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Cult of the Dead Cow 206
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...presents... The Power of Art
by THE NIGHTSTALKER
>>> a cDc publication.......1993 <<<
-cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
____ _ ____ _ ____ _ ____ _ ____
|____digital_media____digital_culture____digital_media____digital_culture____|
After reading the 200th cDc release, I was inspired to write this truly
offensive tale. I assure you all; I was as deeply offended by this story while
writing it as you will be by reading it.
THE NIGHTSTALKER
A Proud Member of cDc.
"I got yer udder right here, pal!"
______________________________________________________________________________
I have been plagued for the past year with an unusual bowel complaint. My
stools, instead of being moist and soft and easy to pass, have instead been
hard, dry, huge and agonizing to pass. My doctor tells me that this is merely
part of growing old and he prescribes various drugs and dietary supplements.
They work, and provide me with relief. But for the past six months, I've not
taken them, and now suffer again.
Lest you think me some manner of masochist, be aware that I am an artist,
and incorporate my feces into artwork. I embed them in clear cast plastic
blocks. These are not meant for the art market. No, they serve a higher
purpose.
Yesterday, I felt a truly huge turd in my rectum, pressing against the
anal sphincter. I had prepared the mold earlier that day, and was ready to
create art. The first layer of clear cast was colored with a bilious green,
glow in the dark dye, the better to set off the rich brown of the turd.
Another layer of plastic, a few inches thick, had been poured into the mold and
had hardened. The next layer of plastic was in its capped jug, awaiting the
addition of catalyst. The microfine gold dust and the simple punched brass
rectangle border were at hand. All was ready.
I could wait no longer, I must pass this awful thing now. As I squat over
the bucket filled with glycerine, I pour the catalyst into the jug and stir it
carefully, so as not to introduce air bubbles into the mixture. My art must be
perfect. I strain and push, my ears roar and my vision seems suffused with a
red mist. The pain, the agony is unbearable, yet I continue to strain and
push. Death would be preferable right now, but art must be satisfied!
The enormous hard, dry turd slowly pushes its way past the anal sphincter.
I know there will be blood, there often is. The turd hits the glycerine and
slowly sinks to the bottom of the bucket. I weep with relief. The pain is
still there, but lessened. I carefully dab at my bleeding anus with pure white
toilet paper. There is much blood. Good.
I take care as I place the stained toilet paper onto the block of clear
cast plastic. It must be positioned just right. I slowly pour the liquid
plastic onto the paper, covering it and positioning the paper in the swiftly
jelling stuff. Ah, perfect.
I mix another batch of clear cast and catalyst. While I wait for it to
begin to jell, I don my plastic gloves and oh-so-carefully remove the bloodied
turd from the bucket of glycerine. I dry it with hot air from a hair dryer and
paper towels. Using a set of false teeth, hinged at the back, I take a 'bite'
from it, making sure that the teeth marks are quite plain. Yes, this is going
to be a good one.
I take great pains to place the turd properly on the almost hardened
plastic. I sprinkle the gold dust around it in a pleasing pattern. A quick
spray of diluted catalyst sets the gold dust into place, so that I may pour the
next to last layer of plastic into the mold without disturbing the gold dust.
Finally, I place the carefully tooled brass frame into place onto the hardening
plastic and then pour the final layer into place. I must now wait for at least
48 hours before I can remove the block of plastic from its Teflon mold for
finishing.
Ah, it is done. The surface has been polished and this is truly one of my
best works. The block looks like fine crystal.
I don new gloves, and carefully wrap and package this work of art.
Sealing the box, I apply a return address label bearing the name and address of
the person, who, 30 years ago accused me of a petty theft to cover his own
schoolroom thieving. This caused me to lose my place on the honor roll in
fifth grade.
I thought long and hard as to whom I should send this work of art. I have
decided this should be shared with the people of the United States. Tonight, I
shall visit the computer room where this fellow works, and use one of the
computers and printers to produce the mailing label (having almost full access
there when I wear my janitor costume and carry a bucket and mop). I will
weigh the package and use the company postage meter. The mailing label will
read:
Ms. Chelsea Clinton
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W.
Washington, D.C. 20500
_______ __________________________________________________________________
/ _ _ \|Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362|Kingdom of Shit.....806/794-1842|
((___)) |Cool Beans!..........510/THE-COOL|Polka AE {PW:KILL}..806/794-4362|
[ x x ] |Ripco................312/528-5020|Moody Loners w/Guns.415/221-8608|
\ / |The Works............617/861-8976|Finitopia...........916/673-8412|
(' ') |Lunatic Labs.........213/655-0691|ftp - ftp.eff.org in pub/cud/cdc|
(U) |==================================================================|
.ooM |Copr. 1993 cDc communications by THE NIGHTSTALKER 01/01/93-#206|
\_______/|All Rights Drooled Away. SIX GLORIOUS YEARS of cDc|
