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Angstmonster 33
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+ / __ \_ | \ /_/ >\__ \| | Y Y \<_> ) | \__ \| |\ ___/| | \/ +
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+ \/ \/____/ \/ \/ \/ \/ \/ +
* 08.11.03 angstmonster issue 33 *
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¡edited (poorly) by gir¡
<@par> DANCE THE LAMBADA WITH JAF AND BUBBA!
<cuervo> ...I came in here to be all random, but you guys are way the
fuck ahead of me. :-(
§+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++¡contents¡++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§
+ +
+ Brief words from gir +
+ criteria raquel long +
+ To Whom it May Concern: APUPDIUIN or MTTMNUIFW rez +
+ School Sucks! incendium 02 +
+ Sir, is that a knife? illu +
+ Cyberpunkrock gir +
+ The Races of D&D as a Metaphor for the Gay Agenda 3rd level fighter +
+ Reverse Engineering john libertus +
+ if pain-flavored gum existed it would sell poorly tex +
+ Scenes From The Dead oregano +
+ An original PIECE OF LITERATURE tildaq +
+ Sex workouts in the gym - john libertus +
+ +
§+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++¡contents¡++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§
th3purpl3h4z3: you know you're at the culmination of your text skill when
you get a girl wet online
i am not gir: yeah
i am not gir: that's pretty easy
i am not gir: when you roll angstmonster style
th3purpl3h4z3: i would assume the angstmonster crew would be getting
full blown orgasms with their ill textstyle skills
<whitcomb> zhixel, god called
<whitcomb> he said straight edge is "so 1988"
<whitcomb> his words, not mine
CryingShme: dude turd is my new favorite ezine.
CryingShme: (as if I had other favorite ezines)
------------------------
: Brief Words from gir :
------------------------
There's no sense in making any because that's the expected thing to do and the
second that a writer allows for someone to wander into the expected, he's
asking for trouble. Maybe that statement will shed some light on how I managed
to get lost in a mall.
While lost in said mall earlier last week, I thought the event would make for a
good file, as most tfilers do with the things they experience. "HEY I WENT
OUTSIDE FOR ALMOST AN HOUR! I SHOULD WRITE A TFILE ABOUT IT!" and it is so.
The only problem is that I don't really remember what was so prolific about
being lost in a mall. There were people, they were buying stuff and making
interviews and then there was me. I don't really like malls. But I guess the
food's ok.
Sometimes I wonder why malls are so popular but that's just like wondering why
there is so much crap on tv with hardly any redeeming value (especially in the
south park off season) and why major record labels don't get that they aren't
making any money because no one is going to be a $20 cd for just one song.
(Well, music fans aren't going to at least. The average consumer does it just
so there is one more thing to bitch about. But which of us is which?)
On that note, why are strip malls just as popular as malls? Usually open air,
they don't have air conditioning and are overrun by obnoxious teenagers trying
to make themselves seem like more than an obnoxious teenager by being super
duper obnoxious.
Speaking of obnoxious, while mildly amusing, those people that take way to much
effort in ircing so that they might end up on BASH.ORG are silly. The
silliness is a good kind, but all the same it's like playing a whole lot of
video games. One can become really good at the feat but it doesn't amount to
anything. (Not to knock bash.org, funny irc quotes, or video games) In the
end, I'm sure plenty of people say there's no redeeming value in the mental
masturbation of teenage angst. But if that were so, none of those people would
have livejournals.
All the same, this issue is fairly kick ass because there is so much
unsolicited content. Not that the average reader can tell the difference, but
it makes me excited to know that people care. Say it together now, "We Care."
Now, who wants to go shopping?
------------------
: criteria :
: by raquel long :
------------------
(as you will see, this is just an email i got sent. it was probably spam, but
it makes for a really good tfile. -gir)
Date: Fri, 1 Aug 2003 03:24:39 GMT
From: Raquel Long <g@XINHUANET.COM>
To: gir@angstmonster.org
Subject: criteria
temperamental postal metier count merrymake boundlessness bakersfield
crankily poisonousness administrators mendacious botcher acrimonious
metacircular matters blomquist mermaid addressers teared hygiene hungrier
terriers sculptor exemplifier humaneness howdy mediates mightiest
addressing seasonal $RANDO MIZE ideals cripple sanest adornments microscopy
microprograms ashley plodding cradles breakfasted cozen postponed
cottonwood thefts craved blunted boatyards tambourine school mermaid
augusta bolshevik sandpile tawdry screens pour bottlenecks bounding meanly
explicitly $RANDOM IZE creamers porous tasters tansy searches tears pleat
couplers activators albert anglicanism acoustical coughed bolivia teethes
scopic acetate actaeon boatmen hurtle polopony
-------------------------------
: To Whom it May Concern: :
: OR :
: A Proactive Use of Pronouns :
: in the Discussion of the :
: Improper Use of an Improper :
: Noun. :
: OR :
: My Teacher Told Me Not to :
: Use I in Formal Writing :
: by rez :
-------------------------------
Please edit the portion of my entry beginning with: "How do I know that Death
has not arrived to aide me in my quest?". Please change the word 'aide' to
'aid' as it has recently occurred to me that 'aide' is a noun.
Also pithy does not mean what I had taken it to mean (not at all, really).
Constantly have I used the term 'pithy' meaning something below regard and
unworthy of all attention- when in fact, it means the exact opposite. (see:
www.dict.org )
Ironic? (If I were to use that word here it would most definitely be the
wrong term... so I shall not.)
/rez.
-------------------
: School Sucks! :
: by incendium 02 :
-------------------
I have just recently completed my High school examinations and finished in the
top 5 of my school, normally I would be extremely happy with such a result if
not for the constant harassment from other students waving congratulations and
praise and asking me for help on theirs, i even get those people that have
never spoken a word to me through out my High school life except to ridicule me
for scoring the highest in the class on the chemistry exam coming up to me and
congratulating me on my result and asking for my help only because they have
realised FAR too late in the year that this little place we go to every day is
ACTUALLY important. This irritates me, the fact that people can go through 12
years of their life in schooling and not realise that its actually worthwhile.
These people are the ones that will complain when they inevitably fail,
complaining that they wern't taught the particular section of work. NO YOU
MORON YOU WERN'T because you didn't pay attention in year ten which gave us our
base for further studies, yet they complain that they were told that year 10
and 11 don't count. THAT PISSES ME OFF!!! these moronic folks who drifted
through their pathetic lives focusing only on how cool they are, How many
"bitches" they have had, and making sure they are hip to the clothing, have
missed the main point of our lives...that it doesn't matter. They would rather
attend a local piss up party then study for the most important test of their
lives...and they wonder why.
Now I'm not sitting here and proclaiming myself a genious, I am anything but, I
just get irritated by people that are unwilling to do the hard yards and then
complain at the end of it...I also hate braggarts, the ones that constantly
compete with you on all your assignments and tests, why do that? Are you so
insecure about your own intelligence that you must focus all your energies on
beating somebody else. I have seen an example of this where a person was so
focused on beating someone that they completely lost sight of their other
subjects, they sacrificed their future for a small piece of personal pride...
idiotic.
And people that cry, I am sick and tired of seeing people walk out of an exam
face full of tears and a shrill wailing coming from their mouth. They smash
their guts out all weekend studying for an exam they have done no work on all
semester, believing honestly that a last weekend study session will give them
an A+, show up, do the test, obviously fail, then cry about it as if it wasn't
their fault...Also people who have gone hard out all semester during the class
and at home, sacrificing their social life for a chance at glory, then cry when
they get an A-, i mean GOD an A- is an awesome result, yet they cry and cry and
cry and contemplate suicide because that little minus sign will drastically
affect their life...HA!
People just shit me I guess, people in all forms, I just can't seem to
understand how some folks work, I study, I work and I get results, it's as easy
as that, yet some people still don't get it. I also resent the people that
don't do work then show up with an A+, it shits me to tears. I work my ass of
to get my A's and they sit their, eat food, listen to music, go to
parties, get drunk, drive cars, do absolutely everything, show up on the test
with a hangover and no sleep, and get A's...fucking irritating
-------------------------
: Sir, is that a knife? :
: by illu :
-------------------------
^_^
/. .\ -------------------------
\>-</ | Kind sir is that knife? |
/ \ -------------------------
/ \
\\ //
--:--
| | |
|_|_|
------/_|_|------
^_^ -------------------------------------------
/. .\ | No that was not meant as an insult, sorry.|
\>-</ _ -------------------------------------------
/ \//
/ /
\\ |
--:--
| | |
|_|_|
-----|_|_\------
^_^ ---------------------------------------------------
/. .\ | Sweet MOTHER of GOD! AND ALL THAT IS HOLY NO! AHH |
_ \>-</ _ ---------------------------------------------------
\\/ \//
\ /
| |
--:--
| | |
|_|_|
------/_|_\------
___
/ \
/ \
\\ //
--:--
| | | ^_^
|_|_| /. .\
------|_|_\--\>-</----
And so it was, Mr.Bob of the anthropomorphic feline society was decapitated
by Zebulus salad fork. A sad day for the legions of feline followers of
Mr.Bob's non violent protest against the salad fork regime, let this be a
testament to all of the protest at Aleboluteberg district eight.
-----------------
: Cyberpunkrock :
: by gir :
-----------------
"In cyberspace, cyber-cyber-cyber-space... cyberspace..."
THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE, NOT A PLACE, NOT A PLACE
THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE, PLACE PLACE PLACE...
THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE!
THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE!
THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE!
<KMFDFM-like power chords>
SIT AT HOME ON YOUR COMPUTER
YOU DON'T LEAVE THE HOUSE
YOU CHECK YOUR EMAIL
UPDATE YOUR BLOG
DO IT ALL DAY LONG
FROM YOUR HOUSE!
<more power chords>
NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO
YOU CAN NOT ARGUE
THAT YOU HAVE GONE ANYWHERE
THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE!
THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE!
THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE!
THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE!
THIS IS NOT NINETEEN NINTEY NINE
YOU ARE NOT A CONSOLE COWBOY
DATA OVERLOAD BUFFER OVERFLOWS
THIS ISN'T A WINDOW TO ANOTHER WORLD
THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE
<synth solo breakdown thing>
THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE!
THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE!
THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE!
THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE!
THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE!
THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE!
THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE!
THE INTERNET IS NOT A PLACE!
-----------------------------------------------------
: The Races of D&D as a Metaphor for the Gay Agenda :
: by 3rd level fighter :
-----------------------------------------------------
So far I've discussed skinheads and Delaware through the eyes of everyone's
favorite gay mascot, Fighter. Now I'm tackling his own home turf: PC races.
Well, most of them are PC-playable. Dark elves and full Orcs are exceptions.
Note: use of the word fag is strictly limited to in-context phrase importance,
like "muscle fag."
Oh, and we're assuming the rules about sunlight as per Tolkien's orcs apply.
Now, on to the races!
Human -- hetero yet tolerant individual. Basic good guy, right?
High Elf -- openly gay guy or girl. I mean, they're *elves*. This doesn't take
into account gym rats, muscle fags, butch lesbians, and so on. They could
presumably be dwarves. But that fucks up my metaphor. :)
Dwarf -- speaking of which, dwarves are basically tolerant but obviously
somewhat homophobic heteros. They're your "I'm tough, I'm no fag. not that
there's anything wrong with that." types.
Half Elf -- any open bisexual. Works as a convenient code word for finding gir
a ladyfriend. Ex. "I dunno, man. Half elves are intimidating. If only I could
find one with a maxed out Perform (musical instrument) skill."
Wood/Wild Elf -- this can be one of two things. Either a) a closet gay guy or
girl, or b) a heterophobic gay person. Depends on if you focus on the
reclusiveness or the xenophobia of the wood/wild elves more.
Dark Elf -- in general, any gay or bisexual person who knows his/her
orientation and has tried to use religion to remove it. you know the types.
"recovered" homosexuals and whatnot. very irritating to us high elves. Think
about it: they hate elves, they hate life, they have so much anger and rage in
themselves. If only they'd embrace good (i.e. their true selves as ... elves)
they would be so much happier. goddamn religious freaks.
Gnome -- someone who's not gay but appreciates the gay rights agenda, supports
it actively, and/or is an "ally" at gay/straight alliance meetings. friendly,
well meaning, but not quite as much in the line of fire as elves. usually.
Halfling -- another race w/ two options. Option 1: pull a Sam Gamgee (he LOVES
elves!) and have halflings represent heteros obsessed with gays and lesbians
(fag hags and, well, any straight guy, respectively). Option 2: play up their
isolation from the larger world and have them be friendly, well meaning, yet
totally naive individuals who are weirded out or confused by gay people but
have no problem with them.
Half Orc -- religious nutballs who scream bout the evils of gaykind. Hmmm.
They're religious nutballs who hate homosexuals and believe it's their divine
quest to rid the world of them? Hrm. Sounds like the d&d orcs who follow
Gruumsh. Just a *bit*. Difference here is that they can walk the street without
getting attacked by your average human automatically.
Full Orcs -- can't say the same for these guys, tho. Imagine a neo-Nazi in full
regalia walking down Main St. and you'll get an idea of what full orcs
represent. Think about it! If you see a full-blooded orc, you'll prolly just
see a mass of XP that needs taking. Abortion clinic bombers, people with "i
hate fags" on their shirts (or sleeves, for the use of an old saying...),
Nazis, any number of splinter Xtian sects that are basically around to be
hateful and violent, etc.
Well, that's about it for common d&d races. I'm Fighter, my cape is
rainbow-colored, and I'm outta here!
sword chucks, yo!
-----------------------
: Reverse Engineering :
: by john libertus :
-----------------------
We are the scum of the earth, and its weirdness: Subway Angels,
Volunteers, MicroSoft contract workers, people who live in the shadows,
trying to be too small to attract attention, too big for the dog to bite,
living in the shadows to be who we have to be. Sure, we're lycanthropes,
nosferatu, Vegans, your cannibals, but even a ghoul has feelings -
We're all more than we think we are. Why, just the other night I'd
stepped outside the club for a smoke, and this young lady bared the
silken-silver blush of her neck to me in the light of the streetlamp, and
arched her face up and away to the side, her eyes closed in ecstasy,
knowing I saw.
Do I look Vampire to you? Daddy always said he was Vampire, but I always
thought it was just him joking, you know, Mom being a Red Cross worker
and all. They have a very strange relationship.
Like that young lady and I, the other night: of course I jumped her, and
of course I tried to make her comfortable, and of course the paramedics
misunderstood, and were surprised to find she'd only broke her bra strap.
They insisted she might have fallen, and needed a checkup.
She was so sweet, I tried to make it up to her. I told her I'd really
like to see her again, and she gave me her phone number, and when I
apologized for all the weirdness, she told me not to think of myself as
weird, she liked it, call her tomorrow, but she'd better go with them
now. I'd have gone along for the ambulance ride, but I knew there'd be
trouble.
I'm actually the best-adjusted one in my family, I've got a younger
brother, same parents, only he always thought Mom was joking, you know,
about being a Red Cross worker. Last I heard he can't have sex without a
little dab of Bactine, for the taste.
I ran into Tittle afterwards; at a party, Tittle cannot keep his fingers
off other peoples' erogenous zones. It's a great icebreaker, actually, at
least til some husband kills him. I think, technically, he's a Satyr, but
he's only got it in his hands. He's a light-hearted dude, as well he
needs to be. Have you met all these people?
-----------------------------------------------------
: if pain-flavored gum existed it would sell poorly :
: by tex :
-----------------------------------------------------
There is a type of drill bit known as a "unibit". It is meant to be used to
drill wide holes through thinner planes (i.e., control panels, vs. the sides of
machines.). There are two grooves on its side to help cut through the metal,
and it is shaped like a Christmas tree, but the only gift it gives is pain.
In order to adjust a power drill to accommodate a different size of bit, one
must first put it in reverse and then hold the "nose" that rotates and grips
the bit. Once it is sufficiently loosened, one then puts in the drill bit,
holds the nose again, and puts it in forward until the drill bit is firmly held
in place. From this point forward, one is free to drill holes in whatever
surface seems to need them.
The problem with this, as one realizes too late, is that once a drill bit is
firmly in place, it is going to start spinning, and one's dumbass fingers are
right there holding the drill. One then proceeds to calmly put the drill down
and observe the blood welling up in the half-inch gash in one's thumb.
Ideally, one clamps a towel over the wound and tries not to let one's employer
notice one's capability for incapability.
------------------------
: Scenes From The Dead :
: by oregano :
------------------------
Things that happened at a Dead/Dylan concert.
We get off the highway and there is traffic already. We are about 3 miles
from the site of the concert. It takes an hour to get from Chicago to Joliet.
It takes 2 hours to get from Joliet to the concert seats.
Lots of dogs. The most well-behaved dog belongs to the guy who you would
think least able to take care of a dog. No leash, but the dog stays close to
its master's feet.
Hippies are not all laid back, many are angry. Witness the bottle girl.
She starts yelling, "There are kids here, pick up these bottles, don't get
glass on the sidewalks." Women like her are my worst nightmare.
A super huge line to get to security. Not a line, a mob.
Get patted down, they are looking for weapons and food and drugs. Security
guy says, "If you have two pipes, just give me one and you can take the other
one in." I had no pipes.
Bob Dylan is kind of boring, me and brother get dinner.
My brother needed ketchup for his hamburger. He asks the lemonade girl.
She says, "Are you making fun of me?"
Later brother and I are sitting at the table eating, my brother had found
the ketchup despite the Lemonade Girl. But now the Lemonade Girl is sitting at
our table drinking lemonade on her break. I want to comment to her that it is
heartening that the food here is good enough that the workers consume it on
their break. My brother thinks it is a bad idea to say this to her.
Brother goes to the bathroom. I talk to Lemonade Girl. Turns out she is a
racing fan. The concert is on a dragster racestrip. Lemonade Girl is polite
and a little leery of me, thinking I might be making fun of her. I kind of
was.
Brother and I get back to our seats and there is a guy freaking out. He is
awake but in no shape to do anything. A really bad trip, he cannot move or be
moved, he cannot talk, just buries his face in his hands and occasionally
moans. We cannot sit in our seats. So we sit in the row ahead.
My favorite moment. Two stoned guys sit next to me. A third stoned guy
comes with giant pretzels and says, "I got us some extra cheese." Then
silence. Then I decided to mess with the stoners and I laugh. Cheese Guy
laughs, then the stoners laugh and then I am laughing for real.
Guy on a Bad Trip falls asleep. I go to the rest room.
The show starts and I come back and brother had to give up the seats and
he had climbed over the seats to our normal seats. I make a daring move and
step over Bad Trip Guy who is sleeping.
Brittney.
Brittney is on mushrooms and she starts talking to me. I stand up when she
offers me her hand. We end up hugging instead of shaking hands. We talk for
10 minutes then she goes off. She is very pretty and has sparkly all over her
face.
The show plays on.
A break in the show and Shroom Boy comes and tells my brother and I that he
is shrooming. I have no choice I majorly mess with Shroom Boy. He goes on and
on about Bob Dylan. But I keep throwing questions at him and keep him off
balance. I seem to know a lot more about Bob Dylan than he. I keep going and
he gets more frustrated. I act like I don't understand why he is frustrated.
His friend comes back with beers and Shroom Boy goes and talks to him.
Shroom Boy pulls down his pants and sticks his butt in his friend's face.
He keeps yelling stuff about Bob Dylan. Friend smacks the naked butt
repeatedly till Shroom Boy pulls up his pants. Shroom Boy yells for everyone
in out area to go streaking. Then Shroom Boy leaves.
My brother is drunk. I am not drinking but still I am acting drunk. I
start singing some Duran Duran song. My brother joins in. We both sing as
much of the song as we know.
The break in the show is 40 minutes. The music comes back. There is
lightning in a storm that just misses Joliet.
Brittney comes back, falls on the seats, knocks over the seats, and
amazingly knocks over the sleeping Bad Trip guy. Bad Trip guy leaves.
The show goes on for another two hours.
On the way out I must use the Port-A-Potty in the parking lot. The two
girls ahead of me, one uses the toilet but refuses to slide the lock to
"Occupied" so her friend stands there to guard the door. I talk to friend
about the show and about her life. She is quite nice. She tells me it was a
pleasure as she and her friend walk off.
I use the Port-A-Potty and when done, say to the girl after me, "Enjoy."
Everyone in line laughs.
My brother says, "You should have said, 'I left you a present.'" My
brother does not understand comedy or woman.
We drive home and brother is sleepy at the wheel. We pull off the highway
for caffeine and there is a Krispy Kreme. I demand brother stop for donuts.
He says they would make him throw up -- I sense a story behind this, but he
refuses to tell me.
Gas station. I think we are in Cicero, but Gas Man says we are in Chicago.
I get pork rinds. Brother gets cheesy puffs. We get $30 of gas.
Back in the city it is 2:30 a.m. Every donut shop is open still. There are
no exceptions. Dunkin Donuts. Mr. Donuts. Donut Express. Donut Hole.
They are all open. I never knew this about late night and donut shops.
I take the train home. The day is done.
-----------------------------------
: An original PIECE OF LITERATURE :
: by tildaq :
-----------------------------------
******************WHERE'S MY COCA-COLA?****************
I was sitting in the scorching heat of the summer sun. As I began to melt, I
began to wonder as well. Contemplating my maneuvers around the arms of the
chair. Dripping my cells to the floor. Dropping every ounce of creativity,
love, sadness and sense of consciousness as tiny particles which stuck to
"obstintatious" & ostentational "make-believical" words on a burnt paper that I
was reviewing from earlier. A commercial for a product that had not, and may
have yet to be invented occurred to me. "Where's My Coca-Cola?" MARVELOUS, I
thought! How sweet the taste of the caffeinated beverage was and has always
been. Since my birth, like the incalculable number of people born on or around
1983, I had known the exquisite, errorless, irreproachable & even "thesaurical"
taste of the brown, barley pop amber brew.
What was I to do? Do the dew? Never would I consider it over the amber colored
brew.
Upon further investigation my limbs had become buzzing with bees for the
flowers had risen up past the trees searching for the same taste which is often
regarded as being a flavor to far exceed any catch of hors d'oeuvres before any
party, be it before or, more to the point, after, that which can be seen from
afar like a painting portraying a pivotal moment in an existential wonderment
of life which is more easily captured by displaying an entire setting rather
than focusing on any one detail for too long. A painting in which a human might
realize, have the realization that what he is living in is something that could
never even be explained to him....but it all could be forgotten, or accepted
while taking a sip of a certain bubbling liquid; knowing that the bubbles, once
the full sip has spurned past the lips of the drinker, will all seek out the
furthest point from the center and try to pop on every surface of the mouth so
as to not only please with the sense of taste, aroma and sight but also with
touch. After setting an aluminum can, plastic bottle or glass bottle if one
happens to be so lucky, so fortunate, even the sound can send shivers down one
side of one's body for a split second. This soda is rich enough with flavor to
be accepted by kings of the world as "PILT" or Payment in Lieu of Taxes! How is
that...
As I am more than parched now, I am now perched, perched now as a puddle of
not-yet-dried-up boiling hot remains of intelligence. Once, only once before
did I know, could I have known the feelings that ran through my evaporating
body. This memory was one from long ago, but was by far, not forgotten. It was
a time when the internet was still a place of new exploration, a place where
all information was voluntarily posted onto free websites hosted by innocent
companies who were still able to make a profit from adverts in the lonely
corners of monitors which were previously taken up only by white pixels. It was
a time when the definition of television changed from an obscure sentence in
the dictionary to commonplace phrase, we know it as Hi-Def. This memory of old
is something that I will keep for myself...possibly to be revealed at a more
appropriate juncture, a more appropriate time for you and I, for us.
My face gets now, as becoming, now is quite evaporated and sweat is not the
only metaphor for me to thrive and drive, I might add, and drive. My remaining
hand reaches for the item in question, the true item of the day. My COKE was
not nearly as affected by the temperature as I. It was still just as cold as
the moment in which the planet Neptune decided to freeze itself into a
brilliant blue ball, forget the sexual reference for pure beauty's sake, and
spin around closest star to observe, the sun!
Beads of it's own sweat, its own condensation if you will was still fresh
enough at the point where no liquid had yet stained its resting place, the
table, yet would have had I not picked up the bulk-chunk of goodness to bring
to my lips in a state of unadulterated anticipation, such as the anticipation
of a leaky-valve to be plugged or more acceptably, waiting for the giant orgasm
of a week's worth of curiosity and built pressure. It was a slight time after
this feeling continued to linger, yet was still waiting to be resolved as I
brought the drink closer and closer still to my tongue (which felt as if it
were growing in size to accommodate the large taste my Coca-Cola) that my cat
jumped onto my lap, upon me, causing me to spill my GODAMNED COKE all over
myself.
_______________________________________________________________________________
The moral of the story is that:
A PUNCHLINE IS WORTH 809 WORDS.
_______________________________________________________________________________
-----------------------------
: Sex workouts in the gym - :
: by john libertus :
-----------------------------
"Hey, hey, hey, this is the Captain -
"There's gonna be a party tonight, everybody invited, except, of course,
1st & 2nd shift people. Engineering people on hazardous duty 24/7 until
further notice, the hold stinks of dilithium something-or-other.
There will be no more sex workouts in the gym, the ship is going
unmanned. Sorry, folks, thought it'd work -
Hey, hey, hey, later on today."
"I dunno, I always thought it'd be different, working on a starship. That
Captain has no class -"
"That kinda talk is mutiny. Be like the Captain, he's trying to keep a
happy ship."
Navigator to Captain: "I've explained to you, over and over, we are not
lost. We know where we are, we're right here. As to where everything else
is, well..."
Captain to weird, four-eyed monkey: "Watch that little one, he bites.
It's not safe here on the bridge, come on over here into the waiting
room.
"I can see you haven't spaced much, Ambassador, the bridge is the most
dangerous place on a starship. We have no effective day care, so the
mothers running the ship have to keep their children with them at work,
and some of those kids - well, see this bite mark on my ankle? Watch your
step when you're on the bridge.
"Now, what can I do for you, Ambassador?"
"You have extra young?
"Well..."
"We can buy extra young, eat them."
"Well, I'd have to talk it over with the ship's crew, but offhand, I
don't see why not."
"Engineering to Captain"
"Captain speaking."
"Uh..I don't know how to tell you this, but- you remember that pair of
Dilithium Doubler Drives we wouldn't let you install last week because we
didn't understand them well enough? Well, that stink down in the hold was
our old drives going, and so we've installed the Doublers, despite their
known fragility, complexity, and inadequate explosion containment. They
also require considerablly more compute power, so we had to scrounge
some major parts off the Navigation Computer and the Navigator found out
about it and he's looking for you, he looks really upset."
"Well, I wouldn't be too upset about it, " the Navigator explains,"it's
been so long since I've been on a planet, I wouldn't know what to do if
we found one. We don't need to set down on a Planet. Still, we have to
have Detection and Collision, so I dismantled the computer from the
holodeck and-"
"Oh, my God. Mutiny. They'll go crazy. They'll look for me."
"Ahw, who would do that to you, Captain?"
"The kids off the bridge."
"Oh, yeah, Jez, Captain."
cuervo/#2600 haxx0rz t3h g1bs0n
<girbles> !!!
<cuervo> DUDE
<cuervo> JOEY^H^H^H^HGIRBLES
<cuervo> YOU GOTTA HOLD ON TO THIS GARBAGE FILE FOR MEEH
<cuervo> IT HAS A VIRUS THAT WILL CAPSIZE A TANKER FULL OF HOTPANTS
<girbles> HOTPANTS
<girbles> NOT ON MY WATCH IT WON'T
<cuervo> UNLESS OUR RAGTAG BAND OF WAREZ PUPZ PREVENTZ IT
<girbles> /j #phrack, mang /j #phrack
<girbles> IT'S OUR ONLY HOPE
<girbles> INTERNET WAR
æææææææææææææææææææ
æ Æfterthought(s) æ
æææææææææææææææææaæ
Those days when you wake up well reseted and sore because you know it's raining
a lot outside are the days when you really just wanna run around in the rain
chasing army men and zombies, like in 28 days later. That'd be really fun.
It'd be like Counterstrike except all them silly kids who play it for hours on
end probably wouldn't be able to fire a real gun.
Who needs a real gun anyways? We don't fight real wars, only virtual. We are
a peaceful sort. We just attack benches, because benches need to be kept down
on their luck.
I like benches and wish that people wouldn't advocate bench violence so much.
Bench violence makes me sad like a clown. And as the rumors go, a sad clown
is a force not to be reckoned with.
John Wayne Gacy was a sad clown.
_____
/ |\ |\ /\ |\ |
\ | | |/ |/ < > |/ | *
/ |_| | | \/ |\ | *
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http://www.angstmonster.org/txt/kob |Kids on Bridges|
http://www.textscene.com CURRENT TEXTFILE SCENE
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copy-spwep 2003 issue 33
angstmonster.org 08.11.03
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