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Capital of Nasty Vol. 04 Issue 13
Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume IV, Issue 13, AD MCMXCIX
Monday, September 13, 1999
ISSN 1482-0471
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I think "extortion" is one of the words in the Italian constitution.
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"The Web brings people together because no matter what kind of a
twisted sexual mutant you happen to be, you've got millions of pals
out there. Type in 'Find people that have sex with goats that are on
fire' and the computer will say, 'Specify type of goat.'" -- Rich
Jeni
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1. Editorial
2. ...and other stories that should be true.
3. Grimm Trickbabies: The Films of Matthew Bright
4. CyberTalk
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This week's Golden Testicle awards:
IRC virgins, for sale.
http://urbanlegends.about.com/gi/dynamic/offsite.htm?site=http://www
.whattheheck.com/ebay/iconclast.html
Submitted by Nicci.
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1. Editorial
By CoN staff
Despite the fact that I am far from happy with this issue,
especially due to my incredible inability to write anything that
satisfies my picky requirements, I have to give in to the many
complaints that I have received on where this issue was. So here it
is.
Everyone's life has shifted into school mode once again. Well, not
for me, since I've been in school since January, and the only change
I've seen is that now I have two placements and one class, giving me
a total of half a day off on Saturday to do things like change my
underwear or brush my hair.
One of my placements has been a learning experience. Sent out to do
work on ADSLs, and working on esoteric operating systems that I
don't understand the workings of, while having preoccupied CEOs ask
me questions that I answer in babble-tech just to confuse them even
more.
Jeff and I have been attending regular Toronto Movie Festival films,
without too much fuss (except of course the fact that Jeff could not
see Dogma, the one movie that he desperately wanted to see). Other
than that, Benny Hinn was also in Toronto, bringing an incredible
amount of handicaps, mutants and various other freaks to town from
just about anywhere, to witness his "miracle cures" on stage.
The other day I got on the streetcar, after coming back from a
client, and an old Greek lady started hitting me with her purse. It
was so logic defying that it took a while to sink in the fact that I
was getting beaten by an 80 years old lady yelling obscenities in
Greek. I'm not sure, to this day, what I have done, other than
climbing on board.
Among placement, we have but one class, on Monday mornings. It's
called "Professional Practices", though I am not sure exactly what
the purpose of this class is all about. So far we have been told
about Brain-Gym(TM) and how we should be drinking lots of water.
Long discussions on our bodily fluids. She told us how the Church
of Scientology, to which we later discovered, she belongs, is being
persecuted by the German government. There are only 3 months and a
half of this silly drivel, and hopefully I will survive, get some
rest, and be able to bring CoN back to you in its original glory and
distribution time.
William, from the organization of the "Purple rabbit runners" writes
in regards to the usual hidden comments on CoN issue 12:
> Just a short note. Squirrels chasing nuts is mentioned twice, but
I
> have never in my life seen a squirrel chase a nut.
>
> Birds fly was mentioned with one of them, but that too I have
never
> seen. But that may just be because they travel as cargo, and I
> get a seat in the pressurised cargo bin known as 'coach' when I
fly.
I'll leave you with an entertaining e-mail from David Dylan, who
goes to show that school in North America just sucks, and that those
wacky Belgians(*) have it all figured out.
Hi there,
Your school-bashing and talk of famous femminists leads me to share
a little anecdote.
I'm the type that used to get "strongly advised to find another
school". In the .nl they can't just outright kick you out unless you
killed someone or something, but if they tell you, you won't promote
to the next year unless you go to another school, what's there to
do? And I was an angel, I never did anything wrong!
Granted, I once Molotov-ed the school yard in a protest against new
cuts on student income. But that was in part also defending the
teacher's income. OK, I handed out "go home - school makes you
stupid!" flyers printed by a local Anarchist group, but that just
shows healthy interest in society, right? Maybe it's the time we
burned our draft-cards and accidentally set a bush on fire? Or the
time we glued the plug of the glue-gun into the wall-socket? If the
teacher hand't yanked it so hard, the entire socket wouldn't have
come loose, and he would never have fallen through that glass door!
Ofcourse my English teacher was pissed at me for glueing his
orthopaedic ergonomic ten-speed chair to the ceiling, but hey what's
a little fun inbetween classes, eh? And don't think I was doing it
alone. In fact, I was the "nerd", the stuff the rest was up to was
even worse, albeit more stupid and less thought-out. I usually
didn't get caught. Perhaps that ticked them off most? Anyway, after
some adventuring sans-diploma, I decided I needed one after all. By
then I was old enough to be accused of being an "adult".
I went to a school for adults, named after a famous local femminist.
Joke Smit. (Not a joke name, by the way) This school showed just
about every quality other schools lacked. Art class meant painting
nudes, and gettting decent instruction by real artists! Not just
some frustrated crafts-teacher handing you some red green and blue
finger-paint. They were on the forefront of the computer revolution,
with internet-connected computers lining the hallways, for all
students to use. In English class we read Baldwin and Joyce, not the
silly "easy reader" books I still have nightmares about. In Dutch
class we read a book, picked a character other than the narrator and
rewrote a chapter of the book from this person's perspective. Fun to
do, and it really teaches you something.
The fondest memories however I have of the Biology teacher. This guy
only taught as means of supporting himself inbetween discovery-
missions to the Amazon. And he would share his finds with us first.
Famous were his slide-shows. After a few pictures of snakes and such
he would suddenly put on a slide of a tiny fish in
a puddle of blood in the palm of someone's hand. Then he would
explain that this fish feeds on blood of bigger fish, which he gets
by attaching himself in the gills. He finds the gills (blind as a
bat this fish) by swimming up any strong little stream. So, warns
the teacher, DO NOT URINATE IN THE WATER! Ofcourse someone would ask
what happens if you do anyway, and the teacher would reply, matter-
of-factly.."machete time!".
Demonstrating in an air-guitarrish way how one would cut out the
fish from some poor soul's genitals. After enjoying our silence for
a moment he would add, "this one we found in a big fish ofcourse".
Yup, it was a fun little school.
I got my diploma with high grades, and as a parting gift, glued a
condom-shaped hat on the statue of Joke Smit.
Greetz.
DD.
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2. Sexually Transmitted Poison Ivy, Uncle Dale's Travelling
Outhouse, and Other Stories That Should Be True
By Jason MacIsaac
If you study literature, painting, music, or any other kind of art,
sooner or later you will hear phrases like "Art for Art's sake," and
the like. Good art, that is, a fascinating sculpture, a portrait,
even a movie or a good TV episode does not necessary have to have
anything to do with truth or even meaning.
In fact, some would argue that truth and meaning actually sabotage
good art. How many times have you seen or read something that would
be quite enjoyable, if not for the fact that every three second it
flashed extremely enlightening messages such as "Drugs are bad,"
"War isn't fun" and "Racism is wrong"? Nobody enjoys being preached
to, especially if they already happened to be converted.
If you're in the habit of creating things for the sole purpose of
delivering a message, here's a helpful tip that should cure you.
The chances are that anyone who would really appreciate your stuff
already is receptive to your message, and doesn't need to hear it.
Those who don't appreciate your stuff won't change their minds upon
hearing your message. Picture a member of the Klu Klux Klan reading
a short story with the central message that "Racism is wrong." He
will not slap his head, say "Bugger me, that's right!" strip off the
pointy white hat, and donate 15% of his earnings to the National
Association for the Advancement of Coloured Persons.
Playright and novelist Oscar Wilde went even further with the idea
of Art for Art's sake. In his essay "The Decay of Lying" he went on
to claim that the artist should be "in the habit of telling
beautiful lies." I have to agree with him there, because I'm
harbouring a few stories that are so good that they must told. I
have been told them as though they were truth, but in fact I don't
have a shred of proof that they happened, but dammit, they're
stories (like the time I was gang-raped by the Toronto Raptors
cheerleading squad) that are so good, they *should* be true dammit!
These stories have names today such as "Urban Myths" or "Urban
Legends". They take place in a more modern setting than say,
Aesop's Fables, and serve to instil a sense of fear, paranoia, like
a ghost tale around the campfire, or humour and gruesome justice,
like a joke around the water cooler.
Though they sound recent, most are quite old. It's just as the
years go and technology improves, the stories change. For example,
there's the classic one of the mysterious hitchhiker, an enigmatic
woman who asks a kindly driver to take her home--which turns out to
be a cemetery. Such stories began with a horse and carriage driver
taking the woman home until the arrivals of cars. The story was
then adopted to include the new mode of transportation. The stories
change with the times, and the location, but the essential
ingredients (the supernatural resolution) remains the same.
Some of them are probably based on one or more factual occurrences,
shaken and stirred over the years so that they no longer resemble
their original source. People sharing them, unaware that they are
Urban Myths, often run into someone who says "That's funny, the
exact same thing happened in my town." That's when the ugly reality
of urban mythology sets in.
My stories sound a lot like urban myths, and I fully expect to one
day find someone who also had an Uncle with a Traveling Outhouse.
But whether these are true is not important. They just should be
true, aesthetically speaking. They're good stories, and can be
repeated fairly easily.
Here's the first one. This one was told to me by a friend (always
the "friend" or third party). I can't remember if he said he
actually knew the guy it happened too, but it doesn't matter. This
story "could" happen, it's unusual yet plausible, with a twist that
makes a good Urban myth. And it punishes that favourite target of
sexual carelessness (or sexual imagination. You get the feeling
that people who create or perpetuate these stories just ain't
gettin' any).
I will tell this story from the perspective of the person who told
it me. Without further ado:
SEXUALLY TRANSMITTED POISON IVY
When I was in the militia, we went to CFB Borden for basic training.
You really live like an animal during Basic; they hardly let you get
any sleep, make you crawl through swamps and bush, and sometimes you
live in your uniform for days without a break.
Wearing the same pants for days in the hot summer sun, the men were
in danger of getting what's called "Crotch Rot," the male equivalent
of a yeast infection. It's caused by the same sort of thing--sweat
trapped close to the genitals, the moisture causing a painful rash.
To combat this, they would tell men to walk with their zippers down
to allow the air to circulate.
A friend of mine was doing this, walking through the bush and doing
his exercises while "flying low." Unfortunately, CFB Borden is
known for the high concentration of poison ivy (there's a rumor that
it was the site of some too successful military experiments).
Marching, crawling, and rolling though the bush as he was, my
friend, with his zipper down, got in infected by poison ivy. Yes,
down there.
That's bad enough, except that he was seeing one of the woman
trainees. Shortly after he was infected but before the rash broke
out, he had sex with her.
His pelvic area transferred the infection to her pelvic area.
Sexually transmitted poison ivy.
Soon, they were both extremely sore and itchy in a very inconvenient
place.
Urban myths cater to fear and paranoia, especially that brought on
by reckless or less than chivalrous behaviour. These stories often
serve as a warning. The "true" story of the person who took a one
night stand home, awoke the next morning to find them gone except
for a note that says "Welcome to the wonderful world of AIDS."
Sexual promiscuity and its consequences are a popular topic with
myth-makers. Another popular topic is about criminals receiving
unexpected but gruesome punishment for their crimes.
That's were my next story comes in. I believe it was told to me by
my mother, who said it happened to my Uncle Dale. My Uncles are
definitely the kind to tell tales (and punch out people who cut them
off at the next set of lights, but that's another story about my
Uncle Sonny).
Uncle Dale's Traveling Outhouse
My Uncle Dale once owned a huge recreational vehicle. Stove,
fridge, bunk beds, and so on. The thing was so large that it had
two gas tanks. However, my Uncle converted one of the tanks into a
septic tank. There was a small toilet in the RV, and he ran a line
right down into the tank from the toilet.
One day while on a camping trip, my Uncle parked the RV in the lot
of a provincial park, and then went into its offices to take care of
some business. This took him about half an hour.
Upon leaving the office, my Uncle discovered that he had been a
victim of a crime. A thief had tried to siphon gas out of the RV.
Unfortunately, the thief chose the wrong tank.
My Uncle says that all he saw was a hose still in the tank, and
vomit everywhere. The thief was nowhere in sight.
Poetic justice, eh? This is actually the kind of think that you'd
like to happen to the son of a bitch who stole your car radio or
your bike. If only all criminals, with the exception of myself,
received such punishment.
There, now I've shared my stories, in the proper context. Perhaps
someday I shall relate the story of my ordeal at the hands of the
Toronto Raptors cheerleaders. Like many urban myths of its kind, it
starts out with "Dear Penthouse, I never thought your letters were
true or that this would ever happen to me, but..."
---
Jason MacIsaac is terrified that he has dedicated his life to the
pursuit and capture of the Spiralling Shape.
-------------------------------------------
3. Grimm Trickbabies: The Films of Matthew Bright
by Jeff Wright
Writer/director Matthew Bright is one of my favourite
directors. This happened over a period of two days when I saw both
of his films. His first film is FREEWAY, starring Reese Witherspoon
and Keifer Sutherland in a re-telling of the Little Red Riding Hood
fable. His second (which is still looking for a distributor) is
FREEWAY 2: CONFESSIONS OF A TRICKBABY, which stars Natasha Lyonne
and Vincent Gallo in a re-telling of the Hansel and Gretel fable.
That's all I'm going to say about the films' plots. These flics
should be experienced without any prior knowledge. It's more fun,
just to be blown away by them as they happen.
What makes Bright's films so great, is their tone. They're
well made films that just happen to be fun, excessive, and trashy.
Bright is a filmmaker who makes films the way I want to make films.
Film is too stuffy nowadays. Everything takes itself too seriously,
and if it doesn't, then it's too silly. Bright's style to me seems
like a mixture between Peter Jackson, Sam Raimi, Robert Rodriguez,
Russ Meyers, and I suppose even a touch of Troma films (Toxic
Avenger, Surf Nazis Must Die). That's one hell of a combo, and has
made for a couple of damn enjoyable films!!!
My introduction to Bright was FREEWAY 2: CONFESSIONS OF A
TRICKBABY. I saw it last week at the Toronto Film Festival, and
enjoyed the hell out of it. Saddly it's going to have a hard time
finding a distibutor, because it's really over the top, and just not
commercially viable. I hope with all my heart that the film gets a
theatrical release because Bright is a great filmmaker, and I'd hate
to see his ability to get financing go down the drain after just 2
films. Bright deserves to make his films until the day he dies.
Not only does Bright deserve these films, but so do I!!! I've
waited for a long, long time to find a director who got EXACTLY what
I'm looking for in a fun time at the movies, as far as tone goes.
I'm not going to see two films that I love, and then let him not
direct anymore films. He MUST continue to make his films.
I'm already psyched for his 3rd film, which is going to be a
re-telling of The Three Little Pigs, with 3 cops as the little pigs,
and a vicious teenage girl as the wolf. YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!! I can't
fucking wait for that flic!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But I'm gonna have to I
suppose since FREEWAY 2 isn't even released yet. DAMMIT!!!!!! This
is a hard wait!!!!! I'm getting way too excited. All I'm seeing is
exclamation marks, so maybe I should just stop.
Sure I haven't told you much about the flics (okay, here's a
little more about themes in both of the films: lesbianism, drugs,
murder, interracial relationships, youth prisons, white trash, and
much much more), but as always, I hope I've conveyed my love of
them. For now, you'll have to just rent FREEWAY (available on dvd
with a, quite funny at times, commentary by Bright), watch it over
and over again, then just sit and wait for FREEWAY 2: CONFESSIONS OF
A TRICKBABY to get a distibutor, and be released.
Matthew Bright rules!!!!!!! And he sure as hell ain't no
trickbaby!!!!!
---
Jeff ain't one to take shit. He's one to start it.
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4. CYBER TALK
By Samantha Stasiuk
So there I am, puttering from chat room to chat room, when all
of a sudden, this message flashes before my eyes: "Hi honey, wanna
cyber-fuck?" I sigh in disgust. This is not the first time this
has happened to me. It seems the moment you reveal yourself as a
female in a chat room, you are bombarded with questions from "men"-
asking where you live, what you are wearing, and, like this
particular loser, if you wanna cyber. So here I am thinking that I
came into a CHAT room. CHATTING being what I had in mind. So I
tell this guy "no, I'm only here to talk." Two seconds later, my
screen lights up with this rather lovely response. "You snobby
Bitch. Fuck you then." Now, I am sorry, but just because I did not
want to tell some guy I look like Sable, or whoever the newest
"babe" is, and am ripping off my clothes just to keep his interest,
does not in my book, make me a bitch. And yeah, all those "men" are
probably just thirteen year old boys looking for a thrill, and the
idea that I would be any cause for some over-hormonal masturbation
absolutely disturbs me.
So I decide to test this theory. See I am not a male-basher
or anything, so I wanted to see if it would work the other way
around. So I posed as a guy and entered yet another room. Sorry
ladies, that whole "we are sooooooo innocent" does not stand up to
what I experienced within those five minutes in a chat room. Not
only was I invited to "cyber", but I was asked if I liked whips and
chains, told I could be the "dominant" one, and asked to join in a
female group of cyber. So all you guys out there are drooling and
wondering WHICH rooms I was in, I'll tell you. No-it was not a sex
room, it wasn't even a flirting room. It was a Yahoo room and the
"topic" was the TV show Friends. And to my knowledge, none of the
"friends" engaged in any of the acts I was asked to be a part of.
So I'm left with no where to go. Neither a man nor a woman
can escape the "cyber" world in chat rooms. I JUST WANT TO TALK!
If anyone finds one of these places anywhere on the net, let me
know. I am down to the belief that they just don't exist. Oh, and
if you happen to see angeleyes_545 out there, she DOESN'T wanna
cyber!
---
Samantha loves to dance to the tunes of the "Footloose" soundtrack,
but that's only when she really feels like kickin it. There is
nothing better than listening to "Let's Hear it for the Boy" on song
repeat.
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CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org.
(*) - Yes, I know David Dylan is not Belgian, but would it have been
as funny if I had written "naughty Hollanders"? Or perhaps "crazy
Luxemburgers"? I rest my case.
Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine "media you can abuse"
In memory of Father Ross "Padre" Legere
Published every second Monday (or when we get around it)
Disclaimer: unintentionally offensive
Comments, queries and submissions are welcome
http://www.capnasty.org ISSN 1482-0471
A bi-weekly electronic journal. Subscriptions available at no cost
electronically.
Available on Usenet newsgroups alt.zines and alt.ezines. This
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