Æ*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*Æ * __ __ * + _____ ____ ____ ______/ |_____ ____ ___ ______/ |___________ + * \__ \/ \ / __ \/ ___\ __\ \ _ \/ \/ ___\ __/__ \_ __ \ * + / __ \_ | \ /_/ >\__ \| | Y Y \<_> ) | \__ \| |\ ___/| | \/ + * (____ /_| /___ /____ >|__|__|_| /___/__| /___ >|__| \__ \|__| * + \/ \/____/ \/ \/ \/ \/ \/ + * 04.07.03 angstmonster issue 24 * Æ*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*Æ ¡edited (poorly) by gir¡ angstmonster rules i fully endorse this zine §+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++¡contents¡++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§ + + + Brief words from gir + + You've Neva Eva wayne + + IN WAYNE WE TRUST tweak + + Surprise Me ch33z-1t + + Pizza Night oregano + + Man VS Dog st0vbold + + The Mole Chauncy donnie a. gutherie + + Speaker Selling Revisited ch33z-1t + + Spider Wars steak + + The Making and Unmaking of a Text File oregano and ior + + Explinizzation gir + + + §+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++¡contents¡++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++§ my first impression of the vagina was this horrible dark cavern of mystery and death Do not forget sharp, sharp teeth. ROADIE! POOPIE! you had loose stool? i can smell your feet did oregano just say poon? --------------- : Brief Words : : from gir : --------------- The other day, the infamous brian of cheese 'n crackers dropped a bomb that would revolutionize the way people read textfiles. I'm still wiping the debris off my keyboard because after reading the fifth installment of one of the best tzines out there at the moment, I dunno what I'm going to do with myself. It'd be easy to say "Hey this is our last release because we are never going to drop a bomb and revolutionize the way people read textfiles like CNC did." But wait! WAIT JUST AN EFFIN MINUTE! The one thing CNC doesn't have is hamsters. While we're on the subject, CNC doesn't have lasers either. Angstmonste will. Coming this summer, live from undisclosed 0day doublplussupraleetthatshouldbespelledoutwithnumbers locations all around the globe, there's going to be hamsters, there's going to be lasers, and your better believe that angstmonster will be behind it all! NOT ONLY BEHIND IT, BUT ON TOP OF IT, LEADING THE WAY, IN CONTROL! But that doesn't stop the newest Cheese 'N Crackers release from being very pleasing on the eyes and minds of tfile readers everywhere. COME H&L DAY THOUGH, CNC BETTER BE READY TO RUMBLE WITH SOME MOTHERFUCKERS THAT KNOW HOW TO BREAK SKIN WITH FIREPOWER THE LIKES OF WHICH NO MAN HAS EVER SEEN! The following is a taste of something completely different though, showing where our strengths lie in other continents. Always proud of our AM affiliates abroad... On the home front I'm afraid I've got some bad news. One of our newest writers and fellow lover of the dumpsters, wayne, has been found dead outside the entrance to his secret dumpster abode. Apparently, he was shot up for what he was to say in the file WE ARE PRESENTING YOU IN THIS ISSUE FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER! A group of malicious vandals got a hold of his file's "pre" release and rival writers were furious, flying into a rage and busting caps in that po' mofo's ass. It is a very unfortunate tragedy. Angstmonster has lost someone who was going to be our link to the kids on the streets, the ones who don't know that you can turn your life around. People need to know that like Wayne, they too can turn their lives around with textfiles. IT'S NEVER TOO LATE PEOPLE! HOW MANY MORE LIVES ARE WE GOING TO LOSE TO TEXTFILE RIVALRY!?! We can't let this happen again. IT STOPS HERE! JOIN WITH ME IN A BAN ON VIOLENCE IN TEXTFILES AND TOGETHER WE MIGHT FORGE A MIGHTY PEACEFUL WORLD WHERE LOVERS OF THE ASCII YOUNG AND OLD MAY GET DOWN IN ALL SORTS OF FUNKY WAYS... ------------------- : You've Neva Eva : : by wayne : ------------------- Look, can't complain when you stare in my eyes and try to blame (me) you see in the shadows of misunderstanding eyes that catch dirty reprise records on a vector plane of garbled vocabulary that's not necessary to tell the story I'm wanting to convey but today's just not the day for those sort of things anyways. After every sentence I've still got nothing (to say) I'll remain hung up, stuck, fucked, drugged, but being hugged wouldn't be the same after that. She's not even looking after me when I scream really loud in pain only to complain about the blame being shifted from place to place the same kinda way I took this word with that one and melded them into another because my brother used to do this trick where (are you ready for this) a steamliner would hit the streamline (lakeview even) consciousness, 'specially when he was real pissed, off his rocker shitfaced even, kept him awake with forever by his side, choked up on pride afraid to take the full ride down the block where they used to make their beats walk upside through the alleyways alone at night. (You heard right but...) You've neva eva Taken the chance I just did You've neve eva Pulled a gun on a kid You've neva eva Spent a night on the streets You've neva eva Taken an IV to your meat But neither have I and that's ok, I don't have to mention my skin color for you to know that this is lame, an attempt at sounding profound bouncing my text off the sound of the sunrise late nights on the wrong side of the bed again, hoping the trains won't leave the yards before I get to say good morning... Fuck, I'm horny like a trombone or a trumpet frolicking through the steady notes of a crippled jazzmen grip but I'm not gonna quit, not just yet, not without my sentence properly punctuated, I'm still afraid my message might've just cratered. You've neva eva Taken the chance I just did You've neve eva Pulled a gun on a kid You've neva eva Spent a night on the streets You've neva eva Taken an IV to your meat What's it take to talk dirty tho'? Is it enough cash to pay for a fresh hoe who can tell you what a man you make when she takes it from you in the butt? What? DID I JUST DISS YOUR STYLE!?! WHEN YOU TAKE THAT BITCH ON A PROFILE VIEW YOU NEVER KNEW I HAD HER FIRST AND IT WAS THE WORST, I'VE HAD BETTER WITH BUTTER AND BRITTLE OLD LADIES BATTLING UPSIDE DOWN LIKE THEY DO IN THE NUDIE MOVIES YOU'RE NOT OLD ENOUGH TO SEE SO JUST WATCH ME DROP MY DRAWERS AND GRAB MY WEE WEE WHILE I PEE PEE ON THE SEAT YOU WERE ABOUT TO TAKE AT THAT FANCY AWARDS CEREMONY. YOU BET I'M JEALOUS THAT I'M NOT MANUFACTURED CAUSE I'M AS REAL AS THE AIR YOU BREATHE WHILE YOU SLEEP AND DREAM, WAITING FOR ME TO MAKE A MOVE, TAKE AIM CAUSE THEN THAT'S THE END OF THE GAME You've neva eva Taken the chance I just did You've neve eva Pulled a gun on a kid You've neva eva Spent a night on the streets You've neva eva Taken an IV to your meat You've neva eva You've neva eva You've neva eva You've neva eva KNOWN WHEN TO LET A FILE DIE. --------------------- : IN WAYNE WE TRUST : : a memorial by : : tweak : --------------------- Like Wayne, I am fairly new to the textfile scene. Unlike Wayne I am still alive. My previous two statements imply two crimes: one) Wayne and I did not stumble upon textfiles sooner and two) Wayne is dead. Being the brother and roommate of a dead person is kinda weird. Our dumpster hasn't felt the same and it's only been a few days. All of our pygmy tribesmen refuse to dance their magic happy dance to the dumpster gods since Wayne was ganked at the corner where our dumpster is located. He didn't know what hit him. HE'S NO 50 CENT! HE CAN'T TAKE BULLETS LIKE THAT! FUCK 50 CENT ANYWAYS! IT'S ALL ABOUT THE 2PAC MANG! 2PAC WAS A REAL THUG AND LET THOSE BULLETS CARRY HIM AWAY! WAYNE DID WHAT A THUG DID WHEN IT WAS HIS TIME TO GO... I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me... This is all happening so suddenly. I mean it's not OUR FAULT GIR WAS DIVING IN OUR DUMPSTER! HE SHOULDA KNOWN BETTER THAN TO BE TRESPASSING ILLEGAL TO PLAY AROUND IN PEOPLE'S TRASH! THAT'S NOT A VERY POLITE THING TO DO ANYWAYS!!! So what I guess I'm trying to say is that I'm going to miss my brother now that he's dead. He's probably better off in the great dumpster of all great dumpsters. There's probably lots for him to do there right? YOU KNOW WHAT!?! FUCK YOU GIR! I'M OUT OF THIS FUCKING EZINE! IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT THAT MY BROTHER DIED!!! FIRST YOU TRY TO STEAL STUFF OUT OF OUR DUMPSTER AND THEN YOU GET HIM INVOLVED IN THIS TEXTFILE "SCENE" THAT REMAINS MORE SAVAGE THAN ANY GANG COULD BE! I'M GOING TO DISS ANGSTMONSTER AND DECLARE VENGANCE ON FOR MY BROTHER BY STARTING A RIVAL TEXTFILE ZINE AND BRINGING YOU DOWN! YOUR DOUCHEMONSTER HAS SEEN ITS FINAL DAYS! NO AMOUNT OF HAMSTERS OR LASERS CAN STOP ME! --------------- : Surprise Me : : by ch33z-1t : --------------- After reading for many long hours, I have a bunion on my foot. The neverending stream of stupidity that spews from the editor is unbelievable. When will I ever reach mokksha? I AM MISSO FROG, I KICK YOU IN THE FACE, I AM MEAN, I AM RAW, BECAUSE I AM MISSO FROG!! Those four sentences wore me out, so you get this piece of shit sentence. --------------- : Pizza Night : : by oregano : --------------- The waitress left the table with the pizza order on her notepad. Brad watched her walk off and Jess spoke up. "Why do we always have pizza when we go out? Why is there no variety in where we go? Sure we go to different restaurants, but you always insist on pizza." Brad said, "But Saturday night is pizza night, what are we supposed to have?" Jess said, "But that is so silly, you don't have to be a slave to some marketing campaign." "But it is not a marketing campaign, it is just what the night is." Jess replied, "Then why don;t we go out some other night of the week, then we'd be free to get Chinese, or French, or anything but pizza?" "Saturday night is date night. It is out of my hands," said Brad. Jess said, "You are impossible. If you ever want to go out with me again, we have to go somewhere without pizza. I will let you choose whether we go out on a day other than Saturday, other than date night, or if we eat at a place on Saturday that does not have pizza." Brad gulps. Brad does not let the impossibility of the situation interfere with his plans to bed the lovely Jess. Sure it seems impossible, what other night can one date but on but Date Night? The logic is so rock solid that it defies any challenges to the foundation of that wisdom. And Saturday night is as surely Pizza Night as Christmas falls on the 25th. Lets drop in on Brad and Jess a week later, Saturday, on their date. "This is lovely, Brad, a beautiful Indian restaurant. I love Indian food so much, thank you for listening to me and not taking me to get pizza again. I was going to scream if I had one more pizza date with you. Why are you not eating your food? Is there something wrong? What? You did what? You had a pizza before you came out on the date with me?! You pig! You are just impossible, Bradley Hank Davidson, this is too much, take me home right now, I never want to see you again." There is a lesson here. Don't mess with tradition. The End --------------- : Man Vs Dog : : by st0vbold : --------------- What is the difference between a man and a dog? Have you ever wondered about this? I doubt it.. But for me this is an essential question, since there are the most obvious reasons; the legs, tail and fur issues. But also a much more important reason, which most people seem to forget about: The way girls react, when you take dump. Dogs can easily get away with taking a dump in the garden, and the girls just say things like "good boy!" and such. But it's totally out of the question, if you're a man. It's simply not accepted by the general public, and we have to use the toilet, which is ok, as I see it. But when you have finished your business and flushed, you are met by comments like "christ, what have you been eating?", "ewwwwwwww!" etc. but why? What is the difference? I mean, it's shit, right? There shouldn't be that huge a gab between man and dog. We all eat food and shit, it's that simple. It's a well known fact, that what goes inside ones body has to come out eventually. The smell of human and dog shit doesn't really differ that much. I just don't see what the big deal is. But then again.. this is just my little rant about being accepted as equals in the society. After all humans are higher evolved than dogs and therefore should be more privileged. If I want to take a dump in the garden, I don't. I use the toilet for sanitary reasons, and I feel that I should be respected for that. So girls, before you start judging a man by the way his shit smells, think about this. And afterall, your shit stinks too. Well, I guess this is it for now.. I'm just writing this to get a place in angstmonster :) ------------------------- : The Mole Chauncy : : by donnie a. gutherie : ------------------------- Bio: Donnie Gutherie has a collection of animal molars that he has pulled from the carcasses of over 2,000 road kills. He feels that hunting--in its accepted form--is ludicrously unfair. When hunting, Gutherie covers his naked body in deer poo, and, brandishing a butter knife, disappears into the woods of Pennsylvania for weeks at a time. So far he has yet to kill an animal. (However, he seriously wounded a stray cow, but after tracking it for three days, he came up empty handed.) His hobbies also include llama photography (llamas are very photogenic), toad licking (non-hallucinogenic toads only), and greeting card writing. His current greeting card, a birthday card, reads: "Happy Birthday! You're one year closer to death! Soon you will return to the ashes from whence you came, you undesirable fiend!" So far he has sold no greeting cards, but has a collection of over 100,000. He also eats and goes to the bathroom (usually in the morning between 10:00 and 11:00). The Mole Chauncy Michael and Barry Tomaswick were born on April 14, 1975. It was a difficult birth that finally resulted in a cesarean section. When they were finally pulled, kicking and screaming, from their mother's womb, it became apparent why it was such a hard birth: Michael and Barry were Siamese Twins. Most "Conjoined Twins" share organs or limbs. The only thing that Michael and Barry shared was a large, brown mole on their backs. Michael and Barry were lucky; the doctor separated them via removal of their shared mole with no lasting side effects...except for a large scar on each of their backs that looked an awful lot like Abraham Lincoln's profile. Michael and Barry's mother, Kim, kept the mole in a large jar filled with formaldehyde. The mole held a prized spot on the mantle in their house. It too looked a lot like Abraham Lincoln--the mole, not the mantel. Michael and Barry didn't look like Abraham Lincoln. However, their mother, Kim, did. Which brings us to Michael and Barry's father, Grant. How did a man fall in love with a woman who looked like Abraham Lincoln? He didn^Òt. Grant met Kim at a bar in Winsong, Kentucky (birth-state of Lincoln, coincidentally). Grant had nine or ten scotches and, as anybody who has drunk nine or ten scotches can explain, thought that Kim, who looked a little like Abraham Lincoln, looked a lot like Farah Faucett. Consequently, Grant and Kim made sweet and beautiful love in the back seat of Grant's 1973 Pinto Stationwagon in the parking lot of The Sweaty Moose in Winsong, Kentucky. For Kim, it was a dream come true. For Grant, after the myriad scotches wore away and his perception returned, it was like a reenactment of the Lincoln-Douglas debate except with a whole lot less discourse and a bunch more sweaty, blurry sex. After the copulation, Grant saw Kim's gaunt face, sunken cheeks, and overly-large head and he conceded the debate. He kicked Kim out of his car and, after trying unsuccessfully to start his Pinto eight times--which was embarrassing for both Kim and Grant--drove off, puttering up the highway and into Kim's memories, never to be seen nor heard from again. Nine months later, Michael and Barry--and their mole--were born. When Michael and Barry were five, they asked their mother about their dad. She sat them both down and told them, in true Republican style, that their father was a fucking douchebag asshole who sucks cocks and eats his own scabs. She also told them that she hadn't talked to him for years, but the last time she did, he was working as a jizz mopper at a peep show in a porn shop. She told them they were better off without the jizz-mopping fuck face. Barry asked her what a jizz mopper was. She told him to shut the fuck up. At that very moment, Grant was a lieutenant in the United States Army, working as a chemical engineer. Not that it matters, though. Michael and Barry led exceedingly normal lives, except for one small detail. Like the Corsican Brothers, they shared senses. But truly, it was only one sense: The sense of smell. So when, say, Barry smelled some rotten eggs, Michael, no matter where in the world he was, smelled rotten eggs. This was a terrible tragedy for Barry, because Michael had the smelliest bowel movements in the long, smelly history of bowel movements. Kim never met another man. In fact, Kim never had sex ever again. Besides the fact that she looked like Abe Lincoln, she was also very coarse and rude. Except to the mole. The mole on the mantel she treated with love and respect bordering on reverence. The mole could do no wrong (not that the mole did much of anything besides float around in formaldehyde.) Once a week, Kim would take the mole--which she had named Chauncy--out of his jar. She would then clean The Mole Chauncy and the jar then replace its formaldehyde. She would give The Mole Chauncy a kiss on what would be Abraham Lincoln's lips, then replace it gently into its formaldehyde medium. The mole would float for about 15 minutes then sink. Kim thought that meant it was happy. It wasn't. At age eleven, Barry and Michael had an argument about what exactly is a jizz mopper. To get back at his brother, Barry made a mixture of bleach and ammonia and sniffed it till his brother fell into a coma. Michael was in the hospital for two weeks but never woke up. Barry felt terrible about the whole thing; not because he felt guilty about Michael's condition, but because he had to smell the rotten-sick-antiseptic smell of the hospital for two weeks until Michael finally died. After his brother died, Barry never smelled another thing for the rest of his life. One day, when Kim was giving The Mole Chauncy his weekly formaldehyde change, something miraculous occurred. Kim had terribly chapped lips that week, and had been liberally applying ChapStick Medicated Lip Balm. When she kissed The Mole Chauncy before placing it into its formaldehyde, a chemical reaction occurred. The Mole Chauncy's father, Grant, who was, in reality, a chemical engineer for the United States Army, could have told Kim never to let menthol--which makes up 0.6% of ChapStick Medicated Lip Balm--come in contact with amputated blemishes. However, Kim didn't know this. So she put The Mole Chauncy back into his formaldehyde. This time, The Mole Chauncy didn't sink at all. Kim thought that meant it was excited. In it's own fashion, it was. That night, Barry woke up screaming in pain. He rushed into his mother's room. She was watching "Harry and the Hendersons" on cable with the remote in her hand. He told her his back felt like it was on fire. Kim told him to shut the fuck up. Then she asked him if he wanted to grow up to be a jizz mopper, just like his father, because that's where he was headed. Barry said he didn't know if he wanted to be a jizz mopper or not cause he didn't know what they were. Kim told him to shut the fuck up. Just then, Barry fell onto the floor and began to wail. He said his back was melting off. But as quickly as it started it stopped, and Barry got back on his feet, tear streaks drying on his face. And then Barry and his mother heard a muffled voice that appeared to be coming from Barry's back. When Kim lifted his shirt, the voice came out loud and clear: "Four score and seven years ago, our forefathers...." When she saw the lips moving on the scar on Barry's back--the scar that looked a bit like Abraham Lincoln--she screamed. She beat Barry and the talking Abraham Lincoln scar to death with the remote. Then she fainted. At that exact moment, downstairs, on the mantle, in a jar, The Mole Chauncy was undergoing some menthol-induced changes. To this day, there has never been another case of twins that share a sense of smell joined by a mole that looks like Abraham Lincoln. Never ever. When Kim regained consciousness she saw her dead son on the floor. Of course, she wasn't really looking at him; she was staring at the profile of Abraham Lincoln on her son's back that was no longer reciting the Gettysburg Address. She sighed in relief. As she was walking down the stairs to call the coroner for her dead son and Abraham Lincoln, she heard a crash from the living room. When she entered she saw The Mole Chauncy's broken jar on the ground. And there, in the middle of the broken glass and spilled formaldehyde lay The Mole Chauncy, who had miraculously split in two. His two halves were conjoined by a small pink head that looked surprisingly like Woodrow Wilson. When the small pink head started spouting off about the terrible nature of civil rights and about American military and economic interests in South America and the Caribbean, Kim stabbed herself in the throat with a shard from the broken jar. When the authorities found her, The Mole Chauncy/Woodrow Wilson had placed pennies on her eyes and was snuggled up on her chin, complaining about black people in government. Epilogue: The Moles Chauncy were separated from the small head of Woodrow Wilson. They now live relatively normal lives in Greenwich Village where they both work as jizz moppers at Bob's House of Flesh and Rubber. They keep the small pink head of Woodrow Wilson in a jar on their mantel. They're both smart enough to stay far away from ChapStick Medicated Lipbalm. ------------------- : Speaker Selling : : REVISITED! : : by ch33z-1t : ------------------- Well after my last Hamfest experience I didn't want to ever sell speakers again. But after some coaxing from gir, I sucked up my pride and decided to dawn my speaker selling hat. It is a hat that was made entirely from cloth speaker covers. It was a success to say the least. I made so much money this time I decided to make a checklist or a howto list for selling speakers at Hamfest. Here it is: 1. Make a unique speaker selling hat. 2. Make the price very low. 3. Make signs advertising your merchandise. 4. Call out to people as they walk by. 5. Make a catchy slogan. 6. Show you are not above killing someone if they don't buy from you. 7. Always smile. 8. Be sure to always find what the customer wants. 9. Take out all competition. 10. If all else fails, use the speakers as weapons, to take out the Russian Mafia and eat their sandwiches. --------------- : Spider Wars : : by steak : --------------- I just wanted to point out that there is a little known method for having large amounts of fun just sitting, right under your noses. Or more precisely, just above your head. Try it; look up, unless your sitting outside on a wireless network then I imagine that you see the roof. Good, now look into the corners of the roof, what do you see? Cobwebs? Perhaps the occasional spider sitting in it's thrown? Well these very webs, the one's your probably procrastinating over instead of actually getting up on your step ladder and getting rid of, can be wonderful sources of fun, excitement, adventure and really wild things. These humble webs can be the arenas for SPIDER WARS. Forgive the crappy title but believe you me; the idea did not come from some lame version of "Starship Troopers" some spotty nosed brat made up in a film school, I promise, this is the real thing. Nature has never been more terrifying, no wait scratch that, make that entertaining. Make a resolution not to clean the cobwebs, you know every six months or so some one stands up on a chair with a broom handle or vacuum cleaner and gets rid of all the spider webs in the corners of the ceiling. Well don't let them, nurture your kingdoms of arachnoid splendour, let them spread through out your ceilings, even capture daddy long legs from out side and let them free on your roofs to breed and develop. I realise that at this point you probably are thinking this is all a bad idea, especially if you have one of those much-publicised irrational phobias but just bear with me, it will all make sense. When your spider kingdoms have grown to a magnificent scale with many little critters making there home there to sit around all day and watch the goings on far below them, their left over meals scattered about the place (that's their web by the way, not your home) make a map of your premises and map out where each spiders "territory" begins and ends and which webs intersect with which other webs. Then pay close attention to where about said territory owners enjoy taking their mid evening strolls and notice when they venture too close to where any of the other spiders are sitting. If they do happen to get too close then the threatened spider is quite likely to try to defend his/her territory, to the death. And this is where the fun comes in, spider fights are awesome, they jump on top of each other lashing out with all eight (read: E-I-G-H-T) of their legs trying to grab hold of anything they can get, tumbling up side down all over one another and ruining webs as they do it, and all this happens at a blistering 180 degree angle, suspended upside down, it really is crazy. One other really good thing about letting spiders come and start their colonies on your roof is the fact that all kinds of other bugs that's aren't as cool, like flies and my arch nemesis's mosquitoes get caught and devoured by our eight legged friends it's like one big free, organic bug zapper. Rockin! ------------------ : The Making and : : Unmaking of a : : Text File : : by oregano : : and ior : ------------------ Screen capture form #acromp3 channel we were just now upgraded from Winter Strom Watch to Winter Storm Warning Winter Strom (Thurmond) Warning :D what a brilliant idea we really should institute that warning along with Winter Rummy Warnings write it as a txtfile, you can still make the angstmonster.org deadline for tonight ahahah yikes haven't done that in a while but oregano it was your idea i can't steal it from you it was my typo your idea Winter Storm Watch is what I meant to type no you didn't don't lie if you don't want to write it, just say so i have no problems with writing it but i am certain you would do a better job I have no idea where you are going with the idea nor do i since it was yours :p you can read the file I *did* write tomorrow morning or you can write another and i can read two ior, if you write a quick outline of this, I will write the file and even give you a co-writing credit um define "quick outline" just write a paragraph explaining your ideas for the text file, and I'll add my stuff and flesh it out the problem is that you are assuming i have an idea for a textfile you only have a title? i have only your typo : :p "winter strom warning" and "winter rummy warning"? I really do not see a file in that nor do i despite my inebriation okay, we shall let it drop ------------------ : Explinizzation : : by gir : ------------------ A near death experience can change a person. I'm sure the full out dying thing is pretty drastic too, but my story deals with a near death experience. One that happened to me tonight while I was trying to enjoy some experimental music with a couple of friends. That's right, I was attacked by a performance artist. When you spend the majority of your time rallying for freedom of speech and propagating memes for the unwashed arteest masses, you begin to wonder if they even care. Then when you least expect it, one comes right out and kicks you in the face. WHAT, DO YOU LIKE EXPLAINING YOUR ART TO ME!?! YOU CERTAINLY TOOK TIME AFTER EVERY SONG TO DO SO! But I'm just kidding folks. The band was hella cool and exciting. Punk synth rock (OH LOOK AT ME I JUST MADE UP A NEW GENRE LIKE I WAS SOME SORT OF RECORD REVIEWER) is definitly down with me y0h. Energetic and full of golden shoes! The near death experience however, left me frightened for my life. When you come that close to being kicked in the face by someone with gold shoes you begin to realize that every moment you spend not doing what you love is a wasted moment. So I decided I'd stop writing this file and do what I love: write. As I take a break from this file, I am still writing it because writing is what I dig and do for the passion and all that. Woah, we just broke new experimental ground with this file. It's making me really happy. And when all is said and done, I can't ask for more but a tfile that makes me happy. TAKING US HOME THIS TIME AROUND WORLD RENOWN DANNISH POET ST0VBOLD BUSTING LOOSE WITH SOME ANGSTMONSTER ANIMAL BEATNIK POETRY TIME! Ill tempered badgers running up my legs, furry sensation grows in my brain. Ill tempered badgers biting my sex, furry sensation turns into pain. My knees weaken and I fall to the ground, ill tempered badgers scattered all around. ... æææææææææææææææææææ æ Æfterthought(s) æ æææææææææææææææææaæ Macaroni & Cheese has and always will taste better when milk and cheese is used in the mix, rather than that powered stuff. Ain't nothing like a good batch of mac and cheese to get me going. Then again, if I ate too much mac and cheese I'd probably not wanna go anywhere. Not going anywhere can tire a person out, so I'd probably end up making some more mac and cheese and eating it. I'd gobble it up like a five year old eating pizza at Chuck E. Cheese's. I could stop right there but this issue is best ended with a ANGSTMONSTER fun fact. Ready? FOR HIS 18th BIRTHDAY CH33Z-1T HAD A PARTY AT CHUCK E. CHEESE'S. IT WAS THE COOLEST BIRTHDAY EVER. SO COOL THAT IT COULD ONLY HAPPEN ONCE... JUST LIKE THIS FILE WILL ONLY HAPPEN ONCE. THIS IS THE ONLY EDITION OF ANGSTMONSTER THAT WILL BE NUMBERED WITH A TWO AND A FOUR (IN THAT ORDER) UNLESS OF COURSE WE DECIDE TO RETAKE THE COURSE AGAIN AND HOPE WE COULD REPLACE A POTENTIAL FAILING GRADE WITH ONE OF EXCELLENCE. THAT STILL WOULDN'T MAKE UP FOR THE FACT THAT YOU MISSED CH33Z-1T'S BIRTHDAY AT CHUCK E. CHEESE'S, NOW WOULD IT? _____ / |\ |\ /\ |\ | \ | | |/ |/ < > |/ | * / |_| | | \/ |\ | * 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 24 angstmonster.org 04.07.03 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)