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I Dont Care if You Read This 003
up in the sky, is it a bird, is it a plane, is it a thermo-nuculear
device? no, it's...
.- /)__(\ -------------------------------- /)__(\ -.
| ( oO ) i don't care if you read this #3 ( Oo ) |
`-- |..| ---------------------------------- |..| --'
~~ ~~
here we are... idciyrt #3... seems just like yesterday
that i was releaseing the third going ape shit press
in just as many days... man... those days were absolutely
wonderful...
in this issue, we have the adventures of the white power
ranger and his side-kick, redneck boy. just as i promised in
idciyrt #2.
but, as usual,ðwe first have to have our complimentary poem
dedicated to james hetfield, the one who hates poetry.
.- /\__/\ ------------------------------------------------.
| ( %o ) i shall never see a poem as beautiful as a tree |
`-- |..| -------------------------------------------------'
~~
ode to my unix shell
oh unix shell, i love you much more than beer
set prompt = "mogel is the one i phear> "
all of the power that you hold for me is what i hail
did someone write me? well then i'll type mail
there are so many porno stories that i want to see
so i'll saunter to nifty.andrew.cmu.edu via ftp
illegal copies of softare, don't get caught with them
your wories are gone in a flash with my friend rm
are those hackers trying to crash my system again?
oh boy, they just got their very own copy of satan
if i don't want to type today, i can use the window of x
is this file complete garbage? let's check it in hex
as i've said before, i really love my unix shell
the outdoors? sorry, those words don't ring a bell
.- /\__/\ -----------------------------------------------.
| ( @o ) when hemmoridal pain strikes up, i take heroin |
`-- |..| ------------------------------------------------'
~~
[setting: a sleepy southern trailer park in georgia. a grown
man and a young boy are swimming in an aboveground pool. a car lies on
cinder blocks in the driveway while the yard is littered with children's
toys. the man is looking up into the sky.]
man: looks like rain.
boy: chips. need more chips.
[suddenly a freak accident accurs, a lightning bolt rips through
the pool and through the ground striking several leaking waste
cans. the cans were set there twenty years ago by the government
to dispose of radioactive waste. the reaction between the waste
and the bolt of electricity is insurmountable. the waste shoots
directly up through the fissure in the earth into the pool and
bathes the two in it's toxic glow.]
man: i feel... strangely invigorated by this... this... wait,
what was that word i said? in vinegar? was i talkin'
again? i shore hate it when i do that.
boy: beer. need more beer.
man: we need more than just beer, we need costumes. and secret
identities, i feel as strong as twenty monster trucks! i shall
be called... THE WHITE POWER RANGER!
boy: chips. need more chips.
wpr: yes... yes... you also need a name... you shall be my faithful
sidekick... REDNECK BOY! we shall stand up for all that is
right. when we see injustice being done, we shall be there,
when we see a mexican crossing our sacred borders, we shall
be there. when we see some lousy blackie taking a white man's
job, we shall be there. we shall stand for truth, justice, and
the inbred way.
[with that, they went down to the local liquor store to stock up on
chips and beer. ready to spread their twisted views on politics, they
are suddenly distracted by a strange alien force.]
wpr: ... so i tell her that either she gets me a beer from the
fridge, or i'm going to have to beat her, again. so she
threatens to call the cops on me... hey! would you look
at the jugs on her, what i wouldn't do to that...
rnb: beer. need more beer.
clerk: doesn't he say anything else?
wpr: well, he hasn't been quite normal since the 'accident'.
clerk: oh.
[enter a man wearing ski-mask holding a loaded .22 rifle]
man: if any one of you honkey's move, i'm gonna fill your chest full
of lead. now fill up the bag with your cash, white bread. oh,
nice costume whitey.
wpr: foolish negro! not realize who i am? i am:
[tinny sounding music by garth brooks]
wpr: THE WHITE POWER RANGER!
man: dude, i don't care if you're the fucking duke of earl. empty your
pockets before i put a cap in yo' ass, fool.
wpr: alright, i gave you your chance. now you will have to taste
the wrath of my CROWBAR OF JUSTICE! taste the pain of a
thousand episodes of mork and mindy!
rnb: beer. we need more beer.
[the white power ranger pulls out a glowing crowbar from his sack. he
swings it at blinding speed at the head of the assailant turned
victim. the man attempts to duck but the crowbar slams into his head,
slightly denting the skull]
man: oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit...
[enter two other masked men carrying shotguns]
man2: leroy! fuck man, what the hell happened to you.
man3: dude, check out the funky white bread. thinks he's superman.
man1: don't mess with him... he's the one who fucked up my head
man. let's just the the hell out of here. move, move, MOVE!
[as they make their getaway, the white power ranger sticks his head
out of the door]
wpm: y'all come back now, y'hear?
[the white power ranger and redneck boy get into the IncestMobile, a
converted chevy pickup with special minority group finding
equipment. wpm checks the MinorityFinder camera for anyone who may
be close by. it catches a glance on some skater punk kids on their
way home from an offspring concert]
rnb: beer. need more beer.
wpm: there's some foul evildoers, let's show them what a little hate
misunderstanding can do.
[with that, wpm engages the refried beans jet fuel and takes off at an
alarming rate. they catch up with the punks easily, then get out of
the pickup]
wpm: halt, ye of little genetic makeup.
skater1: what's your beef, bro?
skater2: don't mess with us. we'll school you man.
skater3: jim's a blade-man, man. he'll cut you, man!
s1: yeah dude, jim's more punk than you.
s2 (whispered): shut up dudes, my piece is at home. mom took it away.
s1: bummer. listen, we don't want any trouble, we're just on our
way home for dinner. just let us through.
wpm: don't try to talk your way out of this one, i know about
your type, i watch inside edition. you and your drugs and
rock'n'roll. if you ask me, i'm about to do the world a
favor, you polecat.
[the white power ranger pulls out another of his weapons of
ignorance, a glowing baseball bat]
wpm: say hello to mr. wilson, shithead. feel the sting of a thousand
mighty budweisers! he-yah!
[wpm starts to swing his baseball bat towards the punks, gets one of
them down, then a police car pulls up]
cop: well shit-on-me... if it isn't the white power ranger, what do
i owe this honor upon, sir?
wpm: these bastard hippies were skating up the street, wearing
horrible clothing, probably coming from a rock concert and
on some sort of drugs.
cop: izzatso? looks to me like i'm gonna have to do some
regulatin' here. c'mere boy, let me show you what the law
thinks about your type.
s1: shit...
[the officer pulls out his billy club and starts to whack away at
the helpless skater punks. the next day the paper headlines with:
THE WHITE POWER RANGER SAVES TRAILER PARK FROM CERTAIN DOOM.
in the insuing months, tales of wpm's crusade spreads far and wide
throughout the county. the news falls upon the ears of the north
east coast's number one superhero, politically correct man. he
is agast at the atrocity.]
politically correct man: great scott! how can someone come up with such
a dastardly plan? these are all potential
voters... i feel as if i should do something to
help them...
[a voice sounds from the other room]
voice: just make sure that you don't damage your image, sir...
pcm: but of couse, thank you democratic party boy; i don't know where
i'd be without you.
democratic party boy: you'd still be in arkansas kissing ass...
pcm: yes yes yes, but that's not important now. there _has_ to be a way
i can use this to my advantage and win votes for 1996. hmmm...
wait, i know! and it's been done before... come into the planning
room al... errr... i mean democratic party boy...
dpb: sure... lemme just wipe first... (to someone else) thank you
hillary.
hillary: any time, big boy.
.- /\__/\ -------------------.
| ( Oo ) tO bE k0NTiNUeD@#! |
`-- |..| --------------------'
~~
what plan does politically correct man have in store for the white
power ranger?! does this mean that the story's finally developing a
plot, going against pip's original plan? why can't democratic party
boy wipe his own ass? and why was hillary doing the dirty work? these
and other questions to be answered in the second part of our story, in:
THE WHITE POWER RANGER RIDES OFF
or
MOMMY, HOW MUCH IS THAT SHOTGUN IN THE WINDOW, THE ONE WITH THE
WAGGILY CLIP?
.- /\__/\ -----------------------.
| ( oO ) chips, need more chips |
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~~
.- /\__/\ -------------------------------------------- /\__/\ -.
| ( #o ) information on i don't care if you read this ( o# ) |
`-- |..| ---------------------------------------------- |..| --'
~~ ~~
idciyrt number 3 was written by pip the angry youth
he's just this guy, you know?
now now NOW! you can get your very own copy of idciyrt along with the
other i don't care lines... i don't care if this phunkshunz, our
programming division (pip's learning c, kurdt does pascal, and ilsundal
is heading up the batch file division.)... i don't care if you like
this, our art division (pip, hal08, and ilsundal)... i don't care if you
listen to this, our music division (ilsundal)... if you want to apply
for a position here, or want to submit an article... write to
pip@cybercom.com... and our zine... i don't care if you read this...
we also have an internet mailing list... mail pip@cybercom.com,
krad@nj5.injersey.com, or cyclone@nj5.injersey.com to get information on
our mailing list for the magazine... we shall soon enough have a spot on
someone's ftp site...
