Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine Volume V, Issue 11, AD MM Tuesday, September 12, 2000 ISSN 1482-0471 ------------------------------------------- "When their numbers dwindled from 50 to 8, the other dwarves began to suspect Hungry." - Melissa De Wilde ------------------------------------------- ..., George W. Bush has made education the centrepiece of his campaign, and some Americans are realizing that the public education system isn't even teaching students how to convert pounds into kilograms - leaving future drug dealers out in the cold. - http://bitch.shutdown.com/blag_jesus.html ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial 2. Crack Manual 3. Cat Acne 4. The fun and joy of cultural diversity 5. We all drown in a Russian submarine ------------------------------------------- This week's Golden Testicle award: http://fury.com/aoliza/ AOLiza - your AOL instant messenger shrink ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial By Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro I usually try to avoid society, not because I enjoy being anti- social, but mostly because interacting with it, is as much fun as heading headfirst into a brick wall. The other night, I was roaming happily down Queen Street, after meeting one friend, and I was looking for a phone in order to call another one up and arrange a meeting place. I started walking along the side of the street looking for a phone. Now in this day and age it seems that if you don't have your own phone, the only way to make a phone call is with a calling card. Your good old quarter sitting in your pants is not even good to buy yourself a candy. Eventually I found two. Both were busy. So, I decided put myself there and wait, thinking it wouldn't be too long. I waited 35 minutes for them to be freed. As I was waiting, two fine examples of the future generation came standing behind me. The two girls (ravers) started making some annoying yet somewhat justified comments about the girl by the phone who was there talking as if she was in her living room. Which made it hard for me to understand what the heck she was saying, since the beginning had got quite interesting and I was trying really hard not to give her my opinion about the whole situation she was talking about to her friend. The girl was one of those pretty looking thing, the kind you don't get tired of staring at, and you can't help but wonder how she had managed to have a waist so small. She kept talking on the phone about how she went to some party and people wanted to know all the negative stuff about some guy. It got quite interesting to hear the superficiality of the conversation and how she had got upset of her apparent friends' comments. She said this, in deep concentration, using the word "like" a lot, while holding her copy of Cosmo and her make up bag in the other hand. I'm sure Cosmo carried some educational articles of the type "12 Exercises for a more uplifting bosom" or "Where to touch him where he has never been touched before", something which of course sent shivers down my back. The two ravers girl of course, after having waited a total of 30 seconds started getting upset. Much like piranhas, that alone are harmless, but in a pack more ferocious than a group of feminists, began sending their oh-so-entertaining comments. Okay, so Queen St. if not the first, is the second, busiest street in Toronto, which for reasons that just make no sense, doesn't have many phones. I'm sure if I had travelled for another 20 blocks, I would've found a different phone myself (just to wait for yet another fine example of future generation using it), but since phones are a first come first served basis, just wait and shut the fuck up. And besides, everyone these days seems to have a cell phone, why don't they? "Like, you know," said one "when I'm on a phone and I see people waiting, like, I make it quick" loud enough for the poor pretty girl to hear it. "But no, some people" said the other "stand there with their pretty fucking dress and their tight little ass and fucking high heel shoes and just own the city!" "Yeah, like, fuck everyone else, they think!" Frankly, if I had to pick between who was better dressed, the girl on the phone would've won hands down. Okay, so ravers are just soooo cool, it hurts and I'm just waiting for the fashion police to come knocking on my door, but seriously folks, I've seen beggars better dressed. Elephant pants were never cool, and I just don't get why retro is so in. Now, it's not because the girl on the phone was prettier than the two ravers behind me that I didn't mind waiting, but I didn't care. Someone was playing music behind me, with a good beat, lots of people going by displaying what's the latest way to dress and look cool, life was good and I was in an odd good mood. And of course the share of strange people that left the shrink a bit too soon, a constant reminder of just how sane I am. Besides, if in a rush to use the phone, you could probably find one. I wasn't yet in my pissy, unusual mood and besides, saying something nasty to the two ravers would've got no point across. People like that have their brains so swollen by their ego and natural belief of being the best and most original crap in the universe, anyone that dares talk to them that ain't dressed likewise just ain't, shall we say, hip to be heard. So I just turned around and started staring at them. With a blank look. Just staring. The kind of look you give to your neighbour's kids while holding your bolt action rifle and whispering a Latin chant. This must've made them feel quite uncomfortable, stare at each other for a while, and finally leaving, saying, I'm sure "What a freak!" Peace at last, one of the phones frees up and I can make my 22 second long call to a friend and tell him where to meet me. I do all this while staring at the pretty girl, who now is starting to feel rather uncomfortable, and I wink to her, when I leave, making her go quiet for a second. So I finally meet my friend, and we go to this tiny little Vietnamese restaurant and start talking business and other weird shyte, while sucking down noodles with meatballs, when society's finest comes knocking at my door again. Now, I live in a pretty big city and I'm friendly to the average Joe. And while I don't mind encountering strangers on the road, I like to be left the fuck alone, whenever possible. Woman enters and starts telling my friend, other people and myself how she's from Poland, has 5 kids and if we can spare 5 bucks. She's saying this while smoking a Malboro. You know when you look at someone, and without this person even opening her mouth, you can already tell a lot about them? You know, they have that look that just says "dumb", "too much cocaine", "banged his head really heard when he fell from the high-chair". Or, when you encounter religious types, that ecstatic yet brainwashed look? Well, this woman, the moment she stepped in, you could tell that the gears in her head had stopped a long time ago and some spider had found a nice place to lay it's eggs. Her accent was anything but Polish. So I say "your accent is anything but Polish. More like somewhere from Newfoundland or around there". So I suggest she'd go to a shelter. "All the shelters are packed!" she says. Because my girlfriend had the ahem... fortune of working in a shelter, and I learned myself the ups and downs in season and where all the shelters in Toronto are, I told her who to call and about 6 different shelters that were in the area. While we are in Canada, not too far from the North Pole, even in September it's nowhere cold enough to justify every single shelter being packed. Not at 8 PM anyway. I know how these things work. Of course, she claims again, she has 5 children, she's Polish and boo hoo she's a human being too and we don't care. I supposed I should have said "Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal saviour and drinking buddy?" That would have got her moving. "I'm a human being too" goes I, and I give her a dollar and I say "so what will that pay for tonight? Heroin? More cigarettes like the one you're smoking? Alcohol, perhaps?". The guy sitting at the table across from starts howling and goes "If you're Polish, so am I!" So we all start laughing and she goes on about this story of how her gay friend was beaten while he tried to pick up a straight guy and the straight guy also stole his $300 and all he had to offer her, with his head between his knees, was a cigarette. "Uh uh" we all went. "Okay, show's over" I go "can you now leave? There are people trying to breathe clean air in here" and she's about to leave, stops and starts telling my friend about her gay friend. This, while covering him with smoke. The Vietnamese waiter, a guy about four feet tall and with manly chest hair was trying to get her to leave, but she probably never even noticed he was there. So I say out loud "nobody gives a shit, please get the fuck out" and she has this twitch like she's about to cry. And leaves, stumbling out the door (after first slamming into it face first). Geez. Most beggars know to keep it brief. Now, I am usually not mean. Well, okay, I am. However, if someone is in need, I more than gladly help them out. But I'm starting to really lose my patience with beggars. First of all there is a large network in this city to help those less fortunate. With the risk of sounding like I'm repeating what IMPROV said in his last article, if you want to get help, there is. You just have to go to it, since it doesn't come to you all by itself. Queen St. seems to be where 99% of beggars now beg (you encounter one every 50 metres). Not only does one become insensitive about it and tired of the same old stories ("my grandmother is sick and I need money to visit her"), but you also run out of change pretty quickly, and get a nasty comment if you got nothing to offer. Best part of it all, is the irony when you see, in the store's display windows behind them, large lettered signs that say "HELP WANTED". ------------------------------------------- 2. Crack Manual by Jeff Wright This issue, I want to talk about my new found hobby. Crack. Thankfully I haven't developed a dependency on it yet; though I'm sure it's coming. THE CONS OF CRACK The first thing I have to tell you about crack, is that it's expensive. It's as expensive as it looks like it is on tv, and in the movies. Don't get into the game unless you've got the bank roll to play. If you don't have a high paying job, like I fortunatly do, don't start. Stick with ciggarettes. They're healthier for you anyways. Plus they don't cause blisters. Smoking crack requires a metal pipe. A crack pipe. You have to heat the crack, so that you can smoke it. This often causes the pipe to get hot, and leave heat blisters on your lip. These blisters would hurt like a bitch if it weren't for the fact that you're smoking crack. THE JOYS OF CRACK What's it like smoking crack? It's fantastic. I haven't experienced anything like it before. It's a release. It's an energy. If you've smoked crack before, you know what I mean. It really is best experienced, then described. So much so, that I'm not even gonna bother going into it. If you're curious, and you've got the money, try it. Just make sure you've got the money. If you don't, I'll warn you again; don't try it. I may not be addicted to it yet (I've been doing it for close to a month now), but some people get addicted very quickly. Just trust me on this. While it is good, it's not so good that if you can't afford it, you should go stealing tv sets for it. It could very easily ruin your life. My family doesn't talk to me as much as they used to, since I started. Not that I really care, but I know that's important to some people. OBTAINING CRACK Where do you get crack? This is pretty easy actually. If they've got weed, and they're over the age of 16, your neighbourhood dealer can get it for you. If you happen to live in an area with heavy drug trafficking, then I'd say that dealers even as young as 11 should be able to get it. If you can get a younger dealer, it's probably best. They're less likely to try sell you garbage shit, and have reason to be afraid of you. If you get some badass who's always packing, and treats you with little respect, there's a greater chance that he'll screw you over. THE NUMBERS Just how many people smoke crack? A recent survey of 7,000 North Americans (Realize that a lot of people aren't that honest when discussing their drug habits), 28.4 percent claimed to take non-pharmacutical drugs. Of that 28.4 percent, only 6.8 percent claimed to having once tried crack, or smoked it on a regular basis. That means of the 1988 who took drugs, only 135 had ever smoked crack. That's not a huge number. 1.9 percent of the surveyed 7,000. That should give you an idea of how many people can afford it. It's a great club, with great facilities, but membership is expensive. IN CLOSING I hope that this has been of some help to those of you out there who've been considering taking up crack as a hobby. Would collecting Barbie dolls be a healthier hobby? Building train sets? Sure, but they're both kinda gay, and crack is one hell of a manly drug. Come on guys, dump your broads and take up crack. It's the un-official drug of the olympics (I think). --- Jeff wants everyone to go see Nurse Betty. It's fantastic, and doesn't require drugs to be enjoyed like most of this year's offerings. ------------------------------------------- 3. Cat Acne By Jason MacIsaac Nobody likes to go to the doctor. Nobody likes to be pocked or prodded or have cold metal instruments inserted into them by people you're not on a first name basis with. We as people though can be made to understand why it happens. I didn't want to go to the hospital last time I went, but I understood that time spent under the knife while doped out of my brain and wearing a gown strippers find too revealing was a better alternative to have my wisdom teeth and gums rot in my head. Even children, with a little skillful parlance--the kind that talked the Natives out of Manhatta--can be made to understand that however much discomfort they're in now, the nice man with the rectal thermometer will make it all better in the long run. Animals on the other hand, never seem to find any explanation as to why they must go to the vet satisfactory. Cats, by far, are the worst for this. Most dogs will merrily follow the master anywhere, tongue hanging out. Dogs love attention, of just about any kind. So what if the weird lady in the pale blue uniform squeezed my testicles prior to removing them last time I was here? She's paying attention to me! Cats on the other hand have no greater natural enemy than the vet. If given a choice, a cat would probably give up its favorite corner of the bed to a smelly old dog rather than face the Vee-eee-tee. My cat required a trip to the vet just this weekend. She was due for a vaccination, and I wanted to get some sores underneath her chin looked at. Not too long ago she was tested for a particularly nasty cat disease, and came back negative, but I've been on the lookout for anything health wise ever since. I personally prefer cats over dogs as pets, but I must admit that there is one great advantage dogs have over cats--dogs love to travel. Dogs see an open car door and jump in, tail wagging. Cats on the other hand hate being moved without being in control, and frequently spazz out in cars. This is why you should never transport a cat out of a carrier of some kind. Unless you want the car interior looking like someone stuffed it through a giant paper shredder. My poor kitty mewed constantly on the way to the vet. Cats are great at making owners feel guilty. Their pitiful little cries sound like "Why are you doing this to me?" Naturally, you can't explain. Vets offices play havoc on a cat's senses. There are about a thousand different animals scents, and she's only used to her own. Suddenly the cat realises that cat carrier is a good thing, and she doesn't want to be out of it. In fact, by the time the vet showed up to look at my cat, the carrier had to be turned with it door facing down in order to get her out. Then comes the examination. I've never met a vet who didn't love animals. Kinda makes sense, really. Still, some animals must really try their patience. Or desensitize them. When the vet began to examine my cat, she wasn't put off by the hissing for a moment. "Oh yes, vicious kitty," she cooed. It so happened that my cat didn't turn into a buzzsaw and turn her into an attractive Queen Anne armoire, but I really wonder how she knew my cat was just bluffing. Or was only at the point where she issuing a verbal warning. How does she determine a cat who's merely pissed off to one who's thinking "Sigh. Think of all the blood I'm going to have to lick out of my fur"? The vet told me that my cat has acne. That's a new one on me. I've heard of rabies, distemper, cat leukemia...cat acne? Yep. Excessive oil getting trapped on her skin has led to the creation of the sores. The vet prescribed two kinds of treatments that I'd have to carry on at home. The first was an antiseptic wash. Basically, I take a little bit of this medicated soap, scrub her chin, and rinse. Call it Clearasil for Kitties. Cats like to wash. They wash themselves constantly. They wash other cats. They let other cats wash them. Cats however, are very adverse to humans washing them. They're quite racist about it if you ask me. They just will not adjust to the human way of cleaning themselves. It's easier to insert the cat into your VCR than it is a tub of water. Washing my cat's face is not going to be easy. As hard as that will be, giving her the pills will be worse. Ever try to get a cat to swallow a pill? It's like trying to throw a penny into a golf hole from a passing Harrier. The vet showed me how it's done, but my cat fought it all the way. And it's just me by myself to hold her still and give her the medicine. Since she's on a restricted diet now, I can't even do the clever thing and hide it in some food. The vet had this little syringe-like device with a rubber tip, called a "Pill Popper." You put the pill inside the tip. A plunger at the other end is then pulled back, into the firing position, as it were. You force the cat's mouth open, and, provided she left you with any fingers to do it, you press the plunger and shoot the pull down her throat. The vet of course has done this a million times, and so she did it with a flick of her wrist practically. The pill popped neatly down my cat's throat. You should have seen the look on my cat's face. It's not often you can interpret an animal's thought into human terms, but this one left little to the imagination. After my cat had been forced to swallow the tablet, she flashed the vet a look that said, "Ooh, you little bitch. I can't fucking believe what you just did." The indignities over, the cat is more than happy to get back into the carrier. They understand: I'm at home, I see the carrier = I'm going to some place that's going to suck. I'm at a place that sucks, I see the carrier = I'm going home. Fuckin' A. So the cat gets back into the carrier without a word, and is quiet the whole trip home. At least, until you're walking up to the door. Then they get impatient. Here's another place where you can interpret those meows: "Whoa, we're home! Open the door, lemme out of here! Hurry up with the goddamn keys!" The cat is happy to be home, and so are you. It's draining, even if you didn't get neutered. The cat runs around your apartment, overjoyed to be home, though still giving you the eye. "What the hell was that about?" she seems to be saying. You just wish you could explain the follow up appointment in two weeks. --- Jason MacIsaac sells seashells by the seashore, which is pretty dumb when you think about it. Why would you by a seashell by the seashore when you could probably find one for free? The tourists must be pretty gullible. ------------------------------------------- 4. The fun and joy of cultural diversity By Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro Remember when your mother used to say to you "don't date people of different cultures"? It wasn't because she was racist, or because skin colour was such a big deal. No. As I grow older I begin to realize what my family meant. It's a total pain in the ass to deal with your racially different girlfriend's family. Now, before I start getting flame mail (a man can dream, can't he?) for my oh-so-blind views and my sheer racial discrimination (it's because I'm white, isn't it?), I'm referring mostly to families that come from that part of the world called Asia (not that the rest of the world is any better, but anyway). Their traditions and their close-mindedness can, in the majority of cases, have you bang your head against the wall in no time at all. We're talking about cultures where things work something like this: girl is born, trained to work in the house, peforms all duties in the house, then is married off, goes to live with mother & father in law, and her husband. She serves all three. Then the kids are born. She serves the above plus the kids. The moment she does something wrong, she's stoned to death (or burnt "accidentally" in some kitchen accident). But I like how the men can do no wrong. Oh wait, unless they're gay. Then they get stoned to death. Ideally, in Canada we're a whole bunch of different cultures crammed into a tiny space (everyone lives next to the US-Canada border, because the rest of Canada is just too damn fucking cold) and in theory, we're all Canadians, and all happy to share and welcome other cultures. Ideally, Communism works too. The reality of it all is that we have pockets of mini-communities that interact as little as possible with the other ones. At school this was as obvious as the suicide-pink walls and hysteria-blue doors. All the Italians hunged around each other. All the Spanish hunged around their fellow Spanish speaking people. And so on. Trying to migle with any of these groups and not having any racial or cultural relation to them, was like waving your testicles in front of a meat grinder and not feel a sense of discomfort. I felt a little left out, especially considering that having such a Heinz 57 varities-like background, I belonged into every one of their groups. I never seemed to have that sense of pride of belonging to this or that background, and if I did, I'd have to be proud of at least six of them, most of which, from what I can tell, definately don't like each other. I digress. I've been dating, to my surprise, the same girl for the past four years (that's a record beaten by 3 and a half years). Davinder is Indian (as in, from India. Columbus was wrong, and I got scolded enough times by people to remember it). She's wonderful (she puts up with me) and she's open minded (a rarity in any culture). Unfortunately her family, the moment they discovered about me, began to remind me that, yes, we're all Canadian, but I'm not Indian. So they quickly went into action and started off with Plan A: arranged marriages. Now this is delightful stuff. You show off your daughter, show off what she comes with (television, vcr, washing machine, and a four year warranty), and whoever find this deal appropriate enough, will introduce their son, to her parents. Sometimes the soon-to-be-married actually get to meet before their wedding day. Others, are not so lucky. My girlfriend had to meet so many guys last year, mostly out of respect for her parents, and endure the possible mother-in-law commentary. You can pretty much select one of the following to get an idea of how they went: a) having her hair too short (_only_ half way down her shoulders) b) being too fat, (a size 10) c) having the ability of independent thoughs (rebellious!) d) ability to create coherent sentences that showed logic and intelligence when speaking (she puts her future husband to shame, since he can't even hold the paper right-side-up) e) the four year warranty just wasn't good enough f) the previous two plus speaking in the presence of the future mother in law. Cuz, as you know, talking to your future mother in law is an offence punishable by death. I can't wait to hear people defend arranged marriages. "They're so much more successful!" Uh huh. When asking for a divorce gets you stoned to death, you can see why they last. Things went quiet for a while. Then Plan B hit. "Scare the evil white-boy away" plan. This works very simply: you are invited to your girlfriend's house, where you will be examined, questioned, dissected and offered tea, all in the name of how serious I am with Davinder. This, in front of her entire family. I was thinking of saying: "Davinder.. good" and make humping movements. Or "More serious than you, you over-bearing zealots who are traditional when convenient . Sorry, did I just say that out loud?" Or even "Serious about Davinder? Damn right! Let me tell you [graphic desciption of sex life follows]" Or maybe not. Because the lovely meeting will include a 6 and half feet tall Indian grandfather, made taller by a turban, and that the first thing he says to you is that he will never accept you, never come to your wedding and disown her grandaughter. "Disown me? That's harsh. Tell me, what did you make after taxes last year? Tell you what, if you ever need a few bucks, just call me." Sheehs. And I thought we were just dating. --- [Denisee:dmleduc@138.245.10] sure... any zine with a name like con (old french for vagina) better damned well be secured:-ppp ------------------------------------------- 5. We all drown in a Russian submarine Sang to the tune "We all live in a yellow submarine" Found on a newsgroup by Jason MacIsaac In the town Where I was born Lived a man With PhD And he told Us of his job Making faulty Submarines So we sailed Up to the north Till we found The Barents Sea And we sank Beneath the waves In our Russian Submarine We all drown in a Russian Submarine A Russian Submarine A Russian Submarine We all drown in a Russian Submarine A Russian Submarine A Russian Submarine Casualties Jump by the score As we hit The ocean floor And the air Begins to fade We all drown in a Russian Submarine A Russian Submarine A Russian Submarine We all drown in a Russian Submarine A Russian Submarine A Russian Submarine Radiation Makes us hot Hypothermia Makes us not Turning blue And glowing green In our Russian Submarine We all drown in a Russian Submarine A Russian Submarine A Russian Submarine We all drown in a Russian Submarine A Russian Submarine A Russian Submarine ..alex Observe, reason, and experiment. (If you're too dumb, just pray) ------------------------------------------- CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org. CoN: -Ring, ring. -Hello? -Hey. It's Nature. -Alright. I'll be right over. 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 Russian submarine 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