~`~~~`'~~'~~' ~`~~~`~~~~~~~`~~~~`~ ~`~~~,~~~~'~,~~~~~,~~'~~' ~,~~~,~~~~`~~~~~~`~~~~~`~~~'~ ~~~`~~~~'~~~~~~~~~`~~~~~'~ ~~ ~`~~~~`~~~`~~~~~'~~ ~ ~`~`~~,~~~`~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~'~~ ___________________ `~~~`~ / =Mad Ludwig= / ~`~ / / ~~ /................../ ~' ³:..-.V.-.V.-.-.-.V| ~ :#@#@#@:#@#@#:@:#::::@:::: ³\:..-.U.-.-U.U..-..: :*::::::&:::*:&:*::::&:::: ³ \:..G.-.G.-.-.G.-..: * :#::::::@:::#:@:#::::@:::: * U\ ³ ~.~.~.~.~.~ ³ * :&::::::*&*&::*:&::::*:::: * ³ \³_____o*oOo*o_____³ * :#::@#@:#@:#::@:#::::@:::: * ³__U________________ U :&::::*:&:::*:&:*::::&:::: ³\ ³ \³ :#::::@:#:::@:#:@::::#:::: A_\³_________________³ :*&*&*&:*:::&:*:&*&*:&*&*: O\ ³ \³ - = I S S U E # 9 = - \A_________________A "It's time to play Spot the Looney!" O O Still lookin' bad Grill font by Quarex Grill ascii by Swiss Popopoppopopopope =-=-[MARCH 31, 1997]=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= | | | CONTENTS OF ISSUE #9 OF GRILL (The Zine for Heretics): | | | | <1> Neve Campbell riot | | <2> Todd Rundgren Fucking Rules! | | <3> Why Cats are like Women | | <4> The Frat Party at Camelot | | <5> Bad Memories | | <6> The Smurfish Patient | | <7> Tard Soccer | | <8> Something that might be Fan Mail | | <9> Chipmunk & Cat: The Two Witnesses to The Apocalypse | | <10> Quarex apologizes for the abundance of Editor's Notes in Issue 9 | | <11> Without Further Adieuauejaks | | <12> Palimpest: Or Every Student Written Poem Ever Written | | <13> Rants & Raves about Various Things | | | =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= =*-*= INTRODUCTION = By: Quarex Issue #9? Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with us? We're still churning out issues of Grill (the Zine for heretics!!!) two calendar years after we started producing it. You'd think that an awful idea like making your own Zine would kill itself off after a few months. . . but, such is not the case. This issue is going to be dedicated to how I hate everyone on earth with the exception of myself and Pol Pot. Well, not really. Anyway, while I was sitting writing this, I got a great idea for a TV Sitcom. It would star Fred Astaire as Marie Antoinette's Pimp, with the clever title of "Let them eat Cock". Now that I've got my vulgarity out of the way, let's dive directly into what all of you really want to see in a 'zine: WHINY RAMBLINGS! EEEEEEEEENGH. MY FOOT HURTS. EEEENNNNNGGGGHHhhhHhhhhh.. . . No, on second thought, let's not do that. Let's instead celebrate that today is not only St. Patrick's day, but also Billy Corgan's birthday. Though I couldn't possibly care less that it's Billy Corgan's birthday, I happen to know that fact, so I felt it warranted inclusion. This issue of Grill was supposed to be released on the 28th of February, but due to my forgetting about it completely, as well as everyone else's forgetting about it completely, nothing got done. I have a poem from a guy who's never written for Grill before, and hopefully something on Todd Rundgren coming soon. But other than that, it's going to be my own damn material, yet again. I hereby predict that Grill shall reach Issue #13 and henceforth never be heard from again. :) Since I wrote that last bit, the Todd Rundgren article has thankfully come through. And, just like Todd Rundgren, it's 12 letters long. ~ FIN ~ =*-*= Todd Rundgren Fucking Rules! = By: Kheldar Whenever anyone asks what kind of music I like, along with a few other various groups, I say Todd Rundgren. The typical response is, "Todd who?" Well, I don't think many people realize how much Todd Rundgren fucking rules. You can keep your Rush! Take that Beck CD back! Just leave me with my Todd Rundgren. Don't try to tell me I'm nuts. I'm not nuts. I've been listning to Todd Rundgren ever since I was 3 or 4, and have 15 of his CDs, and one of his LPs, so I know what I'm talking about. You think you know good music? You think you've heard it all? Well, you haven't heard anything until you've heard the Viking Song. You think you've heard a funny song? You haven't listened to Piss Aaron! Todd Rundgren has something for everyone. Now go out and buy ALL OF HIS FUCKING CDS! NOW! They called him, Piss Aaron, they always caught him pissin' in the halls! Back yet? Ok then. I figure any artist who can put out over 30 albums and still be fresh and origional has to be good. Well, I'm right, so fuck you. You see, there is no denying that Todd Rundgren is truly Jesus. Yes, it's true. Todd Rundgren is your savior. He did that locust swarm thing back in the summer of '74, and he went through the whole angel-of-death thing when he was 6. I'm not bullshitting you. He is Jesus. My respect for Todd Rundgren can never deminish. Now, for your next project, I want you to make a shrine to Todd Rundgren in your bathtub with holy water and pieces of Noah's ark. Done with that? Ok, you're ready for the final step. Listen to Todd Rundgren albums for 3 hours a night while playing solitaire (the game for people with no friends) in Windows. Real cards just won't do. Or, if you have one of Todd's interactive CDs, this is even better. If everyone spent 3 hours a day on Todd's interactive CDs, the world would be a better place. Todd Rundgren is god. Do not argue with me or I shall eat you. Whole. He is Todd. Hear him roar. Bow-wow-how-now-brown-cow-FUCK? [Editor's note: I heard the Todd Rundgren song "Espresso" once on everyone's favorite college radio station, WESN, and thought it was the absolute coolest thing I'd ever heard.] !!! FIN !!! =*-*= Why Cats are like Women = By: Quarex (with a few from Spirit and Kreeg) Cats and women have always gone together. There was catwoman in the comic "Batman", for one thing. And for another thing, . . . uh, So this is why Cats and Women are alike: 1. They're both really cute. 2. They're both smaller than we are. 3. They both smell nice after they lick themselves. 4. They're both right next to me meowing right now. 5. They know exactly how they work, and they also know exactly how we work. But we don't have a clue how they work. 6. Either can be covered with wet Terrycloth for an amusing effect. 7. They'll come up to you and rub up against you for a while, but if you try to pick them up, they scamper off. 8. They both come back to you a little while after scampering off, rub against you some more, then run off again, leaving you feeling worse than before. 9. They can both find food on their own. 10. They both bring dead mice back to their owners once in a while. 11. They were both worshipped by the Ancient Egyptians. 12. They develop rabies easily. 13. They both love chocolate, though neither one wants to love it. 14. This is the track number that "Aenima" is on the new Tool album. 15. They both have tails. 16. They're both covered in hair. 17. They both eat off the floor. 18. They're both faster than us. 19. They both sleep all day. 20. They both boss us around and we accept it. 21. They both shed. 22. Both of their tongues are really rough. 23. They're both evil. 24. They were both burned at the stake at fun periods in history. 25. At night, they'll both suck all your breath away, like in Cat's Eye. 26. They both shit in a sandbox. 27. They're both pussies. 28. They both have fleas, ticks, and spiders. Spiders everywhere. 29. They both get drowned when there's too many in a litter. 30. They both bleed when you cut their heads off. 31. They both lose all their appeal when they get too old. 32. Either one can be found freely at your local Humane Society. 33. Both are attracted to owners with lots of food and a nice house. 34. They both would make good Adult Contemporary song titles. 35. They will both come sleep on your face if you let them out of the basement. $_$ FIN $_$ =*-*= The Frat Party at Camelot = By: Yossarian The moon's shadows lit up the stark shine of the street; The gallant knight streamed through the dark with urine on concrete The gentle cry of an owl was heard, Echoing through the sky; Yet soon the soft laments of the bird Drowned in drunken cries A fair maiden, blonde Chalott, Emerged in the mist, Passing out in the exact spot, The Knight had just pissed. A minstrel's voice sang to my mind to comfort all my need, Urging me to treat dear maidens kind And to smoke lots of weed. The goblet's brought out, the wine was poured A toast was made to the maiden bright A prayer for the dead, a blessing for the lord, to get laid tonight. A maiden who indeed faired the best, with golden eyes and shining braid Knew that fucking a knight was indeed a quest, And she on her third crusade The feast was finished, the knights passed out vomit dripped ear to ear, Today's romanticism and what love's about makes this pilgrim shed a tear ... FIN ... =*-*= Bad Memories = By: Quarex There are certain things that happen to you when you're a little kid that you never want to remember. And, if you do accidentally remember them, you'll never say anything about them to anyone, because they're just so damn stupid. However, I'm Quarex, and it's my job to tell everyone things that they have no interest in and that I should be embarassed to talk about. So there I am, little Quarex, age 7. I'm with my parents in French Lick, Indiana. They give me a plastic bag with quarters in it, and send me down to the arcade of the hotel where we're staying. I put my quarters up on the Gauntlet game I was playing, and some kid who was a few years older than I started taking quarters from my bag and using them to give himself more health. Now, keep in mind there was really nothing I could do. I was young, fat, and alone. So, I just begged in a obsequious, whimpering voice, "Please don't take my quarters!". It didn't work, though. Eventually, I took the quarters off the machine, and put them in my pocket. The kid got mad at me, and insisted that I was a jerk, saying, "Oh, THANKS, there goes my health!". I honestly believed that I had done something wrong, so I probably let him have more money at that point. I made several trips to the arcade, and was able to avoid the kid a few times and play a game (which I considered to be the greatest game ever made at the time) which I think was called "Zwackery" or "Zwizardry" or something like that, in which you were a wizard with a wand and a shield and you had a little rotating knob. . it looked and ran unlike any other game I've ever played, but it was basically a side scrolling game like Mario, but mixed with Rolling Thunder somehow. Anyway, that's not important. The kid came back with a bunch of his friends eventually, and I told him to give me my money back. He said "Kid, I don't know who you are. You must be thinking of my twin brother, he's up in my room." I didn't believe the kid, fortunately for me. I think if I HAD believed him, this would be a much better story. But, c'est la vie. So, I kept saying "You're lying", until eventually I said "Oh, okay, I'll just go to your room." At that point, he muttered to his friends, "What an idiot, he believed me," to which I said, "I HEARD THAT!" So, they left without giving me money. How shocking. At some point, I must have left the arcade, and went back to my parents. Apparently, I didn't tell them what had just happened, but rather asked my dad to come down to the arcade with me. He did so, and the kid was there, sure enough. I told him to give me my money back, and he responded by punching me in the stomach, right in front of my dad. Gee, thanks for defending me there dad. Anyway, I crawled off, saying "That. . didn't. . hurt. ." and started crying once I reached my dad. Oh well, maybe I was a bit less powerful then than I am now. In any case, I had dreams of beating those kids up with high-powered karate moves for years afterwards, and would still love to beat the living shit out of those fuckers, who will have somehow aged at an incredible pace, and be well over 60 by now. -- Another story I can remember is one that most everyone I know has heard, but should probably be shared. It helps explain why I really have never liked women too much, I believe. I was almost 2 years old, and probably not all that good at walking just yet. But, walk I did, and as I walked down the streets of Washington D.C., a little 5 or 6 year old girl came up to me. I turned to her and flashed her a cute 2 year old boy smile, to which she responded by punching me in the face and knocking me over. My mom confesses that she thought it was hysterically funny, even though her only child had just been knocked over by a girl. This was, of course, the last time I took any form of physical abuse from a female without returning it in kind. I believe in equal rights, after all! -- Actually, I can think of one other awful experience from my childhood. I was around 9 or 10, I believe, and was at my grandma'z house. I developed a really awful case of the flu all at once, it seemed, and I think that was the sickest I've ever been. I threw up a couple times in the morning, which was bad enough. However, around noon time, my grandma started making pizza. Now, for those of you who don't know, pizza tastes revolting to me, because I feel extremely disgusted when I eat tomato paste of any sort. Also, pizza's smell always turned me off big-time. However, when you couple an extreme flu with the worst smell I know. . well, bad things happen. I started throwing up every 10-15 minutes, all alone in the den, while everyone else ate pizza. My mom says that they didn't bother checking on me, because they knew I was sick so they assumed nothing bad was happening. I, however, was crying unceasingly when not throwing up, because not being able to escape the worst odor you can imagine and feeling sicker than you ever have before makes for the worst feeling I can comprehend. Since that day, I haven't been able to smell pizza without feeling like destroying the source of the odor, and have been able to only eat about one full slice of pizza with all the little bites I've taken combined. God, I hate pizza. @o@ F i N @o@ =*-*= The Smurfish Patient (Editor's title! :>) = By: Vanir In the Smurf village, all the Smurfs were ecstatic when Baby Smurf came along. Nobody really knew who his parents were, even though the only female Smurfs in the whole place were smurfette and sassette. God knows, maybe Smurfs reproduce asexually or something. But that would sort of negate the need for gender in Smurfkind. I don't know, nor do I care. But anyway, like I said before, the whole damn village was happy they had a baby to care for. Except soon some of them got tired of making sacrifices for Baby Smurf, taking time away to do more smurfy activities. And so some of the smurfs resented Baby Smurf's being there. Anyway, one morning shortly thereafter Baby Smurf's cries didn't wake any of the little Smurfs up. This wasn't noticed by anyone except for Brainy Smurf, who bitched and moaned about it until somebody threw him on his head. Then Smurfette turned on the little blue water works and all Smurf broke loose. Smurf parties were sent forth to find Baby Smurf and they looked and smurfed and looked and smurfed and looked and smurfed some more but nobody found him. And they all missed him. Then like maybe 2 days later weird lights were seen in the forest and a smurf party was sent to check it out. And there, bathed in a weird light, was Baby Smurf lying in a little Smurf basket. And there was a note on the basket reading, "Hi, we're aliens. Here's your Smurf back. P.S. we did some alterations and experiments on him." And Smurfette smurfed big happy smurfy tears and everybody was happy and never resented Baby Smurf again. ~"~ FIN ~"~ =*-*= Tard Soccer = By: Quarex As I leafed through my Psychology book tonight, I gazed upon three or four pictures of retarded kids in wheelchairs. These kids were each flanked by two or three normal kids, who were all smiling and enjoying the retarded kid's company. Every single time I see a picture like this, I WANT TO THROW UP. Do Psychologists honestly believe that people who have no (obvious) mental deficiencies are often willing to communicate with profoundly retarded individuals? Psychologists should KNOW that it's against human nature to treat someone who is obviously inferior and someone who isn't on the same plane. People in wheelchairs, maybe. Most people don't think they're above someone in a wheelchair. But a RETARDED kid in a wheelchair, well. . . . Let's run through a brief scenario as a Psychology book would have you understand it. Vid Kid, our retarded hero, is cascading through a park, with the help of his faithful chair, "Wheelz". With him are his two buddies, Kit & Carrie. Vid Kid realizes that he wants to get a drink of water from the fountain. VID KID: "Hey Kit, can you get me water?" KIT: "Sure thing, Vid Kid!" CARRIE: "Here, let me help you out of the wheelchair!" KIT: "Watch his legs, Carrie! They're not as strong as yours or mine!" CARRIE: "I've got him!" VID KID drinks water. VID KID: "Thank you, Kit and Carrie!" Now, let's see the same scenario from a real-life perspective. This is assuming that a retarded guy in a wheelchair could even GET two people named Kit & Carrie to be near him to begin with. VID KID: "Hey Kit, can you get me water?" KIT: "God, tards are so worthless! Why didn't someone just suffocate this thing when it was born?" CARRIE: "No shit. It's bad enough when his stupid ass tries to flirt, but when Captain Muscle-Spasm here winks at me, I want to set his wheelchair on fire and pump five rounds from a Walther PPK into him." KIT: "Here's your water, you pathetic cripple!" KIT knocks VID KID's wheelchair over. VID KID: "Noooo! My chariot!!" CARRIE: "You remind me a lot of Corky from "Life Goes On" . . . except there's no one here to save your ass after we beat it." CARRIE whips out a crowbar from behind a tree. KIT & CARRIE mercilessly beat VID KID until he is dead. KIT: "Another of mankind's disgraces is destroyed. Heil Hitler!" Well, at least that's how I think it would go. If I offended you with this article, then you really shouldn't be reading Grill. :) Incidentally, this article was inspired by memories of Stacy Hardwick, the retarded girl who would get me a detention or some other form of punishment nearly every day of my first grade year. Every day, she would go up to my teacher (Mr. Zehr) and tell him that I had hit her. I had never come near her, let alone hit her. However, since she was retarded, *I* was the bad guy, and was chastized by the first grade teacher coterie. I think I ended up killing Stacy Hardwick a few years later, but I can't be sure. @@@ FIN @@@ =*-*= Something that might be Fan Mail = By: Per-Johan Pettersson Date: Sun, 30 Mar 1997 02:45:20 -0800 From: Per-Johan Pettersson MIME-Version: 1.0 To: amhunt@odin.cmp.ilstu.edu Subject: (Ämne saknas) X-URL: http://www.altavista.digital.com/cgi-bin/query?pg=q&what=news&fmt=.&q=petshopboys Eeeh... Jag tror jag kom fel...uräkta så mycket GLAD PÅSK! :-) [Editor's Note: Granted, this mail looks like it was in response to my page somehow showing up on Altavista when he looked for Pet Shop Boys. But, since I have no idea how my page would show up on Altavista, and I felt like having something in Swedish in this issue, I included it.] [Also, special thanks to Hrothgar for actually being able to translate enough of this e-mail to know that he was saying something like "Thanks for the help".] Jag FIN Jag =*-*= Chipmunk and Cat: The Two Witnesses to The Apocalypse = By: Hieronymous Chipmunk and Cat: The Two Witnesses to The Apocalypse We were driving as usual, Cat and I. It was getting to be about curfew, so I began to take her home. At around 12 A.M., the first few seconds of Easter (the celebration of the resurrection of Jesus Christ, in case you forgot). We heard a demonic voice on the radio say, "It smells like hell in here!" About that time the car began to reek. "What is that smell?" I asked. "OH my GOD!!", Cat replied, It smells like. . . FETAL PIG!!" We rolled down the windows, but that only made it worse. Further down the road, Cat looked up into the night's sky and said "ChIpMuNk?!?!? Look at the moon!@!!#@$" You wouldn't have believed it! It was almost black, it was so red. No, it was scarlet! Are you familiar with revelations in the bible? The part about the moon turning to blood as one of the signs of the world ending? Well, many a night I have sat and stared at the moon, wanting and wishing for it to turn to blood, and _FINALLY_ it happens. Cat and I screamed, then cried a little. Then, we started to think of all the weird things that had happened to us. The "Pete Parrot" that worked with no batteries, the recent suicide of the cult people, the comet being as close as it was to the earth, the mysterious fetal pig smell, the fact that it *was* Easter, and then the moon turning to blood. . it was all too much for we little furry creatures. After driving a little more, the moon sort of morphed into a orange-esque colour, then turned yellow, so we finally felt safe in going home. All day Easter we watched carefully for any more signs, but by nighttime we laughed at ourselves. "Silly Chipmunk, you thought the world was going to end, hahahaha!" "Silly Cat, the apocalypse is a long ways away! Hahaha!" And that's how Chipmunk and Cat were (for a short time) the Two Witnesses to the Apocalypse. [Editor's note: This represents the first ever female-written submission for Grill, and I feel it symbolizes quite a bit, since Grill started as quintessential female-hate propaganda. :)] [Also, my apologies to Hieronymous, but I had to go through and change her article a bit to fit it into Grill's grammar-correct stylings. The line "It was all too much for us little furry creatures" was driving me insane. ;)] ___ FIN +++ =*-*= Quarex apologizes for the abundance of Editor's Notes in Issue #9 = By: Quarex I hereby formally apologize for having so many Editor's notes in this issue of Grill. It was completely uncalled for, and I hope to completely stop throwing in Editor's notes by the time the next issue rolls around. [Editor's note: This is contrived.] ))) FIN ((( =*-*= Without Further Adieuauejaks = By: Ghort Siddhartha walked down the the water's edge. He leaned over and peered into it's serene, flowing depths. Then, all of a sudden, Boris (wearing a Holden Caulfield mask, of course) came up behind him and pushed him in. It sucked for Siddhartha, but was quite amusing for Boris. He laughed and laughed. He laughed so hard that his sides started to ache, and he keeled over. Pulling a small, white and red metal box from his pocket he mumbled "Ah, my friends. You make it all worthwhile." Boris took his usual dosage and, after admiring the label which read, "Made in Great Britain" he replaced the box in his pocket. Eventually it came to be dinnertime, and Phil could hear his mother calling to him from across the buttercup field. The wind blew lazily, tossing loosened bits of flowers, soil, and grass across Boris' rosy cheeks. "Fuckin' spring!" he muttered, but not too loud. Sometimes when he was out there in the field by the river, he didn't like to be too loud, because he didn't want to disturb all the things that were existing and trying very hard not to be disturbed. Yes, the Kool-Aid was definitely starting to wear off now, as Boris could feel the old pain of new friends gone by and old friends wearing off. "I need to stop pondering this," pondered Boris as he got off his haunches, brushing the loose dirt that had managed to cling to his courduroys. This was surprising to Boris, because his pants were electrified to prevent just such an incident. "I'll have to have them looked at," thought Boris hatefully. He ran as fast as his little legs could carry him back to that little house, there on the prairie. He fell down a couple of times, but even though he was pretty sure he sprained his ankle in what was most likely a snake hole, Boris kept running because he knew that his mother would be pretty made at him if he was late for dinner. Boris came creeping up to the house, accursed of God. Now as you all know, every good story needs a conflict, so here goes: Boris walked into the house, fully 23 seconds late. His mom's voice, which sounded a lot like the noise that 3.5 inch disks make when you push the little metal guard back, screeched resoundingly through the house. "Boristocracy, get your motherfucking ass in here post ad ergo proctor hoc!" "Jeeze mom, you don't have to bust out the Latin!" Boris retorted. His response was drowned in the Throbbing European Electro Dance Fury (tm) of the Armageddon Dildos. I hate this CD, Boris thought. His mom always played it at excessive volumes when they had lasagna for dinner. I hate lasagna, Boris thought. "I'm gonna cut your head off and feed your guts to the dog!" The guy from the Armageddon Dildos screamed in his drowling, cudgelprong voice. He had a funny accent too. He still does, for that matter. "Can't we listen to Leaetherstrip, Mom?" Boris pleaded. They'd already had Lasagna and Dildo night three times that week. "Shut the fuck up Borisabulbous! You know that your father has been having a very rough week at work and this is his only chance to relax." "What about after dinner?" "Well I suppose he could relax after dinner, but shut the fuck up anyway." --More meaningful dialogue--Time passes-- "How was school today Borisotope?" His mom asked after much meaningful dialogue and some time had passed. "Mom, I graduated 47 years ago and," "Don't you talk back to me young lady!" "FOR THE LAST TIME MOTHER, I am NOT female!" "That's it, I'm not going to put up with your shit anymore. Gunnlaug, say goodbye to your daughter." "Goodbye, daughter." Gunnlaug Worm-Tongue said, his eyes a clouded swirl of rainbow color and negative ions. That said, Mrs. Worm-Tongue got out her big Deadline-Knife (tm) and started cutting poor little Boris Worm-Tongue's heart out. It was a bloody site, as one might expect when someone gets their heart cut out. After she was finished with the dirty business, she carved the word "fin" and some cool ascii shit in her son's forehead and put him down the laundry chute. "Viva la muerte!" The Dildo's "sang". It probably means something morbid in another language. +++ FIN !!! =*-*= Palimpest: Or Every Student Written Poem Ever Written = By: Yossarian I gaze into my heart blackness awaits , Sharp and angry, as the cud of incurable sores on the mouths of men, Poets like me. I watch the angry boil that is my soul) Come to an angry head( I hurt for love I hurt for soul I hurt for apple pie. Do I dare? (I exist) * I write another pretentious sentence . Knowing full well that nobody gives a fuck . But I feel smarter having written it. I wonder if I even understand the irony of writing just one more stupid, pretentious poem in the first fucking person about how miserable my life is while I suck down a Diet Coke and listen to top 40 music on the radio; writing stupid things such as "My black soul awaits the arrival, / Of my white conscious," while in the fucking bright computer lab surrounded by people as stupid as myself: Why am I so Pretentious, and do I think it is good? I exist exist exist................... "Yes, sir, but that does not instill in me, any sense of obligation." Being that this is your everyday student poem I have to abuse laws of grammar For some reason ( I think that making a period four spaces after the sentence is over, makes me look deeper and more complex . I am a student How prudent I have no time to rhyme Yet don't know shit about wit. Black heart in the maelstrom of existence (that was only included because I went a while without using the words ) "black", "heart" or children toes "existence. Staples Of student poetry) Hey, I haven't used these yet: @#$%^^&+ Greg + Joni 4-ever I don't believe in the constrains of mediocrity, Yet bow to the master of conformity. I am on the operating table, The doctor is life I am d i sected by life. (Guess what, Poet, we don't care) I am a student poet. Shit, that sentence was fairly normal, let me try it again: I am a student poet of hypocrisy ~ There, that makes it more showy, therefor making it more complex, therefore making it better. Fuck Calvin Klein Do you see my open soul? Do you want to touch? (I don't know what that means but I had to address the reader in here somewhere. Why? Because I am a student poet) Sweet Cakes and Milk Shakes I scream with no sound cares brains Kiss me, fuck me, bite me, buy me an apple pie JUST DON'T LOVE ME my black (there we go again) heart (uh-huh) cannot stand love seething with desir e . So to all you student poets out there I tell you this Listen: GET A FUCKING LIFE, YOU ARE NOT e.e. CUMMINGS! NOBODY CARES s l e e p . .. fi n .. . =*-*= Rant & Rave about Various Things = By: Quarex This issue, I'd like to talk about why I named this column "Rant & Rave about Various Things" in the first place. The original working title for this column was "Miscellaneous Rants & Raves". However, miscellaneous was one of those words whose proper spelling always confused me, so I changed it to something easier to spell. In the mean time, I changed one of my BBS' ANSI screens to read "Miss Cell's Aneous", and ever since have been able to remember quite easily how to spell it. It's amazing how far making an ANALogy will get you. HAHAHAHAHAAHAH FUCK YOU : : : : : In light of the recent Cult Suicides in California, I feel that I've finally discovered the key to a successful business. The hits on their web page no doubt went up exponentially since their untimely deaths, due to the fascination people have with anyone appearing in the media. Therefore, I suggest this. Richard Garriot, C.E.O. of Origin Systems incorporated, should publicly shoot himself at the upcoming E3 Gaming Convention. This will cause sales of Ultima Online and Ultima 9 to shoot through the roof. I also suggest that David Lee Roth kill himself, but for completely unrelated reasons. : : : : : I've noticed recently that all Japanese song lyrics, when translated to English, become hysterically funny. A good example of this would be a children's song sung in the film "Shanghai Triad", containing the line "Two Yellow Dogs carry the Litter to Grandma". Now, if this is the kind of thing we can get from translating a CHILDREN'S song across ethnic and cultural boundaries, I'd hate to see what would happen once the Japanese see a subtitled version of the Bloodhound Gang's "Fire Water Burn". : : : : : If you take a moth and stuff it into a baby's mouth, then sew the baby's mouth shut, I'm fairly certain it'd be good for a laugh. : : : : : I saw a commercial on MTV today, which had a gothic-dressed Englishman in a cemetery reciting a poem about metal fans. The poem was somewhat funny, but very appropriate, and I fully expected it to herald the birth of a new Metal show on MTV, which caused me to be ecstatic. THEN, the final line of the poem is "And to hope that some day, they meet a real woman". HELLO? FUCK YOU, MTV. TAKE YOUR FUCKING SHIT AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR FUCKING ASS. METAL DUDES PROBABLY GET MORE SEX PER CAPITA THAN ANY OTHER MUSICAL GENRE. DO YOU THINK WILCO OR WEEZER ARE OUT GETTING LAID EVERY NIGHT? I SAY NO! : : : : : Again, I sit alone at my keyboard into the wee hours of the morning. As 5 A.M. rolls around, I wonder why I'm editing Grill rather than writing my Speech that's due on Thursday. For that matter, I could also be reading any of my textbooks, all of which (save my History book) have gone essentially unopened this semester. What's my point? It's simple. I can't wait for Ultima Online! : : : : : Puntime begins here: What do you call the labor that cheese-makers do? Kraftwerk! : : : : : What's Intel's new snack food called? Penti-yum! : : : : : What does Bill Gates' wife call his dick? MICROSOFT. HA HA HA HA. : : : : : Sorry. Anyway, I think it's time for me to complain about something new in the advertising world. I've noticed a rather bizarre drop in the number of advertisements for Violent Action Figures(tm) in the past year or so, and a shocking rise in the number of commercials for Shitty Lego Imitations(tm). Now, this could be a good thing, in that it could trigger the re-emergence of Legos as the #1 toy on earth. Or, it could just give even more SHITTY ACTRESSES a chance to MAKE IT ON TV as the STUPID MOM who says "With new GLOW IN THE DARK, RETICULATED, AUTO-GYRO BETTER BLOXXX, you can build a PIRATE SHIP, a ANTI-GRAVITY UNIT, some WARHEADS or a DILDO. If you CALL NOW, we won't END THE WORLD." : : : : : As long as I'm talking about shitty actresses, let's talk about the average Local Business(tm) commercial. Now, of course, most everyone reading this issue of Grill will have different Shitty Local Commercials(tm), but the underlying themes remain the same, at least in my experiences. There are three main ingredients to a Shitty Local Commercial: * A bald guy * One or more awful puns to try to sell a product * Ugly women playing sex objects The bald guy will, at some point in the commercial, touch the Ugly Woman. The Ugly Woman will say, "Awful Pun!". The Ugly Man's family will say, "Horace, come back to Boot Camp!". The commercial then will be over. : : : : : Joan, I love you. : : : : : Just when you thought the Music Industry was starting to push bands with talent again, in comes Matthew Sweet and Fountains of Wayne to prove you wrong. : : : : : My cat is sneezing right now. He looks very odd. : : : : : There's a kind of unexplainable rush that you can only get from procrastinating. When you've got a 7 page paper due in a couple days, and you haven't started it yet, there's nothing better than kicking back in an easy chair, sipping down some Sunny Delight, and cranking up Jethro Tull's "Stormwatch". : : : : : Ever wonder how you can lose so damn much hair and still have hair left? Every day of my life, I guarantee that I either comb out, wash out, or eat out at least 50 hairs. Now, I realize that there are hundreds of thousands of hairs on the human head, or at least Science would have you believe that. However. . . 50 Hairs Per Day (HPD) 365 Days Per Year (DPY) 5 Years Since I Had Long Hair That I Noticed Falling Out (YSIHLHTINFO). HPD * DPY = 18,250. 18,250 * YSIHLHTINFO = 91,250. Even giving Science the benefit of the doubt, that I had 900,000 hairs on my head, I would have already lost NEARLY 1/10TH OF MY HAIR. I do NOT THINK SO, BUDDY. My hair still looks exactly the same as when I first had it long, not to mention that 50 hairs a day was probably underestimating, and that I've been losing hair for more than 5 years. There's a serious conspiracy at work here, my friends. : : : : : Have you noticed that you can tell a lot about a band from its name? Sure, you say, that makes sense, why would a band choose a name that didn't fit its image? Aha, but that's not what I'm speaking about. You can tell whether a band is talented or not, simply by examining its name! This really only works with Metal and Indie Rock, though. Let's go through some examples. Band names that would be used by talented metal musicians: Majestic Empire Sky Castle Pandora's Box Lexicon King's Domain Icon Band names that would be used by untalented metal musicians: Corpse Butcher Corpse Sniffer Corpse Jumper Corpse Cross-Examiner Corpse Fillibuster Corpse Haberdasher Orangutan Corpse Peace Corpse Corpse in a Bucket Corpse on a Stick Burger Corpse Taco Corpse Dairy Corpse Corpse of your Grandma Corpses are Cool Smashing Corpses Fountains of Corpse Band names that would be used by talented indie rock musicians: Oh wait, there's no such thing! Band names that would be used by untalented indie rock musicians: Heavy PhlashLight Queer Mailman Cancellation Notice Pore Splitter Look at what Jimmy Did! Unkempt Guy Orange Jew Lice Mongoloid Haberdashery Captain Hornface Look At Kevin's Face Poo-Too-Weet Tears for Beers Luggage Compartment I think my point is proven. Yep. This particular Rant should have had an article all to itself, but I didn't want to give myself yet another article, ya know. :) : : : : : This may well be the longest Rant & Rave section ever. This means it's time to throw in some hard-core nudity to catch people's attention! o | /ì\ | / \ This may well be the best ascii the world has ever seen. Sorry for those of you who aren't using something that can pick up on high-order ascii. :) $$$ FIN $$$ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * Submissions to Grill (hahahaha) can be sent to: Quarex - Quarex@atheist.com Any comments about their material can be sent to: Yossarian - gsmartin@uiuc.edu Vanir - Vanir@cube.ice.net Kheldar - sewalter@oratmail.cfa.ilstu.edu Ghort - mpackard@uiuc.edu Hieronymous - rlphill@rs6000.cmp.ilstu.edu Kreeg - jmthomp@odin.cmp.ilstu.edu Spirit - Spirit@Dave-world.net (Or, you could complain about them to me, see if I care. . .) All material contained within this text file in its entirety is copyrighted. No part of it may be used in any other text file, archive, book, album, albino, algorhythm, alabaster vase, aligator, alistaire cooke, alimony, a la carte, a la mode, a.k.a. pablo, alley cat, alf, aloof, or all in the family without express-written consent of ME. QUAREX. That's right Neko, not even YOU are immune to this law. We're gonna hunt your Russia-Bound ass down and BUST A LEATHER CAP IN IT. The 9th issue of GRILL was completed sometime around March 31. I'm kind of like Jim Henson, always stroking my own Piggy. . (BOO!!!) ------------------------------------------------------------------------- ^Z