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The Neo-Comintern 087
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t h e n e o - c o m i n t e r n e l e c t r o n i c m a g z i n e
I n s t a l l m e n t N u m b e r 8 7
WE ARE THE 5th INTERNATIONAL - LANOITANRETNI ht5 EHT ERA EW
December 7th, 1999 - 9991 ,ht7 rebmeceD
Editor: BMC - CMB :rotidE
Writers: - :sretirW
Margarina Cataclysma - amsylcataC aniragarM
Cog - goC
Gnarly Wayne - enyaW ylranG
BMC - CMB
d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b.
;P Featured in this installment .b
$ $
$ Oh My God, This Sandwich is Moldy!- Margarina Cataclysma $
$ Fuck This Shit, and Kill The Man Who Made It- Cog $
$ Building Head- Gnarly Wayne $
$ Proteus Challenges Zeus- BMC $
`q p'
`nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'
EDITOR'S NOTE
Ok, well I just figured that since we are doing this extra-long issue
we should probably put a blank issue in front of it just so we keep our
average around 11kb. Do the math and you will understand it, but first you
must walk backwards with me through the door. Speak the incantations and we
will wisk away into a whirlwind of fantasy and magic! Bravo!
Congratulations, brave Komrade Lenin! Peace up and peace down!
In this very special issue we are going to feature some amazing
articles. First of all we are featuring a new writer to The Neo-Comintern.
What can be said about this amazing creature but that it is the only known
MoOn MoNSTar that can communicate through a method other than having to let
others digest its flesh? This MOon MONSTAr can type and types very well.
She is also an expert in absolutely everything due to a microchip that was
implanted into her soul back on MoON BasE TWo on Io.
Then we're going to take you to visit Cog and we are going to find
out what he's pissed off at today. Anyone ever heard of the hampster dance
page? Well, apparently Cog has cause he won't stop screaming or drinking
since he became addicted to it.
Then we're going to read an article by Wayne, and you are going to
enjoy that as well. Building head boy drifts in and out of reality and into
some abstract situations. It's like an optical illusion for the soul. Yes,
you will enjoy that.
After that, you can look at my article. It's just a little something
that I whipped up about Proteus and Zeus getting into a bit of conflict. I
really hope you enjoy that one, cause I had to give away my top secret tuna
sandwich recipe to make it more realistic. Oh well! Hey, check this out:
THE
I just wanted to take a second to give props to one of my favorite
words. The. Thank you for being one of the (no pun intended) best words
in the (no pun intended) dictionary. Rah! Rah! Rah! The is number one!
I don't know if you got a kick out that or not, but I'm not going to
worry about that right now. I just want you to relax and open your mind as
you always must to go all the way on the trip with us. Enjoy and relax!
d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b.
;P OH MY GOD, THIS SANDWICH IS MOLDY! .b
`q by Margarina Cataclysma p'
`nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'
Every time you slap together 2 pieces of bread with peanut butter in
between, a child is born. A life stretches out before it, bounded only by
the taut plastic wrap above, below, and on all 4 sides of its crust. Now
these close confines might seem limiting to bipeds such as you or I, but a
peanut butter sandwich has no need to stretch it's legs. Entire lives are
lived in the confines of a lunch kit. In fact, a lunch kit is the family
estate of peanut butter sandwiches. Such a rich heritage! Aromatic
generation upon aromatic generation. It's not such a sad fate, really. If,
in one of your incarnations, you have the incredibly good fortune of being
born a p.b. sandwich, this is what you will likely experience:
Your first glimmer of consciousness will be a vague, stirring
feeling. Your essence is being awakened in the jar by the knife. The knife
is the magic wand that touches you with life, brings your semi-liquid soul
into contact with your body, the bread. When you are all spread out on the
bottom half of your body, you squint at the sun (or whatever that overhead
light might be). Then your top half descends, and your body is welded
together by the layer that defines you. You are complete; you have come into
your own, grown into your body, finished with your oily adolescence. The
hand gently mashes the upper bread down.
The hand flips you over, wraps you in plastic. Then it puts you into
your lunchkit, and when it closes the lid, the smell of your forebears
permeates you. You know you are in the right place, you are in the land of
peanut butter sandwiches. Happily jostled about in your box, you smile and
meditate upon one topic or another. Later, you have a little snooze perhaps.
Some peanut butter sandwiches ask a lot of questions. The obvious
question is: Where did all the previous sandwiches go? The answer is not
clear. Perhaps the question is unanswerable. All a p.b. sandwich can know
is that it exists, others existed before it, and presumably other p.b.
sandwiches will live after to carry on the line.
If you're a human, all you can do is keep on making peanut butter
sandwiches. If you're a peanut butter sandwich, all you can do is keep on
keeping on.
d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b.
;P FUCK THIS SHIT, AND KILL THE MAN WHO MADE IT .b
`q by: Cog p'
`nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'
"Deedeedee da dee d'doh doh, dee bah dooda doh! Do do do do duh
dew m'bew, badda d'yo d'yo da doodle day doommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Heh ha ha ha ha."
-The Hampsterdance song
GODDAMMIT, I HATE THAT FUCKING HAMPSTERDANCE SITE!! You know the
thing that gets me most of all?! I can't believe it, but a place like that
probably gets at least a thousand times as many hits as our great website;
the last bastion of literature in the free world. IT'S JUST SO FUCKING
RE-FUCKING-TARDED. The site was probably designed by a young autistic lad,
and now there it sits ready to entertain the other retards of the world (and
no, I'm not worried about offending autistic people with that last statement
because I'm sure that they can't read).
I should point out that I'm actually writing this article while
having the hampsterdance bullshit playing constantly in the background.
Rather than having the desired effect of making me laugh and revel in the
knowledge that I'm cooler for having seen it, I want to simultaneously throw
up and methodically plan my own grisly murder. It shall involve a javelin.
What people don't seem to realize is this: this page is up for the
sole purpose of becoming "cool". Then people who view it daily think they're
up on all the latest trends. "Hey, man! I have something really cool to
show you," they say. "Wow! Is this cool?" says the dupe. Says Mr. Joe
Trend, "Yes." And this is why no-one is impressed with my warez collection
anymore.
Now, this is the SECRET part: After the page becomes cool, the
sheep and Yahoos of the world want to take some part of it home with them.
MERCHANDISING.
When I first saw the site, I didn't get it... Who would spend like
$100 per year for the domain name alone, much less the hosting costs just
to annoy me? Then I saw the link that takes you to the seedy underside of
the hampsterdance site. The fucking hampsterdance store. Who wouldn't want
to be charged A FUCKING DOLLAR TWENTY-FIVE for a sticker with some PUBLIC-
DOMAIN images of hamsters on 'em, hey? Or the eight (8) dollar mug that's
the "Perfect gift for the college student for those late nights of studying,
or for the office team that just needs a pick-me-up in the morning!" Well,
what coffee mug isn't, especially one that's filled with coffee? I'm tempted
to order one and vomit in it before returning in it.
Hey, the kids like bumperstickers, right? Well, just the cool kids
apparently, cuz there're hampsterdance bumperstickers. Advertise your
stupidity to the world with a bumpersticker that says, "See what everyone is
talking about!" Well, from this camp the reviews don't seem too favourable.
I'll let you know right now that if you buy one of those bumperstickers, I'm
gonna run you off the goddamn road, you fucking pidgeon. Make one last
futile grab for individualism if you find yourself pining for one of these
stickers. Same goes for the poster. They say it has a secret message from
the hampster dancers. I'm not so sure.
The keychain sucks as does the T-shirt. Who would be stupid enough
to wear something proclaiming their herd mentality while within punching
distance?
There's alot more stuff they cash in on, but I've said all that's
necessary about it by this point. Now's the time to get to know the hamsters
and their craft in a more personal way. First off, this horrible 10 second
song I've been hearing for the last half hour courtesy of this wonderful site
is the biggest problem I have with it. It sounds like it was recorded on
Edison Cylinder. It's edited horribly, and each loop ends with a bit of
static. What's the matter, folks? In so much of a hurry to rake in the cash
that you half-assed on the music? My conclusion is that's it's actually part
of a copyrighted work of music sped up to twice its original speed, so there
was no effort spent there.
Next come the hamsters themselves. Public domain animated GIF images
of hampsters -- a couple of which actually appear to dance! One's walking
(and it's a gopher). And COME ON! One of the hamsters just revolves! What
the hell kind of dancing is that? If I did that at a wedding or something
(and it's not too far-fetched -- in fact, it's probably happened), they'd
confiscate my enormous stack of stolen drink tickets.
But, you want to know what pissed me off mosty of all? There's a
link to the fishydance. It plays Barnes and Barnes song "Fish Heads"
(probably without the necessary copyright clearances). Fuck off. I hope the
guy that created these sites contracts syphillis and goes very, very insane.
I think it might already be happening, however, because this guy has his
copyright listed as "(c) 1997 hampton@hampsterdance.com". You can't fucking
copyright something to an email address.
So, the next time the Comintern website is being remodeled, I will
resist the urge to "get retarded", as they say. I will not put dancing frogs
and shit up there. No, the only dancing animal that has any chance of
getting onto the Neo-Comintern webpage is the one that co-stars in LUNCH.MPG.
d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b.
;P BUILDING HEAD (a story about a little boy) .b
`q by Gnarly Wayne p'
`nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'
Running through the streets of misery, Building Head Boy exited the
alley while the mobsters chased him in a car with a set of wheels. Wheels
are round. Fun.
Why did the mobsters want Building Head Boy's life?
Let's go back to 1943 (the year not the incredibly fun game!!!)
1942. yo 3!
A toddler who had a giant building for a head was playing with his
other fucking freaks of nature friends. Last night, the mobsters had stored
a bunch of loot in the closet of office 3B on the 14th floor, while Boy
slept. Now they needed it to pay a late movie rental charge. They really,
really wanted to see "Charlie Chan & Jackie Chan go to Grouchland", but the
store wouldn't let them until they paid the dues.
Fast forward to the present (yo 1944!).
They drove up the side of Building Head Boy's, trying to get to the
14th floor. They crashed into a flag pole and fell off. Building Head Boy
was running around in crazy circles. Tuna Fish Arm Lad tried to help, but
the tuna fish head/hands just got in the way. Super Lava Fireball Teeth
Toddler flew for help, but was too young to fly and got a ticket. Aw isht.
The mobsters fell off Building Head Boys and started shootings rounds
of zounds at HIM! Aah!
Building Head Boy tried to hide downtown behind some buildings, but
the mobsters just followed the trail of tears. One mobster laid some
demolitions near Building Head Boy's (writers note: I keep wanting to type
Building Boy Head) jowl area. As the explosives went off, Building Head Boy
wondered what his life would have been like if he would have been allowed to
live. He thought he'd make a good building somewhere in the district of
good. But, alas, the mobsters took this from him.
And that's why I don't enter buildings.
d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b.
;P PROTEUS CHALLENGES ZEUS .b
`q by BMC p'
`nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'
Twas a regular Olympian day, and Zeus reclined in his lounge chair
outside of the family cabin. He was sitting around and thinking of times
past, such as the last family reunion where Proteus attempted to sabotage
the festivities by putting a foreign substance in their cakes and pies.
These small leaves made the gods "get high," and once Proteus' plan was
discovered they all had a good laugh and passed the pipe around. The
giggling could be heard from Phoenicia to Pharos as the gods became unruly
and made efforts to "trip each other out," as Mercury described it. Even
the Weegie Knight was eased, as was made apparent when he offered to take
the gods on a mystical journey through the back yard.
Zeus snapped from the daydream and decided to go inside and make a
sandwich. He opened a can of chunk tuna and followed the recipe that was
designed by humanity's greatest culinary authority. He drained the tuna and
diced a pickle, then he sprinkled some paprika into some mayonaisse. He
mixed it all together, and then he smacked the creamy, tangy mixture into
two sandwiches. He ate them both, the first one by itself, and the second
one dipped in pea soup. Both were excellent, and he was full.
He was a bit too full, so he stretched out and laid on the couch for
a few hours. First he read some of the daily scrolls, then he listened to
his musicians get swivvy on the caliopes and lutes. The entertainment was
especially good, but Zeus got a bit bored with it. The actors put on a dumb
show for him, and then Zeus slep for about half an hour.
When Zeus woke up he went into the bathroom. First he wiped the
sleet from his eyes (yes, sleet, not sleep), and then he sat on his royal
bathroom throne and read a few good scrolls. A few minutes later, three of
the royal servants wiped his royal ass, and then Zeus took a royal shower,
which consisted of magically making rain fall from the sky. The shower was a
bit too warm, so he fell asleep while still standing up. The servants turned
the shower off and dried him off in the West wind.
After he dried off, Zeus went downstairs to see if there was anything
to do down there. He turned on the lights and looked around. He sat down on
the couch and looked around. There was nothing to do, so he went upstairs
and decided to wait around a bit and see if anything was going to happen.
An hour later nothing happened. Another hour and nothing happened
again. He went back upstairs.
"What a boring day," thout Zeus. Then there was a knock at the door.
It was Proteus.
"Hey Zeus," said Proteus, "I'm here to challenge you for the rule
of Olympus." Zeus looked at him and rolled his eyes. Then he went back to
sleep for awhile. When he woke up, Proteus was still there, so he gave him
some ale and they got drunk together. Proteus passed out, so Zeus called
the Weegie Knight and got him to carry Proteus out back and whip his ass
red.
Then Zeus went back to sleep. The End.
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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 at: http://members.home.com/comintern |
| Email BMC at: thebmc@home.com |
|___________________________________________________|
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Copyright 1999 by The Neo-Comintern #87-12/07/99
All content is property of The Neo-Comintern.
You may redistribute this document, although no fee can be charged and the
content must not be altered or modified in any way. Unauthorized use of any
part of this document is prohibited. All rights reserved. Made in Canada.
