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The Neo-Comintern 104
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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 4
LANOITANRETNI ht5 EHT ERA EW - WE ARE THE 5th INTERNATIONAL
0002 ,ts1 yaM - May 1st, 2000
CMB :rotidE - Editor: BMC
:sretirW - Writers:
eeT allircS - Scrilla Tee
CMB - BMC
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;P Featured in this installment .b
$ $
$ The Death of Bugz Buny- BMC $
$ I Kick It Root Beer- Scrilla Tee $
`q p'
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EDITOR'S NOTE
May Day.
"Corinna's Going A-Maying" by Robert Herrick.
I've missed you since the last issue.
click
click
Here we are again. I can't see you, but here you are peeking up
under a corner of my soul. Is that fair? Me being alone and you being
there with your little piece of me? Sure it is. That's just what we do.
Like the Breeders song goes, summer is ready when you are. I like
all different music, and I like every kind of fair. Look around! You know
I'll be there. Scrilla Tee has written one about the interchangability of
root beer and Dr. Pepper. I've never heard about this before, so it must be
a strictly San Jose thing. Plus the article makes reference to Mr. Pibb, so
you know it's s(t)olid gold. I'm sorry, that was just a joke. I'm thirsty.
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;P THE DEATH OF BUGZ BUNY .b
`q by BMC p'
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Here begins another story, and since it chronicles the life of a young hare
named Bugz Buny, I will make it a short tale. Get it? HahAhHAhAHAhHa
Bugz Buny was a stick-rabbit, based loosely on the Warner Brothers'
trademarked character Bugs Bunny. You will notice that the name is similar
and that they are both rabbits, but the copyright infringement stops there.
Bugs Bunny is a wisecracking champion of freedom and justice, whereas Bugz
Buny is a suicidal nihilist whose arms and legs are drawn in with single
pencil strokes. A frown is perpetually sketched onto his face, and it rests
off-centre as a display of how chaotic the machinations of his mind are.
The casual observer might call him a sick and twisted character. That is
our man, so now let's enter into his story line.
Bugz woke up at two o'clock in the PM after sleeping for as long as he
possibly could. This was one of his inset defences to protect himself from
the coldness of the world I'd put him in. It was a world without love or
hope, and that's the way I'd designed it. People here weren't concerned
with anything but the success of themselves, their contractual partners, and
their offspring.
Bugz didn't have any parents. The same way that God created Adam, I stuck
Bugz onto that cold mass of rock with nobody to look out for him. The only
difference between Adam and Bugz is that Adam had Eve and Eden, while Bugz
had neither.
Today Bugz had a job interview at a convenience store. He slicked his ears
back, put on his best pajamas, and walked to the corner of the street where
a confectionery had appeared the week before, much like Brigadoon because it
had come out of thin air. The chronically unemployed Bugz had filled out an
application the week before, and now the manager of the store was going to
talk to him to see what he was like.
The store manager (who I haven't given a name) started talking to Bugz about
job-related things. "So, Bugz," he said, "it says here that you have a BA
in English!" Bugz nodded. "Ok," said the manager, "that should help you in
this position if you get the job. So, Bugz, why do you want to work here?"
"I don't," replied Bugz.
There were a few seconds of silence.
"I don't want to work here. I don't want to live in this world. I don't
want any of this. I never asked for it, but I was cursed with it. I don't
want to do anything, but I have to."
You're damn right he had to do it. Everybody has to work lousy jobs in my
world. Oh, except for my friends. Cog is a porno director, and Wayne is an
alcohol taste tester. All of those guys are working the kick-assest jobs on
the face of the planet. It's my planet, because here I am not only God, but
king of the world as well.
Sorry. While I was giving that speech you missed most of Bugz's job
interview. I'll go back to it now. Sorry.
"-sorry, Bugz, I just don't think you're what we're looking for right now.
Not that you're worthless as a human being or anything, but-"
"Hey listen, you piece of garbage. I know I'm worthless. And you know what
else? You're worthless, this job is worthless, and this entire system is
worthless. Imagine a system of people living lies instead of lives! These
people are pretending to be content, but the facade is the most worthless
part of it. It's all so insignificant, really, and I've had enough!
Listen, this job doesn't mean a Goddamned thing in the grand scheme, and if
you're not going to give me this job... then you're going to see me kill
myself right now, and right in front of you!"
God damned? Did I hear Bugz take the Lord's name in vain? My name in vain?
Well I guess I never had the forethought to create ten commandments in this
world, so I guess I'll have to let Bugz get off with it this time. But the
next time it happens there will be commandments and I will be the punisher
of souls! Now let's see if I can remember how Exodus went...
The convenience store manager didn't want to see Bugz die, so he tried to
talk him out of it. "No, don't do that," he said. Bugz pulled out a knife
and held it to his own throat. He growled, "so do I get the job then, eh?"
The manager looked confused and didn't know what to do. He looked up at the
rule sheet. It didn't say anything about the store policy for suicidal job
applicants. He called the head office down on Water Street. A voice
answered, and the manager said, "What's the policy on job interviews for
when the guy doesn't get the job and threatens to kill himself?"
He received an answer, hung up the phone, and said, "He says I'm supposed to
let you kill yourself." Bugz looked confused, then relieved. He tried to
cut his throat but he was too scared, and couldn't do it. He looked up and
said, "Hey, can you do me a favour and help me commit suicide... by cutting
my throat for me?"
The manager called the head office again and sadly informed Bugz that
suicide assistance/murder was against store policy. He apologized, and Bugz
left the store and crawled all the way home. He prepared a bowl of ramen
noodles for himself. They were the brand name variety. Some things are
just worth the extra money, and that's one of them.
I've always been a bit of a joker, so I took the form of Bugz's TV set and
talked to him. I turned the television on, spoke to him, and said, "Bugz,
this is your God. I am the one who created you and formed a covenant with
your ancestors." Oh Me, I forgot that he didn't have a family. He didn't
forget.
"Who is this really?" asked Bugz. I laughed because it made me think of
Bill Cosby. After I stopped laughing I said, "Listen, kid. I am the Lord,
your God. You shall have no other gods before me."
Hindsight is 20/20. Looking back, it may have been a mistake to reveal my
power to the characters in this world, but right then I was just focussed on
feeding my ego, and I was inflating it to the fullest. I convinced him of
who I was, and then I made up a set of rules and gave them to Bugz. "Follow
these," I said, "and make everyone else do it too!"
Bugz was confused. "Why don't you just make everyone follow these? You
have the power, don't you?"
Geez. I'm too lazy to do anything like that! I'd have to write out the
life story of every single character in the world, and then I'd have to
worry about punishing them in the afterlife after their stories are done.
Plus I'd have to worry about continuity, and that's something I'm not
willing to do for a story. That's too much work for one god. They had a
good idea back in the Greek civilization. Hundreds of gods. There's no way
I'm going to let anyone steal my thunder! Oh my god, was that a double
meaning? Anyway, I had to think of a quick answer for Bugz.
"The Lord works in mysterious ways."
That was good enough for him. I tried to teach him how to start a religion
to worship me. I showed him a crucifix and explained the idea of religious
artifacts to him. He asked, "Didn't you say not to have other gods but
you?" I realized that I had erroneously created a character that was
smarter than I was, so I disappeared and left him alone. "I don't get it,"
said Bugz. He looked at the cross and wished he could be killed on it.
That would be romantic. Death was beautiful to him, because it would bring
an end to his pain. The suffering would be eased. He wouldn't have to live
in this unsavoury world where the cruelty was doled out by none other than
me.
Bugz suddenly realized that I was the mastermind behind his existence. I
was causing his pain. Bugz hated me, and he made it his goal to find and
destroy me.
"God!" shouted Bugz. I didn't want to let him know any more than he already
did. Maybe if I didn't answer he would think there was nobody home.
"God!" he shouted again. Didn't he know that it's dangerous to invoke my
powerful name?
He screamed as loudly as his stick lungs would allow. "God, I know you can
hear me! Listen to me now! I want out! I want a new life!"
I walked into the room and the studio audience cheered. Then I wrote them
out of the story and they were gone as quickly as... you know.
"A new life?" I asked, "you're not even alive. You're just a character in
my story."
"Oh yeah?" asked Bugz, "well can a character do THIS?" Then he sat there
motionless.
"Do what? Be paralyzed in the presence of his Lord, Creator, and Writer?"
I laughed at him for a moment, and then I disappeared and Bugz fell to the
ground and wept. "I don't want to be in this story anymore," he sobbed.
That evening I got writer's block. For over a week I was unable to write a
word. I agonized over what would be happening in my story world while I was
away. The characters I had developed over the years had taken on lives of
their own, and I was certain that there would be dramatic changes when I
returned to my fantasy world.
One night I dreamt that Bugz had formed a union with the other characters of
my creation and revolted against me. I was Writer and God of the story, but
I had also foolishly put myself in charge as king of that world. The king
was set in place by the divine power of God, and the God was created by the
Writer. As king, I was still trapped within the story and my source of
power was gone.
In my dream, Bugz Buny formed a union of postmodern characters. They
organized, formed a strike force, busted down the castle door, and
confronted me in my throne-room. Bugz held a red flag. Proteus, arch-enemy
of Atlantis, was standing in arms with his new ally, the Weegie Knight. The
Man Who Did Not Exist was armed with a war hammer, Planimal the chloroplast
criminal rolled his head around as he was looking at me, and my fire wife
and fire children were there, pointing their flames directly at me.
Bugz read off a list of grievances against the king. Proteus had suffered
repeated attacks by the creatures of the sea. The Weegie Knight had always
been abused and underpaid by the royal family of Atlantis. The Man Who Did
Not Exist had been burdened with lack of existence. My fire children had
been forced to live with me, and my fire wife had been subjected to making
love to me.
Bugz said that his problem was being denied happiness and contentment.
"Above all of this," said Bugz, "we have been denied the freedom of self
expression and self determination."
Then from the other door entered some of the characters that never made the
pages of the Neo-Comintern. Zox, the master ninja and leader of the Mermaid
Mafia came in, followed by Samedi the rogue merchant. The last one through
the door was Bubble Hand Boy, who could squeeze bubbles of any size and
material from his knuckles. I thought they were coming to save me, but they
were all very angry with me for never giving them the opportunity to have
their stories read by the masses. I promised a special issue for their
stories, but they didn't listen.
All of the characters converged on me, and as they did, the floor turned to
Jello. Then everything turned to black and white, and then it was all in
negative... cause it was a dream, remember? They got closer and closer and
than I woke up in a cold sweat, determined to give a special issue to Zox,
Samedi, and Bubble Hand Boy, and give Bugz the life that he deserved. My
way of thinking had forever changed, and I would never abuse another
character again.
I walked over to the coffee table, prepared to write an epilogue. I picked
up the text and looked at it, but things were different now. When I had
left the kingdom, Bugz Buny had devised an ingenious plan. He picked up a
pen and a pad of paper, and he began to write a story about a God who rules
a world where a writer tortures a fictional young rabbit. The writer has a
dream about his characters, wakes up, and...
Suddenly my TV came on. WhoOOOOOO! Scary shit, huh?
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;P I KICK IT ROOT BEER .b
`q by Scrilla Tee p'
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Readers of the Comintern, there's something that I feel I need to
discuss with every one of you. It's something that has been bugging me as
far back as I can remember, and I feel the time has finally come for me to
tell you what it is.
If I ask you for root beer, don't fucking give me Dr. Pepper.
First, Let me get this out of the way: I love root beer. I think
it's the greatest soft drink on the planet. I'll even drink that crappy
Barq's Root Beer and be satisfied. I also like Dr. Pepper. I don't like it
on the same level as root beer, but it's still good stuff. It's when stupid
asses at restaurants try to tell me that they're the same, that gets me
PO'ed.
For my entire life, I've been going into restaurants and ordering
root beer to go with my meals. Simple enough. Usually I get my root beer
and I'm satisfied. What continues to baffle to this day is that there are
still quite a few restaurants out there that don't stock this classic
beverage. As annoying as this is, this isn't what truly pisses me off.
What pisses me off is this, *Every* restaurant I go in that doesn't
serve root beer, gives me the same answer after I ask for it: "We don't
have root beer, but we do have Dr. Pepper (or Mr. Pibb)."
Yes, this got to be quite annoying, but things didn't get out of
hand until last week. I was with some friends getting a bite to eat at a
little restaurant called The Iron Skillet. I ordered a root beer with my
omelet, and I was happy to see that the waiter didn't give me the old Dr.
Pepper runaround. Then it happened.
He gave me Dr. Pepper, without even telling me they didn't have root
beer.
PEOPLE, THEY ARE NOT THE SAME FUCKING THING!!!
Why do these jackasses think that just because they're both
alternatives to cola and that they're the same color that I won't be able to
tell the difference?
Look, I don't even know what the hell Dr. Pepper and its clone
drinks are made out of. As far as I can tell they taste like carbonated,
spiced, fruit juices. None of that really matters though, what matters is
that the shit doesn't taste enough like root beer to passed of like it is.
I really don't feel up to summarizing this whole thing now, so let
me just say that things have got to change. If not, it's going to get real
ugly.
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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 #104-05/01/00
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.
