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Angstmonster 15
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+ _____ ____ ____ ______/ |_____ ____ ___ ______/ |___________ +
* \__ \/ \ / __ \/ ___\ __\ \ _ \/ \/ ___\ __/__ \_ __ \ *
+ / __ \_ | \ /_/ >\__ \| | Y Y \<_> ) | \__ \| |\ ___/| | \/ +
* (____ /_| /___ /____ >|__|__|_| /___/__| /___ >|__| \__ \|__| *
+ \/ \/____/ \/ \/ \/ \/ \/ +
* 12.16.02 angstmonster issue 15 *
Æ*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*Æ
¡edited (poorly) by gir¡
<ch33z-1t> LONG LIVE WIGGLY PRETEND BOOBIES!!!
§+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++¡contents¡++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§
+ +
+ Brief Words from gir +
+ #angstmonster oregano +
+ Storytime with tildaq and gir +
+ Theories: 1 ch33z-1t +
+ FUCK YOU, IT'S CHRISTMAS! (Or Why I Hate Movies About Santa) mr. jay +
+ I Guess I'll Just Go tildaq +
+ Permanently Restless continued... alice +
+ So Is He Floating Or What? gir +
+ Chickey in Ovey oregano +
+ The Land of Forgotten Names wrenna +
+ As He'd Say tildaq +
+ How I Spend My Sundays OR Putting the Angst in Christmas zhixel +
+ +
§+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++¡contents¡++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§
<ganja4gha> he's from an island
<ganja4gha> so he likes stuff
---------------
: Brief Words :
: From gir :
---------------
Waffle House would be really yummy right now. It's later than the normal
editing routine and it's so amusing at times that I've got all this worked down
to a routine that happens without skipping too many beats (unless it involves
going in to work late)
Yeah that's all really. I had something more to say but it is slowly escaping
me like everything else at the moment. Even my bodily fluids are escaping me.
They're seeping out of all of my pours and I'm slowly becoming a human raisin.
Covered in the chocolate of my own poo, I think life as a human raisin could be
really interesting. If I could find my saxphone and get a pair of white
sneakers, maybe I could hit up the California Raisins and see what they are up
to.
But until I get around to doing that, here's a little something me and some
friends wrote. I really enjoy all the stuff in this issue. It gives me the
happy funny feelings of being a human raisin.
That's all for me though. I'll leave you with a bit I wrote the other day.
Tildaq and I were talking earlier today and he asked me what poets I thought
he'd like. I told him to check out Kenneth Patchen, Gregory Corso, and ee
cummings. Poets I thought he'd find interesting because they were strange and
drew strange pictures that they'd later write poems about. So he starts
looking for their poems online and finds this. We both we so amused that you
too will get to see it...
"let's start a magazine
to hell with literature
we want something redblooded
lousy with pure
reeking with stark
and fearlessly obscene
but really clean
get what I mean
let's not spoil it
let's make it serious
something authentic and delirious
you know something genuine like a mark
in a toilet
graced with guts and gutted
with grace"
squeeze your nuts and open your face
- e. e. cummings, no thanks (1935)
tildaq: I'd make that available on angstmonster, for inspirational purposes
tildaq: ee woulda liked AM
Without further wait, this one's for ee and anyone else who's ever found
pleasure in lowercase teeny tiny lettering.
-----------------
: #angstmonster :
: by oregano :
-----------------
<oregano2k> I am an angry monster
<oregano2k> in the land
<oregano2k> under the great inland sea
<oregano2k> a thousand feet beneath the surface
<oregano2k> lies the angstmonster
<oregano2k> the angstmoster has patience
<oregano2k> infinite beyond infinity
<oregano2k> when the full moon circles the third sun
<oregano2k> then will be unleashed
<oregano2k> the angstmonster
<oregano2k> and you, brave warrior
<oregano2k> must be the one to make it happen
<oregano2k> wake the angstmonster
<oregano2k> and let loose upon the world
<oregano2k> the terrible death
<oregano2k> it cries out for
<oregano2k> the blade will be settled with blade
<oregano2k> fire with fire
<oregano2k> and the only one left
<oregano2k> will be
<oregano2k> the angstmonster
<oregano2k> I am the angstmonster
<oregano2k> poof goes the magic frog
<oregano2k> i am the magic frog
<oregano2k> ribbit ribbit
<oregano2k> when you kiss the magic frog
<oregano2k> he turns into the angstmonster and destroys the world
------------------
: Storytime with :
: tildaq and gir :
------------------
Living in a purple cloud above the sky, I finally reached bliss. I liked my
cloud. He always told me funny stories about his cloud friends. I was
particularly interested in one cloud that always seemed to appear in it's
stories.
This cloud was a colorless cloud. Which is a very strange thing for a cloud to
be when you think about it. I was full of color at the time and felt the need
to interact with the colorless brand of cloud. I knew I could add some life.
(and add some life into his color!)
So the next time my purple cloud told me about his colorless friend, I asked to
be taken to him. I had never been so nervous, I wanted to do the right thing
but wasn't sure how the object of my obsession would react.
When we were first introduced, I smiled nervously and his colorless gaze just
looked me over. I thought of telling a joke, but didn't know any cloud worthy
jokes. In fact, I didn't know ANY jokes. Perhaps the colorless one knew a few
I thought.
"Say you, look like a funnyman. Why don't you tell me a joke?"
I knew it sounded void of any intelligence, but I asked anyway. I was so
anxious to hear the colorless cloud's response. At the same time though, I
just wanted to go back to my home.
He spoke up and said something really funny. I was surprised that such a
colorless thing could be so full of that much energy and ability to make
someone laugh. It certainly made me laugh. I almost fell through my cloud I
was laughing so hard. I felt a feeling I had never felt before. The feeling
you get when you see a small kitten play with a small plastic ball.
Getting the colorless cloud to tell me jokes had given him his own new color,
unlike any cloud I'd ever seen before. This once colorless cloud was now
humming with love. What had I done?
It was a good deed, one of the best deeds I'd ever done. I would be sure to
put two gold stars next to it in my good deed journal.
---------------
: Theories: 1 :
: by ch33z-1t :
---------------
Well, well, well. Since i didn't post last week, i may have to do a couple
this week. well in other news, i have these theories that i have. i will be
posting them here, so deal with it.
*******************************************************************************
WARNING!!! THIS FILE WILL BE A STUPID THEORY OF CH33Z-1T'S, PAY NO MIND TO IT
*******************************************************************************
My brilliant idea is that everyone has two separate beings within them. there
is a real you and there is a computer you. The real you is the one people
communicate with when you are walking around. but the computer you is the sick
sadistic side of you. the real you has no control over the computer you when
you are in front of a computer. i mean think about it, do you think all you
people would watch that porn in front of your parents on the family tv? i
think not, most of you do it on your computer with your hand down your pants.
you can also never take anyone seriously when they are on the computer, you
have no idea who it is or what they are actually doing. i mean how would you
like it if you thought that you were having a perfectly fine conversation with
gir and come to find out he was beating his meat the whole time, because the
computer him could not resist looking at transvestite porn. i know the real me
wouldn't mind, but the computer me would go and kill him and his little kitty
too. susan ward is her name. **could you turn around so i can pull up my
pants???** this has really got me puzzled, i think that people will look at
things on the computer that they would never look at on a television with
people around. but when the computer you takes over there is no telling what
could happen. computer you can say what he wants and the real you should not
be held accountable, but he is. what a load of shit. i think i am going to
kill the computer me, he keeps making me look at porn to pass the time, i
fucking hate it...........
-----------------------------
: FUCK YOU, IT'S CHRISTMAS! :
: OR :
: Why I Hate Movies About :
: Santa :
: by mr. jay :
-----------------------------
Hi there! I'm Mr. Jay. You may know me from my rant about self expression or my
expose of Nick "The Moose" Lovelace's life. Today I present you with a little
bit of bile I like to call:
*
/|\
//|o\ FUCK YOU, IT'S CHRISTMAS!
//o|\\\
//o/|\o\o (Or Why I Hate Movies About Santa)
///o/|\\o\\
__|_|__
\%%%%%/
~~~~~
You know the concept. You've seen the movie roughly 1,812,734,654 times, made
over by every network from Lifetime (where Santa beats his wife) to MTV (where
Santa rides on a snowboard). A little pubescent fuck named Timmy or Tommy or
Lavar manages, through some wacky situation, to meet the REAL LIFE Santa Claus.
Yes, the man himself, in the red. The boy immediately believes this is indeed
the REAL Santa, which proves his parents were really on the ball raising this
kid (the first fat rapist in red that comes along is gonna be in heaven).
BUT OH NO! Tragedy strikes! The authorities and Timmy's parents don't believe
it's the real Santa! Apparently Santa either trespassed or is mentally unfit or
is mistaken for a wanted serial rapist (in the MTV version). Hijinks ensue, and
in the end Timmy convinces his parents and usually a court judge that this IS
the real Santa, and everyone says Merry Christmas! and roll credits.
There's only one problem with this already stupid scenario. Ok, let me take you
though this step by step: Santa is real. Check. Santa brings the world
presents. Check. Timmy's parents don't think a Santa exists. WHOAH, stop the
fucking movie train! Ok, if Santa exists and brings the world presents, don't
you think Timmy's parents should be wondering where those fucking presents come
from every year? I don't recall Jesus ever doing that sort of thing.
"Be quiet, Tommy. Santa is fake. Oh, look, presents have appeared under our
christmas tree, like every year!"
So we're led to two conclusions: Timmy's parents are batshit insane and think
pine trees give birth to playstation 2s, or Timmy's parents have been buying
the gifts all along. I'm leaning towards conclusion two. Where does this leave
us? With the real Santa, who doesn't bring anyone gifts. What the hell, right?
Has Santa been claiming several billion presents as a tax writeoff all these
years without delivering the goods? Is this the biggest case of fraud we've
ever seen? Compared to that shit Enron is small potatoes, buddy.
See, we never get to find out what happens AFTER the dramatic moment when it's
proven Santa is real. I propose a second movie that continues this dramatic
tale. Do I have a script? Sure as shit I do.
Movie opens and Timmy is living with Santa in the north pole. He's out ice
fishing or something when one of the elves comes stumbling towards him, a nasty
candy cane wound in its chest. With its dying breath, the little elf croaks
out, "It's all a lie... not... presents... urk!" There in the arctic tundra,
Timmy confronts a bizarre death and begins to investigate!
Eventually Timmy's investigation leads him to the horrible truth: Santa has
been claiming billions of presents on his tax forms that he doesn't actually
create or deliver. With the money, the jolly man funds drug trafficking which,
as you know, funds terrorism. Also, the 9/11 attack was staged by Santa as a
smokescreen to draw attention from his evil activities.
Timmy confronts Santa tearfully, and with great sorrow, Santa stabs Timmy in
the neck with a jolly christmas tree letter opener. Saying goodbye to the best
lover he's had in years, Santa dumps Timmy's body into the cold northern sea.
Dramatic aerial shot, fade to black, roll credits. Directed by Quentin
Tarentino, starring Haly Joel Osment as Timmy and Ian McKellen as Santa.
Merry fucking christmas, kids!
----------------
: I Guess I'll :
: Just Go :
: by tildaq :
----------------
I don't think I should be here anymore.
I love the atmosphere but what for?
Am I the only one who feels this?
Maybe I just need a kiss...
From someone who can tell me why I'm here.
I forgot to care about almost everything.
No structure and disorganized, I cried.
But nobody can ever tell me why...
Tell me why I like it but can't do it.
If I were to change settings, I would be able to do it.
I can't, I like it here despite the queers.
I'm the nicest person I know, nice to myself,
I can't understand anyone else.
If there is a solution, I'd like to know
If there is an illusion, I'd like to know
If there isn't confusion, I'd like to grow
But for now, I guess I'll just go.
------------------------
: Permanently Restless :
: continued... :
: by alice :
------------------------
-Revenge-
She had seen it in movies. It had to work. She was frantically flipping
through the Australian yellow pages for an elevator repair man to
demolish the elevator cable, when it occurred to her that it would be
risky trying to hire an outsider to accompany her murder plans. What if
the repair man wouldn't do it? What if he called the police? She
certainly wasn't going to get caught breaking any more foreign laws. She
had to do this alone.
She wandered through the hotel, appearing as innocent as a stranger in a
gay bar, looking for a way to get into the elevator shaft. She finally
remembered something she saw in a cartoon - the elevator control rooms
were in the basement! As she scurried down nine flights of stairs, the
lights flickered.
Lucky for her, the doors were unlocked. She had to hurry; the others in
her tour group would be leaving their rooms in fifteen minutes to pile
on a huge tour bus to tour another museum or another zoo or another
generic tourist attraction. But to their surprise, the elevator would
fall eleven stories to their bloody death!
Seconds after she detached the cable in the elevator shaft, she heard
sirens. Alarms. She ran. Had she set them off?
-Fate-
She found a back way out of the building, only to find it in flames!
Some other little devil had apparently set off a homemade bomb on the
twelfth floor. No survivors from the eighth floor and up! She would be
assumed dead along with her tour group. What a coincidence.
A pudgy boy carrying a box of pastries would try to ride down the
elevator from the when he heard the sirens. He was found later in a
puddle of his own blood. Poor thing. The nightly news would report that
the elevator shaft must've been destroyed when the bomb exploded. Pity.
That's why they tell you take the stairs in case of fire!
But what was the little girl to do now? Everyone thought she was dead -
blown to bits. She certainly wasn't going to tell anyone she was still
alive. She was free! "There is something useful about ambiguous origins,
after all: you can be whoever you want to be."
She started walking. West.
..to be continued
---------------------
: So Is He Floating :
: Or What? :
: by gir :
---------------------
___ ___ ___ ___
\ \_/ / /\ ¡ /\ /\ ¡ /\ "You been \ \_/ /
| | \ o-o / "Hey." \ o-o / doing that | |
| O | "y0h" \ ^ / \ ^ / all day?" | O | "longer."
/ o_o \ /|-|\ /|-|\ / o_o \
\/|| ||\/ | | | | \/|| ||\/
"" "" _/-\_ _/-\_ "" ""
/\/\/\/\/\/\ /\/\/\/\/\/\
___ ___ ___ ___
/\ ¡ /\ "Tired \ \_/ / /\ ¡ /\ "You going \ \_/ /
\ o-o / yet?" | | \ o-o / to stop | | "Haven't
\ ^ / | O | "Nope." \ ^ / anytime | O | given it
/|-|\ / o_o \ /|-|\ soon?" / o_o \ much
| | \/|| ||\/ | | \/|| ||\/ thought."
_/-\_ "" "" _/-\_ "" ""
/\/\/\/\/\/\ /\/\/\/\/\/\
___ ___ ___ ___
/\ ¡ /\"What have \ \_/ / /\ ¡ /\ "That \ \_/ /
\ o-o / you been | | \ o-o / works?" | | "Why
\ ^ / thinking | O | "Nothing." \ ^ / | O | wouldn't
/|-|\ about?" / o_o \ /|-|\ / o_o \ it?"
| | \/|| ||\/ | | \/|| ||\/
_/-\_ "" "" _/-\_ "" ""
/\/\/\/\/\/\ /\/\/\/\/\/\
___ ___ ___ ___
/\ ¡ /\ "It's \ \_/ / /\ ¡ /\ "..." \ \_/ / "I suppose
\ o-o / never | | "I don't \ o-o / | | that's a
\ ^ / worked | O | doubt \ ^ / | O | start."
/|-|\ like / o_o \ that." /|-|\ / o_o \
| | that \/|| ||\/ | | \/|| ||\/
_/-\_ for me." "" "" _/-\_ "" ""
/\/\/\/\/\/\ /\/\/\/\/\/\
___ ___
/\ ¡ /\ "What do you mean? \ \_/ /
\ o-o / Just because I'm at | | "Well, not much
\ ^ / a loss for words | O | of a start." t ¿
/|-|\ doesn't mean I'm / o_o \ h ¿
| | not thinking." \/|| ||\/ e n d
_/-\_ "" ""
/\/\/\/\/\/\
-------------------
: Chickey in Ovey :
: by oregano :
-------------------
Start with a bare family room, empty of all life, human and animal; only see
a couch, a tv and other family room type stuff. In walks oregano from the
kitchen area and sits down. oregano is not much of one to watch tv so he does
not reach for the remote as we might expect him to. The remote is on the
table. oregano sits in the chair and just stares forward, he might be
thinking.
Into the room walks oregano's wife, she says, "Hi, oregano." She sits on
the couch near, but not next to, oregano. oregano says, "Hi," and lets silence
overtake the room. The silence is pretty strong, there is a clock which is set
on a shelf above the tv and fills the room with its tick.
oregano and his wife sit and are quiet.
No tv or radio is on.
They remain quiet and after the quiet has gone on a bit oregano speaks. "I
have chicken in the oven."
oregano's wife hears this and maybe it takes a while for the idea to settle
in her head or somehow otherwise process the statement. oregano's wife has
already eaten. She speaks, "It is 9:30, that is pretty late to be eating."
oregano is a bit taken aback by this statement of his wife, he has done
nothing to hurt her, why would she say something like this. oregano mulls over
the statement and thinks for a little and lets the clock tick a few more ticks.
"Oh, but I just got home and I put chicken in the oven."
Again there is a long silence. oregano's wife is not a slow person in terms
of intellect, but she takes her time in responding and then she responds, "What
kind of chicken?" But suddenly she adds, and this having nothing to do with
what oregano has said, she says, "I bought a CD today."
Chaos, total and utter chaos. oregano spends a little time talking to his
wife about what CD she got and how she decided to buy the CD, and where she
heard the song before. But then in the middle of the talk he proudly
announces, "12 minutes till chicken is ready." He is ignored by his wife, but
nor does she continue on the previous conversation about the CD, she is just
silent. oregano is silent too. oregano is a bit confused as to why his
announcement about the chicken did not get a bigger response, he thought his
wife would be interested in his chicken almost being done. But she was not,
she completely ignored his conversational bon mot, and they are once again
plunged into quiet.
Silence. oregano asks, "Did you do anything fun today?" His wife is silent
and thinks it over, not wanting to break the spell of the clock ticking by
answering too fast. Plus what if this were a trick question.
oregano says to himself but not out loud, "four minutes till chicken."
"Nothing much, really, just a normal day," his wife answers.
The kitchen buzzer goes off and oregano pops out of the chair and goes and
takes the chicken out of the oven to cool, and while the chicken cools he comes
back into the family room, he tells to his wife about how he got a free soda
from the soda machine at work, she says nothing during the entire story.
the end.
---------------
: The Land Of :
: Forgotten :
: Names :
: by wrenna :
---------------
this is the land of forgotten names.
it's full of bustling sounds- voices.
there are people, of course, but the sounds, the voices, don't seem to actually
be coming from them.
it's unclear what the voices are saying. sometimes you think you can make out
a part of a word, but it's never followed by the next part of the word. none
of it makes sense. so it becomes background noise, a lulling sort of white
noise that can usually be ignored.
when people interact, they never call each other by name. they can never
remember each others' names.
years ago, they'd ask. they'd get all embarrassed and say "um, I hope I'm not
offending, but I've forgotten your name." or "oh, I feel so terrible, we talk
every day! but I just can't think of your name!"
the other person would giggle, blush a bit, and say "that's okay, I don't
remember yours either."
somehow, they just stopped asking. slowly. now, no one bothers. it's become
unimportant.
some people have even started forgetting their own names.
sometimes, they tease each other by using names. "Hey, Chris!" someone will
yell. no one and everyone will turn around. in the midst of the confusion,
everyone bursts into laughter.
when people interact, one on one, the interactions seem somehow deeper, more
meaningful. like the loss of names has made them shed all superficiality.
it's incredibly intense, but not awkward at all.
the end.
---------------
: As He'd Say :
: by tildaq :
---------------
I have to keep going. The sentence is almost over. I only have two months left
in jail. This is the worst time in my life. I have no idea what I'm going to to
on the "outside" again. I have a few business things in mind, but it's the
simple things that drove me to keep going for this long. I want a nice juicy,
medium-well, with A1 sauce-type of steak and one of the new personal computers
I keep reading about. The last time I touched a computer was when I still lived
at my house with my current wife. I love her still today, but she's the reason
I'm in here.
This place really is like a jail, but that's just what I call it. I'd rather
not say that I'm in a madhouse, it makes me feel sad. I don't know where I'll
end up when I get out but I'm sure it will be better than this hell hole. I
wouldn't be getting out if it weren't for this new medication that I'm on
which, by the way, is eating my brain. I have to verbalize these new feelings
for fear that I'll forget the old ones. The old feelings being a part of me is
apparently not an option anymore. This medicine is going to make me forget all
the bad things apparently. I will forget all the fun I used to have. When I say
fun, I mean torture.
I hated living with other people.
I hated my first wife.
I hated not knowing.
So I took it upon myself to get a divorce and a new job. I liked my job, it
paid well, and there were tons of beautiful women. Being a porn star was not a
career that I would have ever imagined myself taking part in but always
imagined. Let me tell you, it's not like you would think. You would think that
there would have to be some major drawback to such an appealing job, there
isn't. This was the problem, there was nothing wrong. In retrospect I can see
it all happen, but at the time I felt that I was just enjoying myself and
living in a wonderful dream. After about my 100th video (only about 20 had me
as a main role) I began to change, I got cocky (excuse the pun). I started my
own 'Adult Personal Video Company.'
I got married to one of the self-righteous bitches who I thought was 'real,' in
an 'unreal' business. We had a lot of good times together at first. Then my
company went under. She got most of my money and kept saying, "You act like you
don't care sometimes, like you NEVER cared about building a nice life with me."
I wrote things of this sort off like the mindless babbling I believed it to be.
I say she got my money because, I never really had anything to
buy except for drugs, she spent all the money.
The next thing I knew, she was calling doctors saying that I was spending too
much time on my computer and that I 'IAD (Internet Addiction Disorder).' I was
beginning to think that she was right, I had been constantly looking for more,
more, and more information on my computer. Things that I looked up were not
relevant. I put my trust into my wife and allowed her to do what she felt was
necessary to make me better.
I went to a number of doctors who all agreed that I had 'I.A.D.' I got some
entertaining therapy sessions out of these doctor visits but nothing seemed to
change my habits. I wanted to go back to work but I felt unusually fatigued
like I just wanted to sit, sit and sit all day on my computer. I didn't know if
I actually had this "disorder" or if I just succumbed to the power of
suggestion. I didn't care at that point, the only person I could trust was
myself.
After spending fifteen years in this place I have realized what a fool I've
been like "The fool On The Hill," as Paul would say. I am the victim of an
elaborate scam conducted by, not only my previous wives but the adult film
industry. I have no proof "After All These Years," as Daniel would say. It
makes me sad that I cannot prove what I KNOW to be true. Shnookums keeps saying
I'm insane and that I'll never get out, but I think I'll be out in two months.
The walls told me that they heard the security guard talking to my wife about
it. I think they are the only ones I can trust at this point.
--------------------------
: How I Spend My Sundays :
: OR :
: Putting the Angst in :
: Christmas :
: by zhixel :
--------------------------
Standing in the parking lot, I stared at the church for a second. I had
come here dropping people off and was now free to spend three hours doing my
duty for the monsters of angst. I grabbed the backpack containing my laptop
out of the car and headed into the church.
I had arrived at a time when the main service was in session and the halls
were almost barren. I quietly stalked through the halls, taking a moment to
look at the giant christmas tree in the lobby, wondering how many of the
people here realize that they've stuck a giant symbol of a holiday rooted in
pagan ritual in their church. Jesus wasn't crucified on a pine tree,
dumbasses. Suddenly I really start disliking this place. It reeks of middle
class mediocrity and the status quo.
I make my way to one of the classrooms I had previously sat in other
sundays when I would use the chatter as a method to relieve boredom. It was
strangely empty this sunday so I looked around shiftily before slipping in
and closing the door behind me. Laying my backpack on the table and
unpacking my laptop, I felt almost like some terrorist getting ready to set
up explosives.
My words are bombs.
AND REMEMBER...
ANGST IS THE REASON FOR THE SEASON!!!
*. *. *. *. *. *. *.
/¡\ /`\ /~\ /`\ /O\ /z\ /`\
[===] [===] [===] [===] [===] [===] [===]
} c-c { } O O { } q-q { } o o { } o o { } o-o { } -^- {
`v-v' `v-v' `v-v' `v-v' `v-v' `v-v' `v-v'
gir ch33z-1t tildaq koolpeith oregano zhixel mr. jay
MERRY ANGSTMAS FROM ANGSTMONSTER!
(art by zhixel)
ALSO REMEMBER:
12.23.02 - THE SOCK PUPPET ISSUE COMES OUT!! SUBMIT YOUR BESTEST MOST
GROOVIEST SOCK PUPPET RELATED FILEZ TO US AND FOREVER BE KNOWN AS
ONE OF THE FEW, THE PROUD, PARTICIPANTS IN ANGSTMONSTER'S FIRST
THEME ISSUE!
12.30.02 - OUR END OF THE YEAR ISSUE FEATURING THE BIGGEST DOUCHE OF 2002 LIST
AND AWARD. EXPECT TO SEE OTHER BEST OF LISTS FOR 2002.
ANYTHING GOES.
æææææææææææææææææaæ
æ Æfterthought(s) æ
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I had this thought. Would you ever want to someday find pictures of an ex
girlfriend naked online? Would it be a hope out of jealousy or a hope out of
the fact that you're ex was really fucking hot and you miss seeing her naked?
Would an endless stream of thoughts rush through your head about how she took
pictures of herself for someone else (or let them take the pictures) and the
fucker had the nerve to put them on the Internet. Would you think about
getting in touch with her, calling her to let you know that you saw her naked
on the Internet and was wondering how she was doing and if she knew about her
naked pictures being online? Would you ask her how that made her feel? Would
you download as many of the pictures as you could and then keep them in a super
safe secret archive somewhere on your computer? Would that make you miss her,
make you feel like you two were together again? Would the pain and suffering
ever end? Would you finally submit an article to angstmonster? Because if
you did, then all that would be worth it.
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http://www.bubblemonkey.org/cheesencrackers/ !CHEESENCRACKERS!
http://members.optushome.com.au/steak/addendum/ ¿ADDENDUM¿
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 "Angstmonster." 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...
copyright 2002 issue 15
angstmonster.org 12.16.02
Feel free to redistribute this document, although no fee can be charged and the
content must not be altered or modified in any way. Unauthorized use of any
part of this document is prohibited. All rights reserved. (and stuff)
