Copy Link
Add to Bookmark
Report
Parthenogenesis 01
<<<EXTRA-SPECIAL NEATO NOTE: Hello to all who are reading this!
This is PARTHENOGENESIS, a regular old solid ink-and-paper zine
based in Fort Collins, Colorado converted to ezine format. Please
keep in mind that this is a REPRINT of the original issue. Also,
apologies if the zine is a bit Fort Collins-inclusive (future
issues won't be). All work by the respective authors is under
copyright. Permission is granted to copy and distribute this
ezine in its entirety, or to give the respective author credit
for his/her work. In the future I hope to have current copies of
PARTHENOGENESIS distributed physically and on the Net
simultaneously. I also hope to be independently wealthy, conquer
the universe, and learn to tango. Of the three, I think the
second is the most likely. If you should wish to contribute to
this zine (all submissions will be considered - but I tend to
stay away from political crap), request a copy of the physical
zine (it looks MUCH better, and has a bit of artwork in it that's
not here), or just have something to say (I welcome ALL
comments), please write me at: Parthenogenesis, 804 S.College
Suite 8363, Ft.Collins, CO, 80524 or you can send email to us:
dherrick@nyx.cs.du.edu. Thanks for listening to me babble, and if
you didn't take the time to read through all this, you're a dork.
--- Mohammed X >>>
************************
PARTHENOGENESIS, ISSUE 1
************************
ARITHMETIC
"Dick Van Dyke looks great in pastels," she said as the paint
dripped off the walls and the clock smiled. He grinned back at
the clock, which caused his face to shatter. Shards of
crystallized skin, flesh and teeth fell inward, leaving a gaping
red cavity on the front of his head. Unconcerned, he stretched
languorously, and then gasped as his outstretched limbs and in
fact his whole body melted into a gray putrid slime which was
absorbed by the couch. The gasp fluttered about the room until it
hit a lampshade, then shattered into thousands of myriad tiny
gasps which visibly shot outward, bouncing off walls and other
obstacles, until they all at once encountered each other in the
middle of the room. In the instant in which they all struck each
other simultaneously, they grew, darkened, developed strange
shapes, fastened to each other in various complex ways, and
formed into the shape of a man. He opened his eyes and sighed
deeply. The sigh turned into a minor gale which shook the
curtains, knocked over several candles (which, incidentally, were
not there and had never been) on the brown table by the couch,
and billowed her hair. She turned to him.
"Suffocation IS a beautiful thing," she pressed on, trying to get
her point across.
"Arithmetic," he said.
"Arithmetic," he said again, liking the sound of it.
"Arithmetic," he said once more, impressed with the sheer
ponderousness of it.
"It's arithMAtic," she corrected, enunciating carefully.
"Arithmetic," he said, his way.
"No, no... arithMAtic!" she said, forcibly.
He frowned at her and she disappeared. He looked around. The way
the light bulb in the lamp shone reminded him greatly of the sun,
and he recalled that some peoples of the world worshipped a sun
god. Or at least did at one time. He determined to worship the
lamp god.
"ArithMAtic," she said, still trying to correct his
pronunciation, which she was very particular about. He did not
ignore her, for she did not exist - she COULD not exist, he had
banished her from his consciousness. She did not know this, and
blithely continued repeating the word.
"ArithMAtic," she announced confidently.
He was kneeling on the floor, bowing to the lamp, worshipping it
and hoping for its favor. He sand chants to it, which were
actually just combinations of the word "arithmetic".
"Ari ithma mati mati tic," he chanted solemnly.
"ArithMAtic," she stated firmly.
"Rithma ma ticari ari ari thma," he chanted joyously.
"ArithMAtic," she grated.
"Tic tic matic, banana fanna fo-fick," he chanted hopefully.
"ArithMAtic," she mumbled, then switched off the lamp.
His world became dark. He fell over, stunned. His god had
deserted him! He wept, bitterly. She stood over him and smiled.
It was not a friendly smile, in fact, it was a very horrid
grimace.
"ArithMAtic."
*
POOBRAINS 'R' US
Multicolored flowers adorn my buttcheecks. Phallic spheres, gee,
how I love beers. Fie, yon bluebirds, I've lost me tuna fish.
"Aie!" cried the jackal, "Why must I be green?" Shnicker
Schnacker, Shnicker Shnacker, wop wop woo! I've got a problem and
it might be you! So the squeegee sang aloud:"My loins are for
you!"
*
Now I'm not one to be spreading misleading rumors, but these
truths just happened to come to me in a series of very sensual
visions, and I thought I'd share them with you. I learned
recently a few interesting FACTS about Undertone's owner/DJ, Mykl
Kryka, either through reliable sources from the spirit world or
my own sneaky infiltration of Undertones. I first became aware of
Mykl's romantic involvement with his bartender Sam when I
observed them carressing each others, um, hands under the table.
In casual conversation, I learned that Mykl and Sam have been
regularly dating, but only on Saturdays. But we all have our
little scandals, don't we? And I know them all. For instance, it
has been reported to me that on Sunday, May 3, at approximately
2:40 am, DAN whispered "sweet nothings" into MYKL's ear in a
public restaurant (NOT pubic restaurant, ya sickos!) which will
remain anonymous in order to protect the integrity of the
establishment (which is IHOP). So anyway, I also heard that there
are plans in the making for Undertones to host a benefit concert
to help raise money for Mykl fourteen illegitimate children. "I
don't want them begging in the streets any more, but I can hardly
support my three (wonderful) wives, let alone these (wondrous)
(beautiful) (wonderful) kids," someone was quoted as saying that
Mykl said. He may even bring in the band Cyberslaughter to play,
a rogue ant reported. I don't know, though... this is the same
man who claimed that "my flesh piston came (so to speak) from my
mother's vagina". Tsk tsk.
In other rumors... er, news... the old Casaguapa is dead.
RIP. But a new one has risen in its place. We shall see... For
those of you who don't know about Casaguapa, just pretend.
Someone told me the Damned is going on tour in June, and
Gators is on the list of announced venues. This means that DJ
Schmeg should probably start playing some of their stuff on
Wednesdays, RIGHT?!?
And let's talk about Greeeeeley. Actually, Greeley's pretty
evil. Let's not.
Oh, and I've also found out about plans for a new skate park
to be built in Wellington, due to high public demand.
Some more people news: The BAT TWINS, otherwise known as
Keely and Jette (pronounced Yet-a, as in "yet a-nother black
eyeliner pencil used up"), or in some circles (and an occassional
square) known as "Patricia and Dave", are the ringleaders of a
Vampiric Lesbian Drug Cortel based in Fort Collins. They have
openly admitted IN PUBLIC that they have, on numerous occassions,
shared water and more. Sharing water, you know what that can lead
to, don't you? Germs... revealing the secret of your bad
breath... THE COMMON COLD. Stay away from these Amazon Vampires.
Hey, girls, bats poop a lot you know.
Also, I was able to find this out at great cost to myself (I
was nearly killed! I'll tell you the story sometime.): The
Collins Files, that fine upstanding example of a musical special
interest zine, is actually a front for an international terrorist
organization called C.R.I.P.E.S. (the Creative Righteous
Individuals for Post-Erection Shivers), and they are planning to
take over the minds of everyone in Fort Collins, starting with
Undertones! They have reported some success so far, in fact, they
have all the fraternities in town under their control! Be warned!
They could be going after YOU next!
*
Dream your shadows alive... Find your favorite fever, and build
the bridge to decadence. With the answer, choose the finger but
kiss the hand. Ask me, if you fear. Listen not to what I say, but
to what the blossoms whisper. Am I wise? Answer, and I will
disagree.
*
Here's a good band to listen to if you're into heavy
bloodletting and acts of meaningless violence: Cyberslaughter.
With their debut album (self-released), Chrome Dreams and
Automatic Screams, they've shown that they are a sound to be
reckoned with in the industrial world. The music sounds
something like a cross between Front 242 and Operation Ivy. The
talent for this band is unknown, which is a rarity in today's
industrial bands. Karakkon Malevil does vocals and guitar,
Michael the Moist also does vocals, as well as keyboards, and the
two drummers names are given as Kama and Sutra. On the back of
the album, though, it does explain that "Sutra" is what they
named their drum machine.
The outstanding songs on this six song EP should be played
repeatedly, preferably at high volume next door to a church.
"487", the opening track, is a poignantly sad, yet moving, song
about purity. "Blackie Me" is a twisted song which reminds me of
pre-Ministry concert fights in the parking lot. "Defecation is a
Beautiful Thing" is a passable tune, it's happy-go-lucky theme
contrasting sharply with the rest of the album. "Computer
Viruses Bug Me" is a whirlwind of frantic guitars, breaking
glass, and distorted high-pitched screams. "Rippers" and
"Whipslash" are tunes strewn with pounding drums, completely
insane electric guitar duels, and Karakkon's gravelly voice
chanting destruction.
There are even rumors abroad that Cyberslaughter may be
going on tour soon, so keep an eye out. Or better yet, poke an
eye out.
- Mohammed X
*
Dear Mom:
I was wanting to write to you regarding something very odd
that recently happened to me while I was walking down this
road... A small, yellow, furry, smelly creature stepped out. I
grasped its fury probis and tucked it under my armpit. Walking
on, it spoke to me, saying:
"Mortal! Know you that you hold in your hand a God?"
I stopped, stunned. An involuntary belch escaped my lips. The
creature, sensing my distraction, wriggled out of my armpit and
dropped to the ground. I expected it to scuttle away, but instead
it surprised me by scurrying up my leg and perching on my penis,
which was erect.
"Let me tell you a bit about myself," it said...
"I am Fungus, king of the people of Lundi. Among my
people, I am known as god of fertility and oral sex. But I
digress... I have a purpose that begins its fulfillment by
perching on your penis."
"You lie!" I exclaimed.
"No, in order for our people to survive, I must find a human
mortal specimen worthy of the prophecy. The prophecy states that
a young mortal, lost to the ways of his world, lonely and
sexually deprived will, upon being introduced to the ultimate
orgasm will suddenly choose to redirect his life into a moment of
complete and utter outer cellular movement. After this
instantaneous glory, life will be null, void and meaningless on
the Blue & White Tierra."
"And if I refuse?"
"What? But why should you refuse?"
"Oh, I dunno... just to be a dick I suppose."
Fungus looked at me strangely, then proceeded to laugh in a
very annoying high-pitched giggly way.
Just when I though the creature was going to implode from
the uncontrolled cackling, he turns to me and says, with a
twinkle in his eye, "Kiss me or lose me forever!"
I laughed, the laugh of a maniacal serial killer, and
proceeded to squash this crazy yellow dork into oblivion. After
the horrendous task was completed, I spun my heel and continued
my saunter down the road... and this chick jumped me... I gotta
quit doing acid.
Love, Dave D.
*
Greetings. By now I bet you're wondering just what the hell this
bunch of papers you're holding is all about. Well, I can't answer
that. All I can tell you is it's called Parthenogenesis, and it
is just a bunch of words put together for your benefit. This zine
is perfect to stick in the bathroom, so when you're stuck in
there and feel like you'll be there for a while and you've got
nothing to read, you'll have this. Plus, if you run out of toilet
paper you'll have this too. Wow. Allow me to introduce myself. I
am Mohammed X, and you are not. This zine is dedicated to the
virtues of Nonrealism, Nocturnalism, Neolithism (not really,
well, maybe, what does it mean anyway), Naturalism (NOT!), and
Nonsensicality. And it does not actively promote tooth decay. Any
donations of money or material (stories, poems, artwork, nose
hairs, fingernail clippings for my secret voodoo rituals,
letters, ANYTHING) are accepted; send them to the address below.
I can't guarantee to print everything I get UNLESS you include $
for me to print it. The $ to print this zine comes out of my own
pocket, but that's ok, because who would pay for this trash? I
KNOW it's trash, I KNOW it's lame, but you're reading it aren't
you? To quote a poem I wrote with my friend and dartboard Akhmael
called "Evil is cool, Good is Peanut Butter": "I sacrifice you;
in the name of Winnie the Pooh; you kill me; in the name of
hockey.". Really, there was no point in quoting that, but just
think. Chances are you probably don't do it enough. Think. I know
I don't. The penIs, mightier than the sword.
-Mohammed X
Parthenogenesis
804 S.College Suite 8363
Ft. Collins, CO. 80524
*
a conversation:
JEAN LUC: Get that boy off the bridge!
WESLEY: but captain...
JEAN LUC: In my ready room! now!
<exit WESLEY. JEAN LUC straightens uniform and frowns. exit JEAN
LUC>
WESLEY: so why do they call it your "ready room"?
JEAN LUC: You'll find out when you're ready. Har har!
WESLEY: very funny captain.
JEAN LUC: bend over and touch your toes.
WESLEY: no, not again!
JEAN LUC: <zip!>
<enter WILLIAM.>
WILLIAM: Sir, I... why, you're bald all over!
JEAN LUC: what is it, number one? Can't you see I'm busy!
WESLEY: I thought I was your number one!
JEAN LUC: shut up, boy!
WILLIAM: sir, we're under attack!
<JEAN LUC and WILLIAM walk to the Bridge.>
JEAN LUC: by whom?
WILLIAM: we don't know for sure, sir.
JEAN LUC: on viewscreen!
<picture of a spaceship appears.>
JEAN LUC: it looks to me like a Venorxiian Battleship!
WILLIAM: we thought so too. but they could be Romulans,
disguising themselves as Venorxiians!
JEAN LUC: hmm... you could be right number one.
<WESLEY wanders in and reprograms the navigational computer.>
WARF: message coming in sir!
EERIE VOICE: federation starship! Hand over all your young nubile
women!
JEAN LUC: and if we do not?
EERIE VOICE: we will kill you all!
JEAN LUC: identify yourself!
EERIE VOICE: I am Mel Blanc.
WARF: he could be lying sir.
JEAN LUC: hmm...
EERIE VOICE: we have waited too long! We will kill one of you as
an example!
WILLIAM: no!
EERIE VOICE: yes! the BOY shall die!
<WESLEY bursts into flame and is nothing more than a charred
cinder in a matter of seconds.>
WARF: fuckin' A!
<commercial break.>
<end of commercial break. JEAN LUC is still staring at the
picture of the spaceship on the viewscreen and shows no sign of
quitting.>
WILLIAM: sir? what should we do?
WARF: captain? shall we attack?
GEORDI: captain?
DIANA: sir?
WILLIAM: captain!
WARF: sir! Shall We Attack!?!?
JEAN LUC: NO!
WARF: but we could blow them away!
JEAN LUC: ah, but we are peaceable!
WARF: but they KILLED one of our crewmembers!
WILLIAM: it was only Wesley.
JEAN LUC: true. but we ARE on a mission!
WILLIAM: to seek out new worlds-
JEAN LUC: no, besides that. I didn't tell you about it before so
I could build up suspense. You see, we must find... the secret
Hair Growth Tonic!
WILLIAM: but that's impossible! there's no such thing!
EERIE VOICE: not true! we have it!
JEAN LUC: you do?
EERIE VOICE: yes! and we will trade it for... the Counselor! JEAN
LUC: make it so!
WARF: but captain, she can only embroider!
JEAN LUC: she'll have to do. Engine Room! One to beam over to the
alien vessel!
WILLIAM: sir, the engine room doesn't beam things. the
transporter room takes care of that.
JEAN LUC: shut up! this is my ship, I can do what I want!
WILLIAM: not any more, I'm taking over.
JEAN LUC: you can't!
WILLIAM: I just did.
JEAN LUC: ok. <pouts>
WILLIAM: Warf! photon torpedo that spaceship!
WARF: yes sir!
WILLIAM: Jean Luc... be in my ready room in five minutes.
WESLEY: hi guys!
WILLIAM: what the hell? I thought you were dead!!
WESLEY: oh no sir. it was just a hologram of me that appeared to
burn up and die. you see, all I did was-
WILLIAM: shut up. Warf!
WARF: sir!
WILLIAM: stab him.
WARF: yes SIR!
WESLEY: aaargh!
WILLIAM: is he dead yet?
WARF: no sir.
WILLIAM: ravage him.
WARF: yes sir.
*
It's Guapa time! Seeing as I am a High Sloppa of Guapa, I really
should devote some space to Guapa in this zine. Okay, well, for
those of you who really don't know who Guapa is, he's the god of
Free Beer. One swell guy. Actually, he's also the god of
alcoholic beverages in general, but especially beer. And
especially FREE beer. You see, Guapa gives his blessings as he
sees fit... mostly when you praise him a lot. When you get free
beer, you should thank Guapa, for he is the one who got it for
you. No, it wasn't the guy who gave it to you, that was just
Guapa's emissary. Who do you think divinely inspired the guy to
share his beer with you? Guapa, of course. Heck, I find unopened
6ers of beer lying in the middle of the street late at night, and
who do I praise? Guapa. And hey, if you don't like beer, you can
still like Guapa! Aside from him being the patron god of all
other alcoholic beverages, he has a family of other generous gods
as well: BOB, the god of smokeable materials; SID, the god of
hallucinogenics; FRED, the god of free rides and found money;
GEORGE, the god of sex, to name the major ones. They do not like
praise or open adoration, but they don't mind if you share their
blessings with others. I'll quote some passages to you from the
Holy Scrolls of Guapa:
"SCROLL 2: Praise Guapa, for he gives us beer! For free!
That's right, beer! For free! Yeah!"
"SCROLL 19: Hope for the hopeful, for it only will defeat
hopelessness. Hopelessness is for those with no hope, and those
with no hope are quite hopeless. Praise Guapa! Praise be unto
praise, for with it we praise Guapa. And don't forget the orange
juice!"
"SCROLL 51: And one day Bob sayest unto Sid: 'Lo, am I
high!'. And Sid replieth unto Bob, saying: 'Lo, where'd you get
that extra eye?'. And George walked in and sold them each a
concubine."
"SCROLL 78: Gee, though I walk through the valley of
sobriety, I shall fear no policeman, because Guapa loves me. Yea,
I am most pious and never stray from the path of drunkenness and
beer (free) is man's best friend. I think that maybe I'll pop a
cerveza now and ponder this dry little valley..."
Okay, here's a little story I thought you might like... it's from
Guapa's Bedtime Stories, a compilation of various writings and
stuff about Guapa. This is from Genesis of Drunkenness.
CHAPTER 1: OF THE CREATION OF BEER
In the beginning, there was water.
Lots of it.
High on Mount Guapa (which is a good state of mind to be in
that Holy Place), Guapa sat upon his throne and pondered. What he
pondered was anyone's guess. One day, while out for a stroll, he
happened to notice the vast amounts of water that existed on the
world. Our Lord Guapa was troubled, and the reason for that was
this: Why should there be just water? And so Guapa Most High
(believe me, he is) uttered the legendary phrase:
"Let there be beer!"
And there was beer. Guapa was pleased. He set about to
drinking most of it, and was even more pleased. Soon his days and
nights were taken up with drinking the Beer, and making more, and
drinking, and making more... and all was good. But soon again
Guapa was troubled, for he wished to share his Brew with someone,
for as everyone knows, it's no fun to drink alone. And so Guapa
rose, fell, and rose again; he was very drunk, that being his
nature. Guapa clapped his hands together seventy-six times (Guapa
swears it was seventy-six, but it has been speculated that it was
closer to three), belched, and created the People. The people
cried aloud with joy that they had been created such. Guapa
offered them beer, which the people promptly drank; and lo, it
was good shit. The people cried aloud with joy that they could
drink this Divine Brew, and drank some more. Guapa wished that
they would stop crying aloud with joy, and he said so; and lo,
the people stopped crying out with joy. The people and Guapa then
got down to some serious drinking.
*
god (that's me), how I love these. Each of these says the same
thing backwards as it does forwards. If you know any more good
ones, send 'em in!
"Rise to vote, sir." "A man, a plan, a canal - Panama!" "Was
it a cat I saw? No, Miss, it's Simon."
in reference to that illustrous periodical:
"Live on, Time, emit no evil."
Napoleon Bonaparte, as he was being escorted to the island Elba
after being exiled from France, was supposed to have said:
"Able was I ere I saw Elba."
personally,I think all he could say was "Shit shit shit shit..."
And here's one even in Latin, though I don't know what it means,
probably something obscene: "Sator, arepo, tenet opera rotas." *
----------------------------------------------------------------
PEER PRESSURE INC.
our motto: "Do it! Everybody does!"
We here at PP are devoted to convincing our fellow peers of
the vast benefits of joining with us in anything we do. Besides,
everyone else has joined. Non-members of PP are ridiculed, tarred
and feathered, and shot with rock salt by their peers. And if
that's not enough incentive to join, we offer a newsletter,
called PPP (the Peer Pressure Post). PPP is published somewhat
semi-periodically... usually. When we get around to it. Don't
force us, though! Hey! Okay, we'll do it, since you insist.
To join, send your $1.00 (initial membership fee) + $2.00
(yearly dues) with the attached sheet filled out completely to
the address below. Membership is $2.00 per year. Membership
privileges include: A membership card, the PPP newsletter, and
the satisfaction and prestige that goes along with being a part
of the whole.
A non-profit organization (pretty much).
Peer Pressure Inc.
804 S.College Suite 8363
Ft.Collins, CO 80524
P.S. Remember to photocopy the sign-up form and distribute
it to at least 2 other people, before you fill it out.
P.P.S. You won't regret this.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
NOTE: Before filling out this form, please photocopy and
distribute to at least 2 other people.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
NAME _______________________________________________ AGE ________
ST.ADDRESS ______________________________________________________
CITY, STATE ________________________________________ ZIP ________
SOCIAL STRUCTURES YOU BELONG TO _________________________________
_________________________________________________________________
EVER GIVEN IN TO PEER PRESSURE BEFORE? __________________________
(IF NO, THEN INCLUDE AN EXTRA $1.00)
WHO/WHAT CONVINCED YOU TO JOIN? _________________________________
WILL YOU DO IT? (Come one, EVERYBODY'S doing it!)
(If you don't, nobody will ever respect
you!) YES [ ] NO [ ]
(NOTE: If you marked the NO box, you're a reject.)
Enclosed is my $3.00 ($1.00 initial membership fee, $2.00 for
first year). Please sign me up as a member of PP. [ ]
Enclosed is my donation of $50.00 or more. Please make
me happy. [ ]
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
******************************
END OF PARTHENOGENESIS ISSUE 1
*******************************
