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The Neo-Comintern 034
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t h e n e o - c o m i n t e r n i n s t a l l m e n t 3 4
WE ARE THE 5th INTERNATIONAL
September 31st, 1998
editor: BMC
writers:
STUYA
BMC
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.
featured in this installment: .
Voyage to Atlantis- BMC .
STUYA .
:
. . . . . . .. ...................................;
EDITOR'S NOTE
Sarcasm? I don't even know the meaning of the word. Truly, I am
unfamiliar with that word. If anyone knows what it means, send a definition
to manta1@hotmail.com.
This issue the mystical STUYA is back from the asylum, so be kind.
Also, onward, upward and inward, outward, downward and backward we
will go into the lost continent of Atlantis.
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.
VOYAGE TO ATLANTIS .
by BMC .
(continued from "The Story Of How Things Happened") .
:
. . . . . . .. ...................................;
When we left the invisible port we sailed our magic boat o'er the
mighty deep blue for what seemed to be countless units of time. After about
two-hundred of these units we found a large body of land that did not appear
on our maps. A very strange land, it was. The inhabitants seemed to talk
with a very strange accent, and they told us unfamiliar legends of the past
as we became drunk on their "honey mead". After what seemed like two months
we consulted our maps for a second time and realized that we were still in
Canada. A third reference to the maps informed us that we were still docked
in the port.
At long last we raised the anchor and voyaged south, onward to
Atlantis. After a short stay on the seas, which seemed relatively long, we
came face to face with a warship of the EU. We were clearly no match for
their Umercian waters "defensive action". They were armed with heavy nuclear
weapons and were ready to use them at extremely close range. I also must add
that this near nuclear encounter took place within one kilometre of a very
large costal city. They were armed for sea combat, whereas we were only
armed with glass jars containing vast knowledge. We feigned ignorance,
playing the role of a lost fishing boat. When the Umercians let us on their
ship, we unleashed our many jars of science upon them, pummelling them with
very difficult formulas and equations until their minds were all mentally
wiped by statictics and calculations, thus leaving them succeptible to the
fatal disease of lonliness. We then decided to sail south through the
treacherous sea.
Days later, on a hot and sunny afternoon, we were sailing smoothly
and discovered a small island which was host to a large volcano. Atlantis?
This was a mystical island where flowers spoke and crackers grew on trees.
"Hello mista flower", I said. "187 with your dick in my mouth beeyotch", it
replied. "Obviously there is no intelligent life here", I observed, as I
twisted my heel on the root of the flower.
We walked closer toward the volcano. At about ten feet I recognized
the mountain from the inscription at its base. It was the missing Ural
mountain which had been stolen from the motherland back in 1991. "Lava
suit?" Yes, those bastards had taken every precaution. After dawning the
eighty pound asbestos suit, I mentally prepared for the climb and dive into-
MOUNT Z!
As I zigzagged up the hill, I thought about the 17 year old girl I
left weeping in bed less than two weeks ago. The girl I left forever in
quest of Atlantis- the city which I had been drawn to, been linked to, but
also the city I had never seen, or had I? It seemed like a dream I had
experienced once, a dream or a drug inspired hallucenation. Glorious,
though, either way, it was.
I peered into the boiling rock at my feet, and suddenly realized that
this might be my last voyage. This was something I had to do myself, though,
because I was not willing to put the life of a crew member at risk for the
furtherment of my Atlantean expedition. "One......two.....thr...." In my
next moment of awareness, I was head under the lava.
After a few laps around in the magma I dove to grab two large
diamonds from the volcano floor like the rings you dove for in the swimming
pool. Back up to the surface it was, and then proceeded the grand ceremony.
One of the diamonds had been given to our chief alchemist, and the
other was carefully installed atop the head of the Staff of Z. With the
Staff of Z now projecting full power, the trip from here forward would be
much easier. A holographic image was conjured before my eyes. A mysterious
emperor with a long red robe and winged heels. It spoke:
"Atlantis has been granted!"
Onward we traversed; we sailed for 15 days until we reached the
triangle of uncertain disaster. This was muchly uneventful, aside from the
seven visits to my private chambers by Juaine.
Fifteen days and thirty-six minutes later, the sky suddenly turned
black as the sound of heavy thunder ripped through my mind. "What the hell
was that?", I asked Xao Ming, the asian philosopher. "Welcome to the Bermuda
Triangle", he replied.
At this time we switched to the new calendar that the communist
government had slated for activation today. The month was awktobre. This
was our first day of the rest of our lives.
On the fourth day of modern history, we were suddenly drawn into a
gigantic whirlpool. In attempt to continue travelling freely, we were forced
to jettison approximately half of the crew and all navigational equipment
and food. It wasn't enough. We jettisoned half of the remaining half of the
crew. It still wasn't enough to free us from the great cyclone of water, and
we all died from drowning.
(To be Continued)
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.
STUYA .
:
. . . . . . .. ...................................;
Dear
Yes I'm back. Now that I've been released, I have some questions for
you. Why are so called "crazy people" locked up in white padded cells
instead of huge halls with disco balls and streamers? There is no logical
reason, is there?
Another question that has baffled me and my good friends I met in
captivity, (although they were a bit strange and had a great passion for
spinning on their heads while singing alternate lyrics to "Teen Angel",
I took a liking to them for I was their role model, they always
wore the same clothing as me) is why are the bars on the windows vertical
and not horizontal? Is it because men who wear white jackets dispise the
beautiful rainbowetic feathers of the cockatiels, which are only able to
perch on horizontal bars?
ONce an old friend told me a story of her youth. SHe lived on a
farm and had many cats, I'm not sure of thier color or relation to one
another but I'm sure some caught mice. Anyways as most children do whom have
pet cats, she spent one late mornimg playing with a young kitten and a red
radio flyer wagon. Just before leaving for elsewhere with her father she put
the innocent under the flipped red radio flyer wagon.
As the day wore on the sun started to beat down upon this dusty farm,
the more than likely cuter than words fluffy kitten still lay beneath the
unescapable prison it's owner had unintentionally created.
(the next part of this story is a recreation of what may of happened during
the last hours of the kittens life)
We have no idea of what the kitten really might of have experienced.
We did try to interview the ear witnesses, the other farm animals, though.
Since we could not communicate directly with the other cats on the farm we
got a chicken (who said her name was kluk) to write down the statements of
the cats as chicken scratches. We then took the replies to a pharatrist to
be interpeted, and the testimonies read as follows:
Penacilian - a 7 year supply
20 horse tranquilizers
1 pound of catnip,
oral contraceptives
some kind of drug that will make heads bigger and feet smaller
Now we are not sure if this was a misinterpetation by the pharasist
or if animals, at least at this farm, are smarter than we assume.
Anyway, we can assume life was hellish like under that red radio
flyer wagon on this hot summers day. When the girl came back to her play
spot late in the afternoon she recalled that her fluffy cuter than words
kitten was still beneath the red radio flyer wagon. Quickly she flipped over
the death chamber to discover the kitten convlusing, eyes buldging.
A gun shot followed, and 10 years later I would be shaken by this
truely evil incident my friend recalled.
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___________________________________________________
|THE COMINTERN IS AVAILIABLE ON THE FOLLOWING BBS'S |
|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|
| BRING ON THE NIGHT (306) 373-4218 |
| CLUB PARADISE (306) 978-2542 |
| THE GATEWAY THROUGH TIME (306) 373-9778 |
|___________________________________________________|
| Website http://www.sfn.saskatoon.sk.ca/~ad357 |
| Email BMC at manta1@hotmail.com |
|___________________________________________________|
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#34-09/31/98
Copyright 1998 N-Com
All content is property of The Neo-Comintern.
Unauthorized use of any part of document is prohibited. All Rights Reserved.
