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The Neo-Comintern 111
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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 1 1 1
LANOITANRETNI ht5 EHT ERA EW - WE ARE THE 5th INTERNATIONAL
0002 ,ht81 enuJ - June 18th, 2000
CMB :rotidE - Editor: BMC
:sretirW - Writers:
sigaaH roinuJ - Junior Haagis
CMB - BMC
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;P Featured in this installment .b
$ $
$ The Secret Origin Files (Part Three)- Junior Haagis $
$ What Would You Have Me Do?- BMC $
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EDITOR'S NOTE
Comintern Comintern in a dish. How many Cominterns do you wish?
Is it all a game? Yes it's like a game to me. It's kind of like
how sometimes we have fun and sometimes we just
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;P THE SECRET ORIGIN FILES- PART THREE .b
`q by Junior Haagis p'
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Tonite's Episode -
PROJECT TITAN
PART III - I'VE LOOKED AT CLOUDS FROM BOTH SIDES NOW
(AND THAT ONE LOOKS LIKE A DUCKY)
*We resume our story some 26 months and 7 minutes later at the Suyez launch
pad, eight miles outside of Minsk in the former Soviet Union.
With the countdown now at T-Minus 3 minutes and counting, we go through our
final checklist. My crew, a couple of top-notch air force aces fresh out of
the Fort Bragg Scandal, were there to ensure both my safety and the safety
of the mission.
The navigator on our historic voyage is a pluckey young officer by the name
of Lt. Samuel Travis. During 'the war,' Travis was flying his crippled
Tomcat over the Mediterranean in the dead of night without landing lights,
his guidance system down, a loss of hydraulic pressure, his fuel lines
severed, and the French just just 70 nautcial miles off his port side. Plus
the fact he was screeching like an infant the whole time didn't do much for
his concentration.
Not too many facts are available as to how he finally brought her down on
the deck of the USS Pendleton, or how well the landing went. But I've been
told that the USS Pendelton is a frigate, and from that I think you can paint
a pretty good picture.
Our pilot is one Captain David 'Spunky' Reeves. He got the nickname 'Spunky'
for rigging an afterburner on a MIG-111 with trinitroluene, ammonium
nitrate, sawdust, a plasma-particle detonator, and the engine from a diamond-
tipped drill. Plus, at the last mintute he tossed in a few experimental
vials labelled 'antimatter'. The primary ignition alone blasted everyone on
the tarp naked. And without even closing the cone on his cockpit, he
fired-up that puppy. Careening high and onward past the physical plain of
existance, he lifted off from Higgins Air-Force Base in Sikh Yohli, Mongolia
at MACH-Undetermined.
Fortunately, he crashed just 50 feet from the Oval Office. But his
trajectory was dead-on target nonetheless. Experts blamed his condition on
everthing from his methanone dependancy to consecutively witheld conjugal
leave. Since that incident, 'Spunky' is about the only thing you can call
him without pissing him off, and that includes his own name.
T-Minus one minute and ten appears on the console. Captain Dave, his helmet
fogged up completely white, violently rocks back and forth in his seat. Lt.
Travis is catatonic, then becomes wide-eyed unconscious. Ground control
signals for a go/no-go for launch. T-Minus 50.
Suddenly, there's a problem. Main boosters fire. I glance over to Captain
Dave. He looks upward, and whistles to himself. We begin to lift off. The
gantry buckles and snaps in loud succession. I wrestle the captain for the
steering column. He muscles it loose from my grasp, veers full right, brings
the rocket into a steep nose dive just 60 feet from the ground, aims the
tower tip at a passing truck on the service road, nudges it, and sends it
flying into the chicken coop.
Satisfied, Captain Dave pulls up and resumes our course, leaving the driver
of the vehicle to shake his fist in disgust.
Soaring upwards, I gaze out the hatch window to see the blue-sky fade to
black, the approach of the moon as it zips by on our starboard-side, and then
onward into the final frontier.
I think Lt. Travis is dead. In fact, I'm sure of it. It's okay, though. He
had mentioned that he didn't know what he was doing anyways.
To Be Continued in..
Episode Nine - PLANIMAL ATTACKS!!
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;P WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE ME DO? .b
`q by BMC p'
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"But BMC, what happens to the articles that don't make it?"
Yes, I get that question all the time. It is a single voice within
the mass of our legion of fans, but I always take the time to respond.
Everybody has a different voice, and I think it is important to give
everyone the opportunity to be heard. I will usually take the young fan,
pick them up, put them on my knee, and tell them the story of what happens
to the articles that don't make it.
It goes something like this, my child. First I skim the article and
become frustrated. There is some kind of obstacle in it that I can't get
around, whether it is choppy writing, an idea that hasn't been developed
enough, or maybe just something that is outside of the general theme of the
magazine. The frustration builds until I start to cry. I attempt to fix
the article, but it just doesn't work.
I print the article out and look at it. I turn it upside down to
see if there was something I missed before. I am usually wrong. Nobody has
ever written their whole article sdrawkcab before, and nobody has written
one umop apisdn. I try anyway, to see if it is some sort of code to the
kkkapitalists, informing them that the time is now to strike and sink the
Neo-Comintern. Vigilance is crucial for a zine editor.
I look at the paper, which is wet with my tears. Isn't there
anything I can do to save it? I recycle it wildly, throwing it through the
paper shredder at my top-secret-classified-information-workplace, whose
identity I can not reveal. Shred, shred, shred. It feels good to be an
environmentalist. So good, in fact, that I print up another dozen copies
just so I can recycle all of those, too. Now the article has had a higher
press run than the Saskatoon Star Phoenix, and hasn't even gotten into the
magazine. But maybe there's still hope.
I read the article through and think about the structure. Could the
article be saved if I took this paragraph out and moved this line over here
and added these three paragraphs? There is only so much that can be done,
and after hacking the article to shreds I feel as though I have killed
beautiful and innocent creature. I can't live with myself. I try to print
the article out again so I can papercut my throat repeatedly until I die, my
body heaped upon this article that I loved so much but couldn't do enough
for. If the article must die, we will die together. Then I notice that the
printer is out of paper, so I have to use a paper towel instead. That
always happens when I'm trying to kill myself with an article. Anyway, I
don't know if you guessed at this or not, but the paper towel doesn't work
because it is soft. It actually feels kind of good. Since all else has
failed, I know it is time for me to proceed to plan G.
I read through the article again, analyzing every sentence, every
word, every pixel on the screen. I try to find anything that can be saved
from it and I write it down and remember to plagiarize it in a future
article. That technique has worked without fail, unless you count being
accused of plagiarism as failure, in which case it has failed every time.
It isn't easy. I know that the writer of the article will not
appreciate that they wrote something and it's not going in the magazine. I
don't know what to say other than that during the course of the past 110
issues I have scrapped over 80 completed articles that I have written.
That's about 40% of the stuff I write!
Sometimes one of our wonderful Neo-Comintern writers will ask me
what happens to the articles that don't make it, referring to one or more
specific article that they have written. I will usually take the young
writer, pick them up, put them on my knee, and tell them that we've gotta
keep it gold in the Neo-Comintern, because that's what we're all about,
quality. Oh yeah, and we're also about morals, the second dimension,
sequels, money, gold, and jewels too. Oh, and about gazelles. But would
you have us any other way?
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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 2000 by The Neo-Comintern #111-06/18/00
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.
