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, ____, ( 21/07/01 anada400 ,
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/ / ( |__, ( ( ,' `/ /|
\ / \ `-" \'\ / |
\ / "Parody: Rejected" `. , \ \ / |
Y-------- ----------/`. ,'-`----Y |
/ by the Anada Staff ( ; mEoW!@/| '
i________________________________________________| ,-. ,-'_______/ | /
| | | ( * | /
|____________________ Anada is cat-friendly! __) |__\ `.___________|/
`--' `--'
Dear Readers of Anada E'zine,
Anada #400 has been rejected. Many of us found the idea of writing
an issue mocking each other and our friends would be amusing. However, that
doesn't change the fact that we're really, really lazy. But at the same
time, those of us that put in the effort don't want to see it gone to waste.
Therefore, issue #400 is officially a reject, but we don't really care,
either. Besides, what the hell kind of milestone is #400? We'll get back
to you when we hit #500 or #1000 or some shit that actually matters.
Thank you.
The Anada Staff
[*****]
"Angsty"
by Effy
How shocking;
How long has this been going on, I ask my relevant self? How long
have I played this charade? How long have I been timorous to my own time
and placement?
To fear an object is but man's natural defense, against death and
dismemberment. To fear Gods and Dieties is man's defense against forces of
nature and other things he does not understand. To fear oneself, more
explicity, one's character, is defense against what?
That's right, I'm fucking terrified of myself. The best part is, I
have no idea why or what meaning it has to my placement or directions. It's
not like I've had a poor upbringing, molested by babysitters and abused
beyond absurd means by my peers and friends only to fully develop some form
of narcissistic rage disorder and hate my blood-thirsty view on man, animals
and other plants and lifeforms. I mean, that would really be something to
fear! But that's not true.
Inconspicuous to the point, I was teased my fair share in school. Oh
they hated me so! With the pointing and the name-calling and the gnashing
of teeth...
I can't seem to put a finger on the rigid fear of my own flesh and
blood. There is but nothing in this life I cannot pursue, or scrape my cold
black fingernails against and claim as my own. I need but only voice my
necessity, and those willing to my cause would scurry and fluster about,
heads bowed in exasperation to my fruitful grace, to serve only my demand.
So, in essence, there should be no fear of loneliness or penury. I have all
material possessions I should need.
Of course, not to get off track, there are those that reject me,
despite my best "nice face." Maybe they see something I do not. I was
accosted once by a boy who told me he could see through the forgery, shadow,
fraudulence, that I have raised as a defensive wall to any social situation.
I simply told him he could not possibly understand anything of that, my
nature, and to politely go fuck himself. I think he was crazy.
Perhaps what I fear from myself are, in fact, my abilities, in what
some would call, manipulation. Perhaps I never wanted to become this way.
That I can endure life and change it to what I want it to be and, on the
other hand, consistantly babble about what forces are holding me back and
why it's not fair to be so immedicable. I should only dream, obfuscatedly,
of one day being a full-fledge production of my projections.
My only real fear should be the bitterness and sweetness of existing
on such a malevolent level.
[*****]
"Things I am Scared of: Kapitalism"
by The BMC
Let me preface this little masterpiece by promising you I will not
exclaim "Word to Ra!" anywhere below. This I pledge to you. So in joy.
Each morning, I wake up to the putrid stench of evil Kapitalism.
Each day, I survive the corruptness and impurity that surrounds me only by
joining my brothers of the TEOS weekly Krew Kartel in a quest to introduce
our utopian dream to the galaxy. Each evening, when I lay my weary head
down to rest, it is only by imagining a different world, a pure, beautiful
place, that I am able to block out the Kapitalist air that we are forced to
breathe and fall asleep.
A Kommunist world.
Do you want to know what I find so scary about Kapitalism? I will
tell you. It's the lack of love. And you all know that I am ALL ABOUT THE
LOVE, BABY! IT'S ALL ABOUT THE LOVE! THE LOVE! THE FUCKING LOVE! AHHH!!
Let me write that in big crazy letters for you:
qn,
d&&&&&&&&P ;P d&&& .
;P d' d' d' d' `b
;P ;&,e&q, .c&&q, ;P ,c&&q, d&&P &b .c&&q,
d' dP~ `b ;P' `& d' ;P' `d && dP ;P' `&
;P ;P ;P dB&&&&P ;P d P && dP dB&&&&P
d' d' d' &, , d' d' &, .,d' &&,P' &, ,
d&&P &&& &&& `&&&P' d&&&&&&&&P `&&&P' &P' `&&&P'
Oh how do I love thee? Let me count the ways, motherfucker. I'm
tempted to tell you a cute little story about how I once wanted to change
the name of the our world famous e'zine from The Comintern to The Love, but
that's a pretty boring story and I've probably told it to you before.
And Kommunism! When I envisage a future in which all the brothas and
sistas of the world are united and sharing with each other... AHHHHHH that
is what I live for. The very thought brings salty water to my visual
receivers.
You might be thinking, "this BMC hippy should shut his mouth --
everyone knows Communism sux!" but to this my reply is of course "You spelt
Kommunism with a `C' but I spell it with a `K' so you KNOW I'm HARDKORE".
And you, my friend, should go out and spread the word, and when you are
stopped by a random ignorant soul who questions your actions, you know what
to say -- "Cuz Mistah Bee Em See sez so, Y0!"
Well hopefully soon the proletariat will revolt and overthrow our
evil facist oppressors and establish a socialist regime which shall prosper
for all time. If you wish to be a high-ranking Kommunist when the
revolution arrives please email me now and also send me $20. Thank you.
[*****]
"TEH CHRISTAN ROACK EXPARIANCE"
BY COUNT BLAK DAETH IN TEH SYTLE OF PAEVMINT
FOLLOWIGN AN ABORTIVE EIGHT MONTH STINT IN HAWAI'I, I MOVED BACK TO
TEH MAINLAND ABUOT A MONTH AGO. SINCE I ARRIVED IN MICIGAN with a paltry
$13, i'm temporarily stayign in my mom's apartmint. i was 16 WHEN I MOVED
UOT TEH FIRST TIME, AND WE'VE HAD MORE THAN UOR FAIR SHARE OF PROBALMS. I
LOVE HAR, BUT SHE AND I ARE VARY DIFFARENT PEOPAL: SHE'S ULTRA-CONSARVATIVE
AND not just christian, but supar christian; teh fagot type that gose to
church 3 or 4 times A WEEK. i, on teh othar hand, am atehist and libaral AND
BISEXUAL AND A POT SMOKAR AND PROBABLY A LOT OF OTHAR THIGNS SHE HATES. SHE
SEEMS TO RESPECTFULLY DISAGREE WITH TEH CHOICES I MAEK, AND I HAEV TEH SAEM
FEELIGN FOR HAR CHOICES, SO IT'S NOT SO BAD LIVIGN WITH HAR, I JUST WANT UOT
VARY QUICKLY. THREE DAYS AFTAR I MOVED IN, MY MOM ASKED ME IF I WANTED TO
ATTEND A christian roack concart; she'd pay my way, she sayed. i think i
haev A PRETTEY ECLECTIC TASTE IN MUSIC: BLACK FLAG, CHARLIE DANIELS,
SEBADOH, WAGNAR, MILES DAVIS, MADONNA AND 2PAC ARE AMONG SOEM OF MY
FAVORITES. ONE STYLE OF MUSIC I'VE NEVAR LISTENED to, howevar, is teh
aformenshuned christian roack. "i'm sure thare ARE PALNTEY OF TALENTED
CHRISTIAN BANDS" I TOLD MYSELF, TRYIGN TO KEEP AN OPEN MIND. TEH DAY OF TEH
CONCART CAEM. MY MOTHAR AND I DROVE TO HAR CHURCH. TEH FIRST THIGN THAT
STRUCK ME was how enormuos teh place was -- less a church than a sprawlign
compalx. now i am a computar consultant!! AFTAR FIGHTIGN TEH URGE TO SLEEP
DURIGN TEH EVENIGN SARVICE, MY mom, two of har church buddys and myself
walked from TEH SANCTUARY TO SOEM SORT OF DANCE CLUB within teh church (!!)
dubbed "teh gruond floor." teh gruond floor IS A GIANT TWO-STORY CLUB THAT
EASILY RIVALS ANY I'VE EVAR SEN: 20+ POOL tables, TWO STAEGS (COMPALTE WITH
PHAT SUOND SYSTEM), NEON, WEIRD ARTWORK ON TEH WALLS, A FULL RESTAURANT AND
YES, EVEN A bar -- but this bar sarves juice and soda only. my mom told me
teh gruond FLOOR WAS built for $30 million; that cuold haev ben a LOT OF
FOOD FOR CILDREN IN AFRICA. IT WAS ALMOST TIME FOR TEH show to start.
ONCE DEMON knight and i decided to hack a barbie doll. WE WARE BORED AFTAR
HACKIGN EVARYTHIGN ELSE AND IT WAS TEH ONLY THIGN WE CUOLD FIND. WELL LET ME
TELL YUO IT, IT WASN'T EASY. THAT MATTEL HAS SOEM HARDCORE SECURITEY IN THAT
SHIT. BUT WE HOOKED UP UOR 2400 BAUD MODEM TO BARBIE'S ASS AND WE DID IT!!!
WE HAX0RED BARBIE!!! NOW SHE WALKS ARUOND AND FUCKS ALL OF UOR TRANSFORMARS.
hahahaahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. teh club was filled with a type of
creature I'VE NEVAR SEN BEFORE: TEH CHRISTIAN PUNK ROACKAR! ONE FELLOW HAD A
BLUE MOHAWK, SOEM polyestar pants with zippars all ovar teh tehm, multipal
piarcigns AND A SHIRT EMBLAZONED WITH "JESUS LOVES YUO." A CHRISTIAN PUNK
BAND named TEH DIGNEES WAS TEH OPENIGN ACT AND TEHY HAD ABSOLUTELY NO TALENT
WHATSOEVAR. TEHY LAYED DOWN A FEW GREN DAY-ISH RIFFS, SCREAEMD ABUOT LOVIGN
JESUS AND TEHN MUCH to my uttar joy, left teh staeg 30 minutes latar. while
teh next act was settign UP, I STEPPED UOTSIDE TO SMOKE A CIGARETTE. I WAS
TRYIGN TO BE INCONSPICUUOS, BUT I WAS ACCOSTED BY a pair of 15 year old
girls IN MATCIGN T-SHIRTS WHO TOLD ME I cuoldn't smoke on church gruonds. i
was abuot to ASK TEHM WHO TEHY WARE to tell me what i cuold or cuoldn't do,
but tehy quickly pointed to teh logos on TEHIR T-SHIRTS: "TEH gruond floor
securitey team." it took all my WILLPOWAR NOT TO LAUGH IN TEHIR FACES. I
THUOGHT IT CUOLDN'T GET ANY WORSE. IT DID. TEH MAIN ACT CAEM ON STAEG.
UNLIEK TEH DIGNEES, THIS BAND (WHOSE name ESCAPES ME) HAD A MODICUM OF
COMPETANCE WHEN IT CAEM TO PLAYIGN TEHIR INSTRUMINTS. I CAN'T SAY I WAS
ENJOYIGN IT, BUT IT WAS LISTENABAL. aruond teh middle of tehir set, i heard
A FAMILIAR RIFF: IT WAS TEH OPENIGN NOTES OF "JUST WHAT I NEEDED" BY TEH
CARS. TEHY HAD CHANGED TEH LYRICS SO THAT "JUST WHAT I NEEDED" WAS JESUS. A
CLASSIC SONG WAS SLAUGHTARED BY TEHSE CHRISTIAN ASSHOLES AND AFTAR THAT, I
WAS DISGUSTED JUST TO LOOK AT TEH THREE IDIOTS JUMPIGN ARUOND ON STAEG. TEH
SHOW MARCIFULLY ENDED ABUOT AN HUOR LATAR. AS MY FAGOT MOM AND I DROVE HOEM,
SHE ASKED ME WHAT I THUOGHT OF IT. I GAEV HAR A NON-COMMITTAL "IT WAS OKAY,"
TEHN SHE asked if i wanted to go see anothar teh followign week. i wanted to
scream THAT TEHSE CHRISTIAN BANDS PARVART TEH GOOD name OF ROACK N' ROLL,
BUT BECAUSE I DIDN'T WANT TO HURT HAR FEELIGNS, I TOLD HAR THAT I'D THINK
ABUOT IT. I SWEAR BY JESUS AND allah and zoroastar that i'm nevar, as long
as i live, goign to a second christian roack show. BY PAEVMINT
[*****]
"Shannon Hoon vs. Bradley Nowell vs. Jim Morrison"
by Gloomchen
A few members of the legion of rock stars in their late 20s who
stamped their permanence upon the face of rock 'n roll by either shamelessly
offing themselves or dramatically overdosing on drugs... how could you ever
choose a winner? Let's count them down.
3. Shannon Hoon!
Let's face it, Blind Melon only had one hit. And as hippie-fresh and
catchy as "No Rain" was, if you watched one of the fourteen billion airings
of the video on MTV when the song came out, you could tell that Shannon was
obviously tweaking out on cocaine during the shoot. Shortly after, he died
from an overdose. Whoops!
Anyway, if you think if Shannon has been misplaced in this list, I
suggest you scrape up a video copy of "Don't Cry" by Guns 'n Roses, and
watch the guys on top of the building raptly.
2. Jim Morrison
If I were a "REAL" Doors fan, I would start this off with some lyric
like... "lost in a Roman wilderness of pain... and all the children are
insane..."
But the truth is, as legendary as the Doors are, they're not exactly
highly respected elders of rock 'n roll. Jim Morrison didn't even have the
chance to get very wise in his lyrical poetry before his untimely,
mysterious death (drugs ahem drugs). Regardless, as whispy and romantically
ghostly as he was, he simply doesn't deserve the no. 1 slot here. Yeah, he
went down in a haze of hippie trippyizm!!!... BUT... he went down as erratic
and unhappy as ever, most definitely...
1. Bradley Knowell
"...evil, come to tell ya that she's evil, most definitely..."
No one can say there wasn't a bone of talent in Sublime. If you
think you can, you're an uptight degenerate of corporate facism, if you
didn't know that already.
Unfortunately for Sublime though, just before they became famous as
all hell, Bradley did a little too much heroin. Well, make that a lot, and
he died for his excessively happy lifestyle. But unlike Shannon, who had
half as much impact, and unlike Jim, who got lost swimming inside his own
head his entire life, Bradley had soul. He could play the guitar like a
motha' fuckin' riot. And he had a sidekick dog named Louie. And I'll bet
he died with a smile on his face!
[*****]
"The Terrific Stupendous Fantabular Adventures of Craig the Cranky Caribou
and His Total Douchebag Sidekick Michael the Miggity Miggity Mack-Daddy
Monkey and Their Neverending Quest to Rock Out to Krisiun While Vacuuming a
Carpet With a Dustbuster and Using Crib Notes To Become Evil Dentists Who
Speak Only in Bad Free Form Poetry and Wear Purple Leather Pants"
by alek
one day craig said to michael 'hey can you hand me that nick cave cd?' and
michael replied:
nick cave is a god
i want to get him up the ass
even though he sings sea shantys
and that's pretty gay
then they went and got some pop tarts.
[*****]
"My Pain"
by AphexTwin23
"Wouldn't it be nice if for one day I could just be me with no one
caring?"
-ANADA #107
"I try my hardest to show diversity and individuality by being myself
and it's beginning to seem pointless when I am only ignored."
-ANADA #87
I've become thoroughly conviced that all the kids in my high school
are sheep. Yeah, I know, I've already written 17 other text files about
that same topic, but fuck it, here we go with another one.
First of all, how dare those mindless zombies walk around in their
expensive Abercrombie clothes, forcing me to spend twice as much to look
different? It's just not right. I'm different from the common people,
dammit! Just to prove my point, I'll reiterate a couple of my New Year's
Resolutions from ANADA #256:
8. go to a NIN concert
43. get my lip pierced
There, you see, I have no twin on Earth, I am an INDIVIDUAL. You got
that? Let me spell it for you: i-n-d-i-v-i-d-u-l. You might think I
constantly scream about my individuality because I'm insecure about it, but,
um, I'm just not, okay? And if any of you phony trendies think differently,
then fuck you!
For some reason, I'm thinking about my shitty ex-boyfriends again.
How could I not -- 9 out of 10 t-files I've written have mentioned them.
Remember the ex I wrote about in ANADA #324? He was a real gothic poseur.
And he wanted to go out with ME! Can you imagine that?!
"Anymore that's what I feel, nothing. I feel nothing for myself or
for anyone else. And really, I'm not very depressed."
-ANADA #115
Conception. Birth. Female. Being dropped on head. High school.
Trying pot because everyone else was. Shit, I meant to say "trying pot
because I'm unique among my peers." Masturbating while thinking about Peter
Steele. Writing obscenely horrible poetry. Depression. Depression. Did I
mention depression?
"I have to go out of my way to be me!"
-ANADA #272
"And we ventured back to the mall for only a few more endless hours."
-ANADA #213
Have you ever heard that Led Zeppelin song, "Stairway to Heaven?" I
heard it on a mix tape, sandwiched between The Cure and Cocteau Twins. Just
kidding; actually, I don't know who the hell The Cure and The Cocteau Twins
are, but I always see them mentioned on the neat-o depressed goth message
boards I access. Anyway, I published a poem in ANADA #63 named -- get this
-- "Stairway to HELL!" Damn, how do I think all this great stuff up? It
could only come from the dark feminine angel with broken wings, aflame
within my very soul. I bet that while you read that masterpiece, you simply
went insane with desire to read more of my highly original poetry. I now
grant you your sanity back:
"Dancing Days Are NOT Here Again"
she sits there
the girl in the marilyn manson t-shirt
why did frank do this
why did that fucking bastard want to go and make her put a bullet in her
fucking head because that asshole couldn't even fucking make up his mind to
note to self: maybe that one won't get published in ANADA.
"Over the Hills and Far Away From My Asshole Ex-boyfriend"
away little girl!
away from those that would destroy you
namely, everyone in my high school, family, circle of friends, dubuque and
iowa in general
i'm not very depressed
it's just that i hate myself
there's a big difference
i'd tell you what it is
but you're just a trendy wendy
"I wonder if it's ever become clear to anyone besides me that we are
living in a world where we try so hard to impress one another."
-ANADA #125
[*****]
"I Ran Out of Milk"
by Oregano
It's a sad day when you run out of milk. Then you can no longer
make such culinary delights like fettucine alfredo or macaroni and cheese.
Normally, I would take a walk to Kroger's and pick up a nice half gallon.
You see, a gallon is far too much milk, especially if you're only cooking
for yourself. But less than a half gallon runs out much too quickly, and
you're faced with making extra trips. And since I only like to leave my
house on every third Saturday when the moon is waning and Saturday Night
Live is a rerun, a half gallon it must be.
I exited my abode, making sure to lock the door three times, unlock
it once, then lock it again. I tapped my feet four times and knocked on
wood, and I was on my way.
As I strolled casually down the street, I couldn't help but notice
the cumulonimbus clouds overhead. I distinctly remembered reading this
morning that the weather was supposed to be sunny, not partly cloudy. I
made a mental note to e-mail my weatherman about this issue.
I came upon some children playing hopscotch. I thought this was
rather odd, as most children nowadays are usually playing Nintendo and
getting molested by their parents while smoking crack-cocaine. One of them
tossed their pebble onto their makeshift square #5 just as I stepped onto
it. The pebble began rolling towards my foot, but stopped just short of
landing beneath my next step. Dangerous situation averted! I must be more
careful in the future to avoid hopscotch at all costs.
Finally, I reached my destination and headed straight to the dairy
aisle. No use in wandering the grocery store aimlessly when I have come for
only one item. But, oh, would you look at that: baked beans on a stick.
Where do they come up with these wacky things? Perhaps I'll find a stick
and try to prepare this at home someday. I reached to the back of the
refrigerated milk section and made sure to grab a jug whose freshness date
would last me until my next visit, and then I made my way to the check-out
counter.
As I stood in line, a woman in front of me seemed to have trouble
holding all of her items. She was juggling a frozen turkey and twelve glass
jars of baby food. Well, wouldn't you know it, she dropped one of the jars
and I was delayed in buying my milk as she ran to get another jar and the
clean-up crew pushed me out of the way to rid the store of broken glass. I
could have just moved to another aisle, but I thought I'd already put in
enough time in this aisle that I felt obligated to stay there.
The transaction itself was unremarkable. I gave her my two dollars,
she gave me my change and my receipt. She looked at me a little oddly when
I said I wanted the milk double-bagged in paper and then double-bagged in
plastic, but I explained it's the only way to keep the milk cold enough
while still having a comfortable grip for carrying without breaking through.
In a moment of clarity, she seemed to understand. It was a special moment.
Walking back home was also uneventful, except for the tornado that
came out of nowhere and destroyed the entire block across the street from
where I was walking. I made a second mental note to e-mail the weatherman,
then doubled my pace as I remembered this weeks' Saturday Night Live rerun
was Christopher Walken. I always did like that guy.
/\___/\ ____________________________________________________________ /\___/\
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`-.^.-' (c) 2001 Anada e'zine by the Anada Staff `-.^.-'
/"\ ________________________________________________________________ /"\
