Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine Volume V, Issue 2, AD MM Tuesday, February 8th, 2000 ISSN 1482-0471 ------------------------------------------- Computers Make Fantasia 2000 A Reality The difference between creating the original Fantasia and the new Fantasia 2000 (1999) is that much of the new film is created on computers, according to Disney vice chairman Roy Disney. Appearing on CNN Wednesday, Disney, who produced the sequel, remarked: "Now we can add a lot more elements, of course, like if there are bubbles in the water, the computers can make all the bubbles that you want." All of which increases the esteem with which Disney regards the studio's original animators. "One of my more favorite scenes of all time was in Cinderella when she's scrubbing the floor and the soap bubbles were coming up, and the reflections of her in each bubble floating around, all hand-drawn." -- http://www.imdb.com ------------------------------------------- No, [sales reps] don't suck. They all seem to suffer from a horrible illness that prevents them from understanding the difference between fact and fiction. The fact being what can be done, the fiction being what a client is asking for. Client - "Can you get Pigs to fly?" Sales rep - "Oh yeah we can get pigs to fly" Later- Sales Rep to techies - "You guys can make pigs fly can't you?" Techie - "Fuck no, are you crazy? We build TCP/IP networks." Sales Rep (with glaze forming in their eyes)- "Oh..." Even later- Sales Rep to client - "Yeah we can do it" That's why you volunteer to go with them. To make sure they come back with a gig you can actually successfully deliver on. Not some Franken-project. -- From someone who goes by the nickname of "Fuck you" ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial 2. The Car Alarm 3. What's Worse Than Eating A Shit Sandwich? 4. Does Someone Smell a Rat? 5. Sex is not what everyone brags about. ------------------------------------------- This week's Golden Testicle award: Chinese Celebrity Look-Alikes http://www.acupuncture.com/al/look.htm ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial By CoN staff I've been wondering lately if there are actual human beings that work at Internic, or if it's just one big computer that does a quick search on what the e-mail may be saying, vomits a piece of the Internic FUQ and signs every e-mail I get back with a different name. I get my bill. I go to the bank, wait in line 45 minutes, make the money order and mail it out via express, just to make sure it got delivered. Hey, call me paranoid, but I like having hard proof in my hands in case something goes wrong. About a week and a half of this I get a Final Notice letter from Internic. Apparentely I haven't paid for my domain, despite the fact that I am holding the receipt of a money order I've made and of the express delivery. Considering that I could drive in half a day to Internic's building, they should've got the letter about 2 days after I sent it out. But let's be nice, and assume that they just processed the letter automatically without checking. I e-mail internic and billing and patiently wait for a response on the query. None of which, not surprisingly, arrived. So I check their online status for my webpage. The webpage says that I paid everything off. Cool. No more worries. A week after that, I get a letter from Internic's general manager (some mass produced piece of propaganda he probably never read, much less signed himself), on how Internic is upset (boo hoo) that I decided to end my services with them. Okay. So I write to Internic asking just what's going on. Again, hostmaster and billing gets a query from me. Do I get a response? Of course not. Unless you count those automated bot replies a response, which are as useful as a gnat's testicle hair. So I finally give in, call their non-toll-free number (it's toll free only if you are calling, credit card in hand, to pay your bill), sit there and listen to 6 minutes worth of directions, annoucements and stupid menus which bring me nowhere, and when I finally found what I wanted, nobody was there to take my call. This is me calling during business hours on the same time zone. Another long e-mail was sent to Internic today. Tomorrow morning, I'm sure, I'll find a letter confirming my cancellation of the domain. So if you try to reply to this issue and the e-mail bounces back, you have Internic to thank. IGNORE the HYPE writes in regards to the last issue of CoN (and my women's clothes fetish, the prick): Hey Leo, Great issue. Needs a longer editorial though. Run out of people to take the piss out of? Glad/amazed to see that "My Favourite Films Of 1999" by Jeff Wright included the truely entertaining Run Lola Run. Great fucking film! But I disagree with eXistenZ being on there. That film sucked. Cronenberg had to much control and it shows. He's great when working with others but when he has complete control he tends to over-cook. Just my 2 (non)cents worth. Having spoke with you electronically and in person, I don't think you have any problems with English - it's the lisp and high heels I'd be worried about if I were you Regards, neil John Iadipaolo after reading Samantha Craggs' Article, decided to start smoking: Leandro & Co: Great work on the new issue. I'd gone so long without a helping of CoN that I was starting to wonder whether my email server wasn't working (again), but I was most relieved to find the latest issue in my box last week. Samantha's article in particular impressed me. I am not a smoker, nor do I feel particularly sorry for those individuals who know all of the risks associated with smoking, and choose to do so anyways. I could rant on this subject for weeks, but to sum it up, I think smoking is a filthy habit; a waste of time, money and health. However, Samantha- in the very least- made me stop and think for a moment. In her article, she took three of my biggest gripes about smoking and produced compelling, intelligent arguments which I couldn't help but agree with- or at least entertain- despite my convictions. Her arguments have their weaknesses, but if she can score points on a guy like me- who likens smoking to French-kissing the toilet bowl of an overcrowded prison restroom- she must be on to something. Keep up the great work guys, John Iadipaolo And lastly, Josh Bell, despite having him burnt at the stake for his post-editorial editorials, writes a post-editorial editorial: Wow... I haven't read CoN in forever... it's been even longer (yes, longer than forever) since I've replied to an issue. Oh well, here goes. > The brain is a wonderful organ. It starts working the moment > you get up and does not stop until you get into the office. -- > Robert Frost I don't know why, but I always figured Frost was queer. Just one of those things that occur to me from nowhere. > 1. Editorial Be careful talking about the millennium, or the 1900's, or any reference this year, last year, or next year, for that matter. The public will surely find something to argue with you about if you mention the big M word. I prefer to call the next few years the Approxillennium. > 2. Smoking Can Kill You A tree almost fell on my house last night because it was covered in ice. Luckily, it was only my yard and fence that was demolished... for now. (by the way, I live in Alabama, USA for those of you who are wondering where the winter storm is) > 3. My Favourite Films Of 1999 Smokey and The Bandit (1970's) is great. It is the film of the Approxillennium. Some of the movies on the list were great, but a lot of them just sucked out the ass. > 4. New Year I was stoned, baked, fried, simmered, toasted, boiled -- whatever-- and drunk. Looking off this guy's bluff watching for the city to explode. > 5. Carpe fucken' diem. Macacos me mordam. > This week's Golden Testicle award: > > The streetlight is currently red. > > http://www.somethingawful.com/stoplight/ I wish that guy would cut that tree down or whatever. It's hindering my plans for world domination. So there, I hope you enjoy my post-editorial editorial. Hopefully you will receive it looking like I'm hoping it does. J. Bell --- J. Bell has found Jesus! He was behind the sofa the whole time. ------------------------------------------- 2. The Car Alarm By Jason MacIsaac The car alarm has been ringing for about 15 minutes now. I'm living in an apartment in one of the largest and most populated cities in Canada, wearing the clothes I wear to bed. I'll spare you the gory details. Needless to say, it's the middle of January, and although it is way too warm for this time of year, I`m not dressed to go outside. The car alarm has been ringing for about 15 minutes now while I write this. Time enough for me to save my work, get dressed, go downstairs, locate the car with the raging alarm, smash its windows and yank out the radio, check my hair in one of the sideview mirrors, and then walk back up to my apartment. You know, somehow I don't think that the Metro Toronto Car Alarm Taskforce will swoop down on me and drag away me or anyone else off in cuffs. Could you imagine if the police were told to respond to car alarms? They'd say "Yep, sure. We'll do that right after we crack down on those hardened criminals that bring 9 items to 8 items or less counters." Car alarms are marvellous things, if you need something to annoy the neighbours. If your intention is to prevent crime it's somewhat less effective. I understand that most crimes against cars don't involve the actual theft of the vehicle, but the smashing and grabbing of anything valuable inside. This takes about 1.5 seconds, which is kind of lean if you want someone to get there on time to do anything about the crime. I imagine any nifty stickers that proclaim the car alarm manufacturer might deter the less courageous thieves... but stickers cost substantially less than car alarms and they don't wake the neighbours at 4 am. And I'm sure stickers or dumb alarms don't bother the more experienced smash and grabbers. The car alarm is still going as I write this. Now it occurs to me that car alarms serve other purposes too. They also can immediately alert the owners to the fact that an adult cat has jumped on the hood of a car, or a careless skateboarder has bumped into it. I'm willing to bet than in at least 96% of the cases in which a car alarm goes off, it's not because the window has been broken and there's a dark gap in the dash with wires hanging out of it where the radio used to be. I remember once closing my own car door hard enough to set off the alarm of the car parked right next to me. And it's not as if I slammed the door. I've seen a marching band practising in parking lots, and the bass drum alone has sent a car detector wailing. That alarm's still going. It's one of those alarms that has a variety of different noises for maximum annoyance. Wheeoowheeoowheeoowheeoo- oooh ooohh oooh ooh-pheow pheow pheow pheow--whoooop whooop whooop whooop-orina orina orina... repeat over and over again, until the doofus who owns it comes down. Maybe it's because I haven't driven in years and never owned a car, but I don't understand some car owners. A car isn't a cheap investment I understand the need to protect it, but I don't understand why too many drivers treat their cars better than their wives. Or believe that buying something expensive has somehow given them control over nature or the ability to claim land in the name of their vehicle, like some conquistador jabbing a flag into the ground and declaring "I claim this land in the name of Spain" while the natives look on and wonder who this arsehole is. I was an autoshow with some friends once. My admiration of cars is purely aesthetic. Some of them have neat shapes and colours, but then again, so do birds, and I can't name all the families of birds. So while they were talking horsepower and V whatever engines and strokes, I was more interested in the models that had been paid to look pretty and have very little clothing on while standing next to a car. One thing relating to cars actually did catch my attention though. It was a demonstration of a car alarm, in fact. Not like the one I can still hear. This one had some sort of sensor that could detect people close to it. And it spoke! It warned people that they were too close to the car, and if they stayed long enough, it would warn them that it would sound an alarm. Pretty neat toy actually. And it proves my point about the conquistador. So what if I am standing close to your car? What crime have I committed, exactly? You've bought an expensive car and an obnoxious alarm system, and that gives you the right to determine where I can stand? Tell you what: can you look deep within your heart and find it within your soul to stroke it, suck it, then shove it as far and as fast it will go? Can you do that for me? Unless I'm masturbating in front of your car, which is something a person who would buy this kind of alarm would more likely do, I am not doing anything illegal. Hm... doofus must have finally staggered downstairs. The alarm is finally off. Let's not even talk about the mentality that "everybody on the road is an idiot but me" that seems to go hand in hand with driving. Even I thought that when I was driving. But I did remember the basic natural laws that govern our environment. I remembered, for example, that there are seasons, including one called "Winter." For drivers and those unfamiliar with life in the northern climes, we get this interesting substance dropping from the sky we call "snow." It's white, it's cold, it's slippery, and if you're a man, you can write your name in it if there's enough it on the ground. You see, one "snow-flake" by itself tiny and short lived, not significant. They tend to travel in packs however, and when there's enough of it on the ground, roads become slippery, and it can even reduce your visibility if there's still snow in the air. It has snowed in this country every winter for quite some time. Strangely, every year drivers seem surprised that it comes back. "Stupid weather cycles, how dare it snow?" they rave. "Don't you know that I've bought an expensive vehicle with an alarm system that talks to you, in fact it's a far better conversationalist than I am?" As Mark Twain said, everybody talks about the weather, but nobody ever does anything about it. Presumably the now silent car outside my building is surrounded by the city's finest detectives who are trying to determine what set off the alarm. Maybe they found the culprit and he's sitting in a cruiser with metal bracelets behind his back. There might also be a walrus down there explaining the origins of the Anglican church to a curious penguin who's writing a term paper on the subject. Oh fuck, the alarm just went off again. --- Jason MacIsaac needs a ride home. ------------------------------------------- 3. What's Worse Than Eating A Shit Sandwich? by Jeff Wright Scream 3. --- Jeff wants to see Episode 1 again, to get the taste of Scream 3 out from his mouth. ------------------------------------------- 4. Does Someone Smell a Rat? By Mark Driver Random violence is not cool. Arbitrary destruction and aimless vandalism suck, and are sad comments on one's inability to intelligently channel feelings of anger and aggression. I say this not because of some sort of Donnie and Marie family values seminar I recently attended, nor do I take the high moral ground of `wrong for wrong's sake'. I've just been the recipient of enough of this junk to realize that breaking other people's stuff isn't anarchy or chaos, it's petty bullshit that makes life tougher for other people, people you haven't even taken the time to get to hate yet. Far from promoting a sense of anger against The Man, pointless destruction does little more than transform everyone around you into a grumpy asshole who thinks that there should be even more cops on the street. This being said, cleverly targeted destruction is not something I'm all together opposed to. I can't say I agree with sneak attacks on people. Bombs are boring, shootings are unoriginal, and hiding in the bushes, putting a pillowcase over someone's head, and beating them with the claw-end of a hammer is downright cowardly. But if the creative individual can target the property and deal with the enemy on a psychological level, plenty of damage can still be done and no one has to go to the hospital. Prison time, which I highly recommend be avoided whenever possible, is also a lot less of a probability when you go after property. Some might call this revenge, I call it justice. I call it standing up for yourself as a human being. I also call it fun. Now, when I say enemy, I don't mean someone who just pisses you off. The enemy must have fucked you over pretty harshly, or else you're just an unhappy person being petty and stupid. You don't firebomb the guy with 25 items, using coupons for things he didn't buy, paying with a credit card and getting money back in the cash only - 10 items or less line, even though he desperately deserves it.. You don't hire a pack of thugs to dismember the person you had a one night stand with that suddenly won't return your calls; that's your own fault for hooking up with someone lame. You don't destroy a person defending themselves against an attack you started, and you don't send death threats to nice Internet writers whom you happen to disagree with from time to time. Words don't hurt, so don't let them. You must be innocently wronged in a serious way to embark down the path of revenge. Your enemy must be clear, your attack must be personal, your will strong, and your gaze unflinching. And you should make sure everyone else gets a good laugh out of it in the process. Back during a summer of my high school years, I worked as a lifeguard at a city pool in New Orleans. Now, if you enjoy sitting under the burning sun in 100+ temperatures, blowing a rusty whistle at little kids to stop them from drowning each other and keeping the teenagers from drinking beer in the bathrooms while their parents give you alternating lectures on how you're being too mean, too wimpy, and how you look like a slob, I would suggest taking up a career in lifeguarding. It combines the greatest elements of being a janitor, a chemical worker, a plumber, and a traffic cop. 11 hour days at 5 bucks per hour, it just can't be beat. The only good thing that can possibly happen is a thunderstorm, in which case no one's allowed to swim and you get to read until it blows over, but even then you have three dozen surly 10-year-olds nagging you to let them back in the water. Oh yeah, and if anyone drowns you can get sued. Great job. Around this same time, a friend of mine named Pancho was having problems with a bonehead named Keva. Keva was about 6 foot 3, a son of rich parents, stupid as a board, and in love with Pancho's girlfriend. Keva would show up drunk at her house at 3 in the morning and try to break in to see her. He followed her everywhere, and always tried to start shit when Pancho was around. Pancho was pretty stocky, but he was at least a foot shorter that his aggressor and had never been in a fight in his life, so he just put up with it and tried to avoid Keva whenever possible (not too easy when we'd all show up at the same punk shows). As the incidents escalated, Keva actually tried to punch Pancho through the open driver side window of a moving car. Things got out of hand once and for all when Keva ended up punching Pancho's girlfriend in the stomach after she denied him another date. Pancho and I agreed, something must be done. Not only was Keva was pretty big himself, he had tons of big friends who had nothing going for them other than the fact they were big, a condition that usually manifests itself in belligerence, nastiness, and physical violence to everyone else. A frontal attack was out of the question. We needed a weak link in the chain of power. Property. Something that was beloved by the enemy, almost an extension of the enemy himself. We put our heads together. A bit of reconnaissance yielded a target, and synchronized evil smiles spread across our faces: Keva's pride and joy; his brand new BMW 850I. It sat in his parents driveway every night, begging for a little attention. It was up to us to provide that much needed affection. But with so many options, what to do? Two days later, as I stumbled into another day work and opened the fence, I saw that the generous and all-giving Lord provided me with what I needed floating belly up in the pool: 3 and a half pounds of pure, drowned, Louisiana water rat. I fell to my knees and gave thanks, stood back up, got the skimming net, scooped and dumped the dead rodent into an empty airtight chlorine bucket. I sealed the bucket and put it in the back of the guard house to let it `ripen'. The guard house, more of a tar paper shack filled with pumps for the pool, always reached a good temperature of 140 degrees by noon, letting the rat slowly steep in it's own juices. After a day, the guard house started stinking, so I put the pail in 3 plastic garbage bags. That lasted for another day before it started stinking. I put it in a bigger plastic airtight pail, and 4 more garbage bags. It still stunk up the guard house, so I hid the bucket in the woods behind the pool, and forgot about it for a week. When I saw Pancho again, he asked about our plan. "Pancho, Keva's about to get another rat for a friend". We waited until about 2 in the morning, taking the bagged and bucketed rat to a shopping center near Keva's house. Pancho's girlfriend had conned this girl from the city to drive out and help us so no one would recognize the car. I took off the first bags and opened the largest pail. The smell made me gag, it was like rotten garbage boiled in bloody garlic and horseshit. I opened the second layer of bags. The smell got worse. I borrowed some perfume from one of the girls to spray on the collar of my shirt and pulled it up over my nose (to this day, whenever I smell `Paris' I think -'dead rat'). I finally got to the main pail. The smell was unbearable. I left the main pail shut and put it in the trunk of the girl's car. Pancho and I ducked down in the back seat and we pulled out of the shopping center. We pulled up across the street from Keva's house, a white pillared mini-mansion in an upscale neighborhood. His dad was a big man at one of the gas companies, and his mom sat at home and had ugly babies in- between tirades against the minorities, the environmentalists, and the decline of American values (I suppose she was too busy preaching values to raise a son with them). Keva's car was parked in the driveway with the, gasp, sun roof partially open. I said another quiet prayer of thanks, got out of the girl's car, ran around to the trunk, and grabbed the bucket. Pancho ran into the street to serve as lookout. I sprinted over to the car with the sloshing bucket in my hand. I pulled open the lid and looked inside. The rat was hairless and bloated, stewing in about 3 inches of rat water. I grabbed the bucket by the bottom and turned it upside down, dumping its entire contents through the sunroof onto the beige leather interior of the Beamer. As I pulled the pail back, some rat water ran down my arm. I started gagging and threw up all over the outside of the car, no small mess considering how many bean burritos I had choked down at Taco Bell previous to the mission. I grabbed the lid and put it back on the bucket as I ran back to the getaway car. The girls had smartly turned the vehicle around to speed our escape. Pancho was already back inside. I threw the bucket back in the trunk, jumped into the car, and we took off. Everything went without a hitch, the getaway was clean. I, unfortunately, wasn't very clean, so we all drove to the pool and went skinny dipping to celebrate. So what did this act of destruction solve? Not much. Keva freaked out. He and his friends started an inquisition to find out who did the deed, but never got more than a laugh from the people he tried to interrogate. The car was totally ruined. From what I heard, they sold it for cheap and got some insurance money. Keva eventually gave up on Pancho's girlfriend and began stalking another girl who ended up ODing on speedballs while hiding out from him. I haven't talked to him since, but my friends back home said that the girl's death fucked with him enough to shock him out of whatever asshole coma he had been in for all those years. Although we were prime suspects for the rat incident, it was never proven. The four of us never told anyone what happened. That's another thing about revenge, don't brag about it, or if you do, at least until the statute of limitations runs out. Then put it up on the Internet for thousands to see. Give everyone a good laugh; that's the best revenge of all. --- Stolen with permission from http://www.blindwino.com "World's a party horse and it needs some fucking" - Mark Driver ------------------------------------------- 5. SEX IS NOT WHAT EVERYONE BRAGS ABOUT or Children, don't Believe the Porn Industry By Luke de Sade Before some of you start a lynch mob and come to burn me at the stake, hear me out first. I'm one of those people that can either have sex or don't have sex. I don't care about sex as most people do, and because of this, I get all sort of comments by my friends. And by the way, I lost my virginity when I was 15 years old (I'm 23 at the moment.) I remember one time that I was at my best friend's house drinking some beers because it was his birthday. We were there up until 4 a.m. in the morning. At that time, my friend had a "great" idea. We should go to a whorehouse and fuck some bitches. I was way past drunk at that time, and I said "sure, let's go". So off we went, drunk as hell, and (my two friends who were with me) horny as dogs. I had no money, as usual, so my friend decided to pay me a hooker. To the place we went, a hooker is 10 bucks for 15 minutes, so my friend gives me 20 bucks to "enjoy" her for half an hour. Another thing you should know about me, I'm very afraid of Venereal Diseases, or any other diseases at that, and I also find any kind of woman's internal fluids (sweat, vaginal fluids, blood, etc.) completely gross (hey, I gross out quickly). So, my friend gave me 20 bucks for a hooker and he even chose one for me. The hooker and myself walked to a room, and when she closed the door and started to undress, told her my plan. I would give her 10 bucks, because I refused to have sex with her, and she would keep her mouth shut about this to my friend (seems like my friend was a regular). I would keep the other 10 bucks for myself. She agreed to the plan, and we stayed 15 minutes talking shit in bed. My friend never knew about it, and I got to keep 10 bucks of his. I tell you all these because what I'm about to tell you guys will freak some people out. Last month I met this chick over the internet. She was my age and she was really smart. We became good (internet) friends in two days, and then she invited me out. We went out to eat and then a movie. Days later, she told me I was very handsome (as if I didn't knew that already) and that she was having a hard time trying to control her impulses of jumping on top of me then. I just laughed at all this, because to tell you the truth, she was none too good looking. In fact, she was downright ugly, but had a good body. Then, one day, I was commenting this with some friends and they told me things like "go for it", "fuck her silly", and shit like that. I was like "man, I don't want to," and they began calling me a sissy, fag, etc. You know peer pressure sometimes work, so I decided to give her a shot. Was that the worst most idiotic decision I have ever taken! God dammit! I regret ever doing that with her! I was completely uninspired with her and I was not even excited. She, on the other hand, was moaning like a raving lunatic. We were at it for like two hours, and nothing. I didn't even came. Then, I suddenly stopped, completely bored, and told her I was going home (we were at her house) and since I didn't have any money for a cab, she should give me a lift. Well, her car didn't start, so she gave me 25 cents to get a bus to go home. For God's sake! 25 fucking cents to get a fucking bus at fucking 1:30 a.m.! There were no buses at that time, so I had to walk home (I live like 30 minutes away from her). When I was walking, I smelled myself. I reeked of her and her juices! That's when I started running. I wanted so bad to get a shower and clean myself off her filth, but I was so far away from home... Then something hit me. I had a reeking-of-her underwear and one used condom on my pocket (with all the rush about me wanting to go home, I threw the condom in my pocket). I found a dark corner and took off my pants and underwear and then put my pants back on. With my underwear, I took the condom out of my pocket and folded the underwear around the condom. I was so grossed that as I passed a house, I threw the underwear on their front door (I still imagine the looks of the person that received that little "package" in the morning and the chaos that it would bring). I finally made it home and I stripped off all my clothing and threw them in the trash (honest to God), then I hit the showers and I was there for about 45 minutes cleaning myself. That's been the single most aweful sex related experience I've had, and I don't want it to repeat itself. I know some of you will probably think I'm a closet gay, or whatever the name is, but really, I'm not. I like women. I like romance. I'm a romantic guy. I've never had a sexual thought about men before, and I've never been attracted to any men. Call me sick or whatever you want, but that experience grossed me out. She still calls me everyday to see when we can "see" each other, but I don't want to. If I never see her again, it will be too soon. --- Luke de Sade is contemplating what to do with the $10 he saved. ------------------------------------------- CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org. CoN: It's not the age. It's the mileage. 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 makes you soil your Depends, 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