Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine Volume IV, Issue 5, AD MCMXCIX Monday, March 15, 1999 ISSN 1482-0471 ------------------------------------------- "I don't like anything that takes more than a shotgun shell to stop." -- A comment, in regards to giant African spiders that require two shots to die. ------------------------------------------- "God only knows what I'm up to and even HE regrets knowing it." -- Away message. ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial 2. Cannibalism, Roman Catholicism, and Mr. Potato Head 3. "Dear Mr. xxxxx" 4. Depression 5. When things are going just TOO well 6. Reasons to look FORWARD to depression ------------------------------------------- This week's Golden Testicle award: Christian Guide to Small Arms http://www.frii.com/~gosplow/cgsa.html ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial By CoN Staff Welcome to Issue 5 of CoN, only a whopping week late. Last Monday, after hours of dreadful homework, I realized that CoN was due. I looked into the CoN directory to see how the issue was going and noticed that I hadn't even started it. "Oh well, tomorrow". The "oh well, tomorrow" kept going as I was finishing assignments to prove further examples of my constant growing idiocy in school, that a whole week rolled by. And another probably would've if I did not force myself to finish this before passing out on my bed. My apologies. I hope you'll enjoy this issue, while I keep the Editorial extra-short. There have been quite a few submissions from the readership and if only a few of the stories are appearing now is my entire fault. Not enough time. Too much on my plate and an average of 100 e-mails a day arriving in my box that I haven't been able to sot out yet. It's insane. Our next issue of CoN, for the joy of women (or not, when they read my article) is about "all men are scum". CoN invites any women out there subscribed to our humble zine to share their views and stories with the rest of us. Until then, thank you for your support. ------------------------------------------- 2. Cannibalism, Roman Catholicism, and Mr. Potato Head By Jason MacIsaac (Connections, James Burke, top that!) The other day I was in a local Burger King, and I started thinking about cannibalism. Oh don't worry, they won't sue us. I'm not implying that Burger King uses human flesh in its burgers, so the lawyers can settle down. The fact that I was in a Burger King and the fact that I was thinking about cannibalism are purely coincidental. The lawyers may wish to stick around for the part where I postulate that cannibalism is a more pleasant alternative to eating at Burger King again though. Anyway, I started really thinking about cannibalism, because there was some artwork in BK depicting it. You see, they have this promotion with the Mr. Potato Head toy. If you order some kids meal or other, you can pick from one of several Potato Head toys. One of the toys was drawn on a small placard. It showed a presumably wind-up Mr. Potato Head chasing a bag of french fries. I realize there are all sorts of additives and chemicals in fast food, but it doesn't change the basic fact that french fries are made from potatoes. And when Mr. Potato Head chases the bag of fries with that hungry look on his big-nosed and mustached face, they are depicting a character expressing a desire to commit cannibalism. This is actually fairly common in the food industry. For some reason, restaurants, food suppliers and super markets love to show things like cartoon turkeys encouraging you to buy a certain brand of turkey meat. Pigs salivating over a skillet of bacon. Pickles serving other pickles on a tray to hungry consumers. Does this not strike anyone else as being extremely gruesome? Here we have a creature celebrating the demise of its own race. Picture a cartoon of a roly-poly jolly man chasing a plate with a roast human thigh on it. That's the equivalent! Of course, this practice actually does occur, albeit it in a more solemn forum. Roman Catholics, for example, practice a kind of symbolic cannibalism. Every time the priest raises that little wafer and says "Take this all of you and eat it, for this is my body," the idea is that this is now a piece of the body of Christ. And let's not forget the wine. It's supposed to be Christ's blood. You must be starving! Tuck in! The idea of consuming your own God is actually a fairly deep one. Most Gods aren't like that. Most of them get all prissy when a mortal so much as yawns during a party in their honor, then goes and turns them into a deer or something. A far cry from actually letting them chow down on their own body. Then it occurred to me, as I ordered my Whopper, that cannibalism actually has a long and proud tradition. First, there is the Catholicism aspect. I've heard that a lot of primitive tribes practiced it, but I'm not sure how much stock to put in that. On the other hand, author Oscar Kiss Maerth actually has a theory that the whole evolution of the species is due to cannibalism. I've never read his book, dramatically titled The Beginning Was the End, but apparently he's dug up evidence that the practice of cannibalism was so widespread throughout the world, that it actually determined the destiny of the human race. Maerth believes that early man liked to chow down on other early men because human brain apparently was an aphrodisiac for them. Eating brains increased intelligence, which he believed was hereditary, and eating lots of pituitary glands helped mutate the species, and we got less hairy. No, I'm not making this up. I'm getting this info from a book in the Great Mysteries series, called Mysterious Monsters by Daniel Farson and Angus Hall. They only have a brief write up, which you're getting further diluted by my careless handling. But that's okay, because the guy sounds like he should be surrounded by rubber walls at all times. But if by some outside chance his theory is correct, and that human beings owe much of what they are to cannibalism, it would explain this Mr. Potato Head thing and why humans apparently don't mind cartoon characters butchering each other in order to promote our foodstuffs. It may also explain why there are some many "____ Ate My Balls" pages on the Internet. It would mean that human beings like cannibalism. But even if that's true, why is the practice forbidden now? Contemporary laws, ethics, and even some of our mythology do not encourage it. Perhaps it's because our choice of meal isn't very attractive any more. I mean, look some our more prominent human beings. You don't want to touch them, much less eat them. I mean, would you eat Bill Gates? There isn't a lot of meat on him to begin with. Plus, he would probably crash your oven. Would you eat the Spice Girls (in the nonsexual fashion)? If they are truly spicy, they would give you indigestion. On the other hand, you could find out if one of them really does taste like ginger. How about William Shatner? It's true he's a ham, but you'd probably choke on his toupee. As I chewed thoughtfully on my Whopper with Cheese and I went over these thoughts, I began to think of movies I'd seen with cannibalism. The first one that came to mind was The Cook, the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover. Helen Mirren is seen naked in the movie, so I thought about that instead. I'd make a play on this whole "eating" thing with Mirren, but that's too easy. She may be getting older, but I still find that woman damned attractive. Mighty fine actress, too. You can keep your damned Jennifer Love-Hewitts, because I Don't Care What You Did Last Summer. Despite the influences of Mr. Potato Head and Oscar Kiss Maerth, I really don't think we're all that into cannibalism. Nah, the driving force behind our evolution has to be sex, because we're always trying to develop new ways to get it. It's worthwhile to note that even the Mr. Potato Head people would seem to concur, because there is a Mrs. Potato Head, and even little Potato Head children. So you know something's going on there. Even if you don't see a placard of Mr. Potato Head chasing Mrs. Potato Head with a stick-on french fry erection. ------------------------------------------- 3. "Dear Mr. xxxxx" By J.L. Break out of your cocoon eh? My how familiar that sounds. All of my friends are always calling me "hermit". They tell me I should get out more, to meet people, instead of sitting at home because "they aren't going to come knocking on my door". But what they don't know or understand is that I have to learn how to be happy on my own before I can be happy with someone else... know what I mean? Maybe we should have a little contest here... how long has it been since you have been on a date? I bet I have you beat. A lot of this is my own doing. I have purposely kept myself busy, (taking classes, etc.) to avoid relationships. The classes were also to improve myself though. It seems like all my life I have been putting things off, for this reason or that, and mainly for other people. That's why I moved up here in the first place. I hated my job in Des Moines, and the plan was to put the ex through nursing school, and then she was going to help me get through school, by getting a nursing job. We were also going to move out west. Well, obviously that didn't happen. And ever since I've moved up here, every woman I have met has been married, too young, or I just wasn't attracted to them. I think that I have finally gotten close to that point, more like my "old" self, but I know I'm still an emotional basket case. I watch TV shows or movies, and the tears just start coming. "Good Will Hunting" for example. I don't know if you've seen it, but, I still can't believe the way that movie got to me. I guess now is the time to explain my divorce. I was married for 3 and a half years. All of them were bad. In retrospect it was a stupid thing to do, and I was pressured into it. I married her because it was the "right thing to do". We were both supposed Christians, and we were living together "in sin". I really loved her, but I was never perfect enough for her. She also believed in speaking in tongues, and other things I couldn't understand, and everything had to be "Christian". All of my friends, our marriage counsellours, even our real estate agent. The counsellour suggested that I wasn't loving enough, and I admit that I was a very angry resentful person. To deal with the stress of our crappy marriage, I took up things like gardening, she took up bar hopping. Still, in the eyes of our counsellour, it was my fault because I wasn't showing her enough affection. I could go on and on, but to cut it short I'll just say that I eventually got to the point where I decided that if being a Christian meant being more like her, and the people that we were associating with, then I didn't want to be a Christian. I never cheated on her. She remarried within 3 months of our divorce. I filed for the divorce, she had a habit of moving out when things got really bad, and one time... the last time she moved out... I called a lawyer and filed. She was possessive, manipulative, and insanely jealous. She went through all of my photo albums and threw away every picture of every female I knew that wasn't related to me. She refused to speak to me until I called all of my old friends and told them that unless they were saved, I could never see or talk to them again. In the end she asked me how I got to be so cold. I couldn't even be myself around my family, because they weren't "saved". She forced me to choose between her and my Christian beliefs, or everyone I'd ever known, cared about or been friends with. How did I get to be so cold? I wonder. Three months after she remarried, and six months after our divorce, she called me and wanted to know if I would take her back. She said, in God's eyes we were never really divorced, and so she really wasn't married to her new husband. I told her 3 things. First she needed to pay me every cent that she cost me in the divorce, including the division of property. Second, that I hadn't loved her for a long time, that I only went to the counselling and things because it was the "right thing" to do, to try to save the marriage, something I told myself ever since I was young, that I would only do once. And last that she was a lunatic and needed some real counselling, not Christian counselling. I never heard from her again, except in a certified letter where she accidentally got my vehicle license tags. It started out with "Dear Mr. xxxxx" ------------------------------------------- 4. Depressed people By Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro I've always been pretty lousy at making people feel better when they are depressed. Part of it has to do with the fact that some people seem to enjoy the eternal state of sadness as they believe it brings attention to them: "look at me, I am so miserable!" and love every one of us that feels pity and sympathy for them. These people's real problem ain't much the dilemma they share with you, but the way they go about to get attention from others. Not sure about you, but when you tell me that your grandfather is about to kick the bucket for the nth time, and he's still chugging along fine for the past two years, you secretly start to wish that sweet ol' granpa gets creamed by a bus. At least you'll have something serious and real for once to whine about and I get to say "hey, shit happens". The other reason is also, what can you say to someone that has been experiencing real life traumas? I mean, I don't think I can make them feel any better by saying to someone who just lost both parents, is in debt up to their ears and kicked out of their house "well, shit happens, make the best out of it". They will kill me. No kidding shit happens. But I suppose just being left alone or listened helps them, somewhat. The other day I was at work. It had been a long, hard day, and I was eagerly awaiting the last 15 minutes of my shift so I could get the hell out of there and enjoy what was left of the day to do something creative. Or at least, that's the theory, as when you get home and you relax, the last thing you want to do is get dressed and go out again. In the aisle I was standing in, making sure everything was in order for the next day, walks in Sandra. Sandra is a young cashier that recently started working at the store, and since her sister works there, she got the job without any problems. Sandra, au contraire of her sister, is one of those young girls that will make you look twice and you feel yourself saying "wooah, down boy - slap slap slap". She is also only sixteen. Which brings me to a point: when I went to high school, girls in my class who were 16 years old looked and behaved as if they were 16 years old. Nowadays, I'm not sure if the girl I am staring at is 16 or 26. You can't tell. You go out to a club, start dancing with someone and the next thing you know, the 25 years old you were body rubbing with could be your daughter. Sandra surely doesn't look sixteen. So I see her staring at me at the end of the aisle with a sad look on her face. "Hey, Sandra, what's the sad look on your face for?" Not a word. She just walks closer and tears are going down from her eyes as if someone left a faucet open inside her head. I wipe the tears off her face thinking "well, maybe I shouldn't have done that, God only knows where my hands have been all day". At least that was the general idea of my thought, as the next thing I know she's hugging me and crying. Was this anyone else I work with and that I know quite well, I wouldn't mind, but as far as I was concerned, the most Sandra and I have said to each other has been "Hi Leo!" to which I reply with a "Hey." and of course whatever question she has in regards to prices or backorders from the warehouse. Not exactly what I'd call stimulating conversation. I am not even holding her. My hands are apart as if I was Jesus re- incarnated blessing his disciples. "What's wrong?" I hear myself say. "My daddy had a heart attack! And this is probably the last one his weak heart can handle" - well, that's terrible. Or at least, it must be. For some reason I am not much shocked of the heart attack per se, but the fact that she's hugging me and crying on my chest. I also felt the need to say something to reassure her, with the hopes she'd let go of me, nobody saw us and the cops wouldn't come and arrest me for indecency with a minor the next morning. "Well, don't worry, things are going to get better!" I said. Had I purposely been thinking hard to say something retarded, I never would've said something that stupid. "Y-you really think so?" was her muffled reply of her face pressed against my chest. "Yes, of course! I mean, he's uh.. weak at the moment and so.. uh.. he needs to relax.. you just have to be there and help him until he gets better and he'll be as strong as a horse again!". Right. Suddenly I began to worry about her face being pressed against my chest. I had been working for 9 hours straight that day, and since one of the freezers had died on us, we had to do one of our typical "toss the box" game. Basically a row of guys throwing boxes from one end to another so that nothing melted. And when you do stuff like this, you sweat. A lot. So for sure I didn't smell pretty. "Why does she insist on keeping her face pressed against my chest? I must smell terrible! Never mind her father!" I know, shame on me. But honestly that was the line of thought that was going through my head. I wasn't really concerned with her dad being on the verge of death and the trauma she might experience being orphan of a father at such young age. I was worried about my clothes drenched in sweat. Finally I found the courage to grab her shoulders and gently pull her away from me. I said to her "life is shit and it doesn't matter how unfair or shitty it seems, it is up to us to make the best of it. If this is happening, there must be a reason which we can't understand. Go, be with him, help him, and make sure he gets better, as bad things come and go". To me it seemed like the biggest pile of shit I could've ever said. I was waiting for her to say "oh, fuck off!" but instead she smiled, thanked me for being so supportive, hugged me again, and left. I watched her hop away with one thought in my head: "only sixteen". ------------------------------------------- 5. When things are going just TOO well By IMPROV Seeing as I have very little time to write an actually article lately, I decided to make a list of things that depress me for this chipper issue.... hopefully some of you can relate, and if not don't be afraid to make a list of your own, because, whenever things are going just too damn good, we all need something to bring us back to earth. So here we go: THE FOLLOWING THINGS DEPRESS ME, IMPROV: Any Olsen twin show. An old man alone on a park bench. A worm stranded on the sidewalk after a storm. An Overtime loss. Long distance prices. Chipped paint. The fact that my mother thinks, "that Jeff Foxworthy isn't just funny, he's wise." Rotten fruit. Carrottop. Death, unless it's an Olsen twin. The M*A*S*H episode where Henry Blake dies, I swear I cry every time I see it. Albinos, no wait, they just creep me out. Jerry Springer's popularity. Unused utensils that gather dust. Drug use. The fact that no one remebers "The Great Space Coaster". People who think, "everything is going to be okay." The realization that I'm no longer innocent. The fact that Night Court isn't in syndication. Missing children, unless it's an Olsen twin. The fact that I hardly talk to my Dad, and when I do...I don't have anything to say. ------------------------------------------- 6. Reasons to look FORWARD to depression By Mescalin Depression, it's so serious. Damnit, it's just not funny for breakfast anymore I should know. I suffer from the rather annoying problem of having a natural facial expression that looks depressed. You know... there's some people that have a naturally worried look when they're just bopping along minding their own business, not thinking of anything in particular. There's some who walk like they're mad and stomp everywhere but they're okay, it's just what they do naturally. And there's Pamela Anderson who looks like a couple of hockey-rink-issued air-horns exploded in her lungs but she's a freak of pop culture that gets fondled on South American beaches and there's nothing natural about her or that at all. Well, personally I just naturally tend to look depressed when I'm just thinking to myself though I like to think I'm as far from it as most humans get. But every once in awhile I find myself lost in a thought of some kind and some UNkind soul will jostle me back to this section of the galaxy with a grin that can only be described as "Teletubby". The following conversation will then quickly ensue: Smiler: Hey, cheer up! Don't look so sad! Me: Huh? What I wasn't sad? I was just thinking of something. Smiler: Well, don't think such unhappy thoughts! Me: No, I was just thinking about something I wanted to do that's all, I tend to... Smiler: (cutting in)Well, lighten up! It'll get done okay! Don't worry! Me: I wasn't sad or worried, I was just thinking... Smiler:(cutting in again) Well, then stop thinking so much, silly! Me: Grrr... Oh, TV what have you taught us? (BTW: Doesn't that lady in the Dempster's bread commercial look like a creepy version of Margaret Atwood enjoying a loaf of bread just WAY too much? This was not the kind of Freudian imagery my mind requires, thank you!) What I have to look forward to in life, of course, is every issue of CoN in my e-mail box like the prize from a box of cereal being Purolatored to my front door. So, of course, I can be thankful that in an issue on depression most people won't be too serious about depression. So without further ado and with the sound of Paul Simon's "Still Crazy After All These Years" playing like cheap supermarket muzak in the back of your head, I would like to present my little contrib to this ish here: The Top 10 Reasons to Look Forward to Depression! 10. Door-to-doorers become afraid of you and your constant insistence on waving the gun wildly while they try to talk. 9. You can cut down on cleaning time when you wake up licking the kitchen floor every morning. 8. The Donnie and Marie show is funny. 7. You'll catch up on all those Rex Morgan, MD daily comics you've never been meaning to read. 6. Wear whatever you want wherever you want and the police always give you a free ride home. 5. No matter how low you go, you'll still never be as grumpy as Rex Murphy. (Canadian inside joke here). 4. It's a great opportunity to join or create yet another end-of-the millennium militia group, get killed on national TV and have your neighbours finally be the first people on TV to say "Oh, we saw it a mile away. S/He was definitely not the quiet type, never kept to themselves, partied all the time, never paid the rent, and we never stopped to do a dang thing about it 'cause we were looking forward to being on a talk show as a well paid guest." 3. Dishes left undone in the sink have been known to become sentient and eat all trespassers of their own free will. 2. Trent Reznor becomes meaningful and Marilyn Manson doesn't seem so silly. And the reason #1 with a bullet is... 1. It's like Bruce McCullough of Kids In The Hall says : "Lay around naked, watch TV, eat corn-chips, and masturbate." Thank you and g'nite! ------------------------------------------- CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org. "Life is a tragedy for those who feel and a comedy for those who think." -Unknown 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 tolerance towards depression, simply send an empty message to leave@capnasty.org. Stunning. 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