Addendum Issue 083

eZine lover (@eZine)

Published in 

Addendum

 · 5 years ago

  

   
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  `'======='               Comprehension? Understanding? Bah! 
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27-Octo-2002 / It's no secret at all / Issue # 83 
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Contents: 
1. Introduction 
2. Can Homies be inspired? An article by Steak 
3. First Man: Part Two. The second part of the 'First man' saga 
4. Uncle Steak. A small article by Steak 
5. Hamburger. A plain old short story by Steak 
>-----------------------------------------------------------------------< 

1. Introduction 

Well here we are into the eighty-third issue of addendum. And this issue  
is a special one, not just because it’s a souvenir TERROR IN BALI issue,  
which will of course commemorate the terrible, horrific, disgusting,  
highly unfortunate, commercial, and getting a little boring now, attacks  
on a night club in Bali. But because it’s completely written by your  
humble editor and author, that’s right, nobody else contributed to this  
issue. I don’t know where all the submissions from my no good writers are.  
Maybe they took a holiday in Bali, who knows. Good news is that last I  
heard from Phoenix he was getting ‘the net’ soon so there might be a few  
more articles from him in the coming issues, then again maybe not. 

Anyway, lets not get bummed out by the lack of teamwork here at  
addendum, lets rejoice in the fact that there is another issue available  
filled to the brim with interesting (mostly fictional this time folks)  
pieces of prose. 

Enjoy!  

 
>-----------------------------------------------------------------------< 

2. Can Homies be inspired? An article by steak 

Lets see if we can picture a scene here, its about mid-day, we are all  
tired and we are heading down the highway in Spud’s Father’s van. Spud’s  
driving with me sitting next to him, across the back sit, Dragonsblade,  
Chips and Cake.  

Dragonsblade is being a fuckhead. Wait a minute, ‘Dragonsblade’? Why he  
calls himself Dragonsblade I will never know, it all seems a little  
pretentious to me, so I’ll just call him Trunk. He wanted to be called  
that a few years ago, wether he remembers or not is another question.  
But that is a different story altogether. Just know that I will call him  
‘trunk’ from now on. 

Trunk is being a fuckhead. But that’s normal, he’s like that a lot, but  
not in a bad way. Well sort of in a bad way, but it’s a bad way that no  
matter how pissed off you are with him, his insane and highly annoying  
antics are often quite humorous. This time he’s pissing off Chips,  
calling her precious and petal and other condescending little names  
like that. She hates all that. 

“You’re so precious, almost like a beautiful petal on the end of a sweet  
smelling rose” he says 

She tells him to shut up; for once he actually does and finds endless  
enjoyment in his toy ‘Smith and Wesson’ BB gun. A while ago I remember  
him coming to school with the thing and shooting this guy we know and  
despise over and over again in many comical ways. Due to the obvious  
wear and tear a BB gun of that type is going to get it ended up broken  
a few days later. But he was still left with this sort of movable shell  
of a BB gun, and that’s what he was playing with. The slight glimmering  
of an idea was brewing itself in Trunk’s brain. 

I’m sitting in the front seat, wondering how long it might take us  
to get from this present position to my house. The song on the radio  
twangs off and a new Eminem song comes on. Now I usually despise  
Eminem’s music but for some reason this track is very catchy and  
compels me to listen on. 

That idea in trunks brain is coming into a reality and he decides  
to tell us what he’s going to do. It’s an interesting plan, Spud’s  
a little reluctant at first, but like always he soon comes round. 

We keep our eyes glued to the pavement for a suitable victim.  
Scratch that, make it any victim, this ‘joke’ could be played on  
anyone. Along comes an old couple. Ok not them. They seem to get  
heart attacks easily. Then we see on the left hand pavement a twin  
pair of red blobs. 

The red blobs are getting closer, we can start to make out details,  
a head, a couple of arms, two ‘wu-tang’ red coats, slick gelled hair,  
jewellery around the neck, then, when we get within the five meter  
radius of them the unmistakable stench of after shave hits us.  
There can be only one explanation, Homie-G’s. 

Closer still, they are young, very young and look extremely stupid.  
Thin little bodies covered with jackets made for eighteen year olds  
look really stupid. Trust me. Tryhard Homies, even better, maybe  
he can stop the virus before it spreads too far in these humans.  
The Homies spot the van coming, but regard it as just another  
road user. Not this time. 

We are really close now, as we draw up next to them somebody shouts  
“Die mother fucker!” Trunk then makes an extra special effort to  
try and look menacing and sticks his head and arm out the window,  
he points the gun at the homeis, stares down the barrel, takes  
aim, places his finger on the trigger, squeezes and.. 

Nothing. What were you expecting? It’s broken, an empty shell of  
the BB shooting fun that has now passed, I told you that. But  
the point is the dreaded looks of fear that appeared on the faces  
of our Homie-G friends 

They were so confidently strong before, so secure. They were  
the rulers of the universe. They thought that they were the  
most important people in existence, until we came by in our  
light blue van and shattered their safe little world. That lone  
arm with a plastic, real enough looking pistol in its grip had  
shown them that life is precious and vulnerable, at any moment  
a real madman could come driving past with a real gun, and  
instead of wondering what the hell we were trying to achieve  
they would be floating in a meaningless void. 

Maybe they went home with a little storey about what happened  
to them today, there parents shocked that anyone would try and  
harm their little darlings, they miss the point as well. The  
Homies were scared, scared stiff. But out of this they know that  
life can be taken away by anyone, anytime. Maybe, if we’re  
lucky, they may devote their life to something other than idiotic  
pursuits. 

At least that’s my interpretation Trunk probably was just trying  
to get a cheap laugh. 

>-----------------------------------------------------------------------< 

 
3. First Man: Part Two. The second part of the 'First man' saga 

First man was again standing on the edge of a life changing point, as he  
had done many months before when he had first heard about the ancient second 
man who lived in a shack in the middle of nowhere. Only this time he wasn’t  
standing next to a drug-induced hallucination but his own front porch. 

This was it, the moment of truth, the moment when everything would change,  
after this there was no going back. He opened the door and walked, momentarily  
back into his old life. 

	“Hi honey, I’m home” he said “I just wanted too tell you that I will…” 

A huge thunderstorm of anger and frustration came storming into the room and  
started making some strange alien noises that, when first man thought about  
it sounded like a woman yelling 

	“First man? Where the hell have you been! I haven’t seen you since  
this morning, you left me and I had no odea when you were coming back!” 
	“Dear, I usually leave in the mor..” 
	“You stupid degenerate retard, you fucking insignificant  
cocksucker! What the fuck do you think your doing talking back to me?  
Don’t you have the common decency and respect to let me finish what I  
am trying to say?! I am bleeding my emotions out to you and all you  
can do is fight! You always want to fight! its not fair. YOU’VE  
CHANGED!!!!” 
	“What I was trying to tell you was that I will be…” 

But it was no good, she had already ran across the white carpet and into  
the bathroom crying her eyes out. First man followed her and tried the door.  
It was locked; he politely started to knock on the door, but before he  
could finish his knocking she yelled at him 
	“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?!” 

He didn’t answer that question, but instead just stood there, contemplating  
his next move. And then he exploded. With the energy of a wilder-beast he  
slammed his fist into to door three or four times and replied: 

	“Don’t you ever interrupt me when I am trying to get your attention!  
Anyway as I was trying to say earlier once or twice, but you were too  
busy screaming your head off to care; was that I will be leaving soon and  
I will not be coming back. I have finally decided that I can’t take any  
more of your shit. You constant winging and whining is getting too much to  
bear, I no longer want to be under your thumb and I no longer want to be  
manipulated by you. I am finally taking life into my own hands, and doing  
what I want. Get a job and pay for this expensive house that you made me  
buy anyway you want. Sell it for all I care, just leave me alone. After I  
am gone you will never see me again. And I tell you something I will  
bloody well be better off for it” 

He then calmly walked into his own private bedroom; his wife had made him  
sleep in there because she said that she couldn’t stand the idea of sleeping  
with his snoring. He went over to his dresser grabbed a backpack and filled  
it with clothes and as much money that he could find. He grabbed a sleeping  
bag and a few other odds and ends that he thought he might need and pushed  
them into his rucksack and then calmly walked down the stairs, into the  
kitchen, picked up a bottle opener and strolled out of the house. 

That was it, he was free, free as a bird, and he could do whatever he  
liked. The very first thing he did was walk down to the local town and  
withdraw all the money from their joint account. It was all his anyway,  
he did all the work all day while his wife just lounged around, watching 
Jerry Springer and going shopping, spending the money he earned. He put  
the money in his wallet and went off to the bottle shop and chose a  
couple of rather nice looking bottles of wine. 

He exited the shop in search of a place to down the liquid, he found on, in  
the shape of a children’s play area. There were a couple of young girls on  
the swing, which was where he wanted to sit. So he calmly walked up to them  
and eyed them thoughtfully, then asked in a calm but intelligent tone  
wether they knew how good little children’s internal organs taste like  
when sliced, diced and minced. 

Both kids ran off with tears in their eyes. He smiled to himself and sat  
down on the swing. He opened one of the bottles and started to drink the 
red liquor. Round about the time that he had got half way through the  
first bottle he noticed two men coming up the path towards him, he took  
another drink just as the lads stepped forward. 

One was small and decrepit looking, with unkempt blond hair and the other  
was lanky with curly bold hair. They both looked non-threatening and friendly. 

“Jesus, you’re getting into it aren’t you?” said the tall one, eyeing the  
second bottle  
“Yeah” said first man “but if you had been through what I’ve been through  
then I guess you’d do the same, got time for a bit of a drink and a storey  
lads?” 
“We were just on out way to see out friend, but we’re often late going  
there so he won’t mind. I’m Mark and this is Shane” said the tall one again 
“Hello Mark and Shane, they call me First man” 
“First man?” Asked Shane, “so your like Gorge W. Bushes secret love thing?” 

The Joke totally went over First mans head. 

	“Sorry?” He asked 
	“Haha, doesn’t matter. So what’s this thing about a story then?” 

First man then started out on his story about his journey of self-discovery.  
Starting from him having a taste of some strange looking punch at a party  
and then afterwards seeing a vision of John Lennon standing on a mountain  
telling him to go and search for the one that they called ‘second man’ who  
lived in the middle of nowhere and would tell him the secret to living life.  

And how, after trekking for days he had found him in a shed, as John Lennon  
had said, in the middle of nowhere and had asked him what the secret to  
living life was. And how, the old man had told him that the meaning of life  
was that you had to take….[Authors break] From this point on its all stuff  
that happened in the last issue, to find out what the meaning of life is  
read the other issues [End author break] 

	“Well, that’s quite a story” Said Mark 
	“Yes I know, but that’s it, that is where I am and I can’t go back.  
I’ve taken my life and flushed it down the toilet, and you know what. I  
think I’m proud of it to” 
	“Look anyway do you want to come and meet our friend?” 
	“Yeah sure, what’s his name?”  

It wasn’t much of a walk to his house, just about a hundred yards, out  
of the park and up a street, turn a corner and they were there. First  
man followed Shane and Mark around the side gate and around into a little  
courtyard where a quaint little bungalow was situated. Mark knocked on  
the door in a highly repetitive manner. There was a sort of suction sound,  
the origins of which First man wasn’t quite shore of and then the door  
opened. There stood an unshaven raggedy young man about eighteen years  
old with a bad haircut.  

The man greeted his friends in a way that seemed like it was something that  
they did quite regularly after which Mark took the opportunity to introduce  
First man to the occupant who’s name was James. He seemed friendly enough;  
he took First man’s hand and gave it a hefty shake. 

	“Good to know ya” He said 

First man was invited inside the double soundproof doors where there was 
a rather interesting little room. It was full to the brim with bits of  
technology while still keeping a kind of homely appearance. First man  
noticed a computer station with a couple of terminals, two speakers  
connected to a large, but old TV that looked over a small living area  
with a couple of couches. They all sat. 

	“So what is it that you fill your life up with, First man?” Asked James 
	“Well, at the moment, life changing expedition’s really” 

He then proceeded to detail out the entire details of his adventure for  
this potential new friend. When he had finished James sat there and  
gaped at First mans story. First man was puzzled by this and asked James  
what it was he was gaping at. 

	“Well” replied James “You see I seem to fancy myself as a bit of  
a writer, and I write short stories and stuff for a magazine named  
addendum that I publish when ever I feel that the world needs another  
issue. Look, I have to be honest here First man, that tale you just  
told me is a direct carbon copy of my latest piece, entitled  
“first man: part two” in fact even your name is the title of this story.  

I mean when you first came in and told me your name was ‘first man’ I  
thought that my story might have come true, but I reckoned that first  
man was such a common name that it must be a coincidence. However I’m  
afraid that after I’ve heard that story, well sir, I don’t know what  
to think” 

	“Well, I certainly don’t believe you” said first man “it can’t  
be true it simply isn’t possible, show me this story” 

James lead First man over to his computer and loaded up a file, first 
man sat down and started to scan the text and sure enough the last week  
or so of his life was recorded down in James’ story 

	“There you go” said James “it’s all there, in fact if you look,  
you can see that First man has just walked into my house and is claiming  
that his entire life is exactly the same as the story” 
	“I don’t believe it” said first man “Well what am I to do now?” 
	“Don’t ask me” I said “I’m the author not the character” 
	“Well can you tell me what I am going to do tomorrow” 
	“I’m sorry, as I said you’re the character, you do the stuff, I  
just create it” 
	“Well do you have any ideas?” 
	“Well you’ve just met the author of your life, in effect you’ve  
just met the god of your universe, that’s about as close as your going  
to get to a major plot twist, so you could try just leaving and seeing  
what happens to you in the outside world. 
	“Uh ok, well, could you perhaps make sure that nothing bad  
happens to me” 
	“I’m afraid I can’t promise that, it will probably depend on  
wether I have had a good day or not. You know, something just crossed my  
mind, you see I can’t help but think that this little encounter might just  
be linked back to in later adventures of First Man” 
	“Yes I get that feeling to. Anyway, I’m off now” 
And with that, he left. 

And it was no coincidence that on the way to his next adventure first  
man got over ran by a mob of sex hungry, blond haired, big boobed  
German school girls. Don’t say I never do anything nice for him. 

Don’t worry folks, he’ll be back in later issues for more wacky  
adventures. 

>-----------------------------------------------------------------------< 

4. Uncle Steak. A small article by Steak 

I know that there are a lot of fuckeheads in this world, a lot of idiots.  
A lot of people that really make me angry. The no hopers, the stupid people,  
the car lovers, the sport jocks, the no brains, the never thinkers, the  
animal noise professionals, the loudmouths, the government, the ATF, the  
police, the emotional, the boring, the pissed off, the racists, the  
protagonists, the aggressive, the mis-informed, the mystics, the religious,  
the tabloid news casters (Sandra Sully), the stereotypical, the beautiful  
people, the sluts, the bimbos, the thieves, the robbers, the anti-techs,  
the tech support people, the hold operators, the advertisers, the  
telemarketers, the homies, the NRA, the fundamentalists, the NAZI’s,  
the gunmen, the executioners, the FBI, Martin Broughton (chairman of  
the British American Tobacco industry), and many many more. 

All these people piss me off, all these people constantly annoy me. And  
you know what? After all this time of hate and anger, you know what i  
have discovered? I like it, I like to know that all these people are  
under me. Knowing that there are so many people that are in no way  
superior to me and that I’m better than all of them makes me feel great 

In fact I want more people to be fuckheads, I want more people to  
become idiots, I want more people under me, I want more people to be  
better than, in fact: 

   ********************************* 
   *                 ___           * 
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   *               |     |         * 
   *             --''----'         * 
   *          --'  \     |         * 
   *       --'      \    |         * 
   *     -'          \   |___      * 
   *    /\   \   \    \      \     * 
   *   /  \   \   \    \      \    * 
   *   |   |==='==='===  __'  /    * 
   *   |   |   |   |   |:_|  /     * 
   *    \  |   |   |   |:___/      * 
   *     \\/'''/'''/'''/ |         * 
   *      \ ''  ''  ''  /          * 
   *      /            /           * 
   *     /            /            * 
   *    /            /             * 
   ********************************* 
   *  I WANT YOU TO BE A FUCKHEAD! * 
   ********************************* 

>-----------------------------------------------------------------------< 

5. Hamburger. A plain old short story by Steak 

The sun was setting at the end of the road. Bob was walking directly into  
it. He wished for a second that he had bought those sunglasses he had seen  
on that corner shop on the side of the world. He had passed the shop only  
about thirty minuets ago and had seen the glasses sitting there. He had  
registered their presence, but hadn’t actually realized that he might  
need them later. The thought had only struck him the first time he turned  
down his road and had noticed the sun staring him straight in the eyes. 

He did that to every thing, noticing that is, he noticed every thing.  
Every little thing all the time. The grass, the bricks, the sky, absolutely  
everything. He was a very observant individual, but this was no random  
gene mutation to make him so. No he knew he was cleverer for a reason.  
He knew that he didn’t belong here, he had distinct memories of, in  
child hood, being somewhere else, not of this world. And he knew that the  
visit he had taken had made him clever to an amazing degree.  

When he had started at junior school he found that he was smarter than  
most off the other kids. The things that they were teaching bored him.  
He could reduce fractions in his head. He could divide and multiply  
numbers that had his teachers reaching for calculators. In English he  
would write stories, that if he had ever bothered to try and get  
published would have won him major awards. But for some reason he never  
felt that he wanted that. He always felt that he was better. The  
self-gratitude that he got from knowing that he could do all these  
things no one else could do, was all he needed to survive. 

He turned the corner and into his court. He was almost home.  

He had dropped out of school at Year Ten, not because he had found it  
too hard but because he had found it all too easy. After his little  
bout of being a prodigy all through junior school, he had decided to  
tone it down a little. He had secluded himself in the thoughts of his  
own brain; he had found that self congratulating was better than  
anything anyone else could give him. He spend maybe five minutes doing  
each bit of homework, doing the minimum amount possible. After which  
he would spend the rest of his night thinking about things, analyzing  
the days events and proceedings. He had withdrawn, become introverted.  
He had turned into ‘the quiet one’. Every one at school said things  
like, “What happened to Bob? He changed so much. He used to be such  
a good boy.” 

He came to his flat block and started walking up the stairs. 

Good boy indeed. He never wanted them to think that. They had come  
to that decision all by themselves. He wasn’t a good boy at all. He  
had always been bad inside. The thoughts that would flow through  
his adolescent head when he closed his eyes at night were so shocking  
they would make Ed Gein blush. The nice, carefree, polite exterior  
had been all a perceptive facade. During Year Nine he had come to  
the conclusion that he was not the only personality inside of himself. 

He came to his door, put his key in the lock and turned it.  

The other person who lived inside his body was younger than he was,  
so young in fact that it could have been described as a newborn.  
During Year Nine it had grown and matured a little and had changed  
into a child. Bob would often get the desire to just run around the  
yard or bang himself into walls. People just thought he was ‘weird’,  
so he was allowed to get away with it. It was this personality that  
was the clever one. It was this personality that had been forced  
into his body in that strange place he had visited in his child hood.  
During Year Nine Bob had tried to analyze the personality that had  
lain dormant all this time. He had come to the conclusion that it  
was a young male, maybe at that time about five or six years old  
in maturity 

The door swung open and he walked over the threshold. 

The personality had grown up quickly. Bob himself was now nineteen,  
but the person inside him was now a fully-grown man. This man kept  
showing him things, when he would talk to people it was as if he  
would show him what they were really thinking. He had tried to explain  
this to his best friend, but he hadn’t understood. He hadn’t seen his 
best friend in a little while. 

He walked down the corridor and went into the kitchen. He felt like a  
hamburger. He got the meat out of the fridge and started cutting it up. 

A smell wafted from somewhere. It reminded him of something that he  
couldn’t quite place his finger on, but it didn’t matter. He had other  
things to think about. 

This had experienced a confrontation today. He had been passing his  
time looking at the trees and enjoying nature’s beauty when a woman  
had come up to him and started talking to him. He couldn’t remember  
exactly what it was she had said, and he couldn’t really remember what  
it was he had said in return, but he remembered the woman’s feelings  
alright, her presence had become red. That was anger. His other  
personality had shown him what the woman was really feeling. 

He had walked with the girl for a little while to the local pond,  
where he had decide that he wanted to take a swim. He had pleaded for  
the woman to join him. He didn’t want to swim alone. He would have  
got a little lonely. For some reason the woman had not wanted to take  
a swim with him, but again Bob could see that she really did want to  
take a swim. She just was being polite. After a little persuasion  
the woman had agreed that it was a nice and romantic idea and had  
joined him in the pool. 

They had splashed around for a little while and he had genuinely  
enjoyed himself. He had been lying there doing the backstroke and  
his friend inside him had started talking to him. He let his friend  
take over for a little while and took a rest. He enjoyed it when  
this happened. It gave him time to relax, escape from the world. It  
was perfectly ok. His friend was harmless. 

He took a bite out of his hamburger and swallowed it. It was the  
best tasting hamburger he had eaten in while. It must have been a  
nice fat young pig that had been slaughtered to make this pork. He  
decided that he would buy the same thing next time from the butcher.  
He tried to remember where he had bought the meat but couldn’t quite  
recall. He finished his meal and picked up the axe to take outside  
and put back in the shed. 

He went back to recalling the day, when he had come out of his little  
sleep. He had noticed that his new, albeit angry friend had disappeared.  
Typical. She must had left him there when he wasn’t looking, like  
most of the people in his life.  

It was a nice day. He was inside his shed putting his axe away and  
wiping the oil off it when he heard a knock at the door. He ran  
down the corridor and opened it. Standing there was a young man in a  
suit with gelled hair and a nice broad smile. 

	“Have you heard the word of God today?” he asked  
	“No” said Bob “But I’d like to. Come in.” 

 
------------------------------------------------------------------------- 
 Soon the time will come, my lovelies, when I will rule the world. Then  
  you shall all bow down to the awesome power of my devesting rein, and  
this magazine, Addendum will be the main source of my propaganda for the  
             survivors of the nuclear death attack rays!  
              DON'T WORRY YOUR FUTURE IS SAFE WITH ME! 
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