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Propaganda Unlimited Volume 1 Issue 8
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P R O P A G A N D A U N L I M I T E D
December 28, 1994 Volume One, Issue Eight
"More Fun Than You Can Have In Zed's Basement!"
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CONTENTS
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1. Introduction to Issue #8
by Constantine
2. Propaganda by Mail
3. Black Plague, Part One
by Malakai
4. Fear and Loathing in Cyberspace, Part Eight
by Constantine
5. Part, Eight Dystropia
by Midget Caesar
6. Poetry Roundup
by Psychotic Ambition
7. Coming Attractions and Distribution
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STAFF
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Midget Caesar.......... Pumpkin, Head Writer
Constantine............ Honey-Bunny, Head Editor.
Oregano................ Le Big Mac, Evanston
Correspondant.
Nyarlathotep........... Royale with Cheese, Indiana
Correspondant.
Newt................... Had the Briefcase,
Writing Staff.
Aquarius............... Has the Briefcase, Writing Staff.
Psychotic Ambition..... Doesn't Care What's in the Briefcase, Writing
Staff.
Comrade Slash.......... Doesn't like Quentin Tarentino Anyway, Writing Staff.
Malakai................ Mrs. Mia Wallace, Writing Staff.
Platinum Ego........... (Expletive Deleted), Writing Staff.
Dr. Fig................ Just Dr. Fig, Writing Staff.
and, of course...
Two Fish............... Bad-Ass Motherfucker.
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Intoduction to Issue Eight
by Constantine
Hello, and welcome to issue eight of Propaganda Unlimited: new, improved,
and only half a month behind schedule this time. Our world headquarters has
moved to the scenic Club Evermore (312.476.1508), where the music is loud,
the drinks are strong, and reality is optional.
Actually, we haven't "completed" the move, per se; everything is sealed up
in cardboard boxes, and since everybody on staff developed serious back
trouble the second we got here, this entire issue has been composed on a
spare TRS-80 we found out bac k. Our only alternative was doing it on a
Pentium, but I wanted to use the more powerful machine. The TRS-80, after
all, can do basic division.
Before I turn the issue over to our monthly roundup of lunacy, a bit of news:
this issue will be my last as editor of Propaganda Unlimited. Outside
concerns (food, rent, a life) have made it impossible for me to meet my
deadline commitments and get these issues out in time. So, starting next
issue, Midget Caesar will be helming the magazine and making sure that your
every dose of PU is a timely and potent one. I will still be writing
regularly, and Fear and Loathing will continue indefinitely-- and you
thought you'd escaped.
And now, on with the show!
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Propaganda By Mail!
Your personal propaganda missives can be directed to our mailbox
at PULETTERS@AOL.COM. This week brings two letters, one scathing
and the other a mild irritant. You guess which is which.
---
Subj: moo
From: chucks@chinet.chinet.com
I'd just like to say that PU is a total rip-off of MaDCaP and you should all
get gangrene and DIE.
-chuck
[Editor's Note: Chuck, you silly little shit. If PU was going to rip
someone off, don't you think we'd rip off people with TALENT? We rip
off the BEST, and you simply don't qualify. Ta-ta.]
---
Subj: a letter, darnit, what else?? :)
From: Two Fish
Dear messrs. Constantine & Midget Caesar:
I've got a couple of points to make about issue five of PU.
First of all, you can't fool me--it's pretty plain to see that this was
ACTUALLY issue # SEVEN (7), and NOT five as your masthead so brazenly
claimed. Being not only the Arbiter of All That is Cool, but ALSO (and,
might I add, much more importantly) the _Arbiter of Truth_, I feel it is my
sworn duty to inform the masses (gelatinous, congealed, or otherwise) of your
hopefully unintentional and therefore unfortunate blunder. For shame, boys!
If you had named the issue the SECOND issue #5, well, than THAT would have
been different. But you didn't, and that is irresponsible. Have you thought
of how the poor souls reading PU reacted when downloading this issue? How
disjointed they all must have felt by seeing issue five come out immediately
AFTER issue six (6) and exactly two issues after the REAL number five?
I'm sorry. I really don't mean to come down on you. Honest. After all,
you're doing a fine job with PU, and I wouldn't have it any other way. It's
just that I expected better of you than the blatant disregard you displayed
with the issue-# foul-up. But that can't be fixed now. I'm just doing my
duty by clearing up the discrepancy. No hard feelings, guys? :) Thanks!
Anyway, point # two (2):
re: Aquarius' Joke Corner. All I can say is, BRILLIANT!! What a talent
that young person is, and what a fine job you all did in discovering him.
Keep this feature, please. Oh, and if I may indulge in my own foray into
humor...?? Thank you. Okay, here goes.
Why'd the monkey fall out of the tree?
'cause it was DEAD!
How's that? (Don't worry, Aquarius, it's the only joke I know. You need not
fear me intruding upon your sacred joke-telling ground, believe you me! ;) )
Okay, well, that's about it. Constantine, keep the flows tapping. And until
Midget Caesar turns into a WaReZ />00d and becomes a devout follower of Joe
Fred Foster, make mine Marv--- oops! I mean Propaganda Unltd.!!!
The Arbiter of Truth and All That is Cool,
Two Fish
See ya 'round! ;)
[Editor's Note: You know it's a sad month when Two Fish will only
communicate with the home office via email. He usually prefers notes
tied to rocks and letter-bombs. At any rate, responsibility for the
issue numbering foulup belongs to me. Until I find someone I can
pin it on.]
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The Black Plague
by Malakai
Mikoun once was a great explorer and a great hero, but he has now
slowed down his living. He lived in the castle of King Arenthas of the city
of Nalevin in the south near the Great Waste, a vast desert which many
venture into but very few return. He was held in high regard amungst the
people of Nalevin, for he led the small band which stopped the bandits of
the area, who called themselves, The Black Plague. The band had recently
gained a new leader, an eight foot tall, muscular, yet brilliant giant of a
man who was rumored to be the spawn of Satan himself. Promised the throne
after the king's death, Mikoun decided to settle down in Nalevin, leaving
his adventuring past and adventuring friends behind. But always watching
Mikoun for a time to kill him, was Arenthas's jealous son, Landolin.
This is the story of Mikoun's fight with the Black Plague. Mikoun's
group consisted of a few of his friends which he met on his many adventures
through out the lands. Mikoun's best friend, whom he saved from a prejudiced
mob many years before, was the only one who could rival him in the sword as
well as in brains, 'Nym by name' as Nym would often say. Nym was a black
skinned human from the Northern steppe, a race whose brutality has left them
with a large black mark on thier reputation. Then there was Feinam, once a
practiced rogue, but was defeated in a duel by Mikoun years before and turned
to a life of good, using her skills for the good of mankind. Then there was
Saychen, a friend of Mikoun's from childhood, but they had grown distant,
mainly because Saychen LOVED to play pranks, though he was pure of heart, he
was mischevious. The strange thing about Saychen were the powers in which he
possessed, his mind was extremely advanced, for what reason, that is not
known, but he has the power of magic in his mind, and his eyes reflect that,
pure white with no pupils, but he is not blind. Then there is Amber, a young
and beautiful priestess who started travelling with Mikoun not too long ago,
she wished to learn the cruelty, as well as the love, of the world. Mikoun
could not turn her down, so she's been with ever since. Finally, there were
the twin midgets, Kenami and Ruun. They were opposites of each other, both
good, but one used magic of making illusions, this was Kenami, the other used
a magic of hiding reality. Mikoun met these two in a forest west of the Great
Ocean, where they were captured by a few semi-intelligent carnivores.
Mikoun and his friends were riding on horseback down the long trek
south to the city of Nalevin, which was quite a distance from Beikos, the
city in which they were in, which is rather near the swamps. Earlier that
week they decided to go to Nalevin, because Beikos had grown, well, boring.
So as they were trotting along, Nym heard the clopping of hooves (besides
thiers) and decided to tell everyone. "Prehaps Feinam and I should stay
behind about a minute to prevent an ambush of sorts," Nym suggested with his
usual suggestive tone. Mikoun nodded to Nym, and continued by saying, "I
will go ahead then, I shall see if those in front are headed for Nalevin,
after all, better to travel in groups! Come on people, I will see what they
are about." Mikoun finished his sentence and sped his horse ahead with no
delay.
A short travel of a minute or so led Mikoun to a row of armed and
lightly armored horsemen. They advanced, with a large man in front who wore
the skull of an animal, apparantly a bear, on his head as a helmet, the
bulge of muscles showed under his black chainmail, and a ray of light gleamed
off the 2 handed hilt of a very long bladed sword. The man stopped a short
distance in front of the others, and Mikoun promptly stopped his horse a good
distance in front of the 8 foot tall man. After a short pause, Mikoun decided
to speak first, "Hello there, horsemen, are you, perchance, headed for
Nalevin?" The man's only response was a cruel smile and a raise of his left
arm. At this, the men dismounted from thier horses and they drew thier
swords.
Mikoun kept a calm look as he dismounted and drew his two beautiful
rapiers and in a concerned voice he said, "I have no wish to harm you,
please, sheathe your weapons."
Again, the reponse was a violent one, they charged with thier
swords poised, outward and ready to strike. Mikoun ducked under a couple
swings and lept over another. He then countered with a forward lunge and a
feint, finally a stab which pierced one of the horsemen's neck all through.
At this, the man spoke something which Mikoun could not understand, and then
men moved away. Mikoun pulled away in defense, expecting something dangerous,
then the giant man dismounted, and pulled out the sword at his side, and
grinned evilly at Mikoun as he advanced toward the crowd.
-- To be Continued! --
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Fear and Loathing in Cyberspace, Part Eight:
This is REALLY Gonna Hurt...
(Part Three of the Dystropia/Fear and Loathing Crossover!)
I dove into the portal of inky black, my senses submerged in a whirlpool of
sights and sounds beyond imagination, beyond comprehension. I was subjected
to a vision of nightmare, morbid obscenities from beyond the wall of space
and time gibbering madly around me, disgusting atrocities that should never
have been born flapping and squawking in an insane cacophony.
Reminded me a little of Congress.
Then I was propelled through the other side of the interdimensional portal,
the smell of beer nuts and cheap silicone assaulting my nostrils as I flew
across a dimly-lit room to hit the grimy floor with a dull thud. Dazed, I
rolled onto my back and squinted at the harsh neon lights above, my vision
swimming. A myriad of faces appeared above me, short kids in Megadeth t-
shirts and coke-bottle glasses who looked down upon me with eyes of burning
hatred.
"Oh, shit," I muttered, "Warez geeks. Why don't you little fu--"
After they beat the living hell out of me, I slowly came to consciousness in
a dank back room, lit by a single dangling bulb. A tarnished sign over the
door read "File Library #458 -- Farm Animal GIFs". I was tied to a chair.
This worried me.
"Excuse me," said the man tied to the chair beside me, "Are you--"
"Yes," I said. "Yes, I am."
"I'm Floyd," he said, "I'm here to rescue you."
"Really? Great. You can start any time now."
The door swung open and Joe Fred Foster, flanked by his second-grade
disciples, swaggered into the room. The kid could swagger like nobody's
business.
"Ha! So, you thought you could defeat the invincible forces of (PeNiS!), did
you? Think again! Even now, your beloved "reality" is on its way-- to our
clutches! Muahaha!"
"YOU have reality? How the hell did you get it?"
"Shortly after it escaped the courtroom in Dystropia, Reality hid itself
inside a Granny Smith personal computer notepad belonging to some lawyer
named Darius-- a personal computer notepad that WE have the access code for!"
"No, you can't mean--"
"Yes!"
"No!"
"Yes!" he cried with evil glee, "WE'RE DOWNLOADING REALITY!"
"Wait a second," I said, "What's the speed of your fastest modem?"
"Are you kidding? (PeNiS!) possesses the most powerful hardwarez known to
man! We're running an 8088 with a heathkit 150 baud modem-- I built it
myself."
I groaned and slumped back in my chair, as Floyd turned to look at me.
"Constantine, I know I haven't been here long, but is everyone in your
dimension this stupid?"
Reality would be hovering between Dystropia and Cyberspace for the next 12
billion years, barring a system crash or power outage. These (PeNiS!)-heads
had to be stopped.
"I'll dispose of you two later," Joe Fred Foster laughed, "But right now, I
have a universe to conquer-- and a new copy of Little People Farm III!" He
swaggered out the door, goons in tow.
"That's it. We're dead."
"Actually," Floyd said as he jumped up from his chair and started untying my
ropes, "Fifteen years spent among the indigenous tribes of the Rubberobandes
Mountains left me with astounding abilities of bodily control on the
molecular level, thus allowing me to slip these bonds easily."
"That's swell," I said, running to the door, "Bet you're popular with the
ladies. But now we need to figure out how to get past this locked door,
and--"
It opened at my touch. They had forgotten to lock it. Normally I can't
stand incompetance, but in this case I decided to make an exception. We
stepped out into the darkened antechamber beyond, and Floyd halted me with a
wave of his hand.
"Careful," he whispered, "I smell a trap."
"How right you are!" cackled a high-pitched voice from the darkness. A young
boy of about ten years old stepped from the shadows before us, attired in
G.I. Joe Underoos and carrying a plastic zap-rifle.
"Who the hell are you?" I said, "Macaulay Culkin's evil twin?"
"I am the bane of your soon-to-be-ended existance! I am the ElYtE warrior of
the (PeNiS!) legions! I am... TIME WARRIOR!"
"Yeah. I'm scared, kid. Now, you wanna show us where the master control
room is, or do I take that cap gun and shove it up your--"
From the shadows behind us emerged another small figure, identical to the
first! He leveled his rifle at us and said, "If you mess with him, you mess
with me! I'm Time Warrior's dad!"
We spun around as two more stepped from alcoves. "I'm Time Warrior's
brother!" "I'm Metalhea-- I mean, Time Warrior's best friend!"
In no time we were beset by a flock of Time Warriors, a sea of them
surrounding us with no end in sight. Time Warrior's friends, enemies, lovers
and extended family declared themselves one at a time as they came out of the
woodwork, every one taking aim at us. I looked over to Floyd.
"Um... That rescue thing you mentioned earlier?"
"I'm working on it."
"Work faster."
TO BE CONTINUED...
Watch for Fear and Loathing in Cyberspace Part Nine,
James Earl Jones buys Comfortable Shoes!
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Fear And Lotion in Dystropia Part Omega:
At Last, The Thesis Sentence.
by Midget Caesar
"And I'm Time Warrior's proctologist!", declared yet another being who
looked remarkably like Time Warrior, down to the Underoos. I had lost count
by the time Time Warrior's entire soccer team had showed up, each also
bearing an identical resemblance.
"Yes, apparently, you did smell a trap," said Constantine. "Now will you
please go about this rescue business soon?"
I was forced to admit that I was wrong. "Actually, it wasn't a trap I
smelled, Time Warrior just needs to change his Underoos. It was a lucky guess
about the trap." I didn't want to admit that I hadn't been able to find the
script to this whole thing, and thus couldn't slip through a hole in the
plot.
Constantine and I were backed against the wall, an unceasing multitude of
voices announcing new arrivals from Time Warrior's extended family. I
needed a plot device, and I needed it quick.
To stall for time, Constantine asked Time Warrior WHY he was doing this.
"Why??? I'M ON A MISSION FROM GOD!!!!!" was his manic reply, as the
crowd advanced closer.
"Gee, that's nice. Why is God mad at us? Just because our respective
writers haven't been returning HIS calls either doesn't mean --"
"And because you hate me!!1! You're talking about me right now! I know
it! You were making fun of me in secret!!1! And you tried to crash my BBS
when it wasn't up yet! and....and....you don't LIKE me!"
So we were backed into the corner. Constantine tried offering Time
Warrior copies of something called "Mortal Kombat" with various numbers
after it, but Time Warrior was not to be swayed. That's when I found the
plot hole we needed.
Constantine turned to me. "What is that awful noise?" Then he saw, and
a look of shock passed over his face, which was nothing compared to the look
seen on the legions of Time Warriors.
"Yes, Time Warrior, those are all the chickens whose heads you've bitten
off, all the monkeys you've ever spanked, all the farm animals you've ever
abused - come back from the grave to enact their revenge."
When the thousands of Time Warriors had fled in utter fear, only one
was left, who thretened to see us in the future and shouted something Polish:
"Dobermanpuppychewzee!" it sounded like. Then he ran like hell, and we were
left to confront the PeNiS boys and the reality question.
We cautiously walked out into the dimly lit main room, to the shock of
the bartender, Lord Darkly Lit Abysz. Joe Fred Foster and his disciples were
nowhere to be seen. Constantine went over to ask Mr. Abysz a few questions,
and asked me to cover him as he went. So I went out into the middle of the
bar and showed the patrons what a great breakdancer I am. Constantine
demanded to know where the PeNiS people were hiding, and Lord Darkly Lit
Abysz informed him nervously that he had insufficient access for it.
Constantine whipped out one of those unpleasant virus things and told
Mr. Abysz to consider the virus an access raise. We were shown our way into
a seedy looking back room marked "oCCuLT teXTZ!!!", and there they were: the
Bee Gees. The door was locked behind us, and a demonic voice gloatingly told
us that we were trapped. Strobe lights flashed on, the disco ball descended,
the Jive Talkin' began, and I flung myself against the wall, ready for
certain death.
"Wow, that's a pretty catchy tune", said Constantine. I looked up from
my convulsions, and was amazed. So were the Bee Gees.
"Don't you realize that we're in hell? This is the Dystropian section
of Dante's Inferno!", I asked him. Too late, Constantine was already
Stayin' Alive in the middle of the room. The Bee Gees backed off, afraid.
But there was no stopping him. He had that Saturday Night Fever, and the
dance floor was all his. It all began to melt away until we were back in
Cyberspace, and Joe Fred Foster was angrily pounding away at keys on a
computer. Once Constantine had been calmed down, we strode boldly towards
the cowering legions of phallic envy, PeNiS.
Constantine assumed control of the situation. "Alright, Foster, back away
from the keyboard." (He did) "Who put you up to this? What were you seeking
to gain?"
"A big, dark hacker guy gave us 100,000 file points if we could keep you
two from interfering with his plan or something. He also gave us these great
GIFS, but accidentally left a copy of "reality.txt" in there, so we called
the number in it and downloaded what we found there, because it would give us
complete control of everything. We were able to do THAT (he waved at the
remnants of the disco) with the demo version of reality we've got now, and
it'd only be (he checked his watch) 62,000 years before we'd finish
downloading the full release!"
Meanwhile, I had found a trampoline in the back of the room and was
playing on it when Elvis Presley came into the room from an unseen entrance.
He spoke. "Good job, Constantine. I'll take them into custody now."
Constantine was about to hand them and the computer over to Elvis (because
if you can't trust Elvis, who can you trust?) when I came running over.
"STOP! That's not Elvis!" Constantine whirled around, surprised, and
Elvis took off running. Little did he know that I had telekinetically tied
his shoelaces together. I grabbed him, and ripped off his mask, to reveal:
Bubbles the Chimp.
Bubbles swore mightily. "Damn you, everything was going according to
plan, even AFTER those PeNiS interlopers got into the act! I was going to
have complete control over everything, and THEN I could enact my revenge
upon Michael for dumping me in favor of Lisa Marie! And I'd have gotten away
with it, if it weren't for you gosh darn kids!" He was still kicking and
screaming a few hours later, when the Apathetics arrived from Dystropia.
(It had taken that long to convince them to come over and do it.) However,
Joe Fred Foster had escaped in the confusion. And Milo was still on the
loose. At least things had been more or less resolved, there were frosted
doughtnuts for everyone, and I even got a "I Went To Cyberspace, And All I
Downloaded Was This Lousy T-Shirt." Only one thing was left.
"What will we do about Reality?", asked Constantine. "There's no way we
can abort the file transfer, and things will continue to fall apart if we
don't do something." I assured him that everything would be fine.
Later that day, my hand opened a door that had only been opened two times
before in eternity. Once was when Reality had been put in its place, and the
other time was when it had left, for good. The man I was with smiled at me,
and thanked me for the ride. I made sure that Jim understood what he was
doing, and he assured me that this was going to be a fantastic gig, and
he couldn't wait. So I turned to leave.
"Well, hope you have fun as the new Reality, Mr. Morrison."
The End.
(be sure to tune in next time as we boldly Clean Up After Ourselves!)
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Poetry Roundup
by Psychotic Ambition
Behind You
------------
Like a knife in the back
Like a shiver up the spine
Life catches up to you
Unwanted
--------
Old and weary
Small and bold
This man of creation
Sunset to sundown
Fields of sorrow
He plowed
Tool of life
Rusted and cold
He and his knife
All alone
Broken face
Brittle boned
Piggen toed
Nothing
Was he
His friends were the sky
The water below
How could he be alive
With a moral so low
Day by day
Scrapes and Scratches
Nothing to show
For all his actions
He sat on the throne of poverty
Hunched over
Black and blue
Ruler of the unwanted
Chipped Trophy
---------------
Gripped upright
Thrown around
In your world
Tugged at the chains
Scratched at the floor
Wallowing in a false hope
I am molded
Trophy of mockery
I'm put in place
Lies and guilt cover me
Shelled in
I cannot see
Make loose
What is firmly in place
I'm accused
But I excuse
To defuse
The madness
Look at you
-----------
Excellent perception I say
For someone today
Noticed they were imperfect
Filtration
-----------
Burning pain
Punctured twice
Nothing to gain
Strapped to this vice
One hole bleeding my existance
My memories, happiness, and freedom
Pissed away
The pulsing of a lifeless body is all I feel
The pumping is slow
I'm getting into the rhythm
I'm forgetting
Who I used to be
A second hole is felt
Cold and harsh
This one is easier
I can't really feel it
I'm getting numb
As I forget who I used to be
I'm reborn
As one hole is taking life
The other is giving it
But my new life is unwanted
I just want to die
I'm getting thoughts
Pain, suffering, frustration, anger
I can't stop it
My head is getting fuzzy
With lusts
Greed, exploitation
I want it all
Less and less I feel
I just don't care
The new life is here
afraid I don't dare
To stop
The first hole is sealed
It is complete
The second hole pumps away faster
Nothing to compete
For me
No outside influences
To detach the pump
Not one pure soul
In this sick world
So I have to be filtrated and cleansed
To be tolerated
I'm sick
All of this takes it's toll
I'm black and cold
Barely alive
Inside
Outside
I'm happy and faithfull
A follower
Just perfect for this world
[Editor's Note: Rumors to the contrary, Psychotic Ambition is NOT
Trent Reznor in disguise. If he was, we'd be milking him for money
and publicity at this very moment, probably as an opening act for
Def Mangoe.]
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COMING SOON...
-- A New Look, New Attitude, New Deadlines...
-- A Responsible Editor.
-- Malakai's Black Plague Part Two. Nuff said.
-- Lots of really neat-o-keen stuff, really.
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D I S T R I B U T I O N
Please call these boards. If you don't, they'll cry.
And for letters, comments and rants, don't forget the Propaganda
Mailbox at Internet address PULETTERS@AOL.COM!
Board Phone
--------------------------- --------------
Club Evermore (312) 476-1508 (Headquarters)
Strangeways Asylum (312) 588-4231
Legion of the Undead (708) 546-4605
The Ice Palace (708) 635-0953
Big Bob's Leech Burger Farm (708) 838-1015
MicroInformation Systems (805) 251-0564
Dark Globe (815) 363-1351
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