Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine Volume III, Issue 8, AD MCMXCVIII Monday, April 20th, 1998 ISSN 1482-0471 ------------------------------------------- I'm sure that you will find your soul mate someday... Somewhere out there, there is... well either a shepherd, or a souvlaki chef who you can start a life with. I can see it now ~~~~~~~dream sequence~~~~~~~ Seven little goat-man thingees runnin' around, wondering if they should be offended when the other children call them "kids"... a burly Greek man sweating while creating the Friendly Greek's new "Tatziki Sauce"... and Leo balled up in the corner wondering where it all went wrong..."Mmmeeehh, MMMMMmmmmeeeeehh, (cough--hack--hack) Its all because of that French Goat Whore junkie from New Orleans. Damn you...." He waves his fist. "Damn you......" And fades away. ~~~~~~~end dream~~~~~~ -- IMPROV ------------------------------------------- While I often wish to support euthanasia for idiots, I then stop to think that if there were no idiots, the rest of us would look stupid... -- Lilith DemHareIs ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial 2. Political Correctness 3. The Spice Girls are brilliant 4. PURSUING MOODS to Tracey Hilkey 5. Is your fly open? ------------------------------------------- This week's Golden Testicle award: Elmo doesn't like to be tickled. (And no, it's not the one from Sesame Street.) http://http.tamu.edu:8000/~kcv5938/elmo.html ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial by Leandro INSTRUCTIONS, even when clearly written, seem to be impossible to follow, for some people. After our last issue of CoN, many users wrote back complaining about the size. In fact, CoN Issue 7 was probably one of the biggest issues ever, passing the 60K mark, rather than following the usual 25K average. Anyway, writing back and complaining is not a problem. User feedback is always welcomed here and it is a way to determine where we went wrong and prevent from repeating the same error twice. In fact, this time we learned that CoN should maintain it's “short and nasty.. err.. sweet” attitude. Some of the e-mails we had received complimented us, others where not so polite, and a few more wanted off the list. Now, unsubscribing from CoN should be easier than slicing a loaf of sliced bread (1). Now, we'll gladly help a user out if he or she is having trouble removing themselves from the list, however, on a normal situation we cannot sit there and manually remove everyone who writes us so. This is why we provided an automated subscribing/unsubscribing service. The instructions on how to unsubscribe are at the end of this issue. In fact, they are at the end of every issue. And since the majority of people can't spell the word “unsubscribe”, we've changed the e-mail address that handles this to “leave”. Of course we never expected people to read the entire zine and discover the helpful, clearly written instructions on how to remove themselves from this distribution list. Therefore when a user first subscribes, he receives a welcoming message that informs them, of all things, how to unsubscribe. And for those particularly lazy, replying to the welcome message will get them removed from the list as well. What more could you ask? Well, apparently this is not enough. Several e-mails of extremely rude, and particularly ignorant former readers arrived, first cussing the fact that CoN was suddenly too long, and that they wanted off this list immediately since they didn't recall subscribing in the first place(??!). I'm not surprised of this too much. In both my jobs, I have to deal with plenty of individuals, may they be people I work with or for, or just plain customers, that don't reason. They may be standing right in front of the milk section, and they will still ask where the milk is. The shopping carts are of the type where you insert a quarter to free them, and even though instructions (on each cart I may add) graphically explain the correct procedure to insert the quarter, people still sit there struggling, while complaining that freeing the buggies is too hard. I can only raise my eyes, and shake my head... THE LAST DINOSAUR – okay, it was too long. Some people told me they didn't read it in fear it might've sucked at the end. So, my question to the readership is... how many people have actually read the whole thing? I'm curious to find out. ALT.SPAM – Spam will significantly decrease in your mailboxes. After the last ISP has cancelled it's contract with CyberPromotions, one of the biggest spamming sites on the net, its president Samford Wallace(aka Spamford) has finally abdicated. Mr. Wallace apologized for what he has done, after realizing the damage he had been doing to the virtual community of the ‘net. But even as this giant has been stopped and new bills are being decided to put an end to illegal soliciting, spam will not just go away. For further info on these stories, visit the following links: http://www.techweb.com/wire/story/TWB19980413S0020 http://www.techweb.com/wire/story/TWB19980416S0009 http://dailynews.yahoo.com/headlines/human_interest/oddly_enough/story. html?s=z/reuters/980416/odd/stories/spam_1.html This marks the end of this week's editorial. Special thanks to all of those that have helped, without who, this issue would never have seen the light. And thanks to those that just didn't unsubscribe because one story was a wee bit too long. Have a great one. -- (1) Sliced bread is obviously already sliced. What we are trying to say is that unsubscribing from CoN is an easy thing to do, not the next best thing to sliced bread. Let's get our facts straight here, eh! ------------------------------------------- 2. Political Correctness by IMPROV Last night I was coming home from a hockey game with my girlfriend, when I witnessed something that I thought was non-existent in today's politically correct world. Sitting near the back of the streetcar in Toronto late a night is always an experience, to say the least. But tonight was remarkably disturbing. We were just sitting there engaging in our usual mindless, but important to us, conversation, when a two gentlemen sat down beside us. One of these men was obviously intoxicated, severely. No big deal on the Toronto Transit Commission. Now, for future reference (and not because I'm racist) these men looked to be from an African nation, specifically Somalia. This will be important later, trust me. Just to clarify the situation we'll call the intoxicated one... Norm and the other guy... Cliff. Okay? Good. Out of the blue Norm starts to yell something incoherent... kind of in an accent that I can only describe as French-Jamaican, “Bahhsstahhrds... Bahhsstahhrds!” Oh I get it he's saying “Bastards” I think to myself. Okay, no problem someone has pissed this fine drunk off. Then I realise who it is, because in amongst the “Bahhsstahhrds” I hear a “Fahhgetts”. And I realise that there is a gentleman in front of us with his arm around another man. Now my girlfriend and I are in shock... is this really happening? I'm thinking... I wanted to elbow smash this guy in the face, I'm not gay but I have friends who are and if they want to show their affection to each other in public, so be it! I mean, Christ, if my girlfriend and I can, why can't they? But it doesn't end there, this drunken ass has the nerve to go up to them and ask if they're gay!! The two guys said that they were. Norm starts telling them that they're strange and are sinners. At this point my girlfriend and I are now hoping that these two gentlemen stand up and pulverise this piece of shit, and we also notice that the guys that Norm has a problem with are huge. Even better. But I'll give them credit, they did not stoop to this lower life form's level and stayed calm. They told him to be quiet and sit down. He complied to the later. As they are getting off we notice they are not alone. They have a friend with them. A friend that is even larger then them and clad in leather (you know, the kind of guy you'd find in the Blue Oyster bar). One of them turns to Norm and says (ever so classily, I may add), “If you still have a problem, step off the streetcar.” We were like, “Yeah... gotta love that.” Norm does the schoolyard stare down and watches them as the streetcar sped away. But continues his little tirade. He goes so far to tell me, “Thohhse guhs thay were GAYS, GAYS, y know fagghhets?” I tried to ignore him, but I couldn't. (This is where the fun begins.) A loose transcript follows: Imp: Yes they were, but so what? Norm: You approve of this? I: Who am I not to? Who are you not to? N: You are very strange, sir...very strange. It's not right. (By this time I've turned around and find myself nose to nose with this waste of flesh, and the back of the streetcar is now empty except me, my girlfriend, Norm and Cliff.) I: Maybe I am strange... N: In Africa this is not accepted... it is your society that this is accepted... not mine. (Well now... we do have problem now don't we?) I: Excuse me? This is not wrong. (Finally, Cliff speaks up) Cliff: It is a sin... a sin against the Lord N: Yes you read the bible?... You know Sodom & Gomorra? C: (Gesturing to my girlfriend) Is that your girlfriend? N: Are you gay? I: This is my girlfriend yes C: You are a good man. (Now, there is no way I want these fuck-ups to think I agree with them) I: But just because I'm not gay, doesn't mean I think its wrong N: You are very strange... It is a sin I: WHEN did God say it's a sin to be gay? C: It's God's commandment. I: Really? Which number commandment is this? N: You know what happened to Sodom & Gomorra? You know? I: Yeah, they were destroyed. N: That is correct, and you know. (I interrupt) I: You tell me why, where does it say specifically that it's because of homosexuality... tell me!! (Without being able to quote the Good Book he changes the subject and is back on the your society thing) N: In Africa, this is not accepted behaviour... it is your country... (All right, the redneck in me is now wide-awake!!) I: Well then maybe you should have stayed in Africa... N: Excuse me? I: You come to this country and expect to practice any religion you wish and are free to do so... who the hell are you to tell others how to live? Time for these boys to get off (thank God). Back to the school yard stare down, this time with me, though. He gets off... stand on the corner, still staring... so I flipped him the bird. How nice it would have been to beat the hell out of this guy, but what would that have proved? I'm just appalled that it happened. I applause the gentlemen who were took the brunt of this guys attack. I applaud them for their patience and the fact that they could walk off that streetcar with their heads held high. Because, if there is a God, I'm damn sure he appreciates their civilised reaction to Norm's barbaric thoughts, views and the way he dealt with them. ------------------------------------------- 3. THE SPICE GIRLS ARE BRILLIANT By Jason MacIsaac It's fashionable now to bash the Spice Girls, which greatly puzzles me. If Einstein were to come back to life, would you make fun of his accent? If Socrates walked the streets of your present-day city and contemplated the nature of being, would you tug his beard or splash mud on his toga? Of course not. Like the Spice Girls, these people are some of the greatest thinkers the world has ever seen, and they deserve our respect. The problem is, while the theories of Einstein and Socrates have been considered, examined, re-examined, indexed, expanded on, and deconstructed, nobody has taken time to get to the bottom of the complexity and genius that is the lyrics of the Spice Girls' songs. It is the purpose of this treatise to examine these lyrics and place them in their proper intellectual context. That no-one has done this before is a severe artistic oversight. It would be like leaving a play of Shakespeare unread. Like leaving a theory of Carl Sagan unexplored. Like not eating that pile of toppings that builds up at the bottom of the pizza box before you throw it out. You know--how sometimes you take a slice of pizza, and the toppings slide off and they get on that cardboard thing that looks like cardboard corduroy, and then solidifies? Anyway, here is the Spice Girl signature song, a searing indictment of Totalitarianism, called "Wannabe." Wannabe Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want, So tell me what you want, what you really really want, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want, So tell me what you want, what you really really want, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really really really wanna zigazig ha. COMMENT #1: It is here the we first see the Spice Girls' concerns over Totalitarian regimes. The theme does not develop fully until later in the song, but in retrospect, this verse takes on a sinister meaning. In George Orwell's masterpiece 1984, the nightmare regime of Ingsoc and Big Brother demanded citizens whose minds were utterly malleable. Their only knowledge was what the ruling party wanted it to be. In the final chapters of the novel, the protagonist Winston Smith, having been re-educated through gruelling mental and physical torture, is left completely as a party puppet. Winston's knowledge is entirely dependent on what the Party tells him. When last seen, Winston cannot answer the question "What is 4+4?" because he didn't know what the Party answer was. The lyrics of "Wannabe" play out an eerie echo of this scene. Here, there are two distinct voices. One is demanding what the other wants, the other is attempting to answer. However, the ultimate answer is a nonsense lyric "I wanna really really really wanna zigazig ha," suggesting that the second voice doesn't know. In Orwell's novel, Winston's torturer O'Brien forces Winston say that he doesn't know the answer to the question "What is 4+4?" This is the first step in Winston's re-education. Eventually, O'Brien succeeds after much torture and the repetition of his question. The repetition in this opening verse "So tell me what you want, what you really really want," also suggests interrogation. We speculate that they really want something, too. If you want my future forget my past, If you wanna get with me better make it fast, Now don't go wasting my precious time, Get your act together we could be just fine COMMENT #2: Here, the idea of Totalitarianism as envisioned by Orwell becomes more prominent. "If you want my future forget my past." The residents of 1984 were frequently asked (told) to forget things. For weeks they would be told about a hated enemy, and how the armies of the Party were fighting valiantly against it. Then, suddenly, not only would the hated enemies be friends, but they always had been friends, according to the Party. Citizens were expected to accept these facts without question. Sometimes they would be told two entirely contradictory facts at once, and expected to see no incongruity. There was even a term for it- Doublethink. "If you wanna get with me better make it fast, Now don't go wasting my precious time, Get your act together we could be just fine," sounds suspiciously like a Big Brother-issued threat (i.e. "Conformity is the safest course of action, do it now.") I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want, So tell me what you want, what you really really want, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really really really wanna zigazig ha. COMMENT #3: See Comment 1. Note, though, the repetition. CHORUS If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends, Make it last forever friendship never ends, If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give, Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is. COMMENT #4 It is possible that "lover" is meant ironically. In 1984, there were ministries, each ironically named. The Ministry of Truth, for example, was charged with feeding the public the lies. The Ministry of Love was a centre of hate and torture. "If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends" could refer to the fact that O'Brien traps Winston Smith into revealing his subversive attitudes by pretending to head up a faction of resistance. Perhaps it was a subtle, coded warning from the Spice Girls. "Make it last forever, friendship never ends" could be a chilling and satiric commentary on O'Brien's vision of human history as being a boot coming down on a human face-"forever." What do you think about that now you know how I feel, Say you can handle my love are you for real, I won't be hasty, I'll give you a try If you really bug me then I'll say goodbye. COMMENT #5: If you picture this verse as being said by O'Brien as he reveals to Smith that he has always been on the side of Big Brother and is now about to become his torturer, asking if Smith can handle his "love" (bearing in mind the real purpose of the Ministry of Love), we see here the Spice Girls retelling the elimination of Wintston Smith's rebellious thoughts. "If you really bug me then I'll say goodbye." Naturally, Big Brother had no qualms about eliminating subversives through force. Yo I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want, So tell me what you want, what you really really want, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really really really wanna zigazig ha. COMMENT #6 See Comment #3. Again, repetition. REPEAT CHORUS So here's a story from A to Z, you wanna get with me you gotta listen carefully, We got Em in the place who likes it in your face, we got G like MC who likes it on an Easy V doesn't come for free, she's a real lady, and as for me you'll see, Slam your body down and wind it all around Slam your body down and wind it all around. COMMENT #7: The language of 1984 was Newspeak, issued annually in a dictionary ("From A to Z"). Newspeak is unique in that it is the only language that got smaller as time went on. The Party wished to eliminate diverse thinking in order to reduce the intelligence of the population and the possibility of rebellion. "We got Em in the place who likes it in your face"-could be another reference to O'Brien "boot on a human face" analogy, or to the harrowing torture scene where O'Brien threatens to let a rat into the cage covering Winston's face. The use of initials in this verse also serves to demonstrate the purpose of Newspeak. Instead of using full names, such as "Emma" and "Victoria," they are given condensed versions-many of them one letter. In the book, the example of the word "good" is used to demonstrate the Newspeak in action. Rather than use the opposite term "bad," Newspeak uses the word "ungood," effectively excising a word from the English language, and very nearly the entire term. Think of the damage caused by the reduction of names to a single letter-"V" could be short for "Victoria," "Viola," "Violetta," any number of names. All of them are no more, thanks to Newspeak. It has succeeded in annihilating not just words, but personalities and individuals-just as the Party desires. We even see its effectiveness-the singer is unable to complete the "who likes it on an" line-she is confused, unable to make a coherent thought-again, precisely what the Party wants. REPEAT CHORUS If you wanna be my lover, you gotta, you gotta, you gotta, you gotta, you gotta, slam, slam, slam, slam Slam your body down and wind it all around. Slam your body down and wind it all around. Slam your body down and wind it all around. Slam your body down zigazig ah If you wanna be my lover. COMMENT #8: The final line echoes the predicament of Winston Smith. Re-educated by Big Brother, he is unable to answer the question "What is 4+4?" Writing the question out, he is forced to leave it blank. The last line of the song is very similar. The question as to what one must do to be her lover is left blank. Another victim of the Party. CONCLUSION: As we can see, once the lyrics of the song are dissected, the true meaning becomes clear. While it might be hard to accept that five girls wearing strange shoes are capable of such insight, there it is, for any that care to look. I am greatly indebted to Spice Master's Spice Page (http://web.globalserve.net/~gbell/) for the lyrics to "Wannabe" ------------------------------------------- And now for something completely unusual: Solider: My God, look at all the sheep! Corporal: They're heading right for us! Sergeant: Squad, on your own time, FIRE! (Machine guns rattle, sound of sheeps being massacred by the truckload) Soldier: There's too many! They just keep coming! Sergent: Fall back!! Everyone fall back now! Sheep: BAAAAAAAA!!!!!! Soldier: ARGGGGGGRGGGGGGGGGG! HELP! ARGGGGGH! Corporal: It got Riggs! It got Riggs! Die you MOTHERFUCKER! Sergeant: Fall back now, that's an order! BIG HUGE, LUMBERING SHEEP CASTS A SHADOW OVER THEIR POSITION. Giant Sheep. BAA. Sergeant: (whispers) Oh my God. Look at the size of that sheep. A SCENE FROM "STARSHEEP TROOPERS" by Jason MacIsaac ------------------------------------------- 4. PURSUING MOODS To Tracey Hilkey By Christopher Stolle i hear footsteps following me or maybe i'm following them but in the early morning, when everything is quiet and it seems no one is around, there's enough aroused to scare me into believing it's afternoon and i should be somewhere else, doing things normal people would do in the later stages of a day, but instead i find myself keeping watch on a world that won't sleep alone because in the flickering night sky, this planet makes love with various massive bodies that float in its atmosphere and still, and still i listen for those footsteps to remind me that i cannot escape from being followed and i cannot stop following someone although i do not see anyone there's no touch, no voice and there's just a sound trying to tell me something about this path i take, about myself and how it cannot be sane to wander blindly behind invisible footsteps or realize footsteps are walking hand in hand with my tracks, with my frustration that swells in my feet, that lingers in my face, that travels through my tunnels to seek that shimmering light but i cannot cut myself to let blood force out my indelible hatred, to taste an inner freedom that gropes for an opportunity to feel like a normal shadow walking in front of the pack, not behind where footsteps rattle the staircase and i am confident, in rare form, to shout for someone to step forward, reveal that he is that constant in my life, this imaginary friends i've spoken with since i was seven, since i fell into desperate hallways inside school buildings that helped trap myself within my invisible cosmos, where words on paper gave me shelter gave me something to savor when underestimated forces swallowed me whole, to digest me inside their stomach tract where i found myself surrounded by people without faces, without voices, without any markings to distinguish one person's fears from another's but we felt safe, we could share feelings with just words written down and when we finish this digestive process we can, i can again hear footsteps made by an imaginary friend or some wingless guardian angel that can comfort only through telepathic means, that motivates through photosynthesis, needing nothing but someone to believe in them and i believe in footsteps that guide me to somewhere that i can feel secure with my voice, my face and with those scars only i can see on the membranes inside and i'll secure faith in what spirituality rests, or works, in my poems because that's where my happiness waits for me to take control and forget about footsteps that lead, footsteps that follow me endless journey nowhere because the best footsteps are those i strategically, those i confidently place for others to examine how i paced myself in trying to deal with everyone's footsteps April 2, 1998 "Then I found myself alone, hopin' someone would miss me." - Cat Stevens Visit my dying, listless website here -- http://php.indiana.edu/~cstolle My chapbook is here: http://members.tripod.com/~johnniebbaker/chris.html ------------------------------------------- 5. Is your fly open? Or “Tiny little aliens inside a fly suit” by William (Purple Rabbit Runners Organization) [Editor's note: at the end of each issue of CoN we have a saying, a quote or a question. This is done in part to aid our sanity and to provide diversity all the way to the end, but also to see how many people actually read CoN all the way to the very bottom. So... in our last issue there was a simple question: is your fly open?] > Is your fly open? Why, yes, it is. Took me three weeks to figure out how, though. First, I had to catch the damn thing. do you know how hard it is to catch a live fly? Up and down, back and forth, then it lands to rest, and you think you've got it, and zip! it flies the opposite direction you wanted. I tried everything I could think of, even the venus flytrap, which sorta worked, but then I couldn't get it opened, and the fly was digested by the trap. Then, after losing a short battle with a can of whipped cream (I lost), I figured it out. I went to the local fast food place (yeah, bugs eat there too) and waited until after closing. I locked myself in the restroom, knowing they wouldn't bother me, they never clean them. I spent the next two hours sealing off the bathroom, and then ran the hose from the nitrous tank in my backpack under the door, and opened the valve. After about 4 minutes I heard an odd thud, and decided to empty the tank. I opened the valve all the way, and a couple minutes later the hissing stopped. I took a deep breath, cut the seals from the door, and opened it. My quest was successful. Around the nastiest trash cans were dozens of flies. I gathered them up and put them into a salad container with clear plastic lid, and took a quick look around. the thud had me wondering what happened, and I found the night manager asleep on the floor, money scattered around him where it fell as he passed out from the nitrous. He was still alive, so I stripped him bare and laid him on his back. I took one of those ice cream cones and covered his privates (not much to cover). After taking a couple polaroids for later use, I gathered up my flies and left as he began to awaken. Then there was the task of sorting the dead from then living. The flies were more succeptible to the gas than I had thought they would be, and most were dead. Or maybe it was the nasty lettuce that killed them. I seperated the living into little film containers with holes and peanut butter on the lids, then closed them up. Now, I realised I didn't have any tools small enough to open them with. I had an old microscope that my parents gave to me when I was in school, but was never used for it's intended purpose. I guess this didn't qualify either, though. I started off gluing a fly down onto a slide, but the damn thing wouldn't keep still and drowned in the Elmers. the second one, I used a very thin layer of glue, which glued the wings down nicely, until one broke as the fly attempted to escape. Now it was useless to me. The third one I tried some sort of superglue on. Didn't quite have the expected result, the glue turned the fly into a rock hard lump. Really gross. After giving up on this method, I turned to my VCR for some mindless entertainment (I get some of my bestest inspirations this way). I was watching Independance Day, AKA ID4, and the scene where the pilot punches out the alien in the crashed ship came on. This started me thinking, and when they opened up the alien suit I figured it all out. Why these voices had been telling me to do this all along. Flies weren't really insects at all, but tiny aliens in little flying suits trying to destroy us one by one, by playing around in dirty places, then walking on our food, trying to make us sick. That's why they are here. So, taking my cue from the movie, I made a tiny little glove, got my next fly, and punched that sucker out. Only I hit him too hard, and his little head just flew off. Oops. So I got the last fly out. Punching went better this time, only knocked him out. I decided to go back to one of the earlier methods, since he wasnt moving, and glued him down to the slide. Once I got him in view under the microscope, I could see what he was made of. Flys aren't flys at all, but are actually little transport devices for the aliens inside! Flying Aliens! But I had to see more, which wasn't possible with my cheap little microscope. I got a job at a med lab, where they take samples of what ails you to be looked at under a really good microscope. After about a week there, just when they were about to fire me, I grabbed the biggest microscope I could find and hauled it home. Upon closer inspection, I could see this was no simple bug. He had antennae, but tehy were metal, and I can only assume they are meant for communicating to other aliens so organised assaults can be launched. Their legs are very complicated, with little suction cups for feet that make them look really weird. He was also covered in a protective suit, which I then procededed to attempt opening. It was resistant to all my efforts, tweezers, razor blades, even tiny explosive charges made from mathes failed to get this suit off the damn bug. I got pissed, and threw the microscope at the wall, and the slide flew out, hitting the wall, leaving a little yellow stain where it hit. I took a closer look, then set the thing back up, realising I may have figured out teh problem. I put the slide back in and looked, there it was. YES! My fly is open! Be careful when opening flies, sometimes what comes out of them smells really bad, and carries diseases. _________ "There's a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line" -- Oscar Levant I need to find a more suitable host body. ------------------------------------------- CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org. pourquoi ICQ est le démon Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine "media you can abuse" In memory of Father Ross "Padre" Legere Published every second Monday (or when we get around it) Disclaimer: unintentionally offensive Comments, queries and submissions are welcome http://www.capnasty.org ISSN 1482-0471 A bi-weekly electronic journal. Subscriptions available at no cost electronically. Available on Usenet newsgroups alt.zines and alt.ezines. This mailing is sent exclusively to those poor souls who chose to subscribe to the Capital of Nasty mailing list. Spread the word! If you have friends who would like to receive CoN, ask them to send email to join@capnasty.org. If you'd like to unsubscribe because such email aggravates your Spice Girl intolerance, simply send an empty message to leave@capnasty.org. Brought to you by C.C.C.P. (Collective Communist Computing Proletariat) Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro Colin Barrett ZimID 708EC8D1 1994/09/14 EC B0 97 59 1D FE 7C 32 7E 04 2C 66 47 41 FB 7D