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The Neo-Comintern 105
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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 0 5
LANOITANRETNI ht5 EHT ERA EW - WE ARE THE 5th INTERNATIONAL
0002 ,ht9 yaM - May 9th, 2000
CMB :rotidE - Editor: BMC
:sretirW - Writers:
CMB - BMC
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;P Featured in this installment .b
$ $
$ Bubble Hand Boy- BMC $
$ The Mermaid Mafia- BMC $
`q p'
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EDITOR'S NOTE
Well if there's one thing The Comintern is all about, it's morals.
The moral of The Death of Bugz Buny was to give neglected characters their
own issue, and here it is. Because I am such a moralist now, I have added
morals to the end of these stories so you can continue to learn and love with
us here at the greatest magazine in the world (except for Games magazine).
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;P BUBBLE HAND BOY .b
`q by BMC p'
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We're not going to use any names today, so let's just pretend we
have a mutual friend named Jesus, who washes a lot of dishes. Maybe he works
in the kitchen in a restaurant, or maybe he just likes to wash the dishes at
home whenever he gets the chance. Or better yet, he's a dish-washing
renegade, wandering from town to town in search of his dead parents. Yes,
that's who he is.
So, then, let's just assume that he worked his way into Saskatoon.
I don't remember or care to make up a story about how he got here, so you can
write your own story about that. Anyway, he was working at some restaurant
or something, and he was doing his second favorite thing in the world,
washing dishes. His first love, of course, was Italian opera. Regardless,
he was just working away; washing, washing, washing, washing, washing,
washing, washing; anyway, you get the point; washing, washing, washing,
washing, washing, and washing; he was enjoying every second of it.
Then, unusually, he started thinking about something other than
washing dishes. He began to daydream about his missing dead parents. He
remembered how his dad taught him how to wash his first dish, and how mom
bought a stool for him to stand on so he could wash dishes in the kitchen
sink when he was three years old.
While he was daydreaming, all disaster had suddenly struck! He had
given up all concentration on the task at hand, and plunged his hand under
the layer of dishsoap on the water, grasping wildly for who-knows what. He
was so distracted by the beautiful swirling patterns his subconscious mind
that he cut all of his fingers off on the diamond-sharp edge of a ganju knife
(the knife of champions). When he finished his drug-overdose induced dream,
he realized that he was being rushed to Doctor Bombay Hospital, where they
sewed all of his fingers back on and sent him back to finish his shift at the
restaurant.
Later that night, he discovered that something was different about
him. He knew that something was seriously wrong with his fingers, because
he had cut them off before, and it just didn't feel right this time. He
tried to bend his fingers, and did so successfully. He made a fist.
Startlingly, bubbles began to form from his knuckles!
He looked at his hand. He looked at the huge steel sink. He stared
at the bottle of dishsoap. He squeezed his fist harder, and the bubble grew
larger. He cursed the bubbles. As he did, the bubbles turned to steel and
fell to the ground with a mighty clunk.
The power of controlling bubbles? Yeah, right! Superheroes are only
for the comics, and even if I was a super hero, I would have to have a cooler
power than this. Yeah right! As if the Hulk, Spider Man, or the Fantastic
Four got to choose their powers. You have been cursed with the power to
create and control bubbles, and the path you take from here is your choice.
What our young friend didn't know is that the combination of common
dish soap, human blood, and our highly toxic Saskatoon drinking water (which
is laced with concentrated amounts of aluminum and PCB's) will create a
SUPER formula which in turn gave this dishwasher a very crappy super power,
but a super power none the less.
An image flashed through his mind. He saw himself robbing a bank,
capturing the bystanders in huge glass bubbles, and creating a huge cloth
bubble to carry the millions of dollars in. When the police inevitably
showed up, he would put huge iron bubbles around their hands, thus putting
the coppers out of comission until they could find a needle strong enough to
pop the bubbles. Then he would surround himself with thousands of bubbles
which would carry him away from freedom into infinity.
Then he quit his job and went home. After he finished making a
costume, he realized that what had happened earlier was actually only a
crack withdrawl hallutionation, so he went back to the restaurant where they
let him have his job back (with a fifty cent raise!)
Tha End
(Moral: Everything always turns out ok, no matter what)
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;P THE MERMAID MAFIA .b
`q by BMC p'
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Zox, the master ninja and leader of the Mermaid Mafia
I think he would wait till you were by the docks...
then he would jump out of the water and bash your head
against the pier until you were out of it... then he would
pull you under water and start punching you in the abs
until you agreed to do whatever he told you to do...
It was the last day of the rest of my life. That's really the only
way it can be described. That night I was supposed to meet Samedi the rogue
merchant at the midnight pier, dock 277 at the shipping yard. The deal was
simple: a small chest of MooN PenNieS in exchange for a pirated recording of
Christopher Cross live in concert with the Atlantean Sirene Choir. I knew
better than to trust Samedi, so we sat as I listened to the DAT to make sure
that it was a soundboard recording and not a shoddy audience recording as
his infamously poor quality recordings of the urban recording legends "The
Rainbow Allstars." It sounded good, so I took the case and surrendered my
chest. As Samedi counted through the mOon pEnniEs, he stepped out of the
veil of night into the shock of light shed by a low-hanging lamp. This was
the first time this night, or ever for that matter, that I was able to
observe his appearance.
He wore sleek black rubber boots with a huge silver buckle on the
front of each. His pants were worn black leather, and he wore a muscle
shirt under a red leather jacket. I noted the build of a seemingly
once-healthy man who had wasted into a zombie-like thing. His colourless
skin seemed to confirm the zombie notion. His exposed chest and neck
appeared to be unhealthily greasy and clammy. I looked up into his face and
was taken back in terror! It looked like he had not slept, bathed, or
shaven in a week! The dark stubble on his face and hanging black, greasy
hair contrasted sharply against his pallid white flesh. It was an
abomination!
At this moment, when I was more shocked than I remembered myself
being in months, I saw a cloaked figure leap from the sea and land firm-
footed on the dock. He did it in complete silence, and Samedi, whose back
was turned, had no idea what was happening. I knew who it was right away.
It was Zox, the legandary hitman, but I didn't know why he was here. I would
soon find out as he stripped Samedi of his life and attempted to claim mine.
He wasted no energy, proceeding directly from the edge of the dock
toward Samedi. He confronted Samedi with a slap accross the face, causing
him to drop the mOon PeNNiEs.
|Since it may not be clear at this point, I must take a moment to explain
the value of Moon penNIes. Three MOON PEnnIEs equal one mOon CROwn, which
is equivalent in worth to two ounces of gold. Work inflation and sales tax
into the equation, and it will be apparent why Samedi reacts the way he
does.|
Samedi, seeing the chest hit the weathered boards of the dock,
screamed, "a curse upon Atlantis and The Mermaid Mafia!" I felt as though
I was going to relieve myself, and I noticed that Samedi had discharged in
his pants. The air was filled with that dense humidity that one notes as
the forerunner of rain, but it was of the thick stench of urine and not of
spring clouds. I prepared to lose control of my body, but before I got the
chance, something shocked me out of it.
"The Mermaid Mafia?"
I had heard the legend of Zox, but I had never heard of this "Mermaid
Mafia" before. Was it possible that the iron fist of Atlantis could allow
such evils to take place within the realm? Apparently so. The Mermaid
Mafia was a real, existing force, and the objectives unit was being
spearheaded by Zox, the sea-world's ultimate assassin. But what did they
want from the bootlegging industry?
Love.
Nobody can really blame the Mermaid Mafia for striking back at the
overworld bootleggers. From all of the texts I have read, it seems that
Thomas Edison stole the techniques of sound recording from the ancient
Atlanteans. Of course, Edison's were rudimentary while Atlantean technology
of that time has still not been surpassed and probably never will be. Of
course, the children of the seas know the secrets, but they will never give
the techniques over to any land living piece of garbage.
So of course that must have been it... Zox never exhaled the water
from his gills, so I didn't hear about it from his mouth, but I kinda caught
on as he skillfully punched Samedi in the back of the head, knocking him
unconscious. After the merchant was kicked off of the dock, into the dark
water, Zox started counting the coins. I was full of fear, and unable to be
silent. As I started to back away, the DAT case caught a shimmer of light
which reflected into the eye of Zox. Immediately recognizing it as a quality
recording featuring Christopher Cross, Zox started toward me. I turned and
ran, but I had to stop when I reached the end of the end of the dock.
I turned to fight, but it was too late.
I remembered the dreams I had been having as they began to come true.
Zox swept my feet and I landed on my side. Zox punched me in the spine,
and I found it exceedingly difficult to move. Then he repeatedly bashed my
head against the wood until I lost consciousness...
When I woke up I was still on the dock and Zox was gone. I had to
rest until I was strong enough to move again. Through my double vision, I
saw a distant Zox dragging a heavy rock toward me. I tried to get up, but
I was too weak. I became very frightened. After timeless minutes that
seemed like hours, Zox had pulled the boulder all the way to where I was
laying. Then he stopped and rested, eating a lunch he had packed earlier
that day. Or maybe his mom packed it. I'm not sure about that one, I never
got the chance to ask him. Anyway, by the time his lunch break was over, I
had moved about 3 feet from where I originally was, so he had to drag the
big rock over a bit more, and that made him pretty mad. Then he smashed my
head against the rock in the same way he had bashed it against the pier. I
went unconscious again.
Suddenly I was up again, but this time all of the pain had fled my
body, and I had the agility of a monkey and the strength of 10 monkeys. Did
I mention that the monkeys I am referring to are not regular monkeys, but
GLADIATOR monkeys? I grabbed Zox and threw him into a whirlpool of fire, and
then he became dust and assaulted me by choking me with his arrid mist. I
turned into a tower of water and vanquished him.
Suddenly I awoke and Zox and I were face-to-face with our hands
around each others throats. We choked each other in a harmonious balance,
I embraced his neck lovingly and stroked his throat deeply with my thumbs
while he gently twisted my skin while applying tender pressure to either side
of my windpipe. I looked into his eyes longingly, and he returned my gaze.
We were one, we were the incarnation of love. We were surrounded by flowing
emotions, and as Zox fell asleep in my arms, they overtook me and set my
senses whirling.
I woke up again, and this time I was under the water. I struggled
as the water forced its pressure against me, but as my body was labouring
my mind wondered if what had just occurred was terrible or wonderful, and
if it was a dream or reality. I returned to my senses and figured out which
direction was up, then I struggled to reach the surface. As I made my way
to freedom, I encountered Zox. He punched me hard in the stomach, and I
balled up in pain. It caught me offguard, and I took in a lungful of water.
Apparently that was a bad thing, because I started blacking out again, and
this time it was going to result in my death. The last thing I saw was an
armour-clad black octopus' flash in the distance.
(Moral: Nothing ever turns out ok, not even in stories, because life
sucks and we are constantly denied happiness.)
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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 #105-05/09/00
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.
