Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine Volume VI, Issue 1, AD MMI Monday, February 19, 2001 ISSN 1482-0471 ------------------------------------------- "The added bonus is that it could also be considered tragic if you actually maimed or killed yourself. That would put you up there with Van Gogh! You would be the world's greatest writer! People would stand in line to get your signature and try to not stare at the large fountain pen jutting from your forehead. Women would sense that you are the worlds greatest lover because the constant pain that you feel from having a pen stuck in your forehead would allow you to empathise with the daily aches and pains our sisters suffer and would thus allow you to be more sensitive lover. The stories and experiences you would have then! So you see, stabbing yourself in the forehead or some other prominent area most definitely would allow you to write with passion, aggression, sympathy, etc." - Rev. M ------------------------------------------- And yea, Jesus said onto the disciples: "They are those who bring forth the wrath of God, for verily they have co-operated with the makers of tinned meats and for this they shall be punished and the disciples took to heart what the lord hath spake and they cast out from the holy temples those that did work for the tinneries and their friends and family members and also those that sold and distributed breakfast cereals". - Konrad ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial 2. Fun With Nike 3. TV Sucks 4. Happy Birthday Bonzo 5. The Journal of a Smell ------------------------------------------- This week's Golden Testicle award: http://drew.corrupt.net/lp/series1.html Lego Porn ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial By Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro Despite the fact that the groundhog popped his furry head out of the hole on February first, and, if memory serves me correctly, didn't get it blown clean off his shoulders by a 12 gauge, it was supposed to mean that warmer weather was around the corner. Or rather, warmer than the temperature that is suitable for snow to fall on. Mother Nature, of course, the moment the "heat wave" sent our barometre from a -30 Celsius to a tropical -2, promptly dumped a hefty two feet of snow on the city in less than a few hours. Now, I used to hate snow. Yes, I know snow is as Canadian as hockey, but this fluffy crap that falls from the sky loses quickly its appeal, when your first task in the morning is to grab a shovel. Especially where I lived, where the snow removal duties relied solely on myself, and if I intended to get out of my house, I had to shovel tons of this stuff just to work my way towards the sidewalk. Fortunately where I live now there is a sucker called the Superintendent who has to do it, and I've began the slow healing process of reappreciating the white shit falling from the heavens. That was, of course, until it got just a tad warmer for the two feet of snow to quickly turn the equivalent of two feet of water, turning my grandmother's basement into her own, personalised swimming pool. Now, for reasons that I cannot explain even to myself, whenever I am around members of my family, they all seem to forget essential things they have been doing without me. My father forgets how to use a computer. My mother forgets how to use a car. My grandmother, who arrived here in 1948, forgets how to speak English. Most of all, they all forget how to deal with society. They also seem possessed by the phone demons. The moment you don't show your face or call them for a period longer than 24 hours, they quickly call and fill the answering machine with messages of them talking to themselves. So I was paying my regular weekly visit in order to keep the demons at bay, when I found myself in charge of the sewage problem. First thing I did was call the Emergency Department of the City to see if the problem was on their side. A few hours later, they showed up, put a long flexible pipe down some exhaust vent, and less than 15 seconds later, determined that the problem wasn't in their part of the pipes, and left. I'm sure we're dealing with professional workers from the City, so who am I to argue with them? So it's now time to call a plumber. My grandmother's friend suggested someone and shortly after John the Plumber arrived. John must've been a little hard of hearing and short in memory, cuz it was necessary for him to introduce himself about 16 times with a loud, booming voice. Maybe that's why it said in large letters "John the plumber" on the side of his truck, just in case he forgot what he was driving. After about two hours in my grandmother's flooded basement of inserting long flexible pipes down some hole, John declares there is nothing he can do. He blames the city. I tell... I yell at John that the city was here earlier and determined it was our problem. John tells me to call the Engineering Department of the City and find out the drainage plan of the house. That way one could more easily determine where the problem might be. I call the Emergency Department of the City once again and I ask for their Engineering Department. "It's Friday night, nobody is here until Monday. Call them again here on Monday". Well, so much for this being an emergency. On Monday at work, I call back and someone else answers, totally shocked that I am looking for an Engineering Department at the Emergency Department. In fact, he is so shocked that he has to tell me about four times that this is the Emergency Department of the City, and what they deal with. I tell him what was said to me, and he tells me to call 392-7797. I call the number. "Transportation Department, how may I help you?". Well, this clearly wasn't Engineering. I patiently explain why I am calling, how I got there and who I am looking for. "But this is the Transportation Department". Well, no shit. There must be some rule somewhere in the City that whenever someone calls you have to tell them more than once that this is not the department they are looking for. Fortunately, after some whimpering, the woman finds what the number for Engineering was and gives it to me. It's 342-7787 instead of 392-7797. Calling that number gives me the shrieking sound of a fax. I was tempted to send a fax with my request for the drainage plan of the house, but I could only expect a reply of several faxes stating this was some other department. In a flash of greatness, I decide to change the first three digits from 342 to 392 seeing as all the other numbers so far started with that. "This number belongs to the City of Toronto and is no longer in service. If you're looking for someone specific, call 340-8340 and ask for the person you are looking for". I call that number and another woman answers. It was just a "Hello" so for a second I thought that I had hit someone's house. It turns out it was some receptionist of some other department I did not catch the name of. I explained in long, painful detail how I had gotten there and who I was looking for and if she could help me. She puts me on hold and returns shortly after with two different numbers I could call. It went on from there for a while. First I hit the Parks and Recreation department. Then I was transferred to the City Works department. Then somehow I went to the Snow Removal department. And so on. It was like dealing with the bureaucracy of the movie Brazil. This was of course in between phone calls from my mother and my grandmother ensuring themselves, every 15 minutes or so, that I was finding out what they needed. Eventually I arrived to the Archive Department of the City. Once again, I explained my extremely long story to the woman, querying if there even was such a thing as an Engineering Department. "Well, it depends. Which one are you looking for?" "You mean, there is more than one?" "Well, yes. What are you looking for?" "The drainage plan of a house" and I give her the address. "Is this for Toronto?" No, Phoenix, Arizona. "Yes" "Well, I'll see if archives has it, you'll have to call back tomorrow and I'll let you know". We'll see what the City has set aside for me tomorrow. This issue has long been delayed. Part of it has to do with the lack of submissions I've received, and also do to the lack in my ability to write. I'm not sure what's wrong with me. I sit down, start the computer, write a total of four lines, and then my mind goes blank. I've started many good articles, which all just sort of end halfway. Kinda like this. ------------------------------------------- 3. Fun with Nike By Jonah Peretti [Note: Nike now lets you personalise your shoes by submitting a word or phrase which they will stitch onto your shoes, under the swoosh. So Jonah Peretti filled out the form and sent them $50 to stitch "sweatshop" onto his shoes.] From: "Personalize, NIKE iD" To: "'Jonah H. Peretti'" Subject: RE: Your NIKE iD order o16468000 Your NIKE iD order was cancelled for one or more of the following reasons. 1) Your Personal iD contains another party's trademark or other intellectual property. 2) Your Personal iD contains the name of an athlete or team we do not have the legal right to use. 3) Your Personal iD was left blank. Did you not want any personalization? 4) Your Personal iD contains profanity or inappropriate slang, and besides, your mother would slap us. If you wish to reorder your NIKE iD product with a new personalization please visit us again at www.nike.com Thank you, NIKE iD From: "Jonah H. Peretti" To: "Personalize, NIKE iD" Subject: RE: Your NIKE iD order o16468000 Greetings, My order was cancelled but my personal NIKE iD does not violate any of the criteria outlined in your message. The Personal iD on my custom ZOOM XC USA running shoes was the word "sweatshop." Sweatshop is not: 1) another's party's trademark, 2) the name of an athlete, 3) blank, or 4) profanity. I choose the iD because I wanted to remember the toil and labor of the children that made my shoes. Could you please ship them to me immediately. Thanks and Happy New Year, Jonah Peretti From: "Personalize, NIKE iD" > To: "'Jonah H. Peretti'" Subject: RE: Your NIKE iD order o16468000 Dear NIKE iD Customer, Regarding the rules for personalization it also states on the NIKE iD web site that "Nike reserves the right to cancel any Personal iD up to 24 hours after it has been submitted". In addition it further explains: "While we honor most personal iDs, we cannot honor every one. Some may be (or contain) others trademarks, or the names of certain professional sports teams, athletes or celebrities that Nike does not have the right to use. Others may contain material that we consider inappropriate or simply do not want to place on our products. Unfortunately, at times this obliges us to decline personal iDs that may otherwise seem unobjectionable. In any event, we will let you know if we decline your personal iD, and we will offer you the chance to submit another." With these rules in mind we cannot accept your order as submitted. If you wish to reorder your NIKE iD product with a new personalization please visit us again at www.nike.com Thank you, NIKE iD From: "Jonah H. Peretti" To: "Personalize, NIKE iD" Subject: RE: Your NIKE iD order o16468000 Dear NIKE iD, Thank you for the time and energy you have spent on my request. I have decided to order the shoes with a different iD, but I would like to make one small request. Could you please send me a color snapshot of the ten-year-old Vietnamese girl who makes my shoes? Thanks, Jonah Peretti --- This article appears courtesy of Jonah Peretti. Visit http://www.shey.net ------------------------------------------- 3. Reasons Why TV Sucks, and Movie Recommendations By Jeff Wright Here's why TV sucks: 1) Adebisi is dead. 2) `The Larry Sanders Show' isn't on anymore. 3) Michael Moriarity episodes of `Law & Order'. 4) `Who Wants To Marry A Millionaire' isn't a weekly program. 5) All of the shitty shows my family, watch. 6) `The Critic' isn't on anymore. 7) `Freakazoid' isn't on anymore. 8) HBO isn't available in Canada. 9) Where the fuck is Tom Snyder? Here are some movies you should watch: 1) DEAD MAN, dir. Jim Jarmusch (rental) 2) THE GIFT, dir. Sam Raimi (theatrical) 3) SNATCH, dir. Guy Ritchie (theatrical) 4) SMALL TIME CROOKS, dir. Woody Allen (rental) 5) PRINCESS MONONOKE, dir. Hayao Miyazaki (rental) 6) STARDUST MEMORIES, dir. Woody Allen (rental) 7) DOUBLE TAKE, dir. George Gallo (just kidding, and yes I did have to look up who directed it) --- Jeff thinks that The Golden Globes, are a fine example of what an awards show should be. It's about time, people recognise GLADIATOR as the cinematic masterwork it is! (He's being sarcastic. -Ed.) ------------------------------------------- 4. Happy Birthday Bonzo By Rev. M Q: What do you give a ninety-year-old ex-leader of the free world for his birthday? A: An interview with YTC Now that we are well into the 21st century, we are compelled to interview a man who many American citizens consider to be the greatest man of the 20th century. That's right, you guessed it; our man of honor for this week is none other than Ronald Reagan. First off, let it be known to the vast amount of YTC readers out there all of the horrendous red tape that had to be waded through and all of the insane lying that had to be done to procure this once in a lifetime interview. At this very moment there are some very unhappy executives at NBC pulling together a legal team to have those at YTC who orchestrated this event castrated and then fed to grizzly bears. Also, we are currently in need of around 500 dollars to post bail for a strange event that occurred in a hotel somewhere in Santa Monica, but that is another story. The interview began around 11:00 AM last Friday and concluded around 11:20 AM when the credentials held by our brave interviewer who shall remain anonymous became suspect and he found himself kissing some concrete poolside at the Reagan ranch. Luckily for him no charges were pressed for the false identification as of yet so he was able to deliver the interview in its entirety to you, the faithful YTC readers. So, without further adieu YTC brings you a morning with Ronald Reagan. YTC: First off President Reagan, I want to thank you for allowing this interview. RR: It is my pleasure young man. YTC: I might also add that you look very healthy for a man of your age. RR: It is my pleasure young man. YTC: Excuse me? RR: Do you believe in mermaids? YTC: No Mister President I do not. May I ask you a few questions? RR: Well, (laughter) I suppose a few of those won't hurt. YTC: Thank you kindly sir. First I would like to ask how you feel about George Bush Jr. becoming president and if there was any advice you could offer him, what would that be? RR: Well I always knew that the "W" stood for win. I suppose it reminds me of those times when I used to take Ron Jr. out to the stream to do a little trout fishing.. Well he was afraid of worms so it never did much good to take him but we did anyway. One time George hid in the bushes, as he liked to do, he was a secret agent, like James Bond with beady eyes and no women. Then he jumped out of the bushes with one of those frogman suits on and scared little Ronny so bad he wet himself. Hehehehe. HOT DAMN! Those were some dog garnit good times. So George Jr. was laughing and calling little Ron a faggot and we all just laughed and laughed. Whew doggie! Then there was that one time we put little George on that SR-71 and had the pilot fly him to Iran. He thought he was flying to Houston! Ha! He will never live that one down. (At this point during the conversation he also waived off Nancy who had come from the ranch to give him his medication. Nancy rolled her eyes and walked away briskly) YTC: OK, so what would your advice be? RR: Well I would tell him what I told his father, that never forget that you CAN push that button if things start getting out of hand. YTC: That's frightening sir. RR: SNAKE!!! YTC: Where? WHERE?! RR: Lot of snakes out here on the ranch. Where's my Viagra, woman?! YTC: Sir it is just you and I here. RR: The poofle woofle's probably stole the Viagra. Just like they steal the silverware. ...shiny, pretty, sparkly silverware... Everywhere is the silverware! I have some for sale in the closet in the bathroom. Shhhhh! No one knows! It can be our secret! You stand watch and I will run down the center, fake to the left! YTC: ? UM? RR: They never wanted me to touch the vase! And I did it anyway! I am Randy! Randy Ronny! GRRRRRR! YTC: OK, well you brought up an interesting subject in Viagra. Are you and Nancy using Viagra to stimulate your sex life? RR: SNAKES!!!!! SNAKES! AHHHHHH! At this point President Reagan apparently jumped up and lunged at our patriotic interviewer. Alerted to this, the secret service agents thought that our interviewer may have been attempting to attack President Reagan and were upon our man like the wrath of God Almighty himself. Which meant that our unfortunate interviewer was hauled off to some place in the desert and interrogated by secret service agents for the rest of the day. After reviewing the video and audiotape of the interview they had decided that Mr. Reagan was having another one of his spells and decided to let our journalist go. Fortunately, they somehow forgot to confiscate the audio. Which gave us the opportunity to bring this scathing and informative interview to you. We wonder if America will learn anything from this interview? Well, hopefully that it is a bad thing to let a man with chronic Alzheimer's go even a few minutes without his medication. YTC: We lie through our teeth, you decide! --- This article appears courtesy of Yank The Chain (www.yankthechain.com), Rev.M's turnips and of course, Eric's .. uh.. Eric's... something. ------------------------------------------- 5. The Journal of a Smell by Melissa De-freakin-Wilde Day One - Oooh, that smell I come back to school after my thanksgiving break. I sit down at my computer to check my e-mail or piddle around with something or other. I lean back in my chair and take a deep breath ...and I smell it for the first time. It's.. play-doh-y, maybe a bit of rot, something else. I look for possible sources. under the desk? No. The garbage can? Nope. The 2 week old bowl of macaroni and cheese...? Surprisingly enough, no. Oh well. I give up and go to bed. Day Two - Can't you smell that smell? I come home from after class, kick off my shoes and sit down to check my e-mail (like I ever have any) and there it is again. That smell. I search for it again, in vain. But I do notice something: It seems to be concentrated in one spot, right where my head is when I lean back in my chair. Okay, then, that's a simple enough solution. Just don't lean back. Day Three - Oooh, that smell Sit down, lean back, smell, lean forward, sit there for a while, lean back, smell, get fed up, leave. Lather rinse repeat. Day Four - The smell of death surrounds you The smell is part of my life. The smell has become a daily annoyance, much like the lip and tongue smacking of Ann ( See "11 Noises My roommate Makes. ) I don't like it, but there's nothing i can do about it. (well, I could just rip her tongue out, but that wouldn't get rid of the smell. ) ( but I'd feel better. ) Day Five - Oooh, that smell Still there. But I don't care. ({singing} smell is still there, but I don't care. ) Day Six - Can't you smell that smell? I'm on ICQ complaining, I mean, Talking to every person I know about that damned smell. They've all got suggestions. Is it your garbage? Stick my nose in there, once again, and take a big whiff. Nope, still not the garbage. Is it something dead? Nope, pretty sure it's not. We don't have mice and it doesn't smell dead. Is it you? Stick my nose under my pits. Not B.O. I breathe into my hands and smell my breath. Not halitosis. Bend over a bit and smell down there. Nope, ain't that either. Besides, if it was me, I'd smell it all the time, right? not just at my computer, when I lean back. I give up. It's really not that bad. And I am kinda getting used to it. Day Seven - Oooh, that smell I go most of the day without trying to find the smell, or even complaining about it. I still wonder, "What the hell IS that?" every now and then, but I've pretty much accepted the smell. Later in the day, sick of leaping over a two-foot wide pile of miscellaneous junk to get to my bed, I decide to go on a much-needed cleaning spree. I suppose I might have had an ulterior motive as well. After I clear away and organise the junk, I empty the garbage. The smell is still there when I'm done. So it's not the garbage Since I'm already cleaning, I decided to try to fix the shelves under my desk. They've never been right. (Ann got the good side of the room.) They collapse under the lightest of loads. I work from the top down. The bottom needs the most work. With disgust, I clean the 2 week old mac and cheese bowl. The smell goes away. Hey! Maybe it was that. But I stuck my nose in it enough times, I was sure it wasn't the source. But I may have been wrong. I attack the shelves. I take the top one out to fix the bottom. My nose is assaulted again. WHOA! Ug, ick, pew, barf! This one is so much worse! Eew, puke, gag! I think this smell _IS_ something dead. This sucks! I'm definitely going to find out where this is coming from, even if it kills me. And I think it might. I go get my flashlight and disassemble the lower part of my desk to see what crawled under there and died. It takes a really long time to do this, seeing as how I need to come up for air frequently. I get my light and shine it around. Nothing. Sigh. But wait. Sniff, sniff. The smell is gone! Cool. I guess it just needed to be aired out a bit. "Melissa?" I hear from across the room. "Yeah" "Did you find out what that smell was?" "No, I didn't. Why?" "Cause it's over here now!" She says as she sprays her God-awful air freshener and waves her arms around. Hee hee hee. No longer my problem. Problem solved. And yet, the mystery remains.... --- The titles for the sections in the above journal were taken from the Lynyrd Skynyrd song, "That Smell". They were used without permission, but who really cares? Besides, how many of you knew they did that song? They should thank me. ------------------------------------------- CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org. CoN: Jen C: BACK OFF! THIS IS MY SANDWICH! 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 Turnip intolerance, simply send an empty message to leave@capnasty.org. Text issues of CoN archived exclusively by Disobey www.disobey.com 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