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Angstmonster 19
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+ _____ ____ ____ ______/ |_____ ____ ___ ______/ |___________ +
* \__ \/ \ / __ \/ ___\ __\ \ _ \/ \/ ___\ __/__ \_ __ \ *
+ / __ \_ | \ /_/ >\__ \| | Y Y \<_> ) | \__ \| |\ ___/| | \/ +
* (____ /_| /___ /____ >|__|__|_| /___/__| /___ >|__| \__ \|__| *
+ \/ \/____/ \/ \/ \/ \/ \/ +
* 01.27.03 angstmonster issue 19 *
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¡edited (poorly) by gir¡
<ch33z-1t> what do you think i was born 0day ago?
§+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++¡contents¡++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§
+ +
+ Brief words from gir +
+ A day in the life of a fart ch33z-1t and tildaq +
+ This is not a seminar steak +
+ Youth's Perception neldrin +
+ Men seeking Unresponsive Men 1st Level Fighter +
+ 0-day Africa koolpeith +
+ FUCK YOU GOLDEN GIRLS guru +
+ Picture Pages and Stuff gir +
+ Interview with the BIGGEST DOUCHE of 2002 ch33z-1t +
+ My day at school cyb3rmonk +
+ Back from the dead oregano +
+ Shooting a temptation steak +
+ The Invisibles ch33z-1t and gir +
+ T-Files tildaq +
+ +
§+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++¡contents¡++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§
<cyb3rmonk> Well I'll come back later tonight when people finish masturbating
---------------
: Brief Words :
: from gir :
---------------
I think this issue is packed so full that you could smoke it for hours on end
and the quality would not degrade at all!! (You see that's because if you
tried to smoke something that was on the Internet you'd be one) unsuccessful
and two) the quality of this text would remain unfucked up.) That said and
out of the way, angstmonster headquarters have been shifted around temporarily
to allow for me as an editor to get my official schooling on. Since this
high education thing is important in the long run that is life, we may see the
slow decline of the biweekly release angstmonster we all know and love. But,
if the submissions remain this plentiful, I could easily get away with not
contributing and still provide everyone out there in textfile land with some of
my own personal content. The thought of not being able to provide at least
one file from yours truly for every other week of the learnin' year put me
under great stress. In fact, the stress was so great that it prevented me from
going to any of my classes the first week of school. I was afraid to live in a
world in which I couldn't provide any sort of amusement to people I'd never
met. But when you come around to reading the files I wrote (or help write) for
this installment, you'll see how much wear and tear of stress did to me.
I think I might be dying.
But then again, I think it's just my tummy telling me I should get some food.
Normally, that wouldn't be a problem but the turntable on my microwave got
broke during the moving of angstmonster's base of operations and believe it or
not the only plates I have with me ARE NOT MICROWAVEABLE SAFE!
This situation calls for a fruitcup. If you are unlike I and do not posses a
fruitcup for consumptions sake, read this issue of angstmonster instead. It's
like a fruitcup full of fart jokes and if there were such a fruit cup in
existence in edible form, it'd be my favorite...
------------------
: A day in the :
: life of a fart :
: by ch33z-1t :
: and tildaq :
------------------
<ch33z-1t> DAY IN THE LIFE OF A FART!!!!
<tildaq> Twelve gnomes to every fart.
<ch33z-1t> First things first, for all intensive purposes a fart will be
thought of as a group of gnomes.
<ch33z-1t> The fart gets up very early in the morning.
<tildaq> Farts stink really bad.
<ch33z-1t> After stinking some, they go down to HQ FART, and see what time the
fart is supposed to leave the anus.
<tildaq> They smell like rotten, rotting heads.
<ch33z-1t> After smelling some more, the fart gets prepared for launch
sequence.
<tildaq> This is the part of the day that is the most important.
<ch33z-1t> See this fart is lucky, but unlucky, they finish their job quickly
because they are the first fart of the day. Expecting to launch in
3 minutes.
<tildaq> If just ONE gnome is a retard, the whole fart could smell good, and
that would be terrible.
<ch33z-1t> Unfortunately there is a retard gnome, that showered this morning.
<tildaq> In a case such as this, a replacement gnome is necessary.
<ch33z-1t> But with the stringent schedule, there is no time to get a stinky
gnome in there.
<tildaq> Farts smell like shit.
<ch33z-1t> But not this fart, it will smell good because of the retard gnome.
<tildaq> "KILL THE RETARD!" the other eleven gnomes kept chanting!
<ch33z-1t> The leader wants to, but knows a successful fart MUST have 12
gnomes.
<tildaq> They attempted to proceed.
<ch33z-1t> But the retard was trying to push the fart out of the mouth.
<tildaq> A lasso kept the retard in line temporarily.
<tildaq> like a "retard leash"
<ch33z-1t> He tries to run about and ends up ripping the lasso completely.
<tildaq> The leader of the fart gnomes says to the vice gnome, "I don't think
we can do it! This one is wild!"
<ch33z-1t> The vice says "We must we are already pushing through the rectal
cavity!!"
<tildaq> 7 gnomes slipped on some vaseline that was previously inserted through
the anus
<ch33z-1t> This caused the whole fart launch sequence to disrupt
<tildaq> Luckily it was a success, the air smelled like eggs now.
<ch33z-1t> Nice fresh scrambled eggs, with cheese and ham in them.
<tildaq> Not to mention a slight hint of onions.
<tildaq> Greasy fucking onions and garlic.
<ch33z-1t> The fart wafts over to the owner's girlfriend
<tildaq> "What in the hell is that cooking....oh....OH....THAT'S A FART ISN'T
IT!" she says
<ch33z-1t> "Oh my, I have never wanted to suck your dick more than I do now."
<tildaq> She had a heart attack and died.
<ch33z-1t> THE END!!!
-------------------------
: This is not a seminar :
: by steak :
-------------------------
Fight Club, it was a good movie, that one fact is a known truth. It had a good
premise, a good story line, a good twist at the end, all elements that make up
a good movie. It had a lead character that the average Joe could identify with,
a character that the same average Joe could use to rebel against the corporate
fat cats, and it had fighting, which was something that the average Joe,
despite millions of years of evolution was very, very interested in.
Fighting, the main pastime of male dominated human history, the result of far
to much testosterone in the gene pool. Fighting has always been something that
should have been a last resort, something that is done only after all other
diplomatic options have been exhausted.
But for some stupid reason it has always been looked upon as heroic and
valiant. You can see the same thing happening today in modern world politics,
nations go to war against each other because they don't like to the idea that
they might just not be the best things since sliced bread.
It's sad it's true, but I didn't fire up my word processor to talk politics,
I'm talking about that 1999 film, and the effect that it has had as a movie on
most of the male population of the world that have seen it.
Every single male at some point, after seeing that movie hits upon the idea of
starting his very own fight club, they see Brad Pitt up there on the big screen
beating the shit out of some poor unsuspecting fool, it's funny, they laugh,
it's slapstick and for some reason they think that this type of slapstick can
be transposed into the real world.
And that's when it happens, they get this mind set, like they have found some
secret underground elite ideal that nobody else in the world has hit upon
before, they feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy, they feel good kidding
themselves that they might be unstable and at any moment the calm exterior
could slip away and leave a ravenous beast underneath ready to start anything
and anyone, without a fear in the world. They feel like they are on the top of
the male domination ladder.
They think they have found some deeper meaning in fighting, that they have
somehow managed to exceed the rest of the world because they feel that it is
possible they could con themselves into doing on a regular basis what most
people spend a lifetime avoiding. They feel privileged, untouchable, and hard,
that is until they come to realise one carnal truth.
The truth being that there is a good reason why people avoid fighting like they
avoid smallpox infected food, because it bloody well hurts. That and the fact
the very real bodily injury can, and often does occur. And I'm not talking
about the ketchup and black marker pen that Edward Norton had all over his face
throughout the movie.
This is the principle reason why most amateur fight clubs only last a few
weeks, the would-be leader gets a black eye or a broken rib and decides that
there are other, better, much less painful ways of kidding yourself into
believing that you are one of a privileged few.
How do I know these things? Who am I to be lecturing you in an anti-fighting
text file? Did I ever say that I never tried exactly the same thing I am
condemning in this very text file? No I didn't.
Given a long enough timeline, every one will, at some point try to imitate
Tyler Durden.
----------------------
: Youth's Perception :
: by neldrin :
----------------------
Aunt Jemima in the kitchen
eggs on the stove
father on the front step
bread by the loaf
then came the fires
and the hoods
and the cold
and now Aunt Jemima can't work on the stove
Pain in the eyes of cracked old skin
tears at my feet as soldiers marched in
father at the front step
while we hid in the cellar
Screams from Jemima as Father falls down
racing into the woods to avoid being drowned
everything is gone, ruined and old
now that people can't be bought or sold
--------------------------------
: Men seeking Unresponsive Men :
: A Complaint from :
: 1st Level Fighter :
--------------------------------
It's not fair. I suppose I should be thankful that I wasn't born
totally gay. If such were the case, I would have minimal options. I
really shouldn't be so irritated by my situation, since women are
available to me still. A guy who's "all the way" gay would have no
such backup option.
What am I complaining about? I have a fetish for skinheads.
Before you all gasp in horror, allow me to explain. I do not have a
hard-on for hate-crime, nor a nice one for Nazis. See, skinheads are
a subdivision of the punk rock scene, and come in three main flavors.
You've got your basic skin, who drinks a lot (he loves Guinnes), has
a crappy job (all the more right to complain about workers' rights),
boots, braces (suspenders), and little or no hair. These fellows
tend to be patriotic, angry, somewhat violent, and vocal supporters
of the rights of the common man and the working class. They're often
lumped together into the punk subdivision of "Oi" punk. For the
record, "Oi" is what they say in the UK & Australia instead of "hey",
and this word has a place in the lyrics of bands like The Business,
Blitz, Resilience, The Oppressed, and others.
Second, you have the vanishing breed known as SHARPs, or "Skin
Heads Against Racial Prejudice". These guys are basically skinheads
with a cause: they do what they can to work against The Klan, Nazism,
and all other forms of racist and ethnic-separatist action. Naturally,
this is a multi-racial breed of punk. An interesting note: SHARPs may
appear at shows and other events where image is important wearing
suits instead of the more functional clothing typical of basic skins.
The idea here is that if one looks "sharp" in a snazzy suit, one will
present oneself as a SHARP. Again, I'm sad to say, these guys are not
the most numerous of subcultures anymore, assuming they were ever
numerous to begin with.
Third, we come to the type of skin most people think of when they
hear the word "skinhead": the racist. Whether Neo-Nazi, Klansman, or
Hammerskin, these bastards often stand out pretty clearly in a crowd.
Nazi gear, Ku Klux Klan attire, Confederate flags, and clearly hateful
or discriminatory slogans give them away, assuming they desire to be
recognized for what they are. However, they have enough sense to not
dress in such a manner just all the time; they save their hate-clothes
for public appearances and rallies. These fuckers are a good example of
"freedom of speech" pushed too far. You'll note that it's illegal to do
anything like form such a group as this in Canada, Germany, and other
places. It's the unblinking idealism of American freedom that we can
blame for this little oversight in our own culture.
In any case, I have a problem. You see, I am a 19-year-old bisexual
man, and I think that skinheads have a look to them that's very pretty.
Maybe attractive is a better word to use, but whatever. Something about
the exposed scalp, the (hopefully) fit and muscular frame, and the combo
of suspenders, white tee shirts, and fatigue pants draws me ever closer
to this obscure little subculture, and probably ever closer to getting
my ass kicked.
As many of you know, the typical American (heterosexual) male is nice
enough in passing, but is fearful of intimacy. When unwanted intimacy is
presented to him, such as an unattractive woman or another male, he may
react with avoidance, confusion, or even violence. It's often the latter
that occurs, or at least anger and angry words, when a man approaches a
hetero male with hopes of affection. This occurs despite the fact that a
simple "no, thanks" is almost always enough to get the message across. If
it's not, then the inquiring man in question is no better than the very
people who call him "fag", "queer", or other, loving epithets.
And, as many of you punkers know, skinheads are well known (perhaps even
proud) to be rather violent. If not necessarily angry or violent fellows,
it's often the consensus that skinheads are a bit rough for your non-skin
of average body size. I'm only 5'8'' and 145 lbs., myself, so a charge of
three six-foot-plus skinheads with arms locked is enough to knock me down
regardless of what I want. There's also a big fascination with fighting in
the lyrics of a lot of Oi band songs, which naturally filters down into the
behavior of Oi punks.
A lot of hetero women out there have crushes on men who won't respond in
kind. That's what this little fascination of mine is like, but worse due to
the likelihood of bodily threats. I've never yet met a skinhead who is a
fan of boy-on-boy action, and I suppose I should give up on this fetish of
mine. But I'm not one to listen to reason, let alone readily apparent fact.
Someday, I know in my heart, Vin Diesel will share breakfast with me. Maybe
then I'll eat lunch with the lead guitarist from Alleged Bricks, too. You
know, since those Baltimore rockers need their sleep and all.
Now the shameless self-plug: if you're gay or bisexual and a fan of punk
rock, jackboots, and a trim, low-maintenance hairstyle, drop me a line. You
can talk to gir about contact information. Oh, and if you're a gay or bi
military man, that'll do just fine, too.
Yeah, right.
X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X
!!!IT WAS THE CLAPPING THAT GOT ME STARTED!!!
<girbles> love
<girbles> is like a thousand white doves
<girbles> straight from the heart of prince
<girbles> and his sexual past tense
<girbles> =]
!!!IT WAS THE CLAPPING THAT GOT ME STARTED!!!
X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X
----------------
: 0-day Africa :
: by koolpeith :
----------------
A few weeks ago I went on two consecutive airplane rides. They were very
very long. When I stepped off the second plane ride, I found myself in
Nairobi, Kenya. I was freakin' south of the Equator, dude. The first thing
that honestly came to my mind was "I gotta flush a toilet." The purpose of
this trip to Africa was to obtain lots of rare pictures of game; Lion,
Leopard, Elephant, Rhino, e.t.c. and have a gigantic 0-day picture release
on my stupid FTP. Yeah, I also got to experience Africa and all its
ethnicity through sight, sound, conversation, and best of all, food. Dude,
you don't know what yummy is until you've had a plate of Thompson's Gazelle,
or even a Zebra steak. Marinate it just right, a little bit of gravy, add
an uber-buttery baked potato and you could deter me from a night of hot sex,
or even a CS LAN party! The first week I spent in Africa was in and around
Nairobi. Its really not as hot as you might think, and the temperature
holds constant pretty much year round. This is a good thing if you live at
the equator. A bad thing about living at the equator is that you won't have
snow days, and without snow days I can't practice my calligraphy. Hey you
guys wanna know a secret? There are a lot of black people in Africa.
Actually, the people were very nice on the whole. For a population living
in as much poverty as they are, the Kenyans are very positive, optimistic,
and welcoming. There was an election whilst I was in the country, so I'm
sure the atmosphere was uplifted by the anticipation, but I still think
that compared to Americans, Kenyans might have more content lives. One of
the coolest thing of seeing a completely new country is seeing how other
cultures are faring, and based on what I saw, our aggresively materialistic
culture is failing us all. In America, everyone is a stockbroker making a
little over 100k a year and dying at the age of 67 because of heart
complications due to high blood pressure and cholesterol building up through
years of stressful day trading. In Nairobi I saw 80 year old men who looked
fitter than anyone at my school (although thats not saying much if you know
where I go to school); they hauled carts full of construction materials,
supplies, food, whatever.
What your probably waiting for is an 0-day account of my two-day safari.
Yeah, its hella short; two years ago I was in Botswana and did a week long
safari. It rocked, but in two days I saw more game than I could dream of in
the Masai Mara of Kenya. Unfortunately, I already gave an account of all
the furry animals like three days ago, so you can't have an 0-day summary.
Maybe if I hadn't been so drunk the whole time I would've remembered where
I was, what I saw, and what happened, aside from me somehow loosing a piece
of my camera and a Hippo eating that piece. Oh yeah, the other thing I
remember was the earthquake. On the last morning in the safari camp there
was an earthquake at 6 in the morning. It was pretty badass. It would have
been cooler if I was squatting on the toilet, but I suppose brushing my
teeth will have to do. One piece of advice I have for everyone traveling to
a foreign country is this: bring some fucking Pepto-Bismol, a priest, and a
cork. I have never shat at such a high velocity, or with such a watery
substance as I did in my first few days in Africa. Don't drink the water.
Oh, FYI, thanks to me there is "I don't have to explain my art to you.
www.angstmonster.org" carved into a church pieu (or however you spell it) in
Nanyuki. That is all.
-------------------------
: FUCK YOU GOLDEN GIRLS :
: by guru :
-------------------------
(DEDICATED TO MY ROOM MATE)
WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THIS SHIT?!?!?! THE FUCKIN' GOLDEN GIRLS?!?!?
WHO IN THERE RIGHT MIND WOULD WATCH THIS FUCKIN SHOW?!!?!?!? THE SHOW
SUCKS. THERE IS NOT A FUCKING THING THAT LOOKS GOOD ABOUT IT. I MEAN,
IT'S ABOUT OLD WOMEN THAT JUST SIT AROUND IN A HOUSE TOGETHER. WHAT
KIND OF ADVENTURES DO THEY HAVE? IS IT LIKE "I HAVE TO GET TO THE
BATHROOM, AND HOPE I DON'T THROW OUT MY HIP." I MEAN, FOR WOMEN TO
WATCH THIS SHIT, THAT'S BORDERLINE. BUT FOR A FUCKIN' GUY TO WATCH THIS
SHIT, HE'S A BIG FUCKIN' FLAMER. YOU KNOW THIS IS A SHOW FOR WOMEN
BECAUSE IT'S ON LIFETIME: TELEVISION FOR WOMEN. GET THE FUCKIN HINT!!!
IT SAYS "FOR WOMEN"!!! AND THE ONLY GOOD THING THAT CAME OUT OF
LIFETIME WAS UNSOLVED MYSTERIES.
AND CAN PLEASE SOMEONE TELL ME THIS, WHAT DOES A SIX FOOT TALL BLACK
MAN RELATE TO GOLDEN GIRLS?!?!?! WHY COULDN'T MY ROOM MATE WATCH BET
LIKE A NORMAL BLACK PERSON?!?!?! AND WHY THE FUCK IS HE USING MY TV TO
WATCH THAT SHIT?!!?! YOU ARE POISONING MY TV!YOU MAKE ME WISH I NEVER
HAD A TV! AND STOP FUCKING RECORDING IT. HOW FUCKING INCONSIDERATE DO
YOU HAVE TO BE FOR ME TO GO THROUGH ALL THE TROUBLE TO DELETING THE
STATION AND HIDING THE REMOTE AND YOU KEEP WATCHING THAT SHIT WHILE I'M
TRYING TO FUCKING SLEEP?! EVEN AFTER I DELETED THE CHANNEL FROM THE
TV'S MEMORY, HE ALWAYS MANAGES TO WATCH THAT FUCKIN' CHANNEL.NO MAN
SHOULD BE WATCHING THIS FUCKING SHOW. WAIT A MINUTE, LET ME RESTATE
THAT, NO ONE SHOULD BE WATCHING THIS FUCKING SHOW!!!
THAT "WOMAN" LOOKS LIKE A MAN (ON THE RIGHT). I THINK THAT THE GOLDEN
GIRLS SHOULD BE TITLED "THE WOMAN THAT LOOKS LIKE A MAN AND OLD
CHICKS." I MEAN, WHY DOES THIS WOMAN LOOK SO MUCH LIKE A MAN AND SOUNDS
LIKE ONE TOO?! FUCK THE GOLDEN GIRLS. THEIR CREATOR IS A FUCKIN MORON.
AND FUCK ALL OF YOU PEOPLE THAT WATCH THIS SHOW, UNLESS YOU ARE AN OLD
WOMAN (THEY ARE ALLOWED TO WATCH THAT SHIT CAUSE THEY CAN RELATE)."OH
NO, MY HIP WENT OUT AGAIN!" FUCK YOU GOLDEN GIRLS!!!
(visual stimulation for this article can be found in the media section of
angstmonster's site -gir)
-----------------
: Picture Pages :
: and Stuff :
: by gir :
-----------------
_______________________ This picture belongs to Sara. The circumstances by
/¤.....................¤\ which she acquired the picture are rather fuzzy and
|........__ . __........| most people had learned not to ask about it. It
|......./ *\./* \.......| wasn't that Sara was afraid of divulging the origin
|.......| \/.\/ |.......| of her favorite painting ever, the story just
|.......| |...| |.......| happened to be long and boring. Most people didn't
|....../ \---/ \......| want to KNOW where she got the painting, they just
|.../\/__/_\_/_\__\/\...| wanted to know who painted it. They wanted to award
|...|ö| \ / \ / |ö|...| Sara points based on the creator of the painting, so
|...\/\ * * /\/...| they might know how much she was worth. As Sara
|......| |\/|\/| |......| knew, she wasn't worth very much. Most people
|......| |`_^_`| |......| aren't worth anything these days. It's their
|......| |.....| |......| output that has value, their creations. In some
|.....//|\\.|.//|\\.....| circles, excrement had a higher value than this
|.....\\v//...\\v//.....| painting, knowledge, or anything else that you and I
|......"."....."."......| might value more than our own poopie. But that is
\¤.....................¤/ not what's important to us at the moment, no reader,
----------------------- it is the story of this painting that interests you.
I can tell you aren't the type to award points, because you understand the
points aren't anyone's to reward. As a result of knowing this, I can't tell
you the name of the painter for doing so might create in you a need to
establish a point system that might see Sara as unfit for our company. Seeing
how Sara is a very close friend of mine, that won't do. You see, I've sworn to
protect her in anyway that I can because she is a close friend. 'Round here
that's what close friends do for one another. We watch over each other and
one another's creations.
/\
\ \ /\ This is a picture of me. It's actually on the reverse of
\ \ /\ \ the painting Sara holds so near and dear to her. My name
\ \ / /\/ is (foo)² Most of my life has been spent as guardian to
\ \_/ / Sara and her painting. You see I used to be a mere
/ ¡ \ stuffed bunny until one day, this crazy scientist man
_{-----}_ decided that in such a crazed world where he could wonder
/ \ ö / \ around and create things like me, that Sara would need a
/ \ / \ protector. He knew that one day that all the crazies like
/ /| \_/ |\ \ him would have to be stopped, so in a fit of
/ / | | \ \ self-fulfilling prophecy and destruction, I was created by
(88) / /\_/\ \ (88) this mad scientist.
\ \ / /
____ \ \ / / ____ Neither Sara nor I have seen this mad scientist since the
/ __ \/ / \ \/ __ \ day I was created. Now that I think about it, I had a
\______/ \______/ life before I was "created" and it bothers me that people
would doubt my existence before a mad scientist touched me with his magical
mad scientist wand. It's not like mad scientists even possess wands, unless
they are really magic users left over from the long long ago times when you
know, they used to play D&D and got the notion stuck in their head that they
really were magicians. Alchemy is yesteryear's Chemistry, so who's to say that
mad scientists aren't really mad wizards? If I was a wizard and immortal at
that, I'd be kinda mad that people didn't believe I was a wizard and instead
called me a scientist. Some people get really upset about being called
scientists. Especially wizards.
After much discussion one night, Sara and I concluded that the mad scientist
who created me was in fact a wizard. However he wasn't a very powerful or good
wizard considering he tried to create me, the stuffed bunny, who at the time
was very well alive and active. (Again, there is stipulation as to whether or
not a stuffed bunny can be alive and active, but if I wasn't able to, how could
I be telling my story right now? Yeah, you think it's because of the mad
scientist wizard, don't you? If some nut case like that could distribute soul
and consciousness at whim, don't you think our world would be a little more
populated?)
\|/\|/ I found this frog dead at my feet. I was supposed to meet him
// \\ for a drink late at night a few months ago. We were planning to
// __ \\ talk about the existence of wizards as modern day mad scientists.
\\/ \// Sara was sick at home, so after I tended to her I went to meet
\____/ this frog at a location previously arranged through secure lines of
communication. Divulging that information would be like telling you who made
Sara's favorite picture, it's not a piece of information you as an intelligent
reader care about at all, thus it is not important. Do not allow yourself to
be distracted by the details, rather admire the creation for what it is. After
all, if you really cared about the details of the painting you'd already know
that it cost my friend the frog his life.
At this point in time, it's hard to say if a mad scientist was involved or not.
It might've been YOU! YES YOU READER! YOU ARE TRYING TO MESS UP MY STORY BY
KILLING ONE OF THE CHARACTERS BEFORE HE'S INTRODUCED BECAUSE YOU'RE MAD THAT
I WON'T TELL YOU WHO PAINTED THAT PICTURE THAT SARA LOVES SO MUCH! YOU KIDS
AND YOUR INTERACTION! ALWAYS GETTING INVOLVED, DOING YOUR PART TO HELP OUT
ALRIGHT! WELL I TELL YOU WHAT...
All I know is that I'm not taking any chances next time I see someone with a
wand. Mad scientists are a force not to be reckoned with, whether they be
wizards or not.
----------------------
: Interview with the :
: BIGGEST DOUCHE of :
: 2002 :
: by ch33z-1t :
----------------------
"I hate the angstmonster. I hate Swedish people, except hockey players living
in the United States. You're all a bunch of socialist pussies. Piss off you
dumb ass communists. Your women aren't as hot as you think they are. Fuck off
ch33z-1t and fuck off gir. Move to Sweden if you think its so damn great.
See if any of us back home actually miss you. The real douche is whoever
created angstmonster, gay pussy. I want to fuck your little brother AND OR
sister right in the ear, right in front of your face."
-Eric Major, Biggest Douche of 2002.
Ch33z-1t: Can I get a comment to put in Angstmonster?
Eric Major: Thank you all.
Eric Major: You're all welcome to live in my garage in 40 years.
Ch33z-1t: What are you going to do now that you are the biggest douche?
Eric Major: Jack it, fast and hard.
Ch33z-1t: Are you going to strive to become it again in 2003?
Eric Major: We'll see Cheez, it was tough on me this year.
Eric Major: With the penis injury and all.
Eric Major: and I have a bonus in my contract so we'll see.
Ch33z-1t: What does the phrase "a eleven" mean to you?
Eric Major: Well Cheez, it means that I'd like to feed all the starving
children in Nairobi and Ethiopia "a eleven" times a day.
Ch33z-1t: If you could solve one world problem, with you now being the biggest
douche I would assume you could, what would it be?
Eric Major: Chaffing after whacking it too much.
Eric Major: Quickly.
Ch33z-1t: Wow!
Ch33z-1t: What a brilliant answer.
Eric Major: Thank you.
Ch33z-1t: Are there any people that influenced you?
Eric Major: Matt Kurz, he showed me that NAMBLA isn't just about having sex
with young boys - rather, its a bond that both partners in the relationship
share and benefit mutually
Ch33z-1t: anyone else?
Eric Major: My dad, he gave me my penis.
Ch33z-1t: What a great man.
Eric Major: Indeed.
Ch33z-1t: Can we expect a military stint after college, you know to become
Major Major?
Eric Major: Probably not Cheez, by then I will have hoped to hit it big in the
porn industry having sex with old women.
Ch33z-1t: Would you like to be in a movie about zombie sex slaves?
Eric Major: Will there be pooping in the mouth?
Ch33z-1t: You could be our token black man.
Ch33z-1t: If you can find a chick to poop in your mouth.
Eric Major: I cant supply the chick.
Ch33z-1t: Will you be the token black man?
Eric Major: No, I hate black people.
Eric Major: Even though I like the token black guy.
Ch33z-1t: is there any other races you don't like?
Eric Major: Chinese, Japanese, Taiwanese, mainly all of Asia, and then there's
Europe, they're out. South America - gone; Africa - we've already talked about
that; and lastly - New Yorkers, they live in a city that smells like urine.
Ch33z-1t: Well thank you Mr. Major.
Eric Major: No problem, my pleasure.
X-cDc-X-cDc-X-cDc-WISDOM-X-cDc-X-cDc-X
"Cool people get fucked-up alone.
Don't we have a t-file about that?"
-Grandmaster Ratte of the cDc
X-cDc-X-cDc-X-cDc-WISDOM-X-cDc-X-cDc-X
--------------------
: My day at school :
: by cyb3rmonk :
--------------------
It was second period and we went to the "cafetorium" If hell existed, it
couldn't be worse then this.
I seat myself in a bench, among with other students. There was a southern
asian student sitting to my right, another chick on my left.
I stared blankly at the place. In the cafetorium, lay a pool of
adolescents. Mostly niners and teners.
A group of losers sits behind me. Yes, it was depressing. Yes, it was
wasting my time. Yes, I'm sitting here like a fucking moron, and I am
about to watch a bunch of idiots jumping around the stage and perhaps
grind their pelvis against each other.
Beside me, Tanya (its a pseudonym to protect myself from her raging
pelvis) sat there, twirling and whirling her hair. Her breasts budged out
because of her tight white shirt. Her breasts wasn't the only thing
budging. The thing between her legs was forming a shape, like a valley
with a river in the middle. So much for her tight pants. She wore 3 inch
high phat form shoes. Another average chick, falling for the fashion
trend.
She continues to twirl her hair while I stared at her. It wasn't because
she's hot or I'm going to tell her she's exposing her "valley". I stared
at her because shes a moron. Another parasite in this planet.
After sitting around and wasting 15 minutes of my life, the show starts.
The pool of teens cheered. I didn't.
An MC went out. She was a Caucasians chick. She taps on the microphone
and says, ssssshhh. The noise of the crowd didn't die down. Again, she
says, sssssh.
I thought she was convincing a toddler to go pee pee for a second.
"Hi. I'm your MC for today. And this performance was worked very hard by
the Dance Club. Please give it up!" She says. The crowd cheers. The
little ugly girls bounce on their seats. The asshole in front of me
hoots. Its all good.
For the next one hour and a half, I had to undergo mental pain. Really, I
did.
They first performance... I kind of forgot. I was buried under my arms,
crying softly to myself. When I did perk up and peep at the stage, I saw
this:
A couple dressed up in those mexican cloth grinds their asses together. I
was unable to distinguish the gender, because that chick was too muscular
to be a guy. She had more muscle then Jeffery Andrews. The dancer spins
around and grind their pelvis together. They continue to do this for five
minutes.
They crowd roared.
I glanced to my right, and there was the girl, still with her valley
exposed and breasts budging. I glance back and see horny kids standing
up, hoping to have a better view of the sexing dancers. I'm scared. I
really am.
Now in the stage, the male dancer is carrying the female dancer in
circles. He loop one hand under her thigh and the other around her waist.
Remove their clothes and you got softcore porn.
It's all about exposing their asses and tits. There isn't any talent. The
dances where badly choreograph and the dancers had no coordination. And
every scene involved shaking asses, taunting and blobbing their hands in
the air. Heck, there was a fighting part. Two dancers "fake" fight, to
see who gets to bang the ugly chick first.
And here I am, sitting like a fucking moron.
The Tango dance wasn't THAT bad compare to this:
A female dancer is in a sitting position when the certain pulls open. A
slow music is played when she dances. She sits in the floor, pretending
to be emotional. She rubs her stomach, then moves her hand up towards her
breasts. She rubs it gingerly. I shuddered. For the next five minutes,
she moved around the stage, twirling in circles and blobbing her hands in
the air. She also shook her ass a few times.
The little boys in the audience aww and ooh when she shook her firm
buttock. You can her butt cheeks separately. I was like, Jesus. I wanted
to throw my shoes at her, I really do. Or at least pork her.
The bell rings. The show is FINALLY over.
What did I do to deserve this? Do not know.
°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°
' A THOUGHT ON THE AGIN' PROCESS '
°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°
"Agin' is a disease. Maybe disease is natural, but health is natural, too,
and a hell of a heap more desirable. Rust is natural, wouldn't you say? But
rust can be prevented. And if you don't be preventin' it, it will ruin your
machinery. 'Tis the same with agin'. Your man ages ebcause he lets his body
rust."
-Dr. Wiggs Dannyboy
°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°
' A THOUGHT ON THE AGIN' PROCESS '
°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°
----------------------
: back from the dead :
: by oregano :
----------------------
My feet are webbed. I bet gir never told you that.
Or that I have powerful lungs. I can hold my breath
for almost two minutes. Did gir tell you that? No he
did not. Back in Vietnam I would sleep underwater, a
hollowed out reed would stick out of the water to get
air to my lungs, and I would sleep quietly away from
the Cong.
Okay, maybe it is not *my* feet which are webbed. But
Dan Ackroyd's feet are. And while I can only hold my
breath for about a minute I did once touch an airplane
under 30 feet of water in a free dive. That means
without an oxygen tank. I am not old enough for
Vietnam and I never sleep.
Okay, I do sleep, sometimes, in fact I sleep a lot, 9
hours a night. You people are taking all the fun out
of this by making me tell the truth, but now we are on
level ground. Now I can tell the truth of how gir
killed me off and then begged me to come back to life
and save the ailing angstmonster.org franchise.
Well, the franchise was not really ailing, and I still
contributed to it through my tone poetry which
overtakes me from time to time on IRC. Wait, a
digression.
To say "from time to time" in Spanish you say "de vez
en cuando." But if you try to translate the Spanish
into English it comes out "of time in when." WTF?
You know? What were the Spaniards thinking when they
came up with that?
Angstmonster was ailing, it needs to chew on the bones
of young virgins to feed its blood lust. The
angstmonster never rests and there I was in the
bunker, just me and hax0rcat with the angstmonster
pounding on the door. Or the roof, it being a bunker.
The angstmonster had its fists of rage and each blow
to the bunker roof sent reverberations not only
through the ground but through time: both forward and
back.
Okay, I am off the subject, really what happened was
that I had an idea for a sock puppet story, but I did
not have the desire to write it all, so I sent the
story idea to gir and he wrote it a lot different than
I would have -- in fact so different that I might
write the original story and submit it (which is kind
of like making gir eat his own feces, like in American
Psycho) -- and then he killed me off.
I think he killed me off to show his disapproval of my
not writing the story. But we shall never know. Gir
won't even tell me his mother's maiden name. Anyway,
where was I? Oh right, in the bunker.
Hax0rcat escaped through a fissure in the earth and
got help, a giant bucket of distilled water which he
threw on the angstmonster with one of those trucks you
see on The Learning Channel that carry coal out of
strip mines. The angstmonster was vanquished and ran
off in pain, freeing me to write this, the truth,
about my so-called death.
Wait, there is no hax0rcat. There is a photo of
hax0rcat, but that is not the real hax0rcat. Hax0rcat
never existed. The photo is really just a some cat
with a keyboard digitally edited to look like it was
busting stuff up.
too many words.
And that is the story of my death and my return to
life and how hax0rcat existed then ceased to exist.
The end
----------------
: Shooting :
: a temptation :
: by steak :
----------------
(The following story by steak is the second part of a much bigger story. If
you have not read the first part, you must stop right here and do one of two
things: either read the first part of the story found in the latest issue
of the Neo-ComIntern <http://www.neo-comintern.com/archives/ncom223.txt> or
skip over this story and keep reading through your regularly scheduled
angstmonster. However, we suggest you read the first part of the story rather
than skip over the story. Steak's an entertaining writer who happens to get
himself in all sorts of interesting situations, especially since the demise of
his own ezine Addendum. Being that steak is a friend of mine, I will hunt you
down and kill you if you don't read his story. -gir)
Eggs. Eggs were the only things that were going through my mind. I don't know
why, it was just all I could think of. I couldn't get the bloody things out of
my head. Boiled eggs, having their shells cracked off was a particular thought
that I just couldn't shake.
It had been a while since that fateful day in my life when most of the people I
had known had been swapped for evil aliens or government operatives and started
talking gibberish to me for the soul reason of getting me away from my zine,
which had been getting too close to the truth.
My spasmodic departure from my old life, the liquidation of addendum, the
blabbering idiots that had caused me so much grief and my betrayal of First man
were now all but distant memories, things that had happened months ago, things
that were no longer important.
I had quickly found myself a free hotel room, thanks to a contact I had made
back in the bizz when I was only slightly younger and I was presently using it
to lay low in for a while. I had purchased a laptop computer to write my
articles on and a stable Internet connection to send my writings to the
appropriate underground publications.
They were not likely to find me for a little while. At least I could stay here
and just ignore the passing world outside, pay my bills regularly and pretend
that what ever was happening really wasn't.
But I was bored; sitting on your own in a hotel room for weeks at a time is not
really the most intense thing you can do with your life. I was lying down face
up on my couch, half naked with the television on. Some cable channel was
blaring out a rock concert,
I wasn't really paying much attention, the lead singers bust was the only
thing interesting enough to raise my awareness. You see it's so hard to care
about much when it's blistering hot, as it was that day. The curtains were open
and the sun was shining through the bay door windows that looked out over the
bay side pool. One thing that could be said for the day though was that the
light levels were perfect, the sun was shingling wonderfully giving the whole
place a sort of sunbaked appearance, like everything had been put in the oven
for exactly the right amount of time.
I was watching a pair of cats fight over a dead mouse when I was interrupted by
the phone, which rang, loudly.
I groaned at the thing, which didn't stop ringing, reluctantly I forced my
body into an upward walking position and made my way over to the piece of
plastic that was flashing and making a noise. I bent down and grabbed at the
handset. Slamming it against the side of my head, I yawned as I spoke.
"Yeah? Yeah? Hello?" I asked
"Dude!" It was Goat "I've got something to tell you!"
"Hey man, it sounds like your driving. Are you driving while making a
mobile phone call? You know that's extremely dangerous!"
"What? Look don't worry about that, listen, there's going to be this
big drug bust happening today, in your area, I picked up news of it on my
emergency signal channel scanner. I'm on my way over, get your laptop and meet
me out the front of your place"
Before he had a chance to say goodbye I had hung up. I gathered my laptop, tape
recorder, jacket, pens and paper, and ran out the front just as my friend came
driving round the corner.
The car pulled up and I jumped in the passenger seat.
"Have you got your video camera?" I asked
He held up the instrument in my face
"Check, now those cops are already on their way, if we don't follow
suit soon we're going to miss em"
"Ok" I said, "lets go"
We drove around the block for a little while until we found the street we were
looking for and we swerved into it just in time to see the first carload of
pigs drive up to the front door of a suburban house and run up to the front
door. The door was red...I was taking notes with my laptop.
Goat pointed his camera and started recording the scene as it was happening, we
would later use this to put together an article. I got out of the car to try
and see if I couldn't get a closer look at the action, but some mean tempered
cop got in my way and urged me back.
Discontent with not being given a good view I crept around to see if I
couldn't find somewhere closer but more out of the way, I found a place to
crouch behind a wall and take some verbal dictation notes.
The cops kicked the door in, it was easy from where I was standing to make out
exactly what was going on. I imagined that I was getting a better view than
Goat back in the car and wished I had bought him or his video camera along to
record the action I was witnessing.
The raid didn't last very long, there were some sounds of confusion and anger
coming from the inside residence, then some authoritarian noises and then
silence. Soon after the suspects were bought out, one by one and loaded into
the back of a dimmy van with 'POLICE' written along the side in day glow blue
letters. The doors were shut and locked and the special ops guys gave each
other smug looks and pats on the back.
Suddenly there was a noise, the front door to the house broke open and a masked
man emerged carrying a shotgun, he screamed and lunged at the cops with the
gun. In the preceding fight three cops lost their lives, two were injured and
the gunman went down in a hail of law enforcement issued bullets.
I couldn't believe what I had just seen, it had all kind of happened in slow
motion, as if it wasn't real. I was still taking in the last of the images
when I noticed that someone was shouting at me, trying to get my attention.
This new image, the image of a policeman, was slowly registering on my visual
cortex. The image was still shouting, I started making out what it was they were
saying,
"Are you even listening to a bloody word I'm saying? Or is it going in
one ear and out the other?"
"Sorry, what?" I blurted out
"This is a restricted area, what are you doing here?"
"I'm, err writing a textfile"
"A textfile? What the bloody hell is a textfile?"
"It's an article...a sort of report type thing"
The police man looked at me with a very strange look that I was not all too
flattered to receive.
"What the hell could you be writing an article on here?!"
"On what just happened...you know the drug bust, the shooting"
"The shooting" mused the cop "Did you see what happened?"
"Yeah, in full view, was pretty coo- I mean horrific"
"Would you mind coming down to the station to answer a few questions?"
I didn't feel like taking a trip to any cop shop right at the moment, I have
had bad experiences with cops in the past you see, especially when I was the
victim and was trying to use the cops for what it is they were actually there
for, to solve crimes.
"Look I'd rather not, I've got textfiles, articles and other things
to write. If it's all the same to you I think I'd rather just go home, and
try to come to grips with the terrible events I have witnessed here today. To
try and rebuild some strange representation of the life I lead before the
procedures that I have seen today scared and warped my fragile naive mind
forever."
I really should have gone to acting classes; I always thought I might have been
able to make it as an actor; I seem to just have a knack for these things. But
even with my above-average-if-I-do-say-so-myself acting skills I was unable to
sway this cop. It looked like he really wasn't going to take no for an answer.
"I realise what a dreadful experience this has been for you, but I
really must ask you to come down to the station and make a full statement"
"Do you really think it's necessary officer?"
"Yes, I'm afraid I do"
"Well in that case I see that I have little choice, I will accompany
you to your station thing"
I told Goat where it was I was going and I jumped in the back of the cop's
car, which made the short drive to he local police station. After we got there
as often goes these things, I was shoved into a small room with only one chair
by another over-paid authoritarian and told to wait until the officer that was
going to take my statement had a free minute.
After about twenty minutes of waiting I decided to get up and have a look
around the room. It was small room, as I have stated before, the walls were
painted a dull grey and there was a telephone book lying in the far left
corner. There seemed to be two doors to the room, the one I had entered into
and another on the adjacent side of the room, that was shut.
I went over and tried the handle. It wasn't locked. Outside of the door was a
long corridor that stretched into the distance terminating at another closed
door. I was unsure about what to do in the situation, should I take a chance
and explore? Should I venture out and perhaps see what was behind the closed
door at the other end of the corridor?
I should have stayed in my room, but I was curious as to what was in the next
room, so I started walking down the corridor telling myself all the way down
that the door at the end was probably locked anyway and all this excess
adrenalin that my body was creating was useless, it would all be for nothing.
As you can imagine, the door wasn't locked. It was quite open, which was
really a stupid move on the police's part. I mean who in their right minds
leaves the door to the main evidence locker open? I guess they must have
thought that there was no other place safer than a police station to leave a
door open in.
I stepped inside. And dear readers, I am not lying to you when I say that I hit
the mother load right there and then. Everything and anything you could ever
possibly want was sitting there in front of me.
Assault rifles, hunting knifes, hunting rifles, daggers, handguns and sporting
weapons. Not to mention swords, machetes, axes, ceremonial knifes, bombs,
grenades and sub machine guns. However much this looked like everything you
could always possibly want, that was only the weapons section.
I picked up a V61 scorpion, a small classy little weapon with a folding stock
that stows away sexily over the top of the barrel, I aimed the weapon and
imagined putting a few bullets into the head of that bastard who stole my
girlfriend earlier this year.
Chuckling to myself I laid the weapon down next to a ninja star and had a look
around. It didn't take me long to find the contraband section.
My eyes almost popped out of my head, sitting in front of me on a little table
were about three kilos of good bud and what looked like a good five pounds of
pure hash oil. Next to it was sitting bags and bags of some pills of an
unidentifiable description and some high potency, tab acid, twenty-seven sheets
of it. I counted.
It had to be said that the temptation was there to be done with the rules and
just take the whole lot and hope I manage to get away with it. Can you really
blame me though? I mean sitting right in front of me was a horde of everything
I needed to get myself into one high state and given any other situation I
would have instantly dropped to my knees, started ingesting and not regain a
fully conscious state for another few days. But I was in a police station; I
was going to have to think about this.
They technically would have no way of knowing, I could take, maybe say just a
small percentage of it, eat it right there and then, get through the interview
by fobbing the police off and make my way out of the interview with a lot of
the stuff, untaken, still in my pocket.
Yes I would do it, I found a pipe and lighter in a small enveloped marked
'Evidence CASE number 876498' and I set about smoking some of the best skunk I
have tasted since, well, ever. I chucked a few of the pills and the tabs down
my throat and waited for the effects to kick in.
What followed was a semi-conscious orgy of drug-induced depravity. I hope that
it's not too much of an anticlimax if I don't explain the whole ordeal in
excruciating detail, all I really remember of it anyway was being thrown into a
holding cell, all the while refusing to give up the laptop. I remember seeming
to be very persistent in telling everyone that if I didn't have my laptop I
would surely freeze to death in the cold police climate.
The next thing I knew I woke up in the same small cell with the laptop lying
next to me. It would seem that my trial isn't for a little while yet so I have
a little time to work on something new for the text scene. I am having quite a
fun time anyway; I'm in a cell all by myself and am having one hell of a time
exploring the inner reaches of my mind.
I've got a few phone calls I can make to a few people who might be able to get
me out and set me up good for a little while. Even if I can't, I don't reckon
they will be able to make any of the charges stick, they may even let me out in
a couple of days when they realise that they have no case against me. We shall
have to wait and see. I mean it could have been anyone who took that stuff,
they have no proof it was me, if I really needed to I could claim insanity
easily anyway and be out within minutes.
Yes I'm fine.
|-/\-|-FUCKING-APATHY'S-SHIT-UP-|-/\-|
"Even if it doesn't actually happen,
there is triumph in just having
people imagine it."
-Timothy "Speed" Levitch
|-/\-|-FUCKING-APATHY'S-SHIT-UP-|-/\-|
------------------
: The Invisibles :
: by ch33z-1t :
: and gir :
------------------
There was once the best group of super heroes ever. They were called
invisible. Because no one could ever see them. It was a trio of beasts
comprised of the Abominable Snowman, Sasquatch, the Canadian cousin of Bigfoot,
and then Bigfoot, the American cousin of Sasquatch. These super heroes
were in for their most devious sort villain ever in the world. The Chocolate
Man!!!!! He was trying to take away all the nuts in the world. Not the crazy
people the food nuts. The trio went to pay this asshole chocolate maker a
visit. They get in there and think they are doing really fucking good at
making their way to the last level of the compound of the chocolate man's lair
which was near the 82nd plane of reality of planet candy. This meant that the
journey would take them through the Sasquatch's homeland, Canada. It is no
wonder that Chocolate Man is still at large seeing how the Invsible's got lost
in Canada and since they are invisible, no one ever found them. That is what
allowed the Chocolate Man to rise to the top of the candy industry. In fact it
was when the chocolate manufactures used an average of 40% of the world's
almonds and 20% of the world's peanuts per year that the Invisibles found there
way out of Canada and into the 82nd plane of reality of Planet Candy. We walk
out on this monstrosity and hear a beeping, after looking for hours we find a
robot. We talk to him and find out he is in trouble and need our help getting
out of the backyard. Running around we run into the chocolate man's army.
They were armed with high powered potato guns. Which shot matzah balls. The
leader ordered them to fire with one simple slogan: "You are too fucked up to
write." When this was announced the invisibles were shot at, with the matzah
balls shot out of the high powered potato guns. But all of a sudden, the law
enforcement for the 82nd plane of reality and all lands that the 82nd plane of
reality contained came running down the hill like matzah balls out of potato
cannons. The Invisibles had to admit, they had gotten themselves in quite a
predicament this time around. Thankfully, the law enforcement was on the scene
and could make a quick throwdown and help the Invisibles put an end to
Chocolate Man.
"CHOCOLATE MAN!! LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS!!"
"Captain Arbuckle, what brings you out to candy planet?"
"Your army, is in violation of an interplane pact. As it states, illegal molds
cannot be used to power you potato cannons. As a result your forces will be
escorted to a buttering facility. Prepare to allow passage for the Invisibles
into your compound!"
As that point, the Invisibles second toughest part of their journey (remember
the Invisibles had to go through Canada on the first leg of their journey and
became lost for a very long time.) lay before them.
None the less, Chocolate Man's plans eventually failed.
-------------
: T-Files :
: by tildaq :
-------------
As I see it, tfiles are the next logical step in evolution. (supposing
human evolution is valid) The "free flow of information," as a friend of mine
put it, is yet another great advance in the forward direction towards ultimate
truth! I kid you not, tfiles are, simply put, of equal importance as say the
industrial revolution in Europe, the advent of agriculture and many other
things that skipped our human race forward in time.
Revolution is to agriculture is to Tfiles is to....well, we may never
know what comes after Tfiles. Tfiles will be proven to do something that no
other society has had the pleasure of seeing. Let me explain.
A long time ago, in a galaxy far away lived a young man named Harold
Ramis. If I rememeber correctly he wrote and directed the movie Ghostbusters
(let me go check on this at imdb.com real quick) YES! Yes I am correct about
this. Anyway Harold Ramis, as I just found out, also directed the movie Orange
County, which is a funny movie by the way. The point is that One thing leads to
another like the classic 80's song suggests (allow me to find out aboot this
song.) Yes! This song was performed by the great band who call themselves "THE
FIXX." Let me recite from this gigantic piece of art:
Do what they say, say what you mean
One thing leads to another
You told me something wrong, I know I listen too long
But then one thing leads to another.
GENIUS! This is simply GENIUS! Whoever wrote this is an absolute
GENIUS! I'm so excited that I can hardly analyze this work but I will try. Now,
we see that the author is very liberated, he does what he wants to do. We can
see this being demonstrated in the line, "Do what they say, say what you mean."
SAY WHAT YOU MEAN! This suggests that the he in fact says what HE means, and
what he means is that ONE THING LEADS TO ANOTHER. You may be saying to
yourself, "Self, how can he be liberated and say what he means but at the same
time, DO WHAT THEY SAY??" I will tell you. If you "do what they say," you will
essentially be ABLE to "say what you mean!" By saying this I am almost defying
the laws of gravity. By SAYING WHAT YOU MEAN, you will be able to express to
"THEM," what it is that YOU are thinking and feeling ABOUT what it is that
they are telling you to do. Perhaps what I say when I am "saying what I am
meaning," is for "THEM," to "shut the hell up!>" or I might be saying, "I agree
with what it is that you are telling me to do." Either way, the second part of
the line could ALWAYS nullify or make void the previous part of the line, which
is, as we all rememeber, "DO WHAT THEY SAY." Let's move on.
After all of this occurs, that is, doing what they say and then you, in
turn, say what you mean, one thing will ultimately LEAD to another! It's
beautiful how the world works!. Yes I see that I put a period after that
exclamation but I think I'll leave it so that this sentence will make sense. The
author, MR. Fixx (whom I would love to sit down for a cup of tea with) is
conveying the thought that by him telling you to "Do What They Say," he is
actually one evolutionary step ahead of you because HE is "SAYING WHAT HE IS
MEANING TO SAY!" While you are busy doing what they say, he is living it up, so
to speak, by saying what it is that he means AND making music at the same time.
Can YOU do that? I don't think so. Now DO WHAT THEY SAY!
This is exactly what he is saying to you as a human, a person, an
individual. I know what you must be thinking, Who is it that he is talking
about in the song? WHO IS "THEY?" Well, They is you! They are people who ALSO
"Do what the say." You see, all these people who are "Doing what THEY are
saying," are also neglecting to say what they mean because, if you are busy
doing what they say, you can never truly say what you mean and get away with
it being the truth (the truth is the ultimate goal as you rememeber!) It is
not, and can not be the truth because NOBODY wants to be told what to do, so in
turn, if you were doing what "they" are saying, then you should be saying what
you mean by communicating a message like, "I DON'T WANT TO DO WHAT YOU ARE
SAYING!" A FUNDAMENTAL PARADOX, DON'T YOU THINK?! I sure as hell do! If you
say, "I DO NOT WANT TO DO WHAT YOU ARE SAYING!" You are also saying (between
the lines of course) that you do not want to be told what to do OR actually
physically complete the task at hand! So now you are in a predicament, should
you "SAY WHAT YOU MEAN," or should you "DO WHAT THEY SAY?"
I would go with, "SAY WHAT YOU MEAN."
(to be continued in a file called: I am become the lifeblood)
THE FOLLOWING IS OREGANO'S WAY OF SAYING YOU TOO CAN AND SHOULD WRITE FOR
ANGSTMONSTER...
(BECAUSE YOU KNOW, ANGSTMONSTER IS SLOWLY PLANNING ANOTHER THEME ISSUE! THAT'S
RIGHT! ARE YOU PISSED AS HELL THAT YOU DIDN'T GET A CHANCE TO WRITE ABOUT
SOCK PUPPETS IN WHAT WAS THE GREATEST ISSUE OF ANGSTMONSTER EVER!?!? WELL,
YOU'RE IN LUCK BECAUSE GUESS WHAT, THIS THEME ISSUE IS GOING TO BE ALL ABOUT
BAKED POTATOS! BAKED POTATOS ARE NATURE'S BEST EDIBLE CREATION, SO GO EAT A
COUPLE THEN GET TO WRITING ABOUT IT!)
<oregano2k> Hi, helium sniffers
<oregano2k> angry is the non-monster
<oregano2k> not suffering from the monster pains
<oregano2k> but feeling left out
<oregano2k> for not being monsterous
IF IT CAN'T BE SAID ANYMORE SIMPLIER, THEN I MIGHT AS WELL JUST FINISH THIS
ROUND OF ANGST-TEXT-MONSTER-FUN RIGHT NOW!
ææææææææææææææææææa
æ Æfterthought(s) æ
æææææææææææææææææææ
Eating that fruitcup was the best idea I had tonight. It reminded me that I
really enjoy getting a green apple from the dining hall and taking it back to
my room, saving it for later. Maybe next time, I'll bring back a couple for
late night occasions like these when fruitcups and green apples are way better
than cookies and sun chips.
(SPECIAL NOTE FOR COOKIES AND SUN CHIPS: You guys know that I love you more
than anything and there's no way a couple of fruits could replace you. I
won't let you down...)
_____
/ |\ |\ /\ |\ |
\ | | |/ |/ < > |/ | *
/ |_| | | \/ |\ | *
http://www.bubblemonkey.org/cheesencrackers/ !CHEESENCRACKERS!
http://www.neo-comintern.com *THE NEO-COMINTERN*
http://turd.angstmonster.org THE UNDEAD RISE, DAMMIT!
http://www.textscene.com CURRENT TEXTFILE SCENE
?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?
What you have just read was a step into the unknown spontaneous and poorly
edited thoughts for sharing collectively known as "Ang
stmonster." All thoughts
on the matter can be sent to <gir@angstmonster.org> or you can just visit the
site http://www.angstmonster.org and see what you think. Submissions of all
sorts are welcome! Everything from prose and poetry to rants and opinions,
creative text art, recipes for yummy food, reviews of stuff, etc.
Thanks and enjoy your day...
copy-spwep 2003 issue 19
angstmonster.org 01.27.03
Feel free to redistribute this document, although no fee can be charged and the
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