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Kill Yourself 12
ðððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððð
ÛÛÛ Û ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÕÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ͸
Û Û Û Û Û ³A 'zine that explores everything that's wrong.³
ÛÛ Û Û Û ³This includes: Earth, America, labels, stupid ³
Û Û Û Û Û ³people, illiteracy, incompitance, mainstream, ³
Û Û Û ÛÛÛÛÛ ÛÛÛÛ ³ignorance, religion,annoying people,education,³
Y O U R S E L F ³and whatever else we can think of that's wrong³
#12 ÔÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ;
October 1995
ðððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððð
ISSUES...
ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ -A D.I.Y. PROJECT. THE ONLY WAY TO DO STUFF.-
ÝIn this issue we exploreÞ
ÝWhere did 'Freedom Of Þ -KILL YOURSELF IS ABSOLUTELY, DOUBTLESSLY FREE-
ÝSpeech'Go & HomelessnessÞ
ßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßß -FUCK (C) AND ANY OTHER FORM OF TRADEMARKING -
SHORT STORIES/POETRY... ÕÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ͸
ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ³And Introducing McCroskey's Corner. The final ³
Ý"Hiding Out On HalloweenÞ ³word in what is right, who deserves what, and ³
ÝVideos To Hide The Þ ³what rights we deserve. Controversial and str8³
ÝGuilt" & "Endoplasmic Þ ³forward. Send All replies to (lamont@cpcn.com)³
ÝDandelion Wine..." Þ ³Please be aware the opinions portrayed in ³
ßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßß ³McCroskey's Corner DO NOT reflect the opinions³
ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ³of this partcular zine. Thanks, Kill Yourself.³
Ý"I Hate Women" Þ ÔÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ;
ßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßß
ðððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððð
"God is coming and boy is she fat."
ðððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððð
ISSUES/PROBLEMS...
ðððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððð
ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
³The following entry brought to you by Dave IAMHOLTZ@oak.grove.iup.edu ³
ÃÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÂÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ´
³PROBLEM 43265433 of 87329466 ³ Whatever Happened to 'Freedom Of Speech' ³
ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÁÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
Everyone says America is a free country and we are free to say as we will.
Never should we worry about a threat towards our right to speak freely and
our freedom of expression. But at the same time, we are told we also must
not offend or invade or infringe on other people's right to privacy and
refrain from ofending others. This is why censorship and the PMRC exist. We
never even had freedom of speech because of this very contradiction. Why
did they pull all this shit saying we had it in the first place when we never
actually did? In school they say 'freedom of expression' and 'freedom of
speech' and at the same time they say that you must keep it to yourself if
it is offensive to others. What sense does this make? Sometimes swearing
truly helps to express or get across what you are trying to say. Some say
swearing shows a lack of vocabulary. I have been complimented on my vast
vocabulary but at the same time I swear left and right. What the Fuck?
ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÂÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
³SOLUTION 43265433 of 87329466 ³Whatever Happened To 'Freedom Of Speech' ³
ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÁÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
Get out there and make it known that wat you say is how you feel. If Tipper
says country music kills then write some country music (thanks Jello). If
your teacher says "I don't want to hear that language" then alert them that
you have the freedom to do so. If they want to pull that contradictory shit,
just stick to your own. Both of these rules exist in the Constitution. Who is
to say which is stronger than another? It's just like nay other poitical
issue. Is any one party more right than another? There is no right or wrong.
It's just different people's versions of right and wrong, unfortunately,
the government seems to think what is not right to them is illegal. That is
why the internet exists. It exists to maintain a freedom of expression and a
freedom of speech such as this E-Zine. If all else fails pour your guts out
here on the Net. At least here we can say it all and, thus far, no one has
told us something that we have said is "improper." Say it loud, say it proud,
and never let down your guard.
ðððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððð
ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
³The following entry brought to you by Dave IAMHOLTZ@oak.grove.iup.edu ³
ÃÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÂÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ´
³PROBLEM 798532 of 887665 ³ Give The Homeless A Chance ³
ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÁÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
They're the ones who get laughed at, kicked, beaten, blamed and spit at for
invading the privacy of the sidewalk of which you feel you own. Their filthy
clothes threaten you when you have caused their filthy clothes. By shunning
the panhandler's, the poor you have left them with little hope and zero
chance for an unemployed future. You think they will come after you if you
drop a few coins in their cup. You think they will come after you if you
don't.
ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÂÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
³SOLUTION 798532 of 887665 ³Give The Homeless A Chance ³
ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÁÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
You don't have to fear them. If they can't get a job and no home you think
they can afford a gun? You don't even have to give them your change even if
it's burning a hole in your pocket, but at the very least make some time out
of what I am sure is a very busy schedule and listen to their story. Yuppie
scum boy's climb to the top can't be nearly as interesting as the journey to
self-destruction that a homeless person may be able to offer. Some of the
most inspirational and dreadful and graphic things I've ever heard have come
from homeless people. And when guarantee is that they are not liars. They
want someone to talk to. They want someone to confide in. So instead of being
home just on time for Mother Hubbert or the wife you beat to cook your dinner,
stop and say "hi" to the smelly guy who sits on the stairway at apartment 418
on your way home. You might just learn something.
ðððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððð
SHORT STORIES/POETRY...
ðððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððð
ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
³The following entry brought to you by Drew Feinberg (feinber@panix.com) ³
³ ³
³ Drew Feinberg is twenty-something and resides in East Meadow, NY where he ³
³ is currently a full-time philosopher. He enjoys watching movies and then ³
³ bitching about them, joining crusades he knows he cannot win, and singing ³
³ TV theme songs to anybody within earshot especially the "Facts Of Life." ³
³ Drew and his partner-in-crime, Jen, are starting their 'zine "Marvin ³
³ Nash's Ear" in the very-near future so they can rant as long as they like ³
³ to make the world smile and/or think, preferably both. For a free ³
³ subscription, just send a request and the name of your favorite childhood ³
³ board game to afeinber@panix.com ³
ÃÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ´
³ "Hiding Out On Halloween: Videos To Ease The Guilt" ³
ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
Halloween is almost upon us, coming quicker than Hugh Grant in a BMW. As Meg
Tilly so brilliantly asked in the cinematic disaster known as Body Snatchers,
"Where ya gonna go? Where ya gonna run? Where ya gonna hide?" Eloquently,
she voices the dilemma of millions of Americans every October 31. I've done
them all, with less than optimum results. Let's run through the options,
shall we?
Okay, first there's trick or treating. Being a greedy bastard and
visiting every house within a 20 mile radius, hitting them up for the
goods, is socially acceptable as child, but, three years ago, when I was
dressed as Zsa Zsa Gabor and asked all of my neighbors to "Give me some
candy, DAHLING, or I'll give you a slap," the results were less than
desirable. From what I can remember I got assorted candy bars, candy
corns, rocks, kitchenware, lollipops, and a jack o'lantern, still lit--
THROWN at me, with great velocity. I can't even spell the names people
called me, and I was told to do things to myself that aren't even
physically possible, lord knows I've tried. One grandmotherly looking
woman was actually kind to me, and gave me some popcorn. My faith in
mankind had been restored, that is, until I heard the muffled call to her
husband "Come see this poor slow boy. It's lovely to see the mentally
challenged out and about." At the tender age of 23, I retired from trick
or treating forever.
The next year I opted to stay home, watch some scary movies, and give
wondrous candy to the the legit trick or treaters. The candy aisle at the
supermarket was pure pandemonium. I might as well have been looking for
the last green Power Ranger on Christmas Eve. I didn't want to be one of
those houses that gave out nickels, fruit, hard bubble gum, cream soda
Dum-Dumms that stuck to the paper, black licorice, those awful dark
chocolate Hershey's Miniatures, or Smarties. Honestly, do people ever BUY
Smarties for themselves? I made a quick scan of what was available, and
I saw some variety packs of assorted good chocolate stuff that the
others had apparently not seen. I made a mad dash to get two packs. I
popped 'em in my cart and very confidently strolled to the checkout
counter. The line was huge, and I noticed the elderly woman behind me had
nothing in her cart but a box of Metamucil, so I let her go in front of
me. I started to sing along with the muzak..."Precious and few are the
moment we two can shaaaaaaare..." CRASH! I looked to my side and saw
this huge pyramid of canned beets topple over. "Hope that wasn't my
singing," I thought to myself, then turned back. Quicker than I could say
"The cast of Wings should be sterilized," my treasures were GONE! I was
completely bewildered. I was shocked when I looked in the cart ahead of
me. The woman I had sacrificed selflessly for, had two bags of assorted
chocolates along with her Metamucil. I tried to conceal my anger and
kindly said to the woman "Excuse me, I think those are my Halloween
candies there." I believe she mouthed the words "Bite me." I walked
right up to her cart and reached in and picked up what was rightfully
mine. That's when she started bawling hysterically, which caused the
entire supermarket to glare in my direction. I was frozen like Jennifer
Tilly would be if you aimed a flashlight at her eyes. I was never so
furious AND so humiliated; I just stood there with my hand in the
metaphorical cookie jar. I slowly backed out of the store, and still
candyless, I decided to go to a convenience store, where I bought 50
Chunky bars. A mixture of chocolate nuts and raisins makes my stomach
turn, but hey, I didn't have to eat 'em. I had enough Chunky bars to
feed a small South American country, or Marlon Brando. I sat down and
started to watch Halloween. Before the opening credits were
finished, the doorbell rang. "Trick Or Treat," I was greeted by a child
and his mother. "Here ya go, fella," I smiled as I handed him a Chunky.
The child glowed; the mother frowned. "Michael is ALLERGIC to nuts.
Don't you have anything else?" she inquired. "Umm...n-n-no..." I
stammered. The mother ripped the treat from her son's hand and handed it
back to me, setting Michael into a temper tantrum. "I'm really sorry," I
managed to say. "Thank you, thank you VERY much, it was his first
Halloween and you ruined it for him. Aren't you proud of yourself?" she
sneered as she stormed off. I sighed, shrugged, and went back to my
movie. Five minutes later, more doorbell. Two teenage girls dressed
up--looked like the girls from Clueless, gum chewing and all. "Like,
trick or treat." I handed them two chunky bars, which appalled them.
Clueless #1: "Like HELLO, do you KNOW how many grams of fat are in a
Chunky? Only like a MILLION!" and she handed it back to me. Clueless
#2: "Geez Louise, don't you have any like Snackwells or fat free potato
chips?" and deposited El Chunky back in my hand. And so it went all
night. Kids whining about chocolate, kids complaining about raisins, kids
bitching about options, in 4 hours I got through about 15 minutes of my
movie. And got stuck with 45 Chunky bars. Hey, you want a Chunky?
Last year I tried another great Halloween option--the costume party. I
bopped on down to "Costumes R Us," to rent one, which was oh-so-wise to do
on Halloween day. Sparse selection? The place was emptier than Jennie
McCarthy's skull. Let me tell you, all eyes were focused when I stumbled
in the door as a huge orange box of Tide. I felt about as mobile as
Gilbert Grape's mother. I scanned the room and saw assorted Beavises,
Ticks, Shannen Doughertys, Newt Gingritches, and one big orange blob. I
went straight to the punch bowl and then mingled about. Everybody bored
me, and they all seemed to be staring at the monstrosity that was my
costume. Then I saw her, the woman I would spend forever with, the woman
who wouldn't bitch at me for drinking milk out of the carton. She was a
twin of Mia Wallace (a.k.a. Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction), and she looked
me straight in the eye, walked up to me, and what followed was a few hours
of engaging conversation; this and my never empty punch cup kept me in
seventh heaven. In the middle of debating which was more torture,
watching the OJ trial or watching a Mickey Rourke movie, she blurted out
"Do you always talk so much before you a kiss a girl?" That was all the
invitation I needed. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed. It was just
like the movies...the world started to spin in a little circle, like in a
DePalma film, except it made me dizzy, and I suddenly realized it wasn't
the kiss, but the heavy imbibing at the punchbowl. I lost my balance,
which is not a smooth thing mid-kiss. The huge Tide box caused me to
stumble and I held my love tight, knowing she would be my rock and prevent
my imminent falling, but my feet became entwined with hers and I fell
forward, taking Mia Wallace with me. I could see her expression of horror;
the girl I so wanted to impress was being crushed by Mr. Tide himself. I
believe the words that she used were "Jesus, I can't feel my legs! I
struggled and squirmed, as Batman and Thor managed to pull me off of her,
but by then it was too late. Physically, Mrs. Wallace was fine, but she
was none too pleased with my squashing her, inadvertent as it was. In
fact, everybody at the party just sort of glared and pointed at me until I
left in utter shame. No more Halloween parties for ME, thank you very
much.
Don't walk down the same unpaved road as I did. Learn from my mistakes,
my friend. This Halloween, hide out with some friends, turn off on the
lights and rent some movies. Try a couple of these, you'll thank me
later. Halloween, Nightmare On Elm Street, Frankenhooker, Carrie, The
Shining, Evil Dead 2, Dead Alive, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The
Exorcist, and Re-Animator. When the doorbell rings, don't answer it.
There's no shame. In fact, I've found that detaching the doorbell all
together makes things much more pleasant. And if you turn the volume up
really loud, you can't even hear those little fists knocking.
ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
³The following entry brought to you by Dave (IAMHOLTZ@oak.grove.iup.edu) ³
ÃÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ´
³ "Endoplasmic Dandelion Wine Soup Kitchen Rhyme" ³
ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
Serenade me with a broken dock. Throw a rock at the misinformed mortar forcing
fake facial gestures referring to false remembrance of nothing near your
taste. Paste on staples, egress through the escape hole, black hole. Fold the
paper on the dotted line, fine point, fractured joint, join hands, clang pots
and pans, spin the fan manually, sanding the wood on your face to the skull.
Bowl of rice and a cancer patient to wash it down. Spoonful of sugar --
counted killing sprees, leaving green sperm stains sparingly surrounding your
room located outside your cousin's dog house. Praise your priest of peanuckle
peace. Rinse your feet in tomato disease and the anti-christ cries because
there aren't enough matzo balls in the endoplasmic pudding. Position yourself
with horrid heinous tales of pretentious pill-poppers poking fun with branding
bars and soap bars and your enemy's best friend. Kill your cat because you're
taught to. Dog-best friend, pretend. It can happen, it will happen, lick the
statue, praise the lord and become an arsonist for the sake of the anti-christ.
You have the power, you have the gaul. Live for the moment, in a coma, send me,
heavenly, faded, broken glass, gashes in arms, alarms go off, no harm,
charming, help the lord for a sadist's sake. Save the salesman, pull up your
sleeves, relax, relax, acts of infamy and adultery. Your little black book,
the one you took, personal therapist, astrological projection of plaster
castor oil, ban everything. Your fingernails hide in the underground paint
can parlor of the pocket picker's pants. Stand up, rise and fall and call out
every last word you can think of. The dictionary, blind canaries, cousin
Larry, Maraschino cherry. Serenade me. Evade the calling, countless counting
carbon copies collecting dust. Fuss no more, by the shore, adore, score the
losing goal. Challenge no one, cause you will lose. "X" marks the spot with a
dot and a dot where no one sleeps but the corpse of Grandma Hubbert. Supper
time, limelight, and don't forget to serenade me, cascade me, shade me, cause
I am the anti-christ, I am the anti-christ, I am the anti-christ and I'm not
a gun-wielding, southern, white supremacist unless it is seven AM, friday
night and there hasn't been a drop of rain in 4 and a half days.
ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
³ McCROSKEY'S CORNER ³
ÃÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ´
³ ENTRY 2 ³
ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
Please send all responses to lamont@CPCN.COM
I hate women. I really hate women! I don't think we need women on
this planet. All they do is take up space. Men can do anything a woman can,
and a lot better too. The only thing that women are needed for on this planet
is to make babies, and we don't even need them for that!
Look at what we can do with genetics nowadays. We'd only need to keep
women around for the fact that they have the eggs that we men would need to
reproduce. We could keep them all chained up in a room and take eggs from
them when necessary. Actually, with the miracles of genetics, we may even be
able to clone an egg, eliminating the need to have women around at all! No,
we wouldn't all look the same, since each man's sperm contains different
chromosomes, so we wouldn't be clones.
The only thing that women are needed for is sex. When you look at
love, what is it? A feeling for a person? What's that have to do with
anything physical? What does a girlfriend provide for you that a male
friend can't? Just the physical crap. So relationships are nothing but
lust, and I think that's totally pointless. I could hang out with my friends
all the time and not give a shit about women. I don't need to have sex,
and if I got the urge that bad, I'll just rent a video and masturbate!
All women are liers and deceitful little wenches. They wear their
attractive little outfits to make the guys drool sexually over them, then
they won't give it up when you want it! Or they'll lead you on, then crush
your hopes with some stupid thing to say like "I was just being friendy!"
Even the act of putting on make-up is one of the little deceitful things
that women do. They hide their flaws, hoping to lure you in. Then once
they've got you, you see how ugly they are in the morning and wonder how
drunk you were.<P>
What is love? A feeling? I can get a feeling from beer, or a joint.
I don't need a woman for some feeling. Emotion? Is that the whole point?
Most people don't even understand WHY they have emotions. So that means
love is meaningless since it's an emotion that's not understood. When
you're with your girlfriend or boyfriend, ask yourself "why do I love
this person?" Because they're funny? There's tons of funny people.
Because they care? Tons of people are caring.
Most human beings share many of the same traits, but with variations
in the amount of the trait possessed. Just about every person can be labeled,
and when that label is mentioned you'll instantly get clue as to what that
person is like. It all comes back to the physical crap again. The only
large differences between people are physical.
So why do we need women? For sex, that's the only thing I can
think of. And I really don't care if I have sex in my whole life. All
I see are lies coming from women. I think there should be a collective
suicide and that all women should kill themselves. But please, leave
your eggs? We need to keep the world filled with smiling men, happy
because the problems of the earth have killed themselves.
ðððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððð
ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
³DISTRIBUTION IS AS FOLLOWS:³
ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
FTP:
* ftp.eng.ufl.edu/incoming
* etext.archive.umich.edu/pub/Zines/KillYourself
* ftp.etext.org/pub/Zines/KillYourself
* locust.cic.net/pub/Zines/KillYourself
GOPHER:
* gopher://gopher.etext.org/11/Zines
HTML:
* http://hops.cs.jhu.edu/~mbk/killyourself.html
* http://www.etext.org/Zines/KillYourself
ðððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððððð
