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   ooooo   ooooo  .oooooo.  oooooooooooo       HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #571
   `888'   `888' d8P'  `Y8b `888'     `8
    888     888 888      888 888              "How Hardk0re Learned To
    888ooooo888 888      888 888oooo8          Stop Worrying and Love"
    888     888 888      888 888    "
    888     888 `88b    d88' 888       o          by Kaia [4/14/99]
   o888o   o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8   Purchased by Hardcore (HOE #461)
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        Why couldn't life be as simple as it was in first grade?  Oceans of
 girls used to flock to Hardk0re during recess, giggling as they watched him
 draw.  His specialty, as it was widely known, was pre-WWI United States
 presidents.  Even his gym teacher admired his art; George Washington and
 Andrew Jackson were as good as doctors' notes, even on physical fitness
 test days.

	During field trips to the Natural History museum or the Maple Syrup
 factory, the sweetest girls fought to sit next to him.  Still, he was
 always upset that he couldn't get them to be anything more than "friends."
 Although he liked playing Barbie with the girls and always being Ken, he
 still felt curious yearnings to tear off his classmates' dresses and steal
 their frilly little panties.

        Nothing had changed since then:  Hardk0re still drew a crowd
 whenever he left his Park Place apartment for Ramapo Graphics where he
 worked as a culinary artist, drawing pictures of food in restaurant menus.
 He still had girlishly inverse muscles, still ate his Puffity-Flakes with
 Yoo-Hoo each morning... and still wasn't getting the romantic attention he
 needed and wanted so badly.  Granted, his first grade obsession with little
 girls had become a full-blown grown-up obsession with women -- specifically,
 tearing off their dresses and stealing their panties.  But sometimes he
 feared his sex life had peaked in first grade, because no one had
 worshipped his gifts since.  Even presidential portraiture gets old, and
 nobody respects culinary portraiture these days.

        Although Hardk0re considered himself straight, liking only women
 and their underwear, he was not afraid of looking gay.  In fact, he
 frequently acted like a gay man.  Every time he left his home, he screamed,
 "I'm OUT and PROUD!" and "I'm HERE and QUEER!" because he thought he was
 being Mr. Brave/Funny Guy.  "How courageous I am," he thought, "I'm acting
 how other guys are always afraid of acting!"  He also wanted to debunk the
 myth that only gay people look gay, draw the attention of the artsy girls
 who fall in love with gay men, and draw the attention of the gay men,
 because they were generally better company than straight men.  And today,
 as usual, he did all three.  But as the crowds and odd glances dissipated,
 he couldn't believe what was about to happen: a beautiful brunette in a red
 dress and sunglasses emerged from the crowd and approached him.

        "I've seen you here every day, Hardk0re" she said, "And I find your
 mad screaming to be quite charming.  And I know you're not actually gay, 
 just pretending."

        "H--how did you know my name?"

        "I can't explain now.  Just listen closely."  Her breath smelled
 like oranges as she touched his shoulder and drew her lips to his ear.
 "Put this--"

        "This?  What's that?"

        "Unfortunately, if I told you, you wouldn't believe me."  She
 removed her sunglasses.  "Trust me, it will be good for you to do exactly
 as I say.  Now stick out your tongue, and--" 

        "Umm, I'm not interested, thanks!"  He started to leave.

        "LISTEN TO ME, Hardk0re."  She knew his vulnerability, according to
 what the Googagon Crystal Federation crystal had told her that morning.
 For the first time in ten years, the crystal had spoken for the gathering
 of meditating Federation onlookers!  "I haven't had sex for four years.
 Maybe you can help me out?"

        His heart rate doubled.  Did someone just say 'sex'?  He decided to
 execute the "Pity Me, Please" mack.  "Why should four years without sex 
 impress me?  I've gone 19 years without it."

        "No questions, just answers.  Put this on your tongue," she said,
 handing him a small pink paper square, "and do not swallow for five
 seconds.  Do it."

        "Doud."  He watched the square glisten invitingly like a warm vagina
 (or at least how he imagined one would be).  Tomorrow he'd be able to tell
 his friends about how he was seduced by a beautiful woman who gave him
 drugs and free love and finally her panties, and he would lick her panties
 and smell them and wrap them around his head like a blindfold that would
 make him cum thirty-three times. . . "That's not LSD, is it?"

        "This?  No!  It's pSTD."

        "pre-Sexually-Transmitted-Disease?"

        "Hey, this is no laughing matter, Hardk0re.  I was instructed by
 Kroh to administer this to you so that you may join us who Understand.  We
 who Know."

        "Know..know what?  And why?"

        She didn't actually know the answers.  "Here," she said, handing
 him the pink square.  "Try."

        "Tell me what it is first, and then I might do it."  In his hand,
 part of a picture of a dancing bear on the pink square seemed to be singing
 to him.

        She took a deep breath.  "It's a Parietal Serotonic Tracking Device.
 Every weekend, the crystal sheds pSTDs like confetti, and we collect them
 in huge buckets to dispense to those who we want to save."  She smiled.
 "We of the Federation celebrate every seven days.  We are healthy and
 strong.  The pSTDs can show you the way to love, but the rest is up to
 you."

        "Hm."  She had really nice cleavage.  Maybe she even wore a
 g-string.

        "On this planet, there are so many people who do not know how to
 love:  neither themselves nor other people.  They go through life,
 frustrated and confused over why they are unhappy, and it affects how they
 treat others, approaching every social situation as a threat or
 confrontation.  Have you ever wondered why some people don't just chill
 out, play a little music..?"

        "Hey, I could make you an awfully nice painting of Bill Clinton in
 the Oval Office, or even a malted milkshake, if you like.."

        "Listen to me."  She was serious.  "No one is doomed.  There is a
 race of individuals who do love, unconditionally-"

        "What race?"

        "The Googagons.."

        "Oh my."  Hardk0re was now convinced that she was a little loony.
 But he did want her panties, and so he had to play flirty-boy.  "Here's
 the scoop, sweetie-pie.  I'll be among the 'Knowing,' anyday, if it means
 I could be Knowing you.  But I've never heard of these so-called 
 Googagons!  What'll we do?!%$"

        She sighed.  "It doesn't matter, baby."  More desperate measures
 would be needed.  She flashed her best come-hither.  "If I can't have you, 
 I don't want anyone."  She was on fire.  "Now just put it on your tongue,
 and..."  Go.  "..Hm, what's that?"

        "Excuse me, you're on fire!"

        In a matter of milliseconds, while he was distracted by the flaming
 corner of her dress, she put another pink square on her own tongue.  "Here,
 watch this."  She licked her fingers and extinguished it.  "Prada, 1999.
 'It's what's hot!'"

        He was spellbound.

        "In a few seconds I'll be giving you a small grey envelope.  Do not
 open it immediately.  Instead, take it to the nearest Acme market, hand it
 to the man looking at applesauce in Aisle 3.  He will show you the way."

        "But what about you?"  The world was starting to look more vibrant
 already.

        "I'll see you there."  She flashed her panty-line, Calvin Klein.

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 [ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS!      HOE #571 - WRITTEN BY: KAIA - 4/14/99 ]
