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The Neo-Comintern 176
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s u b v e r s i v e l i t e r a t u r e f o r
s u b v e r t e d p e o p l e
n o v e m b e r 4 t h , 2 0 0 1
e d i t o r - b m c
- - - - ----==={ I N S T A L L M E N T 1 7 6 }===---- - - - -
w r i t e r s :
s p i t e
m a r g a r i n a c a t a c l y s m a
c o g
b m c
- - - - ----==={ F E A T U R E S }===---- - - - -
Guest editor's note
by Cog
The Dirty Streets of Saskatoon
by BMC
Cats
by Spite
Margarina Cataclysma's Advice Column
by Margarina Cataclysma
- - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - -
e d i t o r ' s n o t e
- - - - ---===={guest editor's note by Cog}===--- -- - - - -
How's this for tricks, hey? Look at this smooth new ride -- our
own dot-com address on a real server! I think that's some pretty big
news, possibly the biggest since we started (even taking into account
the death of Komrade B). I mean, what's the death of a Komrade compared
to a slick new website address? Old news, that's what.
And while we're on the subject of old news, I think that this is an
especially fitting time to take a look back at what has happened in
the history of the early days of this whole controlled mess.
Originally launched as a BBS-based magazine, the original
"Comintern" (as it was called then) started as a fairly straight-laced
periodical focusing on serious political thought. A few issues into the
run, Komrade B came on board and his incomprehensible writing style
destroyed all hope of a serious attempt at anything. I mean, you can't
really have an in-depth essay about Lenin's activities in 1919 next to an
article about Street Rod 2, can you?
"The Comintern" began its run on May 24, 1995, and eventually ceased
publication on October 29th, 1995. Thankfully it didn't stop production
until after my favourite article from that era was published (My Trip To
Alberta, Land of the Fascist, by The BoSS MC - originally published in
"The Comintern" #9, reprinted in "The Neo-Comintern" installment 13).
Then, in early 1998 (Holy shit! Almost four years ago!), BMC
decided to start the clockwork up again. You see, he was working in a
mill, and probably needed some sort of creative outlet other than
edgebanding. The Comintern was re-launched as The Neo-Comintern, now an
internet-based magazine. The original website was very similar to what
you see today, except for the fact that it looked horrible -- just yellow
text on a red background. Actually, the only similarity is that you
could read the magazine online.
Things continued that way until I volunteered my visual talents to
the project. BMC and I designed a page on a coffee napkin that gave The
Neo-Comintern the treatment that was needed. It must have impressed the
4 people per week that saw it, because they kept coming back. Later we
found out that it was just hits resulting from BMC, Komrade B, Wayne and
myself viewing the page.
Soon we decided to publish a print version of the magazine. The
magazine wasn't for the purpose of making money, but was envisioned as a
promotional tool for the website. How's that for different, hey? Making
people pay for the advertising to a free website? Love it! (And, once
again I was drafted to re-design the website)
Now, there's an ironic twist to this bit. At that time, we were
using a URL-redirection service to bring people to the page. You would
type in "http://ncom.base.org" rather than the nasty
"http://www.sfn.saskatoon.sk.ca/~ad357" and the service would slide you
over to our page. Good idea, right? We thought so, too. That's why we
emblazoned the shorter address on the bottom of every page of the print
magazine.
Ha ha -- guess what happened the day we printed 200 copies?
Monolith, the redirection company, went bankrupt. The address we paid to
have advertised in 200 copies of a magazine we busted our asses on for a
couple months had vanished, and visitors got a blank page. Funny as
fuck, what do you say?
Still, the hits to the website slowly started to rise, thanks in no
small part to the ads that BMC and I posted all around the local
university. As a matter of fact, we haven't done that for awhile... we
should -- it's kinda fun. At first.
The page was now being redirected from an address on another
magazine's page for a short time (http://www.yip.org/ncom), until in
early 1999 we moved to the space provided by mega-giant high-speed
internet provider @Home. Of course, the site was re-designed yet again.
At this point in The Neo-Comintern's history, we started seeing
articles by writers who weren't us under pseudonyms or STUYA. Junior
Haagis (with whom I watched a bunch of Father Ted episodes last night)
joined during this era, and he's still here. Margarina Cataclysma came
onboard about a year later. We've also been picking up strays along the
way.
And we lost one, too. Komrade B sadly passed away on November 5,
1999 (exactly 44 years since Doc Brown discovered time travel), and we
and we did in his death something we never would have considered during
his life. We dedicated a very special issue to him.
I'm told that's it's always tough losing someone, but after a
couple of weeks we didn't even notice he was gone. Even now, I'm not the
least bit depressed writing about his tragic end. To tell you the truth,
I'm laughing -- because I'm here and he's not, and I get to see this next
phase in the magazine and he doesn't. Also, I get to live, and he doesn't
(because he died).
That brings us to the year 2000 -- a little closer to the present,
and a little fresher in the minds of most of you. In fact, I would
imagine that most of you reading this were with us in that period. I
wasn't, really. It would seem I wasn't too active during that period.
But I have popped up every 20 installments or so with a real corker!
So, what's happened recently? Well, @Home went bankrupt and prompted
us to move to our own domain and server. We picked up Heckat and others,
and continue to bring you the finest in literature. And issue 5 of the
print magazine is nearing completion. Also, we now have literally
hundreds of people reading our new releases every week! So do yourself a
favour and read over the first 175 installments if you haven't already;
it's writing from the simpler days of The Neo-Comintern -- starting with
four guys who would get drunk n' high and write (sometimes all at once)
about video games, alcohol, politics, and work (sometimes all at once),
and ending with Reuban O'Neill bidding a fond Adieu.
Also, make sure you pay special attention to my work and familiarize
yourself with it, as I feel like I should be writing again. So it looks
like we'll all see alot more of each other in the times ahead. We
definitely appreciate your readership, and hope that it continues as long
as we do. Thankyou.
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- - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - -
THE DIRTY STREETS OF SASKATOON
- - - - -- -------========={by BMC}==========------- -- - - - -
Walking down our famous streets of 8th, 20th, 22nd, and 33rd, one sees an
inch-thick layer of filthy gravel covering selected parts of the sidewalk
system. This is a wonderful addition to daily life, especially for the
gourmet pedestrian who considers firm footing a nuisance, and cannot
stand having clean shoes. I have been told of visitors from other towns
who are unable to adapt to this superior method of travel, but I think
they should all leave and go far away to some uncomfortably clean and
vegetation-infested ecosystem.
Saskatoon winter lasts about 14 months. If you stumble and bumble into
our nice, dirty town at the wrong time of year, you will be met with a
blend of scowls and general disinterest. You may think this is because
you're an outsider and the locals consider you to be inferior, ugly, and
in poor taste. Although it is true that as a non-Saskatoonian you'll
never be accepted here, you're not the cause of their anger - not today,
anyway.
They're just mad because their beautiful, dirty city is covered by a
ghastly layer of snow that disguises it in a veil of innocence. Goodbye,
filth. Goodbye, dirt. Goodbye for another lonely, dirtless winter.
We'll all miss you. Even me.
After waiting patiently through what seems to be years of winter into the
next global melting age, Saskatoon people are again blessed by the
appearance of their city as the snow melts, creating a muddy, slimy,
familiar Saskatoon City that we all know and love. The diseased gravel
and insect-infested dust mingle with the wet - and this foreign fluid
splashes cars, the saltdirt corroding some poorly-scheduled new paint job
within minutes. The lawnsnow evaporates in time with the erosion of the
ice-riverbed which crumbles in shards and is carried down the
human-waste-polluted river.
And we love our city as a cockroach loves its shell - no matter how
filthy and unsightly, it is home. We're here and that means we are
strong. We can survive the less-than-ideal and that makes us proud. We
can put up with living conditions that most people would sacrifice their
lives in order not to endure. We do it. We live in hell because it
feels good to be a shining example of natural selection. But at the same
time, we look at our city's ghettoes and say, "I'd never live in a
rat-fucking-shit-hole like that," and a sad discrepancy in ideals peers
at us with its ignorant eyes.
During the "spring" melt, when the polluted mud is waist high and
unwadeable except for those with SUVs, there's nothing for the rest of us
to do but wait for the city to dry out so we can enjoy our rightful share
of it. As we wait for the chinook that will bring winds of favour and
prosperity, television is officially declared god, and beer is the
prescription for poverty-related illness.
Suddenly - one day there is a line-up at the Co-op car wash, and that
means that summer - our time to REALLY live - has finally come. The
months of dreaming about living the good life have finally come to a
close and for the next thirty days we are going to try to enjoy the hell
out of this season, not realizing until later that the summer is never
quite as hot as you expect it to be, not as calm or free, careless, lazy
or productive. After sitting in front of the television for six sweat
soaking hours, it is time to take your love on a fine summer date. It
shall consist of a walk to the local seven eleven to buy two large
slurpees.
And as you walk you reach into your pocket. Pulling out your tattered
velcro wallet and seeing that you only have enough change for one
slurpee, you scuffle the dirt on sweet 33rd street, for a moment feeling
consoled by the notion that you share more with it than you ever thought
you'd want to realize.
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"Never fear, my good Beast. I will destroy them with
the powers of my super-mind." -Xavier
- - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - -
CATS
- - - - -- -------========={by Spite}========------- -- - - - -
I had originally planned to write something about cats, maybe in a way
that people who had never seen a cat would be able to form a perfect
picture of one simply from my description. I did actually attempt this
somewhat futile idea, but then I got annoyed and quit. Just like I
always do.
I have quit just about everything I have ever started, with the
exception of high school. I do currently have a job that I have held
since February, but if there wasn't the whole money issue involved I
probably would have quit that too. I do actually like my job and I find
that makes a huge difference. I have had several really crappy jobs,
most of them only lasting a few months. I once had a job as a
telemarketer. I spent the three days of my employment sitting in my
little office smoking like a fiend and talking on the phone to just about
everyone I could think of phoning to make it look like I was really doing
what I was paid to do. I went in on the fourth day and quit because I
couldn't imagine dragging myself to that hellish occupation day after
day. I also had another job with a clothing store, that lasted about 2
months. I actually got "laid off" from that job, but I know I would have
quit soon enough anyway. I really hated the manager. Oh, and I hated
the owners, too. I actually manage the store I work in now and I also
really like my boss.
As for school, I have managed to quit twice. I went to the University of
Saskatchewan for two years. Well, sort of anyway. I knew in the first
week of class that I was destined to quit. I hated it there. Absolutely
hated it. And for no reason in particular, either. I had originally
wanted to be a psychiatrist, but after realizing this would take years to
acheive and countless hours of work, I promptly quit wanting it. I
probably would have gotten tired of listening to people go on and on
about their problems and quit anyhow. I saved myself a lot of time and
energy in quitting that early on. I also started an Esthetics course
almost two years ago. That stint lasted me about 2 months. It wasn't so
much that I didn't like the course, but that I couldn't imagine catering
to women who wanted to look like Barbie dolls for the rest of my career.
Yuck.
Meaningful long-term relationships don't escape my quitting frenzy. I
have really only ever been in two relationships that lasted for any
notable length of time. And I quit them both. I have the astounding
ability to find fault with absolutely anything, or anyone, for that
matter. It's not so much that I go looking for faults, but once I find
them they can't be ignored. This is not to say that I am without fault.
I have plenty of them, I assure you. My first relationship wasn't so bad,
but it got to the point where it had nowhere else to go and I just
happened to be the first one to realize it. So, I did the sensible thing
and quit. As for the second one, he just had way too many faults for my
liking. After that I got to the point where I quit wanting to be in a
relationship and enjoyed being single. I quit that recently too. I have
a nice boyfriend. I haven't seen any faults to speak of and so I don't
think I'll quit just yet.
There are also many things that I have quit over the years that don't
really fit into any kind of category. Here is a list of things that I
have managed to quit for one reason or another.
- The Physics course I tried to do by correspondence -- I didn't have
a teacher nagging me to do my work. And there is something so weird
about having to mail your tests away to have them corrected.
- Learning to play the guitar -- I just couldn't get the hang of it
and it's so much easier to just listen to music on the stereo than it
is to make it.
- German class -- Trying to get the hang of German grammar is a real
bitch. So is having to get up in front of the class and stutter your
way through a simple paragraph. Same goes for having to watch someone
else try to do it.
- Air Cadets -- No matter how hard I tried, I could not get those
stupid boots shiny enough to please anyone. Having someone smaller
and/or younger stand there and yell all the time really sucks too.
- Selling Mary Kay products -- I just could not get excited enough
about all that make-up to try and convince other people to buy it.
- Writing -- I never actually quit writing. But I have tons of
unfinished articles littering my hard drive.
- Shaving my legs -- Every winter I quit shaving my legs. I don't
really see the point in it at all. No one sees them anyway.
It's a shame that the word "quit" has such negative connotations. I may
be branded a "quitter" for never following through with anything, but at
least I have the sense to quit the things that I don't enjoy. It just
makes no sense to drag your ass through life because you hate your job,
or you hate your boyfriend, or you just plain hate your life. If you
don't like something, quit it! Easy as that. Give it a try sometime.
- - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - -
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"Wait, professor! Check out these
articles - they're k-fucking-rad!" -Cyclops
- - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - -
MARGARINA CATACLYSMA'S ADVICE COLUMN
- - - - ----------={by Margarina Cataclysma}=------- -- - - - -
Dear Margarina,
Should I paint my toenails blue or should I keep them red? I am not sure
if it will be the profound life change I am searching for or just look
pretty... HELP!!!! -Sugar
Dearest Sugar,
Alternate toes, different colours. Or, nothing at all. Are your
toenails big or little? Who cares really. Not me.
No Love Lost,
Love, Margarina
Dear Margarina,
What is the most effective way to torture an annoying, loud mouthed,
bitter, ugly horndog? (Her name is Vanessa) -Lady Death
Death Death Death Death,
Well, my dear, it is simple. Set her up with some object of her desire.
This may take some effort on your part if she is really as distasteful
as you describe, but not impossible given your considerable talents.
Then, sit back and enjoy her despair when the object of her desire
deposits her into the pit of mire which he/she undoubtably will when he
observes her noxiousness close up and personal-like. The only bad thing
about this is that she may come crying to you after the fact. But you can
minimize this by telling her that she deserved it. And if it backfires,
then you probably deserve it too. But you already know that.
Love, Margarina
Dear Margarina,
What do I get for my boyfriend for his birthday? -Becky_Boo
Get him something that reminds him how lucky he is to be dating a swell
gal like your royal self. Get him something that reminds him that he is
merely a boy. Don't get him anything that might lead him to believe that
you cherish him for some sort of intrinsic value that he knows he doesn't
have because that will only confuse him. Once, my sister gave her
boyfriend a keychain that she had shop-lifted from the corner store. It
was one of those that has a name on it, you know, a personalized key
chain? But the perfection of her gift was that it had someone else's name
on it. I think it read `Edna'. So it was also somewhat emasculating.
Perfect.
Hope it works for you,
Love, Margarina
Dear Margarina,
Why must Wayne drink so much alcohol and beat mommy? -Gnarly Wayne Jr.
Oh dear little Gnarly, Mommy doesn't mind so much when Daddy drinks his
juice and beats her. It makes her feel like he knows she exists. She
feels loved, honey. Someday you will know all about this, honey, when
you have a boy of your own. Your daddy is trying to set a good example
for you.
Love, Mommy
Dear Margarina,
Do I have to put up with the demeaning comments regarding my sexuality?
How should I respond to such people? -On The Edge
Dear On Edge,
Well, I've always been an advocate of the slightly too small cup-size.
It's really squishy. That, and fluttering one's eyelashes. Just keep in
mind that they have no idea, no idea at all. Some horrible person once
told me that my name should be Mazola instead of Margarina, and I got
really mad, but then I had a vision of great import and beauty and
realized that they were entirely correct, and I had to thank them for the
fantastic fantasy. If all else fails you could smash their empties over
their rubbishy heads.
Good Luck with That Then,
Love, Margarina
Dear Margarina,
XIII or IIX? -BMC
Once again, who cares really? Not me. If I had any idea what you were
really trying to ask, you tender-skinned pseudo-intellectual, I'd pitch
you out on your behind, probably.
Please Fuck Off,
Love, Margarina
Dear Margarina,
ok well i'm interested in planting trees next year, any suggestions on
gettign a job doign that? - bu joe
Oh good grief. Where do you live? Phone planting companies in your
province, ask for a job. Do it before the end of January or they will
tell you that they have no room for rookies, which they may do anyway.
Just realize that when you are a rookie you are subhuman and deserve to
be treated as such. Also realize that very few human beings have what it
takes to be uberplanters, and that you will probably suck. If you are
serious, icq me and I'll hook you up. I mean it. Sending young talent
off to become trampled disillusioned slaves is what I live for.
Fat Chance,
Love, Margarina
Dear Margarina,
Im on probation, and due to a shy bladder, I am unable to piss in a cup
with someone watching me... under the pressure. If I dont though, it
results in my arrest. What do I do? - cv.crud
Dear Crudly,
Spit in the cup. Again, who cares really?
Love, Margarina
Dear Margarina,
"If loved ones drift from your life, how would you go about rekindling
that later on down the road" - TheVistira -
Dear Viscera,
"Write them a bleeding letter. Page them. Invite them to your freaking
birthday party. Mail them a cake with a file in it. Send an email with
attached files of pictures of the last time you saw them. Show up on
their doorstep. Get your mother to phone their mother. Don't do
anything at all, and you will inevitably run into them again anyway cause
it's a very very small planet. Believe you me. I am assuming that you
are young or youngish. If you are old or oldish, then maybe you'd
better get to work before it's too late."
"Moving right along",
Love, Margarina
Dear Margarina,
In my struggling attempt to maintain a social life, I have found it very
difficult to hold a conversation. I'm not so nervous that I can't talk or
any such thing, I just never have anything to talk about. Perhaps I lead
a boring life. How is it that one hold and interesting and intriguing
conversation? - linear
Dear Linearthinker,
accentuate the positive/eliminate the negative
For some reason that just popped into my head, I have no idea what it
could possibly mean or where it could be from, or what it could possibly
have to do with your question.
Maybe the people you are trying to talk to are so unbelievably dull that
you'd have to explain a million things before you could ever communicate
any sort of subtleties to them. Maybe they are so brilliant that you
need to ask more questions.
Try it, then get back to me.
Love, Margarina
Dear Margarina,
Where did BMC gets the wings on his cock from? - Gnarly Wayne
Hey Wayne,
Good Question.
Those aren't really wings, they just look like wings. BMC was trying to
auto-fellate hisself, but with them big buck teeth of his he kinda had a
problem and that's what it looked like afterwards when the screaming
stopped. And here you was thinking he was lucky. Poor kid.
Love, Margarina
Dear Margarina,
I have two seperate groups of friends. One seems to be more fun than the
other, but I don't want to ditch one group in favor of the other.
Attempts to get the groups to mingle have always yielded undesirable
results. What should I do?
Love,
Hector X. Delgado
Dear Hector,
What a dilemma. If I was you, and I ain't, I'd heark back to when you all
was young'uns. What would you have done then? I think something simple
like going to the waterslides would be neat. You could all wear party
hats and even the lame ones would think they were having fun then. And
most people look stupid in bathing suits, so the snobby friends would be
equalized too. Everyone could have a buddy from the other group, and
you could kiss underwater and stuff. It could be, like, a special events
day.
Also, can I come too?
Love, Margarina
Dear Margarina,
I've been trying to conceive a child for some time now, but my girlfriend
is on the birth control pill and doesn't want to have a child. How can I
impregnate her without her consent or knowledge? - Jason, age 13
Dearest Jason,
It's bad form to have a baby without the consent of your girlfriend.
But, if you are really dead set on the idea, this is what you'd do:
chloroform her lightly for about a week or so, just long enough for the
artificial hormones to wear off. Then, kill thyself. Then, when you are
dead, blink twice so the rest of us will know that you're dead. Then we
can talk with impunity about what a freaking idiot you were and how glad
we are that you've taken yourself out of the gene pool. Don't worry, we
will appreciate the fact that you are gone. Don't be spreading that
stuff around there boy,
Love, Margarina
- - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - -
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Thanks, Neo-Comintern!" -Gambit
- - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - -
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"It's sexy, funny, and non-threatening. I'd recommend it to both my dope
dealer and my teenaged daughter." -Wolverine
- - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - -
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- - - - -- -------===========================------- -- - - - -
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t h e n e o - c o m i n t e r n
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