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Capital of Nasty Vol. 04 Issue 18
Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume IV, Issue 18, AD MCMXCIX
Friday, December 17, 1999
ISSN 1482-0471
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Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by
stupidity.
- Hanlon's Razor
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THE FLAT EARTH BBS
From: SPONGERAMA Read: HAS REPLIES
Subj: TO BE OR NOT TO BE... Status: PUBLIC MESSAGE
Conf: LEFTIST SOUP (10) Read Type: GENERAL (A) (+)
Okay, so picture this (these are my own beliefs, I don't expect
anyone to agree or dissagree)... Jesus is walking along the desert,
all of a sudden he comes up to see himself in front of him on the
cross. He looks at his other self and asks, "How did I get here?"
"You planned ahead with Freedom 55."
"I don't invest in life insurance."
"Thats what you used to say, but now look, nice mohagony cross,
beautiful land..."
"Wow"
"And enough money to help out your deciples"
"Deciples???"
Commercial ends with..."Invest in Freedom 55..."
-------------------------------------------
1. Editorial
2. I'm Somebody's Evil Twin
3. Mike Harris built my hotrod.
4. Stuck on North Campus
5. In Da Mu'fuckin Movie House!!!!!!
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This week's Golden Testicle award:
http://www.boogaholler.com/bjudy/interact/poopshock.html
"Its a little game where a dog tries to catch cat turds in its
mouth.
You control the dog. I like the sound effects."
Submitted by Edward Rabehl.
-------------------------------------------
1. Editorial
By CoN staff
It's finally over. School. No more silly drivel, no more teachers
with spelling that makes me look like an English Major, no more
pointless assignments. If now I could only find the time to get
some sleep.
You see, school, despite the fact that it took up most of the time
of my classmates and myself (and money. Lots of it too, actually),
was a drag. Especially the last semester where we got fucked over
with an extra $200 in tuition for just 3 classes. Or rather, one
class on god-knows-what with a teacher who introduced herself as
belonging to the Church of Scientology (if she had any expectations
to receive any sort of respect from us, she blew her chance right
there and then). The other two "classes" we had to endure weren't
really classes. One was placement. Which we had to find ourselves,
despite the fact that we were told the school would find it for us
("Oh haven't you heard? There has been a change in the curriculum!"
For the first time in history curriculums are actually followed),
and of course, an independent study project.
But we're an organized bunch, despite the fact that we are lazy and
hate this course more than our under-payed overworked jobs. So we
all did the projects of a mediocre quality. After all, if they are
all the same, are they really mediocre? If nobody does an
assignment, was it really assigned? I think Friday we're all going
to get lushed.
My plans to sleep for a week and veg went out the window. If it's
not my wonderful family that wakes me up because sleeping in late
(anything after 9) is a sin (and you know, it's your only day off,
you could do something in the house, like reshingle the roof!) I'm
in the all-to-common been-there-too-many-times search to find a job
in order to be autonomous again. It's not that I don't appreciate
the "generosity" of my family, I'd just like to sleep and be left
the fuck alone.
In the mean time, as I spend most of the little money I have on
envelopes and stamps and coloured copies of a few selected pages of
my portfolio to send along with my curriculum, I started my new job
working at a local ISP. This job sucks. As Jason MacIsaac once
said, the word "suck" doesn't really express what's wrong with it.
Clearly, I'm not happy with it, but the word keeps popping up like a
zit. I could talk about the know-it-all chatterbox sitting next to
me and SUCKS SUCKS SUCKS due to her behaviour. You get the idea.
I really shouldn't be complaining all that much. Most of the people
here are nice, some go out of their way to answer my questions and
even the clients that call, with questions that make you wonder how
they go through their lives functioning with their basic needs (like
breathing), are nice. But all it takes is that one person you have
no choice but to see everyday to trip your nutsack in a frenzy of
dickplay.
I am stuck with the same shift as Chatter-box, a gentle soul that
can't shut-up (until I told her she should let me finish my
sentences before she starts wallowing in senseless stupidity to
counter my opinion), gloats with the amazing knowledge she has (how
Unix is user-friendly and Windows is not) and when you try to
correct her, you have to hear long boring diatribes on how she's
right and you're wrong. And if the boss says "don't talk to the
admin guys because they get annoyed" (they get annoyed at Chatter-
box because she has been here 5 months and I've learned more than
her in 2 weeks), when I go and talk to them, because they told me
they don't mind (having half a clue is always good), she has to give
me yet another long lecture handed down by our great fearless
leader.
I'm glad I don't have access to automatic weapons, but I suppose,
pretty soon, my phone will become a dangerous weapon. One more
senseless argument from her and her tiny Christmas tree sitting next
to my monitor will make a trip up someone's rectum. So help me God.
- SPAM SPAM SPAM WONDERFUL SPAM -
Alan sends his cheers of worship to Cult Hero:
>cult hero looks like an ordinary, over worked, computer genius
> know-how. However, deep undercover, he and the followers of
> his cult, spread fear and terror in the hearts of spammers.
^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^
I love this guy.
- IT'S NOT SHORT, PITHYFUL OR INSTRUCTIVE -
William, from the Purple rabbit runners, writes:
Flick, flick. Inhaling deeply, he relaxes to the latest challenge.
> CoN: I wonder how many people know what an aphorism is.
First, for dullards like me, the definition:
aphorism n : a short pithy instructive saying.
Hmm. Seems like a rather pointless question. Perfect! Just like
my life! And, just like my life, I keep wondering what it really
means. And do I have to wait for the end to get the answer? Hmm,
better not get into meaning of life here. Especially mine, I have a
feeling it's to serve as a joke for cretins and bitches who are all
going to get a laugh out of it. (JM is also S5)
Hmm, how many people know that dumps are closed for Thanksgiving?
(a pointless US holiday which celebrates the beginning of the
slaughter of the people who were here before us after they taught us
how to survive) (a suggestion for next year: continue the tradition.
Invite a lot of guests. After a wonderful big meal, and they are
all slow and fat, kill them.)
(repeat first line)
I am a member of the alices restaurant anti-massacree movement. You
can get anything you want at Alice's restaurant. 'Cepting Alice.
Since the question was pointless, so is the answer. 42. If you
were to ask each person individually you would get 42 who knew
exactly what it meant. How do I know? Ask the dolphins, they'll
tell you. But you gotta find them first.
Life is short, and the art is long. -Hippocrates
- WITH THE RABBIT RUNNER GUY IT MAKES FIVE -
IGNORE the HYPE responds:
Hey Leo,
Another great issue. Legal Hog Calling was a good read. As for the
Job Interviews piece - I bet she didn't get the job <g>
> CoN: I wonder how many people know what an aphorism is.
4 counting Morbus <g>
- IT DEFINITELY WAS AN `N' WORD -
Amergin curses all ye ignorants of the ways of the army of darkness:
I'm shocked that people don't recognize this quote.
"I said it basically"
From the last of a line of great movies.
Army of Darkness: Evil Dead 3 now available on DVD digitally THX
remastered and with the original ending.
- I USUALLY DRINK MY COFFEE COLD -
Ron Chmara trips his nutsack:
> So there you go - time to get your collective C.C.C.P. nutsacks
> flippin' in a frenzy of dickplay ... or just take my comments as a
> devil's advocate type of rable rousing for my own amusement....<g>
How apropos...see below.
> Sometimes people here in France ask me about the litigation
> situation in North America. They've all read about, for example,
> the genius who won millions from MacDonald's after she spilled
> their coffee on her lap and it was HOT. Now she's the richest
> litigant on her block because MacDonald's neglected to explain
> that if she tried to drive and eat plastic muffins and apply
> Maybelline Superlash and drink hot coffee all at the same time,
> she might spill something on the tender inner thigh region.
Pardon my language, but let's look at this from her perspective:
She got some coffee. She put it in her lap. Now, we're all been
burned by coffee, it sucks, ho hum, next annoyance... but this was
not an ordinary burn. This was second and third degree burns to her
crotch. Blisters. Peeling skin. Stuff that was suppsed to be
attached was falling off. She wasn't some 20-year old kid, she was
somewhat elderly, if I remember correctly, so she's probaly had hot
coffee spilled on her a couple million times. This wasn't exactly
just "hot coffee".
If your jewelbox was burned, peeling, blistering, and flaking like a
Chicken McNugget, and the company's idea of "taking care of it" was
to give you..."more coffee!"...is your nutsack burning and
blistered, peeling off, feeling like it's on fire, for a few months,
worth a cup of coffee? Or would you want to *sue the fuckers* for
every agonizing, painful, movement you had to suffer until you
healed?
I got a buck, we'll find out! :-)
-Bopperslovethepubkeepupthebitterworkbop
Jason MacIsaac responds:
Ok, I have no real problem with someone fleecing McDonald out of a
lot of money. Hell, maybe I'm jealous of this old lady because I
didn't think of it first.
Okay, let's agree for a moment that coffee was way too hot. Like
surface of Mercury hot. That fact is that that there are certain
things you just don't put next to your goodies. Raw uncontained
plutonium. A Glock with a history of misfiring. A Rabid Siberian
Nard-eating Hamster. Hot coffee in the disposal cups from
restaurants, which aren't known for their sturdiness.
But all right, she's human and did something stupid. And McDonalds
did have the coffee way too hot. So she should get a formal
apology from them. Her medical bills covered. Compensated for time
off work. Maybe even some extra cash for pain and suffering.
But she got a multi-million dollar settlement instead. For doing
something that she shouldn't have done. She got rich off the backs
of McDonalds. On the one hand, good for her. On the other hand,
now everybody is realizing: Hey, I can turn the fact that I'm too
stupid to safely walk the streets into an advantage! Remember this
the day someone picks up a hammer that happens to belong to you and
uses the claw to pick their nose and decides to sue you after the
blood starts flowing. It was your hammer. Why didn't you put a
warning label on it? Why didn't you know that some idiot was going
to come along and put a few extra holes in their head? Cough up $20
million.
This lawsuit sets a precedent--you are not responsible for yourself.
Other people are. In real legal systems, people who do dumb things
are told they'll be jailed for contempt if they ever waste the
court's time again. Bugger up your life if you want, but don't come
crying for a handout when you do.
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2. I'm Somebody's Evil Twin
By Jason MacIsaac
I happen to know that I have a twin out in the world.
He's not from the evil parallel dimension. You know, the one
Captain Kirk was accidentally sent to where all the evil
counterparts of the Enterprise had a beard (I think even Uhura had
one). He's not from the evil parallel dimension, though I might be.
I'm the one with the beard.
I have never met my twin, but I know he's out there. I've been
beaten up on his behalf. You know that episode of the Flintstones
where those clones of Fred Flintstone go around and wreak havoc that
he gets blamed for? It's funny because it's true.
It was at Columbus Boys' Camp. A bunch of us were hanging around
the artificial pond where frogs, toads, snakes, and other things
that the kids caught were stored. We were watching the leopard
frogs (nicest looking, hardest to catch of the frog family), when I
made some comment. It wasn't inflammatory or anything, just a
general observation about the frogs. So innocuous I can't even
remember what it was.
Another kid looked up at my words and narrowed his eyes. "Hello
Mouthy," he said. This took me aback because I had never seen this
kid before, and since my innocuous comment on frogs had been my only
utterance up to that point, it was hard to see how this could
possibly make me mouthy. Oh sure, I was mouthy in those days, and I
am now. But my point is at the time I was being unusually quiet and
there was no way for him to know this.
I wondered why he would call me such a thing. Then I wondered why
he was hitting me. Then I wondered why I was on the ground.
Actually, I managed to figure this last one out pretty quickly--I
was on the ground because he was hitting me. Good, I was beginning
to chain the causes and effects together, but I still had no
catalyst for this whole affair.
The whole thing had developed so suddenly that I couldn't defend
myself. I was stunned. I wasn't accustomed to fighting anyway.
This kid was bigger than me and was getting in some pretty good
undefended hits while I asked him what he was doing. He stopped
long enough to explain that it had something to do with what I had
supposedly said, me and all my "black friends."
This confused me because I didn't have any black friends (Oh yeah, I
suppose I should insert something here about this being entirely
circumstantial and that I am not opposed to having black friends per
say. I should also probably explain that I still use the term
"black" and not "African-Canadian" because I find the term
generalizes the ancestry of people. And for my last disclaimer, I
should explain I was not prejudiced against other kinds of frogs and
tried to catch them as well as leopard frogs. I think that covers
everything). When I explained I had no black friends, he didn't
immediately believe me. I can't say I blame him. It sounds like a
pretty weak and cowardly way to back out of something you said. My
confusion must have seemed genuine to him, because he let the matter
drop.
I've met one other person who has met my twin. This one fortunately
didn't have a grudge against him. He was also able to realize that
although I looked like whoever this guy is, it wasn't actually him.
Unfortunately he didn't have a name to give me.
I would like to track this guy down. If people are going to make a
habit of mistaking me for him, I want to make sure he doesn't piss
off the mob or burn someone in a drug deal. I don't think crazed
gangsters are going to buy the whole "it was a guy who looks just
like me but wasn't me" routine.
Now that I think about it, I have two twins. I've met the second
one. She used to work a drugstore in my old neighborhood.
That's right, it's a she. This woman looked a lot like me.
Fortunately for her it was back in the days before I had a beard.
When we met a spark of recognition passed between us. We had the
same complexion, the same eyes.we even had the same birthmark to the
right of our lips. I now know what I would look like if I became a
transvestite. If she was any indication, I'd be kinda cute.
Provided I lost the beard of course.
I didn't talk to her or raise the issue of her appearance. If a man
wants to endear himself to a woman, pointing out that she looks a
lot like him is probably not the way to go. I suppose we could have
compared personalities, inventorying our likes and dislikes to see
if the similarities were only skin deep. Or maybe we could have
done that Prince and the Pauper thing. I could have worked at the
drugstore, she could have worked at the theater were I worked. What
was to be gained by having her shovel out over-priced oil-covered
popcorn while I was crossdressing and hanging out behind a drugstore
counter remains to be seen though.
But I shall keep an out for other twin-hey, maybe I should have
asked if she had a brother. I have to clock him one for our own
good. Those crazed gangsters might spot her and think he's trying
some kind of Some Like It Hot gambit to escape them.
So if any of you out there see me mouthing off, it's my twin,
honest. Please get his name and location and send them to me. As
for the beatdown, get in line. I've got the right of way. But
don't worry, I'll share.
---
Jason MacIsaac will never see himself in the mirror with his eyes
closed.
-------------------------------------------
3. Mike Harris built my hotrod.
By Samantha Craggs
Do you know the local city councillor who is representing you? Do
you know who your member of parliament is? Do you know which
riding you live in? If not, please go find out.
As an ace reporter for a small daily newspaper, one of my jobs is to
do streeters, otherwise known as street surveys. The streeter is the
"cleaning the toilets" of the journalism world. It is usually
thrown on a reporter as punishment for a late assignment or talking
too much when he should be working. Buddy on the health beat tells
one too many jokes and the news editor is bound to spring out of
his office and say "You! Streeter!" as everyone else in the
newsroom lapses into looking extremely busy.
Streeters are the section near the editorial page of your local
newspaper where there are pictures of Joe Citizen and Joe's
comments on a topical issue next to it. They are hell.
The reasons they are hell are a) everyone likes to talk but no one
likes their picture taken and b) no one pays attention to what goes
on around them. I live in Haldimand-Norfolk, which is one of the
regions that Mighty Mike Harris (the premier of the province of
Ontario, and if you didn't know that, I'm talking about you)
decided should restructure. Haldimand-Norfolk could be split
down the middle, taxes could increase roughly 14 per cent for
about 22,000 people and everything about crucial services such
as ambulance and road maintenance could change. Not only did
many of the people I asked not know this, but many couldn't
name the municipality in which they reside. I stood in the mall
on a freezing evening and asked about 20 people before I got
the six necessary to fulfil my streeter requirements. One girl
not only didn't know the region was restructuring, but she
didn't know she lived in Haldimand-Norfolk.
The standard sheepish excuse is "well, I don't read the paper" or "I
don't watch the news." Is it really that tough to know where your
money is going? Even if you pay rent, you are indirectly paying
property tax, and you can bet that if taxes were hiked 50 per cent
your rent would go along with it.
(Premier Harris scrapped a bunch of rent control laws, but most of
the people who "don't watch the news" don't know that, either.)
How much effort does it take to know who is getting paid tens of
thousands of dollars to represent you?
Our regional council decided that they deserved a pension, which
would of course mean a big chunk of our tax dollars going to people
who have served a three year term in office. One guy I encountered
stepped out of a big shiny black truck, had perfect hair and was
holding a little girl in his arms. When I asked him if he thought
our local politicians deserved a pension, he didn't know we lived
in Haldimand-Norfolk and didn't know there was such a thing as a
regional councillor. "I don't watch the news," he explained.
Then, as I walked away, he shouted after me "But I think they
should leave Clinton alone!"
To everyone who "doesn't read the paper," please start. The world
is going on around you and it is likely to collapse before you
will notice anything different. If we do not pay attention,
Adolf Hitler could come into office and commit mass genocide
and we would be none the wiser. Knowledge is power and you don't
have to be a political activist to know the basics of the world
around you. The people who "don't watch the news" are usually the
ones who do not vote, either. While they are paying attention to
whether or not President Clinton got any from Monica Lewinsky,
the guy they hate is gliding into office on the backs of the
undecided vote.
Local politics are not boring. Your town councillor is boinking
underage girls and grandstanding in the council chambers the same
way the big guys on TV do. But he can get away with it because you
aren't paying attention. Such lethargy is a vote of confidence for
the guy who is fucking up your community, and every municipal
person in your district, from the public works guy to the Member
of Parliament, is working for you.
One woman told me tonight that she didn't know anything was going on
because she's "not political." You don't have to be political to know
what people are doing to your hometown. Lose the ignorance, educate
yourself and hang onto what's important to you in the process.
---
Samantha Craggs likes to get excited about things like this and then
write about them. You can visit her homepage at
http://www.velvet.net/~samantha.
-------------------------------------------
4. Stuck on North Campus
By Kalman M. Nanes
Well I did it. Again. I got myself stuck on North Campus at night.
Don't get me wrong; I love North Campus... it's so much more scenic
than Central, and I have lots of friends living up there who I don't
see very often. I will elaborate. I am a freshman at the University
of Michigan, in Ann Arbor, a town so much more bustling, more
lively, than my small suburban home town, that I can't help but love
it. I rejoice for the constant activity of the campus; I thrive on
the life around me.
Now, I am a math major, but my favorite hobby is singing. I am in
the Men's Glee Club, and in an a cappella group, The Gentlemen. And
one of my best friends, Jeremy, is in the music school. He lives on
North Campus, a five or ten minute drive from Central, with the
other music students and the engineers. I live in the middle of
Central Campus, and all of my classes are near me; I don't get to
North more than once a month or so. And the main reason is the trip.
As great a time as I have when I visit up there, it is a royal pain
in the arse to catch a bus there, and then again to get home.
More than once, I've gotten myself lost, more than a half a mile
from where I need to be, by taking the wrong bus. So I don't like
visiting at night when I can't get a ride home from somebody. But in
any case, Jeremy had a concert with a choir that I'm not in tonight,
and after seeing him sing I went with him back to his dorm to hang
around a bit. And, sure enough, 11:00 rolled around, and my ride
fell through. It was a school night; I wanted to get back home and
Jeremy wanted to go to sleep. So that meant that I had done it
again. So I resigned myself to ride the bus.
I don't like the bus in the first place; I HATE the bus at night. In
the winter. Waiting at the bus stop in the dark with some guy in a
dark trenchcoat for fifteen minutes in weather cold enough for me to
see my breath. So finally the bus comes, and I ride it back to
Central, and of course the closest stop to my dorm is all the way
across Central Campus; a good mile's worth of walking.
At 11:30 at night.
With nobody around.
And I don't exactly like walking alone at night. Well, with little
other choice, I got off the bus, and began the trek back to South
Quad. Only one other person was within sight; a girl who looked
about as happy to be outside as I was. And I was walking home,
looking at the sidewalk, when I thought to myself, and I quote,
"Shiny Meat".
What, you may ask, is "Shiny Meat"? I will explain. I was talking
with my best friend Sander last night, who I haven't seen in months
on account of he now attends Michigan State, and he was explaining
to me the concept of some beef jerky that his roommate had bought.
Now, I'm not that naive, I have had beef jerky before. Disgusting
substance. But he said, this was no normal beef jerky; in fact, he
was pretty sure it wasn't entirely beef, just whatever random meat
they happened to use. And it was so compacted, this jerky, that it
was shiny. And I said to him, "Sander, let me get this straight...
You just described MEAT as SHINY?" Which of course resulted in much
hilarity all around.
And so as I was walking home at umpteen o'clock at night, the words
"SHINY MEAT" entered my head, and I smiled to myself, and thought,
"Why the hell am I feeling so bitter?" And I couldn't come up with a
good reason, so I enjoyed the rest of my walk home. I stared at the
stars. I danced around a bike rack. I looked at the streetlights,
large globes, and noticed how against the dark of night they give
off a rainbow colored halo about themselves. I tried that one with
and without my glasses, to see if the halo was really there, and it
was! Try it out! And I sang out loud during my walk home, where
anyone who cared to could hear. And I looked at the way that my
breath fogged up my glasses. And it was bliss; I felt a peace that I
rarely feel.
So, the moral of my story, I guess, is that if you're ever feeling
bitter for no good reason, think about SHINY MEAT and learn to
appreciate the world around you. Because there is much to
appreciate.
---
I'm the same guy who wrote the article a while back on "Duckism", by
the way.
-------------------------------------------
5. In Da Mu'fuckin Movie House!!!!!!
With Jeff Wright
I'm pretty torn right now, as to what movie I should write
about. I've seen 3 fantastic films in the past week (Magnolia, Toy
Story 2, and A Christmas Story), and I want to write about all of
them. For the sake of your sanity, I'll only write about one and
save the others for another issue. See how kind I am to y'all? It
was a tough decision, but since it's the Christmas season, I decided
on A Christmas Story. I'll tell you all about the absolute genius
that is Magnolia, next issue. Maybe Toy Story 2 as well (It's
better than the original folks. And I love the original!).
On to, A Christmas Story. Made in 1983 I believe (I'm too
lazy to check, so if I'm wrong, I don't care), it's the story of
young Ralphie; a boy who wants a Red Ryder B.B. Rifle for Christmas,
more than anything else in the world. An early attempt to tell his
mother what he wants for Christmas is thwarted by his mother who
replies by saying "You'll shoot your eye out.". In the film, we
watch Ralphie on his mission to get that Red Ryder B.B. Rifle.
It's hard to explain why this film is so good. I saw if for
the first time last night (I gave my mother what-for, for having
never shown it to me), and I can confidently say that it's the best
Christmas movie I've ever seen. Maybe this wasn't the best movie to
write about, since I can't seem to put into words why I love the
movie so much. Oh well. I'm hoping that at least a few people will
be curious about A Christmas Story, enough to either watch it when
it's on tv, or go out and rent it. I strongly urge you to see this
film if you haven't already. From what I gather, a lot of people
have seen it, and hold it high on their lists of things to watch
around Christmas.
God, I feel stupid for actually sending this in to Leo for the
issue. It's really, really bad. It's like I wrote it in crayon. I
feel like nobody is even going to be reading this far it's so bad.
So I'm gonna wrap it up.
Please watch this movie! If you watch it, I'm pretty sure
watching it'll be a new part of your Holiday tradition. It's gonna
be officially part of mine, once I get the DVD in the next couple of
days. If you ignore my urge, then I don't know what to say. `Fuck
you'? `And a happy new year'
---
Jeff can't believe how many fucking retards there are in the world!
And for the longest time, he thought he was the only one. Who else
thinks Jeff's dying words will be "Mommy, the side of my head is
itchy. GRRETSKIIIIIIIII!!!"?
-------------------------------------------
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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
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