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The Hogs of Entropy 1000
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- $#%::::::::: BEAT YOUR FISTS THROUGH THE STATIC & THE NOISE ::::::::%#$ -
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_/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/
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__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/
\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_
/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\_
_/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\
_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\
OINK, MOTHERFUCKER! _/\_ I AM A GODDAMN PIG. _/\_ OINK, MOTHERFUCKER!
: ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :
/\/\/\ /\/\/\ /\/\/\ /\/\/\ /\/\/\ /\/\/\ /\/\/\ /\/\/\
<*BEEP*> <*BEEP*> <*BEEP*> <*BEEP*> <*BEEP*> <*BEEP*> <*BEEP*> <*BEEP*>
\/\/\/ \/\/\/ \/\/\/ \/\/\/ \/\/\/ \/\/\/ \/\/\/ \/\/\/
IT'S ___ .--------------------. IT'S
TOO /o O\ \ / | Gosh, what's wrong | TOO
MUCH | ^_ | o|| | with my computer?! | GOOD
FOR /\___/\// `--.-----------------' FOR
YOU //| hoe!! | -' YOU
| `\>\_____/ |
`---:: _// \\_ ::---'
: :
: ~~~\.--------------------------------./~~~ :
- $#%::::::::::::::: | HOE #1000: THE RETURN OF WAREZ | :::::::::::::::%#$ -
___/`--------------------------------'\___
{((( HELLO AND WELCOME! )))}
I {((( THE TEXT FILE YOU ARE CURRENTLY RECEIVING )))} Are
am {((( HAS BEEN SPECIALLY ENCODED WITH THE FUNKY )))} you
alive {((( FINGERS OF DOZENS OF E-ZINE WRITERS. IT'S )))} alive
! {((( ENTIRELY POSSIBLE AFTER SOME ANALYSIS, AN )))} ?
{((( ALERT READER WILL BE ABLE TO FIND SEVERAL )))}
{((( SUBLIMINAL IDEAS, CONTRADICTIONS AND EVEN )))}
No. {((( A LITTLE TOUCH OF CRAP. DO NOT BE AFRAID. )))} Yes.
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: :
: ~~~\.-----------------------./~~~ :
- $#%:::::::::::::| Freaks Flock Together |:::::::::::::%#$ -
: ___/`-----------------------'\___ :
s$ $s : .d"$$"b. :
$$ $$ .d""b. .d""b. $$ $$ $$ .d""b. $$ s$ .d""$$
: ::::::: $$""$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ : $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ .ass$$ $$ $$ ::::::: :
$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ss$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ss$$ $$ $$ $$ "" $$
FZZZZZZZZ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ .d""$$ ZZZZZZZZT
$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ "" $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$
: ::::::: $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ : $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ ::::::: :
$$ $$ "TssT" "TssT" $$ $$ "TssT" "Tss$$ $$ "Tss$$ (tm)
: : ""
: " What does it all mean?!#@^ " :
. .
: :::::::::::::::::::::::::::: \\//////// :::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :
| OiNK |
0 0
Rockin' Ya Brain \ / Blurrin' Tha Line
(O O)
~~~~\
: :::::::::::::::::::::: Bringin' It ALL Together :::::::::::::::::::::: :
<<<< HOE E'ZINE: LEADER OF THE NEW SCHOOL >>>
<<<< The Real ASCII Underground >>>>
((( *NOW IN STEREO!* )))
............................................................................
:::::::::::: WORK YOUR FINGERS TO THE BONE SITTING ON YOUR ASS :::::::::::::
""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
Aww yeah! IT IS TIME. Aww yeah!
\ " / _3_ \ " /
: :: --- (*) --- --- (*) --- :: :
/ // \ _2_ / \\ \
\\ //
no no NO no no NO no! // _1_ \\ no no NO no no NO no!
_______________________\\_________________________//________________________
AWW SHIT YEAH %$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$% YA THINK YOU
IT'S DA HOE1K %$$| .. |$$% CAN FUCK WIT
DONTCHA YA BE %$$| .uef^" oe < .z@8"` |$$% HOE??? BOYEE
STEPPIN' UPTA %$$| :d88E .@88 !@88E |$$% DONTCHA KNOW
THIS MEGADOPE %$$| `888E ==*88888 '888E u |$$% DAT WE AIN'T
PHATTY ROCKIN %$$| 888E .z8k 88888 888E u@8NL |$$% NO CHEAP OL'
T-FILE CUS YA %$$| 888E~?888L 88888 888E`"88*" |$$% IMITATION NO
KNOW WHEN THA %$$| 888E 888E 88888 888E .dN. |$$% WE'RE AT THE
SMOKE CLEARZZ %$$| 888E 888E 88888 888E~8888 |$$% NEXT LEVEL
THE SUCKAZZ N %$$| 888E 888E 88888 888E '888& |$$% SO HERES THA
FEARZ OF DA 2 %$$| 888E 888E 88888 888E 9888. |$$% TIME 4 YOU 2
TRUE HARDCORE %$$| m888N= 888> 88888 '"888*" 4888" |$$% REVEL IN DIS
RAWNESS N SHT %$$| `Y" 888 '**%%%%%%** "" "" |$$% LEETNESS LYK
WHICH ONLY WE %$$| J88" ____________________________|$$% IT WUZZ EVEN
CAN SERVE YOU %$$| @% |$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$% YA BIZNIZZZZ
WITH DA STYLE %$$| :" |$$%.---------------------------' BUT, REALLY,
DATS MAKIN DA %$$|____________|$$%| YA JUST CAME 2 WITNEZZ DA ADVANCEMENT IN
HOMIES SMILE! %$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$%| A MUTHAFUCKIN TEXTUAL ENTRACEMENT, SUCKA
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
From: Tanya Heaps
To: hoe@hoe.nu
Subject: Your web thing
Your web site (http://www.hoe.nu) is really quite bizarre. It's
as if five maniacal, ritalin-laden children got together and had a
writing orgy that never ended. Well, I like it, but I can't actually
read it. That's not an insult, but why do guys put together such
sophisticated satire right next to dumb stories about POOP. Maybe I'm
missing something?
-----
From: DukerDoozie
To: hoe@hoe.nu
Subject: wow
you guys totally rule. i've been reading hoe off and on since
1995 when somebody uploaded it to my local bbs here in CA. it's cool to
see that you guys are still producing text files, even with the
web domination of everything. for the life of me, i can't figure out why
you even bother, but you know. text is raw.
-----
From: Oscar Meyer Wilde III
To: mogel@hoe.nu
Subject: My final text file
God gave me large breasts, so I've got a licence to bitch.
Whatever you want to tell me, I probably know already. I'm tired of
going to sleep at night and waking up and remembering that I have a
sexual identity, and I probably know how to count because that's what
we're supposed to have learned. I'd like to unlearn, shift lock!@#$%^&*(),
and be a brand new text file writer each and every day.
I've got absolutely no problems with the French. People say,
like, "hey, the French are pretty snobby"--but I don't see it. I don't
have any idea what they're talking about. They make good food, movies,
and bizarre phrases that pepper our incestuous minds. I like that.
Real art fags use caps lock--structuralist dipshits. The best
writers use numbers to communicate. The patterns always change.
-----
From: gnn@uxu.org
To: Mogel <mogel@hoe.nu>
Subject: Gloat
The uXu officially congratulates the zine HOE, which belongs to
the proud--but last--recognizable generation of full-time, life-time
digital writers dedicated to the ingenious American Standard Code for
Information Interchange.
Greetings from Sweden,
The GNN/Underground eXperts United
-----
From: Sedative
To: hoe@hoe.nu
Subject: Greetings from the semi-distant past
Howdy. This is Sed, of HOE infamy (aah the fame of being a
teenage t-file writer). I came across the HOE webpage today & thought I
would send my greetings. It's weird looking at all these stories I
wrote years ago. Nowadays I'm struggling to make a living as a
"professional" (heh-heh) writer, so it's quite a trip looking at all
those things that showed up on my BBS screen way back when. I can't
decide if I'm supposed to feel nostalgic and cheery about those old
writings of mine, or feel incredibly embarassed. Probably both.
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A Special Message From The Editor
HIYA, GANG. Over-whelming would be an under-statement--if for only
one moment, everyone in the world would hop online simultaneously and
share the incredible joy that I have for each and every one of you. My
insatiable LOVE resides over this here computer network. Take a look at
your CPU for a minute, you. See it? It's got Mogel's LOVE coursing
through it's circuits, guys! I hope that makes you FEEL.
You're easily impressed, and HOE E'zine is there for you. We are
wonderfully clever. We are incredibly stupid. This is the 1000th issue
and I just CAN'T STOP the RIVETING FEELINGS from TRICKLING out of my
FINGERS. I would try to stop THE EMOTIONAL BLITZ from SWALLOWING YOU
WHOLE but I CAN'T.
We are a movement. A bowel. A very profound one. It all comes
down to one insurmountable phrase: "I'm Eating Your Fart". Don't bother
trying to stifle the giggle. I know it's there. Can you believe I
just said fart? I am completely off the hook! Just like the time the
teacher said blah blah blah, does it really matter what I type as an
anecdote here? You'll read it anyway!
Who am I trying to kid? All I really want is congratulations for
being the most prolifically insane person in the computer underground.
But words are never enough. Gosh, I want to impress you. Man, like a
boxer, I can just keep re-assembling words in different sequences,
swinging punch after punch, until I finally get a phrase that you guys
will really be HIT in the FACE by and THEN I will have SUCCEEDED.
AHH HOLY FUCK I'M WITTY. I'M PIERCING YOUR BRAIN WITH ASCII
WORDS!!!! CAN YOU POSSIBLY READ ALL 8.6 MEGS OF HOE???? AHAHAHAH THIS
IS A 164k ASSAULT ON YOUR SENSES!!!! THIS IS A TEXT OVERLOAD!!! WOOOOO!!!
I AM SHITTING DIRECTLY INTO YOUR EYEBALL!!!!
Somewhere in this issue appears the result of me ejaculating
onto this keyboard. Is that too over the top? I'm here for your
enjoyment. I'll do anything for you. When you're alone, think of me.
YO DUDES I JUST SMOKED UP A SWEET PHATTY "J" BEFORE WRITING THIS!
FUCK!!!! AHAHAHA!! PEOPLE ASK ME "HEY MOGEL, AFTER RUNNING HOE FOR SO
LONG, DO YOU EVER HAVE A PROBLEM TELLING THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN WHAT'S
GOOD AND WHAT'S COMPLETE CRAP?" AND, YO!! I TELL THEM "HAHA, NO I CAN
NOT, AND YOU KNOW WHAT? I HAVE NEVER FELT SO FREE!!!!" SO FUCK THAT!!!!
YO AHAHAH WE'RE BLURRIN THE SHIT BETWEEN GENIUS SHIT AND STUPIDITY AND
SHIT AHAHAH!!! SHIT FUCK MAN!!!
Do you think HOE got here too soon? Was our arrival pre-mature?
<ehehehe, sorry honey, it's been a while, ehehehe!>
I've said too much.
-Mogel/HOE E-ZINE GRANDE EDITOR SUPERIOR MAKIN' DA BITCHES CRY 'TIL I DIE
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The Obloid Sphere 192 of 222
By: Trilobyte Replies: 7
To: All
Subj: The World of Philosophy
i think that philosophy's main purpose is to create a description
of the world so that philosophers can talk about it in the way that they
want to. they can't explain our world in its own terms, so they have to
develop their own world with its own terms. they then use those terms a
lot and build up philosophies about their little world, but really, it
has very little application in the world in which we live.
if they were going to be talking about things that really applied,
they would be talking about convenience stores and coffee and how the two
connect, and how when you go to a convenience store and buy a cup of
coffee, you're having a certain mental and spiritual interaction with the
employee...
but there i go being all philosophical also. maybe there is no
spiritual world. maybe that's just another creation developed to hide
the fact that we can't explain our world using its own terms.
the world expresses itself using its terms, and we can't
understand them. who is it that created this world's terms? it wasn't
us. why do the terms exist? why do trees grow the way they do, why is
cement of that certain consistency? someone can provide answers to these
questions, but they will involve atoms and mathematical equations.
oh, so mathematics is the language of nature. mathematics are our
representation of the terminology of this world. then let's develop
pictures for the plus signs, images for the symbols. stories for the
problems.
oh wait, they've done that too. that's how they taught math to us
in grade school, that's how they taught us to apply math to the real
world. and since math is the language of the real world, the connection
shouldn't have been that hard to make.
it's too bad i understand language better than math.
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DRIVEN by AnonGirl
Jake Trent lived in Cleveland, Ohio, and liked to drive his car.
He didn't have a fancy car with a thousand functions, just a plain old
car. One day, after a long day at the office, Jake got into his car and
drove home. His eyes were burning from the fluorescent lights. Before
he got home, though, he had to run a few errands.
The first errand was to stop off at the Drive-Thru ATM, so that he
could get some cash for the rest of his errands. He liked the
convenience of not having to get out of his car and still be able to get
money from the bank. It was comforting to him.
For the second errand, he had to go to the Drive-Thru post office,
to mail a package to his friend Marcy, in Oregon. He liked the fact that
he didn't have to wait in line while reading Most Wanted posters amongst
hostile citizens, who were also waiting in line. It gave him peace of
mind.
The next errand was to stop at the Drive-Thru liquor commission,
to pick up some alcohol for the office Christmas party. He bought wine,
vodka, and tequila. He liked the idea of not having to go into the
liquor store at this time of year, because of the crowds and robberies.
He felt safer using the Drive- Thru. Wouldn't you?
Jake remembered the night before, and how a burglar tried to break
into his house. Since he didn't have an alarm system, he decided that it
would be best to purchase a gun, to protect himself. He made a quick
stop at the Drive-Thru Gun and Ammunition store, and picked up a 99 STO
Autococker, along with some ammo, for a reasonable price. He knew no
burglar would mess with him, now.
After his trip to the gun shop, Jake was famished. He stopped at
the Drive-Thru McDonald's, and ordered a number two, which was a Quarter
Pounder with cheese, fries, and a drink. He noticed that they were
selling Teenie Beanie Babies, and asked for a Nip the Cat. The girl
said, "I'm sorry, sir, but we're all out of Nip the Cat. Would you like
Seymour the Seal, instead?" However, Jake didn't want Seymour the Seal.
He politely declined the nice lady's offer, and went on his way. He felt
like living on the edge tonight, so when he was through with his Sprite,
he knocked back almost the entire bottle of vodka. He thought it'd be fun!
On the way home, Jake was driving through the 'hood, and decided
that now was a great time to try out his new weapon. He saw a group of
chillin' homeboys standing on the corner, and opened fire on the bunch,
killing each homey. He'd never been involved in any Drive-Bys before,
only Drive-Thrus. He kind of liked it; it made him feel new and different.
Soon after, he was stopped by the police, who drove him down Death
Road, to the local penitentiary. He was sentenced to death, where he
would awaiting execution on Death Row. His last request was to obtain
his lethal injection via Drive-Thru.
His request was denied, so he settled for an ice cream cone and a
cigarette.
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From: Blue Daemon
To: hoe@hoe.nu
Subject: learnin the internet
hehehe i like the one about the fucked girl cos its so true
l8r
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Your Call Is Not Important To Me!
(A Response to HOE #975!)
by Clyde
each morning when i get in to work at the b.a.c. corporation,
there are already hundreds of callers waiting to talk to me! i don't
even put my telephone headset on for about twenty minutes, because i have
to drink my coffee! if i don't drink my coffee, i will bite people's
heads off! the other suckers who decided to show up for work on time
this morning can deal with the work load, while i deal with the more
important subject of drinking coffee!
when i take the first call, all they can say to me is how long
they've been waiting, and how irritated they are with our service! if i
walked out the door without breakfast on that morning, as i've been doing
for months, i usually hang up at that time! then the next caller says
the same thing!
by about the ninth call, i get the same guy i hung up on in the
first call! and this time he is steaming pissed! i can just feel the
steam coming through the phone! and i'm sweating like hell! how come my
company doesn't hire someone to keep my coffee mug full! need more
coffee!
n e e d m o r e c o f f e e ! ! ! ! ! !
so it's the tenth caller! by this time, my genitals are getting a
bit soggy! they are reminding me what kind of stress i am dealing with
and how badly i need to relieve myself of all this coffee i am drinking!
and the customers are still pissed off! "four ninety five to answer my
calls faster! you sons of bitches!" what can i tell them! i have
programmed to tell them nothing but our standard answer block, which is,
"sir/ma'am, the priority call answering service is a way for you to get
your needs addressed in a more timely fashion! due to the high demand
for our products and services, our phone center employees typically
handle up to ninety calls per day! we can bill your visa, mastercard, or
american express card! what is the number on your credit card!"
i wrote that!
we get a bonus for each priority call answering service we sell!
but really! have these fucking customers looked at our catalog
recently! the women in the ads are the same women we used six years ago!
and frankly, these women haven't aged so well! once our dot-com web play
takes off, these old ladies are out the door! i'm going to show my boss
how to recruit hot-shit models over the internet!
n e e d m o r e c o f f e e ! ! ! ! ! !
ok, this is caller number forty! a true milestone! this asshole
wants saturday delivery! "sorry sir, but that shipping option is only
available on our web site, unless you are subscribed to our priority call
answering service! we can bill your visa, mastercard, or american
express card! what is the number on your credit card please!"
he hung up!
i take my headset off, and run to the bathroom down the hall!
after pissing, i towel off my genitals with some paper towels! i also
stuff a bunch of tissues in my back pockets! believe it or not, this
makes sitting down for a long time much more comfortable!
next caller! hey, this will be caller number fifty-five! i think
it will be my last one for today! screw quotas, i'm going to a movie
tonight so i have to leave early!
"yes, ma'am, we are an internet company! just open your web
browser and type in double-you double-you double-you dot ..."
"are you going public soon?"
"huh!"
"are you going public? i want to buy stock in an internet
company! when are you going public? er, can i talk to your PEE ARE
person, or someone in INVESTOR RELATIONS?"
"how can i help you!"
"listen baby, ALL I WANT IS TO STRIKE IT RICH ON THE INTERNET. i
DONT WANT your FUCKING products! the ONLY GOD-DAMN REASON i sat on hold
for so long is to find out about INVESTING in your company! listen! i
have been investing for just TWO MONTHS and i HAVE to find the HOTTEST
new trend in the industry! i want to invest in a company that will FLY
OFF THE CHARTS and put NETSCAPE to shame! i just opened my E*TRADE
account and i want to BEAT THE STREET! beat the street, baby! that's
what it's all about! but listen, you little snot-nosed [INAUDIBLE], i'm
done talking to you, i just want to talk to your INVE..."
n e e d m o r e c o f f e e ! ! ! ! ! ! !
"ma'am! this company is six years old! we sell some of the most
boring stuff on the planet! our average customer hold time is in the
20-minute range! our management is asleep at the wheel! some high
school kid did our web site! i only got this job to get out of prison
early! our turnover rate is nineteen percent! the average employee age
is only twenty three! half our accounting staff is away on maternity
leave! and just between us, the other half of them are lesbians!
listen! do you think this company could possibly be a successful company
in the stock market! i don't care so much about what you want! the
thing i do is get money from people who call me! that's it! see, if i
transfer you, i haven't made any money on the call! my manager will see
this and get pissed! he might fire me too! so can't you find it in your
heart to just buy a..."
"i'm gonna be rich! i'm gonna be rich!"
"listen ma'am! have you heard about our new product line launched
this week! it is an attractive set of..."
"investor relations department, please! i'm gonna be rich!"
"...and for as little as twelve dollars extra, you can upgrade to
overnight shipping!"
"transfer me please! investor relations!" [woman starts pressing
buttons on her phone]
"sorry, ma'am, but only members of our priority call answering
service may speak with our investor relations department! i can bill
your visa, mastercard, or american express card! what is the number on
your credit card please!"
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
The Pubic Hair Shaving FAQ
Maintained by Styx <styx@rebel-alliance.net>
v0.5 - January 09, 2000
FAQ questions
a. Why would anybody shave their pubic hair?
b. Should I shave my pubic hair?
c. What should I know before shaving my pubic hair?
d. Is it true that my cock and balls will itch after I shave them?
e. Is it true that shaving my pubic hair will make my penis look bigger?
f. Anything else?
**************************************************************************
a. Why would anybody shave their pubic hair?
Good question, and it beats the fuck out of me. Some guys claim that
shaving them adds sensitivity to the genital area, especially during
sexual intercourse or walking down the street. While this may be
true, you will find that this is most often said by guys who are TOO
CHICKENSHIT TO SHAVE THEIR DICK. What they are NOT TELLING YOU is
that the added sensitivity is actually due to the BLEEDING AND
BURNING YOU EXPERIENCE AFTER DOING SUCH A RIDICULOUS THING.
b. Should I shave my pubic hair?
ONLY IF YOU ENJOY WAKING UP AND WISHING YOU WERE DEAD EVERY MORNING.
c. What should I know before shaving my pubic hair?
First and foremost - there is NO graceful way to go about it. You
will hurt yourself and your loved ones. You will bleed. Your hands
will shake. You'll be in pain. Read dick shaving tips all you want
by the experts. They're full of shit because they have web sites.
I have a web site, too, but there is no content and I've no reason to
lie to any of you.
Secondly, if you're going to do it, ASK YOUR GIRLFRIEND IF SHE'D MIND
BEFOREHAND. This is KEY.
d. Is it true that my cock and balls will itch after I shave them?
YES.
e. Is it true that shaving my pubic hair will make my penis look bigger?
Actually, yes. But that doesn't make up for the AGONY AND TERROR.
f. Anything else?
Yes. You will get pimples all over the place and you won't be able to
stop scratching them, embarassing you and your friends in the process.
Carry around a bottle of baby powder and pray that it will end soon.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
You are now trapped in Aethelwulf's Utopia WWIV BBS Voting Menu!
[Voting]: V
QUESTION #44: "What's your problem, asshole?"
- Hey, I don't appreciate being called asshole on this BBS.
PHANTOM #294
- FUCK YOU
ERISE #14
HROTHGAR #368
KHELDAR #264
- I was born without a heart.
THE MARTYR _TO_ AETHELWULF #308
- I love teddy bears!!
SPIRIT: THE ALLIES #5
- My problem is that I still can't get ANSI to work in Windows.
- Then don't use HyperTerminal, duh.
QUAREX #1
- Zmodem is my friend! Zmodem makes me do weird things.
DISPOSABLE HERO #57
- Cozumel, my homeland! Return me to your glory!
GHORT #3
- 18 AND LIFE to GOoOOOoooOoOO!
ELROND #6
MURMUR SIBELIUS #313
- Scott Jacobs
CAPTAIN RAT #423
CRANK #354
SWISS POPE #20
- Red Glowing
DR. ONE #426
NAME IN TURMOIL, CALL LATER #314
SATAN'S FAVORITE SON MEMEME!!! #68
SCARY EVIL WITCHBOY #470
- She Blinded me with Science.
HATE-BALL #430
OGRE DE LATOYA: FAKE ACCOUNT #2
QUESTION #45: "What would you do if you were President?"
- Raise military spending
- Raise NASA funding
PHANTOM #294
- Get the Beavis & Butthead movie put on permanent hiatus
- Hire Mr. T as a bodyguard to bring him out of his depression
KHELDAR #264
SPIRIT: THE ALLIES #5
VANIR #150
- Dress all in black and conduct rituals in the oval office
CAPTAIN RAT #423
CRANK #354
ERISE #14
HROTHGAR #368
SATAN'S FAVORITE SON MEMEME!!! #68
SCARY EVIL WITCHBOY #470
- Re-enact "ID4" with Puppets
DR. ONE #426
HATE-BALL #430
THE MARTYR _TO_ AETHELWULF #308
- Become a Boy Scout Leader
- Play Quake all day, fuck the country
GHORT #3
- Fuck the country THEN play Quake all day.
DISPOSABLE HERO #57
NAME IN TURMOIL, CALL LATER #314
- Force MTV2 to be shown in PLACE of MTV on Telecable.
HITCHCOCK #326
OGRE DE LATOYA: FAKE ACCOUNT #2
- You want babes? Take a look around you!
SWISS POPE #20
- I am not an atomic playboy.
ELROND #6
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LUKE RIDES WITH THE WIND
by Kreid
Yeah, I rode that motorcycle. It was my soul, that bike was. I
lived for that motorcycle, and the feeling it gave me as the desert wind
blew threw my hair. I was a motorcycle enthusiast... a BIKER.
I rode with the wind!
Name's Luke, by the way. Luke Cool. That's my name, yeah, that's
what they call me. Know why?
Because I keep it cool. Always cool, with the wind in my hair and
the road under my wheels, and my ass-lips gripping the sides of that
sweat-slicked motorcycle seat. I was a rider, a rider with no pants and
no fear in this world.
Yeah, I rumbled a few times. I rode with gangs. I kicked some ass,
but that's not me. I'm Luke Cool, I keep it cool. That's why they call
me Luke Cool.
But, my friend, I can tell you no more about the ways of Luke Cool.
The wind is calling, and I must ride, ride away.
Ride on... ride with the wind...
ride.
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Aren't you FEELIN' it? Why so sad and blue? Why's it so hard?
Why do you feel so inadequate? HOE E'Zine wants to know what's a-goin'
on in that silly ol' noggin!
From: Vien Luong
To: hoe@hoe.nu
Subject: HOE
I'm not one of you. I tried to write for HOE once. I wrote
Something Stupid. Yes, I'm "iNSaNe_GuRL", you may remember me.
Sometimes when I'm bored I read all the HOE files. Sometimes I
just sit and laugh and laugh, 'cause i find it all just that little bit
amusing. Most of the times I'm intimidated by the "in-jokes" and
esotericisms that seem to, you know, characterize some files around here.
Sometimes I read and think "Gee, is this good? Or is it just me?"
'Cause not everything on here can be like genius stuff, can it? I think
even the stupid files have some kind of hidden smartness. I've told
people that before.
Anyway, I don't fit in here. And I read your stuff all the
time, and I think "Gee, these people would hate me 'cause I'm a fake."
Coz these people are easily offended types. Coz they have reason to be
better than everyone else, and they'll think I'm lame.
And I'm one of those people, who go on those huge chat channels on
DalNet and have one of those nicks with AlTeRnaTiNG Caps and sometimes I
EVEN feel compelled to shorten my words into that annoying kind of
net/bimbo/flirting/shallow chatting-language because that's what everyone
else does.
I feel mediocre.
I wish I had a free-flowing, real, tangible, touchable, edible,
ooozing, flooding talent... at anything, even if it was something like,
uh, I don't know, licking cane toads, or beating myself with a stick.
It's not fair. I write and I pretend I'm a tortured genius type, with
the world's jaded expectations lying heavy on my shoulders, the whole
misconceived notions of success and talent and materialism and conformity
and corruption--they all stop me from freedom, from being me, you know.
Oh yeah, I'm sure I'd be talented if I weren't so stifled! The truth is
I have no talent at all.
I read peoples work and wonder where it comes from--if they have
to try as hard as i do to write the way they do. I hope they do, because
it's hard to compete with talented people. It's even hard to compete
with people who think they're talented but are just mediocre like me but
who are confident enough to pull it off. There are plenty of those.
Anyway, don't think that I'm writing this as some kind of pathetic
attempt to enter your world. I wouldn't dream of it (well, maybe a
little sometimes). I have nothing more to say.
-----
DON'T CRY, DRY YOUR EYE. We can't all be Mogel, lil' Vien!
If you're tired of feeling so lowly in the presence of the clearly
enlightened HOE staff, you are not alone. DO NOT BE WORRIED.
DO NOT GIVE IN TO THOSE FEELINGS OF LAMENESS!
You are unique, and you speak! Blink if you understand this.
-----
MENTAL C by Bellum
Do you see what you do?
Do you see how you play games, and the habits in which you encode?
We're all great artists, but what do we paint?
Do we paint a rhyme, or a fat line of bullshit?
Look into yourself, and into your "consciense"--
What do you paint? How do you code things?
Do you code everything yourself?
Is your mental card-cataloge self-made?
Do you accept what you see?
How many classes do you divide people into?
When you meet someone, do you always search that mental
card-cataloge for a class?
"Individuality is ignored when identity is asserted."
How'd ya like THAT peice of code, fucker?
"Or, to put it more charitable, we are all
better artists than we realize" -- Nietzsche
HOE E'zine Will Make You Clean.
Tough Love From Above.
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INTO A DARK WOOD
by Oregano
Hansel and Gretel walked into the dark woods looking to have an
adventure. Now we know that we should not go off alone and Hansel and
Gretel knew better than that, they could get lost and they could get
attacked by a bear or a wolf, but they went anyway and you'll see why
that was a bad idea.
At least they had some sense, at least they were paying a little
attention and not just spaced out on video games and loud music. Can't
they turn down their stereos while I am talking to them? Why don't you
kids listen? I have lived far longer through this life and I know what I
am talking about, I don't just talk to hear myself talk, I tell you what
I know so you don't have to go through the same crap I went through.
Anyway, Hansel and Gretel knew that it was easy to get lost in the
woods, they at least listened to that part, they thought they were so
freaking smart.
"Don't go into the woods, it is too dangerous," I tell them. And
they answer, "Why? What is so dangerous?" and I tell them how they can
get lost and turned around and never find their way home and in a
weakened state from sleeping out in the rain and cold a coyote will jump
on their back and sink its fang into their neck till they bleed
ferociously and once they give up the struggle the coyote will eat their
arms and legs and probably eat into their belly all while they are still
alive and unable to scream.
So the kids figured, "We'll take along some bread crumbs and that
will mark where we have been and then we can find our way back and we
won't get lost and oregano is an idiot since his scare tactics have a
simple solution. We won't get tired, thus we can fight off a coyote as
long as we don't get worn down by rain and cold. And we won't because we
are so clever with these bread crumbs." And they went off into the
woods. Now had they asked me about their bread crumb plan I would have
said, "you dumb flubs, birds like to eat bread, what were you thinking?"
They'd have a smart aleck answer and then think of something else just as
stupid but I could have wore them down and they'd have seen how stupid
they were and then they would have listened to my first advice which is
stay the freak out of the freaking forest! Just because I don't tell you
all the dangers does not mean that there are none. I know--so listen
to me.
Hansel and Gretel went out in the woods to explore. They dropped
bread crumbs to mark their path home and they had a delightful time
mincing and prancing in the woods, all smug and sure of themselves.
They got a fair way into the forest and they saw a house in the
middle of the trees. Now for a normal person reason applies and we know
that if someone wants to live alone in the middle of a forest, far from
neighbors or grocery shopping, then they are wacko and dangerously
unstable. But Hansel and Gretel did not think. They didn't even pay
attention to my talk about not speaking with strangers. They'd probably
say, "well you always talk to the women ahead of you in line in the
supermarket. They are strangers." Stupid kids always with the smart
remark, I try to tell them how that is different since I am looking for
poontang. But they don't listen to words, and they don't even listen to
actions, they see grownups talking to strangers and they think all
grownups are approachable. So they went up to the house and knocked on
the door.
The thing with kids is that they won't take the jug of V8 juice to
Mrs. Morley since she has a strange rasp to her voice which frightens the
children. The same Mrs. Morley who lets them sled on her back lawn after
it snows, the same Mrs. Morley who never forgets their birthday, the same
Mrs Morley whose son died 20 years ago and still loves to be around kids,
still needs to hear their laughter. The kids won't go to her house, even
to deliver some juice when she is ill, to talk to a woman who just wants
to remember, but they will knock on the door of a strange coot way out in
the forest.
Hansel and Gretel knocked and the door opened to reveal a woman I
would later be able to identify as crazed. But she had a strange laugh
that the kids took for delight. She laughed while she forced a smile
after giving a momentary weary look of scorn. But kids don't pick up on
the fact that the first expression is the real one, it gets covered up by
the false one. They thought they found a friend.
I'll call her a witch, the police called her a confused old lady.
I doubt she dabbled in spells, but close enough. The witch welcomed the
children inside and offered them something to eat. The kids being hungry
from a long walk wandering the woods ate up. They know to be wary of
food from strangers, that I have to inspect their candy at halloween, for
example, and yet they ate up the food at the crazy witch's house. The
witch fired up the oven. The kids did finally have a warning light go
off on their proverbial dash board. Why is she lighting the oven? "Maybe
you can take a look inside," the witch asked to Hansel and when he looked
in the oven the witch kicked him in the butt and closed the door, ready
to cook him up. Thank goodness the two kids had a little assertiveness
training and Gretel opened the oven and the two children, together, with
their tricky little minds, shoved the witch into the oven and wedged the
door shut with a broom stick.
This is at least what the kids told us, and the police, for all we
know they just snapped and went out into the woods and killed a helpless
old lady. But that seems unlikely, the kids are not quite that smart.
And this woman's house really smelled. Not just the charred flesh, but
it smelled, eww, just bad. And in her photos I could see that crazy look
in her eyes.
Hansel and Gretel got out of the house and found that there were
no bread crumbs left. And now they remembered the bad things I warned
them about and they froze in panic and stood near the house trying to
figure out how to get out of there.
Gretel told Hansel about a TV show she watched where moss grows on
the north side of trees and that they could use that info to go north.
Now here is the thing about TV...it lies! Moss does not grow on just one
part of a tree, it grows where ever the freak it can, but kids believe
what they see on Matlock, or whatever stupid shows they watch. At least
it got the kids moving and they found their way out of the forest before
dark and I had to go pick them up a few miles southwest of our house and
after they babbled enough about a crazy woman, and they convinced me
something was up in the woods, I called the police and we all went out
and found the house and the dead witch and boy did the trouble start
then.
So anyway, I want to tell you that story tonight so you know that
you gotta pay attention to what I say, don't go off on half knowledge and
when I say to stay out of the woods, you gotta trust me to know what is
best for you. Okay, sleep well. And have nice dreams.
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MIDNIGHT CONVERSATION IN ELECTRIC
by Mutter
IF YOU'RE LOVED, THAT'S GREAT. IF YOU'RE HATED, THAT'S JUST AS GOOD.
It's when people are indifferent to you that you have a problem!!
Are you mocking me?
In what sense?
In dollars and sense
Strom Thurmond thinks so.
EVERY DAY HAS A DIFFERENT SMELL.
It's when every day smells the same that you have a problem!!
You're getting stupid--claiming "nobody" saw that movie.
Fuck you. Nobody was me, and that movie was my life.
Where did the 8 million in revenue come from?
Cuba
Fuckin' Commie!
Nicaragua, actually
Uhhh, Leftist pinko?
I have a problem. I had a dream last night. You were in it.
I was in an empty house with you and some kid I didn't know.
OKAY, HERE GOES! You said you had to go to work for two hours but would
be back in time for the party. When you left, I asked the kid where he
lived. He said "Florida". I told him I wasn't driving to "Florida".
He told me then he had TO GO and HE LEFT. I locked my front door after
him! I peeked through the window to see a little girl approaching my
house! This scared me for some reason, and I tried to find my keys in a
bag but when I turned it UPSIDE DOWN all that fell out was LOOSE CHANGE
and A BRA. Well, I ate the bra for some reason and I found my keys for
some reason and a song began playing outside, and I couldn't! help! but!
sing! along! and open the door. As soon as I opened the door I had a gun
in my face, "Gimme THE KEYS to the truck!" I gave him the keys, even
though I don't own a truck. Then I chased after him with my own guns.
Someone was waiting in a car with a shotgun and the three of us had a
bizarre gun fight, ending with everyone being shot and still walking
around and the kid saying he got the gun from my house. No kidding.
You're a satanist, aren't you? Kinda?
Yeah, I can tell. Satanists have no creativity.
Most extremists lack imagination. I'll prove it.
Fill in the blanks: "I like to rub _________ on my __________!"
Are you on drugs?
That doesn't fit the blanks. Try again.
Are you a pervert?
I went to a doctor with a case of boredom;
he laughed in my face and sent me home.
I went to a dealer with a case of boredom;
he prescribed a drug to make life fun.
OKAY, WELL, the only drug I'm high on is LIFE!
(The breakfast cereal! Hehehe!)
Fucking addict.
Yes, no, I am a pervert. Is this beside the point?
You're the one that lacks imagination.
For instance:
What would you do for a KLONDIKE BAR, you FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT?
At least i'm not an addicted pervert.
No, I'm a perverted addict. There's a difference.
You're very judgmental for a satanist. Kinda?
It's easy to be a good driver in the passenger seat.
Well, it was nice talking to you. And by "nice" of course I
mean "painfully boring." Would you please take my keys out of your
vagina?
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_Dog Humped My Dog & Mine Is Tied_
by Styx
The Poconos are a small string of mountains in Mid-to-Eastern
Pennsylvania and there are a bunch of little podunk towns smattered around
in them and mostly they all suck, but sometimes they don't. The towns
usually have minimal security due to there being NOTHING TO ENFORCE.
Yesterday I got my hands on the 1999 Annual Security Report of a
policeman from one of these villages. It encompasses everything he did
as a policeman for the entire year. I guarantee you it is authentic, but
I will not give any names for fear that some moustached mullet-head with
four teeth will find out I raided his shit and will enact revenge on me
by dumping a keg of Coors Light on my cat who I love very much.
Bad spelling and the original form remains intact, as always.
----------------------------------------------------------------
SECURITY REPORT 1999
25 Open fire during burn ban
24 Dogs barking
22 Dogs running loose
21 Speeding
13 Illegal dumping
10 Assist to Township Police
10 Running stop sign
9 Cats at dump
8 Kids on bike w/no helmets
6 Tree across road
5 Deer w/rope around its neck
5 Message relay
5 Atv's w/no insurance
5 Tresspassing
5 White dogs running loose
5 Atv's speeding
4 Pair of sheppards running loose
4 Assist to State Police
4 Assist to Game Commission
3 Fast & reckless driving
3 No Power
3 Teenager disputes
3 Assist to ambulance
3 Spinning tires
3 Loud Stereo
3 Suspicious red car in woods on Ute
3 Feeding cats at dump
2 Harassment
2 Shooting
2 Disorderly conduct
2 Light on in trailer
2 Snowmobile w/no insurance
2 Weather report
2 Kids riding in back of pick up
2 Cat in dumpster
2 Lost dog
Blue pickup dropped garbage & didn't pick up
Terroristic threat
Abandoned fawn
Gasoline siphoned
Lost keys at mailbox
Dog on my porch at midnight
Skirting pulled out
Office building egged
Dog humped my dog & mine is tied
Low heat light on
Brush in my driveway from tree crew
Woman on Pawnee feeding cats at dump
Kids sledding on Geronimo
Items at dump returned to property owner
Dog w/no food or shelter
Assist to State Constable
Assist to Repo man
Assist to Sheriff's Dept
Fireworks
Attempted Breakin
Tree across wires
Wires across road
Wires down
Bear under trailer
Trailer door open
Hill needs cinders
theft
Domestic dispute
Renter running stop sign
Warning given
Raccoon out in daytime
Gas stove wont light
Low water pressure
Fight at bus stop
Spotlighting
BB gun damage to my garage
Animal in my roof
Dead deer on my lot
Kids playing at dump station
Girls in woods during school
Passing school bus
Stop sign down
Dog held jogger at bay
Shots fired at 1:30 a.m.
Bell cable down
Guy taking pictures of us driving golf cart
Two guys dragging a buck
Dog attacked me
Atv in pavilion
White caddy on property
Cut phone line
Pulled knife on me
Vandalism at phone booth
Dead deer in road
Fight at bus stop
Skunk out in daytime
Kids cutting through my property
No toilet paper
Kids locked men room & went out window
Snow pushed in road
Car stuck on hill 15 min after it started snowing
Golf cart at 1 a.m.
Rottie attacked me while walking
Car slid off hill
Newspaper people taking salt
Kid on mini bike w/no helmet
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PICTURE THIS
by Caitlin
Picture this, a familiar scene in #ezines on EFnet once upon a
time... you've got your typical asshole criticizing the new comers about
their angsty teen rants, a few lazy fat-asses talking about their
favorite book by Vonnegut, or their favorite pop song, and then there's a
few pseudo-intellectuals discussing philosophy or politics. Of course,
you can't forget the few unwittingly ignorant people that frequent the
channel as well. They're talking about their breasts, or clothing, or
maybe their GED test, or drugs.
BIGGIE BIGGIE BIGGIE CAN'T YOU SEE?
"Flowering like a.... flower... with children's tear drops
poisoning the leaves, salt infiltrating the dirt like it was running away
from the IRS," she read aloud in class.
Silence from the students.
"Picture this," she began, "There's a girl on the corner of
Michigan Avenue selling flowers for mothers day for five dollars extra,
and we're going to go to the grocery store to buy the $1.99 bouquet on
the way home from school so we can give them to our mothers in a rush,
and a quick kiss on the cheek."
Silence.
Okay, picture this: there's a girl in my choir class that makes
me want to cut my face off. Beyond the boundaries of cliques and fascist
fingernails tapping on the books they don't open, she is definitively
annoying. Need more to work with? "LIKE, OH MY GOD, YOU TOTALLY HAVE NO
MAKEUP ON TODAY!@#@#$!?!@!"
Hahahaha, she almost cried.
Detour--picture this: caring about someone so incredibly, you
would work ten times harder then usual just to make a future with them
possible. Once upon a time, there was a girl who could get perfect grades
if she had the motivation. Then after love's arrival, she strikes a 4.0,
with a recommendation into advanced placement courses. Last year she was
sweeping hallways for grades. Who are we talking about?
TH-TH-THIS DANCE IS MINE
Pictures aren't enough to keep her going, you know. Skipping
class, even for the doctor is discouraging.
<dumbgirl> HAHAH I GET LOTS OF DATES BECAUSE MY TITTIES ARE REALLY BIG!!!!
<asshole> hah
<smartguy> Buddhism of course takes its roots in Hindu, from India. the
ancient Hindi texts pre-date anywhere from 1500 B.C. or
earlier--they were the old teachings, called "vedas". a lot
of this vedic scripture was based on the culture, and there's
many Hindu stereotypes. I'm obviously not very concerned with
Hindu, although it's important to bring up since not only does
Buddhism take its roots there, but it is still a present
religion in the world and has some interesting philosophical
ideas of its own.
<smartgirl> I just read The Dharma Bums. I hate Buddhism from now on,
okay?
<girl> I got drunk with a cute boy.
<fatass> I am so fat, yo. I like to eat. I also like Marilyn Manson
and Korn. Sometimes I listen to FATboy Slim. hahahaha, THIS IS
BECAUSE I AM FAT!!!
<fatass2> Whoa, I am fat, too. I eat, too! I hate pokemon! I hate
lots of stuff. Oh, yeah, I like food.
<null> I have a cat! Her name is Anna! She drools!!
<acoustyxx> I like beer. My girlfriend is hot, hahhahaha, fuck you all!
<STD> HAHAHAHA QUINN THE ESKIMO!! HAHAHAHAHAHHAHA FUCKING SHIT
(subtext: I am in love. I am better then you all, hahahaha.)
<somegirl> haha, yer cute, hahaha. Why aren't you here?
<smartguy> Well, you know, "Buddha" comes from an ancient language of
writing called "Sanskrit". Reference is made to this, of
course, because it's a language that doesn't exist anymore,
but many Buddhist texts are originally written in. Buddha,
which originally comes from the word "Budji" (meaning
"Perfected mind"), was a term to come after Sidhartha died,
however, in a sense. Anyway, I'll be referring to Sidhartha
as "Buddha" every now and then, but it's important to note
that the word is also qualitative, as something can be
"Buddhist"--and it was furthermore made clear that the
"Buddha nature" existed within everyone.
<asshole> shut up
<asshole> i am better then you all
<someguy> fucking drugs.. legalize it alllllll...
<somegirl2> i hate laundry! you all think i am stupid, but i'm really
a smart person. see.. i have this problem where i graduated
stupid, i appear stupid, but i'm really not stupid. see.. I
have a cat... she's not stupid either.
<dumbgirl> i went to the store yesterday, and all the guys were staring
at my titties.
<asshole> hah
<STD> YOU FUCKING JERSEY TRASH
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
How to Bring About a Socialist Revolution by Slacking Off!
by Uberfizzgig
For the most part, when we're kids and growing up, we live with
our parents. They pay for everything we need to survive and have fun.
Then, after we graduate from High School or College, we go out and get
any job we can and start complaining about it. Well, we should just stop
doing that. Not complaining, but stop taking a job that really isn't the
best that can possibly be. All kids, when they grow up and are about to
move out and get a job, should just hold off on that until they find one
that offers total benefits, 6 weeks paid vacation, and democratic control
of the company itself by its employees. If the next generation of young
educated laborers did this, companies would soon be faced with a drastic
labor shortage. They would have to begin offering greater and greater
pay and benefits to attract workers. Most companies are not in a
position to move overseas, or hire foreign labor, and foreign labor in
places where labor is cheap is also not highly educated, so all these
people staying at home would be for the most part enhancing jobs that
only they are really able to get. If this continued, companies would
eventually discover that by offering benefits, pay and working conditions
of extraordinary magnitude, they could get these people to leave their
homes and come to work. Other companies follow suit and perhaps even
offer greater things because of the competition for labor. But in
general, we'd end up with a socialist work place out of this.
There may be some difficulties with this hypothesis due to my
liberal application of demand-side economics. However, a bunch of kids
that just slacked off at home and didn't get jobs and wouldn't get jobs
until they were the best possible jobs there could possibly be because
that what these kids believed they deserved might currently be though of
as lazy, arrogant assholes, but in reality they are the impetus of social
change and rising standards of living, they are soldiers in the class
struggle, the driving engine of history, the spirit of the proletariat!
So for the sake of humanity, don't get a job. Don't move out.
If you've already got a job, quit and move back in with your parents. I
for one already have my bags packed. Just doing my part to save the
world.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
I LIKE TO KILL PEOPLE by Kreid
Yes indeedy, I like to kill people. There's nothing quite more
satisfying to me than watching the life expire from a pleading and
innocent pair of human eyes.
I AM A TOOL OF GOD'S WRATH.
Except love, maybe. Ah, love. That is what we are all searching
for in this world, isn't it? I sure think so. Then again, I'm no
expert. I've never known love, or at least not the love of another
living person. But I would really like to. I'm curious.
DEMONS TREMBLE AT MY AWESOME POWER.
Is it any reason not to love a person just because that person
kills people? I just don't understand people. Maybe that's why I kill
them.
ANGELS SCREAM OUT MY NAME IN PRAISE. I AM KNOWN ACROSS THE
HEAVENS.
Speaking of which, I'm almost sure that there's a question on the
minds of my readers: why do I kill people? Let me answer that question
with a question. Why don't you shut the fuck up, asshole?
I AM TEN TIMES MORE FEARED THAN GOD HIMSELF.
Fucking asshole. It's not that I have a short temper. I know for
a fact that I have a very long temper. People have told me so. Of
course, they usually tell me so before I explode with murderous rage.
GOD'S BATTERED MOTHER SUCKS MY DICK EVERY NIGHT AND SWALLOWS MY CUM.
Now ask yourself a question, asshole. I'm curious. What's worse,
jail or death? My guess is that you're a slender little piece of ass.
Would you rather have that ass fucked (somewhat) continuously for a
period determined by the state, or would you rather just have your life
taken away from you? Either way, your suffering is the result of a man
doing what he loves to do. It seems to me that the most dangerous people
out there are those who still rely on simple pleasures.
SPEAKING OF DICKS: I'VE GOT A HUGE PECKER.
When I was a kid, it was okay to rely on simple pleasures. But
then, my arms got bigger, my eyes got bigger, my appetite got bigger, et
cetera. Now I kill people. C'est la vie!
HA HA HA HA HA. MOTHERFUCKER.
To be honest at last, I know that I am inferior in almost every
way to almost everyone I murder. But then, they're all dead! Hah.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
LETTERS TO SANTA
Taken From Bloomingon-Normal's
"Twin City Community News" Holiday Supplement
Transcribed by Quarex
Things like these children's letters to Santa are far funnier than
almost anything most people could come up with.
So, in conclusion, eat shit.
Dear Santa,
I really want something special. I want another baby brother. I
want a cat. I want a dog. I want a fish. I like all of these.
Love,
Brooke H., Grade 2
Dear Santa,
There are many things I want for Christmas. First, I want a remote
control car. Next, I want a water and food bowl. Then, I want a Pokemon
sleeping bag. Last, I want some new golbery shoes, six 4.
Love,
Anthony, Grade 2
Dear Santa,
Can you pleas give me a truck thet two people can sit in? Can you
give me an E-Z bake oven? Thank you Santa. have a nice Christmas.
Your Friend,
Amoda Lacour, age 7
Dear Santa,
I have been a good girl. I hope. I have always' have been whining
about this dog that when you pull the sock it grows and his name is
Tiger. I have been whining about those Scoobeydoo slippers and the are
verey comfey to my feet. I want my own butterfly lamp. I want some new
sheets for my bed and they better be scoobydoo.
Thank you Santa,
Megan Fallot, age 8
Dear Santa,
I have been a good girl. What I want the most for Christmas is a
little computer. I will with it a lot. I want the one with a mouse and a
C.D. It looks fun and playful. It has a math game on it. I love math. It
has a reading game on it. Thank you Santa.
Love,
Kristina Mlincsek, age 7
Dear Santy,
I will give you 8 carrots, and a glass of milk, and cookies! This is
what I want. Hocky equipemt and Pokemon cards! Can you get my brothers a
presant and my brothers a presant and my baby? I Love you Santy!
Your pal,
Kevin Rudolph, age 8
Dear Santa,
I was s a good boy. I tried not ot get in a fight with my sister and
lets get down to business. I would like a beast wars togs. I want chetor
and you probably know I want the rest of the maximal and transmedal
pradecon.
From,
Joe Wemlinger, age 8
Dear Santa,
I tried to be a good boy. I want a tv. It would be the best and that
was one fo my wishes. That is the thing I want for Christmas and that is
what I want for Christmas.
Your friend
Culler Kennel, age 7
Dear Santa,
I have tried to be a boy this year I hope I deserve this. I want a
lavalamp, Nintndo 64 games for game boy, and hot wheels Items. Thankyou
for buying some of these gifts for me.
Siserly,
Tanner Frey
Dear Santa,
My name is Thomas. I'm 7 years old. My favorite thing is
$1,000,000,000,000 or a toy.
Your friend,
Thomas, Grade 2
Dear Santa,
I want many presents for Christmas. I want a Nintendo 64. I want a
skateboard. I want roller blades and a Gameboy Color. I want a remote
control motorcycle. I want my brother to heal. I want him to play again.
I want him to walk again. I want his shoulder to heal.
Love,
Matthew, Grade 2
Dear Santa,
For Christmas I would like a X-Blade roller Blades, and biggest,
coolest remote control car. I want the coolest dirt bike ever and a
X-Blade snowboard. I wish my dad came back. I like Christmas.
Love
Douglas, Grade 2
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
A LAMENT ON THE FAILURE OF PHREAKING
by Uberfizzgig
Back in the day, back before I even knew what a modem was, there
were hackers. And these hackers would often get long distance calls for
free. In fact, getting free calls was a big important part of hacking
because calling all over could get quite expensive. Now, however,
there's stuff like dialpad.com which lets you call phones with your
computer over the internet, and that means free long distance. So now
one of the original skills any 31337 hax0r could not be without, has now
been co-opted by the corporation. Free calls is not a part of it
anymore. Perhaps this is the accomplishment of a goal within the whole
enterprise, a fulfillment of the undertaking, or perhaps it is the
washed-out main-streaming of the underground. In truth, however, I have
no idea what I'm talking about. I wasn't there. But one thing's for
sure, I've got a new long distance carrier.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
_The Drizzt Trilogy; An Introduction_
by Styx
This is going to be weird to explain. Here we go.
If you're already familiar with AD&D, particularly Forgotten Realms,
feel free to skip this introduction/explanation.
Drizzt Do'Urden is a character in the AD&D Forgotten Realms multiverse
and has several different novels based on his story. He is what is known as
a Drow Elf, which basically means that he has dark skin and lives
underground. I hate him for two very specific reasons;
1) His character is invincible. He never dies. He's boring. It's the
time-tested formula of bad-guy-turned-good-guy, who fights for what's right,
but still has a dark side that he continually has to battle with, etc, etc.
Boring as hell. And he just never dies. Sometimes his death is teased, but
he always manages to crawl out of the rubble and annoy me more.
2) Even more importantly, the guy who messed up my very first
relationship with a girl went by the nickname "Drizzt Do'Urden" online,
which made me hate the character all that much more.
I no longer do. I'm pretty indifferent. I wrote the following trilogy
over a span of a few months back in the winter of 1997/1998. I hadn't
intended on using the Poetboy Chronicles formula that you can find in the
I Bleed For This? e'zine. It just happened that way, and it was pretty
effective for me. Just clearing my ass while I have the chance.
If you don't know much about AD&D, some of this stuff will definitely
go over your head. Likewise with The Care Bears, Winnie the Pooh, and the
Teletubbies, all of which fuck Drizzt Do'Urden up pretty bad.
So here we go.
NOTE: I posted these on the AD&D newsgroup once. They wanted to lynch
me but I made my saving throw and now they still suck.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
_The Drizzt Trilogy; Part 1 - Drizzt vs. the Care Bears_
One day, Drizzt was lazing by the side of a creek, mentally
masturbating over how cool he was and counting his artifacts, when the
Care Bears came along and gang raped him. HappyBear took control of
his tight elven rectum while LoveBear filled Drizzt's mouth with his
hard, fuzzy LoveMeat +3 +5 vs. boring characters that never smile.
JoyBear made a new hole in Drizzt's cranium with a big rock and took
advantage of the orifice with reckless abandon. GleeBear had a very
small appendage and was able to slide easily into Drizzt's urethra,
and SappyBear did very odd things to the drow's nostrils.
When the Care Bears were finished and satisfied, they gang raped
him again. Then they drowned him in the creek. Then they shot him.
Then they gang raped him and shot him again, and then they drowned him.
Then they shot him and pissed on his head and drowned him some more.
When they were done, they shot him again and drowned him. Then they
shit all over him, took pictures, and sent the images to
webmaster@aol.com.
Then they shot him a little more.
The end.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
From: Jarett Kobek
To: Carlin Reed
Cc: Darwin's Friend List
Subject: Re: How do I talk to a girl? I am twelve.
> I would HEARTILY disagree with that. I vote for going over in person,
> even though it takes more huevos. If she digs you in the first place,
> this is a good thing to show her that you are interested enough to
> follow through on this... If she looks at you kind of funny for
> 'tracking her down' to her new location... then fuck it, cause it
> weren't goin' nowhere nohow.
Hi Carlin. I have to also HEARTILY disagree, but this time with you!!@!
I believe that if she gives Darwin the 'tracked me down to East Britania'
look, he needs to KEEP pursuing her. Yes, he needs to pursue her until
he can manage to get her into a situation with that ol' key to
interpersonal relationships:
____
| ----
| ---- (ALCOHOL!!!)
----
\\ | |
\\ (.)=(.)
\\ \0/ --- "GIMME SUM LOVE, STUD!"
\\ | |
--- ---
(.) (.) \
\ / \\
\/ \\
( )
[]
/ \
/ \
/ \
(DRUNK ASS SLUT. NOTICE BEER GOGGLES.)
Yes, you see, 98% of all interpersonal and sexual relationships start,
for adults, with the help of their old friend alcohol. It's like an
instant aphrodisiac! Something happens once you get out of high school,
something strange and silly, and your ability to randomly hookup with
people without fear of social opprobrium falls away. You've got to be
drunk now, in the real world. And if you don't, the person you're trying
to score does. In fact, their sexual drives only turn on when the booze
is free flowing.
Yes, Carlin, there is a Santa Claus, but he changed his name to
Jim Bean or Jack Daniels, and on weekends he moonlights as the good space
pirate Captain Morgan. He doesn't live in the North Pole anymore, no,
now he lives in the black mining hills of easy sipping Tennessee.
Seek electricity.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
I Thoroughly Enjoy Limp Bizkit's First Album
A Review by RottenZ
Let's call a spade a spade; I thoroughly enjoy Limp Bizkit's
first album, "Three Dolla Bill Y'all". I'm not embarrassed to admit it,
despite what you may think. We've exploded from the post modern age to
the post-ironic age, and in its wake, I feel no remorse in sharing this
tidbit with you. Oh, sure, it was no classic, by any standards, and
there are certainly weak portions, but I believe the "Counterfeit-Stuck"
one two punch of tracks 3 and 4 alone are enough to cement it in my
"like" category. Why, just today, I was driving down the highway on a
sunny, chilly day, listening to Limp Bizkit's first recording, "rocking
out", if you will, and I did not feel one bit guilty. It was quite the
good time.
Significant Other still sucks, though. Enough of that god damned
"Nookie". Enough!
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
AN IMPORTANT REMINDER by Mogel
Expression is progression. Please remember that. Expression is
your ability to interact with a THING and have something HAPPEN. You
will find, that it's particularly pleasing when the producer and the
produced are the same thing. Being yourself doesn't mean you can't be
someone else, too. You are not yourself, you are someone else--you.
Get it?
Expression is art, entertainment, media, thought, writing, ideas,
sounds, images, uniqueness, listing things, self-awareness--living. And
if you're not living your life, you're living the life someone else
handed you on a plate, smeared with some shit you can't identify and
wouldn't want to, even if you could.
And why are you doing that? Does it make you feel you have power?
Does it make you forget how empty your life can be? Does it give you a
BONER?
What do those things really mean? Sorry to be so off-base and
confusing. Can we pretend sincerity is "OK" if it's self-aware?
I'm talkin' about bein' real, of course.
I'm talkin' beyond the hedonistic urge of "WOW!". Toutin' that
"it's just entertainment!" ethos, where tasteless sucksters pretend that
thought pulls the punch--but real punches do damage, no matter *how* you
look at them. I'm talkin' beyond the pretentious, the art fags--sittin'
in their delusionary "cool lunch table", jerking off to a fancy camera
angle. I'm definitely talkin' way beyond the people that hide behind
"cultural relativism" as a means to justify something fully intended to
give Rico Suave a throbing erection.
What I'm suggesting is this: it's good to think about it.
Here it is, real simple: men with money make the media. They
demographically study you. They decide what everyone likes in common.
Those things are simple things (I LIKE DA BOOM BOOM BOOBIES). They use
their accrued money, money that you've flooded them with, and they
produce the same time-tested, lowest-common-denominator bullshit over and
over again. Why shouldn't they? It works! You've proved it, by
throwing your money at them over and over again.
They're banking on your bad taste. They are us. We all hear a
lot of really shitty things getting praise. In reality, it's because we
don't know any better. Chronic crap, Pavlov-style.
I am not dissing you because you like crap, I'm dissing you because
I expect more. I'm only anti-establishment if the establishment just
SUCKS.
How many of you jackasses talk about the PeRFeCt SoURCe CoDe--so
down on Microsoft, aren't you, but you still cried when you saw Liv
Tyler's stunning performance in ARMAGEDDON, didn't you? How many cliches
do you NEED?
One Man, One Gun, One Mission
It Was A Clean Wound, The Poor Bastard Probably Never Saw It Coming
The Killer Was A Pretty Scary Killer
Isn't It Funny How Tragedy Brings A Family Together?
Armed With A Wet T-Shirt, She Ran For Her Life
High School Sucked Quite A Bit
A Natural Disaster Can Certainly Be A Bad Thing
Adorable Child Gets Murdered, Everyone Cries
A Number of Bullets Are Being Fired, People Are Dying As A Result
Misunderstood And Loving It
Pretty People Who Do Zany Things And Shit Blows Up
Originality is difficult, but if we keep apathetically embracing
crap, we're like autistic retards, talkin' the same bullshit year after
year. Is that really what you want to be like?
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
BOGGLE AS A SOCIO-PSYCHOLOGICAL FORCE IN CENTRAL ILLINOIS
BECAUSE THERE IS LITTLE ELSE TO DO
by Quarex
This file warrants a very brief introduction to inundate those of
you who are not familiar with the Aethelwulf's Utopia-Bloomington/Normal
tradition of making sayings on the boggle board in my basement, which has
been missing one single block since time immemorial. Thus, three
four-letter words and one three-letter word must be made. MUST. There
was no room for variation in this sacred ritual.
Well, with a few minor exceptions. Invariably, as you all no
doubt know, Boggle boards get knocked over, and then further pieces go
missing. On such occasions as yet more pieces were unavailable, leniance
was allowed on sayings being spelled out.
I would try to list who made each saying next to it, but that
would probably end up with somebody being pissed off at me for giving
myself credit for a brilliant saying that someone else came up with.
I guess I will still try, though. I will list names next to the
ones I know for sure. And, moreover, I am a fucking retard.
Here it is. A list of all the boggle sayings EVER MADE. Well, at
least all the ones we remember.
THIS BURN GOTO
AINT SHIT HOTH
NO D RIP FOR
ISCO (Quarex) RIDE (Quarex) SEX (Ghort)
IVAN JOE DREW
THE AIN'T WILL
SAND WRTH DIE
KING (Spirit) SHIT SOON
ONLY YOU TOY
HOES AINT SALE
USE NEIL ENDS
PINE (Ghort) YUNG (Quarex) SUNE (Ogre)
HATE WERD HENS
HATE THAT ROAM
HATE I AM THE
YOU (Quarex) DEAD CITY (Murmur)
NUNS BOYS PELE
ROAM FOR AINT
THE SALE GOT
CITY (Quarex) HERE SHIT
KURT GIRL LOVE
HAS DONT IS A
LICE LIKE SHIT
DOOD ME RUG (Quarex)
FEED PLOW AINT
THE HIM NOH
MULE LONG LEFT
CZAR (Spirit) TIME TURN
TRY GIVE TAKE
DIET THE TRIG
JACK DORK SO I
MOVE (Ghort) SALT HATE
HEAT OSCI RUN
UP A LATE FROM
TARD THEN THAT
QUICH (QUs single letter!) DIE (We don't spellcheck) TART
TEST NOW MAKE
YOR WITH DREW
PING REAL MORE
TIME PAIN (Mogel) GAY (Pixy)
ERIK MINE SEAN
HAS PEAS PENN
TERI BE D IS A
TITS SHIT DUCK
DREW JAKE MADE
LIES CANT IN A
TO A SELL SHIT
JURY (Ogre) LYE HEAP
RAPE BLUD ERIK
DAT MAKE IS A
OGRE CAT TARD
HARD GROW LORD
TEEN ST L THIS
GAYS OUIS IS A
IN D ARCH DUMB
HAUS FAGS PLAN
YOUZ BRET DREW (Courtney)
GOT SMOX LIKE (Who's she?)
JAKE MUY BAM (I dunno!)
HAIR DOPE QUEER
CORT DOOM QUICK
NEY FORR SHIT
SUCK SIR ON A
THIS (Quarex) OGRE VEST
MOFO JON RICH
SAYS KISS DONT
RUIN DEAD LAY
HER GUYS SARA (Cap'n Rat)
GUNS RAGE NUT
MAKE ON O INYA
OGRE DETH UNDA
DIE MULE WEAR
ERIK JONS RETC
A UP LAST HING
YOUR DAY UP A
BUTT (Shadow Tao) EVER LUNG
CAN DREW KILL
TITO IS A ALL
HAVE SELL YOUR
SOME OUTT APES
ERIK EREC LOVE
IS TION IS A
LION FEEL QUEER
DUNG GUD (Ogre) TURN
QUICK COLD THAT
THE DARK RAT
BOYS HAM EATS
DEAD (SwissPope) LEGS (Spirit) SINS (Quarex)
MORE GRAP POLY
THAN HING NOMI
JUST MAD ALS
SEX (Glynis) DOTS (Ogre) RULE (Ogre)
I bet you are all glad you read those.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
RED EYES by Effy
All the doors closed. Five candles burning. Four cones of patchouli
incense. Smoke from the pipe.
Hey, you know, he couldn't help it because it looked so good. The
dealer had a bud the size and shape of a BANANA man, how can you turn
down such an herbal heaven? Of course, he didn't get the actually banana
bud. That was just $100 he didn't have.
How fucking amazing, man. Damn, it's hard to breathe.
Stumbling into the bathroom, he squinted painfully as his eyes
watered from the smoke. It was like his eyeballs were inflated and
burning out the side of his skull. Frantically, he rubbed his eyes, only
worsening them with his resinated, smoke-covered fingertips. He clawed
at his eyes in agony and fright. He grabbed a cloth, and ran it under
some cold water, then slapped it on his face, letting the cool water
relieve his burning sockets.
He gasped, as his heart beat a thousand times per minute, leaping
out of his pulsating chest. Stepping out of the bathroom, his body
suddenly jolted sideways and he slammed his shoulder into the wall.
Waves of apathetic giggles slipped out the corners of his smiling mouth.
Oh, dude!@!!
It didn't seem as bad once he sat back down. But it was only a
matter of maybe half a minute before he fell to his knees, unable to see
as he tried to stumble out of his chair to escape the smokey fumes that
had cumulated in the room. How could he have been so stupid? You don't
fucking burn all that shit in an enclosed place in a matter of an hour
and expect it not to make you blind and make your nose stuffier than a
motherfuckin' turkey.
Man. If it weren't for this gay smoke, this high would be way
cooler.
He clawed at the window and forced it open. The cold winter
breeze rushed in. His eyes drank in the air hungrily, savoring a sweet
recovery. He smoked the rest of his pipe. The shit was fucking
amazing. Floral. Fruity. He ate a bagel. It was the greatest fucking
bagel he had ever tasted.
The room slowly became more bearable after a couple more less
intense fiery optical attacks.
SWEET. Like CANDY.
Your stomach is the voice in your head.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
_The Drizzt Trilogy; Part 2 - Drizzt vs. Winnie the Pooh_
by Styx
Drizzt was lazing by the side of the creek, oozing Care Bear
semen from every hole in his body, feeling victimized and disoriented,
when Winnie the Pooh came traipsing along.
"Oh bother," said Pooh, glancing down at his honey pot. "I'm
almost out." Then he glanced up from his honey pot (which was almost
empty, you know) and saw Drizzt lazing by the side of the creek,
oozing Care Bear semen from every hole in his body, feeling victimized
and disoriented.
"Hello!" exclaimed Pooh. "What's this?"
Pooh poked, pushed, and nudged Drizzt with his sticky paw until
the drow regained full consciousness.
"What is that leaking out of your nostrils, ears, mouth, and
anus?" asked Pooh.
"The Care Bears raped me," explained Drizzt. "I'm an innocent PC
gen-x Bush-listenin' brainwashed TV addict, but I'm an American, so
it's alright."
"It's not honey, then?" questioned Pooh.
"No," Drizzt replied. "The Care Bears raped me and their musky
fluids are dripping out of all the holes in my body. They shot me and
drowned me a lot, too, but somehow I still live!"
"So you've no honey?" Pooh asked.
"No," said Drizzt, rubbing his temples. "Just a bunch of Care
Bear cum."
"You're a god-damned prick," Pooh said, and proceeded to shove
his soft, yellow, yet erect penis right into one of Drizzt's gunshot
wounds. He pumped furiously, fueled by the frustration that he had no
honey left. Drizzt moaned, groaned, protested, and even requested
that Pooh use a condom, but Pooh was so engrossed in the task at hand
that all he could think about was shooting Drizzt's spleen full of his
100-Acre-Wood seed.
"Please," begged Drizzt. "At least put on a condom! I saw it on
MTV!"
But it was too late. With a final, shuddering sigh, Pooh let
loose a blast of AIDS-infected semen straight into Drizzt's digestive
system.
"Eat my diseased spunk!" rasped Pooh, and began walking away.
"Pooh," whined Drizzt. "Pooh, please.. please help me. I hurt
so bad. All of my holes are raw and bloody and now I've got AIDS.
Not only am I banned from my subterranean home, but I'm going to
emaciate into a pathetic excuse of a drow. Imagine what it will do
to my reputation! Find Elminster, please. He's in Shadowdale
planting a garden! He can help!"
Alas, Pooh was already beyond earshot. "Tut tut, it looks like
rain," observed Pooh. "I must find a smackeral of honey. I'm
terribly hungry!"
And Drizzt lay there beside the creek, oozing and choking on his
own vomit, taken advantage of by a bear of Very Little Brain, shitting
out semen and convulsing.
Then he became a god, memorized some spells, and passed out in a
pool of his own urine.
The end.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
FAT FRANNIE
by Kreid
fat, fat frannie sat around eating her fries. she liked to eat
fries because they made her fatter and also because they covered her face
with a layer of delicious grease.
"GAAMMM GHAHHAJJAJAJAJAJBJAHL," said fat frannie.
"uh-oh," said old man skinnybones. old man skinnybones was fat
frannie's husband, best friend, and lover. old man skinnybones loved fat
frannie with all his skinny heart, which could be seen beating weakly
through his thin, pale, translucent flesh.
"uh-oh," said old man skinnybones, "sounds like fat frannie wants
some more fries!" old man skinnybones liked to think that he knew what
fat frannie's groans meant, since he loved her so much.
but the truth was, old man skinnybones couldn't tell a "GAAMMM
GHAHHAJJAJAJAJAJBJAHL" from a "PHHHHHHBRBBTHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEFFPF ARF
ARF ARF ARF MEOW," which, by the way, meant "i need some more fucking
fries right now!"
old man skinnybones flipped through some of fat frannie's
flesh-folds, searching for his car keys so that he could go get his lover
some more fries. he flipped through those flesh-folds just like always,
flap flap flap until he smelled shit, then go back one. there, old man
skinnybones found his wife's beautiful love cavern honeypot, in which his
heart and his car keys remained when he wasn't using them.
"your pussy smells so beautiful, my lardy lover," said old man
skinnybones. "just spread your thighs a little more if you can so i can
get the car keys, okay, lover?"
"GAAMMM GHAHHAJJAJAJAJAJBJAHL," replied fat frannie, as she
grabbed old man skinnybones by the loose flesh on the back of his bald
head and shoved it directly into her soft, stinking cooter. "GAAMMM
GHAHHAJJAJAJAJAJBJAHL" was the phrase fat frannie used when she wanted to
be pleasured orally.
old man skinnybones happily began licking and sucking at his
lover's vagina, which became progressively more wet with foul-smelling
greasy fluid. when his wife reached orgasm, as always, old man
skinnybones's head was crushed inside a 400-pound vice of thigh-meat.
when he came to, he had shit himself.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
OH HOLY SHIT IT'S AN INTERVIEW WITH MOGEL
by CHRISTOPHER CROWE
Crowe: Let's dispense with some questions!
Mogel: Interviews should be more interactive. Everything should be
more interactive. I wish people had buttons. I don't mean
that. Who cares what Ted Koppel really thinks?
Crowe: For those who don't know you, give us a general "who you are"
kinda run down.
Mogel: Well, I don't know who I am. I like to think of myself,
ideally, as just some weird guy that sits in the corner and
bellows awkward social commentary every few minutes. But, you
probably don't mean that.
Crowe: I think everyone already knew that much.
Mogel: I think that I've been online since 1990. I've been involved
in various "online communities" over the years. I'm generally
known for being a "text file guy". E-zines, more specifically.
Although, "E-zine" is such a vague term, isn't it? There's a
whole slew of stuff included in there. I'm generally associated
with a community of folks that make up the 1990s version of
"text files" and "underground digital zines". I use the word
"E-zine" by default, but I'm generally associated with those.
I don't know who I am. Who am I? You tell me.
Crowe: I'd venture to say that's your niche. You've done quite a bit
of work in those areas--although a lot of it seems to be humor,
socially-related, and satire. What would you say is your
favorite?
Mogel: My personal favorite "area" of e-zines? Uhh, Probably the honest
stuff. That sounds vague. You know, E'zines have been around
since the '80s. They started as these little ASCII text files
that were traded around. The original idea was this:
Anybody anywhere could write a message and have it, in theory,
be spread far and wide. It was a strange sense of new-found power,
really. I mean, before the modem, a kid couldn't do that. He'd
write something, or say something to his friends. It couldn't be
spread in a medium where just some random stranger could
download, read it, and, hopefully, say "WOW!" or (even better)
"YEAH! ME TOO!". That "me too!" effect, although a common
expression used be AOLers on UseNet, is a critical direction to
making good text files. And "being honest" doesn't always mean
write-in-a-direct-to-the-reader style--it means, addressing
things in a manner that's going to actually mean something to
them. So, uhm, that's why I love the honesty. There's a
certain "trashy" look that e-zines are always going to have.
It's not a professional thing, and it rarely pretends to be.
That aesthetic is something that TV could have capitalized on,
you know, if they weren't so overly-focused on money.
E-zines are more about the message.
Crowe: How did you come into these things?
Mogel: The first e-zines I stumbled upon were the more self-glorified
cDc, and the much more trashy BLaH. cDc totally inspired me.
Some of the files in there were totally hilarious and brilliant.
Of course, a lot of it was total crap, too. This was early 1993
and a lot of your average computer guys were STILL on BBSes, and
the mass-move to the internet had not quite happened yet.
Regardless, in 1994, I decided to do what 40% of the local-BBS
world was doing: "START MY OWN TEXT FILE GROUP". Since then,
I've written for quite a few. The most pride probably came from
the earliest issues of DTO.
Crowe: Deserved or not, you've pretty much regarded as being at the
front of the 'zine movement. Probably one of the most well
known "zine guys" on the net. In your experience, how has the
text file scene evolved? How has the "web" changed it versus
the old BBS or even telnet/gopher?
Mogel: It's definitely not deserved. In the bigger scheme of text
files, I'm definitely still new. I jokingly refer to 3 periods
in e-zine history. These terms are only in-jokes with me and my
pals, though. There's the "oldschool", which is roughly
1980-1987. This is basically all the original and founding
e-zines. Some people would say that everything that has been
done with text files was done in those years. This was totally
back when BBS-centered e-zines were what was up. The move to
the internet slowly happened during the next phase. And, in a
way, this was the true "pioneering" days. Things like PHRACK
were going to court for publishing stuff. cDc and The Neon
Knights were quite popular.
The "middle school" is basically all the e-zines that things
like cDc inspired. Things like BLaH, FUCK, UXU, IBFT, and so
on. There was a HUGE slew of these. Sometime around 1993, when
the internet really took off, these was a real down time for
this stuff. Some people say that it's never quite recovered.
It's kind of silly, because, in theory, the internet provides
*more* fuel for the original idea of an e-zine. Don't get me
wrong, there has been a resurgence. In 1994, I tend to call
that "the new school". It's basically when everyone on the BBS
world, like rats from a sinking ship, hopped to the internet.
The difference? Well, there's not really a "community" anymore,
I think. BBS's were full of groups of kids, wanting to be
subversive, and they'd call up and download these funny-ass text
files about blowing up mailboxes, or fucking the dead, or
whatever. With the internet came a new idea that "ANYONE" could
view these files, and it kind of killed the magic for some
people. I'm not bitching, though. I mean, to some degree, you
have to make community happen. You can't just expect random
people to bump into each other. People who just sit around and
whine about no community are generally the same types of people
who nobody would want to be in a community with anyway. (How's
that for a mean generalization?)
Crowe: There is a tendency for the new zines to be "angst", "teen
angst", or "social commentary". Where do you see this heading?
Where do you see the text file scene heading towards in general?
Mogel: The angst is typical. DTO had a lot of angst. Basically, uhm,
I think "angst" is just an emotion, like any. Emotions are
tasty. But you have to swallow, digest, and shit them out. You
can't just stick them in your mouth and let them sit there.
God, that's a terrible analogy.
But what I mean is... if you use angst as a tool to do something
cool, that's great. I think it's also common because a lot of
young people that would be into e-zines are probably going
through "big changes" in life. Youth is generally a time for
misdirected anger. Your PAL Y-WiNDoZE wrote a pretty on-point
article about this topic that's in HOE #90.
As for "The Scene" (where is that, anyway?)--I have no idea.
Text files are absurd. I've been half-heartedly trying to
flagship a sort of neo-new school e-zine movement (yes, I say
that sarcastically) with the resurgence of HOE. I have no idea
if it will work or not. Probably not, but it can't hurt to have
a little fun and try, ya know?
Crowe: If your not having fun, why do it?
Mogel: Because you're on a mission from GOD. There *are* e-zines out
there, but for most of them I rarely pick up something special
out of them. I feel like, if they were gone tomorrow, I
wouldn't give a shit. I totally agree, which is eventually why
I painfully *forced* DTO to die.
You know, now that I think about it, I think entropy will win
out. Like, the world would be totally chaotic and pointless.
My room is messy--I have to *do something* to make it clean.
So, I have low expectations for the scene's future (people have
been generally passive), but I'd like it to be a good one,
somehow.
Don't get me wrong, there's just so much you can care about a
group of people who are willing to publish a text file describing
the TRUE nature of poop.
Crowe: What about other types of Literature, especially net-based
stuff. Fiction, Fan Fiction, etc? Other 'zines?
Mogel: You know, like, "what the hell is the point of text files?
Well, write for the heart. Write crap. Write totally fucking
weird shit. There has to be meaning in there *somewhere*."
Man, I'm so down on 'realist' fiction right now. I see no
point. It's like a completely accurate painting. What
function does it serve, other than to impress people with how
'hard' it was to paint? Expressing things isn't supposed to be
a complicated exercise, it's supposed to be about expressing
things.
I'm not about tooting my horn, although I'm sure some people
would argue with that. But, still, there's a billion 'stories'
out there. What's the point in trying to represent reality
*exactly* as it is? Firstly, that's impossible... and
even if it weren't, how boring. So, it's up to us to use
innovative and experimental-style juices. There's not nearly
enough of that. The problem is that people tend to throw that
label around so much. "I don't understand this... It must be...
EXPERIMENTAL!", so basically anything that's inarticulate and
incomprehensible gets that label. "Lit" on the net. Hmm. You
know, I've always loved The Onion (www.theonion.com). They've
basically patented every use of "sarcasm" ever. UXU still
publishes, although far from regularly (www.uxu.org). That's
all that rolls off the top of my head, unfortunately. I read
Film Threat, which is a weekly indie-film e-zine mailed out.
Crowe: Tell more about HOE, and do you have any other projects coming
that we might find interesting?
Mogel: HOE changes. In its most recent incarnation, HOE is basically
my attempt at pissing all over everything I've ever done. But,
at the same time, embracing what e-zines are *really* about, to
some kind of gross, logical extreme. But it's also fun. The
idea is this: You write something, we publish it. No matter how
ridiculous, weird, stupid, crazy, silly, etc, it is. "How
awful," most people would say, "No quality control!" Somehow,
however, HOE has managed to become pretty fun to work with.
Our "reject ALMOST nothing" policy has brought us a ton of
*totally* diverse writers, numbering over 45, and we've been
gathering a real community of folks. In a lot of ways, it's
more of a community than ever before. For me, anyway. And by
writer I mean regular writer. Someone who writes at least every
other month.
The idea, again, is this: who the fuck cares? E-zines have
*always* been trashy. Why pretend that they're not? Instead,
let's have fun with it. Let's totally run with stupidity.
Let's get naked and dance on main street. In fact, this has
made some people find new, incredibly creative ways to be
post-modern and stupid. And at the same time, it's attracted a
few people who don't "get it". People who submit to HOE as if
it were any regular style e-zine... and that's always good for a
few cheap laughs.
Crowe: You just gotta respect that sort of lackluster policy on
content. What, if any, is the future of your website, DTO.NET?
Any direction on that front?
Mogel: Actually, Jamesy now runs DTO.NET, and Murmur is somehow
releasing issues... although very slowly. But it's a total
dinosaur. Like a monster. There was something really noble
about DTO: wanting to make an e-zine that aspired to have
*actual* quality and style and diversity.
Crowe: I used to visit dto.net weekly. It was an inspiration, along
with DTO itself for a lot of my early zine work. It would be a
blast to see it back!
Mogel: well, DTO was monthly for our first 2 years. The problem
was we were total dreamers. I was probably the least dreamy of
everyone, and that was a problem. I'm totally into doing
creative stuff and having fun. I don't care about being "BIG".
But the rest of the people highly involved really had big ideas.
We went to this rolling, weekly format. At least 4 new articles
every week. For a while it was nice, but it began to feel very
*forced*. I wasn't having fun anymore. I dragged my heels. We
ended up just bitching all the time. Basically, it was a text
book case for "too many cooks spoil the dinner". But I am glad
I did it. It's satisfying to pull something creative together
with a bunch of friends. And I think that should be anyone's
goal when doing a community-oriented literary production. Which
most e-zines are.
Crowe: Like you, I like the community of the whole "scene". I would
like to see it support itself, and especially each other.
That's basically my site's (www.lit.org) goal. I like doing
collaborating work with people, I find it rewarding. I like
sharing my ideas and seeing what other creative people are up
to.
Mogel: I think that's pretty noble. I'm a big fan of idea-exchange
and communication. We're in a medium of pseudo-"art", but
that's no reason to pretend we're not also in the business of
communication. In some ways, we have more liberty than anyone
else anywhere in expressing whatever we want.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
THE PLAY by RottenZ
Scene 1.
PAUL - Fuck.
STACY - What's the problem?
PAUL - Have you seen my mother fucking lighter anywhere?
STACY - Paul... I don't think this is working...
PAUL - Where's my goddamn lighter?
STACY - Paul, I think you and I should just be... friends... you know...
PAUL - Ah, Here it is. Christ, just about gave me a god damn heart attack.
STACY - You aren't even listening to me!
PAUL - I heard you the first time, bitch.
(RAPE)
SCENE 2.
STEVEN - So, Paul, I found your lighter.
PAUL - Thanks.
(RAPE)
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
A Lesson From The Chronicler
by Anodyne
You are not reading these words. You are touching me.
In fact, you have your left hand on my right shoulder.
Go ahead, put your other hand on my other shoulder. It's okay.
We're friends. Now I want to know if I can kiss you.
Is it okay? Good.
<smooch>
Now that wasn't so bad, was it? I'm going to ask you to open your
mouth wide now. Feel the tendons pulling at the back of your jaw,
holding it apart, apart, and release. Good.
Now I am going to rotate my head once counter-clockwise.
<spin>
I feel one 'pop' exactly one-hundred seventy-three degrees through
the circle. Now I am shaking my left leg lightly, bending the knee
slowly through the full range of motion. Okay, now you can release my
shoulders.
I am putting my right index finger on the center of your bottom
lip. Don't move. Slowly extend your tongue so I can just see the tip.
Good. I am removing my finger. Retract your tongue.
Now that you are warmed up, please remove your pants. Don't
worry, we're alone. Now isn't that much more comfortable? What's that
you say? You're used to reading text files without pants? That's why I
picked you, my dear--I knew you'd be able to help.
I am placing my left thumb at the entrance of your vagina, one
millimeter from the outer labia. Don't move. I am going to penetrate
you. Is that okay? Good.
<slut>
The genital stimulation you are receiving should be pleasurable.
It is? Good. I am sliding my knuckle against your pubococcygeal muscle,
resulting in a significant pull on the clitoral hood. From the noise you
make I gather that this is an exceedingly exquisite sensation. You lose
track of time.
I am removing my thumb.
Please put your pants back on and allow your breathing to return
to normal. This isn't that kind of text file, after all. You knew that
when you started. You came here looking for insight. Of course, you've
already been given the insight. Still don't understand? I'll show you
once more because I have all the time in the world, if you'll excuse the
pun.
I am looking into your eyes now. I can see your pupils dilate
slightly. My face is intensity, tinged with compassion. You consider me
attractive but not overly so. Then it changes. I Know You. I show you
that I Know You. You are spirited away by Hermes. You are in awe. You
lose track of time.
Don't worry, I was keeping track. It's my job, after all. It was
ten seconds. In those ten seconds you didn't /know/ the meaning of
life--you /were/ the meaning of life. You see, human beings are the only
creatures on the planet so acutely aware of Time. I have just taught you
that time, not death, is the opposite of life. Time encompasses Death;
without Time there is no death.
I am breaking the hands off your clock.
Now go live. Go lose track of time. I love you too much to bear
having you visit me again.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
STUPID FUCKING IRC QUOTEZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
<AIDS> ahahhahaha Teletype why are you so fat?
<kreid> the only reason your shit smells is because you eat shit all day
<kreid> you go to mcdonalds and eat your rancid shit-burger and then you
go home and dump your filth into the toilet. and every time the
shit goes through another body it smells worse.
<kreid> in twenty years, the stench of your shit will have grown
exponentially and you'll just sit there in your house smelling
your own shit from your bathroom. and then when you get hungry
again you'll get in your shit car and go down to taco bell and
eat some more shit.
<kreid> and what's worse, it's mexican shit, and it passes through your
system and you just sit around and fart and shit all fucking day.
and you'll keep eating more because you're only passing shit
through your filthy intestines and leaving your stomach unfed
and your whole life will be SHIT SHIT SHIT and you will complain
and EAT MORE SHIT
<moogle> this pizza is so good that its cheese is more powerful than I am
<moogle> this cheese stands a good chance of defeating me once and for all
<v0nTripS> im not cool im just v0ntrips
*niteeboy* fuck you ya dumb ass fat shit dick computer ass fucking phreak
wanna be cunt hole shit box nigga without a fuckin tan you
ball of ugly fat butter, crisco fuck head...fuck off!!!
<Khyron> I just rode my bike up the street to buy cigs.. on the way back
a fuckin goose started chasing me.. some fast motherfuckers
<swisspope> cooking on the web would be dumb it would be like "click on
the ingredients, now drop it to the pot" and then a new
browser would launch and display a random piece of furniture
and say "oh no! you messed up and accidentally cooked up a
KITCHEN SINK! ha ha!"
<sna> I know you're too stupid to take this personally, but it really is
painful to me to think there are more than 2 or 3 people who
would care if you died
<Quarex> I would rather exterminate the human race than kick my cat.
<styx> i've had a big-head-complex for 20 years but after seeing quarex
i feel better
<pixymisa> pointers are like the ultimate mortal kombat cheat code
<pixymisa> up-up-down-down-kick-punch YES!@$ int becomes float!@$
<tao> everson's constant: "for every subject X, there is 3 geocities
pages saying "X is Cool", 2 saying "X suX", and at least 1 "X ate
my balls."
<dennisc> all the HOE girls need dick.
<kreid> i defecate maybe once a week and it smells fucking great.
<kreid> you could probably eat my shit and it would have more nutrients
left in it than that mexican shit down at taco bell.
<Uberfizz> If you were suddenly face to face with God, what question
would you ask?
<tortoise> "should i install freeBSD?"
<mogel> "Are you ready?"
<Nybar> "how can i successfully elongate my penis without visible stretch
marks, or surgery?"
<SwissPope> "Is heaven as lame as Care-a-lot?"
<seaya> how can you worship the goddess without munching a rug
<tao> what if eggdrops had a limited intelligence and a collective
consciousness?
<tao> what if they got actual pleasure from having ops.
<tao> what if they started taking channels to seek that pleasure?
<tao> what if they offered people warez in return for shells to
operate from?
<tao> i think i'm going to try to give life to a species of bot.
<tao> a bot that tries to survive and emulate people.
<tao> we're talking about a way for it to procreate and survive.
<skinhorse> isn't it amazing how conversations that would take five
minutes on the phone take two hours on irc?
<AIDS> ahahah It must be pretty hard being so fucking ugly, Unrelated
<SwissPope> you know, i should list the top "paranormal" topics i hate
hearing about
<SwissPope> #1 is FAITH HEALING
<SwissPope> like, who gives a fuck
<SwissPope> #2 is PSYCHIC SURGERY
<SwissPope> like, who gives a fuck to this as well
<SwissPope> #3 is NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCES
<SwissPope> because you can easily recreate them with nitrous oxide
<SwissPope> #4 is ALIEN ABDUCTION
<SwissPope> because it's LAME
<SwissPope> #5 is MIRALCES
<SwissPope> because i'm not Catholic so i don't understand the virgin
Mary fascination
<SwissPope> #6 is BIGFOOT or LOCH NESS MONSTER sighitings
<SwissPope> because there isn't enough substantial evidence to seriously
be creepy
<SwissPope> let's put UFO sightings in that group as well
<SwissPope> #7 is SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION
<SwissPope> because there are only a few documented cases and the
"authority" on the subject is always some crotchety old fire
chief on some local fire dept
<SwissPope> who is like "It may be possible.. we just don't know!"
<hardcore> why do you think all i talk about is sex!
<Nybar> whenever anyone comes into my room, I get a cat on my lap, turn
the chair around and say "Ahhhhh, I've been expecting youuuu"
<SwissPope> i'm trying to get banned from #u2 right now
<SwissPope> #rabbi is full
<HeLrAiSeR> boreing... this second my life is boreing!
* HeLrAiSeR look's at a linux book to his left.
<HeLrAiSeR> hummm if i read it will i be more bored or less...
* HeLrAiSeR ponders.
<HeLrAiSeR> well i read all the windowz books.. and i got my self a mcse.
so i got linux left or Bo Os.
<mogel> HeLrAiSeR, how can i be happy?
<HeLrAiSeR> mogle follow what i say to the letter.
<HeLrAiSeR> get 1.5 grams of weed roll it up .. smoke a couple of piners.
buy 40oz of beer "one bottle or two depending on your
tolerance. and u be a very happy man. :) it works all the
time. or get a girlfriend with a high libito ,and have
responsibilites..... and u'll be happy with all the sex if ur
into that. :)
* HeLrAiSeR gone to praise the rain god in his shower! a.k.a taken a shower.
<beaner> the only thing anyone ever talks about in #ezines is oral sex &
cats
<kreid> i don't think #ezines serves any purpose other than something to
do while drinking alone
<ingy> i think i may kill myself.
<ingy> i'm so serious.
<ingy> I was dumped AGAIN.
*sna* i'm going to pack your ass with moldy bread and ship you fourth
class to madagascar
<anjee> you've got to screw me before i'm legal.
<tao> now, if i had a coat the could make me look like the pope,
<tao> i would be a severe pain in the ass of the catholic church.
<tao> because i would like, run in a church, fart loudly, and then throw
a bunch of choco-rats on the people from my bag of Bubonic Rats.
<tao> "augh!@$ the pope gave me the plague!@"
<tao> "what a stinky fart, your holiness!"
<tao> either that, or i'd perform "wacky baptisms"
<Mogel> I've got a black dragon of poop!
<Nybar> well, I just felt I exuded the aura of incompetence, but off
that, here's a raw, irrelevant question which I must ask: why
didn't you let me stick it in?
<tao> don't put your thing in the bad hole.
*ingy* No one appreciates me for who I am.
<SwissPope> i wish i had the source code to australia
<aster> hahah
<aster> hohoohoh
<aster> heheheh
<aster> heheheh
<aster> ahahha
<aster> hohooh
<aster> hehehehe
<aster> heheheh
<aster> hehhehehehe
<aster> hehehehehheheheheh
<aster> ahhahahahhahhahahahah
<aster> hohohohohoohohohohohooh
<aster> it all makes sense!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
FREEDOM: AN EPILOGUE
by Basehead
Well I don't know where I'm headed. A freight train and a blanket of
mud and a'watchin' the scenery go by. I'd die a hobo death, I would, and
I'd sink like a stone. Enter my mind on a golden yarn, take back just
what you've brought. And don't tell me no lies... Yeah lies, about that
old great big blue sea that can't be crossed, that can't be climbed. If
this were a beautiful country to get lost in then brother I'm already
lost and when you're lost you're in the dark and the dark isn't a kind of
less light, it's more like a want of light. The heady among y'all will
see that.
Well I'm a funny bird that never lands, and the rock you skip that
never returns. I was the boomerang my mother threw, and she was dead
when I came back. Tears aren't much even when they fill a cup but I've
had my fill. When bones is brittle bones is thin, well. I never felt I
could see with my bones so well. Down to the (proverb'ul) well, and I
looked in, and among the grime and stone I shone. Much to a reflection,
in the sense that it's lived in. I've lived in. They say, some say, I'm
a saddlebag with eyes. Leathery-er than the hide itself. Mighty kind, I
say, and tip my hat, and I don't know who wants to talk to a nigger
anyway. A barber's son shows me round back roundabout, and there's the
branches of LIFE, well they're blooming and who would guess (as little
Jakey scamp'red away) them was the branches of DEATH. Well you have to
go back aways, so I did, and I saw myself in as much as a man sees his
reflection in a tree. That could've been me, but the barber's son saw no
one but me, and it's a shame. Two eyes and two teeth and that's all on
one side, no redemption, and it's a shame Jakey doesn't know history.
And I mean his story.
Been a long time coming, a state of mind. Kinda like an old log, that
lays awhile before it falls apart. Bloody bruises aren't much for show,
but who can tell. Kinda like an old dog, that lays awhile before those
big bloodshot eyes close for their last.. Lockin' old secrets like a
safe deposit box in them big banks, like in Savannah.. on Bank Street.
When you dig yourself a hole and that's work and the day is through then
don't you wish there was somethin' to show? Spit on the ground, make a
spot for yuhself and sit down. Life yuh ever knew looked back and didn't
blink, but jes maybe it needed specs, then it would see these achin'
limbs and say LORD give him light. Give him love, christ, give him
SOMETHIN'. Just give him somethin'.
Got a brother around Memphis, looking down at the bottom of the bottle
and he's ALL bottled up. I'm not wishin' he'd get off the bottle much as
I'm wishin' he'd see where it's got him. And I say Freedom ain't all
you'd think it was, when it wasn't. Maybe jes saying there's Freedom
isn't bein' free, and even though I sit on the stoop and that's a stoop
made for sitting, I got to thinking.
Kinda as if you were hearing a story and you had one bum ear. And you
can't quite make't out. Well. thats what it sounded like to ol' me. I
say i'm not much for livin now, when I look around. Hold a candle to the
walls, in a way you see what's been scrawled there. Hands not made for
work and slicing them apart until it's rawer than any meat you did see
before its been cooked. They made for creatin'. Maybe, what's a nigger
know about creatin'! yuh say and you shut them doors before they was
open. And the keys you fumble for ain't much good in the dark in a room
with no doors. There's lessons bein learned, got no doubt. Not taken to
heart maybe, taken to mind. I got lost and I ain't found my way home, I
feel like the one that got through, slippin through fingers like some ol'
strainer and I'm what got by. Yeah, that big open country that would be
my playground. A fine place of my own, a noble place to set a spell. A
place for a nigger like me. With a patch'uh stubble like moss a bit on
that log that sits, and my own soil for plantin'. I guess that jes
should be enough, but this life seemin all too familiar to these eyes.
Yuh change names and faces, and the wheels and gears that hold this
little heaven up? Well they're still the same as ever, and I reckon no
man nigger or white can say somethin' different.
It's a defeat for the heart. Walkin' through a dandelion field, well
I feel maybe fer a moment, that pride. Like a fleeting smiling sun.
Passing through two dark clouds but he's smiling down on me anyway, and
I'd like tuh think that's God's face shinin' down. Between them clouds.
I'd spin a golden yard out of this old mind, keep it in a safe place.
Find my youngest son up in yankee country, hopin' he made it like I hope
for my next breath. Pass on this golden yarn and maybe that piece uh me
will go on, maybe they'll remember when I'm gone.
The ol' white men and their lovely wives, I do say lovely and mean it
too because they was and I'd lie if I said so somethin' else. They were
lovely and they made a show of it. When me and my gang clanged away down
the side of some muddied up hill, outta sight. Hear the train comin' and
well you felt a bit of pride from yuh work. That train and those men and
they wives will stay lovely, and quicker get to the next city too. Maybe
cuzza me. Cuz of me and my gang. Well, that's somethin'. Jes wishin'
they could see me there, I'd smile an' wave an'.. well, that's somethin'.
Late night sometime i felt a sting in the heart. Woke up yellin' and
sweatin' all cold, them nightmares.. the hounds uh hell chasin' me over
one of them muddied hills down through swamp and old dirt roads and I
swear they was on to me but I always woke up then. I'm an old dreamer,
who ain't got no dreams no more, 'cept dreams of death and I'd say I'd
rather have no dreams than these. Sometimes I felt a sting in the
heart.. yeah. A sting. My mother, a sting.. and my brother, a sting..
and my eldes' son. Well, my eldes' son, I know he done wrong but he ain't
never done that wrong. And a man gets to thinkin about birds that never
land cuz they just fly too high, and a son that sank like a stone in a
river south of Mobile. The crow and the pebble. These battered old
wings cant fly too far.. what good then, keep a crow all caged until he
gives up his fight and then jes open the door a speck. Well if that's
what I'm s'pposta be on my knees for then these old knees'll stay clean.
A boy ain't a boy th'out his father, and a father ain't a father th'out
his boy, and my boy, he's nothin' at all.
Funny how you never know other lives you had in yuh. Saw a man once
out Montgomery-way, seemed to take a likin' to me. Said I had a mind for
a deck uh cards, coulda made a nice sum if'n only they allowed niggers.
I thought that was a nice thing tuh say, but not much to console me, no.
Guess you look old destiny in the face after every few seasons and he
seems a bit closer and he looks'a bit more knowin' every time. Old man
destiny and old man fate was good friends and I'd say both pretty smug to
these eyes. Saw 'um in my daydreams, back when I had some dreams of
fancy years ago. Said I thought someday there'd be place fer me and my
son up where folks didn't take 'vantage and they just laughed all hearty
and took me in and said some words I think says a lot, and i'm tellin' it
how i remember it.. they said to me: folks bred for this life ain't the
same as other folks. said I was livin' on like I should, cuz that's who
I am, that's what i'll be. I suppose it made sense, inn'a way. Don't
know what I'd do left tuh my own devices. That's what I thought then,
and now I don't know where I'm headed, what I done at the last town, feel
like a stone skipped from place to place but never findin' one place
home.
Heard stories bout heritage, but I don't know if that's my kind.
Africa on the other side'th world. Well that ain't me. It is me and it
ain't. Guess it's hard to understand, most folks. Wish I felt like I
been stripped uh somethin', maybe they did back in them days in the
beginning. Crazy tribal warriors or somethin', I can't say, gettin' on
that big boat. Well that ain't me, only I wish it were. Maybe these old
bones would feel some fightin' in them, if'n I had that fire in here.. in
the heart. Beatin' like the heart of a tribal drum drummin', wish I felt
blood beatin' these veins behind m'eyes. Wishin'. But when that's all
it is, a wish, that's not heritage, that's jes hurt.
Well I feel my last legs comin' on, and I can't stand much longer, on
this good earth. I won't die a noble death on my patch of land.. I'll
die searchin' for my other boy, at the end 'these endless rusty tracks.
Tracks I had a hand in, must say. Maybe my boy's at the end and he's
done up nice, and he's waitin' for his father, and he's got himself a
good job and a good life. Well. Thas all I need to see 'fore I die.
That smilin' face. Guess that's the last dream for this dreamer, come to
think. Guess when your hopes for your own lose meanin', there's nothin'
left. Yeah, they took a lot from me and not just me 'course. But they
can't never take it all. Maybe jes sayin' there's Freedom isn't bein'
free, like ah said. I guess I know where I'm headed aft'all. Yeah, my
boy.. Good lord, my boy. I'll spin the grandest gold yarn you or he
ever did see. I'm hopin I find 'im. I'll pass on this presh'ess yarn,
cuz it's all I've got. Maybe that piece 'uh me will go on. Maybe
someone'll remember when I'm gone.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
HEY BASEHEAD, I WANT IT IN MY BUTT
by CannibalB
When your mentality breaks down and tries hitchhiking home, will
somebody pick it up? My lips have pills in the glovebox that decrease the
ringing in my ears and my head has a handgun under the seat. Tie me up
with twine and string me from house to house. I want the world to see that
I am the universal princess.
Baby, I am the garment that chafes your skin- the blaze across
your spine. You're my match and I'm the kerosene. Electric juices sprint
across the telephone line and melting in your mouth. Savor my flavor
because baby, I have two left feet and a wand of black art. I'll start
with your eyes and open your thoughts. You're my lucky charm, so pass the
milk. Baby, I have no buttons to sew when my threads come undone. Pick the
fruit I bare and spoil your appetite.
t h i s i s t h e s o u n d o f m y t r u e c o l o r s u n c o i l i n g
I'm beautiful when your tongue is flickering inside of me.
Embracing my womanhood for one night and then permanently deleting me from
your data bank. Just tell me I'm your number one rank. Was it as good for
you as it was for me? Y
ou loved me for 20 minutes and I'm still feeling
wet. The void inside of me is filled with your sweat. These holes have
made me more absorbent than a sponge. Before carving the notch on your
bedpost, will you hold me until I fall asleep?
Laying on the chilling bathroom floor with legs wide open, she
screams for comfort. Scissors are her doctor, the girl cuts and flushes.
Tossed in a garbage bag and over a shoulder, another queen dies. Thrown
in a dumpster with haunting cries, her maternal instincts still dont kick
in. Bitches will pay on judgement day.
Another thread comes undone.
I'm a ballerina, spinning in my own web of lies. Gouging myself
with goodies and treats. Crying for help in my sleep. Fingers are my
only friend, saliva running down my hand. Again, I flush and feel
cleansed of my evils. Bending down, I see my own reflection in the water
and apologize. My body is the piano, I'm a conductor of natural disasters.
I've got the blues. Today treated me like I didn't exist. Now it's time
to be beaten with my own fist. Letting the anger out of its cage, hit after
hit, I'm afraid of this rage. I'm at peace without Jesus, but I still
want more. Without this, I'm mentally poor. Now, I've got the black to
go with my blues.
Another thread comes undone.
I keep herbal love with botanic ways in a shoebox beneath my bed.
I'm a daysleeper, posing nude for Mr. SandMan. I'm not a drama queen, I
just pretend to be real. Sweet heart, this _is_ how I feel. I'm the girl
who gives you knots in your stomach. I'm the girl you wish you could be.
Just dont pull back my sheets, the real me has a tendency to occupy its
time there. Me love you long time.
I'm a porcelain doll, upright in my stand. Stuffed with
artificial materials and sold across the land. My skin is dry clean only
and stained with filthy prints. Burned to the stake and called a shifty
witch. I'm living for free while my pride pays the fee. Fitting their
careers in my purse, I swear things couldnt be worse. I've got this
feeling that I cant seem to shake. My personality is nothing but fake. I
want a ticket to anywhere. Floating down the river and they're paddling
for me.
My personal chef will cut you a piece of my pie and top it with
whipped cream for a share of your maincourse. I am the world's Yoko Ono,
PUSSY HOT HOT HOT.
Oh yeah, this file was supposed to be about anal sex.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
_The Drizzt Trilogy; Part 3 - Drizzt vs. The Teletubbies_
by Styx
Drizzt was lazing by the side of the creek, slowly regaining painful
consciousness after two terrible ordeals in which seemingly harmless
wood-dwelling creatures took advantage of him in stomach-nauseating, profane
ways.
He had become a god, yes, but it took such a horrible toll on his body
that not even the cosmic powers he had acquired could assist him in sitting
up. He stared at the immaculate blue sky for quite some time, gritting his
teeth at his humility. He tried to make out the shapes of the clouds. "An
erect penis," he muttered. "A cat." He took a deep breath.
The urine between his thighs and the semen that coated most of his body
and the blood that covered even more of him had dried and, due to
sun-exposure, had festered into a permeating stench. Drizzt fought hard,
hard, even harder to hold down his bile, but to no avail. With a
soul-wrenching shudder, it shot up his esophagus and spewed out of his
mouth like a fountain of liquid agony. He turned his head and coughed the
rest up, careful not to drown in his fluids.
"Woe is me," he wailed. "Woe is me for happening upon such sordid
circumstances! Salvatore! Greenwood! Ao! Where are you now?"
There was movement to his left, then, but so exhausted was he that he
could do nothing but listen.
"Eh-oh!" a quiet voice whispered. "Eh-oh!" several voices echoed.
He heard the pitter-patter of several pairs of feet approaching him.
Could it be the Care Bears again, he wondered? Winnie the Pooh and his
gangster cohorts? He got his answer immediately.
Four faces appeared above him. Green, red, yellow, and blue they were,
and quite cute. "Lawful Good for sure!" he exclaimed. Blood bubbled from
his stomach wounds when he spoke, but he did not have a care!
"Po!" said the red one, and stood on a funny scooter!
"Laa Laa!" said the yellow one, and carried a bouncy ball!
"Dipsy!" said the green one, and wore a fuzzy hat!
"Tinky Winky!" said the blue one, and dangled a silly handbag!
"The Teletubbies!" they said in unison!
"Hello, Teletubbies! I am Drizzt Do'Urden, and I am a powerful drow
god. I have been raped verily! If you could fetch me some water and
bandages, I shall reward you with many fun toys to play with for eternity!"
The Teletubbies looked at each other and blinked in confusion.
"Raped drow!" whispered Dipsy.
"Raped drow!" they others whispered in unison.
"Drow toy?" Tinky Winky questioned.
"Drow toy!" the others confirmed in unison.
They rolled him up and down the grassy hills, they bounced him like
Laa Laa's ball, they tried to fit him in Tinky Winky's handbag, they rode on
his back like he was Po's scooter. Dipsy even tried to wear him on his
head!
"Drow hat?" Dipsy asked, holding a limp, bloody Drizzt on his head.
"Drow hat!" the others shouted in glee, giggling!
Drizzt was screaming, screaming in pain. Screaming at the gods.
Screaming at Toril. Screaming at the authors, screaming at the novels, and
screaming because Po had bent him over a wooden stump like a bitch and was
pounding furiously, laughing merrily.
"Sodomy!" exclaimed Po.
"SODOMY!" the rest shouted happily, and they all took part in the game.
It was then that Drizzt's eyes rolled into the back of his head and
his saliva stopped frothing at the mouth. It was then that his testicles
retreated into his pelvic cavern. It was then that the drow's big, heroic
heart gave way and it pumped its last dose of life, for it could take no
more. He slumped with a sigh and his hot skin began the long, slow chill of
god-death.
"What 'dat?" asked Po, pointing at the drow.
"Broken toy!" the Teletubbies exclaimed!
"Again! Again!" they whispered in unison.
And they did it again, reveling in the necrophilia they had unwittingly
stumbled upon. They took turns back and forth, back and forth, until they
were very tired.
"Messy toy!" they whispered, watching their goo seep out of his anus.
And their friend Noo-Noo the Hoover sidled around, lowering his vacuum
hose down onto Drizzt's penis, and sucked the drow's entire carcass up
quickly into his insides.
"Yay Noo-Noo!" the Teletubbies giggled! And they danced a happy dance!
And the baby sun smiled down at them, and laughed, and gave them a wink! It
was an eventful day in Teletubby Land!
Then, without warning, a microphone arose from the green meadow rolls,
and a loud voice came hither.
"Time for Tubby Bye-Bye! Time for Tubby Bye-Bye!" it demanded.
"Eh-oh!" they whispered in unison, and pitter-pattered to their
spaceship to sleep a wonderful, Teletubby sleep and have wonderful,
Teletubby dreams.
And as they slept, Noo-Noo lurked in the shadows of the ship, heavy
with a compartment full of dead drow in his metal stomach. He grinned,
waved his hose around, and darted his eyes from right to left, then right to
left again.
"Drow taste good," Noo-Noo mumbled. "Real good."
The end.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
To: Quarex
From: PoTo
Subject: my story
the girl sat at her desk, repeatedly slapping the bracelet against her
wrist. each slap was punctuated by the sound of her voice, which kept
saying "ow" over and over and over again. she had removed the pretty
holographic wrapping from the bracelet, and was awaiting it to cut her
wrists, as so many news reports had claimed those bracelets did. "come
on, damn it, you were banned for a reason..." she complained. yet after
the continual slapping did no good, she finally picked up a no. 2 pencil
that was minus the eraser, and killed herself using the metal edge.
moral of the story: they weren't banned for any GOOD reason.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
"What I Need"
by Rhea
Love without a half-life, that's what I need. I need something to
counter-balance this constant decay of my fingernails. Oh, the way the
smog lies so heavy on my shoulders is so
smug.
ugh.
With a sigh, and a fly, in my eye, I cry, just like the pilgrims.
"Slaves to democracy?" I heard once--a little bird told me--a
bird in a guilded cage, of course, and I thought--"maybe!" But still I
say, "Ring-a-ding-ding! Freedom of thee, I sing!" beneath the shackles
of everything I am that isn't what I ought to be that isn't what I could
be that isn't what a human should be that isn't what the world should
be--there shouldn't be this smog, it hurts my eyes--and I believe in the
Declaration of Independence because at least it's something and I'd
believe in love because it's something if progress hadn't discovered the
carbon atom, which is nothing. (It was gone as soon as we knew it could
be--like innocence--oh, the poor pilgrims!)
(But freedom works the other way, doesn't it?)
How cruel.
And now the world hums with life and yet and yet and yet I wonder
what life was before there was such deep rooted hypocrisy where even
_liberty_ chains me down and where a=b and b=c but a does not equal c and
where the humming was just my computer all along. A mile-long smile
while all the while it was just a senile crocodile.
One thing I regret is that I chew and swallow my food without
savoring the taste, without feeling the texture, without noticing how the
different flavors melt together, and so the only way flavor gets across
to me is when it's exaggerated to the point of crass, unthinking
vulgarity just like everything else in my sweet land of liberty. I take
eating for granted. I take my cereal and my yogurt and my soda and my
chicken for granted and I shovel it in mindlessly. Shouldn't eating be
an art? Shouldn't breathing be an art?
Decay's okay, they say, if you play all day, and by the way don't
forget you're clay (but only on Sunday) and by the way on Friday don't
forget your pay, it helps you play
but I disagree, you see.
And so I'm free.
Yeah, I'm free. (Free from uncomfort, free from belief.)
Free from love.
I have so many chains in such a tangle, I can't even distinguish them
anymore. Sweet liberty! If I could only taste you--really taste you!
I don't know how yet. But I know what I need.
Love without a half-life, that's what I need.
And all the while, the smug smog smiles.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
A TREK TO THE LAND OF THE ELUSIVE SIMILE
by Phairgirl
Like a rusty fork in your eye,
like a molten lava Christmas pie,
like a scabbed and blistered Buddhist monk,
like a processed chicken chunk.
Like a forward-reeling stabbed black man,
like a backhand bitchslap frying pan,
like a jewish chocolate Christmas gift,
like a fallen broken lift.
Like a child's ceremonial knife,
like a german shepherd fucks your wife,
like a stained and disemboweled hog,
like a Christmas catalog.
Like a skin graft covering gaping holes,
like a vegan eating deep-fried moles,
These are the ways that I love you,
Moo moo moo moo moo moo moo.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
POLISHING AL ROKER'S HEAD by Kreid
A lot of people have told me, "Dave, I don't know how you do it.
Every time I try to polish Al Roker's head, it comes out all wrong. And
yet, every time you polish Al Roker's head, it is with grace and
precision, and the effects are mesmerizing." Now, technically, that's
not really a question; in fact, I've never actually been asked about my
head-polishing technique. Perhaps it the subject intimidates ordinary
people; or perhaps these confrontations have all been out of feigned
interest. Regardless of these things, I have chosen this night to
finally reveal the secrets of my success. So without further ado, I
present to you _The Definitive Guide to Polishing Al Roker's Head_.
The first thing you need to do to prepare for the head-polishing
is to get yourself a good pair of elbow-length gloves. I usually prefer
rubber, but canvas or studded vinyl should also work fine. After putting
the gloves on, I like to have a session of meditation or heavy
crack-smoking to get myself relaxed and focused for the task to come.
Within three hours, I am ready for Mr. Roker's call.
Now, this call can come at around noontime, or it can come as late
as 4 in the afternoon. Mr. Roker is extremely dedicated to his routine
of eating three boxes of donuts every morning, and I've noticed that this
process has been taking longer and longer ever since he picked up that
heavy smack addiction while vacationing in Bali with the Dali Lama. The
important thing for you to remember as the head-polisher is that you must
be prepared when the time comes. So no matter what you do while you're
waiting, you must maintain your focus!
Be forewarned that activities such as television and sex can
cripple your focus in mere moments. Do whatever you can to keep a clear
mind. Despite the constant pleading sounds I hear when I walk through
the company harem down at the TV station, I must reject all sexual thoughts.
Alcohol, tobacco, and caffeine should be avoided like the plague. And,
let me tell you, if you're going to smoke crack, have enough so that you
won't start fiending while you're in the middle of a head-polishing
session, and whatever you do, keep the crack away from Mr. Roker! If he
knows you are on crack, he will demand that you share some with him,
which means less for you, and also means that you're going to have to
polish a head that won't sit still. In the event that he knows I'm on
crack and insists on smoking a pipe with me, I keep some crushed up
motion sickness pills with me. After Roker smokes that stuff, he stops
moving for at least 4 or 5 hours--this is a perfect play for an
experienced head-polisher.
After you get the call, the next logical step is to drive down to
the TV studio. I don't think I need to remind anyone that Al Roker is
not a patient man; so no matter how far you live from the studio, you
have to haul ass or Roker will be pissed when you get there. And
remember: you are employed by a major television studio and therefore
have a great deal of immunity as far as the law is concerned. So if
you're like me and you don't have a car, I recommend stealing the first
police car you can find; that way you won't look quite as suspicious when
you're cutting through Central Park at 110 MPH.
If all goes well, you should be walking into Mr. Roker's office
around the same time that his head is hitting the floor from his
pre-head-polishing shot. Don't bother knocking on his door, just walk
in--he sometimes acknowledges your presence with a crooked smile, but not
always. Personally, I try not to look at his face when he's high; I get
menacing flashbacks when I see overweight black junkies.
Anyway, the first thing you need to do at that point is get the
needle out of his arm; he will almost always leave it in there, and that
can leave some nasty track-marks, which a celebrity like Al Roker cannot
afford to have, especially when he insists on wearing short sleeves as
much as he does. After the needle is out, put it somewhere out of his
arm's reach, but somewhere he can still find it the next time he wants to
get high. After that, you'll probably need to clean up his mess, usually
he leaves some cooked gear spilling out of a spoon onto his office floor,
so clean that up. And I know what you're thinking--don't try to snort
that stuff! Heroin and head-polishing are just not compatible with each
other! Just try to clean up enough to not leave too many brown stains on
the floor and put out his candles so as not to have to clean wax off the
floor later.
Here comes the hardest part: lifting Roker into his chair...
that's gotta be at least a metric ton of dead weight, and if you'll
believe it, the heroin hasn't taken off a single pound. Some
head-polishers in the past have brought pulleys and wheelbarrows to work
in the past, but I like to do it the old-fashioned way. A little bit of
butter smeared in the right places can get a fat man sliding into pretty
much any position.
Now, if you've followed all the instructions, you should have the
focus and the energy you'll need to do the actual head-polishing. But as
head-polishing is a complex and beautiful dance, I can only give a few
pieces of advice to the unexperienced. Remember to spit directly on the
head--it is the key to a bright, yet non-shiny polishing. Also, don't
try touching the bumpy hairy things on his neck or your hands will be
covered with them in a matter of hours. Beside that, just remember to
concentrate! Be the polish. Make love to the head. Make the head your
bitch; it begs for your love, but you give nothing to it, you only take!
Take, take, take! Do you like it, bitch? Of course you do!
I acknowledge that this is a minimalist approach to
head-polishing. Of course my technique defies most conventions of modern
head-polishing, but still, I consistently eclipse the head-polishing
industry with the quality of my work! In my view, it is a mad art,
devoid of logic, overflowing with catastrophe, and should not be
attempted by the feint of heart. If you do not master it, it will master
you. Need I mention the fatality rate of head-polishers these days? It
sickens my heart to know how many have died, only aspiring to be like me,
a common working man... a zen master... a head-polisher.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
BABY ROCK ME by Tasha
"Okay, now take a different marker and highlight the beginning of
every sentence in your paper."
"What about quotes in our papers, ma'am?"
"Quotes are a whole other world, Natasha."
"Wow, my paper begins with a whole other world."
"Did you expect anything less?"
"I would have settled for Africa, though it does have an insanely
high fertility rate."
It's really remarkable the types of things that can reflect so
much on one's character and impressions on others. Usage of quotes and
such. My teacher loved me after that and compares me to comic strip
characters. She thinks she has me figured and once claimed to realize
the way I think and understand me. I don't know. I don't understand
myself.
I sometimes wonder if the way I read words that are juxtaposed
together in something such as a jpeg title is any metaphorical and
symbolical indication of my view of humanity. Maybe my wanting to create
the names of people and places into clever and witty phrases really
expresses my inherent hope for humanity to be something better than it
really is. My refusal to, while knowing the truth of human behavioral
tendencies, really accept and come to terms with the fact that humans
simply don't live up to their inherent potential.
Snow is a good way to really judge a person's character. It
splits the population up nicely. The people who talk endlessly about its
beauty and the people who complain endlessly about how impractical it is.
These people could be classified as optimists or pessimists or
transcendentalists and what have you. Then, of course, there is me, who
feigns transcendentalism by briefly remarking on the white beauty before
screaming about time and time and time and I'mgoingtobelategoddamnit.
Pseudo-intellectualism.
In a long hallway which smells of burning sulfur from high school
chemistry experiments, the children linger by the coffin-shaped windows
and stare at the ground three floors below them. They make faces with
their breath and hurry to class as a loud bell rings down the hall,
shaking everything, shaking the windows. A high school chemistry student
smiles at me with a mouth full of teeth. Most people have a mouth full
of teeth, and I usually don't notice them, but I notice his.
I'm writing this filled with worry, because as I read through
previous sentences, trying to decide what may go next, I notice that they
slightly resemble sentences I've read before. Resemble sentences of
70-year-old males writing about junksickness which is slang for heroin
withdrawal or heroin high and 30-year-old males writing about infantile
saints and their lingering Oedipus complex and search for a father.
The candles are red and bleeding, expressing the death of the
flowers which don't have blood of their own and wilt due to their
inferiority. Inferior because they don't have blood and humans are the
only organisms that count; animals don't have blood, they have juice to
flavor and moisten their meat.
During puberty, a girl grows fatty deposits on her hips which aid
during the third trimester of pregnancy and males have an innate desire
for females with a 0.7 waist to hip ratio. I don't have a 0.7 waist to
hip ratio. I'm not built for childbearing and my ovaries are
dysfunctional. When I was born, my heart was dysfunctional. When I was
four, my ears became dysfunctional and my tonsils became a problem. When
I was six, my lungs became dysfunctional. I don't think Darwin would
like me very much, as I am certainly not the fittest. My mother has very
large hips and is built for childbearing. She's pregnant.
A strange boy with an unusual way of talking fancied asking me
what my idea of utopia is, because utopia is a relative term, and I
wasn't quite sure how to answer him. I've never really pondered my idea
of utopia before, other than the automatically silly answers of, "24 hour
Golden Girls channel!!!". UtopiaUtopianUtopianism.
utopia (yu-toe-pe-ah), noun:
1. a. Often Utopia. An ideally perfect place, especially in its social,
political, and moral aspects.
b. A work of fiction describing a utopia.
2. An impractical, idealistic scheme for social and political reform.
Wooo, holy mother of Jesus, I just inserted a dictionary
definition. I am post-modern. I define post-modern. I just defined
utopia. I guess I could safely say that my personal idea of utopia is a
noun with two definitions, the first of which having two sub-categories,
'a' and 'b'. That would be a very safe definition, I could never go
wrong, and I would have evidence to back up my statement. Though, I'd
like to have a personal connotation that wasn't automatically silly and
I'd like to have a personal definition for utopia that, though people
could question it, I would feel safe in replying with. I want to have a
fantasy world that I could recall in times of boredom or when I'm
disillusioned and disheartened with the scheme of things. I want to have
a place I can think of and smile at the thought of, because that seems
like a good niche for utopia in the human mind.
I want to have a place where the air has a smell every time you
wake up and every second you're inhaling it. I don't want to be
constantly growing accustom to things. I don't want to have to worry
about changing my environment and traveling and traveling endlessly to be
re-amused with life and with nature. I want to have a place that's fresh
and new all the time. I don't want to grow accustom to experiencing
things that are fresh and new. My utopia is being unaccustom. With
everything. With anything. With sights and smells and tastes and
sounds. With textures and grains and fabrics.
But I didn't think of any of this when the strange boy with an
unusual way of talking fancied asking me what my idea of utopia is.
Instead, I thought briefly, and didn't want to be laughed at or rejected
or reacted to in any sort of shocked manner. I thought briefly. I
replied briefly. I replied that I didn't know, because I didn't want him
to know. I replied that I hadn't thought of anything, because, you know,
the second definition of utopia is an impractical, idealistic scheme for
social and political reform, and I didn't want the strange boy with an
unusual way of talking to ever think that I thought of things that are
impractical or idealistic. With the strange boy with an unusual way of
talking, I fancied being practical and unidealistic and brutally
realistic so that I only contemplated and thought of things as they are
now and only formed opinions of the current, rather than forming ideas
for the could be or the future. Unfortunately, the strange boy with an
unusual way of talking has been enlightened to the ways of my poetry, and
though he likes them, I must fight hard to overcome this minor setback in
my formation of other's ideas of who I am. I absolutely cannot be one
who has written poetry, just like I cannot be one who has contemplated
their personal idea of utopia. At least not to the strange boy with an
unusual way of talking. I'm not sure if this qualifies as shame, it
could, but I don't feel quite shameful. I don't feel I need to repent
for these sins of poetry and abstract thinking.
My psychology teacher announced today that during puberty and
adolescence, one grows the ability to think abstractly. One grows the
ability to contemplate things such as nuclear war and consciously realize
how these thinks affect him or her. My psychology teacher said this is a
sign of maturity. My psychology teacher said a mature person who had
gained the ability to think abstractly would have implemented this
ability upon discovering that the leader of Russia had resigned and given
the presidency over to his vice-president. My psychology teacher said a
mature person who had gained the ability to think abstractly would have
been worried a bit about the thoughts and ideas of this new leader due to
his control over Russian nuclear weapons. I hadn't thought about this,
though my mother told me the Russian president had resigned. My mother,
of course, has gone through puberty. She has childbearing hips. I think
about snow and consciously realize how it affects me and everyone else.
I think about snow and I stare down and my breasts and lack of hips and
think I could be halfway through puberty and nuclear war will come later,
possibly when Africa's fertility rates are lower.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
"The Social Construction of Truth and Existance"
by Uberfizzgig
The population of the United States is 270 Million. Out of that
many people, how many could actually have seen the President? Not on TV,
but I mean seen the President physically in person? I took a poll and
found that about 3-4% of the US population had actually seen the
President in real life. Now, what percentage of the US population claims
to have actually seen a ghost? Not on TV, but physically in person? The
answer is 10%. Now, if 10 percent of the population has seen a ghost in
real life, but only 3-4 percent of the population has ever seen the
president in real life, why do we believe that the President is real, but
ghosts are not? Heh, heh, heh! Heh!
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
MONDAY MOURNING NEVER FELT SO GOOD
(I FUCKED HER ASS WITH A PIECE OF FROZEN SHIT OH YOU KNOW I WOULD)
by AIDS
burn jeaaneee burnnnnnn
PLEASE FORGIVE THEM THEY DON'T KNOW WHAT THEY DU WHEN THEY HURT
SOMEONE, SOMEONE LIKE YU I SEE ALL THE FACES NONE OF THEM REMIND ME OF
YUuU OUR HEARTS alfdslfs THE SAME WE DOn'T HAVE TO TRY SO HARD SIT BACK
RELAX SIT BACK RELAX BLACK BETTY HAD A BABY I WANT TO TELL YOU SOMETHING
GOOD SIT BACK RELAX DAMN THING WENT CRAZY I WANT TO TELL YOU SOMETHING
SAID IT WEREN'T NONE OF MINE NO IT WEREN'T NONE OF MINE BAMBALAM LITTE
THING WENT BLIND BAMAMALAM WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING DOWN THERE AT FOUR O
CLOCK IN THE MOURNING?
record
ing
"yeah, really."
buttwhore added to the notification list but I CAN'T NOTIFY ANYONE
IF I've assumed a new identity as the master of the ocean the
conquistador of the seas. REMEMBER WHEN ARTAUD WANTED TO PERFORM THE
CONQUEST OF MEXICO AS A THEATER OF CRUELTY PLAY? AND REMEMBER WHEN HIS
ALFRED JARRY THEATER FAILED? AND REMEMBER WHEN JODOROWSKI PUT THE FROG
VERSION OF THE CONQUEST OF MEXICO IN THE FIRST 30 MINUTES OF THE HOLY
MOUNTAIN?
Well, you might not remember, but I'm sure Mogel does.
There's a good time for film and there's a bad
time for film and then there are those people who won't ever see a movie
with you, and You transmogrify your intent into decisive need and blast
the little girls you met into children that were not women but were blood
stained and I make all the lesbians scream Oh yeah I could quote lyrics
from albums that are so far in the future you won't ever hear them, but
why the hell would I waste my powers on that?
THE MESSENGER: IN WHICH IT IS PROVED THAT ALL YOUR
ATTEMPTS TO ELEVATE YOURSELF & CHARLES DARWIN AWAY FROM THE APES CAN'T
SAVE YOU NOTHING, AND YOU STILL GET YOUR J. SHERIDAN LeFANU GREEN TEA
HARDON WHEN YOU SEE THAT ol' UKRANIAN MAID
*** buttwhore added to the notification list
*ingy* HELLO.
*ingy* HOW ARE YOU?
-> *ingy* good
-> *ingy* and yourself?
-> *ingy* I saw the MESSENGER
*ingy* Oo.
*ingy* Was it any good?
-> *ingy* I loved it.
-> *ingy* I think everyone else who has seen it hates it.
*ingy* I want to see it.
INVERSION INVERSION INVOLUTION OCEAN
sit back, relax
REMEMBER WHAT MARK E SMITH ALWAYS SAID
well, once,
EXPERIMENTAL IS NOW CONVENTIONAL
CONVENTIONAL IS NOW EXPERIMENTAL
and is no way noble
Also: "YOU THOUGHT IT WOULD BE GREAT YOU THOUGHT IT WOULD BE GREAT
BUT A GOOD MIND IS NOT A GOOD FUCK MATE"
but we all know which applies when and now we're dealing
with our own inadequacies not those of the ones we fuck fuck fuck fuck
fuck. Yes, fuck. AH, don't you see? When GUILLIAME wrote ZONE he removed
all the punctuation. It's cubist! It's futurist! It's Dada! It's
Surrealism! It's Kobek!
WHAT WHAT EAT MY NUT
BAMBALAM
WELL I'M JARETT KOBEK AND I'M A ONE MAN BAND. YOU CAN'T HEAR THE RANGE OF
BASS ON MY STEREO BECAUSE I LACK THE SUBWOOFER. SMOKING CRACK LIKE OTHER
RAPPERS SMOKE COCK, SMOKING CESS LIKE OTHER RAPISTS SMOKE COCK, YES YES,
I KNOW MY NAME IS STEVEN SODDENBURG...
Old, old, I've been feeling old lately. As I look back and peruse all the
HOE in all of the world, all of the hoes, those lovely ladies whose flesh
is the electronic word, who are stained with electric blood, I see them
and I realize my connection to them is thin and tapering. Like a fucking
tape worm. like a tanea, like a shitworm. THIN and long and tapering off
into OLD AGE? Am I gradually fading away into that other world rather
than bursting into with passion? It's entirely possible, it's entirely
so, but you know, guys, you just don't seem particularly /happy/. I mean,
you're all so god damned sad and so morose, and it's always "WHiNE WHINE
WHINE WHINE WHEN I LOVED YOU, FRANKIE, WHEN I LOVED YOU AND THEN YOU
DUMPED MY STUPID ASS AND THEN I CRIED AND SOMETIMES I CRY AND I CRY AND I
CRY AND I HAVE NO MORE HOPE DUE TO ALL THE JAPANESE NOVELS I'VE READ",
and I mean, I don't propound to be the happiest person alive, nor do I
even want to be happy, having in fact placed my unsheathed sword dick
inside the living flesh incarnation of that particular hilt, but Jesus
Christ, I just couldn't maintain the energy and effort it must take to
be so miserable so constantly. Hell, I couldn't maintain it for more than
a hour last night, and that was after I went on the Boston Death Trip to
see a movie I knew was going to be sold out and that I had no interest in
seeing, and I left 30 minutes late. And in the end, my Milla Jovovich
fascinating was fulfilled, more or less, and in the end I saw the movie I
wanted to see. But it's like, you know, you guys, you don't even /know/
what movie you want to see. It's like you don't even want to see a movie,
it's like you're stuck in the lobby and you don't have the $8 price of
admission, and you don't even care to beat 11 year olds at Tekken 3. I
mean, you're riding in Ed Gein's death car and you don't even have a
destination. You just don't seem particularly happy or really
particularly interesting, so I can't really do it anymore. So I've been
forced to splinter my sphincter into a million different realities,
converging TCP/IP packets as embodied by a 70 mile an hour drive around
Thurber's Avenue Curb on 95 south, and let them all smash and collide
into one another in the hopes that the juice which flows from the crushed
bodies will be the sweetest possible nectar. You're wasting all this
energy maintaining a sickening veneer of disreputable emotional
decrepitude and you aren't even /going anywhere/ with it. The theater is
closed and the lights are off, no one is applauding, and the film will
never be projected. The best you can hope for is a circle-jerk mirror
image of yourself whining as loudly as you. Like the Zombie Laura Croft
in Tomb Raider. Your ultimate goal is the consumption of self into
something that consumes the self. It sounds very zen, but it isn't. I
know, I listen to Bush. I went to los angeles and I found a guy who
basically is my asshole brother. He went on a pseudo-date with Pezmonkey.
Apparently he's not a very happy person either, but at least he pretends
when I'm around.
Speaking of Alejandro Jodorowsky, I saw a post in alt.cult.movies which
claims that the big A.J. is going to be direct Marilyn Manson's
screenplay HOLYWEIRD. I wish Marilyn Manson would hurry up and stop
biting my style. It's /so/ 1997, don't you think? Anyway, at the very
least I'm happy to have my suspicions confirmed that uh the video for uh
that song was basically just a rip off of THE HOLY MOUNTAIN interspersed
with Billy Zane cruising for gay cock. "Hey dad, this is the guy I just
sucked off on stage." You know?
Oh speaking of queer ass faggots biting my old school styles: Unrelated,
when are you going to stop using those NIN ultimate break beats and shit?
Niggas keep recycling the same break beats for a million years. That shit
is tired, and so are you. please stop writing text files. I'm sorry I
ever made you a member of HOE.
If I was ever going to write a file full of self-pity, the vast majority
of the context would be me feeling bad for myself that I was stupid
enough to allow Unrelated to become a full fledged member.
I heard he's on a hitchhiking tour of all 48 continental states.
Please shoot him on sight.
Gosh guys, don't you think, you know, instead of sitting around feeling
bad for yourselves, you could actually go out and DO SOMETHING? Like, I
don't know... read about General Robert E. Lee's famous horse TRAVELER?
Can't you go see the light of day? It's bright and penetrating and might
shrivel your harpy heart, but at least uh, you'll have seen it once...
Like fucking BRAD PITT watching SUPER MAN.
I guess a lot of you like FIGHT CLUB.
I guess a lot of you have bad taste.
Remember, there's a whole world out there, and I wrote it all together
with meaningless words, the women are all stained with blood, Tasha got
some oral sEXXor, I longed for some oral sexxor, Dean wondered for the
Nth time what happened to his genitalia, Bob Log clapped some tits, and
the whole world came crashing down around us as the dreaded J2K bug
kicked your fucking assholes.
Yes, J2K... Jarett 2 Kobek, it's my latest project. yes, it's a Boyz 2
Men cover group. Starring robots. hell yes. Robots that look like Harvey
Keitel and make his Bad Lutentinadnanent Dan seal noise.
AARE YOU A COCK SUCKER DO YOU LIKE TO SUCK COCK LET ME SEE YOUR ASS LET
ME SEE HOW YOU WOULD SUCK COCK OH YEAH SUCK THAT COCK LET ME SEE YOUR ASS
THIS ISN'T THE NC-17 VERSION SO MY COCK ISN'T HERE BUT LET ME SEE YOU
SUCK THE AIR COCK WHILE I WANK OH YES THERE IS YOUR FRIEND'S ASS THAT'S
A KEEPER OH YES OH GOD YES GOD YES OH GOD YES OH OH GOD OOO
DEEP SEA EXPLORING I SEE MANY NEW THINGS BUT I NEVER SAW AN ASS
the things I could tell you about her ass.
THE THINGS I COULD TELL YOU ABOUT /HER/ ASS.
THE THINGS i COULD TELL you ABOUT HER ASS.
the things I could tell you about her ass.
Limitless world.
- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ -
Presenting joy and cleverness through understood bullshit.
The E-ziner's E-zine, Where Piggies Frolic
______
6/ ^..^ Be sincere. Persevere.
@ @ @ @ @ \ ___ (oo) @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @
\|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ WW WW \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(c) HOE E'ZINE -- http://www.hoe.nu, contact: hoe@hoe.nu -> 1/9/00.
