============================================================================ ============================================================================ .a&$ø ù. gggg .a&$ø ù. $$$$: $a .ù ø$$$$ RAD $$$$: $a $$$$: $$$ a$: $$$$ $$$$: $$$ $$$$: $$$l $$$: $$$$ $$$$: $$$l$$$$: $$$$l$$$: $$$$ ::: $$$$: ::$$$$$$$$: ::$$$$$$$$: ::$$$$ ::: $$$$: $$$$$$$$: $$$$$$$$: $$$$ $$$$: $$$$$$$$aaa $$$$$$$$: $$$$ $$$$: $$$$$$$$: $$$$$$$$: $$$$ $$$$: $$$$$$$$: $$$$$$$$: $$$$ a aaggggaa aggggggggaaa ggggggggaa aggggaa a $$$$: $$$$$$$$: $$$$$$$$: $$$$ $$$$: $$$$ ACK $$$$$$$$aaa $$$$ $$$$: Radioactive Aardvark Dung ============================================================================ ============================================================================ Radioactive Aardvark Dung E-Zine :: ISSN 1092-5449 Issue #13 % Released February 10th, 1997 Without Prejudice and Explicit Reservation of All My Rights, UCC 1-207 (C) 1997 Aardvark Industries ============================================================================ ============================================================================ "Editorials Suck, & So Does This One" As ranted by TMM E-mail: chris41@juno.com So to prove my point that RAD's wackiness is cooler than DTO's psuedo- intellectual angst I'll crack an egg over Mercuri's face! Hahaha!! ... What, not funny? Why not? It's funny to me! What the hell is your problem, punk? We need to talk about this whole producer-consumer relationship that we share, because the balance seems a bit skewed. What do you expect? You expect each article in each issue each month to singularly make you fall all out of your stupid chair & onto the ground in laughing hysterics. You expect that each "funny" will bring both good-natured humor & stirring social criticism into your pathetic little life. Do you know what that kind of pressure does to us here at RAD? Case in point, look at us: the High Society, the editors of RAD. As a result of writing RAD for a year, both Handle & Mercuri have been torn down from their comfortable teenage standing in Crown Point, Indiana & have been publicly ridiculed for wearing T-shirts with the inscription "Radio- active Aardvark Dung" upon them. Mercuri has lost lots of weight & developed a twitch to his face. He recently lost his spots on the respective wrestling team & chess club because of these stress-related disorders. His girlfriend is now sleeping with his loser 100 pound brother. What a fucking disgrace. Handle has grown so pale from spending too much time on the computer thinking up some desperately funny article for YOU to read that people in Crown Point call him "albino-boy" & take turns slapping him to see bruises form on his transparent skin. As a result, he now suffers from a horrible phobia of "being around others" which causes him to hysterically rant making no sense whatsoever while screaming profanity. Some people think he has Tourette's; I don't think so. Look at what you've done to them. I guess you'd normally assume that since Phorce & I haven't been editing RAD for too long that we wouldn't suffer as much from this immense burden that YOU place upon us. BUT NO. You'd be DEAD WRONG. Phorce has decided to "go his own way" & last week he got his nipples pierced on his way back from getting a big logo of "DUNG" tattooed on his neck, all of this one day after getting a sex change. Yes, I said a sex change. My friends, Phorce is now a (gasp) MAN. I, on the other hand, being a seemingly normal person, haven't resorted to such drastic measures to cope with the unbearable burden that YOU have given me. Everything that has happened to me has been involuntary reactions to this stress. My hair has turned from a light brown to WHITE & my once youthful face of nineteen years has developed crows feet, horrible red blotches everywhere & lots & lots of wrinkles. To put it simply, I now look like a fifty year old man. I fit in really well on a college campus, Goddamnit. So what's the point? Why am I telling you all of this, especially in RAD, where things are supposed to be nice, funny & wacky? Well, today marks a change in RAD's content. Mark this day, soothsayer: today is the proverbial Ides of March in RAD's infamous career. Today is the day when for once the staff of a RAD is crying "NO MORE!" to the readers' absolutist whims. We won't cater to your quasi-sophisticated senses of humor any more. Never again! THE TIME IS NOW! On this date all intelligence will be systematically SUCKED from the pages of RAD, leaving only juvenile wackiness. Live with it. [-----] I'm sure you're glad that everything is back to normal: I haven't changed a darn thing. ============================================================================ ============================================================================ Issue thirteen of Radioactive Aardvark Dung E-Zine, the premiere humor-based e-zine of the twentieth & twenty-first centuries contains: A new ascii from ACK, TMM's Editorial, this thing, some short funnies, News, Mercuri's Soap-Box (tm), A Log of the last RAD meeting, movie reviews, a story that will make you think Handle is on crack (we aren't saying he isn't), RADonics, an airport jamboree, a letter from Mercuri & TMM, more generic stuff about stupid people, & a tear-jerking account of one Mercuri's endless & bizarre love triangle between a beautiful supermodel & a furry feline. Ciao! ============================================================================ ============================================================================ If a tree falls in the woods & the only people around had already been killed by Michael Myers, did it make a sound? E-Mail TMM at chris41@juno.com the correct answer for a FREE RAD T-SHIRT!! HINT: It's a trick question! ============================================================================ ============================================================================ "RAD News" As announced by Tom Brokaw E-mail: chris41@juno.com Lotsa stuff is happening! "Like what?" Good thing you asked, because I'll tell you all about it!! I'm drunk. Issue specific stuff. Obviously a "new" editor is putting together this issue & as is my (unfortunate) tradition, it's late. I have no excuses as to exactly WHY it's late, it just is. So shut up. Other generic stuff. The RAD home page (http://www.pla-net.net/corp/zineworld/rad) has been COMPLETELY overhauled by our good friend Mercuri. It has come to my knowledge that Mercuri invested approximately three billion dollars of laundered mafia money & extorted lunch money to pay for this great venture. I think you owe it to us & to your family to at least swing by & give it a look. I'm drunk. RAD also has it's own newsgroup on Usenet that can be reached by going to: alt.ezines.rad where you can discuss in an oppressive forum (ruled by us High Society) how much you loved all thirteen issues of RAD & most especially issue thirteen itself. In other news, in a vain attempt to gain followers & enlighten the masses, RAD will be issuing a "Curse of the Dung" chain-letter that will hopefully get lots of money sent to our post office box & thus increase our hegemony over the entirety of cyberculture. The release date should be somewhere around St. Valentine's, to catch all you love-hungry hippies by surprise. We suggest that if you were to by chance recieve the letter, you should send it to at least fifty of your closest friends so that others will attain the coveted RAD Salvation (tm) that you are enjoying as we speak. Finally, Handle has announced that later this month (February '97 you loser) he will be releasing Bootleg RAD #3!! I don't mean to tease you, but I do feel that you should be expecting this mandate of heaven when it arrives. *burp* BEWARE! [TMM's Note: It is RAD's position that Tom Brokaw delivers the evening news every evening drunk. He slurs his words & looks like an imbecile. Let's stop avoiding the truth & start letting the facts speak for themselves.] ============================================================================ ============================================================================ "The RAD Box (A.K.A. Mercuri's Soap Box)" Ass kicker and name taker, Mercuri E-mail: jwapienn@pla-net.net Another year is here, and therefore another chance is here. Another chance to further our cause, another chance to gain more readers, another chance to show you what we're composed of. Another chance to convince you that we need your help; desperately. With readers, we are everything, and there is no stopping what we can do. Without readers -- without *you* -- we are nothing. As this ZIP file, or ASCII files, sits on your hard drive or home directory, it serves no one else save you. This is very unproductive; almost regressive. You need to send it to some friends via e-mail, get it out there, get people talking about us. Tell them to send it to *their* friends, and them to theirs. If you're reading this from our web page, give the URL to a friend, add it to your website, bookmark it on a university computer ... do something that will allow other people to see it! If you keep helping us out in any way, no matter how small, I promise you that we'll all be here to give you more issues, more laughs, and more reasons to promote us. Our progress depends on YOU! Without you we are nothing. With you we are everything. It is imperative that you succeed. ============================================================================ ============================================================================ I told you OJ was guilty, you moron. ============================================================================ ============================================================================ "Logs From the Latest Rad Meeting" As captured by Handle E-mail: handle@pla-net.net 10:25 January 10, 1997: Merc> I call this meeting of the Radioactive Aardvark Dung staff to order. Handle, could you please read the minutes of the last meeting? Handle> 10:25 January 2, 1997: Handle> How long until the stripper gets here? Seconds later: Merc> We're not getting a stripper. 10:26 January 2, 1997: All walk out with their heads hung low. (End of meeting.) Merc> As you can probably tell, not a very productive meeting last time, people. I think we all need to pick up the pace a little if we're going to get this next issue out on time. Now would anybody like to present a submission to the council? Phorce> I have something. 10:26 January 10, 1997: Handle> All rise as the honorable Editor Phorceamillion IV takes the floor. Phorce> Please be seated. I have a submission about a jive-talking harmonica that sings the blues. Merc> Take a seat, Phorce. Does anybody have any real submissions? Handle> I wrote something about a boy who goes crazy because his cat dies. This ultimately leads to the collapse of all time. Merc> Damnit. You've worked that to death already. Does anybody have anything good? No? What am I working with here, a bunch of niggers? Ninja> What the Hell Mercuri? How many times have we told you about that? Didn't you hear about what happened to Texaco? Merc> Listen, Ninja: I'm the founder here. I'll make all the racial slurs that I damn well please. I don't need some half-wit moron like you telling me what to do. Just sit there and look pretty. Ninja> What the fuck did you say? Goddamnit! I'm sick of your shit. Didn't those glass shards in your gut teach you your lesson? Merc> We're gonna go round to round this time buddy. You and me, let's go! 10:27 January 10, 1997: (Mercuri throws table aside and lunges at Ninja. Ninja throws hefty paperweight at Mercuri. Mercuri ducks. Paperweight sails towards me.) 10:49 January 10, 1997: (I regain conciousness.) Merc> (kicking Ninja in the ribs) You like that, huh? How's that feel? You want to mess with me again? TMM> Who would have thought Mercuri had that collapsible steel baton in his pocket? Merc> You like bleeding, Ninja? Satyr> Hey, shut the Hell up! The stripper's here. Stripper> What the hell? What is this place? TMM> It's a bunker, lady; now get with the stripping. 10:50 January 10, 1997: Stripper> I think I'll dance on the table, just let me move these ... what are they? Plans for world domination? Phorce> Yep! We're going to overthrow the government! Merc> What the Hell? Hey, shut up! Stripper> Taking over the world, huh? What's this, plans to kill the president? Handle> Hey, you're awful curious for a stripper. Stripper> I think that will be quite enough, everyone; freeze, F.B.I. You're all under arrest. TMM> Hey, what the Hell? We didn't order a theme stripper. Satyr> Are you still going to take your clothes off? Stripper> What? No! Don't you understand? You're all under arrest for treason. You can get the death penalty for this. Handle> So ... er, why'd they send a stripper to arrest us? Stripper> What are you people, idiots? I'm not really a stripper, I'm a federal agent. Now everybody get up against the wall. Phorce> I knew she was a stripper! Stripper> I'm not going to fondle you, I'm going to handcuff you ... umm, wait. I'm going to arrest you. For real. Satyr> Arrest away, baby! Merc> (holding gun in hand) Alright, lady, get on the floor! Handle> Don't shoot the stipper, asshole! 10:51 January 10, 1997: Merc> She is NOT a stripper! TMM> She's not? Merc> No! Jesus Christ! I'm working with a bunch of fucking morons! Satyr> So when does the stripper get here? Merc> There is no stripper, you idiot! Were surrounded by the F.B.I.! Handle> So what you're saying is: we're not going to see anybody naked? Merc> No! We're all going to be arrested, so there's only one thing we can do. We keep her as a hostage, hold a long dramatic standoff, and then at the end -- commit mass suicide. Phorce> Er ... well ... I'm not commiting suicide. TMM> Yeah, me neither. Merc> What?! You're not down with this? Don't you realize, you have to accept me as your messiah, and kill yourself in the name of RAD? Satyr> I think I'm just going to surrender. Handle> Yeah, that's what I was thinking too. Merc> No! Get back here! Come back, we all have to kill ourselves! We'll get on the news! People will talk about it for years! TMM> Me and Phorce are going, too, so ... umm ... bye, Merc. Merc> No, guys, come back! Excercise your faith! We all have to die for our beliefs! Come on, I'll give you all raises! 10:52 January 10, 1997: (Meeting ends.) ============================================================================ ============================================================================ FACT: You will die if you do anything. FACT: You will die if you don't do anything. Examined together you realize that no matter how or why, you will always die. Go out & do something & stop worrying about your fucking cholesterol, you blithering wimp. ============================================================================ ============================================================================ "Merc Reviews Movies!" The Sultan of Stuff, Mercuri E-mail: jwapienn@pla-net.net Tin Cup: This is a very good movie, I left the theater feeling great. Two romantic thumbs up! Michael: John Travolta gives a stunning performance. This is the feel good movie of the year -- a real life affirming movie. Two holy thumbs up! Jerry Maguire: Uproariously funny! This movie makes you feel good about life. Two thumbs up. The People vs. Larry Flynt: This is the best movie of 1997! Go and see it again and again. Two enthusiastic thumbs up! Hollywood Ninja: This movie will have you rolling in the aisles! If you liked Tommy Boy, you'll love this! Two wacky thumbs up! Scream: This movie will make you scream. If you like to scream, see this movie! Two horrifying thumbs up! Beavis & Butthead Do America: This movie is COOL! Hrnh hrnh. Go see it now, asswipe! Two COOL thumbs up! ============================================================================ ============================================================================ What's the deal with Snickers Bars? They act like you can eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and be completely satisfied and healthy. "I survived in a cave for two weeks with only a Snickers Bar and my own urine! Thank you, Snickers!" ============================================================================ ============================================================================ "RADonics" As jived by Phorce E-mail: god-i-love-to-have-my-own-domain@zine.com As you all know, I've been complaining about the RAD writing staff's (lack of) grammatical know-how for just about as long as Mercuri has been getting it on with Handle's sister behind their barn (shh!!!). However, I believe that I have found the answer to all of RAD's grammar problems. RADonics! It's not that we're bad at English -- it's that we're oppressed. We RAD folks don't have the same upbringing as them white folks do; being raised in the Official RAD Ghetto (tm) all our lives, we just can't speak the white man's tongue like real Americans. We're a minority. We're oppressed (did I say that already?). We don't speak the honky's English; we speak RADonics. I have a dream -- a dream of a day when RAD folks and white folks will live in perfect harmony; a dream of a day when little RAD children and little white children will play together, without the fear of being killed in a hail of gunfire from the Official RAD White Kid Snipers (tm) up the street. So when them white folks come up to you in the street and they wanna know why you ain't talkin' their "proper, white man's English," there's only one thing to do. Just say it loud: "I'm RAD and I'm PROUD!" ============================================================================ ============================================================================ Have you noticed all the studies coming out for the past few years? "Doctors now say that drinking a glass of red wine a day can lower your risk of cancer and heart disease ..." "A new study suggests eating broccolli can reduce migraine headaches and possibly prevent them ..." "A new study suggests eating oranges ..." "Doctors say ..." Enough! According to these studies, if you eat dinner every night you are losing every possible chance of getting every possible disease. ============================================================================ ============================================================================ "I Love To Fly (& It Shows)" As complained by TMM E-mail: chris41@juno.com It's amazing how thoroughly thorough today's airlines are in ensuring the safety of each & every one of us. I mean, I never worry. Once I step foot in the airport I lose all paranoia of crazy things happening like stuff blowing up. To get to the terminals you get your carry-on baggage scanned & you always end up getting scanned by the retarded guy with the metal-detecting wand because you have some metal shoelace holes in your boots & no matter what, you ring every time when you try to walk through the big scanner. Anyways. Your carry-on baggage normally gets searched if they think you have anything fishy in them, like alcohol, bombs, drugs or body parts. The baggage you check is sent straight to the plane, with the only security provision provided being the explosive-, drug-, and body-part-smelling dogs that come around -- what, once a month? Here's an idea: put the bombs in the baggage you check. Maybe THAT will explain the ludicrous numbers of planes exploding in mid-air. But aside from that, I'm one hundred percent confident that my safety is being carefully looked after by concerned & EXTREMELY competent airline staff. Where's the one place to go if you want to see some pilots chewing the fat during their layovers? The nearest airport bar, getting sauced. Woo-hoo, good thing they have lots of vomit bags onboard! But the stewardesses make up for that; a bunch of old bimbos & gay men, all of whom have seen better days, take care of every problem with efficient precision & lightning-quick problem solving skills. I fly US Air, Southwest, American, Continental or Delta every weekend to debate tournaments. One thing I use at a debate tournament is a small digital timer that I keep in my backpack. On most trips I keep my backpack in the overhead compartment so that I have more leg room. Last weekend the stewardess was walking past us & right before she got there my timer went off, making a beeping sound analagous to a digital watch or a timing device on a small plastic explosive. "What did she do?" She stopped, & looked at it; I said it was my timer, & she grunted & walked away. She didn't even open up the door to the compartment to check. Can you believe that shit?!?! Attention all Islamic Fundamentalists: If you want to blow up a plane you're on, tell them that beeping sound they are hearing is a timer, then watch their faces light up when the plane explodes. Have a nice day. ============================================================================ ============================================================================ Secretary of Defense William Perry was awarded the President's highest honor, the Medal of Freedom, for (get this) the DOWNSIZING of the military. Yes, that's a *good* thing! Cutting down on military preparedness will keep up our defenses! Thanks for preparing our forces for peace instead of war. Go directly to HELL, William Perry. Haha ... on the news, they just said that 14 people in China died from a snowstorm ... what's that leave? Only 3,999,998 people in China now? Big deal. Call me when 2 billion die. People in Chicago bitch about cold weather (the majority, at least). WAKE UP, PEOPLE, NOTICE A PATTERN? SPRING/SUMMER/FALL/_WINTER_. WINTER = COLD, MISERABLY COLD. MAKES IT WORSE WHEN YOU COMPLAIN ABOUT IT. ============================================================================ ============================================================================ "An Open Letter to Production Companies Everywhere" As written by Mercuri & TMM Respective e-mails: jwapienn@pla-net.net & chris41@juno.com Dear Sirs: My dear friend & I are frankly distressed at the recent trends in television advertising that have been taking shape over the past few years. Namely, the problem is that, nowadays, commercials SUCK. & we have you to blame for this. Since you seem to suffer from a severe lack of logic, taste & any common sense whatsoever when it comes to this, we've decided to draft several rules for your chewing satisfaction. IF YOU CAN'T MAKE A COMMERCIAL FUNNY, FUCK THE FUNNY AND JUST ADVERTISE THE GOD DAMN PRODUCT. * I don't want to see a hillbilly eight-year-old give me a "man-to- man" about grape juice. * I don't want to see old people acting young. * I don't want to see those horrible converted German Werther's commercials. In fact, I don't want to see ANY foreign commercials at all unless they contain one or more of the following: violence, sex, nudity, extreme overuse of profanity, or just foreign people doing idiotic (BUT FUNNY) stuff in general. * I don't want to see babies doing ridiculous things like sitting in Michelin Tires or drinking thirty-five gallons of Florida Orange Juice. Everyone knows babies can't do any of those things. * I don't want to see kittens, I don't want to see puppies, I *especially* don't want to see any of them "talk." * I don't want to see fat bald women advertising perfume. NEW WORD FOR THE DAY: "UNAPPEALING." * On that note, Liz Taylor should be BANNED from appearing in any commercial ever again. * Scratch that last one. I don't want to see Calvin Klein commericials EVER AGAIN. * Finally, & most especially: I don't want to see one more of those intentionally horrible Mentos commercials. If you are purposefully doing bad commercials because they sell, you have big problems, i.e. A SHITTY PRODUCT. [Note: Due to time constraints, size constraints & attention-span constraints, this list will be cut short prematurely. Bear in mind that this list is in no way, shape, or form complete & there are MANY MANY more prime examples of SHITTY commercials that we could cite. In fact, if you are interested in a complete list, send $29.95 to RAD E-Zine, P.O. Box 584, Crown Point, IN 46307 & we will be happy to supply you with one. Please do not send cash.] I want to see your GOD DAMN product, what it does and HOW MUCH IT FUCKING COSTS. Haven't you figured out that the retail price included in the advertisment just MIGHT get you some more sales? Recap: 1. MAKE WITH THE FUNNY. 2. If you can't make with the funny, TELL US ABOUT THE DAMN THING. The basis of advertising is to show us the goddamn product, not to show us how zany and unpredictable you can be. 3. Also, if you can't deal with funny, MAKE WITH THE MONEY. That's all you're interested in anyways, PROFITEERING GLUTTON! Thank you for your time & cooperation. We look forward to future correspondance. Sincerely: Mercuri & TMM ============================================================================ ============================================================================ Cereal rapists. What the hell is going on with these people? The whole subject confuses me; I hear it talked about all the time on the news. 1) Why does anyone want to rape cereal? 2) How can you rape cereal without breaking it up? 3) Does it feel good? 4) Why is it against the law? ============================================================================ ============================================================================ "The Continued Saga of Stupid People" As kapooted by TMM E-mail: chris41@juno.com More & more & more stupid people are around. Where did they all come from?! This time I've figured out the answer. I mean, there has to be a reason that idiots are proliferating faster than the US nuclear arsenal during the Cold War. One word: Sex. The problem is that as the population grows, more people are getting married & having kids. It seems to me that richer, wealthier people attract each other, & thus hang around in exclusive little cliques. You never see Donald Trump at Waffle House, do you? & it also seems to make sense that, on average, more of the wealthier people are actually intelligent. Aside from inheriting all the money, they had to do something besides laying around on their asses & eating beluga. It is also logical that wealthier people have fewer children. You never see a rich family with five kids -- but the converse is true. Lower- or middle-class folks just have more kids, & since a majority of these people aren't smart to begin with, their kids aren't smart either. So we have all these middle- to lower-class people reproducing at a rate 1000 times the current extinction rate & since the rich are the minority to begin with, intelligent people just can't keep up. If we don't act now, the world will be one big confederacy of dunces. Who knows, it might be too late already. The answer: Eugenics. I propose that from now on we place genetic markers in people to control the population. If the baby's IQ isn't over 130, then the cells rupture & a "natural" abortion takes place. Damnit, it might not be moral, but it's something. I don't hear any better ideas from you, asshole. ============================================================================ ============================================================================ Q: What is heaven? A: Heaven is heaven, a utopia, a place where you are totally happy. Q: What makes you totally happy? A: Being able to do whatever you want. Q: Will Mercuri be able to rain nukes down on some unsuspecting Russian town all the time in heaven? A: He'll probably lead a rebellion against the infamous socialismo, God, & be damned to hell like Satan. Stupid Mercuri! *shake head* ============================================================================ ============================================================================ "Kitty Torture" Witty comment here, Mercuri E-mail: jwapienn@pla-net.net "Molly? Are you there?" I reached toward the end of my bed to see if the cat was sleeping there. "Meeeeeooooooww!!" the beast howled. "Ouch!" I shrieked as the damned cat scratched me. I punted the cat off my bed and sauntered over to the bathroom to make sure that I wasn't bleeding -- she was known to draw blood. She was, in fact, the baddest "cat" in town. She was about three or four years old when we finally decided to take her to the animal shelter. I was young and she was the second cat I had owned. The first cat I had was real nice: it would come sit on my lap and purr. But we had to get rid of that one because she "couldn't find the litter box." The second cat -- the cat this story is about -- wouldn't sit on my lap and purr like the other cat. I had to figure out clever ways to get it to stay. For example, my first instinct was to beat it over the head until it stayed. My instincts are hardly ever wrong, so I did just that. She pinned her ears back and sat there like a rag doll. She wasn't purring. But she was growling, and that was close enough. Mission accomplished. Poor misguided kitten. After that little episode, it would run whenever she saw me coming. My instinct was to chase it; I wanted to hold her again. So chase I did. Those five minutes turned into ten, that ten into a half hour, and eventually it led to months. "Yay!" I finally caught her. Granted, I had to beat her on the head to get her to remain there. My parents told me I had to stop; otherwise, the cat would be mean for the rest of its life. But, golly gee, I wanted to hold it again. The chasing and the beating continued for months. Yes, the cat did stay mean for the rest of its life with us. It was only self-defense -- you really can't blame her. So, since she would never be nice, we decided to be mean to her. Neitschze wrote, "That which doesn't kill me only makes me stronger." So, in reality, we were only thinking of the cat's strength. How nice of us. Cats hate water and Molly was no exception. So I would turn on the shower and let it get ice cold, grab her, throw her mangy butt in there, and shut the door for a few seconds as she scratched at the glass. When I was finished taking a bath, I'd flip her in the tub. Wet kitty. Haha. One day when we were wrapping Christmas presents she stepped on a piece of tape. She flipped out trying to get the tape off, & she'd wiggle her foot like a palsy. Usually I would just put a piece of tape on the bottom of each of her four paws and let her get them off herself. Other times I would actually make her scotch-tape boots. My dad and I put a "girdle" on her. It consisted of a headband wrapped around its hind legs, thus hindering movement. As it scratched pathetically around on the ground, we threw magazines at it. Doom on you, kitty. One day, my brother found out that she didn't like peanut butter. The question at hand was: "How do we get her to eat the peanut butter she doesn't like?" The answer to the question just posed was simple; we'd put it on her fur. That way should would have to lick it off. We smeared it between her shoulder-blades -- hard to get to, and when she got to it, it tasted horrible. Poor thing. In retrospect, it was a mean thing to do, but I was just being a kid. And that's what kids do -- rough up kittens until they are mean, bitter, hateful, nasty animals, only struggling for survival. [TMM's Note: Stupid Mercuri! *shake head*] ============================================================================ ============================================================================ Before you go, I'd just like you to know one important fact about this wonderful issue thirteen of RAD E-Zine: ZERO, ZERO, ZERO, ZERO, ZERO, ZERO, ZERO, ZERO, submissions for this issue. Does that tell YOU anything at all? *wink wink* ============================================================================ ============================================================================ "Phorce's Editorial Corner" Editorialized by Phorce E-mail: i-want-to-kill-the-president@zine.com Hey, kids! Today, your Editor-friend PHORCE has a surprise for you! I bet YOU'D like to know what the RAD writing staff's worst grammar mistake is! Wouldn't you like to know, Official RAD Junior Editors (tm) out there? Well? Of course you wouldn't! Editing is for wusses! Any trained monkey with a dictionary and a banana can do it! It's simple work! In fact, the only kind of people who can't edit are ... shit, the kind that are on the RAD writing staff. (sigh) [Ed. Note: Don't interpret this to mean I don't like my job here at RAD! In fact, I love it! Really! I'm not just saying this because Mercuri is threatening to tell Handle about me and his sister behind his barn!] ============================================================================ ============================================================================ You aren't done yet! Just because you see the footer that signals the end of every issue of RAD doesn't mean your job is done with, soldier. I order you to send this issue of Radioactive Aardvark Dung E-Zine to at least 75 people & make sure they ALL read it & like it! Failure to follow orders results in unimaginable genital mutilation at the hands of Phorce. ============================================================================ ============================================================================ Radioactive Aardvark Dung E-Zine :: ISSN 1092-5449 Issue #13 % Released February 10, 1997 RAD E-Zine :: PO Box 584 :: Crown Point, IN :: 46307 RAD E-Zine WHQ is Erebus % SysOp :: Hooch @ 201-762-1373 Get Past & Future Issues From :: ftp.openix.com/ftp/phorce/rad Send Us Your Comments & Submissions! :: jwapienn@pla-net.net Special Updates % "subscribe rad" In Message Body WWW Site :: http://pla-net.net/corp/zineworld/rad ATTN SysOps :: Be Sure To Read DISTRO.APP Without Prejudice and Explicit Reservation of All My Rights, UCC 1-207 (C) 1997 Aardvark Industries ============================================================================ ============================================================================