_
                                   | \
                                   |  \
                                   | | \
                            __     | |\ \             __
      _____________       _/_/     | | \ \          _/_/     _____________
     |  ___________     _/_/       | |  \ \       _/_/       ___________  |
     | |              _/_/_____    | |   > >    _/_/_____               | |
     | |             /________/    | |  / /    /________/               | |
     | |                           | | / /                              | |
     | |                           | |/ /                               | |
     | |                           | | /                                | |
     | |                           |  /                                 | |
     | |                           |_/                                  | |
     | |                                                                | |
     | |      c   o   m   m   u   n   i   c   a   t   i   o   n   s     | |
     | |________________________________________________________________| |
     |____________________________________________________________________|

  ...presents...                  COWBEATER #3
                                                         by The cDc Cultees
                                                         12/01/1995-#300

             __///////\ -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc- /\\\\\\\__
               \\\\\\\/  Everything You Need Since 1986  \///////
  ___    _   _    ___     _   _    ___       _   _      ___    _   _      ___
 |___heal_the_sick___raise_the_dead___cleanse_the_lepers___cast_out_demons___|


                    __| _ \ \      / _ ) __|   \__ __| __| _ \
                   (   (   \ \ \  /  _ \ _|   _ \  |   _|    /
                  \___\___/ \_/\_/  ___/___|_/  _\_|  ___|_|_\
                                                              
                                    Number 3

                                sponsored by the
                            COW DISCIPLINE COMMITTEE
                                  "tough love"

     COWBEATER is published now and then by cDc communications, PO Box 53011,
Lubbock, TX 79453.  Copyright(c) 1995 by cDc communications.  All rights
reserved.  Title COWBEATER and the distinctive "Dead Cow" logo are ours, and
we'll bust everyone's head who doesn't like them.  All rights to letters sent
to COWBEATER become the property of cDc communications and will be treated as
unconditionally assigned for publication and are subject to COWBEATER's right
to edit and to comment editorially.  Any similarity between persons and places
in COWBEATER and any real persons and places is purely coincidental.  COW-
BEATER's comments on pictures, people, trademarks and/or copyrighted material
are only its opinion based solely on those facts disclosed.  COWBEATER's use
of such items is not authorized by the persons named and/or depicted by the
trademark or copyright owners, and no such authorization should be inferred.
All nude models are 12 or older.

  _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/


A Super-Special Note From The Editor

     Hey!  Welcome to the first issue of COWBEATER since 1992.  The name's
gained two extra letters at the end... but I can't talk about that right now.
You know what's really on my mind?  The wide world of RETAIL!

     I'm always disappointed going to the old K-Mart in this fine city because
it's just lame.  It screams "We haven't remodeled since '79 and Wal-Mart is
destroying us."

     All the K-Mart employees are sullen and shiftless since Wal-Mart came to
town.  And Sears employees?  Forget it.  They might as well work in a museum.
Wanna depress a Sears employee?  Ask 'em where the big catalog's at.  Ha ha ha.
Pity the poor toy department Sears employees the most.  They're lepers, a BIG
BAD JOKE, man, since Toys 'R' Us broke ground.  They can't even hold their
heads up.  You can imagine them sitting around in the employee lounge, drinking
whiskey out of Thermos bottles on 5-minute breaks that stretch into 2-hour
binge sessions.

     And don't think I don't know that you guys take my brilliant ideas and use
'em to seem witty with the chicks.  I hate you for it, forever.
Here's another great idea: go die.  Now.  Thanks.

hugz :) :) :) :) :) :) :) hugz meez ga-goo nee touchie feeelieeez :) :) :)

                              Swamp Ratte'
                              Mack-Daddy Ruling Editor Supreme 'till Infinity X
                              Breaking Necks and Cashing Checks in the 9-6, Kid

  _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/


Letters to COWBEATER!

Send us letters!  Send us short stories!  Send us pictures!  Send us money!
Send us consumer electronics!  Send us music!  Send send send!

MAIL -

HEY COWBEATER,
     I read Ratte's reply to Jazz on alt.fan.cult-dead-cow.  I got to thinking.
How many other kids have started things just like this?  How many 100s of file
groups are there in the ether?

     cDc is a constant reminder that you _can_ take some of childhood with you.
That you can take some of the silly dreams and the innocent, crude fun and keep
it with you as you grow up.

     Everybody is so damned serious and bitter about everything and nobody has
any dreams anymore.  It's just work, eat, sleep, get married and die.  No more
talking about the future.  No more dreaming about writing stories or songs and
getting rich.  Just plodding through life with your ugly fat wife waiting for
your first heart attack.

     cDc reminds me that there was a time when my friends and I felt hope.
Excited about the future.  We knew that if we could harness the power of our
friendship we could be _legends_.  cDc is the flowering of seeds we all planted
when we were kids.

     You've accomplished a good thing here.  And you've inspired a bunch of
people that are damned hard to inspire about anything.  There are a lot of us
out there.  And like it or not, cDc is where they turn to be part of something.

     I feel like a fucking motivational speaker.
                                             Jaffo

--

I THOUGHT YOU'D ALL LIKE TO KNOW ABOUT THIS.
     Somebody on alt.rumors posted that the CULT OF THE DEAD COW is planning to
appear unannounced on _Larry King Live_ this Saturday.  King is apparently
taking CNN cameras to Groom Lake, Nevada to investigate the unmentionable
military base there.

     According to the post, Cult members are planning to bring a live cow in a
horse trailer up to one of the public observation areas surrounding the base.
The scheme involves painting giant circle-A anarchy symbols and swastikas on
the bovine, and then using firecrackers to scare it onto the base.  The Cultees
are hoping that the base security will tear the cow to pieces with their M-16s.

     I saw a response which mentioned that there are ranchers who have
adjoining property, and that base security probably won't kill a cow that
wanders on base, regardless of the slogans painted on it.  But the best
rejoinder was from someone who said that they should strap scary-looking but
harmless devices to the cow and then let it march on base.

     I can only imagine how long this cow would survive, once on government
property.  All of the signs surrounding the Groom Lake observation areas have
the words "Use of Lethal Force Authorized" in red letters.

Anyway, I'll be watching for the cow on Saturday.
                                             Omega

--

To: sratte@phantom.com (Swamp Ratte)
From: wthomas@netcom.com (Wes Thomas)
Subject: You're sick, you're qualified

hey swamp, why aren't you writing for mondo instead of spewing your seed opon
the ground?
---------------------------------
Editor, MONDO 2000 magazine
(510) 845-9018 Fax (510) 649-9630
P.O. Box 10171, Berkeley CA 94709
---------------------------------

HEY WES,
     Because MONDO 2000 isn't macho enough.

Hugz,
S. Ratte'/cDc/666SATAN666NOSELLOUT!!!

--

HI CCOW BEET!!
i hav been keeping thisdiary and was told to report my Progress toyall.
thank you.

8/10/95
Talked on the phone with the Deth Veggie.  Make further plans to be the lamest
group in telecom.  I agree to release my file "How To Make Cyanide Out Of An
Apple".  As we get excited over this the phone goes dead.  I assume that the
phone company has finally noticed I haven't paid my bill, then look down and
see that the line has been severed.  Can't figure out how.  I smell something
like diesel fuel mixed with tequila.  Decide it must be time to change the
cat's litter box.  Light some incense instead.

8/15/95
Strange...marks... are showing up on my body.  They look like some kind of
weird burns.  Hope I'm not getting some kind of virus.  Got a new phone. Made
myself a K-l00h00 and got onto the net.  This turned out to be very
frustrating, I couldn't do anything at all.  Just bad line noise, it's probably
just a coincidence that made it delete everything I typed and junk like "Thaha"
would appear.  Would have been a lot less annoying though if it hadn't printed
stuff like "SUFFER MY RAT."  Reach for the K-l00h00. It's gone.

8/20/95
Had a terrible dream about something big and scary blowing hot breath in my
face.  Woke up to find myself buried in C64 warez.  They had blood on them! 
Immediately went to shower and found out I now have one of those marks on my
face.

8/27/95
Remembered some vague stories about something called "Demonseed" today.  Can't
remember exactly what the upshot was cos I thought the person who told me was
just trying to make a fool of me.  They probably were, but for some reason it
seems very important now that I remember exactly what the stories were about.

9/5/95
Went down to Store 24 and then the packie, spent all my money on Coconut
Yoo-Hoo and Kahlua.  It seemed like a good idea at the time except now I have
no money for cigarettes, or food come to think of it.  Maybe I should get a
job.  Nah.

9/12/95
Lately I've been working on this great project, I'm trying to perfect my
formula for K-l00h00 and make the biggest and best drink in the world.  I was
working on it in the kitchen today when my roommate walked through dragging out
all her stuff in boxes.  Says she can't deal living with this and something
like maybe she could deal with the smell of burning linoleum but that the
screams were really starting to get on her nerves, then she left.
I wonder what her fucking problem is and who's going to pay the rent now.  Oh
well, I really don't have time to deal with this, at least now I have extra
space to work on my important project.

10/1?/95
Got more of the coolest fucking email in the world today, they knew all about
the altar and stuff and said I'm on the right track.  Offered some really good
suggestions how to improve it too, I'm psyched.  Haven't slept in three weeks
but I really don't have the time.  It was a little tricky to hook up the Super
Nintendo to the VAX, but I think now I understand where the blender fits in.
Really have to get a few more miles of phone cord.

October something
Used the altar again today, it went beautifully as usual and I really think I'm
getting the hang of it.  I'm a little scared to think what the phone bill is
going to be like but my friend said not to worry he'd take care of it.  Oh yeah
the landlord came up and was pounding on my door, saying I made the downstairs
neighbors move out or some shit, but when I opened the door to tell him to shut
up he took one look at me and ran back down the stairs.  Couldn't have been too
important, and he even made me be late for my chicken-bleeding which is way
annoying.  Don't think I'll have to paint over the silver walls after all now
they're a perfectly normal color so the landlord can't bitch about something
else, cool patterns on them too.

October
Got this idea that maybe the patterns on the wall were actually new ways to
encrypt stuff so I was checking them out but really they were messages and
stuff for me I've been reading them I think I'm really learning a lot like I
don't need a modem or computer even to log into anyplace any more which is
pretty cool except I don't have time to anyway cos I'm busy reading the walls,
there's new stuff every day and it's better than any board so it's OK I don't
want to waste time writing about it I learned stuff that I used to wonder like
what happened to Amelia Earhart and who killed Kennedy and what's up with the
aliens anyway that was a big deal but compared to the other stuff not as
interesting.

11/
2 month no sleep no food but things goin well i was told i must go to 2600
tonight cos we need more supplies. said Im doing xcellent and to find more
dregs of comp underground and bring them. truth told Im a lil tired too but no
one notice, this good so i can make sure He is happy.

?
askd y not online now i said i am but new handle woudnt say what tho so He wont
be mad like when i asked what if i run out of dregs? not scared tho very hapy!
so hapy! stil hope i never have to sufr the Wrath like others. i bet He really
likes me an ill b ok yea thats the ticket He cant do witout me He needs
me in fact HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH`
                                             K-LaMe

--

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
     ]]] DEMON ROACH UNDERGROUND BBS FEEDBACK [[[

]From : GRIM REAPER (#170)

Hmm, sorry dude, can't handle the no graphics...

But hear this is a great board, all things considered that should make ya feel
good with the competition, and you being at 2400 and Apple...

Grab an IBM, and an HST and look for some of the best LD boards...

It will blow your mind... BBS's done right with AWESOME graphics... color...

Make sure you get on a ViSiON-X Board...

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

[A]uto reply [C]ontinue [R]e-read ] A

 xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX...those aren't your REAL parents, you know...XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Ha.  That's funny.

Lick my self-cleaning oven, you Hee Haw-watching-in-your-underwear,
Froot Loops-spearing-with-your-penis, twelth-generation-West Virginian-product-
of incestuous-bestiality-fiends non-person.  I'm going to defrost my freezer
with your WARM BLOOD!  I'm surprised you haven't drowned yet from looking up at
the sky when it rains,  with your mouth open like that.

Geek.

S. Ratte'/cDc

Hey, your shoe's untied...

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

--

DAMN IT'S cDc,
     Jeezus Christ ....

     Greetings from last surviving member of the 1981-1986 group The Wizards of
Baud, leaving you with "all that shit" from the long-gone Apple ][ and early PC
series...

     This is, of course, making me wanna wipe away the foot of dust of the Ace
1000 and load up some of the old text files (if the disks are still good).

     I applaud you in your success.

Greetings from:

Kilroy
Agent Steel
Major Havoc
Havok
Grand Wizard
Duckman
Count Zero (the old one who's like 35 now)
etc. etc. etc. on and on can't damn remember for the cerebral arthritis that
struck me several fucking years ago after a few too many nights with Tvarscki
Vodka cuz it was the only stuff we could afford back then...

[Maniacal Laughter]

Take care.

TAG: Take Stock in America --- Buy a U.S. Congressman!
     (C) 1985 Steel Solutions/TWOB ALL RIGHTS WAIVED
                                             Mark Steel

--

From: Thrashrman@aol.com
Subject: found

i found you guys through a search on incest.  can you send me any thing
relating to this subject?  thanks

--

From: Brandon Trotter
To: Weasel Boy
Subject: email pal

I  need a pal!!!!!!
                                             Brandon Trotter

From: Weasel Boy
To: Brandon Trotter
Subject: Re: email pal

     Have you considered asking Jesus to be your pal?

     With the advent of the World Wide Web, more people than ever are turning
to JESUS due to the large number of Christians putting up sites on the web.
Jesus has many advantages that I could not offer you.  Consider the following:

1) Jesus is always there.  I'm always travelling between Atlanta and San
Francisco, so I am not really available.
2) Jesus can perform miracles.  I can barely play guitar.
3) Jesus is well-connected - his dad runs the Universe.  I really have no
contacts whatsoever.
4) Jesus is fun to party with - he can turn water into wine, and if he wanted,
he could turn wheat into marijuana or vitamins into amphetamines.  That's so
cool.

     So leave me alone, and go tell Jesus I said you could be his pal.
                                             Weasel Boy

--

DEAR COWBEATER,
     I'm a 16-year old Virgin, and lately Robby, my boyfriend, has been
pressuring me to have sex with him.  But I'm saving myself for THE DETH
VEGETABLE!!  I want all of his Comic-Book Villain-Sized Lovin', and I know that
nothing Robby could offer me could POSSIBLY COMPARE!!!  Help me out!  What
should I do?!
                                             Veggie-Tarian in FL

Dear Veggie-Tarian,
     You just need to remember that there are thousands of girls out there just
like you, who also want to give themselves up to THE DETH VEGETABLE.  As you
can well imagine, even a libido as Heroic as Veggie's is kept very very busy!
But I've forwarded your letter on to him, and who knows...  Perhaps he'll be
paying you a special visit someday soon!

--

From: Crusader [Crusader@National.Alliance]
Subject: Insult to White dignity

Your cDc Web page is an insult to American Patriots everywhere, and I feel
it is my duty to convince you to rejoin the fold.

If you are at all concerned about the fate Western/American civiliztion
and it's people, please take the time to read the attached artcle.

Crusader@National.Alliance

--

From: Chris Goggans [phrack@well.sf.ca.us]
To: sratte@phantom.com
Subject: Re:  NOBODY LOVES YOU BUT CDC

[sniff]

that message of love and harmony brings a tear to these tired old eyes.

God bless ya!

-]ME

--

I WANT TO USE THIS FORUM TO SPEAK TO THE WOMEN OF THE WORLD.
     Why do you flirt with me so much?  Do you really want me, or are you just
a manipulative whore who dissipates her nearly throttled sex drive among
strangers when it cannot be relieved within the strict bounds of the rewards
you allot that operant conditioning subject you call a boyfriend?  HA!  The
more you resist, the more complete will be your ultimate surrender to the power
of the penis.  I can feel your mind drawn inexorably over the brim into an
oubliette of servility.

     Also, I'd just like to let all 3 billion of you know that even next month,
after I have wall-to-wall women in the hot bachelor pad that my really
important and manly job will buy, I won't turn mellow and forget how none of
you would sleep with me when I was poor.

     Finally I'd like you to go back and admire that ultra-compound
hypercomplex sentence two paragraphs back.  Once you're sure I'm a lot smarter
than you for having written it, take off your clothes and ring my doorbell. 
Then I'll ring yours. 
                                             Eric Boesch

--

JOIN ME, COWBEATERS!
     hello the other day i saw star wars on my VCR. it was coool. i wish i had
the force like Luke. then i would use it to make people give me money and to
get free sex and to play bad tricks on whities. here is a GIF rendering i made
myself of Dark Vader.

      -^-
    / 0 0  \  "hello, may the force be with you!!!"
       o      *
  / ( .. )\  *
 j   [  ]  \*
     l__l
     J  J

I rule the dark side of the force.  Join me and we shall crush the rebel
alliance and control the galaxy.

  _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/


Feature Presentations!  Big Rabbits!
                              .,,,,,,,,,,,,
                        ,;%%%%uuuuuuuuuuuuu%%%\
                     /%%%%%uuuu====####uuuuuu%%%%
                   /%%%%%uuuu.....===###uuuuu%%%%%%
            , '''''\%%%%%uuu....##.===##uuuu%%%%%%%%
           ,'''''''')####\%u....../==#/uuu%%%%%%%%%%%
           ,'''''/#########\%mmmmmmmmmmmmm%%%%%%%%%%%;
            #\''/##########(mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmnu%%'%%%%%%%
           ###############(mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmnuu%%'%%%%%%;
           u\###########/ (mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmnuu%%'%%%%%%%%
          uuuuuEEE         \mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmnuuu%%'%%%%%%%%%
          uuuuuEEE    .:::,#u,mmmmnnmmmmmmmmmnuuu%%;; %%%%%%%%%
           uuuuuu\##\:::::##uuummmmmmmmmmmmmmnuu%%;;;; :...%%%%%%
              uuuuu\#######/uuuuuuuuuu,mmmmmmnu%%...;;;  ::...%%%%
                 \uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu,mmnu/ \...;;;   ::...%%%
                   ]####&&################[%%%%    \;;;/    ::...%%%
               (#####&&&################%%%%%%%              ::..%%%
           (######&&&&##############(%%%%%%%%%%                ::%/
          (####&&&&&&#############(%%%%%%%%%%%%%
        (#######&&&&&############(%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
       (#########################(%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
       (# (######################(%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
          (#######################(%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
         %%%(#####################(%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
        %%%%%%(####################(%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
       ;%%%%%%; (#################n'%%%%%%%%'%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
      (%%%%%%%(  ;%nn############nn'%%%%%%%%'%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
       ;%%%%%%%  %%%nnnnnnnnnnnnn'%%%%%%%%%'%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%(@@@)
        \%%%%%;  %%%%nnnnnnnn'%%%%%%%%%'%%'n%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%(@@@@@)
         (%(%/   %%%%%nnnnnn'%%%%%%%%%%%'nnnn%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%(@@@@@@
                %%%%%%nnnnnn'%%%%%%%%'nnnnnnnn%%%%%%%%%%%%%%(@@@@@@@
               %%%%%%%nnnnnnn(%(%)nnnnnnnnnnnn%%%%%%%%%%%%%(@@@@@@@)
           .,;%%%%%%%%nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn%%%%%%%%%%%%%(@@@@@@@@
    ,nnnnnnn%%%%%%%%%nnnnnn)nnnnnnnnnnnnnnn%%%%%%%%%%%%%%(@@@@@@@)
 /nnnnnnnnnnn%%%%%%nnnnnnnnnnn)nnnnnnnnn%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%/  (@@@@)
(uu(uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu/   (uu;;;;;;;;;;;uu)Dustin Slater
                                    (uu;;;;;;;;;;uu)
  I always shrieked at Gary because  (uuuuuuuuuuuuu)
  he kept shoving the joystick up his (uu)(uu)(uu)
  anus.  Then he'd laugh like a moron
  and the joystick would fall out of his butt.
  And he'd say, "I jes' had a baby!  A baby!  A baby!"
  It was a song he made up.  Now I miss the joy and
  laughter that Gary brought to us all.
  I'm sorry I had to... had to... oh dear sweet God.

  _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/

FATSHIT GETS HIS ASS KICKED
by Fatshit

     It's such a shame to lose one's vocation... in this case, my band.  I
broke it up a few days ago because I was tired of working with A.) a metal-head
who couldn't play any riff that he hadn't heard Black Sabbath play already
B.) An overbearing dyke-type who wanted the band fucking NAMED AFTER HER... in
spite of the fact she was the newest member, and C.) A huge, surly drummer with
no ability or social skills.

     So, this afternoon I brought us together for a post-break-up meeting about
equipment, songs, etc.  Who got what. It quickly degenerated into an argument
and two of them ran down the stairs screaming at each other.  Well, it was just
Bret (the drummer) and myself, so I told him goodbye and got ready to leave.
Not so fast... he had to pay rental fees on some stupid piece of equipment and
wanted me to pay half, since it had been my idea.  I told him he could damn
well pay it himself with the gas money he'd save since without the band he
wouldn't be travelling anymore since he had no friends.  I guess it was a
little excessive, because he said "That's it, motherfucker," and began
stripping off his leather jacket and chains.  We bantered for a couple of
seconds and then he rushed me.

     We took jabs at each other for a little while, but we couldn't circle
because we were in a hallway.  I was already winded.  He wasn't.  It was
looking grim.  I was watching his hands, blocking his shots, when I suddenly
felt the tree-trunk that was his calf against mine.  "Balls!" I thought, and
clamped my knees.  He flipped me down with one leg and was on top of me.  Damn
martial arts shit!  We struggled, and I finally got on top of him, and put him
in an ugly cross-face.

     "You owe me that money, you fucker!  I've been keeping track!"

     "Keeping track?  You couldn't keep track if you had to!  You couldn't pass
the fucking math exam for Store 24, let alone keep track of debt."

     Bret snarled, "I said I had problems with it, that's all, you... FUCKER!"
This last as he heaved me off him with muscle groups I hadn't known existed.
I landed my left squarely on his nose.  Blood went everywhere.  Nothing stops a
fight like a shot to the nose.  Your eyes water, it stings like heck.  I had
felt the cartilage go under my knuckles.  End of story.

     Nope!  Not with Bret the non-human genetic freak gorilla person.  He just
kept coming, stumbling.  He hadn't done me the courtesy of removing all
jewelry, and his massive ugly pewter grim reaper ring dug in.  Suddenly I was
looking at the ceiling.  I hurt.  When I came to, I saw that Bret had
considerately removed the ten dollar bill from my shirt pocket and left.  For
good, I hoped.  I retreated to my room, took a cool shower, and put some ice
on.  I guess I was lucky... Bret could've killed me.  I guess this really is it
for the band.

     It depresses me... I think of Bret back in his shitty little dimly-lit
yellow kitchen, nursing his nose, probably blotting the blood with his shirt.
The idea that I inflicted that kind of pain on him makes me feel like shit.  So
petty... I broke his nose for a lousy ten dollars.  I grew up getting beaten
up, so I can take it, but I didn't grow up hurting people.  That's not really a
piece of my composition.  Still, the instincts seem more or less intact.  It
was my father who taught me how to fight.  Everyone in school hated me, and
picked on me.  My father's solution was to teach me how to hurt them worse,
first.  After I dreamed that I knocked someone under a truck and killed him I
became a pacifist, and stayed that way for a couple of years.

     I haven't really given this enough thought before writing it, except to
conclude that I hate violence.  I hate the queasy, sweaty-palmed sick
excitement that comes as I watch it, or participate in it.  It's like eating
junk food... it may feel satisfying initially, I may hunger for it, but
ultimately it leaves me sick, and it makes me unhealthy.  It's bad for me.
There's enough pain out there, in Bret's life, without me cracking his nose
over ten dollars.  I feel like such a loser.  Not only did I viciously insult
him, I broke his nose.  I hurt him beyond the realm that he hurt me... that's
why he just took the money and left, because he didn't know how to react to my
snide remarks.  I'd attacked him on a different plain, one he couldn't really
move on.

     I fought dirty.  I hate myself, I really do.  I see myself in the mirror.
Seventeen still, only seventeen, but I look like a forty-year old construction
worker.  Bags under my eyes, rapidly flushing bruises, stubble, chins, wild
blood-shot dilated eyes, the eyes of a rabid dog or baboon.  My hair sticking
up, sideburns, lined face.  Stained clothing that's a little too tight to be
flattering.  I look like an asshole, and I am an asshole.  Not human, not
dignified, not cerebral.  I'm a lout, a thug.  I'm a pervert, a brawler.  I
have nothing to show for whatever means may have been available to me, nothing.
I am, at a base level, a fat piece of shit.  I'm dawdling in this Gormenghast
of a college while life marches on.  Make me fifty.  Make me forty.  Make me
thirty.  I failed early, and hard.  Why make me lie here face down for the
extra decade or so?  I'm just going to do the same stupid young-person crap,
the same meaningless alternative coming-of-age rituals.

     Oh, a band.  Oh, I'll work in a deli.  I'll drink, I'll do drugs.  I'll be
introspective.  I'll fight with everyone.  I'll make plans and never follow
them up.  I'll drive my car and have sex and go to clubs.  It's so nice to be
young... whoopee.  This fucking emotional busywork I get to contend with as a
teenager... a fucking teenager who plays in the big people's playground.
Treasure your worthless degrees, your empty jobs, your barren marriages. 
Fuck you all for making it that far.  Fuck you for being even outwardly
functional.  If there was anyone in the actual world with whom I could
even have a decent conversation I'd be having it now.  I don't even care what's
wrong with me any more.

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_The Cat in the Hat_  by Dr. Seuss, 61 pages.  Beginner Books, $3.95.
Reviewed by Josh LeBeau

     The Cat in the Hat is a hard-hitting novel of prose and poetry in which
the author re-examines the dynamic rhyming schemes and bold imagery of some of
his earlier works, most notably _Green Eggs and Ham_, _If I Ran the Zoo_, and
_Why Can't I Shower With Mommy?_  In this novel, Theodore Geisel, writing under
the pseudonym Dr. Seuss, pays homage to the great Dr. Sigmund Freud in a
nightmarish fantasy of a renegade feline helping two young children understand
their own frustrated sexuality.

     The story opens with two youngsters, a brother and a sister, abandoned by
their mother, staring mournfully through the window of their single-family
dwelling.  In the foreground, a large tree/phallic symbol dances wildly in the
wind, taunting the children and encouraging them to succumb to the sexual
yearnings they undoubtedly feel for each other.  Even to the most unlearned
reader, the blatant references to the incestuous relationship the two share set
the tone for Seuss' probing examination of the satisfaction of primitive needs.

     Soon, The Cat arrives and proceeds to charm the wary youths into engaging
in what he so innocently refers to as "tricks."  At this point, the fish, an
obvious Christ figure who represents the prevailing Christian morality,
attempts to warn the children, and thus, in effect, warns all of humanity of
the dangers associated with the unleashing of the primal urges.  In response to
this, the cat proceeds to balance the aquatic naysayer on the end of his
umbrella, essentially saying, "Down with morality; down with God!"

     After poohpoohing the righteous rantings of the waterlogged Christ figure,
the Cat begins to juggle several icons of Western culture, most notably two
books, representing the Old and New Testaments, and a saucer of lactic fluid,
an ironic reference to maternal loss the two children experienced when their
mother abandoned them "for the afternoon."  Our heroic Id adds to this bold
gesture a rake and a toy man, and thus completes the Oedipal triangle.

     Later in the novel, Seuss introduces the proverbial Pandora's box, a large
red crate out of which the Id releases Thing One, or Freud's concept of Ego,
the division of the psyche that serves as the conscious mediator between the
person and reality, and Thing Two, the Superego which functions to reward and
punish through a system of moral attitudes, conscience, and guilt.  Referring
to this box, the Cat says, "Now look at this trick.  Take a look!"  In this,
Dr. Seuss uses the children as a brilliant metaphor for the reader, and asks
the reader to re-examine his own inner self.

     The children, unable to control the Id, Ego, and Superego allow these
creatures to run free and mess up the house, or more symbolically, control
their lives.  This rampage continues until the fish, or Christ symbol, warns
that the mother is returning to reinstate the Oedipal triangle that existed
before her abandonment of the children.  At this point, Seuss introduces a
many-armed cleaning device which represents the psychoanalytic couch, which
proceeds to put the two youngsters' lives back in order.

     With powerful simplicity, clarity, and drama, Seuss reduces Freud's
concepts on the dynamics of the human psyche to an easily understood gesture. 
Mr. Seuss' poetry and choice of words is equally impressive and serves as a
splendid counterpart to his bold symbolism.  In all, his writing style is quick
and fluid, making _The Cat in the Hat_ impossible to put down.  While this
novel is 61 pages in length, and one can read it in five minutes or less, it is
not until after multiple readings that the genius of this modern day master
becomes apparent.

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     As for those of you who strike poses of hip aloofness with regard to the
deaths, maimings, and sufferings going on in the world today, you will only
have credibility when you visit comparable sufferings upon yourselves with the
same aloofness.  But surely you won't because you do not have the courage to
carry your pose to its logical conclusion.

     You are, ultimately, embittered losers whose emotional machinery fucked up
around the age of 12 or 13 and now you have to pretend to be adults.  A
difficult job, so you reach for a 12 or 13 years old's dumbass idea of what
adult means - cold, unfeeling, bitter.  At least you found the right place.

                                             Brad Norton

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SNOT NOSE by Mercury Vapor

I am a Kid.
I am the Kid who approaches the table where the grown ups are talking.
I wanna talk too, I know things, I see things, I got something to say.
No one listens, no one cares....
I make fart noises with my arm pits.
everyone listens, but no one cares.
I scream at the top of my lungs, everyone listens, everyone gets mad.
I jump up and down, screaming and yelling, "THERE IS A BOOGEY MAN IN MY
CLOSET AND I KICKED HIM IN THE BALLS!"
Everyone listens, and everyone spanks me for being bad. It hurts.
The grown ups don't love me, no one loves me, and I hurt all over in and
out. There is something inside me that wants to come out and everyone is
afraid. they will not help me beat it up. I will beat it up myself.

And then I will play with my army men, and when im real mad because no
one loves me, I will light them on fire with mommys matches. I will kill
them for not loving me. YYYYEEEEEOEOOOWWWW YYYEEEEOOOWOWWWWW blam
bLBAMBLAMBLSD  BBBOBBBOOOMMM BBBOOOOOMM DIE DIE DIE DIEKIL KILL
DKKKILLL!!! I HATE YOU I HATE YOU ALL BECAUSE YOU WILL NOT LOVE ME!
I WILL KILL YOU FOR NOT LOVINGME! and then I will ride my skate board
back home and play with my GI Joe doll because he loves me.
I love you gi Joe.....

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                                             Ride That Social Engineerin' Train
                                             by Scott Stephens

     Confidence it the key.  The call it a "confidence game" because you gain
the mark's confidence.  Now you can only get someone else's confidence if you
are confident in yourself.  The key to pulling off a good job of social
engineering is confidence that you can do it.

     Conjure the illusion, and create the reality.  Politicians, the pop media
and actors are experts.  We must believe our illusion to play a convincing
role.  A psychological study on persuasion was done; people were asked to place
an ugly, large billboard that read "Drive Safely" in their front yards.  Of
course, all declined.  Then another group, which had consented days before to
display small window stickers with the message "Keep California Beautiful" were
asked.  Significantly more agreed.  Why?  These people's SELF IMAGE was
changed.  This is a key concept in brainwashing.  The small sticker helped them
feel good - like activists, like community servants.  "Getting your foot in the
door" and "loss leaders" are what will get you sales.  What happens though, to
Mr. Hacker, who begins deceiving and lying for selfish gain?

     My point is, your actions will change you & modify your self image.  Will
your ends justify your means, or will you deceive yourself?  Are you a
sociopath?  If you feel guilty, you become vulnerable to control.  I hear AT&T
likes to hire phreaks.  Maybe they don't let them forget where they've been.
The sleaze-ball who sells NLP to get laid values money more than trust, respect
& human dignity.  At least a doctor making bio-weapons can think he's defending
freedom and country.  Would you trust or want a friend like that?  How would
you like to see that in the mirror?  Would you like some more power, Mr. Faust?

     The feds & Ma Bell spend millions on research and the best persuasion
psych's for their ads. The govt. sends their execs to NLP seminars and such, to
learn the most effective techniques to manipulate & control.  They make me
nervous, having worked for some really nasty control fiends.

     From what I've read, to get profound control - brainwash someone, you need
to modify their self image - the sense of self worth, values, and integrity.
The military does this with basic training, and many corporations do the same.
Religions convert people this way.  The "newbie" is initiated by degradation,
humiliation, etc. and then re-created based on a system of seniority.
Individual abilities are not valued.  The genius hacker is not valued by such
organizations, the brown-nose sycophant with the me-too T-shirt is.  The
organization defines reality and worth, based on political priorities.  One's
self image, integrity and values are vital to the individual, and must be
destroyed for an individual to be controlled.  I wish I stayed in school 'till
I was 28.

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NUMBER by K. Tatroe

     "She's single again.  He treated her very poorly; she dumped him.  She,
um, could probably use a friend right now." She glances unconsciously at the 
telephone, and at the wall of numbers above it.

     I'm between the lamp and the spackle.  A shadow of Christ, long hair, 
weary eyes, and a soothing, pained expression is cast.  "No."

     "She really..."

     I cross the room, cautiously picking up a small, unmarked book on the way.
It is opened.  Hand-crafted paper.  Inside, an inscription: "Don't ever stop 
writing; I really need you."  I toss it at her...

     ...and she catches it, quietly, and reads the first entry.  "Who's this?"

     "Someone who really needed me.  She killed herself recently."  I dig a
fingernail into my palm - if it wasn't already marked with scars of a distant
pain, it would be now.

     "That's horrible."  She sits up against the headboard.

     I feel a welling-up of blood.  "She really needed me."  I turn, suddenly. 
She cowers a bit, and I am deeply and instantly ashamed; a tear wells.  The
blood.  The shadows grow short.

     "But..."

     I shake my head, quietly.  "No.  She needed me, but I couldn't be there,
because she didn't trust me.  Not like you once trusted me."

     "Still trust you," she corrects and smiles, reaching out a hand.

     I take it, and sit on the floor, below her.  After a moment: "What's her
number, again?"

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BIG NUTTY PARADE STORY by Drunkfux

     Get back to town and spend the night at my friend's house cause he lives
right next to the airport.  Next morning, stupid Jesus ho knocks on the door
and hands out flyers for that afternoon's "Walking Towards The Lord"
extravaganza.  It talks about a "parade for Jesus" and all this other crap and
in unison we all agree... "We're there!"

     No surprise, my friends are punk as fuck, and one of them happens to be
the manager of a local art supply store.  With a plethora of tools at our
disposal, we set forth on our mission of chaos.

     We arrive and things are just starting to swing.  There are literally
thousands of people on either side of the road, all of them total honky ass,
white suburbanite jesus lamers.  Needless to say, we stood out like Don King at
a KKK rally and it didn't take long for people to start staring.  We were all
already laughing our asses off with sheer ecstasy over our creations.  Some
head church bitch, complete with name tag comes up and asks if we're from the
neighborhood.  When my friend answers positively, she says, "I don't believe I
know you."

     "You will."  A few moments later, she was about 2 blocks away.

     Parade starts.  Everybody is now gayer than ever and starts cheering for
the Lord or whatever.  First few minutes are completely lame, not even a tad
bit humorous.  I was surprised because this is an annual event that typically
rakes in a couple of "well knowns."  This year, the flyer mentioned Houston
Oilers and Astros players as well as a flurry of other local wanky rejects, but
for the first 10 minutes or so, we were quite unenthused.

     After a few cars full of old people passed, we could see a marching band
approaching in the distance.  As it got closer, we could read the banner
leading the way: "FIRST BAPTIST FAMILY BAND - STAYING AND PLAYING TOGETHER IN
THE NAME OF JESUS CHRIST."  It seemed to be comprised of kids aged 12 to 17 and
their parents.  Way stupid.  Some of the parents weren't even playing an
instrument, they were waving or blowing bubbles or trying to validate their
worthless existence by doing shit like holding the triangle while their
socially retarded kid banged on it.  Truly pathetic.  We figured now was the
time to display our artistic masterpieces.

     Up came the signs.

     As the marching band drew nearer to where we were (on top of a term box,
putting us a foot or two above the crowd), they were greeted with the usual
array of cheers and waves, but this time, they got something extra :

    SATAN
     IS
    LORD!

    JESUS
    WAS A 
    HOMO!

  NOAH'S ARK =
  BESTIALITY
     BOAT!

     NOAH
    FUCKED
   MONKEYS!

     cDc 
  WE'VE COME
   FOR YOUR
   CHILDREN

  LORD SATAN
    ROCKS
   MY ASS!

    KILL
   WHITEY

    GOD IS
     GAY!

     I think that was all of them.  We had made about 4 signs, all on neon
yellow and green poster board, and painted on both sides.  So, there we are, in
the middle of all these fuckheads, laughing hysterically while waving our signs
and shouting out whatever wonderful merriment came to mind.  All this whilst
our friend Shawn hurled out delightful German sayings via his father's
megaphone.  Most of the people were in complete and utter shock.  Some people,
especially the teenage boys in the marching band, thought we were fucking
hilarious and couldn't control their laughter.  A group of fashion-senseless
skaters came running up proclaiming how "awesome" and "fucking kick ass" we
were and started jumping up and down trying to blend in as part of our now
"rad" group.  Most of the people around us quickly moved elsewhere.

     We lasted a lot longer than I expected.  I originally figured it wouldn't
take long for some of the macho parade watchers to fuck with us, but I believe
most everybody there was honestly scared to death of us and took it all way too
seriously.  The whole megaphone thing probably helped seal that.  I guess the
police finally showed up 10 minutes after we started our revelation.  I thought
for sure we were either going to get the shit kicked out of us or get arrested,
but as the officers approached us (both male, one Hispanic and the other Black)
my friend looks at them and goes "Yeah!  Yeah!  Right on, brothers!" and
proceeds to jump up and down with the "KILL WHITEY" sign proudly displayed.
They both almost died laughing and after a trip to the side of the building and
a brief talking to, we were told to "go far away" for a few hours.  It's worth
mentioning that the crowd cheered when the police walked us away from the
parade because the police left before we did and we had to walk through the
parade watchers in order to get to the car, signs and slogans held high with
shouts of victory and German death calls to boot.

     Yeah, it pretty much rocked, to say the least.  It has become quite
difficult to remember the last time I laughed so hard that I had severe chest
pains for almost a week.  In a last ditch effort to annoy society, we decided
to make our exit by driving through the parade route, signs out the windows and
megaphone on 11.

     The lame part was we got absolutely NO press coverage out of this.  The
douchebag cameraman from our local ABC station thought we ruled but wouldn't
film us.  The local station that taped and then aired the parade did a
wonderful job of keeping us out of the final product.  If I could have paid
someone to film us, I would have because I probably could have sold a billion
copies of the footage.

     It was a decent way to kill a few hours on a Saturday afternoon at least.

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"Being Big"
by Julie Lawrence

when i am small and lost, then the world is huge.
it looms over me, huge and omnipotent, can tell me
who i am, who i should be and what i should be doing.

when i am big, i am the great director, the kind that
is so good at what she does that she doesn't have to
speak or ask or push, she only *knows* and it is so.

i go from big to small, small to big daily.  the world
changes.  no-one has yet acknowledged my godhood, my
ability to change everything in the blink of an eye,
the firing of a synapse, but they will, they will.

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LET'S TALK ABOUT DEATH with Doc

     About the only thing I can reflect on that I learned in medical school
other than technical information, was that everyone dies, and that it is
unpredictable and that it is most often preceded by a period of tremendous
suffering.  I am sure that no one wants to hear this.  It is most inconceivable
for the Generation X'ers in cDc-land.  That is why, of course, that when the
government wants to fight a war, that 18 and 19 year olds are drafted; they
don't believe in their own mortality.  Older people generally don't as well,
but they at least admit the possibility in public, although, secretly, to
themselves, they deny it.

     The first man I saw die was a black man who was admitted to the hospital
with stomach pain.  X-rays showed a bowel obstruction.  He was 44 years old and
unemployed.  He wore a cap over his Afro and had an Orioles Jersey on when he
was admitted.  We took him to the operating room and opened him up and he had
cancer all through his abdominal cavity.  There was nothing to do but a
colostomy, to bypass the obstruction.  After that, he was MY patient.  As his
case was hopeless, the Chief Resident, the Attending, and everyone else, wanted
nothing to do with him.  I didn't understand it at the time, but the reason
they didn't want anything to do with him was that it reminded them of their
helplessness, their impotence against the big C and the big D.  (Cancer and
Death)

     As time went by he lost weight rapidly.  The cancer began to eat through
his abdominal wall and fistulas formed everywhere.  I applied adhesive strips
and hung more stool bags to catch the drainage.  He got weaker and weaker and
couldn't get out of bed.  He was being fed through a tube.  His mind was clear
through most of this and he used to ask me, "What is going to happen to me?" 
As a sophomore medical student, I had no idea how to answer.  They don't give
classes in such things, as no one else knows how to answer either.  I would
draw his blood, and assure him that I would let him know the results of today's
tests.

     "Hopefully, these things will heal up," I improvised.

     After about 5 weeks of this, I was elated to find that when I went in to
talk to my patient, he was delirious.  He made no sense, and didn't know who I
was.  I felt relief as I had never known.  After a few days, his heart stopped.
They tried to resuscitate him, but thank God they were unsuccessful.

     This memory is as clear after 15 years as it would be if it happened
yesterday.  And I still don't understand anything more about death, other than
my turn will come.  And knowing that, how should I be spending my time?
                                             Doc

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                         D I C K   A N D   J A N E 
                             I N S T I G A T E 
                  A   P O P U L A R   R E V O L U T I O N 

                        by: The Deth Vegetable
                                   and
                                  Iskra

See Dick.  Dick is a peasant farmer!
See Jane.  Jane is a peasant farmer too!

See Dick & Jane grow the food for the masses!
  Plant, Dick!
  Plant, Jane!

See Spot.  Spot is the aggressive, imperialistic fascist dictator of the
country!
  Terrorize, Spot, Terrorize!

See Spot oppress the peasants and steal their food!
  Oppress, Spot, Oppress!
  Steal, Spot, Steal!

See the peasant babies starve!
  Starve, babies, starve!

See Dick & Jane get fed up and rebel!
  Rebel, Dick!
  Rebel, Jane!

See Dick publish a pamphlet to educate the masses!
  Publish, Dick, Publish!

See Jane form a revolutionary committee!
  Organize, Jane, Organize!

See Dick & Jane burn their flag!
  Burn, Baby, Burn!
 
See Spot notice the disruption and attempt to stop it!
  Oppress, Spot, Oppress!
 
See Spot form Death Squads to stop the rebels!
  Kill, Spot, Kill!

See Spot's Secret Police raid Jane's house and capture her!
  Raid, Gestapo, Raid!

See Jane be tried and executed as a traitor!
  Hang, Jane, Hang!

See Jane become a martyr to the cause!
  Inspire, Jane, Inspire!

See the Proletariat rise up against the Bourgeoisie swine!
  Revolt, Workers, revolt!

See the angry masses storm the place and capture Spot!
  Storm, Peasants, Storm!

See Spot as the first one up against the wall!
  Die, Spot, Die!

See Spot left for dead!
  Bleed, Spot, Bleed!

See Spot's body dumped in a ditch!
  Defile, Dick, Defile!

See Dick help set up a fair system!
  Rule by the people, Proletariat, Rule by the people!

See the Proletariat live happily ever after!
  Prosper, Workers, Prosper!

The end, yay.

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STUFF IN MY POCKET by Swamp Ratte

     Last time I was in Austin being elite and stuff at HoHoCon, I purchased a
small lump of glass from a toy store.  A malformed marble.  It's pretty and I'm
intending to keep it in my pocket from now on.

     Dunno whether it should go on the left, with my paper-towels-for-snot-
and-earplugs; or the right, with my keys-and-change-and-knife.  Probably the
left, it's less crowded.

     Then I can take it out of my pocket and look at it sometimes and see that
it's pretty and imagine that it's pretty all the way through too, in the parts
you can't see at the surface.

     This will matter.

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THEN LET'S TALK ABOUT PUNK ROCK with Bob Conrad!

     The reason punk was/is so ripe for commodification is because it lacked an
adequate critique of capitalism.  Instead of, first of all, possessing a clear
understanding of capitalism's less-pleasing features, punk rock actually
emphasized utilizing an archaic aspect of capitalism under the guise of D.I.Y.
- that of entrepreneurship.  What inevitably happened is many found punk
pleasing, either because of the fashion, or the music, or maybe even the ideas
surrounding punk, and punk became more and more of a commodity.  When that
happens, despite $3 7-inch single prices, profit is made.

     Punks don't know how to deal with profit.  Punk's low-level awareness of
how capitalism works, and utilizing a primitive aspect of capitalism, despite
erroneously dressing the two up as polar opposites, provided results that got
punk panties in a bunch.  The shit hit the fan, and eventually, the media and
conglomerate corporations tuned in, turned on, and bought out. 

     I think you can see where this is leading.  In many ways, it's the reason
D.I.Y. has been bullshit from day one.  Applying dullard logic to things taken
soooo seriously will always give you Nirvana and _Spin_ and Green Day.  What's
next?  Hell if I know.  I DO know I'm having a good laugh every time I see a
mobile distributor/do-gooder punk kid who thinks he's carrying a revolution on 
his shoulders.

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the drive by
(c)1995 mary szmagaj

Driver:

why did you beep?
perhaps you mistook me for an acquaintance of yours
someone named 'baby'
someone with whom you are on intimate enough terms
   to publicly inquire after her genitalia.
perhaps
there has been
some mistake.
i am not she.
if you thought otherwise
then i owe you an apology
for the manner in which i replied.
so sorry if it seemed excessive
but the grenade launcher
was all i had.

Pedestrian

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GOOD GRIEF by Mike DeLong

     In the house in the hollow in place of ordinary coffee table books my aunt
had two big volumes of Peanuts cartoons.  When I was six the kids in Peanuts
were my age, and they taught me everything I needed to know but didn't learn in
school - tantrums, melancholy, and intentional precocity.

     They also prepared me for a life of mediocrity and failure and loss,
afraid to fly a kite or carry anything precious to me in plain sight (lest it
be grabbed by some unseen dog), gender-confused and willing to take a number
for a name.  I probably took Peanuts much too seriously.  But I was six, and an
Extremely Innocent Boy.

     But like all sources of great wisdom, Peanuts left me with single words
and short phrases that even when torn from their moorings and let loose in an
open sea of nonsense took me into new harbors of grace, or glory, or utter
confusion.

     My favorite strip for many years features Linus and his new watch.  For
several panels he walks along swinging it freely, saying to himself "New Watch
New Watch New Watch" over and over.  He shows the watch to Snoopy, who being a
Dog of Action slurps it.  Linus is distraught, because he's Linus, and can't be
anything else.  He runs off to try to do something about his now-ruined watch,
and we're left looking at Snoopy, who says: "I thought it would be rude not to
taste it."

     This one phrase served me well for years, as I fought to be a little less
like Linus and a little more like Snoopy - that the best intentions, properly
explained, were enough to placate most people, regardless of how disastrous the
results.  Unfortunately I also took to saying this phrase much too often - I
tended to say it whenever I was presented with something good, or fragile, or
nice.

     And so one day when I was 10, waiting around before Little League
practice, our new shortstop arrived with her mother.  One of the other boys, a
long-legged outfielder named Roger, asked me what I thought of her.  I
struggled to say she was pretty, and did so through what I considered a
euphemism: "I think it would be a shame not to taste her."

     I've never been a good judge of earshot, and this day my euphemism yielded
new wisdom, eventually.  After a vague but angry lecture.

     And then one day Someone Smarter Than Me explained that what Charles
Schulz Really Meant was just a play on the Timex slogan, "It takes a licking
and keeps on ticking."

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     Suddenly prosperous?  In a new relationship?  Maybe cDc is responsible!
Discover a cancerous tumor on your penis?  Could be cDc's fault!  Sudden
tectonic plate shifting?  You know the reason!  Tell the world!  Write to
sratte@phantom.com.

     QUESTION: WHAT DOES cDc MEAN TO YOU?

     To get started, here's a good quote from Video Vindicator:

     "Being on the road as I am, I am always short of good clean k-rad
entertainment.  cDc has opened a whole new world of hype to me and fulfilled
this shortage.  I feel much more interconnected with HIM, the Dead Cow.
cDc, I owe you my life."
                                                   9/21/91   2:40am CST

Subj : Re: #200
From : The Chief (#399)
Date : 12/17/91 04:10:48 AM

cDc means a great board (DRU) with a somewhat bad LD line to me.
cDc was one of the first groups I heard about back in Sweden along
with The Syndicate Report and The Convent BBS. These three things
made me call the U.S. only to get more of those nifty cDc files,
and to join what seemed to be a great underground community which
we didn't have in Sweden. cDc stands for amusing and great info.

The Chief[uXu]

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G.A. ELLSWORTH AND SWAMP RATTE' HAVE A CONVERSATION

11/27/91 11:08pm CST

G.A.: "Thanksgiving?  Ha!  I don't celebrate shit.  Except my birthday.
Which you missed."

S. Ratte': "Say 'motherfucker', Matt!  'Motherfucker!'"

G.A.: "I think I'm going through another anal stage.  I eat a lot of rice
and beans.  Why don't you stuff down a buncha raw hot dogs!"

S. Ratte': "Uncooked!"

G.A.: "That's what raw means," said Matt dryly.

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"Moments" by Julie Lawrence

when i grin stupidly at someone in the street, just because they
look so *real*, and they grin back before they have time to think,
before they have time to conceal and protect and evade.

then they look away, embarrassed, caught naked, afraid, and i am
reminded of the things i try to forget.

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THE 7-11 ATM/BIG GULP HACK FAQ!
by Joe VanDeventer

All right, I tried this hack a bunch of times and I thought all of you
might like it, so I thought: "I'll write a FAQ" so here it is.

I: WHAT IS THE HACK?
II: HOW DO I DO IT?
III: WHAT DO I GET FROM IT?
IIII: WHAT CAN GO WRONG?
IIIII: WHAT ARE THE LEGAL PROBLEMS IF I GET CAUGHT?
6: WHO ELSE HAS DONE THIS?
7: CLOSING STUFF

I: WHAT IS THE HACK?
All right, my friend hack3rking at aol wrote this, so I think I'll just
quote him so he gets some recognition because he's really cool and when I
get the award for being like greatest hacker in the world because of this
FAQ, I don't want him to get left out. So okay heres what he said:

IGo to ANY 7-11 with an ATM and take out 20 dollars from you'r account!!!!
Withdraw the money and then TAKE THE COUPON FOR A BIG GULP DRINK!!!!
Do this again!!!!  Do this as many times ad you wanted!!!!  It never
stops working!!! Then now here is the kicker!!!!  Go to deposit what you
withdrawled
back into  you'r BANK ACCOUNT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
THEN YOU HAVE FREE!!!!!!!!!!! BIG GULP
DRINKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!   
DO what you WANT with them!!!!  CASH THEM IN OR IF YOU KNOW A
FRIEND THAT WOULD BUY THEM SELL THEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

II: HOW DO I DO IT?
I guess I already said that in part I so I guess I won't bother you or
nothing by saying it again.

III: WHAT DO I GET FROM IT?
I guess I also already said that in part I so I wont say that again too.
Except that sometimes people spit on me when I try to sell them the Big
Gulp.

IIII: WHAT COULD GO WRONG?
Ive had lotsa things go wrong when I try this hack but I guess thats part
of being an elet hacker. I already said one of them in part III, I'm real
sorry. Also one time I tried taking out 20 at a time from the machine and
when I took all the cupons up to the counter the 7-11 guy said: "What the
hell are you doing?" and then he beat the shit out of me. When I woke up
I didn't have any of the money or the cupons and I wasnt even inside the
7-11. I was like somewhere else and my clothes were gone. So I guess you
shouldnt do a whole lot at once. Plus for a while I kept spilling them on
my pants (Yes I made a post about that before) and when I whiped it up I
accidentally used my 20 Bill and the money got wet and turned all Orange
and the guy behind the counter laughed at me and said: "You little pussy"
so I guess you should hold on really tight and not drop it. 

IIIII: WHAT IS THE LEGAL STUFF?
I dont know, the only time I saw a cop while I was doing this was when he
found me out in the country without any clothes, and he said: "Whats
wrong with you son?" and then I told him and he lafed and left. But I
gues if the bank found out about it theyd be pretty angry and maybe take
all the moneys out of your account or something, so when you go put the
money back in the bank dont tell them about the scam. I think the bank
almost caugt me once because I told the bank teler and she looked at me
all werd and came up to somone else and whispered something to them and
they both started laughing I think because they were thinking about what
they were gonna do to my acount. But nothing ever hapened so I gues I was
luky.

6: WHO ELSE IS DOING THIS HACK?
I dont realy know who else but this got on Internet so I guess a bunch of
people are doin it and screwin the banks real bad because theres like 20
million people. I even seen like 2 people that are not me or hack3rking
making posts about how its not free because the bank makes you pay like a
dollar or somethin but I dont see why they say that because the big gulp
is free. There is a cupon! But I know anyway that like my little sister
did it and also this guy at my school who I told it to and he said it was
Cool.

7: CLOSING STUFF
Id like to thank hack3rking for giving me like the idea to write this. It
was a cool idea and I hope you guys give him credit too. But mainly give
me credit because I wrote this FAQ and now you guys can go out and like
make tons of money selling hot Big Gulps. I mean hot like illegal not
like warm or nothing. I havent made a whole lots of money yet but I know
I will becuase Im getting all these Big Gulps for free. I dont want no
parades or nothing just like maybe some where's or secret codes to get on
other computers. I guess Ill end it here now.

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                                MISANGLOPHILIA
                                by Reid Fleming

Misanglophilia Explained

     An anglophile is someone who is friendly to or likes England or English
customs, institutions, etc.  Therefore, the misanglophile hates people who
pretend to be British, express or maintain royalist sympathies, or insist upon
British spelling and pronunciation.  Deserving of special scorn are the
American anglophiles.

     While the misanglophile hates the faux British, he is not to be
misidentified as an anglophobe (one fears or hates British customs,
institutions, etc).  One can harbor no ill will whatsoever toward the British
people while at the same time nurture an overwhelming hatred of those who feign
British characteristics.

     You Might Be An Anglophile If...

     * you pretend to misunderstand American idioms.
       
     * you insist upon drinking beer at room temperature, even Coors.

     * you have stacks of famous English literature but can't recall the
       plots, characters, or authors of any of the books when pressed.

     * you watch PBS just to work on your British pronunciations.

     * you were in a lot of high school plays.

     * you're in a punk band from California and sing with an English accent.

     * you're a pretentious jerk.

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SWAMP RATTE' GOES OFF on a tangent to outer space:

what is it about this modem/computer stuff that attracts fucked-up, lecherous
asshole guys.  and butt-blind naive females that can't figure this stuff out.

]]THWACK!![[  BRICK TO THE HEAD!  OPEN THEM EYES!
people are couch/computer potatoes 'cause they're too lame to do anything for 
"real".  bored and lonely, fuckin' ugly, it's the ready-made clique for
shitheads and obnoxious geeks and loser freaks.  no chin, woulda done yerself
in if you could just find the energy.  but it's so much easier to sit hunched
over in that chair.  years and years and face and belly get rounder, hair
greasier as showers grow less and less frequent.  "it'd be so rad to find a
chick who knows UNIX to fuck, huh?"  the geek wet dream.  female handle hey
baby i'm a little heavy but it's a lot of muscle hey let's meet on the MUSH
you like every geek cliche i do hey yeah let's fuck and eat twinkies and
watch anime and roleplay and fuck and toke and we can talk about star trek
yeah be my pudgy pale geek bitch.  yeah baby i know nobody understood me
either in school, people are so fake, huh?  yeah but i understand you
yeah yeah eat a twinkie don't forget your towel huh huh i'm witty yeah.
you like the Pumpkins?  woah, me too, they're my favorite band.  no, wait,
i used to like 'em 'till they sold out.  but i like their old stuff, i
agree with everything you say.  be my pudgy pale geek bitch."

FUCK YOU.  GODDAMNIT.  I CANNOT BEGIN TO EXPLAIN HOW MUCH I HATE...
I *KNOW* YOU.  I KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU AND YOUR KIND IN EVERY INTIMATE
EXCRUCIATINGLY STINKY AMOUNT OF DETAIL THERE IS AND I LOATHE EVERY BIT
OF IT.  I HOPE THERE'S A HELL SO I CAN SPEND THE REST OF MY USELESS DAYS
DAYDREAMING OF YOU SUFFERING IN IT.  IN MY WILDEST FANTASIES, I WOULD BE
SURROUNDED BY NOTHING BUT THE MOST WELL-BALANCED, EMOTIONALLY STABLE
PEOPLE POSSIBLE AND EVERYONE ELSE WOULD BE INSTANTLY DECAPITATED, TO MY
GREAT GLEE.

S. Ratte'/cDc

From: Bigfoot
Re: your rant

Hear, hear!
I've been involved in computers for almost 22 years, and I'm so thoroughly
disgusted with the people I've "met" electronically that I'm about ready to
throw away my modem.  It seems that our society has made a means (a computer)
into an end unto itself.  So what if we're "connected" world wide?  What does
this connection give us, and what is it costing us in other areas of life.  I
think the Internet mania that is going on right now is just another
manifestation of a society that is so narcissistic that its individuals refuse
to operate beyond their own selves; that the Internet has replaced television
as a mostly passive means of entertainment.
   ...no need to reply to this message, I'm just echoing your own voice.

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THE MEANING OF "K"
by Mini Appler

     I'm one of the original 4 Midwest Pirates Guild members.  MPG was one of
the first pirate groups, based around the Apple ][.  We started the K-craze in
1982.

     No, it didn't come from K as in Kilobytes.  The "K" concept originated
from our style of saying "Okay, bye" on the phone.  One late night in a
hurry to hack the latest ware before anyone else did, we hung up with a
"k-bye".  It just happened, without thinking.  It sounded cool.

     We hung out, ate pizza, cracked warez.  I believe Sinbad (one of the 4)
was the first to go "k-cool dude."  It sounded cool and from there, we all
went nuts.  For months it was K-this, K-that... we made ourselves sick. 
Eventually we settled down to our original K-cool & K-bye.

     We had several BBSs.  The most popular and well known was the Safehouse.
It wasn't surprising how it spread.  We had over 10,000 users on our systems
combined and habitually wrote "kbye" and "k-cool" on our messages.  Heck, I
think we even put it on a few crack screen title pages.

Anyway, for what it's worth, that's how it started.

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#43 - KING OF THE STOCK CAR RACERS: IN CELEBRATION OF RICHARD PETTY
by Swamp Ratte' and Froint

     When I'm posed with a quandary and don't know what to do, I think about
how Richard Petty would act in a situation like this.  Does Richard Petty,
NASCAR king, drool on himself and yell at invisible chickens who peck
persistently at their anuses?  The answer is a resounding "NO!" and I like to
think that I'm wise enough to follow a good example.  A good example from a
great man.

     You saw Mr. Petty there resplendent in his blue and red #43 tearing it up
at Talladega and you knew  that _there_ was a leader.  There's a guy who had it
together.  And now that he's retired from racing, he's fully involved with
managing his racing team and coaching his son at the sport he gave so much to
and loves so dearly.

     So with that in mind, I'd like to introduce this poem by Froint about our
subject.  I hope you enjoy it.
                                                      -Swamp Ratte'

"A Petty Man in a Petty World" by Froint

A world lost in turmoil and thunder
Of roaring fuel, crowds, and crew.
Fire forged feet forced to floorboards,
Leaving others in woozing wonder
That a walking human emerges to the hoards.

Stripped of gear, dawning trademark
Cowboy hat, sunglasses; a link between two
Views of the world, old and new.

Oh, how I long to belong in this zoo,
To be such a Petty man in this petty glue
I find myself wading through spring mornings
Where nature grows at my feet
Enjoyed by too few . . .including myself.

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Ok, there are like these two chicks, right.  And they like look good and stuff.
And one day they're like walking and stuff and they run into this chick or
something.  The three chicks don't know what to do so one of them says, "Let's
like, go fishing and stuff!"  The others were like pissed at her because they
didn't know how to fish so they almost kicked her ass.  The next one said,
"Let's go to the merry-go-round!!!" and ran into a wall as fast as she could
and fell down some stairs and into some people.  The third like said, "Let's
like, eat each other till the cows come home or something."  The other said,
"Then what?"  She continued "Then we do it with the cows."  So off they went to
a motel and like did the lezbo thang.  Then, suddenly, a door bell rang.  One
chick said,"I'll get it!" And got up and asked, "Who is it?" "MOOOO!!" answered
the mysterious stranger. The chick like opened the door and it was all these
cows there or something.  So they like did the cows.

                                The End
Confussion?
Depressed?
Questions?
Comments?
Email me on America Online
Doug7d6ab@aol.com

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                                       "Mr.T: A Man of Wealth and Influence"
                                       by THE NIGHTSTALKER

I have here the forth issue of MacWorld magazine from 1984.  Inside is an
article on the original ImageWriter printer.  On page 77, we see a photograph
of Own Densmore at Apple HQ. On his desktops are two Lisas, a 128k Mac, and an
ImageWriter.

     On a shelf above all this is an A-Team TV dinner tray, bearing the sacred
image of Mr.T, flexing his mighty muscles and conferring his benediction to the
Macintosh.  The rim of the tray is decorated with the image of a thick gold
chain, the very ICON of Mr.T!

     I think we all can judge from this where Mr.T stands on the Windows vs.
Macintosh debate!

     By the way, Mr. Densmore wrote the printer routines for both the Lisa and
Mac, as well as having a hand in the design of the ImageWriter. (Inspired, no
doubt, by Mr.T himself!)

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A BOOK REVIEW: _The Psychodynamic Perspective_ by Erdelyi and Goldberg, 1979.

     The authors examine paranoia:

     "This patient continually rails against homosexuals, whom he detests with
a violent passion.  After a brief, unsuccessful marriage, followed by
impotence, he began to experience delusions of persecution, according to which
the CIA and the FBI were continually observing him with the intention of
getting him to submit to the sexual advances of Richard Nixon.  He gave up all
attempts at heterosexual sex, because he "would not make love in public," i.e.,
in front of lurking agents.  He soon came to understand also that his impotence
has been imposed on him, via laser rays, by Nixon's agents.  Satellites
specifically sent up for this purpose began to bombard him with homosexual
messages.  Finally he constructed a special protective hat fitted with a highly
complex electrical jamming device.  He wore this hat continually, at home and
in public places, including restaurants and work (he was soon dismissed).  Even
so, the messages that he should submit to Nixon increased in intensity and
began to "penetrate" at times.  Around this period he took all his jackets to a
tailor and had the tailor sew up the slits (or flaps) in the back of the
jackets.  He implored all his male acquaintances to do likewise, lest they be
taken for "slot-jacket ass panderers."  He deplored tight dungarees because
they revealed the buttocks too openly and therefore constituted a disgraceful
invitation to sodomy.  He complained that the CIA was spreading rumors that he
was a homosexual, indeed, they had contrived to find a "double" for himself and
a friend and photographed them, the doubles, in "disgusting" homosexual acts,
all for the purpose of blackmail, so that he might submit to the homosexual
importunings of the "anarcho-communist sodomite" Gerald Ford, who, as he now
came to realize, was really "behind" the conspiracy (Nixon, it now turned out
was just a "front").  Ford he believed, succeeded in having his landlord evict
him from his apartment, so that he would be forced to live in the local YMCA
among "faggots."  This was meant to be a softening up tactic."

     It's a really great book.  You should run out and buy it.

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HAIKU: DUMB PENIS
by Swamp Ratte'

my penis is dumb
it cannot think at all, no
unemployable

the virgin mary takes the form of an australian pop singer who starred in
_grease_ and many other movies opposite john travolta.  and she's my real
mother.  spirituality is funny like that sometimes.  olivia newton-john...
catch the excitement!

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TELE-MANIFESTO by Ron Strelecki

     I learned a valuable lesson as a youngin'.

     I was o'er my granpappy's house one day and the phone rang... and rang...
and rang.  I said, "Ain't ye gonna git the phone granpap?"

     He said, "Naw, if it was important they wouldn't be calling."

     The phone USED to be considered a convenient sort of a luxury (is this not
all self apparent?)  Now I'll be over at a friends place and we'll be talking
and the phone will ring and they'll grunt and say, "Damnit!  Who the hell is
calling me?" and pick up the phone and talk to them.

     THERE AIN'T NO DAMN LAW THAT SAYS YOU HAVE TO PICK UP THE PHONE!

     YET!

     Answering machines are nice but the real god awful THREAT to the future of
our sanity is cellular phones and beepers.  Find someone who has a beeper -
they are invariably one of two types:

     1) Pathetically needy people who feel that they ALWAYS need to be in
contact with someone EVERY moment of the day.

or more commonly:

     2) They got it from work and without thinking accepted it.  Accepting a 
beeper is tantamount to saying "I am your SLAVE twenty four hours a day."

     The only good use I can think of for a beeper is to get one that buzzes
until you push a button and give it as a gift to your girlfriend - but only if
she agrees to wear it in her underwear.  Then anytime day or night you can "get
into contact" with her.  Now THAT is a friendly reminder to show how much you
care.  It also is perilously close to the enslavement line - which proves my
point - BEEPERS ARE GOOD FOR NOTHING!  If your boss says "Hey buddy, hey pal! 
I got a present for you," and hands you a beeper be real modest and say, "Oh,
no you are too wonderful.  I couldn't possibly accept this - no thank you."

     Reminds of that AT&T commercial where the guy in the trench coat is
overlooking a mountain vista and the voice over says, "Did you ever have a
phone on your wrist?"  Then the phone beeps and the guy answers IMMEDIATELY and
his loving spouse says, "How you doin' honey?"

     A more realistic version:

     Man is sitting down to a delicious meal with his family.

     Voice Over: "Did you ever have a manacle on your wrist?"

     Phone beeps - man answers

     Voice on phone: "Johnson!  Get yer ass in here, I need someone to wipe the
doggy-doo-doo off of my shoes!  Oh and I can see over your wrist video phone
there that you are having a delicious Thanksgiving dinner - BRING ME THAT
GOLDEN DELICIOUS TURKEY OR YOU ARE FIRED!"

     Man: "But sir!?!  It's Thanksgiving!"

     Voice: "That's it, YOU'RE FIRED!  Report for castration immediately!  The
authorities are coming to put your lovely wife and children into the Corporate
Sex Farm.  In fact, I'm going to put a bid in right now."

     Voice Over: "YOU WILL!  And AT&T will bring it to you."

     So, if you want this to happen to YOU, by all means rush to answer the 
phone IMMEDIATELY every time it rings.  The alternative is simple - don't
answer the phone when you don't want to talk.  Unfortunately, those needy
insecure people can get into power and if you don't answer on the first ring
they react like you've committed a crime against them.

     IT'S MY DAMN PHONE.  It's there for MY (ME! ME! ME!) CONVENIENCE.  IF I
DON'T ANSWER and YOU WANT TO TALK TO ME THEN DO YOU REALLY WANT TO TALK TO ME?

     Why the hell did we invent these things anyway?

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                                                          FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

FOR MORE INFORMATION, CONTACT: sratte@cascade.net

A statement from CULT OF THE DEAD COW/cDc communications:

It is our belief that Old Mother Hubbard is to be held accountable for the
deaths of thousands of innocent men, women, and children in the "Killing
Fields" of Phnum Penh, as we suspect that Pol Pot was a Scientologist!

We believe that El Ron Hubbard is actually none other than Heinrich Himmler
of the SS, who fled to Argentina and is now responsible for the stealing
of babies from hospitals and raising them as "super-soldiers" for the purpose
of overthrowing the U.S. Fed. Govt. in a bloody revolution.  We fear plans
for a "Fourth Reich" to be established on our home soil under the vise-like
grip of oppression known as Scientology!

In order to preserve our way of life and keep the torch of freedom lit
for future generations, we feel it is our duty as responsible world citizens
to declare WAR on the so-called "CHURCH" OF SCIENTOLOGY.

As future developments occur, we will broadcast them to the free world
as soon as possible.  Thank you for your time.

S. Ratte'
CULT OF THE DEAD COW/cDc communications
Fearless Leader

                                     ####

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     When can I stop being a good boy?  When can I chuck the rules and say
enough is enough?

     I am damn tired of being rejected, and that rejection is giving me
insomnia.

     OK, background, I'm depressed, and medicated with Zoloft.  Married,
and no sex or tenderness, or hugs, or kisses since last year.  Going to
bed is a dread due to the prospect and reminder of the fact that I am
totally rejected there.

     Is it alright to go out and get tenderness elsewhere?  I have been
approached by women for that, and as a good boy, I politely turned them away. 
But should I?

     To bring up the subject of sex is asking for trouble, and lies, and
coldness.  I suggest that she too should she a counselor about her "female
sexual aversion," but no, she makes the claim that no women like sex,
so she is not abnormal.

     I am so tired of it.

     Will it be better when her mother dies?  The person who told her
that sex was bad, and only for making babies?  BTW, she had 12 kids.

     So what do you think?  Is it alright to get a physical touch from a woman
who is not your wife?  Hell, in the past she told me it was alright, so that I
would not "bother" her.

     If requested in bed, I will get an "attack me in the morning."  I do not
consider sex to be an attack, but a loving sharing.

     Just how many times are you to be rejected?  I would estimate for me that
it is about 355 days a year.  and I am so tired of it.  Hell, when describing
it to a friend, I was asked if she was a lesbian?  Who knows, is she?

     I do love her, and have ever since I first saw her and was infatuated with
her.  No other marriages for either of us, no other sexual partners.

    Hell, should I try bondage with her?  I don't want it, but does
she?

    I am so tired.

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WHY YOU SHOULD HIRE ME TO WRITE YOUR MANUALS: A BEGINNER'S TOUR OF THE TOOLBAR
(c)1995 Morrisa Sherman

     The Files Menu is the best kind of menu on earth and we are all very
grateful to the Godhead on high that it exists else we'd all be surely bereft
of knowledge, the light that is the pursuit of intellectual fulfillment would
grow dim and burn out, and the world as we know it would decay into a bestial
and brutal clime of murder, destruction, and hopelessness.

     The Edit Menu has never had a self esteem problem.  It is self-assured
almost to the point of cockiness, and it loves attention.  It is charming, to
be sure, but can easily get carried away with its own brash dreams, and if you
are not careful, it can convince you to invest everything in its schemes, for
in its own way, it is sincere, it believes what it says, and what is more
compelling than sincerity?

     The Tools Menu is by far the most attractive of the menus with its sunny
disposition and lithe ankles, but it is an elusive menu as well.  To try to
tame the tools menu is to lose it. If one wants a tools menu in one's life, one
must simply let it exist, coming and going as it pleases, like the wind, and
like the wind, to try to grasp it and hold it down and set it on a responsible
schedule will surely result in capturing nothing at all.

     The Recorder Menu seems to always be going through "one of those phases."
First it has given its life over to Christ, then it has found the kernel of
truth at the center of existence employing the "judicious use of sacred
psychedelic drugs" then one can't even hold a decent conversation with it
because it is so involved in its own solipsism it can't grasp the concrete
existence of any entity other than itself, then it wants to go off and start a
band that will change the history of rock-and-roll forever.  Best to just
indulge it in its whimsies and be sure that it gets enough to eat whenever it
comes home.

     The Group Menu is delightful when it works out for all of the parties
involved, but it is an unfortunately rare occurrence where some unhappy dynamic
does not rear its head.  It is difficult to share a group menu equally, and it
seems that some member always dominates the scene, some other member feels
slighted or feels it is contributing more than its share, and other members get
caught in the middle trying, ineffectually, to make peace.  It's a dangerous
menu indeed when one or more members are not perfectly at ease with the others.
I'm sure I don't have to remind you of the Graphic Set fracas of 1992. 

     The Properties Menu has a winsome face with wide blue eyes, and it looks
sweet in organdy, but don't let it fool you into believing it any less the
competent mechanic, and talented artist than it truly is.  When one first
considers its difficult upbringing and how it had to work swing-shift in the
local cheese factory trouble shooting the fermentation tank system just to
survive and save money to buy art supplies, and then examines its valuable
contribution to the post-modern movement with such works as "Thickness" and
"Layer," one can really grasp the perfection that is human potential.  The
achievements of the Properties Menu virtually move this tech-writer to tears of
rapture.  The rumors going around town tying it to the Scientology movement are
spurious, and should be given no credence.

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"Celebrity Culture" by Paul Connelly

     The obsession with so-called "celebrities" that is rampant in our society
today seems to me one of the most obvious manifestations of evil around. 
Celebrities in most cases are manufactured idols who contribute nothing of
significance to society.  They are almost by definition phonies-performers in
the vast entertainment industry that threatens to swamp our culture with
simulacra in the place of real do-ers: actors, athletes, musical "stars" who
are mostly not musicians themselves, television "personalities" and their
attendant parasites-in short, people who become "known" for their ability to
generate "publicity" rather than people who make real contributions to the
welfare of others.

     Pornography in its traditional sense of sexually explicit material does
not offend me (i was buying it under the counter at 15 and I can't believe it
made me any more perverted than I already was), but the snickering, vacuous
preoccupation with the made-up sex lives (and religious revelations) of
celebrities that i see right in front of the cash register in every supermarket
strikes me as deeply offensive.  The sad, vicarious involvement in the
fictional lives of people who add nothing of value to society strikes me as the
worst possible sign of the decline of our culture.  And the current trend
toward focusing on the "celebrity as criminal" (Tyson, OJ) and "criminal as
celebrity" (Tonya Harding, the Bobbitts) seems like the worst manifestation of
this sickness.

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TRADITIONAL WASP ETHNIC DISHES FOR YOU
FROM SWAMP RATTE'

I. FOOD TO EAT
   A. CANDY CANES
      1. CHEAP
      2. COMPRESSED SUGAR AND FLAVORING
      3. EFFICIENT, PRACTICAL, WASP, JUST LIKE ME
      4. EXTRAPOLATING: S. RATTE' IS CANDY CANE
   B. TANG
      1. SPOONFUL OF TANG IS HAPPY ORANGE FOOD
      2. NO WATER IS REQUIRED
         a. WATER IS OPTIONAL
         b. WATER IS NOT REQUIRED
      3. ASTRONAUTS CONSUME TANG
         a. TO BECOME SPACE TRAVELLER, EAT TANG
         b. THIS IS OBVIOUS
   C. SANDWICH
      1. PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY
         a. JIFF PEANUT BUTTER
         b. WELCH'S GRAPE JELLY
         c. TWO SLICES WASP WONDER WHITE BREAD (KKK APPROVED)
         d. NO SUBSTITUTIONS PERMITTED, THEY ARE GROSS AND UNNATURAL
      2. HAM AND CHEESE PRODUCT
         a. HAM
         b. AMERICAN CHEESE PRODUCT SLICE
         c. TWO SLICES WASP WONDER WHITE BREAD (KKK APPROVED)

II. FOOD TO WEAR
    A. GUMMI BEARS
       1. REQUIRE SALIVA
       2. APPLY TO CLOTHING AS FASHIONABLE FASHION ACCESSORY FOR YOU
    B. TANG
       1. DUST IN HAIR
       2. CREATES ORANGE TINGE AS FASHIONABLE FASHION COLOR FOR YOU
    C. PEANUT BUTTER
       1. APPLY LIBERALLY TO SKIN
       2. CREATES PALLID BROWN GOOKY TEXTURE ON SKIN AS FASHIONABLE
          LOOK FOR THE '90S MAN/WOMAN FOR YOU
    D. TWIZZLERS
       1. INSERTED INTO NOSE HOLES
       2. CREATE RED ANTENNA-SPACE ALIEN LOOK AS FASHIONABLE FASHION
          LOOK OF SPACE TRAVELLING ABILITY FOR YOU.  YOU ARE A GO-GETTER.
          YOU HAVE BEEN TO MARS.

I'M GETTING REALLY GOOD AT JUST TALKING AND TALKING AT PEOPLE WITHOUT ANY SORT
OF RESPONSE.  YOU KINDA HOPE YOU KNOW, PEOPLE WILL SAY STUFF, BUT MAYBE THEY
THINK YOU'RE CRAZY OR STUPID AND IT'S TOO MUCH HASSLE TO SAY STUFF.  NOW I
DON'T CARE NO MORE I THINK, I JUST BLAH BLAH BLAH I DON'T EVEN LISTEN TO
MYSELF, I'LL SEND EMAIL TO STRANGERS AND TELL THEM ABOUT MY DAY OR SOMEBODY
ELSE'S DAY HOO HOO I DON'T CARE BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH!!!!!!!!!!

TALK TALK TALK I DO A ZINE AND WRITE A BUNCHA CRAP AND IT'S FREE AND JUST GIVE
IT TO PEOPLE, "HERE, READ MY CRAP."  THOUSANDS UPON THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE READ
THIS SHIT HOO HOOO.  how come you're so quiet?  HOO HOO.  I SAW AN EPISODE OF
CHARLIE'S ANGELS A WHILE BACK AND IT HAD A FAKE UFO IN IT AND A SLEAZY GUY WHO
TRIED TO HAVE SEX WITH ONE OF THEM.  GUH GUH GUH. MAYBE I CAN MAKE ENOUGH WORDS
AND STUFF ALL THE BIG GIANT QUIET SPACES WITH THEM AND IT'LL BE LIKE A WORLD
FULL OF BEANBAG CHAIRS, BIG SOLID SUBSTANTIAL BEANBAGS WITH SMILING FACES ON
THEM AND THEY TALK BACK AND SAY STUFF HELL YEAH.  SOMETIMES I THINK ABOUT LIKE
BUYING A BOTTLE OF THUNDERBIRD AND WALKING OUT TO THIS FIELD BY MYSELF AND
SITTING IN THE DIRT AND MAKING MYSELF UNCONSCIOUS AND THEN REALLY REALLY SICK.
AND THEN I'D DO IT ALL THE TIME AND WHERE'S KEVIN?  KEVIN'S OUTPUKING IN HIS
FIELD!@$%!#$!  HAHAHA!@#

I WONDER WHAT IT'D LOOK LIKE TO PUT A STICK OF DYNAMITE UNDER MY SCROTUM AND 
SET IT OFF.  wham.  WHEN MY PUNK BAND'S PLAYING AND PEOPLE WOULD GO "MAN, KEV
FUCKIN' ROCKED THAT SHIT HUH?  KILLER LAST SHOW."  'CAUSE LIFE AIN'T NOTHIN'
BUT ROCKIN' AND MONEY.  ALL YOU TARANTINO FANS WOULD BE AWED.  I'D JUST THINK
IT WAS GOOFY.  HAHA.  LOOK, HIS GENITALS EXPLODED.  HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAA.
AND YOU COULD ADD SOME _SEINFELD_-LIKE BLATHERING ON TOP AND IT'D BE JUST LIKE
A TARANTINO FLICK.  BIG DEAL.

AS EXTRA ADDED FUN WITH THIS ISSUE, YOU CAN PRINT IT OUT AND CIRCLE ALL THE
IRONIES AND BLATANT CONTRADICTIONS WITH A BIG RED CRAYON.  AIN'T THAT HOW IT
GOES THOUGH?

TALKING TO YOU LIKE WE'RE CHATTING.  WHO AM I TALKING TO?  NO ONE.  THINK I'M
GONNA GO STAND IN THE DAMN COTTON FIELD AT THE END OF THE STREET FOR A WHILE.
IT'S LATE.  TAKE CARE.  BYE.

S. Ratte'/cDc

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THE POINT
(c) 1995 Bryan O'Sullivan

you could spend an hour counting the petals in a flower
it might take you a year to count the veins in each petal
if you spent ten lifetimes, maybe you could count its cells

but you'd have completely missed the point
you fuckhead

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