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Epos Issue 02
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( e p o s ) issue number two - circa september 1996
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epos (two) editorial by monk
Another quick readin nose bleedin issue of epos. Not much new with the
zine other than a few new writers, and a lot more writers block.
Right off the bat I would like to make a little point about Silly Cat
Comix. In case you havent heard of them, the author of the amazing, great,
stupendous comic has wrote an article for us this issue, its really cool.
Before you do anything, go to http://www.muc.muohio.edu/~puck/index.html
and check out silly cat comix, they rock!
I've started back up for the fall semester but still have a lot of time
to work on other stuff. As of now im green, nasty cold swept through south
florida and started playing with everones alergies like it always does. Oh
well, it's to hot to do anything outside anyway.
On another note, a number of people have asked me who I am, well, I used
to go by the handle myrddin. That got really boring though, i've had the
stupid thing for about 3 years now. The only reason I even use a handle is
cause it's faster to type then my real name 'gerritt'. Damn I'm lazy.
Some new things this issue. I've added a section for my friend chris to
write something. He is a truly warped individual (when he gets tired) and
his stuff will either make you fall down laughing or saying, yeesh that is
freakin stupid. I will also be discontinuing the music review section. I
have decided to stray toward the literary extreme, taking epos with me.
I'll still be writing on whatever I want and I encourage everyone else to,
but I would like to get a little more poetry and stories in wherever I can.
Ever heard of or met anyone who you just wanted to beat to death with
a blunt baseball bat? I did. Just the other day my mom and my brother
went down to Miami Beach to do some stuff. They decided to go to a music
shop and the grocerie store real quick before they had to do what they came
to do. So they found a grocerie store, parked and went across the street
to a nearby music store. They came out a little over 15 minutes later and
went into the grocerie store. When they came out they found a "boot" on
our brand new 96 explorer sport's right front wheel. If you don't know
what a car boot is, its just this big hunky metal thing that makes it so
you can't move your car. Naturally furious she found the two goofs who had
put the boot on. They told her they were from some car parking thing (they
even had badges and matching hats and paperwork and everything), and that
she would have to pay 95 bucks cash to get her car unlocked. Now for one,
had it been me who had the boot put on I would have proceeded to find the
nearest sharp metal object and you know what. However it was just my mom
against two BIG guys. So screaming and yelling she faught it, but in the
end she thought that it was some legal thing & she would get in trouble if
she didn't. So she gave the guys the 95 bucks and went on her way. Now we
later found out that these people are doing this all the time to a LOT of
other really pissed off people. Now if you think about what these guys
were actually doing you will understand why it's so messed up. They were,
one way or another, holding her up. They were NOT with the police and they
basically are rip off artist assholes. I would just like to let everyone
know a little saftey tip incase you didn't already. NEVER pay cash if you
don't have to, especially not a cop. Oh well, I guess it's a good thing I
wasn't there, I can take one guy, but two is to much.
epos, writing for the fun of it, or not writing at all.
" The reserve of modern assertions is sometimes pushed to extremes, in
which the fear of being contradicted leads the writer to strip himself
of almost all sense and meaning. " - Winston S. Churchill
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Space, And the Reason Tomithy's
Pudding was On The Floor
'or'
The Bay Window
by puck
Outside, people were busy being defined. Inside, Tomithy had more pressing
things to worry about. His pudding was on the floor. He sat in a high-
chair, though the warning on the box said he was much too old for that. The
warning on the box mentioned nothing concerning pudding, and had Tomithy read
it before, he wouldn't be cursing for it now.
"Useless," cried Magitha. "The bloody things don't mention pudding.
Why the fuck should they? And who keeps a box, anyways?"
"Oh shush, bitch," said Tomithy.
"Gawwwwwwwwwwd."
Tomithy shuffled in his high-chair.
Outside, automobile industries were creating pleasing lifestyles through
ergodynamics and scheduled obsoleteness. Inside, Tomithy was gnawing on
his wrists.
"Tomithy, why don't you just get out of your bleepin' high chair and
pick the shit up yourself?" Magitha's good eye scanned the kitchen as she
pummeled her way through it. Her bad eye sat quietly in its little oak box
in the living room.
"Don't talk to me like I'm a baby, you hairy slut. I know what
'bleeping' means."
"Oh bite a wart."
"Which of yours?" Magitha pulled a half eaten bologna sandwich off of
the floor and tossed it at Tomithy's head. He leaned quickly to the left
in his high-chair and watched it smack against the large bay window behind
him.
Outside, egos were being inflated. Inside, Tomithy was gritting
his teeth.
"I'm not cleaning the fucking pudding, Tomithy."
"Well I'm not getting out of the high-chair."
"You're a freak, shitbox. You're fifty-six years old. You're loud,
you're insane, and I hate you."
"YOU'RE fifty-six years old, hag. I'm fifty-five. You're fat, you
smell, you talk funny, and you make a lousy pudding."
"So that's why you threw it on the floor, zit?"
"I didn't throw it on the floor, you twat."
Magitha squinted with her good eye.
"You didn't throw it on the floor?" she said. "Then why the fuck
is it on the floor? Did it get one whiff of you and leap to its death?"
"It's on the floor because of the alien," Tomithy said.
"What alien? You're retarded!" Magitha waved her hands at Tomithy
in disgust and walked out of the kitchen.
"The alien who said he was just here to make space. He startled me,
so I DROPPED the pudding onto the floor." Tomithy raised his voice a bit
to make sure Magitha could hear him.
"YOU ARE MAD," shouted Magitha. "He said he was here to make space?"
She walked back into the kitchen so Tomithy could see the disgusted look
she had pasted on her face.
"Yes," said Tomithy, "right about now, I think."
Inside, an empty kitchen welcomed a bright sun which shone through a
large, clean bay window. Outside, an alien smiled.
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- You think your pretty cool? by Monk
No your not. Your ignorant, your stupid, you haven't even the slimmest
idea of what you are facing. You fight for things you don't even understand
and could never understand. You bow to fools, you eat their words, you
think you know it all.
Your a punk, a loser, a fool. No one admires you, no one looks up to
you. If you died tomorrow no one would know. You would burn in hell with
the other damned souls. You make life hard for others, you dedicate days at
a time to nothing.
Maybe you will grow up and understand.
Maybe not.
You are not him, he is what you will become if you do not realize who
you are and why you were put here. He is scum that you can become. Do not
become that of which I speak. It's just not worth it.
" Any fool can criticize, condemn, and complain - and most fools do. "
- Dale Carnegie
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- how to make your own rootbeer!
I totally forgot who I got this recepie from. Anyway, it's how to make
the only other liquid I consume besides water, ROOTBEER!! I'm trying to find
stuff I haven't ever drank before, you could call me a connasuer (or however
thats spelled) of fine rootbeer. Anyway, here it is.
Ingredients: (for 2-1/4 gallons)
2 gallons of water
1 1/2 cups, honey
3 tablespoons, ground sarsaparilla
1 tablespoon, sassafras
1 heaping tablespoon, hops
1/4 teaspoon, ground coriander
1/4 teaspoon, wintergreen extract (Almost all natural)
1/4 teaspoon, yeast
Procedure:
Place the sarsaparilla, sassafras, hops, and coriander into an enameled
or stainless steel pan. Cover them with water and bring to a boil.
Reduce the heat and allow them to just barely simmer for 12 hours,
making sure the water does not all evaporate. Strain out the solids and
add the liquid to 2 gallons of water that has been boiled and cooled to
lukewarm. Stir in the honey, wintergreen extract, and the yeast
dissolved in 2/3 cup warm water. Stir the mixture thoroughly and allow
it to mellow for several hours. You can then siphon off the root beer
into a clean container before bottling, or fill the bottles immediately.
Makes about two dozen 12-ounce bottles.
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- Waves by Monk
Traveling mountains of blue,
Crash upon the shore;
Never the same size, never the same speed,
Waves are like people.
Shades of blue and green,
Reflect the light off its glistening surface,
Like that of a mirror;
Dancing Lights on the tips of new waves form,
As the days new sun rises from the east;
The dawning sun shines a glow,
On the surface of a serene waterscape.
Their sounds,
Like the far off destruction of a towering building;
Or the dousing of an inferno with gasoline;
The sound always familiar in one way or another,
But never exactly alike;
Sometimes loud and sometimes soft,
They all crash in the same tone,
a calming, peaceful sound.
Their strength is incomparable,
Destroying the sandy shore;
Lashing their powerful arm out when it pleases them;
Speed like that of a mustang in full stride,
Ever flowing, never slowing.
And when they finally reach the shore,
Crashing down will all their might,
Gasping for life evermore;
Fingers cling to the earth,
As a last desperate measure to hang on to it's life;
It is brought back to it's place of birth.
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- The method of our madness
" There was never a genius without a tincture of madness. " - Aristotle
The final couple articles this issue will either make you laugh out loud
or cause you to think krieg and myself are total idiots. Well, first of all
let me explain this form of writing krieg has dubbed as "syphish".
To even begin writing a syphish story one must accomplish 4 main tasks.
These tasks must be completed EVERY time before writing.
1) you must check the time, it has to be past 2am
2) listen to and old song, look at an old t-file, do anything to help you
remember something incredibly funny in your past. This will help get you
in the syphish mood.
3) you must drink 4 BIG glasses of choclate milk or rootbeer.
4) type as if using a oija board. Let your fingers do the typing based on
internal signals sent from your mind.
After these tasks, being of the number four, be accomplished, then thou
shalt write in thoust most moronic mood anything that thou wishes. Enjoy
our syphish writings for this issue, look for more to come in the next.
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Scadgog - Krieg
Scadgog
Scadgog
huma huma Scadgog
gog gog gog
huma huma gog gog gog
Once i saw a frog. Who stubbed his toe on a log. He once got ice, he
once got rock, he once got a stumble full of gog.
Once i saw a pig. Bellys awfull of grig, wonk wonk woe, ate
dedgar dallen doe, with a pigs pocket full of mulch.
Once i saw a lad. All cuddly chuddly and fad. His name was drad, he had his
very own fad. He was a lad with a sock, ran around his dock.
Whumpus woe, didly dumpus doe, a dear a female deere, went flying in the
evermyst bog.
Scadgog
Scadgog
huma huma NUKA NUKA hello , hello out there, hello, chewy is that you?
huma huma gog gog frog
Once i ate a nut. All fatty and rusty and chut. Chiped my toe, on a bow,
and lost no maggot from my ear.
Piddly wiggly dig, i almost ate a pig. Sat down on jack's crown, and fetched
a bail of nuka.
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this is my ascii comic of mr fogwatha saying things - Krieg
:() blub blub blub
8() BLUB BLUB BLUB (it has unique pump up eyeballs, like in a pub)
:(iiiii) GUB GUB GUB (he has 5 rows of teath)
:() hap hap blub blurrg blug bog rog wigg blurg blag slaad!
:(0)
-|- ahHHH (its eathing every one, eating a kid called Jim goomba)
/\
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a story - Krieg
Once i was sleeping like a snow drop on a volcanoe. When willy the pig
came flying through my ear. It even drop king mongo on me , fresh in from
New York. This huge frog claw developed outside my window that night. I
would just watch it extend outward picking humas off the vine. One night
It got alittle restless and went for willy the pig. All of the sudden he
got a bunch of wombats stuck in his propeller nose, and came crashing
through my bedroom window. The sirloin pig was good. Tasted like willy
pig. It made my tummy shout arasmus arasmus tastes tasty jummy.
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Thanks for reading this conglamorite of letters, numbers and random
keyboard characters. Until we meet again.
monk (oceans@gate.net)
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All articles are copyright 1996 epos ezine, cause I said so.
Please do not distribute this if it has been changed in any way.
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