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Anada 021
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A A N N A A D D A A
A A N N N A A D D A A
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A "And Such Is Death" aNAda #21 A
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A by Phairgirl 03/03/00 A
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Date: Mon, 14 Feb 2000 09:41:51 -0700
From: "Korg Ecksthrey" <korgx3@safelink.net>
To: <ytsejam@torchsong.com>
Subject: The REAL life and times of Charles Schulz. (worth reposting?
I hope not)
>I stand and tip the hat to Charles Shultz. I think the man knew his time
>was near, that's why he announced the ending of his comics. I think that
No. If you want to know the real story, pull up a chair and listen
carefully...
Fifty years ago Charles Schulz was a degenerate youth who dabbled in the
mystic arts of black magic, ouija, crystal healing, Buddy Holly, etc. One
day he was so damn fried on that new-fangled tobacco drug he didn't realize
what he was doing and placed a large chunk of iron pyrite over his heart
chakra and initiated a horrible sense of personal loss and doom leading him
to the brink of suicide. At that time he made a wish: "I wish I could turn
my life around and bring joy to all of the people I've made to suffer
because of my evil black voodoo magic ways."
BAMPH!
At the moment Satan appeared and said, "How much you wanna pay, Chuckie?"
Charlie said, "I would dedicate my life to it."
Satan replied, "Would you sell your soul?"
Charles asks, "Would it hurt?"
Satan laughs, "Not right now."
Charles answers, "Alright, why not, what the fuck?"
So Satan gives Chuckie boy the ability to draw, a wonderful family, a loving
audience, and colon cancer. So, when C. Schulz decides "ah, man... time to
quit" Satan pops up, guts him and drags him down to hell to dangle him over
a blazing cauldron by seven fishing hooks in his scrotum.
Which is exactly what will happen to anyone else on this list if they post
that whole damn article here again. :)
--
KorgX3 suddenly is stricken with colon cancer. Aw, fuck.
NP: Dream Theater - Take The Time.mp3
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And this post to the ever-present Dream Theater Ytsejam mailing list
made me laugh.
Of course, this gets me to thinking: I love Mr. Korg. He has a
twisted sense of humor, the ability to write something that effectively
makes people laugh and gasp in horror all in one tight package, and he's a
Dream Theater fan. So there can't possibly be anything wrong with the guy.
He brightens up my day.
However, my demented views were not shared by all. Korg got flamed
to a blackened cinder. None of the rebuttals to his post were really all
that creative in themselves -- they amounted to nothing more than "RESPECT
THE DEAD!" and other such ilk. And that got me to thinking, of course,
because I have nothing better to do than meditate on a thread in a mailing
list that goes out to 1,000+ people on which I have lurked for quite some
time: were the flamers right?
I thought about my great-grandmother, who I loved very, very much,
and was at her house the night she finally passed on, taking care of her as
she lay dying of cancer. However, my great-grandmother was also a
kleptomaniac. Grandma Esther gets bashed all the time because of this.
She's been dead since 1992. She also pissed all over the house and put down
newspaper to cover it up. She always made red jello with fruit cocktail and
marshmallows in it. She used the same dishwater all day long, cold as ice,
and never even bothered trying to get all the gunk off the plates. She
liked to drink sour milk. Her dentures made really grody noises. I loved
Grandma Esther. She ruled.
I thought about my step-grandfather, who I also loved very, very
much, who was the only grandfather I had known, and who passed away last
year after an extremely fast and wicked case of cancer of the all-over-the-
place. I've never seen anyone with a terminal illness die that quickly.
Grandma Esther lasted almost 5 years with her cancer. Grampa Howard was
diagnosed and treated and finally lost his battle in three months. He was
one of those super-strong, I-Am-The-Man-Of-The-House kind of guys. We
always called him Oscar the Grouch when we were little, because he was gruff
and just looked mean. He was never mean, though. He was stubborn beyond
belief. He would give us rides on sleds pulled by him driving the three-
wheeler. He ate stinky Limburger cheese. He scared the crap out of me up
until the day he died. Grampa Howard was rad.
I thought about my great-grandfather, who was my most favorite
relative of all, who died of congestive heart failure when I was just 9
years old. He was a complete stumbling drunk. I followed him around
everywhere, even in his woodshop when he would be sharpening blades and
making big scary sparks fly around. He would play Doctor's Office with me
in the garage, with him on his side in his "office" and with me being the
receptionist. My sister was always the patient. Grampa Tom was always
Doctor Spock. Grampa Tom hid alcohol bottles all over the house and fought
with Grandma Esther a lot. He tried to turn me against her. He taught me
two nursery rhymes:
"Little Jack Horner
Sat in the corner
Eating his blueberry pie.
He stuck in his thumb
And pulled out a plum
And said, 'HEY!!! I WANT MY MONEY BACK!!!'"
"Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
To fetch a pail of beer.
Jack fell down
And Jill drank all the beer!"
Grampa Tom was a pilot in WWII and got shot down, but he lived
through it. I have his dog tags on my keychain. He rode a red motor
scooter when he was 65 years old. He built half of the house that I live in
today, even though the wiring is all shorting out and the floor is all
warped. I even thought I saw him one day. Sitting outside the house when I
was young, I was picking the lilies of the valley that grew in the front
yard (my birth month flower), and I happened to turn around and face the
street. I saw an old guy on a red motor scooter, and he looked just like
Grampa Tom, and he looked right at me, smiled, and waved as he drove by.
Being the cynic and atheist that I always was, I shook it off. I still
shake it off.
I loved all of these people so much that words can never say it.
But that doesn't mean Korg's post wasn't the most damned hilarious
thing I've read in a long time.
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{ (c)2000 aNAda e'zine * * aNAda021 * by Phairgirl }
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