Æ*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*Æ * __ __ * + _____ ____ ____ ______/ |_____ ____ ___ ______/ |___________ + * \__ \/ \ / __ \/ ___\ __\ \ _ \/ \/ ___\ __/__ \_ __ \ * + / __ \_ | \ /_/ >\__ \| | Y Y \<_> ) | \__ \| |\ ___/| | \/ + * (____ /_| /___ /____ >|__|__|_| /___/__| /___ >|__| \__ \|__| * + \/ \/____/ \/ \/ \/ \/ \/ + * 01.27.03 angstmonster issue 19 * Æ*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*Æ ¡edited (poorly) by gir¡ what do you think i was born 0day ago? §+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++¡contents¡++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§ + + + Brief words from gir + + A day in the life of a fart ch33z-1t and tildaq + + This is not a seminar steak + + Youth's Perception neldrin + + Men seeking Unresponsive Men 1st Level Fighter + + 0-day Africa koolpeith + + FUCK YOU GOLDEN GIRLS guru + + Picture Pages and Stuff gir + + Interview with the BIGGEST DOUCHE of 2002 ch33z-1t + + My day at school cyb3rmonk + + Back from the dead oregano + + Shooting a temptation steak + + The Invisibles ch33z-1t and gir + + T-Files tildaq + + + §+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++¡contents¡++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§ Well I'll come back later tonight when people finish masturbating --------------- : Brief Words : : from gir : --------------- I think this issue is packed so full that you could smoke it for hours on end and the quality would not degrade at all!! (You see that's because if you tried to smoke something that was on the Internet you'd be one) unsuccessful and two) the quality of this text would remain unfucked up.) That said and out of the way, angstmonster headquarters have been shifted around temporarily to allow for me as an editor to get my official schooling on. Since this high education thing is important in the long run that is life, we may see the slow decline of the biweekly release angstmonster we all know and love. But, if the submissions remain this plentiful, I could easily get away with not contributing and still provide everyone out there in textfile land with some of my own personal content. The thought of not being able to provide at least one file from yours truly for every other week of the learnin' year put me under great stress. In fact, the stress was so great that it prevented me from going to any of my classes the first week of school. I was afraid to live in a world in which I couldn't provide any sort of amusement to people I'd never met. But when you come around to reading the files I wrote (or help write) for this installment, you'll see how much wear and tear of stress did to me. I think I might be dying. But then again, I think it's just my tummy telling me I should get some food. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem but the turntable on my microwave got broke during the moving of angstmonster's base of operations and believe it or not the only plates I have with me ARE NOT MICROWAVEABLE SAFE! This situation calls for a fruitcup. If you are unlike I and do not posses a fruitcup for consumptions sake, read this issue of angstmonster instead. It's like a fruitcup full of fart jokes and if there were such a fruit cup in existence in edible form, it'd be my favorite... ------------------ : A day in the : : life of a fart : : by ch33z-1t : : and tildaq : ------------------ DAY IN THE LIFE OF A FART!!!! Twelve gnomes to every fart. First things first, for all intensive purposes a fart will be thought of as a group of gnomes. The fart gets up very early in the morning. Farts stink really bad. After stinking some, they go down to HQ FART, and see what time the fart is supposed to leave the anus. They smell like rotten, rotting heads. After smelling some more, the fart gets prepared for launch sequence. This is the part of the day that is the most important. See this fart is lucky, but unlucky, they finish their job quickly because they are the first fart of the day. Expecting to launch in 3 minutes. If just ONE gnome is a retard, the whole fart could smell good, and that would be terrible. Unfortunately there is a retard gnome, that showered this morning. In a case such as this, a replacement gnome is necessary. But with the stringent schedule, there is no time to get a stinky gnome in there. Farts smell like shit. But not this fart, it will smell good because of the retard gnome. "KILL THE RETARD!" the other eleven gnomes kept chanting! The leader wants to, but knows a successful fart MUST have 12 gnomes. They attempted to proceed. But the retard was trying to push the fart out of the mouth. A lasso kept the retard in line temporarily. like a "retard leash" He tries to run about and ends up ripping the lasso completely. The leader of the fart gnomes says to the vice gnome, "I don't think we can do it! This one is wild!" The vice says "We must we are already pushing through the rectal cavity!!" 7 gnomes slipped on some vaseline that was previously inserted through the anus This caused the whole fart launch sequence to disrupt Luckily it was a success, the air smelled like eggs now. Nice fresh scrambled eggs, with cheese and ham in them. Not to mention a slight hint of onions. Greasy fucking onions and garlic. The fart wafts over to the owner's girlfriend "What in the hell is that cooking....oh....OH....THAT'S A FART ISN'T IT!" she says "Oh my, I have never wanted to suck your dick more than I do now." She had a heart attack and died. THE END!!! ------------------------- : This is not a seminar : : by steak : ------------------------- Fight Club, it was a good movie, that one fact is a known truth. It had a good premise, a good story line, a good twist at the end, all elements that make up a good movie. It had a lead character that the average Joe could identify with, a character that the same average Joe could use to rebel against the corporate fat cats, and it had fighting, which was something that the average Joe, despite millions of years of evolution was very, very interested in. Fighting, the main pastime of male dominated human history, the result of far to much testosterone in the gene pool. Fighting has always been something that should have been a last resort, something that is done only after all other diplomatic options have been exhausted. But for some stupid reason it has always been looked upon as heroic and valiant. You can see the same thing happening today in modern world politics, nations go to war against each other because they don't like to the idea that they might just not be the best things since sliced bread. It's sad it's true, but I didn't fire up my word processor to talk politics, I'm talking about that 1999 film, and the effect that it has had as a movie on most of the male population of the world that have seen it. Every single male at some point, after seeing that movie hits upon the idea of starting his very own fight club, they see Brad Pitt up there on the big screen beating the shit out of some poor unsuspecting fool, it's funny, they laugh, it's slapstick and for some reason they think that this type of slapstick can be transposed into the real world. And that's when it happens, they get this mind set, like they have found some secret underground elite ideal that nobody else in the world has hit upon before, they feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy, they feel good kidding themselves that they might be unstable and at any moment the calm exterior could slip away and leave a ravenous beast underneath ready to start anything and anyone, without a fear in the world. They feel like they are on the top of the male domination ladder. They think they have found some deeper meaning in fighting, that they have somehow managed to exceed the rest of the world because they feel that it is possible they could con themselves into doing on a regular basis what most people spend a lifetime avoiding. They feel privileged, untouchable, and hard, that is until they come to realise one carnal truth. The truth being that there is a good reason why people avoid fighting like they avoid smallpox infected food, because it bloody well hurts. That and the fact the very real bodily injury can, and often does occur. And I'm not talking about the ketchup and black marker pen that Edward Norton had all over his face throughout the movie. This is the principle reason why most amateur fight clubs only last a few weeks, the would-be leader gets a black eye or a broken rib and decides that there are other, better, much less painful ways of kidding yourself into believing that you are one of a privileged few. How do I know these things? Who am I to be lecturing you in an anti-fighting text file? Did I ever say that I never tried exactly the same thing I am condemning in this very text file? No I didn't. Given a long enough timeline, every one will, at some point try to imitate Tyler Durden. ---------------------- : Youth's Perception : : by neldrin : ---------------------- Aunt Jemima in the kitchen eggs on the stove father on the front step bread by the loaf then came the fires and the hoods and the cold and now Aunt Jemima can't work on the stove Pain in the eyes of cracked old skin tears at my feet as soldiers marched in father at the front step while we hid in the cellar Screams from Jemima as Father falls down racing into the woods to avoid being drowned everything is gone, ruined and old now that people can't be bought or sold -------------------------------- : Men seeking Unresponsive Men : : A Complaint from : : 1st Level Fighter : -------------------------------- It's not fair. I suppose I should be thankful that I wasn't born totally gay. If such were the case, I would have minimal options. I really shouldn't be so irritated by my situation, since women are available to me still. A guy who's "all the way" gay would have no such backup option. What am I complaining about? I have a fetish for skinheads. Before you all gasp in horror, allow me to explain. I do not have a hard-on for hate-crime, nor a nice one for Nazis. See, skinheads are a subdivision of the punk rock scene, and come in three main flavors. You've got your basic skin, who drinks a lot (he loves Guinnes), has a crappy job (all the more right to complain about workers' rights), boots, braces (suspenders), and little or no hair. These fellows tend to be patriotic, angry, somewhat violent, and vocal supporters of the rights of the common man and the working class. They're often lumped together into the punk subdivision of "Oi" punk. For the record, "Oi" is what they say in the UK & Australia instead of "hey", and this word has a place in the lyrics of bands like The Business, Blitz, Resilience, The Oppressed, and others. Second, you have the vanishing breed known as SHARPs, or "Skin Heads Against Racial Prejudice". These guys are basically skinheads with a cause: they do what they can to work against The Klan, Nazism, and all other forms of racist and ethnic-separatist action. Naturally, this is a multi-racial breed of punk. An interesting note: SHARPs may appear at shows and other events where image is important wearing suits instead of the more functional clothing typical of basic skins. The idea here is that if one looks "sharp" in a snazzy suit, one will present oneself as a SHARP. Again, I'm sad to say, these guys are not the most numerous of subcultures anymore, assuming they were ever numerous to begin with. Third, we come to the type of skin most people think of when they hear the word "skinhead": the racist. Whether Neo-Nazi, Klansman, or Hammerskin, these bastards often stand out pretty clearly in a crowd. Nazi gear, Ku Klux Klan attire, Confederate flags, and clearly hateful or discriminatory slogans give them away, assuming they desire to be recognized for what they are. However, they have enough sense to not dress in such a manner just all the time; they save their hate-clothes for public appearances and rallies. These fuckers are a good example of "freedom of speech" pushed too far. You'll note that it's illegal to do anything like form such a group as this in Canada, Germany, and other places. It's the unblinking idealism of American freedom that we can blame for this little oversight in our own culture. In any case, I have a problem. You see, I am a 19-year-old bisexual man, and I think that skinheads have a look to them that's very pretty. Maybe attractive is a better word to use, but whatever. Something about the exposed scalp, the (hopefully) fit and muscular frame, and the combo of suspenders, white tee shirts, and fatigue pants draws me ever closer to this obscure little subculture, and probably ever closer to getting my ass kicked. As many of you know, the typical American (heterosexual) male is nice enough in passing, but is fearful of intimacy. When unwanted intimacy is presented to him, such as an unattractive woman or another male, he may react with avoidance, confusion, or even violence. It's often the latter that occurs, or at least anger and angry words, when a man approaches a hetero male with hopes of affection. This occurs despite the fact that a simple "no, thanks" is almost always enough to get the message across. If it's not, then the inquiring man in question is no better than the very people who call him "fag", "queer", or other, loving epithets. And, as many of you punkers know, skinheads are well known (perhaps even proud) to be rather violent. If not necessarily angry or violent fellows, it's often the consensus that skinheads are a bit rough for your non-skin of average body size. I'm only 5'8'' and 145 lbs., myself, so a charge of three six-foot-plus skinheads with arms locked is enough to knock me down regardless of what I want. There's also a big fascination with fighting in the lyrics of a lot of Oi band songs, which naturally filters down into the behavior of Oi punks. A lot of hetero women out there have crushes on men who won't respond in kind. That's what this little fascination of mine is like, but worse due to the likelihood of bodily threats. I've never yet met a skinhead who is a fan of boy-on-boy action, and I suppose I should give up on this fetish of mine. But I'm not one to listen to reason, let alone readily apparent fact. Someday, I know in my heart, Vin Diesel will share breakfast with me. Maybe then I'll eat lunch with the lead guitarist from Alleged Bricks, too. You know, since those Baltimore rockers need their sleep and all. Now the shameless self-plug: if you're gay or bisexual and a fan of punk rock, jackboots, and a trim, low-maintenance hairstyle, drop me a line. You can talk to gir about contact information. Oh, and if you're a gay or bi military man, that'll do just fine, too. Yeah, right. X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X !!!IT WAS THE CLAPPING THAT GOT ME STARTED!!! love is like a thousand white doves straight from the heart of prince and his sexual past tense =] !!!IT WAS THE CLAPPING THAT GOT ME STARTED!!! X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X ---------------- : 0-day Africa : : by koolpeith : ---------------- A few weeks ago I went on two consecutive airplane rides. They were very very long. When I stepped off the second plane ride, I found myself in Nairobi, Kenya. I was freakin' south of the Equator, dude. The first thing that honestly came to my mind was "I gotta flush a toilet." The purpose of this trip to Africa was to obtain lots of rare pictures of game; Lion, Leopard, Elephant, Rhino, e.t.c. and have a gigantic 0-day picture release on my stupid FTP. Yeah, I also got to experience Africa and all its ethnicity through sight, sound, conversation, and best of all, food. Dude, you don't know what yummy is until you've had a plate of Thompson's Gazelle, or even a Zebra steak. Marinate it just right, a little bit of gravy, add an uber-buttery baked potato and you could deter me from a night of hot sex, or even a CS LAN party! The first week I spent in Africa was in and around Nairobi. Its really not as hot as you might think, and the temperature holds constant pretty much year round. This is a good thing if you live at the equator. A bad thing about living at the equator is that you won't have snow days, and without snow days I can't practice my calligraphy. Hey you guys wanna know a secret? There are a lot of black people in Africa. Actually, the people were very nice on the whole. For a population living in as much poverty as they are, the Kenyans are very positive, optimistic, and welcoming. There was an election whilst I was in the country, so I'm sure the atmosphere was uplifted by the anticipation, but I still think that compared to Americans, Kenyans might have more content lives. One of the coolest thing of seeing a completely new country is seeing how other cultures are faring, and based on what I saw, our aggresively materialistic culture is failing us all. In America, everyone is a stockbroker making a little over 100k a year and dying at the age of 67 because of heart complications due to high blood pressure and cholesterol building up through years of stressful day trading. In Nairobi I saw 80 year old men who looked fitter than anyone at my school (although thats not saying much if you know where I go to school); they hauled carts full of construction materials, supplies, food, whatever. What your probably waiting for is an 0-day account of my two-day safari. Yeah, its hella short; two years ago I was in Botswana and did a week long safari. It rocked, but in two days I saw more game than I could dream of in the Masai Mara of Kenya. Unfortunately, I already gave an account of all the furry animals like three days ago, so you can't have an 0-day summary. Maybe if I hadn't been so drunk the whole time I would've remembered where I was, what I saw, and what happened, aside from me somehow loosing a piece of my camera and a Hippo eating that piece. Oh yeah, the other thing I remember was the earthquake. On the last morning in the safari camp there was an earthquake at 6 in the morning. It was pretty badass. It would have been cooler if I was squatting on the toilet, but I suppose brushing my teeth will have to do. One piece of advice I have for everyone traveling to a foreign country is this: bring some fucking Pepto-Bismol, a priest, and a cork. I have never shat at such a high velocity, or with such a watery substance as I did in my first few days in Africa. Don't drink the water. Oh, FYI, thanks to me there is "I don't have to explain my art to you. www.angstmonster.org" carved into a church pieu (or however you spell it) in Nanyuki. That is all. ------------------------- : FUCK YOU GOLDEN GIRLS : : by guru : ------------------------- (DEDICATED TO MY ROOM MATE) WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THIS SHIT?!?!?! THE FUCKIN' GOLDEN GIRLS?!?!? WHO IN THERE RIGHT MIND WOULD WATCH THIS FUCKIN SHOW?!!?!?!? THE SHOW SUCKS. THERE IS NOT A FUCKING THING THAT LOOKS GOOD ABOUT IT. I MEAN, IT'S ABOUT OLD WOMEN THAT JUST SIT AROUND IN A HOUSE TOGETHER. WHAT KIND OF ADVENTURES DO THEY HAVE? IS IT LIKE "I HAVE TO GET TO THE BATHROOM, AND HOPE I DON'T THROW OUT MY HIP." I MEAN, FOR WOMEN TO WATCH THIS SHIT, THAT'S BORDERLINE. BUT FOR A FUCKIN' GUY TO WATCH THIS SHIT, HE'S A BIG FUCKIN' FLAMER. YOU KNOW THIS IS A SHOW FOR WOMEN BECAUSE IT'S ON LIFETIME: TELEVISION FOR WOMEN. GET THE FUCKIN HINT!!! IT SAYS "FOR WOMEN"!!! AND THE ONLY GOOD THING THAT CAME OUT OF LIFETIME WAS UNSOLVED MYSTERIES. AND CAN PLEASE SOMEONE TELL ME THIS, WHAT DOES A SIX FOOT TALL BLACK MAN RELATE TO GOLDEN GIRLS?!?!?! WHY COULDN'T MY ROOM MATE WATCH BET LIKE A NORMAL BLACK PERSON?!?!?! AND WHY THE FUCK IS HE USING MY TV TO WATCH THAT SHIT?!!?! YOU ARE POISONING MY TV!YOU MAKE ME WISH I NEVER HAD A TV! AND STOP FUCKING RECORDING IT. HOW FUCKING INCONSIDERATE DO YOU HAVE TO BE FOR ME TO GO THROUGH ALL THE TROUBLE TO DELETING THE STATION AND HIDING THE REMOTE AND YOU KEEP WATCHING THAT SHIT WHILE I'M TRYING TO FUCKING SLEEP?! EVEN AFTER I DELETED THE CHANNEL FROM THE TV'S MEMORY, HE ALWAYS MANAGES TO WATCH THAT FUCKIN' CHANNEL.NO MAN SHOULD BE WATCHING THIS FUCKING SHOW. WAIT A MINUTE, LET ME RESTATE THAT, NO ONE SHOULD BE WATCHING THIS FUCKING SHOW!!! THAT "WOMAN" LOOKS LIKE A MAN (ON THE RIGHT). I THINK THAT THE GOLDEN GIRLS SHOULD BE TITLED "THE WOMAN THAT LOOKS LIKE A MAN AND OLD CHICKS." I MEAN, WHY DOES THIS WOMAN LOOK SO MUCH LIKE A MAN AND SOUNDS LIKE ONE TOO?! FUCK THE GOLDEN GIRLS. THEIR CREATOR IS A FUCKIN MORON. AND FUCK ALL OF YOU PEOPLE THAT WATCH THIS SHOW, UNLESS YOU ARE AN OLD WOMAN (THEY ARE ALLOWED TO WATCH THAT SHIT CAUSE THEY CAN RELATE)."OH NO, MY HIP WENT OUT AGAIN!" FUCK YOU GOLDEN GIRLS!!! (visual stimulation for this article can be found in the media section of angstmonster's site -gir) ----------------- : Picture Pages : : and Stuff : : by gir : ----------------- _______________________ This picture belongs to Sara. The circumstances by /¤.....................¤\ which she acquired the picture are rather fuzzy and |........__ . __........| most people had learned not to ask about it. It |......./ *\./* \.......| wasn't that Sara was afraid of divulging the origin |.......| \/.\/ |.......| of her favorite painting ever, the story just |.......| |...| |.......| happened to be long and boring. Most people didn't |....../ \---/ \......| want to KNOW where she got the painting, they just |.../\/__/_\_/_\__\/\...| wanted to know who painted it. They wanted to award |...|ö| \ / \ / |ö|...| Sara points based on the creator of the painting, so |...\/\ * * /\/...| they might know how much she was worth. As Sara |......| |\/|\/| |......| knew, she wasn't worth very much. Most people |......| |`_^_`| |......| aren't worth anything these days. It's their |......| |.....| |......| output that has value, their creations. In some |.....//|\\.|.//|\\.....| circles, excrement had a higher value than this |.....\\v//...\\v//.....| painting, knowledge, or anything else that you and I |......"."....."."......| might value more than our own poopie. But that is \¤.....................¤/ not what's important to us at the moment, no reader, ----------------------- it is the story of this painting that interests you. I can tell you aren't the type to award points, because you understand the points aren't anyone's to reward. As a result of knowing this, I can't tell you the name of the painter for doing so might create in you a need to establish a point system that might see Sara as unfit for our company. Seeing how Sara is a very close friend of mine, that won't do. You see, I've sworn to protect her in anyway that I can because she is a close friend. 'Round here that's what close friends do for one another. We watch over each other and one another's creations. /\ \ \ /\ This is a picture of me. It's actually on the reverse of \ \ /\ \ the painting Sara holds so near and dear to her. My name \ \ / /\/ is (foo)² Most of my life has been spent as guardian to \ \_/ / Sara and her painting. You see I used to be a mere / ¡ \ stuffed bunny until one day, this crazy scientist man _{-----}_ decided that in such a crazed world where he could wonder / \ ö / \ around and create things like me, that Sara would need a / \ / \ protector. He knew that one day that all the crazies like / /| \_/ |\ \ him would have to be stopped, so in a fit of / / | | \ \ self-fulfilling prophecy and destruction, I was created by (88) / /\_/\ \ (88) this mad scientist. \ \ / / ____ \ \ / / ____ Neither Sara nor I have seen this mad scientist since the / __ \/ / \ \/ __ \ day I was created. Now that I think about it, I had a \______/ \______/ life before I was "created" and it bothers me that people would doubt my existence before a mad scientist touched me with his magical mad scientist wand. It's not like mad scientists even possess wands, unless they are really magic users left over from the long long ago times when you know, they used to play D&D and got the notion stuck in their head that they really were magicians. Alchemy is yesteryear's Chemistry, so who's to say that mad scientists aren't really mad wizards? If I was a wizard and immortal at that, I'd be kinda mad that people didn't believe I was a wizard and instead called me a scientist. Some people get really upset about being called scientists. Especially wizards. After much discussion one night, Sara and I concluded that the mad scientist who created me was in fact a wizard. However he wasn't a very powerful or good wizard considering he tried to create me, the stuffed bunny, who at the time was very well alive and active. (Again, there is stipulation as to whether or not a stuffed bunny can be alive and active, but if I wasn't able to, how could I be telling my story right now? Yeah, you think it's because of the mad scientist wizard, don't you? If some nut case like that could distribute soul and consciousness at whim, don't you think our world would be a little more populated?) \|/\|/ I found this frog dead at my feet. I was supposed to meet him // \\ for a drink late at night a few months ago. We were planning to // __ \\ talk about the existence of wizards as modern day mad scientists. \\/ \// Sara was sick at home, so after I tended to her I went to meet \____/ this frog at a location previously arranged through secure lines of communication. Divulging that information would be like telling you who made Sara's favorite picture, it's not a piece of information you as an intelligent reader care about at all, thus it is not important. Do not allow yourself to be distracted by the details, rather admire the creation for what it is. After all, if you really cared about the details of the painting you'd already know that it cost my friend the frog his life. At this point in time, it's hard to say if a mad scientist was involved or not. It might've been YOU! YES YOU READER! YOU ARE TRYING TO MESS UP MY STORY BY KILLING ONE OF THE CHARACTERS BEFORE HE'S INTRODUCED BECAUSE YOU'RE MAD THAT I WON'T TELL YOU WHO PAINTED THAT PICTURE THAT SARA LOVES SO MUCH! YOU KIDS AND YOUR INTERACTION! ALWAYS GETTING INVOLVED, DOING YOUR PART TO HELP OUT ALRIGHT! WELL I TELL YOU WHAT... All I know is that I'm not taking any chances next time I see someone with a wand. Mad scientists are a force not to be reckoned with, whether they be wizards or not. ---------------------- : Interview with the : : BIGGEST DOUCHE of : : 2002 : : by ch33z-1t : ---------------------- "I hate the angstmonster. I hate Swedish people, except hockey players living in the United States. You're all a bunch of socialist pussies. Piss off you dumb ass communists. Your women aren't as hot as you think they are. Fuck off ch33z-1t and fuck off gir. Move to Sweden if you think its so damn great. See if any of us back home actually miss you. The real douche is whoever created angstmonster, gay pussy. I want to fuck your little brother AND OR sister right in the ear, right in front of your face." -Eric Major, Biggest Douche of 2002. Ch33z-1t: Can I get a comment to put in Angstmonster? Eric Major: Thank you all. Eric Major: You're all welcome to live in my garage in 40 years. Ch33z-1t: What are you going to do now that you are the biggest douche? Eric Major: Jack it, fast and hard. Ch33z-1t: Are you going to strive to become it again in 2003? Eric Major: We'll see Cheez, it was tough on me this year. Eric Major: With the penis injury and all. Eric Major: and I have a bonus in my contract so we'll see. Ch33z-1t: What does the phrase "a eleven" mean to you? Eric Major: Well Cheez, it means that I'd like to feed all the starving children in Nairobi and Ethiopia "a eleven" times a day. Ch33z-1t: If you could solve one world problem, with you now being the biggest douche I would assume you could, what would it be? Eric Major: Chaffing after whacking it too much. Eric Major: Quickly. Ch33z-1t: Wow! Ch33z-1t: What a brilliant answer. Eric Major: Thank you. Ch33z-1t: Are there any people that influenced you? Eric Major: Matt Kurz, he showed me that NAMBLA isn't just about having sex with young boys - rather, its a bond that both partners in the relationship share and benefit mutually Ch33z-1t: anyone else? Eric Major: My dad, he gave me my penis. Ch33z-1t: What a great man. Eric Major: Indeed. Ch33z-1t: Can we expect a military stint after college, you know to become Major Major? Eric Major: Probably not Cheez, by then I will have hoped to hit it big in the porn industry having sex with old women. Ch33z-1t: Would you like to be in a movie about zombie sex slaves? Eric Major: Will there be pooping in the mouth? Ch33z-1t: You could be our token black man. Ch33z-1t: If you can find a chick to poop in your mouth. Eric Major: I cant supply the chick. Ch33z-1t: Will you be the token black man? Eric Major: No, I hate black people. Eric Major: Even though I like the token black guy. Ch33z-1t: is there any other races you don't like? Eric Major: Chinese, Japanese, Taiwanese, mainly all of Asia, and then there's Europe, they're out. South America - gone; Africa - we've already talked about that; and lastly - New Yorkers, they live in a city that smells like urine. Ch33z-1t: Well thank you Mr. Major. Eric Major: No problem, my pleasure. X-cDc-X-cDc-X-cDc-WISDOM-X-cDc-X-cDc-X "Cool people get fucked-up alone. Don't we have a t-file about that?" -Grandmaster Ratte of the cDc X-cDc-X-cDc-X-cDc-WISDOM-X-cDc-X-cDc-X -------------------- : My day at school : : by cyb3rmonk : -------------------- It was second period and we went to the "cafetorium" If hell existed, it couldn't be worse then this. I seat myself in a bench, among with other students. There was a southern asian student sitting to my right, another chick on my left. I stared blankly at the place. In the cafetorium, lay a pool of adolescents. Mostly niners and teners. A group of losers sits behind me. Yes, it was depressing. Yes, it was wasting my time. Yes, I'm sitting here like a fucking moron, and I am about to watch a bunch of idiots jumping around the stage and perhaps grind their pelvis against each other. Beside me, Tanya (its a pseudonym to protect myself from her raging pelvis) sat there, twirling and whirling her hair. Her breasts budged out because of her tight white shirt. Her breasts wasn't the only thing budging. The thing between her legs was forming a shape, like a valley with a river in the middle. So much for her tight pants. She wore 3 inch high phat form shoes. Another average chick, falling for the fashion trend. She continues to twirl her hair while I stared at her. It wasn't because she's hot or I'm going to tell her she's exposing her "valley". I stared at her because shes a moron. Another parasite in this planet. After sitting around and wasting 15 minutes of my life, the show starts. The pool of teens cheered. I didn't. An MC went out. She was a Caucasians chick. She taps on the microphone and says, ssssshhh. The noise of the crowd didn't die down. Again, she says, sssssh. I thought she was convincing a toddler to go pee pee for a second. "Hi. I'm your MC for today. And this performance was worked very hard by the Dance Club. Please give it up!" She says. The crowd cheers. The little ugly girls bounce on their seats. The asshole in front of me hoots. Its all good. For the next one hour and a half, I had to undergo mental pain. Really, I did. They first performance... I kind of forgot. I was buried under my arms, crying softly to myself. When I did perk up and peep at the stage, I saw this: A couple dressed up in those mexican cloth grinds their asses together. I was unable to distinguish the gender, because that chick was too muscular to be a guy. She had more muscle then Jeffery Andrews. The dancer spins around and grind their pelvis together. They continue to do this for five minutes. They crowd roared. I glanced to my right, and there was the girl, still with her valley exposed and breasts budging. I glance back and see horny kids standing up, hoping to have a better view of the sexing dancers. I'm scared. I really am. Now in the stage, the male dancer is carrying the female dancer in circles. He loop one hand under her thigh and the other around her waist. Remove their clothes and you got softcore porn. It's all about exposing their asses and tits. There isn't any talent. The dances where badly choreograph and the dancers had no coordination. And every scene involved shaking asses, taunting and blobbing their hands in the air. Heck, there was a fighting part. Two dancers "fake" fight, to see who gets to bang the ugly chick first. And here I am, sitting like a fucking moron. The Tango dance wasn't THAT bad compare to this: A female dancer is in a sitting position when the certain pulls open. A slow music is played when she dances. She sits in the floor, pretending to be emotional. She rubs her stomach, then moves her hand up towards her breasts. She rubs it gingerly. I shuddered. For the next five minutes, she moved around the stage, twirling in circles and blobbing her hands in the air. She also shook her ass a few times. The little boys in the audience aww and ooh when she shook her firm buttock. You can her butt cheeks separately. I was like, Jesus. I wanted to throw my shoes at her, I really do. Or at least pork her. The bell rings. The show is FINALLY over. What did I do to deserve this? Do not know. °°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°° ' A THOUGHT ON THE AGIN' PROCESS ' °°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°° "Agin' is a disease. Maybe disease is natural, but health is natural, too, and a hell of a heap more desirable. Rust is natural, wouldn't you say? But rust can be prevented. And if you don't be preventin' it, it will ruin your machinery. 'Tis the same with agin'. Your man ages ebcause he lets his body rust." -Dr. Wiggs Dannyboy °°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°° ' A THOUGHT ON THE AGIN' PROCESS ' °°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°° ---------------------- : back from the dead : : by oregano : ---------------------- My feet are webbed. I bet gir never told you that. Or that I have powerful lungs. I can hold my breath for almost two minutes. Did gir tell you that? No he did not. Back in Vietnam I would sleep underwater, a hollowed out reed would stick out of the water to get air to my lungs, and I would sleep quietly away from the Cong. Okay, maybe it is not *my* feet which are webbed. But Dan Ackroyd's feet are. And while I can only hold my breath for about a minute I did once touch an airplane under 30 feet of water in a free dive. That means without an oxygen tank. I am not old enough for Vietnam and I never sleep. Okay, I do sleep, sometimes, in fact I sleep a lot, 9 hours a night. You people are taking all the fun out of this by making me tell the truth, but now we are on level ground. Now I can tell the truth of how gir killed me off and then begged me to come back to life and save the ailing angstmonster.org franchise. Well, the franchise was not really ailing, and I still contributed to it through my tone poetry which overtakes me from time to time on IRC. Wait, a digression. To say "from time to time" in Spanish you say "de vez en cuando." But if you try to translate the Spanish into English it comes out "of time in when." WTF? You know? What were the Spaniards thinking when they came up with that? Angstmonster was ailing, it needs to chew on the bones of young virgins to feed its blood lust. The angstmonster never rests and there I was in the bunker, just me and hax0rcat with the angstmonster pounding on the door. Or the roof, it being a bunker. The angstmonster had its fists of rage and each blow to the bunker roof sent reverberations not only through the ground but through time: both forward and back. Okay, I am off the subject, really what happened was that I had an idea for a sock puppet story, but I did not have the desire to write it all, so I sent the story idea to gir and he wrote it a lot different than I would have -- in fact so different that I might write the original story and submit it (which is kind of like making gir eat his own feces, like in American Psycho) -- and then he killed me off. I think he killed me off to show his disapproval of my not writing the story. But we shall never know. Gir won't even tell me his mother's maiden name. Anyway, where was I? Oh right, in the bunker. Hax0rcat escaped through a fissure in the earth and got help, a giant bucket of distilled water which he threw on the angstmonster with one of those trucks you see on The Learning Channel that carry coal out of strip mines. The angstmonster was vanquished and ran off in pain, freeing me to write this, the truth, about my so-called death. Wait, there is no hax0rcat. There is a photo of hax0rcat, but that is not the real hax0rcat. Hax0rcat never existed. The photo is really just a some cat with a keyboard digitally edited to look like it was busting stuff up. too many words. And that is the story of my death and my return to life and how hax0rcat existed then ceased to exist. The end ---------------- : Shooting : : a temptation : : by steak : ---------------- (The following story by steak is the second part of a much bigger story. If you have not read the first part, you must stop right here and do one of two things: either read the first part of the story found in the latest issue of the Neo-ComIntern or skip over this story and keep reading through your regularly scheduled angstmonster. However, we suggest you read the first part of the story rather than skip over the story. Steak's an entertaining writer who happens to get himself in all sorts of interesting situations, especially since the demise of his own ezine Addendum. Being that steak is a friend of mine, I will hunt you down and kill you if you don't read his story. -gir) Eggs. Eggs were the only things that were going through my mind. I don't know why, it was just all I could think of. I couldn't get the bloody things out of my head. Boiled eggs, having their shells cracked off was a particular thought that I just couldn't shake. It had been a while since that fateful day in my life when most of the people I had known had been swapped for evil aliens or government operatives and started talking gibberish to me for the soul reason of getting me away from my zine, which had been getting too close to the truth. My spasmodic departure from my old life, the liquidation of addendum, the blabbering idiots that had caused me so much grief and my betrayal of First man were now all but distant memories, things that had happened months ago, things that were no longer important. I had quickly found myself a free hotel room, thanks to a contact I had made back in the bizz when I was only slightly younger and I was presently using it to lay low in for a while. I had purchased a laptop computer to write my articles on and a stable Internet connection to send my writings to the appropriate underground publications. They were not likely to find me for a little while. At least I could stay here and just ignore the passing world outside, pay my bills regularly and pretend that what ever was happening really wasn't. But I was bored; sitting on your own in a hotel room for weeks at a time is not really the most intense thing you can do with your life. I was lying down face up on my couch, half naked with the television on. Some cable channel was blaring out a rock concert, I wasn't really paying much attention, the lead singers bust was the only thing interesting enough to raise my awareness. You see it's so hard to care about much when it's blistering hot, as it was that day. The curtains were open and the sun was shining through the bay door windows that looked out over the bay side pool. One thing that could be said for the day though was that the light levels were perfect, the sun was shingling wonderfully giving the whole place a sort of sunbaked appearance, like everything had been put in the oven for exactly the right amount of time. I was watching a pair of cats fight over a dead mouse when I was interrupted by the phone, which rang, loudly. I groaned at the thing, which didn't stop ringing, reluctantly I forced my body into an upward walking position and made my way over to the piece of plastic that was flashing and making a noise. I bent down and grabbed at the handset. Slamming it against the side of my head, I yawned as I spoke. "Yeah? Yeah? Hello?" I asked "Dude!" It was Goat "I've got something to tell you!" "Hey man, it sounds like your driving. Are you driving while making a mobile phone call? You know that's extremely dangerous!" "What? Look don't worry about that, listen, there's going to be this big drug bust happening today, in your area, I picked up news of it on my emergency signal channel scanner. I'm on my way over, get your laptop and meet me out the front of your place" Before he had a chance to say goodbye I had hung up. I gathered my laptop, tape recorder, jacket, pens and paper, and ran out the front just as my friend came driving round the corner. The car pulled up and I jumped in the passenger seat. "Have you got your video camera?" I asked He held up the instrument in my face "Check, now those cops are already on their way, if we don't follow suit soon we're going to miss em" "Ok" I said, "lets go" We drove around the block for a little while until we found the street we were looking for and we swerved into it just in time to see the first carload of pigs drive up to the front door of a suburban house and run up to the front door. The door was red...I was taking notes with my laptop. Goat pointed his camera and started recording the scene as it was happening, we would later use this to put together an article. I got out of the car to try and see if I couldn't get a closer look at the action, but some mean tempered cop got in my way and urged me back. Discontent with not being given a good view I crept around to see if I couldn't find somewhere closer but more out of the way, I found a place to crouch behind a wall and take some verbal dictation notes. The cops kicked the door in, it was easy from where I was standing to make out exactly what was going on. I imagined that I was getting a better view than Goat back in the car and wished I had bought him or his video camera along to record the action I was witnessing. The raid didn't last very long, there were some sounds of confusion and anger coming from the inside residence, then some authoritarian noises and then silence. Soon after the suspects were bought out, one by one and loaded into the back of a dimmy van with 'POLICE' written along the side in day glow blue letters. The doors were shut and locked and the special ops guys gave each other smug looks and pats on the back. Suddenly there was a noise, the front door to the house broke open and a masked man emerged carrying a shotgun, he screamed and lunged at the cops with the gun. In the preceding fight three cops lost their lives, two were injured and the gunman went down in a hail of law enforcement issued bullets. I couldn't believe what I had just seen, it had all kind of happened in slow motion, as if it wasn't real. I was still taking in the last of the images when I noticed that someone was shouting at me, trying to get my attention. This new image, the image of a policeman, was slowly registering on my visual cortex. The image was still shouting, I started making out what it was they were saying, "Are you even listening to a bloody word I'm saying? Or is it going in one ear and out the other?" "Sorry, what?" I blurted out "This is a restricted area, what are you doing here?" "I'm, err writing a textfile" "A textfile? What the bloody hell is a textfile?" "It's an article...a sort of report type thing" The police man looked at me with a very strange look that I was not all too flattered to receive. "What the hell could you be writing an article on here?!" "On what just happened...you know the drug bust, the shooting" "The shooting" mused the cop "Did you see what happened?" "Yeah, in full view, was pretty coo- I mean horrific" "Would you mind coming down to the station to answer a few questions?" I didn't feel like taking a trip to any cop shop right at the moment, I have had bad experiences with cops in the past you see, especially when I was the victim and was trying to use the cops for what it is they were actually there for, to solve crimes. "Look I'd rather not, I've got textfiles, articles and other things to write. If it's all the same to you I think I'd rather just go home, and try to come to grips with the terrible events I have witnessed here today. To try and rebuild some strange representation of the life I lead before the procedures that I have seen today scared and warped my fragile naive mind forever." I really should have gone to acting classes; I always thought I might have been able to make it as an actor; I seem to just have a knack for these things. But even with my above-average-if-I-do-say-so-myself acting skills I was unable to sway this cop. It looked like he really wasn't going to take no for an answer. "I realise what a dreadful experience this has been for you, but I really must ask you to come down to the station and make a full statement" "Do you really think it's necessary officer?" "Yes, I'm afraid I do" "Well in that case I see that I have little choice, I will accompany you to your station thing" I told Goat where it was I was going and I jumped in the back of the cop's car, which made the short drive to he local police station. After we got there as often goes these things, I was shoved into a small room with only one chair by another over-paid authoritarian and told to wait until the officer that was going to take my statement had a free minute. After about twenty minutes of waiting I decided to get up and have a look around the room. It was small room, as I have stated before, the walls were painted a dull grey and there was a telephone book lying in the far left corner. There seemed to be two doors to the room, the one I had entered into and another on the adjacent side of the room, that was shut. I went over and tried the handle. It wasn't locked. Outside of the door was a long corridor that stretched into the distance terminating at another closed door. I was unsure about what to do in the situation, should I take a chance and explore? Should I venture out and perhaps see what was behind the closed door at the other end of the corridor? I should have stayed in my room, but I was curious as to what was in the next room, so I started walking down the corridor telling myself all the way down that the door at the end was probably locked anyway and all this excess adrenalin that my body was creating was useless, it would all be for nothing. As you can imagine, the door wasn't locked. It was quite open, which was really a stupid move on the police's part. I mean who in their right minds leaves the door to the main evidence locker open? I guess they must have thought that there was no other place safer than a police station to leave a door open in. I stepped inside. And dear readers, I am not lying to you when I say that I hit the mother load right there and then. Everything and anything you could ever possibly want was sitting there in front of me. Assault rifles, hunting knifes, hunting rifles, daggers, handguns and sporting weapons. Not to mention swords, machetes, axes, ceremonial knifes, bombs, grenades and sub machine guns. However much this looked like everything you could always possibly want, that was only the weapons section. I picked up a V61 scorpion, a small classy little weapon with a folding stock that stows away sexily over the top of the barrel, I aimed the weapon and imagined putting a few bullets into the head of that bastard who stole my girlfriend earlier this year. Chuckling to myself I laid the weapon down next to a ninja star and had a look around. It didn't take me long to find the contraband section. My eyes almost popped out of my head, sitting in front of me on a little table were about three kilos of good bud and what looked like a good five pounds of pure hash oil. Next to it was sitting bags and bags of some pills of an unidentifiable description and some high potency, tab acid, twenty-seven sheets of it. I counted. It had to be said that the temptation was there to be done with the rules and just take the whole lot and hope I manage to get away with it. Can you really blame me though? I mean sitting right in front of me was a horde of everything I needed to get myself into one high state and given any other situation I would have instantly dropped to my knees, started ingesting and not regain a fully conscious state for another few days. But I was in a police station; I was going to have to think about this. They technically would have no way of knowing, I could take, maybe say just a small percentage of it, eat it right there and then, get through the interview by fobbing the police off and make my way out of the interview with a lot of the stuff, untaken, still in my pocket. Yes I would do it, I found a pipe and lighter in a small enveloped marked 'Evidence CASE number 876498' and I set about smoking some of the best skunk I have tasted since, well, ever. I chucked a few of the pills and the tabs down my throat and waited for the effects to kick in. What followed was a semi-conscious orgy of drug-induced depravity. I hope that it's not too much of an anticlimax if I don't explain the whole ordeal in excruciating detail, all I really remember of it anyway was being thrown into a holding cell, all the while refusing to give up the laptop. I remember seeming to be very persistent in telling everyone that if I didn't have my laptop I would surely freeze to death in the cold police climate. The next thing I knew I woke up in the same small cell with the laptop lying next to me. It would seem that my trial isn't for a little while yet so I have a little time to work on something new for the text scene. I am having quite a fun time anyway; I'm in a cell all by myself and am having one hell of a time exploring the inner reaches of my mind. I've got a few phone calls I can make to a few people who might be able to get me out and set me up good for a little while. Even if I can't, I don't reckon they will be able to make any of the charges stick, they may even let me out in a couple of days when they realise that they have no case against me. We shall have to wait and see. I mean it could have been anyone who took that stuff, they have no proof it was me, if I really needed to I could claim insanity easily anyway and be out within minutes. Yes I'm fine. |-/\-|-FUCKING-APATHY'S-SHIT-UP-|-/\-| "Even if it doesn't actually happen, there is triumph in just having people imagine it." -Timothy "Speed" Levitch |-/\-|-FUCKING-APATHY'S-SHIT-UP-|-/\-| ------------------ : The Invisibles : : by ch33z-1t : : and gir : ------------------ There was once the best group of super heroes ever. They were called invisible. Because no one could ever see them. It was a trio of beasts comprised of the Abominable Snowman, Sasquatch, the Canadian cousin of Bigfoot, and then Bigfoot, the American cousin of Sasquatch. These super heroes were in for their most devious sort villain ever in the world. The Chocolate Man!!!!! He was trying to take away all the nuts in the world. Not the crazy people the food nuts. The trio went to pay this asshole chocolate maker a visit. They get in there and think they are doing really fucking good at making their way to the last level of the compound of the chocolate man's lair which was near the 82nd plane of reality of planet candy. This meant that the journey would take them through the Sasquatch's homeland, Canada. It is no wonder that Chocolate Man is still at large seeing how the Invsible's got lost in Canada and since they are invisible, no one ever found them. That is what allowed the Chocolate Man to rise to the top of the candy industry. In fact it was when the chocolate manufactures used an average of 40% of the world's almonds and 20% of the world's peanuts per year that the Invisibles found there way out of Canada and into the 82nd plane of reality of Planet Candy. We walk out on this monstrosity and hear a beeping, after looking for hours we find a robot. We talk to him and find out he is in trouble and need our help getting out of the backyard. Running around we run into the chocolate man's army. They were armed with high powered potato guns. Which shot matzah balls. The leader ordered them to fire with one simple slogan: "You are too fucked up to write." When this was announced the invisibles were shot at, with the matzah balls shot out of the high powered potato guns. But all of a sudden, the law enforcement for the 82nd plane of reality and all lands that the 82nd plane of reality contained came running down the hill like matzah balls out of potato cannons. The Invisibles had to admit, they had gotten themselves in quite a predicament this time around. Thankfully, the law enforcement was on the scene and could make a quick throwdown and help the Invisibles put an end to Chocolate Man. "CHOCOLATE MAN!! LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS!!" "Captain Arbuckle, what brings you out to candy planet?" "Your army, is in violation of an interplane pact. As it states, illegal molds cannot be used to power you potato cannons. As a result your forces will be escorted to a buttering facility. Prepare to allow passage for the Invisibles into your compound!" As that point, the Invisibles second toughest part of their journey (remember the Invisibles had to go through Canada on the first leg of their journey and became lost for a very long time.) lay before them. None the less, Chocolate Man's plans eventually failed. ------------- : T-Files : : by tildaq : ------------- As I see it, tfiles are the next logical step in evolution. (supposing human evolution is valid) The "free flow of information," as a friend of mine put it, is yet another great advance in the forward direction towards ultimate truth! I kid you not, tfiles are, simply put, of equal importance as say the industrial revolution in Europe, the advent of agriculture and many other things that skipped our human race forward in time. Revolution is to agriculture is to Tfiles is to....well, we may never know what comes after Tfiles. Tfiles will be proven to do something that no other society has had the pleasure of seeing. Let me explain. A long time ago, in a galaxy far away lived a young man named Harold Ramis. If I rememeber correctly he wrote and directed the movie Ghostbusters (let me go check on this at imdb.com real quick) YES! Yes I am correct about this. Anyway Harold Ramis, as I just found out, also directed the movie Orange County, which is a funny movie by the way. The point is that One thing leads to another like the classic 80's song suggests (allow me to find out aboot this song.) Yes! This song was performed by the great band who call themselves "THE FIXX." Let me recite from this gigantic piece of art: Do what they say, say what you mean One thing leads to another You told me something wrong, I know I listen too long But then one thing leads to another. GENIUS! This is simply GENIUS! Whoever wrote this is an absolute GENIUS! I'm so excited that I can hardly analyze this work but I will try. Now, we see that the author is very liberated, he does what he wants to do. We can see this being demonstrated in the line, "Do what they say, say what you mean." SAY WHAT YOU MEAN! This suggests that the he in fact says what HE means, and what he means is that ONE THING LEADS TO ANOTHER. You may be saying to yourself, "Self, how can he be liberated and say what he means but at the same time, DO WHAT THEY SAY??" I will tell you. If you "do what they say," you will essentially be ABLE to "say what you mean!" By saying this I am almost defying the laws of gravity. By SAYING WHAT YOU MEAN, you will be able to express to "THEM," what it is that YOU are thinking and feeling ABOUT what it is that they are telling you to do. Perhaps what I say when I am "saying what I am meaning," is for "THEM," to "shut the hell up!>" or I might be saying, "I agree with what it is that you are telling me to do." Either way, the second part of the line could ALWAYS nullify or make void the previous part of the line, which is, as we all rememeber, "DO WHAT THEY SAY." Let's move on. After all of this occurs, that is, doing what they say and then you, in turn, say what you mean, one thing will ultimately LEAD to another! It's beautiful how the world works!. Yes I see that I put a period after that exclamation but I think I'll leave it so that this sentence will make sense. The author, MR. Fixx (whom I would love to sit down for a cup of tea with) is conveying the thought that by him telling you to "Do What They Say," he is actually one evolutionary step ahead of you because HE is "SAYING WHAT HE IS MEANING TO SAY!" While you are busy doing what they say, he is living it up, so to speak, by saying what it is that he means AND making music at the same time. Can YOU do that? I don't think so. Now DO WHAT THEY SAY! This is exactly what he is saying to you as a human, a person, an individual. I know what you must be thinking, Who is it that he is talking about in the song? WHO IS "THEY?" Well, They is you! They are people who ALSO "Do what the say." You see, all these people who are "Doing what THEY are saying," are also neglecting to say what they mean because, if you are busy doing what they say, you can never truly say what you mean and get away with it being the truth (the truth is the ultimate goal as you rememeber!) It is not, and can not be the truth because NOBODY wants to be told what to do, so in turn, if you were doing what "they" are saying, then you should be saying what you mean by communicating a message like, "I DON'T WANT TO DO WHAT YOU ARE SAYING!" A FUNDAMENTAL PARADOX, DON'T YOU THINK?! I sure as hell do! If you say, "I DO NOT WANT TO DO WHAT YOU ARE SAYING!" You are also saying (between the lines of course) that you do not want to be told what to do OR actually physically complete the task at hand! So now you are in a predicament, should you "SAY WHAT YOU MEAN," or should you "DO WHAT THEY SAY?" I would go with, "SAY WHAT YOU MEAN." (to be continued in a file called: I am become the lifeblood) THE FOLLOWING IS OREGANO'S WAY OF SAYING YOU TOO CAN AND SHOULD WRITE FOR ANGSTMONSTER... (BECAUSE YOU KNOW, ANGSTMONSTER IS SLOWLY PLANNING ANOTHER THEME ISSUE! THAT'S RIGHT! ARE YOU PISSED AS HELL THAT YOU DIDN'T GET A CHANCE TO WRITE ABOUT SOCK PUPPETS IN WHAT WAS THE GREATEST ISSUE OF ANGSTMONSTER EVER!?!? WELL, YOU'RE IN LUCK BECAUSE GUESS WHAT, THIS THEME ISSUE IS GOING TO BE ALL ABOUT BAKED POTATOS! BAKED POTATOS ARE NATURE'S BEST EDIBLE CREATION, SO GO EAT A COUPLE THEN GET TO WRITING ABOUT IT!) Hi, helium sniffers angry is the non-monster not suffering from the monster pains but feeling left out for not being monsterous IF IT CAN'T BE SAID ANYMORE SIMPLIER, THEN I MIGHT AS WELL JUST FINISH THIS ROUND OF ANGST-TEXT-MONSTER-FUN RIGHT NOW! ææææææææææææææææææa æ Æfterthought(s) æ æææææææææææææææææææ Eating that fruitcup was the best idea I had tonight. It reminded me that I really enjoy getting a green apple from the dining hall and taking it back to my room, saving it for later. Maybe next time, I'll bring back a couple for late night occasions like these when fruitcups and green apples are way better than cookies and sun chips. (SPECIAL NOTE FOR COOKIES AND SUN CHIPS: You guys know that I love you more than anything and there's no way a couple of fruits could replace you. I won't let you down...) _____ / |\ |\ /\ |\ | \ | | |/ |/ < > |/ | * / |_| | | \/ |\ | * http://www.bubblemonkey.org/cheesencrackers/ !CHEESENCRACKERS! http://www.neo-comintern.com *THE NEO-COMINTERN* http://turd.angstmonster.org THE UNDEAD RISE, DAMMIT! http://www.textscene.com CURRENT TEXTFILE SCENE ?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿? What you have just read was a step into the unknown spontaneous and poorly edited thoughts for sharing collectively known as "Angstmonster." All thoughts on the matter can be sent to or you can just visit the site http://www.angstmonster.org and see what you think. Submissions of all sorts are welcome! Everything from prose and poetry to rants and opinions, creative text art, recipes for yummy food, reviews of stuff, etc. Thanks and enjoy your day... copy-spwep 2003 issue 19 angstmonster.org 01.27.03 Feel free to redistribute this document, although no fee can be charged and the content must not be altered or modified in any way. Unauthorized use of any part of this document is prohibited. All rights reserved. (and stuff)