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The Neo-Comintern 217
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The Neo-Comintern Electronic Magazine -- Installment Number 217
.... .. . . . . . . . . . . . . .. ....
`""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'
Subversive Literature for Subverted People
Date: December 15th, 2002
Editor: BMC
Writers: Melatonin
Komrade B
BMC
d""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""b.
;P Featured in this installment: .b
$ $
$ Guest Editor's Note - Melatonin $
$ Life Before Death - Komrade B $
$ Fries (Part 2) - BMC $
`q p'
`nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'
EDITOR'S NOTE
(PLEASE DO NOT EAT THE FOLLOWING!)
I was hauling a claw-footed bathtub across the Painted Desert when BMC
came riding up to me on a grey pony. "What up?" said he. "I've been
thoroughly swamped with my various BMC activities, for example, learning
how to surf. Can you help me out, old chap, and write up a guest editor's
note for this week's Comintern?"
"I don't know, BMC," I said. "I'm kind of busy myself, what with me
hauling this bathtub across the desert for no reason whatsoever."
BMC stared at me, unimpressed. He plucked his monocle from his eye and
began to polish it with the sleeve of his coat.
"Surfing, Melatonin, surfing," he whispered, then gave the pony a kick in
the ribs and went riding off into the sunset.
"Oh dear," I thought, and climbed into the tub. "This is awful. Now BMC
hates me and will never let me write for his magazine again." I felt
horrible. I wanted to kill myself. I decided to drown myself in the
bathtub just to make BMC feel bad. I turned on the taps but nothing came
out -- not because I was in the middle of the desert, as you might think,
but because the pipes were clogged. I increased the water pressure until
the tub gave a low groan and a clump of soggy paper came blasting from the
tap. I picked it up and began to read the story below, a harrowing look
into Komrade B's love for BMC.
After I was finished, I felt a lot better. Thanks Komrade B! Your pain
and anguish really cheered me up! Good work.
,o$o
o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$$$b
d$$$' ` `$$b
d$$' Life Before Death ,$$
$$: by Komrade B ,$P
`$n,.. . . . . . . . . . . . . ..P'
`"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'
(The following correspondence was carried through last fall between myself
and the BMC)
Dear BMC,
I would like to apologize for my behaviour last week. I know I told you I
was depressed and I saw no point in living anymore, and I think I was
pushed over the edge when you never responded to my cry for help, which
in turn led me into trying to kill myself.
Obviously by writing this letter I am informing you of my failure to end
my life and as such I would wish to apologize for my failure and I assure
you the next time will be a success, but for now allow me to explain.
I figured the best way to end it would be to make it look like an accident
so my loved ones could get insurance money, so I took an axe to the
natural gas line in the basement and then waited patiently for the room to
fill with the smelly gas until the point where I figured the pilot light
in the furnace would kick in igniting the gas and blowing the house (and
myself) to kingdom come...
However it was unseasonably warm that week and therefore the furnace did
not kick in. Quickly realizing my predicament I began to frantically
search my pockets for a lighter or perhaps even matches. Finding none I
resigned myself to failure and began to proceed up the stairs, when it
dawned upon me that I could not breathe natural gas and if the room filled
up with enough gas I would fall asleep from lack of oxygen and never wake
up again...
Pleased with my new ploy I proceeded to sit on the floor waiting for that
eternal sleep. However the gas did not make me sleepy in fact it gave me
a splitting headache... Hating headaches even more so then I hated life I
resigned myself to flee from the basement and to call the gas company to
fix my gas line.
Needless to say they made a big issue out of the whole thing, and even
yelled at me. To top it off they gave me a bill for 400 bucks to fix the
gas line. Boy now I wish I really was dead...
Sincerely,
K-B
Dear BMC,
Well another week has passed and unfortunately for the both of us I am
still alive and somewhat well... This weekend I attempted suicide yet
again, and yet again it was a horrible failure. I was watching that movie
called "One Crazy Summer" or whatever on TBS. You know that guy that
calls into the radio show and then the radio falls into the tub and he
dies? Well I was thinking to myself that was the way to go, not only did
it look painless but it was funny too. I mean I figure if I am going to
take my life I should at least try to make it funny for those who survive
me, right?
So anyway I ran a hot bath, with a bunch of bubbles (because I like
bubbles) and some of those bath beads (because I like soft supple skin).
I hopped in the tub and proceeded to play around. You know those things
everybody does in the tub. Like take all the bubbles and put them on your
face and pretend you have a big white beard? I was pretending I was Santa
Claus and making children smile by giving them gifts. After the moment
was over I realized I was not in fact Santa and that I would never make
children smile. Properly depressed I proceed to lift the toaster and
dropped it in the tub....
I thought I felt something and then I opened my eyes. I was still in the
tub, and my first thoughts were that I was dead and if I got out of the
tub I would turn and see my dead body. However that was not the case and
I quickly realized that the breaker must have tripped downstairs. Annoyed
by my failure I resolved that I would flip the breaker and insure my death
however in a state of dismay I forgot to dry myself and my wet feet
slipped out from under me in the hallway causing me to fall hard on my
back, thus throwing it out of whack. Unable to move for nearly three
hours I finally managed to get the paramedics over to my place and they
took me to the hospital.
So anyway I'm now stuck here for like two months or something. Not only
do I have a bad back but apparently the toaster electrocuted me enough to
render me sterile. Now considering the situation I am in perhaps that is
of no consequence; however, it bothers me that I cannot have children
should I decide in the future that I wish to procreate.
I can't get out of this bed and there is absolutely nothing around me that
I can use to kill myself. I tried to strangle myself with that buzzer you
call the nurses with. I wrapped the cord around my neck and tightened it
however when I passed out my hands loosened and I kept waking up. The
doctors told me the only thing I succeeded in doing was giving myself a
bit of brain damage from depriving my brain from oxygen.
From there on in my attempts have become more pathetic and futile. I
tried stabbing myself with the plastic fork from my lunch. I tried
throwing hot soup in my face (thinking back, I'm not sure what I had hoped
to accomplish with that one). I tried bribing the janitor to give me some
Draino so I could whip up one of my famous suicide cocktails. Of course
lacking money at the moment he declined to oblige me.
So needless to say this letter is a cry for help. Not the sort of help
where you convince me its better to live, but the kind of help where you
help me to die. I need some things. Like maybe some rope, some poison,
maybe some knives, or some of those mosquitoes with West Nile virus. I
don't know... whatever kills fairly quickly. I mean, I don't want you to
bring any cancer. That looks long and painful. Well, I won't tell you
what to do - you're fairly smart, I'm sure you'll figure something out.
With Love,
L'Homme B
,o$o
o$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$Y$$$$b
d$$$' ` `$$b
d$$' Fries (Part 2) ,$$
$$: by BMC ,$P
`$n,.. . . . . . . . . . . . . ..P'
`"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'
Warning: A capitalist plot to threaten your health.
If you are part of the impoverished masses, I assume that you eat fast
food from time to time if not exclusively. It is a travesty in itself
that most of us are forced to buy this cheap and greasy food whenever we
lack the time or money to go to the grocery store and cook our own meals,
but it's not just the greasy food that destroys my heart.
If you look at a food chart, you'll notice that there are four or five
food groups. Strangely, meat and dairy are two of these food groups even
though neither of them are any good for you and would be better replaced
by other protein and calcium containing foods that are not so high in
fat. Just ignore this section if you're skinny. In fact, stop reading
this whole thing if you're skinny, or at least if you're healthy, because
you probably don't eat enough fast food for it to matter anyway.
Now when you go into the fast food outlet you will find that there are
three fast food groups: meat, fries, and pop. Alternatively, some fast
fooders have vegetarian burgers on their menu, which are really the only
things worth eating, especially if you are a vegetarian or don't like all
of the disgusting health side effects of ingesting greasy ground beef.
Now there's this thing called a "meal" that you can order, and in this
meal you get a burger and a drink and fries for a rate slightly lower than
if you were to buy all three separately. So here comes the problem. What
if you want to have the price benefits of a "meal," but don't believe that
a meal should have to contain starchy, grease-soaked, strips of potato?
The problem here is that unlike the burger, which at least has some
nutrients to go along with the fat, cancer, etc., fries have NOTHING good
for you in them. They are mere filler, filling your stomach with space
and bad things. So why are we encouraged to order fries at every meal?
Fries are cheap. Fast food restaurants have the highest margin of profit
on fries because potatoes cost nothing. The only thing that they make
more money on is pop, and I'm not sure about this but there may actually
be more nutrients in pop than there is in fries. So next time you order a
meal, don't feel pressured to buy fries. They're not good for you, and I
believe that their existence is leading to the downfall of our society.
(note: the original "Fries" article appears in The Neo-Comintern
Electronic Magazine, issue 5)
.d&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&b.
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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copyright 2002 by #217-12/15/02
the neo-comintern
All content is property of The Neo-Comintern.
You may redistribute this document, although no fee can be charged and
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