+--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + doomed to obscurity + issue three + october 30th, 1995 + .s sS$ "$$$" . " S$ $ s .s s" ""$s "$ $ .ss$S "$ $$ "$$$$Sss $ss$S"""$ s: $: "$s "" s"$" $ S. $ Yb s .$s "$ S. Ys S :$ " . " $. Ys :$ : . "$ :$ $ s 33 S s" $ .$ss" $s .s " $.ss"" $s .S" s$" " .s " " + "underground is whatever you want as long as you're real." - mayfield + +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + pillow + submitted by - thalassocracy my pillow, my pillow when i am sleepy my pillow is there. unless i lost my pillow, then it is not there. i rest my head on my pillow when i am tired. i rest my other head on my pillow when i am looking at magazines. my pillow needs to be washed. +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + gee, we really need more lobsters + by - mogel bo0t sk0ot n b0ogie!@ lateness nips at our toes over here at dto headquarters. mind you, we haven't had a lack of submissions or rad people. mostly black francis has been real busy and i've been scraping up some permanent-type deals for us to march gracefully over the pathetic underling 'zines out there that only wish they had the pool of eliteness that we expel without the slightest bit of effort. okay. here's goes the fun update stuff. we've got a new, e-mail address for all submissions, questions, complains, comments, threats, and sexual requests. dto@prism.net. talk to us, we're lonely. we've also got a kickin' anonymous ftp site. ftp to prism.net /pub/dto. the mysterious and constantly shifting dto whq "paste" went down, permanently. we're gonna get ourselves a new whq sometime. eventually, bF will put a board up again. more updates in the future. dto mailing list. big fun! get the newest releases. send email to majordomo@prism.net and have the body of the mail say "subscribe dto" and you'll get our text warez faster than you can say "i phear mogel." and that's fast! to much irony, there's also a dto www page up and about now, too. http://www.prism.net/dto as you can see, i've been a busy beaver!@ this has all been made possible by the glorious teletype, joining the g0dly ranks of dto. oh, you can occasionally catch one of us on irc (ef-net, #zines, where all the r3al 'zine groupies hang out). [insert rattle's cameo appearance here] but can it get much radder? you bet. we've got lots more articles, writers, money-making schemes, phear instilling, and government breakdown plots all heading your way. although i really don't have anything personally in this issue, i myself am working on some rad stuff, including the much talked about dto manifesto. "you'll fail. too many people." - gweeds here's the part where i spazz into a rant about how much the dto crew rules and how pathetically formulated most other 'zines are. but i think i'll spare you. _this time_. however, you _do_ realize that dto _is_ taking over the world, don't you? "how can i help the cause of dto?" you ask. media stunts, my friends! kick puppies everywhere. be dubbed "the crazy puppy-kicker guy" by the media. just be sure to wear a dto t-shirt when you go out. spread the name dto around everywhere. television, newspapers, radio. when there's media looking at _you_ - slip in some dto. dre. cousin ed. black francis made millions of people hear the words "i phear mogel." that, my friends, is art. don't miss out on the zany high-jinx! anyhow, as you'll see, this issue is certainly a motley crew of articles. good stuff. enjoy. +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ ____ ___| |_ _ ___| | _______ | | | | +---------------------------- | | | | | | ----------------------------+ | | | | | | doomed to obscurity three | | | | | | and all contents therein .. | | | | | | +---------------------------- | | | | | | ----------------------------+ |_____| |_____| |___ _ 1 - pillow by - thalassocracy 2 - gee, we really need more lobsters by - mogel 3 - doomed to obscurity by - disorder 4 - buggies of death; dto versus the amish by - shadow tao 5 - biography by - dead cheese 6 - who the hell cares? by - mogel 7 - head like a dole by - sweeny erect 8 - art is alive by - james hetfield 9 - gulags; formerly known as education by - sed 10 - potato soup by - lobo 11 - he gave it all away by - fake scorpion 12 - fuck me, if you dare by - kaia 13 - i must suck, for i am not beaten down by the man by - murmur 14 - please excuse me; i'm feeling nauseous by - vanir 15 - worcestershire sauce - condiments; chapter 7 by - murmur 16 - toilet by - fake scorpion +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + dto spotlight on - disorder disorder; writer - the man, the myth, the bastard. in his spare time, he plunders small systems, insults small minds, and generally pisses people off. it's beyond 'natural', beyond 'talent', the ability to insult, offend, and otherwise provoke people while at the same time educating them. editing rad 'zines like _fuck_ and _cotno_ is tough work. we smooch you hardcore, damien. +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + doomed to obscurity + submitted by - disorder why the name? it implies what we are all destined to be. first off, i was not one of the ones who founded this new zine, or one who helped think of any part of it. i read the first issue, and it it rung a bell somewhere in me. i kicked back and thought about what exactly the title meant, and where i was going...until a few years ago at least. then things changed in the relationship between myself and obscurity. how did things change? why did they change? because i wanted them to. it occurred to me that like millions before me, i was capable of passing beyond this realm without leaving a visible mark, without leaving some fragment of a legacy to those who follow me. that isn't something i want to come to pass if i can help it. there is no reason in the world why every single individual who wants to leave his or her mark can't do so. read. this one action can get you further in life than hundreds of hours of mindless labor. read other people's works, so that you can see what was done before you. understand what others thought of fundamental questions in life and use that as a foundation for your own educated thoughts on why things work the way they do. write. if in no other way, you can always write what you think, how you feel, where you have been, and what you have experienced. your thoughts and feelings will later be used to help guide someone else. what you write will go on to be read by thousands, maybe millions in the future. somewhere, in some form, what you write will be kept in logs, on ftp servers, on private bulletin board systems. what? write about events, how they relate to you, why they affect you and others. write about trends in society, society itself, or the governing bodies that affect that society. write about why you feel repressed, why you feel free, and what to do about it. change. suggest it, tell about it, push it, do everything short of forcing it on someone. change is the most wicked engine of creativity. by changing everything around us, we open ourselves to new ideas, new methods of doing what we are required. via change, we as the human race may be able to push beyond society and forge a new living where we are closer to being content. thats it. short as it may be, it sums everything up. don't doom yourself to obscurity. strike out against the idea of passive resistance. be active in the struggle to make a change. +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + buggies of death; dto versus the amish + submitted by - shadow tao day 1; infiltration =================== the day was just ending in the area known as middlebury, indiana. i had snuck across the technophobe border with my e-wheat specialist team. it had been easy sneaking past their feeble patrols; we had left large amounts of laxatives in the local hay deposits. my team consisted of four men including myself. there was 'fataldeath cyberhacker'; an expert at hacking barns and horse carriages, 'mr. perkins'; a veterinary assistant/gogo dancer who would be helping us to sedate the savage guard-cows near the attack point, 'young newbie'; unknowing cannon fodder, and myself. the day was not without some setbacks. while stealthily avoiding a patrol in a "port-a-johnny", mr. perkins had a 'gogo flashback' and started to dance maniacally. this tipped over the "port-a-johnny" and discharged most of the odious contents onto fataldeath. we also lost our red box in an unfortunate incident when young newbie tried to pay for gas with dime tones. tomorrow, we invade the amish stronghold of shipshewana. +--- dto ---+ day 2; invasion =============== we invaded shipshewana early. the attack cows were still groggy from a night of hunting, and we were ready to begin the attack under the cloak of dawn. mr. perkins quickly moved into action, spreading low grade tranquilizers among the herd. unfortunately, due to the ever-present song 'adelweiss', he started to dance a-go-go. the cows, in a fit of good taste, trampled him until he stopped doing 'the monkey'. we were in the process of lifting his broken body when it was discovered that he had 20 dollars on him and had not contributed for gas for the invasion van. we left him for dead. not just because he had bogarted all that cash, but also because it was damn hard sneaking around with someone wearing 3 inch high heels. we preceded to town in a buggy hax0red by fataldeath. unfortunately for us, we had to leave fataldeath behind as well. he had been kicked in the head by one of the horses and was lying unconscious. he wasn't dead, it was just that everyone had gotten tired of listening to 'ice, ice, baby' in the invasion van, and besides, he smelled like shit. we took his wallet, too. +--- dto ---+ day 3: attax0r!@!@ ================== we hid out in a dumpster just outside of a small church, lying in wait for our prey. a bell rang out! church was dismissing! young newbie and i jumped out onto the street. we ran towards the people filing out of the pews, throwing diskettes and screaming "repent, techno-heathens!@@#" all the way. unfortunately, we had made a slight error in navigation. we had traveled in a circle and were currently attacking a large group of "guns for jesus" baptists. with only our mentos to protect us, we retreated to a shallow irrigation ditch. the mentos, while somewhat powerful, were only enough to calm some of the kindergarten class. the adults were still enraged at our blatant attack on goodness and were quickly trying to avenge their god by way of teflon bullets. i, fortunately, had remembered my armor. named 'young newbie.' i retrieved his wallet later that night. i took my new-found cash and bought some new 28.8ks so i could courier my w4r3z. i also had enough left for some thumpin' new subs for the dto invasion van. back to you, frank. +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + dto spotlight on - dead cheese dead cheese; head flunky - born in a tropical area and raised in a temperate zone, dead cheese is a very confused individual. known to stick his head in the fridge while standing in hot water, dead cheese is often referred to as "you crazy bastard." he was the head editor of pez, goat rest its soul, which means he got to cover up the president's mistakes. with a head like a bowling ball and a body like mr. potato head, dead cheese has made his nitch as being the most aerodynamic member of dto. and with his major goal in life being to figure out how to keep his underwear from riding between his butt cheeks, dead cheese is, in his own words, "a grapefruit." +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + biography + submitted by - dead cheese you suck. "lookee here! more o' dat fun angst stuffeses!@$%" is that what you said when you saw that first sentence? that's right. you didn't say it. because if you had said that, you wouldn't suck. if you said that, you should be on some sitcom getting paid corporate millions for saying a sickeningly few catch phrases and making those capitalist bastards rich off the stupidity of the viewing public. so, you didn't say something cool. you must suck. congratulations. you're now part of an elite club consisting of billions of people who suck. but that means you're a conformist now because you're in a group. "uh-oh. gotta change quick." fuck you. you're a conformer conforming to the non-conformist norm. you stay up late to watch 120 minutes on mtv because then you can say things like, "i knew them before you" and "you're trendy." you fight the right, the left, and the inbetween. you hope to be accepted by them all, but never dare to be a part of them because they're like everyone else. they _are_ everyone else and you don't like them. "fuck them. i don't need them. i'm different." you suck. you're a social outcast by your own doing. not because you're any different from them, but because you want to be different from them. you do whatever is most opposite of them. you don't think for yourself. you think against yourself. you tell them they're wrong simply because they are. or maybe they aren't. you don't care. you're different, just like everyone else. "you're just trying to put me down." fuck you. you already are down. you're in a vortex created by you for you. forever spiraling downward because. because you want it that way? because they want it that way and you can't stop them? no. because you made it to sustain your angst rebellion against the common good which was in itself created in an attempt to make something of that miserable slime you and everyone else calls your life. it's not. it's your death. "it's not my fault." you suck. you put the blame of your own minuscule self-worth on others. this allows you to sit back and watch everyone hate you because you hate them for what you think they did to you. and maybe they did do it to you. you don't care. you're happy with the fact that they're not. of course, you wouldn't let them know you're happy. because you're not. and you let them know it. "stop trying to change me." fuck you. you try to change them. us. me. you. you try to make them conform to you because you're right and they're not. you never realize that success means failure because then you aren't different. you're them. you don't understand that they're human and that means being human, so you try to be sub-human. you can't win. you can only lose. you're falling to nothing and nothing's waiting to catch you. +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + who the hell cares? + submitted by - mogel IRC log started Tue Oct 3 13:57 *** Value of LOG set to ON *** mogel (dto@prism.net) has joined channel #oj *** users on #oj: mogel Subrina TheDragon eLeK gizmo Bluesy6 lefty Jiang minky Curtiss Kamel Jerramy faux bush i Hallz lotte beagle Newone ojguilty eli1965 pfitzer Danster Nibasss NIN hog char saltine Baliff BibaS TheMaXX Arura shamrk ChemR Cracked FeeDBaCK Reggie Moriah dtorres tushar Greta_ hemna kylem suede locust monk_ hymie Xyyz OkieBoy h0trod chingada butterfly feds Hilary gipped TreK sar|n MrZiGZaG iire Robbie_ fLemming DIE_OJ RCCola hachis OjRuleZ [Enigma] gregeg TradicA lisabitch Check_m8 pattii packet skeleton rcolbert Immortal BAPBAP gt^ mp BijoyG Quintan SirReal dobachi +JJolly oj_free edk1 RaZi @_DrmWEav Green MOP _Wyvern_ Ximax- OJBitez ArthrDent Fishhook `zOMBie- hot18 zoner sheppr dragnldy AZON j-walkr chloe_ Stevie- SerdarY Aesop mntbiker Kodiak Steve212 saabstory Lea braxt luxor_ DigitalJ Simpsons beast dropp rszarka Zombie Guru_A0 vtv Sync MrJoe GMAN tmas valerie_ @Kewp Pendragon Bugsin8r [MikeH] Jazbo cherybutt jx2 freak _h0mi_ ManOfPwr srml lieru irishdrin Kid_Vid onlyinUSA kolbepc Fry_O_J sufu Crom maz mohnkerns tmhaupt das Krejt SONiC +MrTwister K1mble hoffy brad BRAiN +barecub Rob1 xor +Demon wonder Weirdo Stt_ sloan nbannon Niels FnordOJ jsbx lolola Synergy Skill LithiumX udp\ip hihi +SirLunar the_quark cruznet Nomster mcgoo trifecta +Moev NeilM Shaddow crazydogg Val dag Shake Xed Adriel Hawaii support NotGuilty Unifex Flagg 100 computer chat geeksters sitting around talking about oj. armageddon is at hand. this is the climax of humanity. mogel fuck you!!!!!! IRC log ended Tue Oct 3 13:58 +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + head like a dole + submitted by - sweeny erect this is the transcript to a speech delivered by presidential candidate bob dole at a church in kansas on june 25, 1995, on the heels of his triumph attacking hollywood and revisionist moral standards and history. +-- dto --+ ladies and gentlemen, thank you for inviting me to speak at your fine church. of course we all know there is one true god, mars, god of war. sure, his requirement of virgin sacrifices is tough, especially if there comes a time when the only available virgin is your own daughter, but it is worth it when he grants you power to rip your enemy's heart still beating from his tensing body...yes well anyway, today i would like to address a subject very near and dear to my own heart, values in the school system. (applause) specifically i would like to address the way physics is being taught in our school system today. it has come to my attention that we are teaching an evil, perverse, revisionist kind of physics called quantum physics. the other day i heard an interview in which the main proponent of this crap said the physics of einstein was dead. stephen hawking is that man's name and he holds the lucasian chair of math and natural science at cambridge or oxford or harvard or one of those other damned snob schools. let me tell you, mr. hawking, when i become president and as soon as i find out exactly what school you're at, look out. we've got stealth bombers that can put a smart bomb right into your tea and crumpets before you have a chance to blink. hell, i may not even wait to find out what school you're at. i may just bomb all the damn snob schools and let God sort out the bodies. (applause) tell me about your admission requirements, well i was just a poor farm boy from kansas, how was i supposed to know about your fancy ass tests, i could have done just as well as any little rich boy, as any #^*&*!&ing kennedy brats, i could have been the handsome easy going electable one! anyway, mr. hawking, i fought a war to bring einstein over to this country and save him from hitler. where the hell were you during this war mr. hawking? i was in the trenches fighting germans and italians and japanese, often all within the same day. i lost an arm fighting to bring einstein over to this great land and if his physics were good enough for me and uncle sam, they are good enough for you mr. hawking. (applause) have you heard this new crap hawking and his cohorts are preaching? knee jerk reaction to authority, just like beavis and butthead and punk music. i even heard the lead singer for one of those punk bands has a degree in quantum physics. being a quantum physicist is just as good as being a communist, just as subversive. quantum physics says that there is no certainty, just probabilities and all natural laws are subject to "probability". they say God shoots crap with the cosmos, to coin a phrase. well i won't abide by it. (applause) no certainty? one thing's for certain. you give me a few minutes alone with hawking or that candy ass musician and i'll beat them to a pulp with my good arm... [ at this point dole was sedated and led off the stage by his handlers. ] +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + art is alive + submitted by - james hetfield "what's art, got to do, got to do with it.." -tina turner take a deep breath. scan your surroundings. you're in a world where the one of the most influential elements of your life is popular culture. popular culture, in which, art is not an element of. blow your nose, you can take in deeper the stench of modern culture. _batman forever_ has become the biggest smash movie hit ever. does it have a theme? nope. a plot? nope. is it senseless action/adventure? you bet it is! mcdonalds is still the most popular fast food chain in the world. does it serve quality food? or fat-filled slop? does the food really taste that good compared to real food you can get? nope. it's amazing they're still in business, looking at how a lot of food chains can actually make real food, cook it and all, in just a little more time than mcdonald's takes to put out their slop. but hey, that's popular culture for you. what do the greatest actors and actresses of our times do to make money? they star in crappy movies like batman forever. but besides that, their income comes from making cola commercials. the role models of our day tell us what to drink. this is popular culture. what i'm trying to say is; popular culture is shit. we already understood that. but what not enough people understand is that the artists of today, the pearl jams, the val kilmers, these people do not reflect the real art of our culture. these people simply reflect popular culture. the reason they hit it big is because the people with all the money don't know anything about art to begin with. i have been walking around lately believing that art is dead. and in the onlooker's mind, it might as well be. but last night, i was reminded of where artistry really comes from; it has nothing to do with mtv, it has nothing to do with paramount pictures, it has nothing to do with samantha james (a scary british-wannabe chyck on the chicago alternateen station). although there seemed to be some artistry in the 1980s in popular culture, this artistry is quite dead today. comparing a movie like e.t. to free willy is a joke. looking at the empire strikes back and comparing it to die hard 2 makes me nautious. comparing "blasphemous rumors" by depeche mode to "black hole sun" by soundgarden... well, i think you're beginning to get the idea. the entertainment of the 90s rests on the popular belief that life is probably meaningless, a belief that just emerged (dominantly, at least) recently. and since life is meaningless, so can be music, so can be movies, etc, etc. and for the few of us striving for something better, all we can do is watch and learn, learn for a new tomorrow. where is art today? my better judgement tells me not to say this, but yes, art can be found in "cyberspace", millions of writers just writing because they want to. then again, there are the billions of people in cyberspace that haven't a clue. but that's just reality, in its twisted form. artistry can be found in a small home in a province of france, where a man exiled from czech. is writing about his past, and our past. artistry can be found in a run down apartment in new york city, where a writer types away at his/her word processor, trying to get their thoughts down before they have to catch the subway for work. and finally, artistry can be found inside of an adolescent, who looks around himself or herself, and doesn't say "this sucks." but asks "why does this suck? what did we do to make it suck?" i was once told by one of the most intelligent (and wise) people i know that our generation is the one that will probably bring the world down with us. nihilism is a disease; like the plague, it will disembowel us until we cannot fight it any longer. however, no matter how fucked up our world is, it's always going to be better than the alternative, and believe it or not, we can accomplish something on the way there. it may not be part of the popular culture of today to accomplish anything with art, but hopefully once again, as it has been in the past, it will become part of the popular culture of tomorrow. +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + dto spotlight on - sed sed; writer - sed is a sometimes-existent, sometimes comatose person living in new york city. let me correct that. sed is a deranged acid trip illusion of herbert glockenspiel, a freelance photographer, who has been relaxing for the last 15 years at bellevue mental hospital. sed gives vocals & rhythm guitar for a ska band, & runs a k-neato bbs. sed mainly is into breaking any mechanical object he can get his hands on, failing his way thru high school, & working on having the weirdest bodily mutilations in the textfile scene. seems for a fragment of a acidhead's imagination, sed lives awfully well. sed currently has developed a dementia of his own, imagining he is a glass of orange juice & will tip over if he lies down, which means herbert has a looonnngg way to go before he can rejoin society in all it's cholesterol-laden glory. +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + gulags; formerly known as education + submitted by - sed ring, ring. the bell was loud, almost annoying to my ears. it was alerting me to the fact third period was over, and five more torturous periods awaited me before i received a shift off from high school. actually, once upon a time i liked school. it was a long, long time ago, back in kindergarten or first grade. back when you believed you still had potential. do i sound bitter? good, because i should be. somehow, then a bit later, i discovered the truth. they don't care about me. the public school system is a sham. the teachers only care about shutting you up. i had the rare pleasure of surviving a environment of mental atrophy for all these years. my classmates weren't so lucky. they ended up in a downward spiral (in descending order) of abuse -> rap -> alcohol -> pregnant (if female) or amazingly idiotic (if male). nothing educational about that. i was the only kid in ninth grade who actually read _1984_ and extracted any relevance to what's going on in america now. and i got taunted for that. what i am just wondering, what happened to education? if they find a kid with rich parents or a head start, they lock them up in the room called "gifted" and shower them with indoctrination that will make them white collar sheep. those of us who aren't that fortunate, hey, we're put in the "normal" classes, where we learn all those important skills such as admitting you can never be anything, discussing monday night football, etc. sad, huh? then, one day, i tried to, i guess for lack of a better word, rebel against all this crap. in my math class, taught by ms. borgensnatz, we were supposedly learning graphing. one kid sitting next to me was hard at work trying to figure out how to make a swastika on the scientific calculator, the other was just not there. when you looked into her eyes, you could see she was empty, but wasn't always. there was something there, but it was crushed and tortured until it slinked away, leaving a pot-riddled shell. kind of like me, actually except that something survived in me. barely. getting back to the subject, the teacher had something new for us. a 'declaration of independence from drugs.' "huh, what does this have to do with math?" i thought. then, suddenly i remembered. she left the lesson plan at home today. in order to stop the class from deteriorating into a riot, she had to have something to calm them down. she must have received this in her school mailbox this morning. one more pr campaign from the dea. signing a xerox instead of the dea actually going after the drug gangs. but the drug gangs have guns. which make the dea afraid. nevermind. it went: "i agree not to ever do drugs. drugs are morally wrong, addictive, and can ruin my life. i can be happy without drugs, drug free is the way to be!". well, hmm. i can say pretty safely everyone in this class has done drugs at one time or another. and morally wrong? depends. since the first day my monkey-great-great-great-great-great-etc-grandfather jumped out of the tree, us people have been popping shrooms, eating berries and ingesting artificial substances. and happy without drugs? take away the american people's alcohol, nicotine, caffeine and maybe even television and see how long it would take for a coup. all i can agree with it on is ruining your life, but hey, religion, finances and your job can do that also if you over-emphasize each one. so then, the slip of paper had come to me. every person in my class so far has signed it. i decided not to. even though i had never done anything stronger then marijuana, i just couldn't agree with it. i couldn't sign my name to a piece of hypocrisy. so i passed it on. my neighbor, a typical kiss-ass told the teacher i didn't sign it. she talked to me after class, said "what is your problem? listen, i don't give a fuck if you do drugs or not! just why do you have to stand out? can't you just conform?" _no_! i have to stand out! i am me. i'm a character in a morality play written by sed to demonstrate the apathy and doubletalk of the new york city public school system. i can't just sit back in the seat and fit in. just isn't me. because i am me, and i'm not you. and just conform? fuck no. conformity means giving up your soul, your essence. its the equivalence of death. i mean, if you have nothing individual to distinguish you from the masses, what will define you? a beer belly, a hair color or what? you is what makes yourself you. and i sure as fuck won't give that up. once again, being me has gotten me ended up in the principals office. the principal isn't my pal. he reminds me of a cop, actually. fat face, shaky voice, slave to alcohol. he goes "why do you always have to cause a ruckus? you know our time doesn't have to be wasted like this. it's just your stupid ideas that you cannot stay quiet in class and do your job." i interrupted, "what is my job? this isn't my job. this is a place, where under penalty of law i am forcibly sent for seven hours a day without any personal choice, that has never performed its functions as a 'school', just a day care center for teenagers. teachers make us perform forced silence and interrogate us without any precedent to all the time. does that sound like a gulag to you? because it sure as fuck does to me". imagine the conclusion to this story as you feel fit. +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + dto spotlight on - lobo lobo; writer - lobo hails from lubbock, texas, home of one guy from italy pizza. when he's not doing homework or watching his friends get drunk/stoned, he tries to put a little time into a neat little 'zine called gwd. however, he does his share of piratin' as well, and we don't mean he's a warez d00d. rape and pillage, that's the motto of this guy. lobo plans to one day control a media conglomerate and produce the records of his band. or not. no one really knows lobo, not even himself. but, uh, he's a really nice guy!@ +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + potato soup + submitted by - lobo this is a work of fiction. none of it really happened. none of the people are real. it's all part of an elaborate scheme. well, that should cover my butt. +-- dto --+ there was nothing. nothing but life. does life count as something? anyway, i had grown rather bored of it in the last few months, so i decided to do many new and interesting things. first off, myself and a few friends (one of whom is a telecom legend whose name is entirely unnecessary in this anecdote) set to out to have a little fun. two of my friends made a molotov cocktail out of gasoline and styrofoam in an apple juice bottle. we headed to a ranch outside of town to avoid unnecessary danger in our pyrotechnic escapades. anyway, we finally got the bottle to break, after cleverly positioning a piece of aluminum siding and a few large rocks in its path. anyway, one of the fellows who was with me knew the layout of the ranch (it was his uncle's, that's why we chose it), and he quickly scrounged up some paint thinner to add to the blaze. after dancing in the flames for about twenty minutes, we pissed it out. (neat little anecdote, huh?) a few months later we set out to go against the norm again by playing in the maintenance tunnels under the city (separate from the sewers). that was not all i had expected, and i got stuck coming out from the tunnels (that's another story). i defied the law by setting off fireworks within the city limits. i went into some abandoned buildings and snooped around. that was fun until i was chased by a man with a shotgun rack in his truck at a scout camp. i drank for a little while, but lost interest as i never did see the appeal of feeling good for a few hours and then feeling like crap for a whole day afterward. i stopped hanging out with the same friends. i cut class and let my grades slip. but, i kept going on. until now. nothing is fun anymore. none of it made me happy. nothing makes me happy. why do i go on anyway? the only girlfriend i ever had dumped me. what reason do i have to go on? why is it all here? is it to buy the new dj 300 meter buddha album (or whatever happens to be cool at the time)? i hope not. maybe it's all here to serve the galactic highlord, overfiend xandar? that would suck. maybe i should just end it all now. yes. that's it. *blam!@* (end of lame yet shocking story) in case you were wondering, i just did that for shock value. why do people do stuff just for shock value? you got me. i know people with tattoos and piercings who got them just to make people say, "gosh, that's weird." it's all pointless. dying your hair a new fluorescent color every week is just makes people think you're weird. why do it? why go out of your way to make others know that you are different? blue hair does not make you more "punk" than someone else. it does not even make you more of an individual than someone else. all it does is make people judge you before they ever even get to know you. who wants that. the people i know with piercings (ie. more than ears, which, btw, i have nothing against, i just don't see the point) often complain that they can't get jobs. in an ideal world, people would not "judge books by their covers." it is not an idealistic world. to use the cliche‚, life is not fair. everyone is different. but, if the only way you can be different is to do something that has been done before, it's not different. you're just setting yourself up to be labelled. labels are bad. you may be wondering why this rant has nothing to do with potato soup. well, if you must know, it's because as of late, i like to write things with totally unrelated titles. recently, i wrote a song about some teachers at my school called "cottage cheese and pimento loaf" for my band, the keyblurr elvz. it's a vivacious cycle. subject-based titles are for the weak. we do not train to be merciful here. if a man confronts you, he is the enemy. the enemy deserves no mercy. therefore, through my own twisted logic, subject-based titles are the enemy. sort of like carbon-based lifeforms. wait. only some of them. (lobo is the editor of the files published by the greeny world domination task force, incorporated [gwd]. you should check gwd out right now. send a sase and one american dollar in cash for a catalog of gwd propaganda to: gwd inc p.o. box 53143 lubbock, tx 79453 praise grene! praise grene! praise grene! +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + he gave it all away + jam lyrics by william corgan + submitted by - fake scorpion __ disarm you with a smile, to cut you like you want me to __ i remember standing in a crowd full of people, who i would admit to hating at the time, and getting a warm sensation as billy corgan screamed out this line. i thought i was the only one who "got" it, but obviously others did too, why else would they be singing and crying under their breath, just as i was? for years after this event, i thought back to it, because it reminded me that everyone is _the same_ in one way or another. hell, it _taught_ me that for even _one_ moment, everyone can be in agreement. i'm still not sure what we were all agreeing on, but i sure as hell know that we were agreeing on something. __ i used to be a little boy, so old in my shoes __ well, fuck it man. i think i've forgotten that lesson. i can look back and say, shiet, it happened, but do i think it'll happen again? no way. i've alienated myself from _everything_ but music. mention me to my parents, and see what they'll say. "oh, that hermit?" mention me to my friends, and they'll say, "that guy didn't give a shit about _any_ of us". is it true? am i that screwed that i've reached the point of no return? nope. i've seen tons of other people who found themselves in the same predicament as me. what'd they do? i'm not sure on that one. i know a couple of them have erased themselves (suicide), and i know one is currently residing in a government funded palace (the white walls are squeaky clean). __ what's a boy supposed to do? __ you know, i'm lying. i'm not like that. i'm just pulling what everyone else does. they cry about their small problems to get sympathy. the world _thrives_ (throb-throb) on sympathy. we're all just pissing around because there really isn't anything else to do. "wanna go to the mall?" "sure, but weren't we there yesterday?" "yeah. what else then?" "the other mall" "whatcha want to buy?" "nothing" it's all so boring. eat, sleep, eat, sleep, shit, shave, school. creative elements have left, and now we're playing with ourselves. "the world is what you make of it." whoever came up with this cliche needs to be shot. what if all the playdoh has hardened up and there's nothing to mold? what then? i'll tell you. this. __ words can't define what i feel inside __ +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + fuck me, if you dare + submitted by - kaia why are some people so absorbed in hedonistic cravings like an unrelenting urge for sex? i'm sure you know a man who worships his dick and wants you to, too! for example, he might be like my ex, james: "come, come, deanna, my sweet epicurean maiden!" he'd beacon with sugary lips and glossy eyes, "let's make lord bulky purr, shall we?" or he might be like andy, who would attempt to swoon me with butterysmooth words, like: "i worship you, honeybuns! (even greater than my dick) i would crumple at your feet, deanna, to be with you forever! but while we lie silently, beautiful martyrs bound with chains of mortal demise, together let an expression our pure and blissful love spiral gracefully towards the heavens." oh, the divinity! hah! they were words i wouldn't believe even if holy mary leapt from a cloud and swore on their fucking truth. they were words that *andy* knew i wouldn't believe, and that *i* knew andy knew i wouldn't believe, and that *andy* knew i knew he knew i wouldn't believe, and that both of us didn't care one bit about, because we both knew he didn't mean them anyway. yes, andy reveled in excessive pedanticism! but in addition, he was a bright, thoughtful lad, and understood that most "love" is really infatuation, and that infatuation is just a selfish little ogre vying to deliver the perfect romance. but then again, the man you have in mind might be like my ex, chris: "me: horny. you: cunt. fuck. now." or like kevin, who would grab any opportunity (and grab you, too!) to do the ol' in-out in-out, even if you were busy balancing your checkbook, making your favorite oddball sandwich, or solemnly explaining to him about your bleeding spells and unusual sores-that-won't-heal. andy, however, was different. indeed, he was caught up in auto-phallic worship; he even built a shrine in his mother's garden, under the peonies, to acknowledge that the flowers were only two vowels above his penis. "and two vowels only, because my penis rules!" well, i thought so, too. perhaps since andy would show me that he, unlike most other men, enjoyed the greater things in life. <> you might ask. silly you! <> listen up! first of all, since i'm not a social clod and since i grew up on the streets of new york city, i've been approached about (and for) sex enough times from friends, lovers, and complete strangers that i've learned which propositions to accept and which to politely decline, as well as which to roll my head back and belly-laugh over until i cry. which i have really done! coital denial, i once read, is often taken as his ultimate masculine rejection. or at least, as one that delivers a stinging blow to his ego. i wonder if this is true. because, hey! the men who deserve my guffaws are those whose egos just beg like a doggie to be pruned to a humble... to a humble and sumptuous sensuality. which brings me to my next point. sensuality is an attitude that projects inner confidence and a controlled desire for emotional expression through tactile communication. "it's my sheer pleasure to show you how much i like you," is conveyed through lingering smiles and touches, and through noticeable verbal openness. sensuality is not sexuality, and being sensual does not necessarily mean having sex. i once knew a young woman who had been with three men by age eighteen, just like i once knew a young man who had been with a hundred nongenderspecific lovers by age twenty. but this young woman was special. as her first true love had said, he adored how she always made love with her *whole* body and his *whole* body. she was so tenderly aggressive that they both felt consumed and fulfilled, even without sex. i would rather make love like this than fuck someone, anyday. fucks are everywhere. the world is swarming with them, though nobody gives a flying fuck since they are just too damned rare. but otherwise, no matter how you look at it, a fuck is a fuck, and all of them come, just like you, no pun intended, with benefits and drawbacks. while both fucking and making love involve the pleasure of entrusting someone with a most secret and vulnerable part of yourself, fucking does this too soon and has a purpose, while making love does this when the time is right and is an expression. this "most secret and vulnerable part of yourself" might be a personal dream, experience, or philosophy (as in the mental fuck), a body part (as in the physical fuck), or a surge of infatuation (as in the emotional fuck). sure, it feels good; after all, self-gratification is the main purpose of the fuck. unless you're dense, you get what i mean. another objective is to become intimate very quickly -- *before* the painful reality of imperfection creeps in -- because sharing intimacy with someone who reciprocates feels simply awesome! but imagine the embarrassment of gradually discovering that you revealed so much about yourself to a person you had thought was someone different. i have done this before. it sucks. intimacy resulting from fucking is tragically illusive; to avoid this realization by sustaining the high would require even *more* fucking. so go. fuck yourself to death. and make love to me, if you dare. +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + i must suck, for i am not beaten down by the man + submitted by murmur ladies and gentlemen, do you know what this is? this is the nineties. the nineties hold a lot of random meaning for us simpletons. it's the first decade ever where homosexuality, far, far, from being taboo anymore, is now considered fashionable. it's the decade that will have brought us the mighty morphin power rangers and nypd blue. it's the decade of green day. it's the decade of angst. and perhaps most obliquely; the nineties is that decade where if your life wasn't fucked up you must be inferior. what? what the hell am i talking about? it's quite simple really. were you molested as a child? didn't think so. so your opinion is meaningless, when you're talking to someone who was. raped? homosexual? black? a dwarf? if you answered no to all of these questions, shut the hell up, your opinion must be second rate. are you a punk? you better be. you better be a true punk. and you can't be a true punk unless the man has put you down for being a punk. and once the man puts you down for being a punk, you're important. the values of others hold far less meaning, because YOU have been BEATEN DOWN by the MAN. him in the corner, he's a fuckhead, HE hasn't been BEATEN DOWN by the MAN. this is the modern age, where the survivors are the only ones that can freely think. look around you. who's the angriest? why are they angry? isn't it typical that mister angry punk is also mister most opinionated? isn't it because his opinions are based on how he's been oppressed, and that's why he's angry? if you're not oppressed, you won't be angry, and you can't formulate opinions. this isn't a random rant off into left field. this is specifically directed at YOU. YOU, as in the one reading this text file. YOU, the one who so valiantly bitches and moans about how fucked up things are. YOU, who singly degrade the opinions and values of others the most, because YOU have had your opinions rejected by society. look at some examples. how about: the computer underground? doesn't it piss the fuck out of you that your underground has been sabotaged by brainless asshole warez kiddies? sure it does. why were you in the underground in the first place? because the MAN was out there OPPRESSING you. he still is. you have to hide. and now they think it's cool. they think what you stand for is important, so you FLATTEN them. now, sure, they don't know what the fuck is going on. but let's consider for a moment.. ANARCHY. what the FUCK is anarchy? anarchy -- n. 1. a. absence of government. b. a state of lawlessness or political disorder due to to the absence of governmental authority. c. a utopian society of individuals who enjoy complete freedom without government. 2. absence of order. i'm not talking about people who say '4n4rCHy d00d$!#@#@' i'm talking about the true anarchists in modern day society. i'm talking about the people who want the abolition of government. and what is their definition of anarchy? is it 1a? is it 1b? 1c? 2? the fundamental notion of an anarchist society is 1c. definitions 1a, 1b, and 2 more roughly equate to the notion of a 'state of anarchy', not an 'anarchist state.' a 'utopian society'. everyone's happy. how the fuck can someone call themselves an anarchist who talks about bombs? how do bombs make people happy? dementia doesn't count. think about yourself. are you pissed off that things haven't gone your way? you're into the punk ethos and your bitchy parents want to take you to the synagogue/church/temple? you like wearing your green hair and listening to your sex pistols? you tired of the poseurs? that's all fine and dandy. what if i don't fancy myself a punk? what if i just don't agree with you? then what? we should be even, right? wrong. because you're a hypocrite. because if someone disagrees with you, they're out to get you. they think you're ignorant, they think you're weird, they think you're strange. they could listen to roland kirk for twenty hours a day and eat only spaghetti-o's but because they're not the same, and because they don't think the same way, all they are to you is different, and a problem. that's what's wrong with this bastardization of the modern punk ethos. we can even blame johnny rotton for it. why is 'anarchy' going around and smashing things are being an all-out nuisance? you don't like the way things are going, so you're going to fight the man, and you're going to fight the man by being an anarchist. and even those of you out there who scold the anarchists, you're even worse half the time! you're the most selfish bastards out there. you bitch and moan about how people are stupid but when people merely disagree with you you lash out at them. people have different interests you find boring/cliched/sold out and they're villified. who the fuck are you? don't knock me for not thinking the same way as you. don't knock me for standing up and telling you what i think. applaud me. applaud me, you son of a bitch, for exemplifying that attitude that you fancy to hold so true to your heart, applaud me for being myself. get down on your lazy anti-social slacker knees and kiss my dirty feet for exhibiting the TRUE punk ethos. then you tell me what you really think, and you stop talking about your fucking attitudes, and i'll do the same to you. +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + dto spotlight on - vanir vanir; writer - being a dto writer, musician, and part time viking is hard work! fortunately, vanir has learned to like the simple things in life. when he's not out looting and pillaging small scandinavian villages, vanir can be found teaching karate to small children just in case the putties attack again. currently an education major at illinois central college, he hopes one day to make lots of red marks on five-paragraph themes because, damn it - it's fun. +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + please excuse me; i'm feeling nauseous + submitted by - vanir my eyes opened slowly, my tired mind realizing it was once again 7:15. my big brother was shaking me, trying to wake me. time to ride the bus to school again to learn some more. i always liked history the best. without that class, how could i have learned how our government has always fought for us and kept us protected? without our government we'd all be degenerates, wallowing in our own sins. i just couldn't live like that. just imagine a world where perverts roamed free, spreading their filth. gives me chills. yeah, i'm glad the government helped us out. i open the door, out into the world, out of the confines of the house. it's good to be outside, you feel so unrestricted... i get on the bus, and as it pulls away, i notice a friend of mine being stopped by a patrol car. looks like he was caught using profanity again. some friend he is. what a neanderthal. people shouldn't use words like that, anybody can think of another way to say the same thing more constructively. the government just makes sure everyone uses their head. they're always thinking about us, that's what i like about living in the us. the bus pulls into the parking lot of the school, and i get out and walk in the front door. i see a few slimes in the corner of one of the halls looking at dirty pictures (swimsuits... eccchhh), taking turns as lookout. i make a mental note to tell someone important. maybe my big brother. someone has to show them the error of their ways. why can't everyone measure up to societal moral standards? after all, they are called "standards", aren't they? finally! it's time for history! my favorite. today's discussion is about a supreme court case a few years back regarding the censorship of school papers. it's certainly a good thing they gave the power of censorship to the schools. the schools are meant to shape young minds, are they not? anything that disrupts the learning process shouldn't be allowed to exist. another class i enjoy is ethics. they started teaching this at all grade levels when i was little, and it's done this country an incredible amount of good. i'm told that before this, young people didn't know right from wrong, and made all kinds of bad life decisions. now, we are guided every step of the way by positive role models who have made something of themselves. if you're confused, they know what to do. just ask them! but, as we all know, they're not always going to be around, so they prepare us for the future! we are instructed in the right thing to do for almost any situation, and they tailor make each set of situations to the grade level. it's ingenious! as much as i like school, i'm glad when 3:00 rolls around. i ride home and plop down in front of my computer to talk to my friends. i logon to the microsoft network, join #happy, and engage in a pleasant conversation with someone calling themselves bunny. that's such a cute nickname. not like it used to be, i'll tell you. from what i've learned in history, the information superhighway had some serious bumps in the road, even a few deep potholes before the government repaved it. what a smooth ride it is now! i don't have to worry anymore that the person i'm talking to is a child molester, or that i'll suffer psychological trauma from seeing or reading something horrible. it's a good feeling to have. and speaking of good feelings, it's time to retire. i snuggle up in my warm covers knowing that my big brother is watching over me, keeping me safe. sleep well! +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + worcestershire sauce - condiments; chapter 7 + submitted by - murmur kim and chris were putting on their best clothes; he his cashmere sweater, she her best dress. he was going to bring the main course, she the dessert and honey. they met at the gazebo for a picnic feast: southern fried chicken, potato salad, jello, and bread and honey, plus her special dessert, lemon meringue pie. kim slowly and deliberately ate, stopping every so often to kiss chris on the cheek. chris returned the favor often, while sipping an orange soda. they slowly pecked at the chicken and potato salad until it was gone. they slowly shared their jello by feeding each other. chris spread the honey over the bread and slowly tore pieces off to hand-feed kim. she checked the bread to find it gone, but he found plenty of honey left. they retreated to the bushes with blanket and honey. he slowly undressed her, as she did he. he took the honey and smoothly poured it over her stomach. he then rubbed the honey all along her body until her skin was sheathed by the sweet work of bees. kim then rubbed up against chris, and he was covered with honey as well. they were just laying there when the followers of great salmon arrived. chris and kim interlocked with each other in fluent motions, still covered with honey. the great salmon's followers were advancing, however. the first cadet reached her extremity and started advancing along her large left big toe. soon his friends caught up to him and advanced slowly along her legs. she noticed not, though, for she was covered with honey. he had his hands around her wonderous, gorgeous ass, and he noticed not, neither, the ants from the colony of great salmon advancing. suddenly he felt a thumping across his finger tips. he disengaged liplock and looked up to see the ants quickly scooting up her yellow, glowing back side. he shreiked, she shreiked, chris shreiked, kim shreiked, and they shreiked together. He got up quickly, and she scampered up, covered with salmon's cadets. chris raced frantically to the lagoon and following suit was kim. they jumped in and knocked all the ants off of her honey-covered extremity. in their franticness the honey washed off as well, and when all was said and done they found themselves naked in a foot and a half of water. they started recommencing their actions, this time in a cold, wet sheath. but the allen wrench crayfish were advancing... moral: don't fuck in the bushes when you're covered with honey. slurpee! +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ + toilet + submitted by - fake scorpion oh toilet you make me feel well you take away the pain. you withstand my golden rain. i love you toilet. i can be alone, or perhaps on the phone, but oh toilet, you always comfort me. women nor parents will ever take you away from me. +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ doomed to obscurity issue three has been brought to you by the letters f, u, and the number nine. all correspondence should be directed towards - dto@prism.net d2o three / all rights reserved - 1995 - doomed to obscurity press +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+