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Radioactive Aardvark Dung Issue 18
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Radioactive Aardvark Dung E-Zine :: ISSN 1092-5449
Issue #18 % Released September 23, 1997
Without Prejudice and Explicit Reservation of All My Rights, UCC 1-207
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"Introduction"
Written by Mercuri
E-mail: mercuri@rad.edu
Welcome to the eighteenth issue of the official electronic magazine
of the Flat Earth Society: Radioactive Aardvark Dung. I know we've been
missed during our brief hiatus; I've even heard that some chauffer in Paris
was so forlorn about our lack of work in the recent months that he got drunk
and drove around Princess Dian...
Ooh, a joke in bad taste!
Really though, have you been watching CNN the past few days? Isn't
English Royalty the stupidest thing you have ever seen? I saw videos of
Queen Elizabeth with a crown on her head and she was carrying a sceptre.
Doesn't she feel like an idiot? She should. She should feel like a pompous
little eight year-old playing dress up, because that's exactly what the
whole royal family reminds me of.
You know what pisses me off more? The people here, in America, who
feel sympathetic toward this whole fiasco. The only difference between
Diana and a volunteer giving clothes out to homeless people is that the
volunteer in Minessota who makes less than $20k per annum doesn't have
cameras permanently sewn up her ass.
Maybe I'm way off base, here -- but hey, fuck you, I'm Mercuri.
Enjoy the issue.
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"RAD News"
As broadcasted by Mercuri
E-mail: mercuri@rad.edu
Silly Cat Comix, drawn by Puck, is now being published by Radioactive
Aardvark Dung E-zine (HEY, THAT'S US!)! Make Puck feel good about himself,
read them and tell him how much you absolutely love them! They're
available at:
http://sillycat.rad.edu/
[-----]
Phew. Yes. We're late. Please deal with it. Next time you find
yourself going through RAD withdrawl, step away from your keyboard and do
something else. Because if you're anything like the people at Dummercon, I
don't even want you reading RAD... that is, unless, of course, I can change
your life and make you more like the writers here at RAD.
Here's what I mean.
Stop reading RAD if:
A) You're drastically underweight.
B) You're drasicatlly overweight.
C) You can't remember what a woman (or man!) looks like.
D) You look like any of the DTO Inner Circle &/or its readers.
E) It hurts to lift your keyboard.
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Guess what's in this issue, dear lovable reader?
I bet you can't guess!
Oh wait, you did? Well, by all means, read on & see if you were correct.
We won't spoil the surprise by telling you now.
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"Toilet Humor"
Flushed by Mercuri
E-mail: mercuri@rad.edu
A couple weeks before school ended, I was sitting in German class
when I felt the incredible urge to take a shit or, perhaps, I would soil my
newly-acquired underwear in front of all my peers. So I interrupted the
teacher's lecture and asked him for a pass to go to the bathroom, after
assuring him it was definitely an emergency.
So I set off like the determined Mercuri that I am to find a bathroom
that was empty so I could move my bowels in peace. I checked two bathrooms:
one was locked, and people were using all the stalls in the other one (I had
no idea that moving one's bowels during school hours was so popular).
I found an empty bathroom in the math hallway; how silly I was to not
think of that before -- no one leaves math class: it's too much fun. So,
being quite content with my "campsite," I did all necessary things to begin
a bowel movement.
Mere seconds into my movement, the principal walked into the very
same bathroom and glanced in my direction. He started to unzip and use the
urinal. Keep in mind that there were no doors on the stalls.
Principal: Kinda peaceful in here, isn't it?
Mercuri: Yeah ... heh.
(GET OUT OF HERE)
Principal: I was walkin' down the hall & I thought I was gonna wet myself...
Mercuri: (Politely) Heh.
(CANT YOU SEE WHAT I'M TRY TO DO?)
Principal: I figured that wouldn't be a good image I want to project to the
students or faculty.
Mercuri: (Somewhat sarcastically) No, sir!
(HAVE YOU NO SENSE OF DECENCY?!)
Principal: So what are you doing this summer?
Mercuri: Oh, I don't know. I might try to get a job.
(OH GOD, MAKE IT STOP)
Principal: I still remember the job I had in college ... I helped build
houses, the pay was real good. Sometimes I think the experience
was worth much more than the pay, though, you know?
Mercuri: Yeah...
(I DONT CARE)
Okay, at this point I just wanted him to finish his business or
shutup. I cannot move my bowels whilst someone is talking to me, nor can I
imagine letting someone hear the sploosh of my feces as I speak to him.
Principal: Well, it was nice talking to you.
Mercuri: UH YEAH, DITTO.
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"In Retrospect: Dummercon"
Reviewed by Mercuri
E-mail: mercuri@rad.edu
I was supposed to write an extensive review of Dummercon. Oh well.
Here's what I thought of all you cool zine people who attended:
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
YOU ARE ALL LOSERS!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
YOU WILL NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
PLUS, YOU'RE ALL UGLY!!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
UGLY UGLY UGLY UGLY!!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
WEAK! WEAK! YOU'RE ALL EITHER CRACK WAIFS OR FATASSES!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
IF YOU HAD FUN AT DUMMERCON, YOU HAVE NO SOCIAL LIFE!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
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"More Dummercon Reviews"
by TMM
Email: tmm@rad.edu
I didn't go to Dummercon for the second year in a row. I, unlike our
naive friend Mercuri, didn't think it would be cool.
I was really surprised when I was told by an actual "normal" person,
Mercuri, that it sucked really badly.
Zine people are losers; it doesn't take seeing them in person for me
to come to that conclusion.
Thank you very much.
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"The Final Word To Sum Up The Last 3 Articles"
by TMM
Email: tmm@rad.edu
When I said "Zine people are losers," I wasn't including the staff of
RAD. To put it bluntly, we are in no way, shape or form losers.
Shut up, I know you don't believe me. I mean, it would be RIDICULOUS
for me to ADMIT that I, as well as the rest of the RAD staff, am a loser.
Of course, it's easy to just SAY I'm not a loser, but _everyone_ says that,
right?
Well, I have proof, crapface.
Go to the RAD Homepage (http://www.rad.edu) & go to the Member Photos
area to see all of our pictures (excluding Phorce & Intrepid who, for all I
know, could very well be losers. They don't ACT like it, though) for your
very own eyes.
"Well, I still think you're a loser, TMM."
Note my prom date in my picture. Have you ever gone out with someone
equally as attractive as her?
I think we both know the answer to that.
Besides, my friends were mad because I wasn't going with the normal
type of girl that I date, which are supermodels.
Hey, I just didn't want to put up with all their crap. Always
wanting sex & stuff. It just gets to be a little too much sometimes. I
guess that's just the sacrifice you make for being a RAD writer.
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"Igneous Rocks Are Cool"
by Styx
Email: dropdead@mindspring.com
Earlier today, while I was going through my sister's room looking for
anything remotely interesting (she's out at the Ozzfest), I stumbled upon my
mother doing the same thing. Soon, we found a test my sister had discarded.
It was from her General Science course in high school. She's a freshman.
According to my mother, she has completely given up on the class because
science just isn't her forte. Anyway, there were six essay questions she
had to answer. Not only does my sister kick ass, but she's funny! Behold!
[-----]
1. Describe the 2 types of magma. Include what each is made of and
the volcanic cones they would form.
Well, see when you scientifeicly research the magma cones, you
realize what they are. they are formed from ice cream.
ice-cream cones, that is. i eat them.
2. How does cooling time effect crystal size? Give an example of one
rock type that cooled quickly and one that cooled slowly.
When they cool slowly, the elements have more time to move
around. so it changes the shape of the crystal.
3. How do we know the Earth's core is very dense?
Well when the earths core is made of peanuts, it makes happy men
sad, so it makes it dense.
4. How do we know the Earth's core is solid?
if the Earths core was mushy like melted marshmellows, it would
fall apart and we would all float away.
5. How does the formation of igneous rock differ from the formation of
metamorphic rock?
igneous rocks are cool. they listen to cool music & wear cool
clothes but the metamorphic rocks are all dorks. They wear thick
glasses & they eat cheese on ice cream & wear there pants above
their ankles, and have pocket detectors, So no one steals their
$50 dollar pens.
6. How does the formation of clastic sedimentary rock differ from the
formation of chemical sedimentary rock?
clastic sedimentary rock compares to the growth of old tomato
mold, it turns green with age. the chemical sedimentary rock,
however, compares more to old apples and banannas, they get kind
of mushy, like how the earth's core isn't.
i am very sure i got an A+.
[-----]
All spelling and grammar mistakes were hers, but who cares?!
Thanks to the grade curve, she got a 22 out of 98. The teacher then
added one point for creativity. She got a 23!
You can find pictures of my sister at:
http://www.dto.net/~styx/pix.html
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So whatever happened to Hypercolor t-shirts?
Do they still make them?
If so, where can I buy them?
Do they have any new colors?
All of these are questions that need to be answered. Email me, tmm@rad.edu
if you have any ideas.
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"The Mountain Men"
Spelunked by Mercuri
E-mail: mercuri@rad.edu
I spent the last week in one of our countries least populated states:
Montana. Being the country boy I am, I enjoyed the solitude and roughness
of the countryside. What makes Montana cool?
When we exited our plane I could not believe the size of the airport;
it was literally a cabin. It had two baggage claims and four gates. I'm
used to Chicago's O'hare -- the biggest, busiest airport in the world.
There were heads of wild game on the walls, and I'm guessing about 50
employees total. There's not enough traffic there to even have two seperate
bathrooms: it's just a unisex bathroom.
Montana doesn't have speed limits. So I was thinking it's gonna kick
ass to max out the rental car: it's not mine, & it's insured. The friendly
Avis employee looked at me, smiled, and handed me the keys. I look down in
my hand.
I read it & mouthed "Geo Prism." Fuck.
Now, if you don't know much about cars. Let me explain something, Geo
Prisms are not "fast." They speedometer only goes up to 110, and it's a 2
cylinder engine. On the way to my encampment, people were passing me with
dirty looks and I just wanted to yell out the window, "I'D DRIVE FASTER IF I
COULD, BUT THIS IS A PRISM! A PRISM!! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?! A PRISM!
I'M SORRY!" Going up the steep mountain roads I would literally push the
pedal to the metal and nothing would change except the sound of the engine.
No acceleration whatsoever. I travelled 7 miles going 38mph up a mountain
road.
Oh, they don't give tickets out in Montana for parking in a
restricted zone -- they just smash the passenger side winshield. Yes, it
happened. So I called Avis and they said they would take care of it. I
asked for a car with a little more power. Once again, I looked at the keys
to the new car and faced disappointment. "Toyota Corolla." Fuck.
Avis: "It's all we have on the lot."
It did have more power, though: I got up to a mean 48mph on the 7
mile stretch of mountain road in this car.
I had fun, however. Montana just feels like "the real America."
Rugged individuals out there.
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Recall that I, TMM, have seen "Deliverance" over seventy times.
Mercuri is a much different person since he got back from Montana.
What happened? Only he & the John Birch Society will know for sure.
[-----]
* Mercuri's Note: GUNS GUNS GUNS!!!
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"The Most Dangerous Place to Live in the Entire World"
As identified by TMM
Email: tmm@rad.edu
[The following conversation took place between me & this "Guy"]
TMM: So where do you live?
Guy: South Dakota.
TMM: Sounds boring.
Guy: Actually, it's kind of cool.
TMM: HOW?! Is it something like "A River Runs Through It" where everyone
fly fishes & becomes an alcoholic?
Guy: Well, yeah, a majority of people, but the Dakotas can be exciting
too.
TMM: I guess you didn't listen: HOW?!
Guy: Well, it's kind of a long story.
TMM: Tell it then!
Guy: Well, if you drive around the Dakotas you'll notice huge chain-linked
fences with barbwire around the top with huge signs everywhere that
say: "PROPERTY OF THE UNITED STATES MILITARY. DO NOT TRESPASS" &
these are--
Hippy: Whoa, do they grow weed out there, maaann??
<TMM & Guy beat up hippy>
TMM: So you were saying.
Guy: Yeah, well, it turns out that the Dakotas are basically huge grids of
chain linked fences.
TMM: I don't understand.
Guy: Well, all of the US's ICBM (Intercontinental Ballistic Missile) Nukes
are set up in huge grids all over the Dakotas.
TMM: Whoa, that might explain some things. You guys get lots of radiation
exposure I bet! That's pretty cool!
Guy: But that isn't even the best part.
TMM: WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE COOLER THAN RADIATION EXPOSURE?
Guy: If you were a country that wanted to go to war with the US, what
would be the first thing you'd take out first?
TMM: Well, the nuclear weapons. OH, WAIT! HOLY SHIT!
Guy: Exactly.
TMM: I can't talk to you anymore, I'm too disturbed that you find that
INTERESTING & not a REALLY GOOD reason to just move away.
[-----]
The "Guy" died two weeks later of cancer. The autopsy revealed that
outrageous amounts of radiation exposure caused him to become one big tumor
chock-full of cancer.
Fish heads, fish heads, eat 'em up yum!
============================================================================
============================================================================
"Spiders and Other Crazy Crap"
as told by an arachnaphobic Skrubly
Email: skrubly@rad.edu
The setting: Davis, California. (Motto: "It's flat AND hot.") I was
visiting friends a few weekends ago that attend the hallowed halls of UC
Davis (actually, "attend" is to strong a word; "live on campus and
occasionally show up for class" would be a better way to put it) and was
happily engaging in the various acts of smoking cheap cigars and attempting
to flirt with people who were really stoned.
Consequently, I got very sweaty (I tend to do that for some reason.
I think the sun might have something to do with it.) and therefore had an
intense desire to take a shower. Unfortunatly, I had brought no supplies
with which to do this (i.e.: towel, shampoo, inflatable rubber duck, etc.).
I was forced to do the only honorable thing. I stole my friend's towel and
all of his showering supplies, except for the condoms.
The showers in the dorm that I were staying at were actually fairly
nice, all things considered. Not a huge percentage of sharp objects that
can cut you on the inside of the stall, nobody playing "drop the soap", etc.
After entering the stall and placing all of the appropriate shower-
like things within reach, I turned on the shower itself. After a few
minutes of attempting to turn the knob to produce water, I discovered this
was the pull-out kind. Not unlike attempting to use a phone while drunk and
eventually figuring out it's a rotary instead of a touch-tone.
Once safely inside the semi-darkened abode of the shower stall, I
attended to all of the vital issues of cleansliness, and then slowly relaxed
against the back wall. It was at that point that my day became unnecessarily
exciting.
Perched upon the ceiling a mere two feet from the top of my head was
a fairly large black spider. It hung with its large bulbous body downwards,
and why the fuck it had decided to build a web in a shower stall was beyond
me. Then a startling realization struck: it had been surviving off of
inattentive and most likely inebriated college students!
I don't know what kind of spiders everyone else in this world has,
but where I live in California there are basically two kinds:
1) Daddy Longlegs, and
2) Black Widows.
And like any other hip and with-it California guy, I am scared of
only two things in this world:
1) Multinational corporations, and
2) Things that will kill my ass.
The spider hanging from the ceiling certainly fell into the latter
catagory of fear. It was at this point that I voiced aloud my concern for
sharing showering quarters with such a spider. ("Agughghhh!!") Little did
I realize at the time that another unwary student had entered the bathroom.
So I did the only thing I knew how to do. I gathered water in my
mouth from the shower head and attempted to squirt it at the spider with
enough velocity to kill it. Now, before we go any further, let's go over a
couple of crucial points.
First of all, I am actually able to squirt water through my two front
teeth fairly well courtesy of a neato game of hide-and-seek that involved a
light pole as "base" when I was five years old. ([bongggggggg!] "ack.")
Second, what purpose would squirting water at the spider serve? I
doubt I would have sufficent velocity to even annoy the spider let alone
kill it. The only other option would for it to drop down onto my naked,
frantic form and kill me.
Nonetheless, because my fear-addled mind was working in overdrive, I
proceeded to begin making semi-obscene squirting noises while attempting
to hit the spider with the water. Bear in mind that the other student was
still in the bathroom and probably wondering what the hell was going on in
that shower stall.
Because I couldn't quite seem to get the water all the way up to the
spider, I began to hop up and down inside the shower stall. Now although
the floors are pretty well made, they tend to make a wet sort of smacking
sound.
It was at this point that the other student made his presence known
to me while I was making wet-sounding squirting, smacking, and occasionally
grunting noises. He said "Is everything okay in there?"
I immediatly stopped all of my activities and shifted my attention to
the dark form on the other side of the shower curtain.
"Just fine, thanks."
Pause.
"Ok ... just checking." I have to wonder what the look on his face
was like.
Once I heard the outside door open and slam (either he had left, or a
whole troop of people had come in to hear the squirting-smacking-unfing-guy-
in-the-shower-stall show.) I quickly attempted to turn the water off, and
since this was the pull-out kind, the only thing that happened was that the
water got to be the temperature of molten slag and almost burned my nipples
off. Holy geez.
After finally manage to turn the water off, I looked up at the spider
again, and having regained my composure noticed that it hadn't moved a damn
bit.
I gathered my clothes up quickly and left the bathroom with a towel
around my waist and started to trudge down the hall. I felt pretty damn
silly, as you can imagine, getting all worked up over a little spider like
that. It probably wasn't even a black widow. I mean, it didn't even look
ALIVE for that matter, let alone wanting to eat me.
Then I noticed something scrawled on the chalkboard at the end of
the hall.
"CLEAN UP ALL HALLOWEEN DECORATIONS IN THE HALL AND BATHROOMS!! THIS
MEANS YOU!!"
============================================================================
============================================================================
"A Fourth of July DISGRACE"
as belched by TMM
On July 4, a holiday that exists for the sole reason of celebrating
the independence, patriotism, & general righteousness of the United States
of America, there was a hot dog eating contest in New York.
These contestants vied to set the new world record for most hot dogs
eaten in three minutes, & the old record of 17 was indeed shattered.
The leading US contender, a 330 pound construction worker from
Queens, New York finished with 20 hot dogs in his stomach, shattering the
world record.
Unfortunately, he didn't win, he lost to a 130 pound Japanese man
from Tokyo, who ate 24 hot dogs.
If this isn't a complete DISGRACE & PERVERSION of the historical
tradition of the Fourth of July, I don't know what is.
[-----]
UPDATE: The Japanese winner was beaten savagely by a still unknown
330 pound man immediately after the competition.
He is recovering in Bethesda Hospital in New York & will be deported
as soon as he is concious.
His room number is coincidentally 24.
Ouch!
============================================================================
============================================================================
"Strange occurances in the world of sporting goods"
Submitted by Tungsten
E-mail: unknown
Well, for all of you out there who are considering a career, or even
a summer job in sporting goods, I have made this brochure. It has been made
to prepare you for the world of old people, yuppies, and confused parents.
The pay is average, the job isn't very taxing, and it is money, after all,
and just a job. However, upon having worked in such an environment for
about a month, I feel it to be my DUTY to let others know of the strange
people they will be facing. The following stories are all true, but the
names have been changed... well, no, let's just embarass the hell out of
these poor souls anyway.
Mr. Walton has come to the store looking for hunting equipment. He
is extremely old; his hands noticably shake when he picks up a pair of
boots. He begins talking to me about his large arsenal of guns that he has
at home and all of his various trophies of the hunt. Well, he asks to see
an expensive pair of binoculars and I ask them if they will be for hunting;
to this, he replies, "No they're for looking at my neighbor: she's got a
great set of knockers." It is at this point that I notice the smell of
whiskey on his breath.
He then looks through the binoculars to see how well they work and I
see him focusing on a woman bending over while trying on shoes on the
opposite end of the store while chuckling to himself. His wife then walks
up to him -- she's apparently finished finding the best deal on socks and
has saved herself a shiny nickel after half an hour of comparing. She
begins yelling at her husband in a high-pitched voice and looks at me with
an accusing stare as if it is my fault that I gave him the binoculars.
Somehow I should have known that he has some kind of history of this kind of
thing.
Our next story may get a little graphic, so brace yourself. Another
fine day underneath the glow of the singing lights. As I am staring off
into space wondering where it all went wrong, a young Asian boy approaches
me.
He looks around and asks me, "Do you have cock?"
I stare at him with a look of confusion; he sees this and quickly
asks again. "Cock with feather, I want to see cock and feather." My
co-workers are now suggesting that I show him my personal collection of
"cock." The boy becomes frustrated with the laughter of the fools that I
work with, and runs off to get his dad. His dad comes over, and apparently
he is equally adept at English as his son.
He says to me, "You guys have cock here, show me where." Now, all
this while, I know he's talking about shuttlecock, but I am just so bored
that I want to see what he will say next. I show him the shuttlecocks and
they leave probably thinking how stupid we Americans are.
Then of course there are the countless instances where a yuppie comes
into the store rambling on and on about how he is going to use his new two
hundred dollar running shoes to stay fit when we both know that all he is
going to do with them is sit around his house all day in them and try to
look cool for his dog.
And the overweight people who try to somehow fool themselves into
thinking that they will somehow be able to lose all of their weight by
buying a pair of 10 pound weights.
Oh, and I mustn't forget the kids who come into the store and ask to
try on four hundred dollar pairs of rollerblades and tell their parents that
they only cost one hundred dollars, whom are suddenly shocked when they go
to the register.
And you certainly must watch out for your fellow co-workers, who are
in their mid-thirties and try to tell you how they could have been a big-
time athlete, but mysteriously ended up working in a sporting goods store;
gives them some kind of edge, I imagine.
I won't mention the countless times that a fine girl has walked in
and I've stared blankly at her face while drooling and mumbling.
And you can only begin to imagine the entertainment that a busload of
Japanese tourists gives you when they proceed to walk in and trash the
entire store five minutes before closing. Also, be wary when you are
telling weight-lifting guys that the pair of shoes that they are looking at
is a ladies shoe and they give you a coy smile and ask for it in a lady's
size.
I hope this has been informative and will help to prepare you for the
world of sporting goods sales. May you never be asked to model athletic
supporters by an elderly woman seeking sporting goods for her teenage
grandson.
============================================================================
============================================================================
It has come to our knowledge that certain people in the e-zine
"scene" view RAD as childish, juvenile & uncreative.
The High Society's only response to that assertion is that they must
be jealous of our outrageously large penis sizes.
Who's juvenile & childish now????????
You are, you small-penised heathens!!!!
============================================================================
============================================================================
"Ouch"
Discovered by Ap0c (from www.bizzarre.com)
E-mail: ap0c@rad.edu
In Crown Point, Indiana, police have reopened the case of a man who
died from 32 hammer blows to his head. The cause of death had been ruled a
suicide, in spite of the county coroner's opinion that a man simply could
not remain conscious long enough to hit himself in the head 32 times... 25,
26... wait, how many was that?
[-----]
* Merc's note: Both me, Ap0c, & Handle live in Crown Point, Indiana.
* TMM's note : The slang term for Crown Point, Indiana is Cow Point,
Indiana.
* Merc's note: It can also be called Corn Pit, or Corn Point. It's inter-
changeable.
============================================================================
============================================================================
"fear the sheep"
as scrawled by ninja
e-mail: ninja@rad.edu
i'm sick of this. everywhere, .. everywhere i look. there they
are. talking, running, laughing, crying, frolicking around. everywhere.
those damn humans. they think they're so bad. they "run" this
planet. they build shit, they tear it down. all in all, i hate them.
i'm sick of seeing them. everywhere.
so forth i call, to my brothers. let us not hide anymore! let
us show our true faces! these humans no longer deserve to be without
us! they have shown no reason for us not to come forth!
i'm talking to you, my fellow weresheep! step forth now! talk
freely among the human race! "bahhh bahhh!" i call! we shall conquer
this planet! the mountains, the plains, all of it! it can be ours if we
strike now!
grass! ohh, the abundance of grass that will be ours! eat! eat
freely! and we shall free our captive brothers, the goats! go, now! cut
the fences! let them roam free! this planet shall be ours & ours alone!
this is the time! now i ask for you to show your true colors!
red, purple, yellow - whatever color your sheeply side may be, let it
be free!
i shall become a sheep at this very instant, and when i have
finished my transformation, i will proudly continue to type out our
plan!
here i go! transformation, commence!!
irts sreally jkindfa ghard 2 typoer as aaa SHEheep aswww cfuck
my daamnb feett
arrre 2 bbig
kkeepo in mindsa ghthat oncewww uu turnm intog a shEEEpkjcv,. u loozae
urrtypiNGfff ABIlitiezjs
============================================================================
============================================================================
"Eskimos"
As canucked by Intrepid
E-mail: intrepid@rad.edu
It never fails; every year, from the time I started school to my
current grade, my history teachers make the same point.
"Twice the Americans have attacked us, and twice we've repelled
them!"
I suppose this is supposed to instill a patriotic fervor in me, but
unfortunately, it fails. Miserably. We'll forget the fact that both
attacks took place a long time ago, and the fact that we imported eskimo
ninja assassins to help with the defense.
Anyways, my curiosity was piqued. What makes us canucks so vastly
superior? Well, there are many parts to this answer, and I'll explain them
all. Eh.
First off, we all know mobility is one of the key assets of winning
any military conflict. By doing away with all unneccesary equipment (tanks,
jets, guns, ammunition, and uniforms, for example), we travel quick and
light. Deadly.
Eskimos. Yes, Eskimos. To many americans, this is a word, little-
used, but often-feared. And with good reason. Brutal killers, raised in a
harsh environment, and fed seal blubber since birth, these deadly fighters
obey no code but their own.
We all know it, experience counts. When our "boys" head into their
first battle, they come packaged with plenty of it. Taking the cream of the
crop, we scour the prison systems, gutters, and all sorts of unsavory places
for the best of the best. Even our peacekeepers are deadly! If a group of
four Canadians can kill a malnourished, unarmed, adolescent somalian with
THEIR BARE HANDS, imagine what they'd do to a trained soldier! Bam!
Eh. A little known fact, but "eh" is a word in an amazing twenty-
seven languages. We can ask for 'toast' in France, and we can tell those
haughty cambodians exactly what there mother did in that closet.
And last, we get respect. Canadians are so incredibly nice. C'mon,
burn our flag! Burn it! We don't care! Yah! It is physically impossible
for a Canadian to insult anyone. Put our flag upside-down at the Olympics,
we don't care!
============================================================================
============================================================================
"An Exerpt From 'Menace II Society'"
as exerpted by TMM
Email: tmm@rad.edu
*TMM's note: This is as correct as I remember it, if I'm just a little bit
off, shut up.
[-----]
Crackhead: Yo, O-Dog man!
O-Dog: Yeah, man, whassup?
Crackhead: You got any more rock, man?
O-Dog: No man, you got any cash flow?
Crackhead: Naw man, I got this cheeseburger!
O-Dog: Fuck that shit, niggah.
Crackhead: Please man, you gotta help a niggah out.
O-Dog: I don't gotta do shit, man. Get outta my face!@$#%
Crackhead: Please man, I'll suck yo' dick!
O-Dog: You'll what?!
Crackhead: I'll suck yo' dick man, just gimme some rock!
O-Dog: Suck on this!
<O-Dog shoots Crackhead>
<Crackhead's lifeless carcass falls to the ground>
O-Dog: Anybody want a cheeseburger?
============================================================================
============================================================================
Woo!! A new writer!
Check out what our dear friend Iggy wrote for us.
Iggy is one of the more learned writers for RAD. He is now TMM's roommate
(not the one whom TMM wrote about previously) & also a debater at the same
school that TMM goes to.
TMM & Iggy debated together for a large part of last year & were quite
successful.
Watch out, ladies!
============================================================================
============================================================================
"After a Pleasant Summering in Martha's Vinyard I..."
as told by Iggy
Email: iggy@rad.edu
...decided to get a summer job.
Which was, of course, the worst decision of my life.
I thought I would see if I could get a job working for this news-
paper that I wrote for last summer, but the manager of a fast food restraunt
that I got my very first job at (sniff! sorry, I hate that nostalgia thing)
asked me if I wanted to work for her and I decided I'd take the job and not
go through the hassle of actually applying for a job.
Big mistake.
Listen to me, oh ignorant soul, never, under any circumstance work
for a fast food restraunt.
I thought that I would like having a brainless job where I had no
responsibilites, but I learned that you should never, under any
circumstance, work for a fast food restraunt.
Never ever never never ever never.
I go to school with TMM and therefore have to at least have half a
brain. When the manager found out that I wasn't the ordinary, run-of-the-
mill high school brat she usually hires, she made me assistant manager, for
$4.75 an hour. I am the only person in the city of Troy who manages a fast
food restaraunt and gets $4.75 an hour.
That sucks!
That REALLY sucks!
So while I'm on the subject, did I mention that you should never work
at a fast food restaraunt?
So now I am this managerial type person, but I still get paid minimum
wage. Do you think my lacky co-workers who I order around respect me? No.
They make just as much money as me. That really sucks.
I just got home from work where I had to mop the floors because some
dickhead who has the IQ of a pile of shit "forgot" to do them. By the way,
this shithead is about 40, she has just broken up with her live-in boyfriend
of 9 years and is in the process of moving into a new house which she can't
afford so she is trying to get a loan while working for minimum wage and
trying to get into the pants of her ex-boyfriend, whom she has no plans of
seriously dating anymore. By the way, she has a bad back and "can't mop
floors," even though she does them every night when I'm not working. People
who suck suck.
Whew! All that in three sentences.
Oh yeah, before I forget: never get a job at a fast food restraunt.
So after I mopped the floors I balanced the store's books, wrote a
note to tell the manager that the guy who got fired today for cursing out
one of the other assistant managers gave his shirts to the new girl who
works up front and dates a guy whose nickname is (and I'm not making this
up) "Crack Baby," shut everything down, realized that I had to go into the
computer (a 186 -- I think -- that has less ram than my calculator) and
change somebody's hours because they forgot to clock in, turned everthing
back on, went to print out the changes, realized that the printer was out of
ink, changed the ink cartridge, realized that they had ordered the wrong
toner cartridge, cursed a lot, and then came home.
But I get free drinks.
Whupty shit.
Did I mention that you should never work at a fast food restraunt?
[-----]
Well, it is the day after I wrote the first rant about my fast food
experiences and things are a little better.
I got a raise!
Now I am an assistant manager and make $4.90 an hour.
I almost wet myself.
Never work for a fast food restraunt.
[-----]
You remember that 40 year old dickhead who had the IQ of a pile of
shit and wouldn't mop the floors? Well, she got fired today because she
didn't show up for work. Turns out she went to Atlanta to party. Wish I
could have gone, but I had to work. Working? The irony is bewildering!
That's the good news.
The bad news is that the manager who usually has to deal with her has
to fill in for her in the kitchen. Guess what that means: now I have to
come in on my days off and work for the manager who is filling in for the
dickhead who wouldn't do floors and got fired because she didn't show up
for work.
The moral of this little story you ask?
Working for a fast food restaraunt sucks. My advice?
Never, under any circumstance, work for a fast food restaraunt.
============================================================================
============================================================================
I think we should get "Crack Baby" to write for RAD.
============================================================================
============================================================================
Is it me or is there a disturbingly prevalent crack motif going
through this issue?
I don't know what the rest of these crazy cats are doing with their
summers but it sounds SICK to me.
============================================================================
============================================================================
"TechTales"
as told by TMM
Email: tmm@rad.edu
So I'm doing this simple little job that I'm getting paid $20 an hour
to do, which is to walk into this office building place, unpack the two new
workstations that have just arrived via FedEx & switch them with two
existing workstations.
Simple enough?
So I walk into one of the weirdest places I've ever been in. It's
called "Country Companies Insurance" & the people are fucking ridiculous.
& I wasn't on LSD at the time, so I'm pretty sure I know what I'm
talking about.
Anyways, the following people are in the office:
Secretary #1: A chain-smoking ugly old hag. Probably around 50 years
old who laughs a lot & coughs every time she laughs. She's new &
doesn't have any idea what she is doing or supposed to be doing.
Secretary #2: A young, semi-attractive female. She's been working
there a while & is apparantly Secretary #1's daughter. Weird.
Owner: A fat old guy whose workstation I'm switching. He's fat &
makes bad jokes. He tried to talk to me but I just scowled at his
bad joke & didn't reply. He grabbed some pretzels off his desk &
left.
Other Insurance Claims Guy: At least 600 pounds of smelly, bad joke-
telling, bad pickup lines on Secretary #2, pathetic waste. He's
Owner's son & he sucks. He left to get Chinese food while I was
there, but alas came back too soon for me to escape.
So I walk in, unpack the workstations that arrived & walk into
Owner's office to change the workstation. I ask what the problem is; he
replies, "The damn thing doesn't work! I don't know what's wrong with it!"
I turn it on & it works, except for a small little sound of sparking/
shorting inside the computer itself. I look down & see coffee spilled all
over it.
"Hmm, I wonder what the problem is..." I say, insinuating that he's
a fat, inept fool. "I dunno!!" He replies & dies laughing.
So I change the workstations & start working on installing them on
the network. My boss calls & he helps me with some stupid problem I was
having (the coffee spilled on the token-ring adapter too) & then I tell him
about the coffee.
He asks to immediately speak to the Owner, but the Owner is gone &
his son is back & is cramming his face with Chinese food.
They proceed to get in a verbal fight, complete with yelling.
I get called inept & I leave.
The good part? I was there for two hours. Forty bucks in my pocket.
============================================================================
============================================================================
"The Second Coming!"
Retold by Mercuri
E-mail: mercuri@rad.edu
So I was at a three way stop in the official RAD Hate Buggy (a 93
Jeep Wrangler Sport [just as a side note, the RAD Hate Buggy USED to be a
Hummer until I let TMM take his girlfriend for a ride in it -- he let her
drive and she ROLLED it. SEVEN-FUCKING-TEEN TIMES! Yeesh. Women drivers.
*shakes head* Actually, it's not her fault. TMM is, ah, rough on his
women. Yeah, that's a good way to put it.])
So anyway, I was at this stop, and across from me I wave a guy
through because it was too-close-to call. So he waves back, and as he's
rolling away from me on my right I notice his plates; they said "JESUS".
Folks, I'm not a very smart man, but wasn't he the Son of God? The
guy who, according to most prophecies, will be coming to judge the living
and the dead in the very near future?
Yes! The Son of God doth driveth a trucketh!
Repent, compact car owners! Repent!
============================================================================
============================================================================
Doesn't everyone watch PBS? Well, since everyone does, you know what
the hell Riverdance is. Don't deny it, loser, go find that tape that's
hidden in your closet. You know you watch it, so put it in. Look really
close; push your ugly face right up to the screen. Now don't stare at the
chicks -- look at those guys. Do they remind you of certain e-zine writers?
No? Well then, you are mistaken. Our hard-working writers here at
RAD have another passion. Now, if you ask these guys if they know of this
Riverdance, they'll call you "forkin' losers," because, yes, they are
ashamed. Isn't that sad? These guys are ashamed to be onstage cloggging in
front of a bunch of old women that watch their bods. Wouldn't you pay hard
money to watch these writers entertain you? Well, guess what. You don't
have to, all you have to do is send e-mail after e-mail to your favorite RAD
writer. Beg and plead with him to give you free tickets. He will, really,
so do it.
Have a nice time at the show.
============================================================================
============================================================================
"Editor's Corner"
Edited by Phorce
E-mail: phorce-gets-all-the-wacko-email@rad.edu
Now that school's back in session, everyone's eager to start using
their college's e-mail capabilities, right? Everyone's so happy to use the
"information superhighway" as a means of communication, eh?
Well, not me.
I've just discovered the negative effects of having your own .edu
hostname: everyone mistakes you for a *REAL* college. But since Raleigh Art
and Design (RAD) doesn't really have that many students, I start getting all
these crazy e-mails to rad.edu that I frankly don't want to read.
I mean, once you've read one e-mail that wasn't addressed to you,
you've read them all. "how is it going olivia???" the person asks. "how
is everyhting? jjust wanted t oknow if this was your emaill address write
me back if you get this."
And I'm getting a ton of these. Apparently, a lot of colleges have
a radiology (?!?) department -- and this radiology department has so many
students that it needs its very own mail server (really!!!). For example,
RAD.UCLA.EDU.
Also, all these artsy acid-usin' graphic design people at Ringling
School of Art and Design (RSAD.EDU) are sending me their marijuana-inspired
rants because of a simple typing mistake.
So I'm getting all these private, confidential e-mails that have
mistakenly arrived in my mailbox. What a better thing to do than print the
best ones in RAD?
LEGAL NOTE: All of the following e-mails were mailed to rad.edu, making them
the property of me, recipient of the messages. Therefore, there should be
nothing standing between me printing them here, uncensored.
Please don't sue me.
[-----]
This is pretty much the average kind of e-mail I get every day.
[-----]
Date: Wed, 25 Jun 1997 11:50:39 -0400
From: john <johndoe@aol.com>
To: erich@rad.edu
Subject: hello
hey wanna have lunch?
[-----]
Date: Mon, 14 Jul 1997 11:22:40 -0700
From: mAURA hARRINGTON <iatpprog@access.sanet.ge>
To: cassels@rad.edu
Subject: HELLOO!!!
Dear Helen,
Is this your damn address?? I have tried everything else. Please respond and
I'll give you all the news.
Your loving cousin,
Maura
[-----]
Apparently, this guy's planning an African safari. Wow.
[-----]
Date: Thu, 17 Jul 1997 18:07:00 -0700
From: NADINE DAVIDSON <nadine.davidson@travel-store.com>
To: JGOLDIN@MAIL.RAD.EDU
Subject: SOUTH AFRICA SAFARI
Dear Dr. Goldin:
I just heard from Alison that you did not get my first E-mail
yesterday. We did have some trouble with our linkage although I thought this
message went through before that. In any case, here is where we stand on the
South Africa arrangements.
The air is confirmed for eight people departing on Dec 27 via AA to JFK and
SA to JNB. Returning on June 7th from Capetown via SA to Miami and AA to
Lax. at 1564.45 round trip. And for you, the same schedule except departing
on Dec. 26th. They do not have to be ticketed until November but fares are
subject to change until ticketed. Once tickets are issued, they carry a
penalty of 25pct for cancellation or change.
Langolosi is not available except for one room in the main lodge on Dec
29,30,and 31. I have waitlisted five rooms, although it's not clear who is
sharing and who is not.( I only have last names for a couple of the
travelers.) I do know that there are at least three couples, but Alison
wasn't sure about Dr. Michelle Melani and Dr. Hart, if singles or sharing.
In the meantime I have a hold on five rooms at Tanda Tula in the Timbavati
section of Kruger Park. This is a small privately owned game reserve on the
western boundary of Kruger Park. There are 8 rondavels with air
conditioning and bathroom en-suite. There is also a swimming pool. This is
the place where it is possible to see the rare white lions. I understand
that it has won the "Best of Africa" award two years in a row,and they are
noted for excellent cuisine.
I have a hold on this space until Wed, July 23. And in the meantime, we are
trying to see if the rooms at the Langolosi are all under deposit or if we
can shake some loose. In the mean time, if there is any other camp, you
prefer to try for, let me know . E-Mail is tvlstore@aol.com. Phone is
310-575-5540.
[-----]
It looks like this guy had a little too much to drink one night. The real
mystery: is "Pat" male or female? Gay or straight? I guess the only way
to find out would be to e-mail this Walter guy...
Hmm...
[-----]
Date: Sat, 26 Jul 1997 06:22:49 -0400 (EDT)
From: walterp@fourbrooks.com
To: devtemp5@rad.edu
Subject: Last night
Pat
I was going to talk to you some more until I was rudely told I could
not have a second drink. I don't know who that waitress thinks she is but
that was unbelievable! I was standing there eating my food I had talked to
you and was minding my own business etc that place I don't think I'll be
visiting there again. However I would like to have coffee or a drink with
you sometime if you would like.
I have several e-mail addresses that all end up in the same place.
This is my personal one so you can use the one I gave you or this one here.
I'll talk to you soon.
Walter
[-----]
This guy's the best of them all. He's just ASKING for your e-mails, loyal
RAD readers.
[-----]
Date: Fri, 12 Sep 1997 16:31:35 PDT
From: Ryan Jones <jersey100@hotmail.com>
To: kitty200@rad.edu
Subject: CYBERSEX ;-)
Hi Kitty,
Enjoyed talking with you today in chat. i said i would e-mail
I would like to communicate with you and hopefully we'll have some fun
together, some great sex, and both CUM as much as we like too.
Let me tell you a few things about myself and see if your interested in
pursuing a conversation.
My real name is George, live in New Jersey,age 48, white, 5' 9",
165lbs., physically in good shape, not bad looking, etc., etc.
Do you go to chatropolis often ? Which room(s) do you visit and any
particular name(s) you use in addition to kitty or cat? I started going
about two weeks ago and find it can become quite addictive. Hard to get
work done sometimes :-) I always use the name jersey(m).
It's a great service they provide, I have had some great sex there, even
if it's only fantasy. Also, where or how else would I get a chance to
communicate with someone like you, who as I am,looking and willing to
explore our sexuality/fantasies in a very safe, discreet environment
without the fear, embarrassment or whatever of being caught or judged by
friends, spouse, lovers, etc.
Would you like to tell me anything about yourself ? If so, only honestly
and if not that's OK too. I would be interested in knowing anything at
all about you. Race, nationality, you said you were single, ever
married, children, physical measurements, etc., etc. Not that it's
important but I guess I'm trying to get a mental image of you. I know
you must be very sexy just for your willingness to try a sexual e-mail
affair :-)) Do you feel yourself to be sexy ?
I don't think there is anything wrong with a good, hard, quick and
passionate fuck your brains out affair. I prefer a slow, sensual,
romantic affair. Strictly physical can be great but I think the physical
along with the emotional and mental joining of two bodies is much more
satisfying when each is seeking to give pleasure to the other.
In fact as I'm writing to you I'm starting to get a hardon. I only wish
you were here so I could lay you down on this blanket by the lake and
slowly and passionately KISS your lips as my hands explore your sexy
body, and as my hands move under your blouse and gently squeeze your
tits our breathing becomes a little more rapid. Then my hands begin to
move gently down to your waist and then reach for your lovely ass and
then we pull each other closer and you can feel my cock pressing against
you as we breath even harder.
I gently push you away so I can remove your clothes and as I begin to
rub your thighs you begin to moan slightly causing my cock to ache even
more. I start putting my hand on your wet, hot pussy and you begin to
squirm as your aching body feels my finger gently playing with your
pussy and barely entering you.Ohhhhh, you feel so good. I move my face
to your cunt and begin to lick your clit and then begin to tongue fuck
you.Ummmm, your juices taste so good.
You move your hand to my cock and feel the semen oozing to the head of
my prick and this excites you even more so you move my lips away as you
want my prick in your hot, wet mouth and you begin to suck it so good.
We're both as hot as a fucking firecracker, as you spread your legs and
tell me to shove my prick in you. As I begin to fuck you I can't believe
how good and warm your pussy feels around my shaft.
I start pounding my prick in you harder and harder and you are pushing
yourself harder into me with each thrust of my cock. It starts slowly at
first you feel it beginning in you toes and that feeling gradually and
warmly starts rising in your body and begins to peak deep inside of you
.As you start having an orgasm and I continue to fuck you and we're both
groaning as my cock begins to explode inside you....You feel the hot cum
as I'm squirting it in you and this excites you again....and you begin
having another orgasm, Ohhhhh you moan as I keep my cock pushed inside
of you and we continue KISSING & HUGGING each other as only two lovers
can.
I have to go for now...WRITE SOON...I hope
Hugs & Kisses......George
P.S. i hope my age doesn't turn you off, i would love to communicate
with a young lady with an open mind and be able to talk about anything
honestly, life, sex, whatever & maybe bridge the generation gap, i'm
also very curious about your fantasy or r/t domination need, i know it's
common but i wonder if the seeds of that need were planted from r/t
experience or ? of course you don't have to answer any of my questions
as i know
it's none of my business
[-----]
There we have it, RAD readers: send your cybersex requests to
jersey100@hotmail.com. A 48 year-old white guy is waiting for your love!
And he doesn't mind bondage!@ Lookout!
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Radioactive Aardvark Dung E-Zine :: ISSN 1092-5449
Issue #18 % Released September 23, 1997
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