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The Neo-Comintern 196
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s u b v e r s i v e l i t e r a t u r e f o r
s u b v e r t e d p e o p l e
a p r i l 7 t h , 2 0 0 2
e d i t o r - b m c
- - - - ----==={ I N S T A L L M E N T 1 9 6 }===---- - - - -
w r i t e r s :
g n a r l y w a y n e
b m c
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Epiphany in Aisle Seven
by Gnarly Wayne
Ten 3-Sentence Stories
by BMC
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e d i t o r ' s n o t e
- - - - ---==={PLEASE DO NOT READ THE FOLLOWING!}===--- - - - -
There is a little something on my mind that I have to share with you:
I went to marry my kitty cat today
to marry my kitty today did I go
in a steeple with people to people the people
And kitty and me and a man named blow
...I warned you not to read the following, didn't I?
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EPIPHANY IN AISLE SEVEN
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Jack was doing his regular duty, stacking up different items that someone
might want to purchase for their consumption. He was stacking glass
tomato juice jars. It was kind of like the stacking in Wario's Woods, but
far more incense.
"Man, this incense is burning my eyes, which are becoming numb," spoke
Jack quietly. The stacking resumed, this time Jack doubled... no no...
trabibled his efforts. Soon he was sixty feet high up on the shelf. Then
the unthinkable happened. A glass jar of the vile red fluid slipped out
of Jack's hand and tumbled in slow motion to the ground, shattering into
four or five pieces. Jack knew what was coming next.
The store manager, Mr. Bigatoni (they called him Mr. Stupid behind his
back) came racing around the corner, a look of shock in his face Jack had
seen a hundred times before.
As Jack got yelled at, he pondered Mr. Bigatoni's life. Was his wife at
home right now, stitching up the wounds she had received last night?
Would he go home tonight and pray for his infant son who died in
childbirth? Was he irritable because his lover had caught him injecting
his daily dose of heroin?
When Mr. Bigatoni was done his usual rant, Jack asked him:
"Why do you hurt so much?"
Mr. Bigatoni stood, gaped jaw, looking at Jack, and did not say anything
for a couple of seconds. For a moment Jack saw some truth in his eyes.
It was quickly masked over and Mr. Bigatoni yelled at Jack to get the hell
out he was fired.
"That won't help," Jack said, but got his final paycheck, gave back his
uniform and headed home with the thirty jars of tomato juice he had
stolen.
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TEN 3-SENTENCE STORIES
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Once there was a girl whose sole desire in life was to bowl a perfect
game. The only problem was that she didn't like bowling and wasn't
willing to practice (or even play a game). All in all, she never
accomplished her goal.
I painted a picture once. It didn't turn out that well. Afterward, I
couldn't remember what it was supposed to be.
As we were driving through the country, we passed an old farmhouse that
was barely standing. "That house looks like a real fire hazard," I said
to you. You replied, "It's practically on fire already," keeping your
eyes on the road.
The phone rang, much to my horror. For some reason, I picked it up this
time. Of course it was you.
The cat likes her new toy. She likes it so much, in fact, that she ate
it. Now when I pick her up I can hear a little bell ringing inside of her
little belly.
I asked my friend if he wanted to go to the gym this week. He warned me
that I wouldn't like the people there. I told him that I had figured that
out as soon as he agreed to go.
We went biking once when you were 23 and I was 13. You were way faster
than me, tearing up the trail and leaving me way behind. I had to ring my
bell to get you to slow down.
I fell in love once. It was with a girl. Love stories aren't all that
interesting, I guess.
I finally washed my pants. However, I think they were cleaner before. I
washed them in a puddle on the side of the freeway.
One night we got carried away and made love on the table. We didn't even
clear the cutlery. There was a two hour wait at the hospital.
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The Neo-Comintern Magazine / Online Magazine is seeking submissions.
Unpublished stories and articles of an unusual, experimental, or
anti-capitalist nature are wanted. Contributors are encouraged to
submit works incorporating any or all of the following: Musings, Delvings
into Philosophy, Flights of Fancy, Freefall Selections, and Tales of
General Mirth. The more creative and astray from the norm, the better.
For examples of typical Neo-Comintern writing, see our website at
<http://www.neo-comintern.com>.
Submissions of 25-4000 words are wanted; the average article length is
approximately 200-1000 words. Send submissions via email attachment to
<bmc@neo-comintern.com>, or through ICQ to #29981964.
Contributors will receive copies of the most recent print issue of The
Neo-Comintern; works of any length and type will be considered for
publication in The Neo-Comintern Online Magazine and/or The Neo-Comintern
Magazine.
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| Questions? Comments? Submissions? |
| Email BMC at bmc@neo-comintern.com |
|___________________________________________________|
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c o p y r i g h t 2 0 0 2 b y #196-04/07/02
t h e n e o - c o m i n t e r n
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