. "my hair,
it is the eat!" cried oswald, and he slipped, backsliding fearlessly.
moral: here she comes, that rainy day sun. (c) 1992 spinal tap.
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
+-- dto --+
+ blind love
+ submitted by - gumby
blind love
a strange face.
a familiar smile.
we have met before.
i cannot recall the
time nor the place.
maybe it was in dreams.
when our souls passed
each other.
it has jointed us forever.
we will never see each
on this land.
our hearts and souls will
be one until the end of time.
- sam griga 8-3-95
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
doomed to obscurity issue one has been brought to you by the letters p, q,
and the number five.
for the latest in dto propaganda, call dto whq - tacoland - @ 215-750-0392
nup - dreams are free
all correspondence should be directed towards - dto@tnce.com
d2o one / all rights reserved - 1995 - doomed to obscurity press
+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+
