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Capital of Nasty Vol. 04 Issue 08
Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume IV, Issue 8, AD MCMXCIX
Thursday, April 29th, 1999
ISSN 1482-0471
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"Without humor, we are dead pretending to live. With humour, we are dead
just the same but at least enjoying the ride. To live is - besides the
biological definition - a subjective notion and one should keep these to
oneself as much as humanly possible. But this is only my opinion..."
-- Eelco den Dunnen (Below sealevel, ebb or flow) www.fist.org
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"Why are you crying? Don't be sad!"
"I'm not sad. I'm happy. These are tears of joy..."
"Well, don't be happy then. You're getting my face wet!"
-------------------------------------------
1. Editorial
2. Doctor Strangework
3. How May I Help You? Or The Day the Information Booth Exploded
4. Higher Education (My Ass)
5. Die Motherfucker Die!
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This week's Golden Testicle award:
Mr. T vs. Milkman Dan
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Rampart/6331/red_meat.html
- submitted by MarXidad
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1. Editorial
By CoN Staff
Welcome to Issue 8 of Capital of Nasty.
Issue 7 broke the tradition of silence from our readership and we had a
response record never seen before. Our first writer is Angela:
> [...]
>
> Hokay back to reality and men are not scum. I quite like them.
> There are times, however, where i'm sure we have been wired very
> differently in the brain and that can be quite heartbreaking
> sometimes, usually just frustrating. There are things about men
> that i just do not understand and probably never will. But it is
> important to keep in mind how differently the genders are
> socialized! Certain behaviours are encouraged of us growing up and
> this explains a lot of our thought processes and attitudes. Oh
> well. They already did the whole Venus and Mars thing. I can
> relate to a lot of what the author said in the "Scum" article, a
> couple of those things confuse and frustrate me too, but it's just
> not that cut and dried.
>
> Have you seen the commercial, i don't even know what for, where the
> guy and girl are watching TV, a sports match of some kind.
> Actually, he's watching, eating chips, and she's reading some Cosmo
> article "Is He Right For You?" as she sighs woefully at her poor
> choice of a couch potato boyfriend. Then this music comes on, and
> the potato dude transforms himself (in the girl's gaze only). She
> looks at his belly, and, to her delight, it transforms into a
> washboard stomach. His "wishy-washy" eyes change to bright
> piercing blue, and so on (then he comes to her to whisk her away
> and when he's right in front of her changes back to boyfriend with
> a thunderous belch).
>
> You know what Leo? I was fucking OUTRAGED! That is just
> disgusting. You know why? Cause what the FUCK would chicks say if
> the commercial featured some DUDE watching his girlfriend as she
> transformed into some fucking Barbie doll? No, the advertisers knew
> better than to fuck with that, right? So we don't get treated to
> the sight of the girlfriend turning 'look-at-me' blonde, her waist
> sucking in, her tits growing into delightful D cups, etc. on her
> way to becoming the Ideal Woman. They do a twist on that, and
> think it will appeal to us! I think that commercial is fucking
> insulting to men AND women alike, and i guess that's why i can't
> remember what the commercial is even flogging. The advertiser is
> probably just trying to balance things. Perusing a magazine rack on
> campus i overhear comments from young girls like "Oh my gawd is it
> POSSIBLE to look like that?" "I'd kill for a body like hers", etc.
> and a quick scan of the racks reveals more gratuitous chest shots
> than i care to think about. It doesn't matter whose self-esteem
> is being undermined, or that women's is thought to be more fragile,
> that commercial is just plain unhealthy.
>
> Off of my soapbox and into the fridge for some dinner,
> I remain,
> ME!
It was said, in our last issue of CoN, that no letter would be made fun
of in the Editorial: we lied.
Brian Newman also adds his few cents:
> Anyone who "eats" at Subway must be Very Stupid.
Yes, you're absolutely right. Only a total fucking moron would eat at a
Subway.
> Every sub, with the one exception of tuna, tastes exactly like every
> other sub.
How do you know this? Why, you must have eaten there!
Ben Popken replies to Samantha's "Happy Easter" article:
> Samantha, you state:
>
> "I can't help but wonder if Easter has been entirely lost on
> the human race. I mean, they did it to Christmas. It became
> less about the birth of Christ, and more about a fat man in a
> red suit getting his ass stuck in our chimneys in order to fill
> up our overgrown socks. Where the hell did that theory come
> from??? Not to mention the Christmas tree- I mean, I'm pretty
> sure there wasn't an evergreen growing next to the manger,
> which Mary happily decorated before she gave birth."
>
> You make a very good point about the emptiness of Easter and even
> Christmas, how they have become excuses for marketers to sell
> candy and presents. Every year, these holidays become less and
> less about spirituality and more and more about crass conspicuous
> consumption. However, the principal blame lies not on Hallmark or
> Hershey or Mattel but with pagans. Pagans, prior to the arrival of
> Christianity, were getting along quite fine with worshipping
> trees, dancing in groves and having massive orgies, as was the
> custom. However, when missionaries came along and converted the
> "heathens," the forrest people weren't about to just totally drop
> their culture and practices and start wearing their Sunday best,
> punishing themselves for their sins and not masturbate. The pagans
> held onto many elements of their culture and incorporated it with
> the new Christian rituals.
>
> "My question to you is, where did chocolate bunnies and eggs
> come in? Did everyone celebrate in his resurrection by biting
> the head off of a chocolate peter rabbit after they rolled the
> stone away? I just don't get it."
>
> The holiday of easter happened to fall around the same date that a
> certain pagan fertility/welcoming back spring festival took place
> and it followed that some of the symbols of the pagans would cross
> over into the new Easter celebration. The rabbit, symbol of
> fertility due to its large litters of offspring, was one of these
> and the hiding and discovery of eggs were one of the rituals. The
> same thing happened with Christmas because the tree and the
> decorating of it had to do with some pagan winter solstice deal
> that happened around the same time as Christmas.
>
> However, the candy/gift-card companies are no less culpable for so
> savagely capitalizing upon the holiday. But I guess, in the end,
> mankind itself is most to blame, for the marketers wouldn't sell
> the product if there wasn't any demand. People should remain true
> to the true nature of the religion and reject false elements. But
> again, I guess it's not necessarily people's fault. Eggs and candy
> and everything has become inexorably linked with Easter and Jesus
> Christ and God and therefore, because it is "religious," people
> feel compelled to go along with it. Who can argue with God?
> Especially when it's about eating chocolate. God can tell people
> not to steal and our jails are filled with car-jackers, bank
> robbers and lawyers. But when God tells people to eat chocolate
> covered bunnies and creme-filled easter eggs, everyone listens.
> So, in the end, who's to blame?
>
> Everyone. Everyone is guilty of devaluing the nature of religion.
> Except for me, i don't practice Easter.
>
> I'm an atheist. I keep Christianity pure by not corrupting it with
> my membership.
>
> But I still get to buy all the chocolate at 75% off after Easter.
> Yummy.
_the_devil_you_know protests:
> "Brought to you by C.C.C.P. (Collective Communist Computing
> Proletariat)"
>
> What the fuck do you mean by Communist boy? We beat them godless
> Bolshevic arseholes into submission. You better remove that
> offending word or I'm gonna get all NATO on yer ass.......
USA: WE ARE THE MIGHTY AMERICANS. WE TAKE SHIT FROM NO-ONE. ESPECIALLY
THOSE RED-ASS COMMUNISTS.
CHINA: Kiss our asses.
USA: Ok! Would that be with tongue or without?
Alan saw the light in CoN:
> There are whole novels that one could write on the issue of
> stupidity in our society. One could concentrate a whole mailing
> list on this issue.
>
> Little things that happen to us in everyday life, when shared
> properly, can really make other human beings sympathize with you.
>
> Some find that the little things that one talks about are rather
> insignificant, yet I can assure you, that it's the little things
> that you mention in your e-zine that really stick with someone
> after they read your paper. Issues such as "bathroom etiquette"
> and "I dropped my pen, now I'm on a killing spree" may be
> considered non-worthy to appear on CityTV, but they sure mold
> one's personality and the way one sees this world.
Our next issue will be about schools and the fascist paradise.
If you feel that you have a topic that CoN should cover, write to
con@capnasty.org (just hit reply to this issue). This issue is
secretely dedicated to the folks subscribed to the Def Con 7
mailing list.
Be good. Obey street signs. Read CoN.
-------------------------------------------
2. Doctor Strangework
Or, How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Not Care About My Job
By Jason MacIsaac
The other day I was in a mall near where I work, when I saw
something that prompted me to write this. This has been a long time
coming actually, and had I not seen what I'm about to discuss, something
else surely would have made me put these words down.
In the middle of this tiny, insignificant mall, there was a small
stand erected by one of those "We're Not A Rip-Off!" phone companies.
You know, the ones that offer you "345% off long distance, no calling
circles, and we promise we won't screw you this time." Working at
this... well, what do I call it? It's not a booth, not a kiosk, just a
freestanding wall with photos of the celebrity spokesperson (and her ugly
necklaces), and a small podium/display case thing. Let's just call it a
display. Huddled behind the very poor protection of the display was a
young woman, about 17, wearing the cheerful red and white uniform of the
company, trying desperately to hold off tears.
An older woman, probably in her early thirties, was berating the
young woman. It was the young girl's job to promote this thing, which
the public at large already regards pretty much as an incredible scam.
The young woman had been trying to hand out these sad little leaflets
encouraging people to sign up, when this older woman had obviously taken
exception to some policy or other.
Now from what I could tell, this woman hadn't actually signed up
for the "Steal your money!" special, she just wanted information. And
she kept hounding the young girl over and over again, trying to get
answers which the girl, who had probably about ten minutes worth of
training, couldn't supply. The older woman was driving towards the
brilliant conclusion that the whole thing was a scam, a rip-off, a lie.
This young girl was desperately trying to defend her position, which just
wasn't defendable. She was trying her best, but all she had was the
half-assed promo talk, which can't stand up to anyone who thinks about it
for more than ten seconds, let alone attacks for five or ten minutes.
The young woman became more and more flustered. People in the mall,
seeing her stress, were starting to gather around.
I was meeting my friends, who came at about this moment, so I don't
know exactly how she escaped. I just saw her a moment later, talking at
a pay phone, her school windbreaker over her "I'm so perky I could just
shit" uniform. She'd left the booth/display/whatever unmanned. I don't
think she was walking out... but away from her job she looked a lot more
calm... peaceful.
The girl obviously had a shitty job, working for a shitty company.
Just as obviously she just wanted to make some money for the summer. Or
perhaps she was saving up to go to college, or university. Maybe she
wanted a car. Maybe she just wanted some pocket money to hang out with
her friends. Or maybe she was supporting an awesome crack habit.
Doesn't matter. The point is, I see this sort of thing all the time.
I've experienced it more times than I can count. And I remember,
standing in a different but equally dippy uniform, talking to customers
who were berating me, wishing desperately that I could be somewhere else,
anywhere else, but feeling trapped, because that's what I was. I
remember trying to hold back tears and explain something I did not
believe in, a decision I was powerless to change and was made by somebody
else who was not there.
I remember the great joy when I finally worked it out. You see, I
was making the same mistake those big-mouthed customers were making. I
was confusing the individual with the organization.
If you go into your local fast-food conglomerate and you're not
happy with the price of the chicken nuggets, be sure to complain to the
cashier. They'll get on a phone, call head office, who will immediately
patch their call through to the CEO, day or night. They'll say "A
customer says that $2.99 is too much for six pieces of chicken fat." The
CEO will say, "By God, you're right Alice," (the CEO will know the
cashier's name), "Ask them what price they think is reasonable, and then
half it."
Psst--That was sarcasm for the uninitiated. Stay awake, there's
more where that came from.
For those of you who didn't get it, the people you actually deal
with in any given business have absolutely no power to alter the policies
of the company. They can't bend the rules, they can't break them, and
they certainly can't change them. They may agree with you totally, but
can't do a damn thing about it. Still, that doesn't stop a lot of
people, such as the older woman I just described, from trying. This
causes a great deal of stress for employees, who have to enforce stupid
policies for suited morons who imagine they know what life in the
trenches is like. I can remember cold sweat bursting out of every pore
as head office described a hideous new procedure that both we and the
customers would obviously hate. Our pleas would fall on not just deaf,
but dumb ears. In fact, even customer complaints were often ignored by
these bozos, for reasons I will get into some other time. For now, know
that many people every day are forced to put on uniforms which make their
customers want to take them as seriously as someone wearing a straight-
jacket, and explain policies like "We put broken glass in all our
hamburgers now" and furthermore, "that's how people like it."
That is the sort of activity which drains you of all morale, of all
self-worth. You feel like a liar and a crook, but you can't even fall
back on telling yourself you're a good liar and crook. Anyone who's
worked a really shitty job knows what I'm talking about.
Then one day, I figured it out. I had been drafted to a side I
didn't believe in. I was here for the money, I wasn't here for the fun.
I didn't like the customers, and I liked head office even less. So I
became a sort of draft-dodger, or pacifist. I couldn't win the battle
for the customers or head-office, even if I did actually believe in
either side, which I didn't. So I just stopped fighting.
So I would recite the company line. "We do such-and-such-and
such." Customers would say, quite correctly, "That's idiotic." To which
I had two responses. "Yeah, I know," or "Would you like to speak to the
manager?" Okay, I had a third response for my nastier moods. I would
say, "What do you know about idiotic, asshole? You don't even work
here."
Response one was excellent for communicating the truth to the
customers. A few simple words conveyed the message: "Yes, I know it's
stupid, but it's not my decision. The only reason I'm telling you this
is so I can keep drawing a paycheque. If you want someone to do
something about it, you've got the wrong guy." You have to be careful
about going too far though. A lot of people make that mistake of going
further and adapting "The I only work here" attitude. Managers get all
pissed if you show you don't care. Oh, some of the smarter ones know in
their heart of hearts that if you won the lottery, you'd be back the next
day to wipe your ass with your uniform (watch it doesn't give you a rash)
and give everyone the finger. But they hate it when you display it.
You've got to keep giving the impression that you would personally donate
all the spit in your body to help put out a fire that was burning the
place down. A good impression to give is that false humility. You're
too low on the Totem pole to understand why the policy is the way it is-
obviously if you did, you'd be a manager. Which brings us to response
two:
"Would you like to speak to the manager?" Very few managers have
the courage to realize, let alone admit, the truth. Head office and
other forms of upper management are insane. They have no idea how to
manage human beings, let alone a business. Any and all progress a
business makes is done by lying like hell to head office, disguising the
facts, or better still, telling them nothing. Most managers are forced
to swallow the company line. So they defend it like mad. Even to their
employees, who know better. It's fun to watch a customer repeat
everything you said at the staff meeting when you explained that the idea
would be about as popular as a home circumcision kit that didn't pass
through safety inspection. Don't go saying, "I told you so" though.
By instantly surrendering, you let the stream of responsibility
wash over you. It's quite comforting. Stress melts away like ice, and
you'll feel free again. It's like a Taoist teaching. You can't reverse
the direction of a river. Why try? Why not drift down it, and see where
it takes you?
Someday, I hope that young girl will realize that she does not
deserve the stress. I wonder if she left that booth empty, just running
away from it all. Unfortunately, there's only more to run to. You're
unlikely to escape, so you must adapt. I hope she's out there now,
collecting minimum wage, still working for that obnoxious long distance
company. Only now I hope she's lying on her back, letting the river wash
her along peacefully by saying, "Of course it's a total rip-off. So, can
I sign you up?"
---
Jason MacIsaac shall not be considered in determining the existence or
non-existence of the circumstances included in subsection F or G of this
section.
-------------------------------------------
3. How May I Help You? Or The Day the Information Booth Exploded
By Samantha Stasiuk
Warning: The following article contains a disgruntled employee griping
about work-do not read if you don't want to put up with complaining!
So, this issue is on "people who are too nice". Well, living in a small
town, and working at the local mall, I encounter this every day.
In fact, I AM, ashamedly, one of those people. I have to be in order to
keep my job. Sometimes I hear my own sugarcoated voice and want to
vomit. But, the yuppies around here seem to appreciate it. Working on
the days when I have gotten two hours sleep, and am loaded up on coffee,
my job is especially hard. Someone asks me where the washrooms are, and
I want to tell them that "we have no fucking facilities here-go pee in a
bush". But instead, I smile sweetly and point them the right way. They
then turn and walk in a completely different direction. In my fantasy
world, I lunge across my desk, grab them by the neck, throw them to the
floor and say "didn't you fucking hear me? I said they are that way!
Here, I go out of my way to prevent your bladder from bursting, and you
dismiss my advice and walk in an alternative direction? Are you a
complete moron? What the hell is your problem?" I then beat them
senseless and walk back to my desk as though nothing out of the ordinary
has occurred. But this never happens of course, because I need the
money. So I just sigh and sit back at my computer.
Of course, then there are the people who REALLY try my patience. They
walk up to my desk, with its big sign proclaiming "INFORMATION BOOTH",
and ask: "excuse me dear, is this the information desk?" Well, what the
hell do you think that sign says, lady? Can you read, or do you have the
brain equivalent to that of a two year old? "Yes ma'am, we are". I
pause, eagerly anticipating her next question. (Well, not really
eagerly, I just have to look that way). She then looks at me and says,
"Oh, I just wondered." As she turns and walks away, I have to restrain
myself from charging at her with my letter opener. Seeing her blood
splatter all over the over-shined marble floor, however, would be of
little compensation.
Next come the strollers, which are my favourite. As a free service
(promotion time-come to my mall!), we provide shoppers with strollers.
They come up to our desk, leave a piece of identification (which I
quickly make copies of-just kidding all you paranoid parents out there!),
and we give them a key for their stroller. It is locked up about ten or
twenty feet from my desk. Now this is where people get confused. Would
one not assume that they unlock the stroller themselves, therefore they
must lock it back up before returning the key? You would think so. But
no, the lazy asses leave the stroller in front of my desk-they can't walk
ten feet-and hand me the key. When I inform them they must lock up the
stroller, they give me a confused look. Now, maybe it's just me-after
all, I have graduated from kindergarten- but I don't find this a hard
concept to grasp. But for some reason, these people do. Sigh!
Sometimes I think they are the ones who need the strollers, and I would
like to bash their skull in with one until the cheap yellow plastic
breaks (which wouldn't be very long, come to think of it.).
And then there are the people on the phone. Now, it's a lot simpler to
sound sweet than to look it, so I have an easier time answering the phone
than speaking to people in person. Also, I can put people on hold. Now
there's an incredible power to have over someone.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't feel like dealing with your shit right now,
can I put you on hold?" They then get to sit and listen to cheesy easy
listening music for as long as I'd like to torture them. As their ears
bleed to Michael Bolton's highest pitch in "How Am I Supposed to Live
Without You", and Kenny G holding notes only dogs can hear for 50 minutes
at a time, I surf the net or flip through a magazine, enjoying every
moment. When I am ready, I can pick up the phone and say, "sir, I'm
SOOOOOOOOO sorry about the wait. What was your question?" Too bad that
can't be done to the hundreds of fools who come up to my desk each day
and ask where the information desk is.
So, people, I implore you: Be nice to the information desks in your local
mall. We deal with idiots all day, and the last thing we need is another
idiot coming up to our booth. If you are pretty sure you already know
the answer to your question, keep it to yourself. If you ask the
question out loud and realize just how stupid it sounds, then do not take
it to that lone person trapped behind the desk. Lock up the strollers
when you are finished with them. And if you just want to know if we ARE
an information desk, go with your gut feeling, and just assume that we
are. Otherwise, "welcome to our mall, how may I help you?"
---
Once an alumni of the ever-famous St. Patrick's high school, Samantha is
a wannabe actress/singer turned writer who is looking to get absolutely
anything published. Her passions range from musicals, to alternative
rock, to smiley faces. She work at the information booth in a dinky
little mall in the suburbs, and takes her frustrations out by writing
about the yuppies that wander the mall aimlessly all day.
-------------------------------------------
4. Higher Education (My Ass)
By Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro
It's the end of a semester and exams, final assignments and presentations
are due. You've spent the last week revising your project, a project
worth more marks than the whole year put together, making sure everything
was set correctly, debugged and tested and you are ready to go.
Everything should go just fine.
Or so I thought.
In my presentation I got criticized down to the clothes I was wearing.
This coming from people wearing clothes that would make roadkill look
elegant.
As the co-ordinator sat there criticizing my clothing (black shoes, black
pants, white shirt, green sweater), in walks a professor (late) wearing a
bandanna, short biking pants, hiking boots and a stained shirt. Oh-kay.
That's a fashion statement, forgive me.
We were to start at 8:30. At 8:30, beside the anally retentive (and
particularly bitchy this morning) co-ordinator, there were a total of 4
students and 2 professors out of the 6 that were supposed to attend.
We had to present while people kept walking in, right in front of us.
One of my team members got into an accident and arrived late. We got
criticized for that too. As if.
As we all know, power gives everyone such an incredibly big hard on,
one idiot professor started making comments like "If you want a mark,
you'll have to give me the project on your zip disk" even though the
files were clearly stored on the server as instructed.
And since we had not been slaughtered enough with their nasty comments,
they had to sit there and nit-pick on all the things we did (specified by
our clients, I may add) that to them, OH-GRACIOUS-NEW-MEDIA-GENIUSES that
they are, found incorrect. Frankly, I don't give a shit if you don't
like the shade of blue we used. The client does. Fuck off.
Best of all, I got the shaft because the computer I was doing my
presentation on was not set up correctly. Something they should've
thought of before. Yet I get accused of being unorganised for not
testing it before. Well, geez, it works on EVERY other computer in this
class, BUT that computer, I wonder how I was supposed to know.
8 months to go to get an incredibly stupid piece of paper on something I
already know, taught by the most incompetent professors ever, ones that
make the those in the "Institute of Advanced Learning" (one of those
little basement buildings that teach you the same stuff in only 3 weeks)
possible competition. I am stunned. Higher education my ass.
Bitter. But still determined.
---
Leandro is one of the editors of CoN. He enjoys writing his misfortunes
and happenings caused by his interesting life curse, and harassing
customers at where he works. He doesn't hate his college. He despises
it. Leandro is very bitter and is plotting world domination and the
extermination of all his professors.
-------------------------------------------
5. Die Motherfucker Die!
By Pat Adams
With murderous intentions, I think of all the people that have been
unkind to me. I think how nice it would be to reward their actions with a
living hell. I'd like to make every second of their pathetic little lives
unbearable, watch as they squirm in their agony. Watch them twist and try
to break free of the vice that squeezes them. The more they struggle the
worse I'd make it. Flesh screaming from the pain, mind in turmoil from
its flesh being burned away. Bodies broken, mangled, defaced, bent into
most unnatural positions. But no, physical pain would be an easy way out
for them. I must destroy what they love, defile what they hold sacred,
and ridicule the beliefs that are the foundation of their very being. I
must make them feel the loneliness, despair, anguish, and fear that I
have felt. Their willpower will blow away like dust in the wind, and they
will be broken. Nothing but a shell of a human figure. Hearts broken,
will to live gone. Then they will realize their error, but it will be too
late. Judgment will be made on what is left of what might have laughingly
been called a soul. Their heart, blackened by hate and anger, will show
the marks of hellspawn, and they will burn for eternity, an eternity of
repeating past mistakes, and having their actions pointed back at them.
They will learn, but too late, for they have become worse then those they
abuse. People will curse them in many tongues, and their memories will be
defiled and will become parables told to children, dire warnings of what
they could become, what will happen to them. Revenge will be sweet, and
it will be mine. I will bathe in its coolness, and feel its juices soak
into the wounds caused by them. Revenge will be sweet and it will be
mine!
---
This story appears courtesy of Omnicolour, Editor in Chief of "Digital
Darkness" http://digitaldarkness.com
-------------------------------------------
CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org.
Where were the chocolate bunnies when Jesus needed them?
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 mailing
is sent exclusively to those poor souls who chose to subscribe to the
Capital of Nasty mailing list.
Spread the word! If you have friends who would like to receive CoN,
ask them to send email to join@capnasty.org. If you'd like to unsubscribe
because such email aggravates your tolerance towards nasty people,
simply send an empty message to leave@capnasty.org.
Brought to you by C.C.C.P. (Collective Communist Computing Proletariat)
Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro Colin Barrett
<leandro@capnasty.org> <tyrannis@capnasty.org>
ZimID 708EC8D1 1994/09/14 EC B0 97 59 1D FE 7C 32 7E 04 2C 66 47 41 FB 7D
