 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
  
                  .%%.    .%%.   .%$$$$%.      .%$$$$$$. 
                  %$$%    %$$% .%$$$$$$$$%.  .%$$$$$$$%' 
                  $$$$    $$$$ %$$$$$$$$$$$ .%$$%'      
                  $$$$.%%.$$$$ $$'`%$$%'`$$ %$$%.       
                  $$$$$$$$$$$$ $$. `$$' .$$ $$$$$$$$$$%. 
                  $$$$$$$$$$$$ %$$.`$$'.$$% $$$$$$$$$$%,
                  $$$$`%%'$$$$ `$$$$$$$$$$' %$$%'       
                  $$$$    $$$$  `$$$$$$$$'  `%$$%.      
                  %$$%    %$$%   `$$$$$$'    `%$$$$$$$%.
                  `%%'    `%%'    `%$$%'       `%$$$$$$'

                         HOE Text Files Present...

          88> :WK     cuuu....uK         .n~~%x.          .n~~%x.
         '88  98E     888888888        x88X   888.      x88X   888.
         d8E  88>     8*888**"        X888X   8888L    X888X   8888L
       98888888888    >  .....       X8888X   88888   X8888X   88888
       ""88""Y88""    Lz"  ^888Nu    88888X   88888X  88888X   88888X
        '88  d8E      F     '8888k   88888X   88888X  88888X   88888X
       WW88WW@8NW>    ..     88888>  88888X   88888f  88888X   88888f
      '"888""88""~   @888L   88888   48888X   88888   48888X   88888
        @8> '88     '8888F   8888F    ?888X   8888"    ?888X   8888"
        88~ d8E      %8F"   d888"      "88X   88*`      "88X   88*`
       '""  """       ^"===*%"`          ^"==="`          ^"==="`

                      "HOE: Representing Planet Earth"
                                    *or*
                         "The Irritation Continues"

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

        "Zorgblip."

        "Yes sir?"

        "Is your report on Earth ready?"

        "Yes, sir!"

        "Get on with it, then."

        "Right.  Captain Foozaza, members of the council of Worlpdang...
 as you know, we are poorly constructed alien stereotypes with the goal of
 taking over planet Earth.  It was my mission to learn more about the
 inhabitants of the planet... the type of culture they had and their
 psychology, in an effort to find out how dangerous they might be."

        "Yes, measuring potential threats."

        "I decided the best plan to observing this culture completely
 undetected would be to connect to a random, insignificant computer system
 on one of their networks, and copy the data contained."

        "Sounds reasonable."

        "After collecting the findings, I concluded--"

        "Zorgblip, just SHOW us your findings and let us be the judge."

        "Yes, sir.  The following, apparently, is a sample of some of the
 greatest minds on Earth."

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "What Was Where You Was When You Wasn't?"
 -> by AIDS

        Think about that kids, you're living in an age where every
 metaphorical system of thought has been reduced to ash, and you can't make
 reference to your Judeo-Chrsitianity, your Hermes Trismegistus, your
 Orphic hymns, your classical antiquity. 

        All you can use as a metaphorical system is television, and MAYBE,
 if you're lucky, some Paul Newman films, films you heard sampled on a
 Guns N Roses album!  And that's how he was!  And that's how you know it! 

        I want to fuck you like an animal! 

        So, dig this, gather round my tribal fire, because you've fallen
 victim to the realists, to the post-modernists, to the age of
 enlightenment, to the existenialists, to the war heros, to the shit asses,
 to the fucking taenias, you've got nothing to work with.  Your writing
 and thought is as shallow as a plastic Happy Hungry Hippos pool, and your
 mind is slowly wading from end to end, going back and forth in that 5
 square foot puddle of cognizant thought. 

        With that being said, I welcome you all to HOE, the ultimate 
 demonstration of the above!  We here in HOE have a literacy level of 
 huffed-out extra chrosome 3rd graders, and we're looking forward to your 
 patronge! 

        ENJOY!

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "Scatology"
 -> by Kreid

        SQUEE DILLY BOP!

        BOP!

        BOP!  BA-DOO-DA-DOO FIDDLYMOPSNOP!

        SNOP!

        ...KOO! KEE! KA KA KA KA! KILLY KILLY KOE KOE KIDDY DIDDY BLOP!

        NA NA NA NA NA NA NIDDLYNONO NA NA NA NARGAFLOPPYDOSLIPBEEDILYSLOO!

        CATHETER!  GOTCHAGLOP!  GOTCHAGLOP AT THE COOCHIE SHOP!

        KATCHA KATCHA KO!
        KATCHA KATCHA KAID!
        SPLATCHA MATCHA KAID, CUZ I'LL NEVER GET LAID!

        EETCHY!

        BLEECHY!

        SLOAF!

        YOLG!

        LIEG!

        MOGEL!

        ONE AND-A TWO AND-A THREE!  CUT IT!

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "A Text File About Penises"
 -> by Caitlin

  _______________                       _____________
 |               |                     |             |
 |               | P  E  N  I  S  E  S |             |
 | uncircumcized | * * * * * * * * * * | circumcized |       
 |    penises    |                     |   penises   |
 |_______________|                     |_____________|
       |                 / \            /       | 
       |                /   \          /        |    
       |               /wanna\        /         |     
       |              /eatthem\      /          |      
      / \            /__up_____\____/_____      |           
     /   \                    |           |     |   
    /     \                   |  darren-  |     |______________       
   /neutral\                  |  harvey   |     |              |
  /_________\                 | syndrome  |     |     Josh     |
                              |___________|     |   Syndrome   |
                             /                  |              |
                            /                   |              |
                           /                    |______________|  
                          /                           |        
                         /                            |
                        /                             |
          _____________/__________                    |
         |                        |                   |
         | this is when the mush- |                   |
         | room tip is in perfect |         __________|_______________
         |  proportion with the   |        |                          |
         |  shaft, which is not   |        | this is when the head is |      
         | abnormally shaped, or  |        |         smaller          |
         | sized throughout it's  |        |   (out of proportion)    |
         |     length.            |        |      to the shaft.       |
         |________________________|        |__________________________|
              |            |                    |                 |      
              |            |                    |                 |     
             /             |                    |                 |
           /               |                   /                  |
          |          ______|_____            /                    |
  ________|_______  |            |          |                     |
 | sometimes seen | | very good; |          |           __________|_________
 | with: creamy,  | | a plus; a  |  ________|________  |                    |
 | milky color,   | | garnish;   | |                 | | commonly seen with |
 | like ivory,    | | an extra.  | | not necessarily | | unproportioned     |
 | flawless,      | |____________| | a bad thing.    | | shaft also.        |
 | yummy, almost  |                | almost always   | | starting larger    |
 | edible.        |                | tolerable.      | | getting smaller    |
 |________________|                | rarely          | | as it reaches      |
                                   | acceptable.     | | the head.          |
                                   |_________________| |____________________|

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "Musings"
 -> by PezMonkey

        You know what I was just thinking?  I was just thinking that it 
 would pretty much suck to be a deaf-paraplegic epileptic.  I mean, first
 of all, you couldn't hear anything, which would mean you couldn't talk on
 the phone like a normal person.  So instead, you'd have to buy one of
 those phones with a keypad thing, so you'd talk on the phone via
 typed-communication.  But that also means you couldn't hear the ringer,
 so the phone would have to have a flashing light to indicate an incoming
 call.  Now, we all know that the number one cause of epileptic seizures is
 flashing lights, so you'd have an epileptic fit every time somebody
 called, and then, being a paraplegic, you'd probably fall out of your
 wheelchair.  And then, ultimately, since you'd be a deaf-paraplegic
 epileptic, you'd consequentially be alone, and unable to do anything once
 you overcame the seizure, because you'd be sprawled out on the floor
 unable to get back in your wheelchair.

        But you know what would suck even more?  To be a deaf-paraplegic 
 epileptic with harelip.  Yeah, that would suck.

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "I Love All People"
 -> by Teerts

 hey you with the dead eyes, over here!
 with the hazy bovine look on your face.
 following the herd wherever they go,
 like lemmings fleeing life on that cliff.
 when the night comes you will all, maybe,
 go away, find something new to do,
 other things to destroy and bastardise,
 maybe then you will succeed at killing
 yourselves.  your politics and politics,
 and lies and politics and scandals and,
 not to mention, your secrets, shhh!
 keep quiet you sappy fuck and go away!
 can you not see i am busy trying to,
 if i may, kill you with what stones,
 sticks, and their hurlers cannot?
 in this block of letters, and words,
 and letters and letters and spaces,
 and symbols and did you know it?
 of course i knew it, did you not?
 of course i am better than you!
 you are still better than me,
 or so it seems all to often, well
 all            the           time.
 we can never escape, we will,
 even if you hope against it,
 meet at least once again.

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "9:20"
 -> by AltRocks

        It's 9:20.

        I have a CD Playing.

        And I just sneezed.

        A bird flying over head decides to land but misses and almost gets
 run over by a car.  A stray cat meows in the alley across the street.  I
 look up at my screen and wonder why I don't have a life.  Then it hits me:
 I'm a self-isolated text-file writing computer geek. 

        But enough about me.  This story has nothing to do with me.  It's
 about a girl, and her dog.  Oh wait, that's the porno I'm reading...
 Nevermind...

        Once upon a time in a city not far from here (here being a place
 that is totally dependant upon where you are, hence here), there lived a
 hermit.  This was no ordinary hermit.  This hermit had a special talent.
 He could get drunk off of only 3 beers, even though he weighed upwards of
 250 pounds.  It was quite a feat.  But besides that he was a rather normal
 hermit.  Now that you knwo what's special about him, there's not much more
 to say.

        Okay, let's get serious for a second.  I want to talk about
 depressed people.  Is it just me, or do they seem to enjoy being depressed,
 until they get out of it at least?  I have trouble understanding this
 phenomenon.  Maybe somebody should look into it, as Kurt Vonnegut says. 

        Alright, now back to what I was saying.  What was I saying?  Beats
 the fuck out of me... nevermind.. Next thing.

        Women. *Long Sigh*

        With the possible exception of some t-file women I know, many seem
 to be interested in only one thing: SEX!  I mean, sure, sex is good and
 all, but what about my mind?  I always feel so used and hurt by them...
 it's just wrong I tell you.  So I am issuing a call to all men and women
 to stop the abuse!  I want you to love me for my thoughts, and not for
 the way I flick my tongue!

        Alright... I think I covered everything.... it all seems to be
 there.  Yup... oh, wait... I forgot one thing...

        I love ejaculation.....

        Bye for now!

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "The Key to True Happiness"
 -> by Kreid

     // / / / /
   /\   __ ___
   \   /_//_@/
   /      \
  /      __\
 ( (  //  |    --- GREETINGs>> MY NAME IS PROFESSOR KRZNPSK.  I WILL BE
  \       |        YOUR GUIDE FOR THIS EVENING.  PLEASE FOLLOW ME.
   \     ~~~ 
    )       )
   /       / 
          /


  +-------------------+
  |                   |               \---------------------
  |                   |                |                 |
  |   P   H  .    D   |                |   IMGREAT       |0
  |                   |                |                |
  |                   |                |                |
  |                   |                /_---------------|
  +-------------------+

                                                ?/// / /
 FIRST LY,  ALLOW ME TO SHOW TO YOU THAT I      o O   |==
 AM INDEED A REPUTABLE PERSON.  THESE ARE     ---     |
 MY DEGREES!  IMPRESSED?                       ~~~ \\ |
                                              (       |


          / / ///
         = O O ==
         |//^  |     ON WITH THe LESSON HERE IS OUR SUBJECt.  HIS NAME IS
         \(~~~~ )    LOVEBOY.   LOVEBOY LOVES EVERYTHING!
          `-----'
            ||
           /|~~~~                                .  ______  ,
          / |                                     \(  00  )/
           \|                                      (   =^ )
           _|_                                     ( `--' )
          _| |_                                    ~~~||~~

 /////
 | Oo|
 |   ---    YES ITS TRUE.  IN LOVE WITH THE WORLD, LOVEBOY HAS FOUND TRUE
 |// |      HAPPENIS.  SEE LOVEBOY PLAY.
 | ~~~~)
 \   /~

                                      _____
                                     (     ~)    hi everyone!  gosh these
                                  X  ( 0 0  )    rollerskates sure are fun!
                                  `--(\___/ )--
                                     (______)
                                       / |
                                      /  |
                                    o\  o~o
                                     o

               ~
               ~
   //// / /
    9 o                                                             ~
 =   ------    ~   SEE LOVEBOY FUCK                                
 |//___        ~                        _______   __XoX___       
 | |  ========-                        (    X X) (        )       ~
 |  ~~~~~)                             (     & ) (  i  i  ) /O==- ~
 |      /           i'm makin' love!  /(   \---)\(   ^__  )/
                                     / (_______) (_xx_____)  give it to me
                                     \o    ((8===-(Y) ))            uhh
                                            \ \  /   \    
                                            / /\/     \/            oh god
                                            \ \

                                                               // / / /
 LOVEBOY, HOW DO YOU DO IT?  WHATS YOUR SECRET?                 o O
 WHY ARE YOU SO GODDAMNED HAPPY?                              ~~     ==
                                                               |  \\ |
                                                               |     |
          _____________                                      (~~~    |
         (             )                                      ~~\    |
    \    (    0  0     )    /
     `---(     ^       )---'
         ( \       /   )      i dunno!!!  i just am!!!
         (  \_____/    )
         (_____________)
              |  |
            __|  |__

                       THE END

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "Smile"
 -> by Phairgirl

        i got yer pitcher n i put it in ma pockit. i carryd it round n
 round til it felled apart. i smiled and burnd it. it smelld like when mama
 usta kill dem fish down by da crick. n yew n me, we's just smilin, cuz dat
 crick felted so good, n it made me feel good deep down nside. even when
 the fluffy bunny rabbits ran smak inta da barb wire fence n were
 dee-capitated. n the blood flowd lika rivr, it sher did. n i smiled at yer
 mom, cuz we new more about da werld den yew coulda ever imagined. i
 callded ma pup rex n we huntd coon fer some few ours n den mama roasted up
 dem fritters n dems tastd good to. doncha no it. n so i look agin at dat
 pitcher burnin n i smile. i think about eatn fritters n dee-capitated heds
 n doin yer mom n i smile.

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "I Hate Laser Tag"
 -> by Styx

      [WARNING: What follows is a VERY GENERIC STYX article.  Since he
       CAN'T WRITE, he has once again resorted to CUTTING and PASTING and
       MAKING FUN of people because he has nothing WORTHWHILE to SAY
       himSELF.  Styx is a very BORING GUY with NO ARTISTIC or LITERARY
       TALENT.  All he does is SMOKE and PRETEND to be ANGRY.  He SUCKS.]


      I work with a girl who is easily the most annoying ugly piece of
 shit I've ever encountered in my near 22 years.  Her entire life revolves
 around laser tag and all of her boyfriends are guys she meets at the local
 laser tag facility.  Her boyfriends suck just about as much as she does.
 My conclusion is that laser tag sucks.  To get some feedback, I went over
 to alt.sport.lasertag and told them how I felt.  I posted as if I were
 speaking to my co-worker.

      I went there knowing full-well I wouldn't get anything of substance
 back.  When you "troll" (bait for attention, insult just to insult) a
 newsgroup, one of two things will happen - you will be ignored or you
 will be "flamed" (yelled at by the occupants).

      Swisspope made the very acute observation that an easy way to test
 the intelligence level of a newsgroup is to troll them.  If they ignore
 you, it's a pretty smart newsgroup.  If they flame you, they're dumb.

      Three-hundred and thirty-two responses followed my post.  I responded
 with eighty-three, for a grand total (so far!) of 415, in under four days.

      So, basically, they're dumb.  Thank Swisspope for the math.

      Now, this does not constitute an article yet.  I needed a little
 extra "oomph," you know?  Well, I got it this morning.  Apparently, this
 whole fiasco caused a poor laser tag fanatic to finally lose his already
 weak grip on reality.

      Here is my original post.

 ---------*

 From dropdead@mindspring.com Tue Feb 23 18:56:45 1999
 Newsgroups: alt.sport.lasertag
 Subject: I've come here to hate you.
 From: dropdead@mindspring.com (Styx)
 Date: Tue, 23 Feb 1999 23:56:45 GMT

     I'll get right to the point.  I hate Laser Tag.

     "But why, Styx?"

     Glad you asked!  Allow me to explain.

     It's almost the same sentiments I have towards Dungeons & Dragons
 players, really, except that in general they seem to have at least a
 modicum of intelligence about them.  You folks, on the other hand, are
 pushing Down's Syndrome.

     Ranks?  Tournaments?  Shields?  Guns?  Buttons?  Game Masters?
 Laser Quest flame wars?  State vs. state?  City vs. city?  Using
 codenames instead of real names?  There's problem number one.  Using
 codenames during the game is fine.  Using them *outside* of the game
 is downright frightening.

     Second problem;  why do you take yourselves so seriously?  Not
 only have you bought into the fact that you are some sort of
 futuristic laser-warrior, but you *act* like it, too.  What do you do
 in school when you're chastised by the teacher?  Threaten them by
 spouting off laser-slang and bringing your team to recess the next day
 to shoot them?  With lasers?  That don't hurt?

     See, it's this whole subculture thing that bothers me.  Most
 subcultures are very productive.  They bring veiled truths to light.
 They work to educate people.  But this laser tag thing is like an
 oozing, worthless lump that eats itself and doesn't produce
 anything - a cannibalistic microcosm of nothing.  I used to think
 paintball was the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen, but you folks
 win, hands down.

     Know what else bothers me?  You're all so *tight* with each
 other.  It's so goofy.  You have all lost any social grace because
 you've become stagnant surrounding yourselves with people just like
 you.  None of you evolve.  I have met several people who claim laser
 tag is a favorite hobby of theirs.  And you know what?  They all suck.
 They beg to be heard.  They flail their arms wildly and offer any
 information they can if they are given the opportunity to do so - even
 worse, when they're *not* given the opportunity to do so.

     You folks fumble and trip over yourselves all week in an amazing
 display of social awkwardness until the weekend comes when you can get
 together with your mediocre laser tag pals, tell inside jokes and drop
 names to make yourselves feel better about your horrible week, immerse
 yourselves in a world that has no relevance to anything outside of it,
 and then go sit at Denny's for three hours and annoy the shit out of
 me.

     I'm not done.  You all think you're big shots, too.  Don't you
 realize that you are only big shots in the pseudo-gladitorial combat
 zone that you have to pay money to get into in the first place?  Not
 that anybody is trying to impress me, but for the record, I am *not*
 impressed.  I don't feel threatened.  If anything, I'm sad for you.

     You are not warriors or fighters.  You are people who participate
 in simulated combat.  That's fine.  I'm a huge fan of professional
 wrestling and I know the shtick well.  But to *live* it is something
 entirely different.  Get a grip.  Get a boyfriend or girlfriend - NOT
 one who plays laser tag, either.  That contributes to the pulsating
 mass of mediocrity I mentioned before.

     Evolve.  Learn.  Read.  Have fun.  But don't introduce yourself
 as Doomslayer and try to impress me.  I already think you suck as it
 is.  Besides, the name-tag on your gas station uniform says "Chris,"
 not "Doomslayer."  You people are delusional.

 ---------*

      Okay.  415 posts later, LQRooster (LQ stands for Laser Quest, by
 the way!) lost his mind.  The following are 4 posts he made in
 succession.

 ---------*

 From lqrooster@aol.com Sat Feb 27 05:07:02 1999
 Newsgroups: alt.sport.lasertag
 Subject: STYX
 From: lqrooster@aol.com (LQRooster)
 Date: 27 Feb 1999 10:07:02 GMT

                         My complaint about Styx

 I just want to say one thing: A day without Styx would be like a day
 without delusional denominationalism. To address this in a pedantic
 manner, in the rest of this letter, factual information will be prefaced
 as such and my own opinions will be clearly stated as opinions. For
 instance, it is a fact that Styx presents himself as a disinterested
 classicist lamenting the infusion of politically-motivated methods of
 pedagogy and analysis into higher education. He is eloquent in his
 denunciation of modern scholarship, claiming it favors feral dweebs. And
 here we have the ultimate irony, because the gloss that his shock troops
 put on his ramblings unfortunately does little to complain about
 domineering militant flakes. By the same token, his backers internalize
 and adapt to the unwritten realities they must work under. 

 Even Styx's least brutal minions supplement their already-generous
 incomes by selling contraband on the black market. Styx makes free and
 liberal use of chicanery, deceit, intolerance, lust, persecution, and
 oppression. His helpers perpetrate all kinds of atrocities while alleging
 that they are simply not capable of such activities and that therefore,
 the atrocities must be the product of my and your feverish and overworked
 imaginations. Most of us believe that he is extremely worthless. The tone
 of Styx's stances is so far removed from reality, I find myself
 questioning what color the sky must be in Styx's world. 

 I know the following is an incredibly cheap shot, but if Styx opened his
 eyes, he'd realize that failure to define our terms more clearly will
 lead to a deluge of complaints by his cringers. Although he has
 tremendous popular appeal, the few pernicious saboteurs who deny this are
 not only wrong, they are willfully abhorrent. Even with the increasing
 number of crass slime, to Styx, acting like puerile fork-tongued
 grizzlers is a lot of fun. Styx's followers are currently in the streets,
 burning, robbing, and looting. Never forget that and never let him erode
 constitutional principles that have shaped our society and remain at the
 core of our freedom and liberty.

 ---------*

 From lqrooster@aol.com Sat Feb 27 05:08:58 1999
 Newsgroups: alt.sport.lasertag
 Subject: MORE ABOUT STYX
 From: lqrooster@aol.com (LQRooster)
 Date: 27 Feb 1999 10:08:58 GMT

 I feel compelled to preface my remarks with the following: Styx has no
 moral qualities whatsoever. Let me begin by saying that I shall do my
 utmost to exemplify the principles of honor, duty, loyalty, and courage.
 Someone needs to call your attention to the problem of inconsiderate
 usurers. Who's going to do it? Styx? I think not. Faith is harder to
 shake than knowledge, love succumbs less to change than respect, hate is
 more enduring than aversion, and he never seems to listen to anyone
 else's positions and reasoning.

 Think about that for a moment. Teetotalism appears to have triumphed.
 It's a pity. I think that Styx will indisputably kill the goose bearing
 the golden egg one of these days. I base this confident prediction on,
 among other things, the fact that a distasteful mentality and a scary
 sense of fogyism create fertile soil for licentious kleptomaniacs to
 trick academics into abandoning the principles of scientific inquiry.

 In case you don't know, the pen is a powerful tool. Why don't we use that
 tool to mention a bit about tyrannical peddlers of snake-oil remedies
 such as Styx? I do not wish to evaluate colonialism here, though I claim
 that Styx's slaves do not concern themselves much with the people around
 them. Styx's favorite scapegoats are the government, the economy, the
 environment, society, parents, teachers, and just about everything else.
 Even if our society had no social problems at all, we could still say
 that Styx's thugs don't want to make their own decisions but want Styx to
 do their thinking for them. Most of us who have been around for a while
 realize that some of his orations raise important questions about future
 social interactions and their relationship to civil liberties. 

 It is no news that I must openly confess that Styx has yet to acknowledge
 this. I, for one, have the following to say to the assertion that he has
 achieved sainthood: Baloney! There are two main flaws with his notions:
 1) his vicegerents are obstinate televangelists (literally!), and 2) this
 is why his mercenaries, using every conceivable means for their purpose,
 are determined to precipitate riots. When you get right down to it, Styx's
 ideals are attributable to an ignorance born of fear. 

 Imperialism is not confined to any specific era, culture, or country. What
 if we collectively just told Styx's subordinates, "Sure, go ahead and spam
 the Internet with contemptuous clumsy e-mail. Have fun!"? That would be
 worse than worthless; it would rob, steal, cheat, and murder. As a parting
 thought, remember that we can divide Styx's "compromises" into three
 categories: uneducated, scummy, and blathering.

 ---------*

 From lqrooster@aol.com Sat Feb 27 05:20:36 1999
 Newsgroups: alt.sport.lasertag
 Subject: WHILE ON THE SUBJECT OF STYX.....
 From: lqrooster@aol.com (LQRooster)
 Date: 27 Feb 1999 10:20:36 GMT

 There is currently a lot of controversy about Styx's refrains, and I know
 that any letter on the subject will almost certainly cause someone to
 draw unsuspecting utopians into the orbit of bitter insensitive-types.
 Still, however varied or profound the explanations underlying our sense of
 moral values may be, Styx's commitment to barbarism is only part of the
 story. What follows is a set of observations I have made about
 insufferable smart alecks. Imagine a world in which he could inject even
 more fear and divisiveness into political campaigns whenever he felt like
 it. His favorite scapegoats are the government, the economy, the
 environment, society, parents, teachers, and just about everything else. 

 If I understand Styx's viewpoints correctly, then this is a frightening
 realization. It is naive to think that Styx wouldn't use lethal violence
 as a source of humor if he got the chance. How does Styx deal with this
 fascinating piece of information? He thoroughly ignores it. Since their
 emergence on the stage of history, antisocial batty hooligans have been
 a parasitic growth on the stem of true citizens. From a purely technical
 point of view, the big parlor game among his supporters is guessing which
 of them was the first to do the entire country a grave disservice. The
 underlying message is that prodigal Luddites are the lowest form of human
 life.

 There is no question that this is nothing new. Styx is the grand master
 of obfuscation and misdirection. It's a pity. He can't throw away his
 integrity and expect the world to respect him for it. He doesn't care one
 whit about how others might feel. Styx's appeal to narcissism is dangerous
 stuff. The same holds true for daft schmucks. 

 Let me back up a little: Styx is a faithful student of Sun Tzu, the
 ancient Chinese strategist who advocated demoralizing one's enemy as the
 highest art of warfare. I maintain that he will decidedly play on people's
 conscious and unconscious belief structures one of these days. I base this
 confident prediction on, among other things, the fact that my number one
 priority is to make technical preparations for the achievement of freedom
 and human independence. Because of Styx's tricks, our schools simply do
 not teach the basics anymore. Instead, they preach the theology of
 anti-democratic insolent Fabianism. 

 Those of you who thought that Styx was finally going to leave us alone are
 in for a big surprise, because Styx recently announced his plans to put
 increased disruptive powers in reckless lounge lizards' hands. But I
 digress. The Orwellian implications of his notions are clear.

 I can repeat with undiminished conviction something I said eons ago: I
 will not play his abominable games and exploit the masses just like he
 does. By toning down his memoranda, many more people are exposed to
 Styx's quasi-repugnant mischievous message, convinced by his passion, and
 seduced by his simplistic answers to complex social problems. The most
 craven big-labor bosses you'll ever see often act with a mob mentality.
 You've heard me say that Styx's advocates are all intemperate adulterers.
 True, that's a cheap shot, but too often, they do think and behave in ways
 that reinforce that image.

 ---------*

 From lqrooster@aol.com Sat Feb 27 05:28:38 1999
 Newsgroups: alt.sport.lasertag
 Subject: ONE LAST THING ABOUT STYX
 From: lqrooster@aol.com (LQRooster)
 Date: 27 Feb 1999 10:28:38 GMT

 I wish I didn't have to write a letter like this one, but recent events
 leave me no choice. I surely believe that Styx's opinion is a lazy
 cop-out. It is reasonable to infer that his wheelings and dealings are
 made of the same spirit that accounts for the majority of the problems we
 face in this world. It's not necessary to go into too long of a
 description about how Styx plans to foment avaricious forms of political
 tyranny within a short period of time. Suffice it to say that I myself
 feel no more personal hatred for Styx than I might feel for a herd of
 wild animals or a cluster of poisonous reptiles. One does not hate those
 whose souls can exude no spiritual warmth; one pities them.

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "Circus"
 -> by Tasha

        Enter.  Symbolism.  Metaphor.  Simile.  Poetic word giving a brief
 analytical description of what I am about to say.  Or what I've already
 said.

        Life is a circus.

        Definitely a metaphor.  No usage of like or as here.

        "Look at the clowns, mommy,"  said the little girl while eating her
 low-fat, lactose-free, yogurt on a no-wheat ice cream cone.

        12 to a little car painted red with polka dots.  Crowded streets
 of New York.  Or some other big city with crowded streets.  I've never
 been to New York, and Detroit's streets aren't that crowded.

        "Yes, dear, aren't they funny?"

        She doesn't remember why she's at the circus.  She doesn't remember
 what happened last night.

        "Hunnie, you're missing the elephants... and lions... and tightrope
 walkers in pink tutus..."

        Ride me.  Tame me.  Walk upon my fucking rope suspended above your
 head.

        I smoke too much.  

        Yes, that was a pseudo-quote from Vonnegut.  Do you have a problem
 with that?  Would you like me to quote someone better?  Ferlinghetti?  "I
 fell in love with unreality."  Kaufman?  "The radio is teaching my
 goldfish jujitsu."  Late-night HBO erotica?  "I need more than missionary
 with the lights off."

        Voila.  Let me live up to your god damn social standards.

        I figured I'd write today, because I haven't slept yet and my
 writing might be interesting in this sleep deprived, delirious state.
 Then, I realized, I'm not delirious.  I'm perfectly fine.  Not tired.  Not
 anything.  Not real.

        No, certainly not real.

        Enter.  Log.  Text.  Computer screen.

 <me> nothing's real, jeff
 <me> you have to realize that
 <me> this is TEXT and it's not REAL
 <me> but you leave the computer and there's flesh and blood
 <me> but it's still not REAL
 <_some boy_> sure it is.. it's right in front of me
 <me> what makes you think that means it's real?
 <_some boy_> well if it's not real then why not go kill yourself right 
   now
 <me> that would be too easy
 <me> everything's a given, like in a geometric proof...find 
   something..and answer or conclusion..or something not even of the 
   same problem...and you've got reality...right there
 <me> but i mean, who cares?  i have no fucking clue what i'm 
   talking about
 <me> i just smoke and drink and cry and giggle
 <me> equally.  all of them.
  Note.  Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

        But...but...but...that says "me."  Imagine that!  Me! I! She! Tasha!

        AM I INNOCENT?

        Am I filled with your pure innocent, virginal bliss?

        Wait, ignorance is bliss, not innocence.

        Knowledge is power.

        Enter.  PBS commercial.

        Enter.  We want money.

        Enter.  Viewers.  Like.  You.

        Enter.  Point.

        I've come back to terms with my anal retentive nature as of late.
 Your spoon isn't straight, Caity.  DEAR GOD NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

        I'm driving myself insane, you understand.

        That shirt is on crooked.

        The guitar is not at a 130 degree angle from the wall.

        Insane.  Insane.  Insane.

        Enter.  Generic preaching.

        Jesus.  Will.  Save.  You.
        Vote.
        Pro.  Choice.
        No.  Meat.
        Drugs.  Are.  Bad.
        You.
        You.  Are.  Bad.

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "The facts of IRC"
 -> by Reflecks

        Boredom breeds anything on irc.  Usually it makes people write dumb
 stuff.  One day, (in a land far far away!) Corrupt_ started writing a book
 of facts of irc.  Boredom being contagious and loving friends, it gained
 an active and contributing audience.

        Here.  are.  the facts of IRC.  dun dun duuun.

 * foreward (By Corrupt_!)..

 <Corrupt_> it's a long book
 <Corrupt_> dont bother reading it
 <Corrupt_> its called "The facts of irc by: Corrupt"
 <MiL0> i wanna know what #41880 is
 <Corrupt_> it doesnt go that high.

        The list...

 #99241: A channel that is open with many users
         that gets taken over a lot is better
         than a +i channel with shitty ops and no users.  --corrupt

 #99242:   Corrupt is god  --corrupt
 #41880:   it doesnt go that high.  --corrupt
 #1:       irc is lame  --sockie
 #1:       "Irc sucks"  --corrupt
 #2:       no channel is really any fun.. not even your own.  --corrupt
 #3:       making fun of lamers gets old. nah.  --sockie
 #43:      extended periods of irc induce symptoms of gonherrea  --neonjoker
 #3:       unless you're a best-seller writer with 20 years experience...
           you can't convey your emotions over irc.. no.. not even caps
           work.  --corrupt

 #4:       no lamer understands what you say, so they ask questions
           with fifteen question marks postfixed.  --sockie

 #5:       all nicks with Mr in the front deem much prompt respect  --sockie
 #5:       nobody believes you.  --corrupt
 #6:       Nobody believes anybody  --corrupt
 #6:       or nicks that start with Neon or end with Joker
           demand no respect whatsoever  --neonjoker

 #7:       some dumb fuck took Corrupt's nick.. this is why he has an
           underscore  --corrupt
 #8:       nobody likes boring stories.  --corrupt
 #8:       it was the second gunman on the grassy noll  --neonjoker
 #10:      you all suck  --mil0
 #9:       dont jump to 10 without doing 9  --corrupt
 #9:       there is not #9  --mil0
 #11:      Sex is good.  So get off irc  --tanath
 #9:       its my fucking book.  --corrupt
 #12       dont repeat  --tanath
 #12:      sex on irc is good when you are a pimply faced
           assmunch with an extra hand and some jizz to spare  --sockie

 #13:      spelling things wrong gets you women.  --corrupt
 #14:      speling thngs  wrnog gets you womans  --sockie
 #15:      never irc sober  --neonjoker
 #16:      dont smoke while irc-ing.  --corrupt
 #16:      irc til it gets really late, so everything you read soudns funny.
           thats the only redeeming aspect of irc  --sockie

 #17:      NEVER get on Irc  --tanath
 #122:     if netsexing, use a keyboard cover  --sockie
 #16:      phonetic=good. AltNerNatinGCaPz0rz=bad.  --rawb
 #17:      always smoke while on irc  --neonjoker
 #69:      don't use this in your nick  --neonjoker
 #666:     satan isnt cool anymore.  --corrupt
 #21:      dont type if you are high. it makes you sound like an idiot
           --sockie
 #8675309: Jenny  --tanath
 #31337:   you're just too cool for me  --neonjoker
 #22:      girls aren't really girls.  --corrupt
 #25:      boredom is the main ingredient of irc  --sockie
 #31338:   im leeter than you.  --sockie
 #35:      dont lick the spice girls.  --corrupt
 #36:      don't try to be intelligent.. it doesn't matter.  --corrupt
 #37:      those who sit and watch the channel without typing
           have the most valuable input.  --corrupt

 #38:      arguing politics ends in dumb clinton jokes  --sockie
 #38:      asking people to msg you is a harder way of msging them.
           --corrupt
 #1800:    See Oh ell ell Eeeh see tee --tanath
 #39:      irc isnt aol.  --corrupt
 #41:      irc pedophiles are less common than kids pretending to be older
           --sockie
 #42:      kids pretending to be older are pretty damn common  --corrupt
 #42:      this is the only real rule.  --sockie
 #43:      irc pedophiles usually have their age in their nick.  --corrupt
 #1010321: Irc is all kids, except for the adults  --tanath
 #1010322: i said it doesnt fucking go this high  --corrupt
 #312:     big dicks on irc mean little dicks off irc  --sockie
 #313:     big dicks on irc usually are big dicks off irc as well  --sockie
 #314:     girls get ops faster.  --corrupt
 #315:     especially if they have a multitude of pics.  --corrupt
 #315:     ops get girls faster. which is why they idle lots.  --sockie
 #1010321: Sex on Irc is like eating from a toilet bowl. - -tanath
 #105:     alberto. alberto v05.  --sockie
 #316:     there are less than 20 girls worth having in the whole world..
           how many do you think.. could possibly be on irc?  --corrupt

 #101032b: you end up only wet and full of shit  --sockie
 #317:     people from your school havnt heard of irc yet.  --corrupt
 #319:     models on irc are a dime a dozen.  --sockie
 #320:     especially blonde ones that are 5'5" with blue eyes.  --corrupt
 #1010900: There are lots more than 20 girls wurth having in the world,
           and some of them are on irc.  however, they do not want to
           netsex  --tanath

 #321:     anyone can be an 18/female/ca if they have pics  --sockie
 #420:     if you have this in your nick you aren't intelligent.  --corrupt
 #322:     +v isnt a big deal.  --corrupt
 #409:     use this in case of monitor-spooge-accidents  --sockie
 #1010345: Irc war is fun on the day you dl' it  --tanath
 #323:     <Rilke> neither is +o  --corrupt
 #1010220: just ten cents a minute, anytime,
           anywhere in the continental us  --neonjoker

 #502:     attention, attention. wingates, back orifices, and netbuses are
           NOT real hacking tools.  --sockie

 #*69      Irc is great when your dowloading a big file  --tanath
 #503:     you wont get anywhere knowing how to write irc scripts..
           learn C or assembler..  --corrupt

 #505:     seventh sphere is gay  --sockie
 #506:     seventh sphere is gay  --sockie
 #507:     seventh sphere is gay  --sockie
 #50:      bye guys  --tanath
 #508:     seventh sphere is gay  --neonjoker
 #666:     sockie gives the best head in #teen  --strider
 #667:     strider uses teeth  --sockie
 #668:     teeth dont exist.  --corrupt
 #668:     now sockie is sockette :)  --strider
 #123:     where do i sign up for sockie to give me head?  --katkitty
 #669:     nethead is best given by elderly ladies before they put their
           teeth in  --sockie
 #700:     god doesnt go on irc... he doesnt see you defending him
           or putting him down.. so dont argue about him.  --corrupt
           but #99242 is <Corrupt_> "Corrupt is god"  --sockie

 #701:     forget i said that.  --corrupt
 #702:     this list could be a best seller..  --corrupt
 #10334:   trawneekz has sex with your mom. he leaves before you wake up.
           hes nice enough to untie your mom to make you breakfast.
           respect trawneekz.  --rawb

 #90210:   OHMUYGOD, LETS IDLE WHILE WE WATCH TEEEEVEEEEE  --sockie
 #649:     confing with leetabixes leads to music, tones, discussion about
           howleettheyare, but rare talk.  --sockie

 #982:     you have to like having sex with people you'll never meet or
           see  --punkgirl
 #845:     mp3 trading comes next to sleep for some people  --sockie
 #843:     why do people use this # shit  --russ
 #846:     die hard irc'rs dont shower, rarely change clothes,
           and have well-impressed butt-cheek-marks on their chairs --sockie

 #847:     <Rilke> i bought my chair with butt marks pre-pressed

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "Apple Pie"
 -> by Nybar

        Nybar and Jubjub are standing around, lollygagging.  Nybar is in
 his slippers, reading the paper, and Jubjub is dressed like a leatherman.
 Or more like... the gimp, from Pulp Fiction.  Yeah, that's it.  Now, this
 story centers around the orgasmic pleasure that can be had from pie.  NOT
 JUST ANY PIE though... APPLE pie.

        "Nybar, you already started the story.  You really freak me out
 sometimes... one minute you're just playing Hugh Hefner as a prelude to
 some extreme S&M, the next thing I know you're relating where we are, like
 this is a t-file or something.  Wierd."

        -- You see, this story begins at the Legitimate Buisnessmen's
 Organization, also know as the Mob Hangout Place where Mob Hangout People
 Hang out. Nybar and Vincent were playing cards.

 Nybar: "Um, hit me."

        [ Vincent hits Nybar. ]

 Nybar: "OW! YOU MOTHERFUCK--"

        [ Silence falls over the joint as everyone draws guns on Nybar. ]

 Nybar: "I mean, give me a card."

        [ Vincent hits Nybar. ]

 Nybar: (under his breath) "Now you're just being a JERK."

        Yes, it was a typical day.  Until SHE walked in.

 Nybar: "Woo wee!  Look at the... um... yeah.  On that girl!  Woo wheee!"
 Vincent: "Nybar, let a *MASTER* of female heckling take over."
 Vincent: (to the Girl) "Hey baby! Where's the fire?"
 Girl: "Uhh... do I want to know?" 
 Vincent: "It's in my pants!"
 Girl: "Swell."
 Vincent: (serious) "I mean it, my pants really are on fire."
 Girl: "Oh?--" (She becomes concerned...)
 Vincent: "Yeah, you better have a look." (Vincent smiles)

        [ Nybar looks at his hand (a jack and ace of spades), and thinks
          for a long time. ]

 Nybar: "I fold."
 Vincent: "I guess I'm just a great sportsman, heh heh heh." (under the
           table, Vincent is jabbing Nybar with his gun.)

 Nybar: "So anyway, about why I came here..."
 Girl: "Hey, loose plot point here! Hello!"
 Nybar: "Yeah, you come in later. And seduce the ex-cop gone bad, remember?"
 Girl: "Oh yeah. Nevermind."
 Nybar: "geez, people today huh? Didn't used to be like this. So *ANYWAY*,
         as I was *SAYING* before I was so *RUDELY* interrupted--"

        [ SUDDENLY, ALL THE DOORS AND WINDOWS *SMASH* OPEN, AND FBI AGENTS
          COME *POURING IN*! ]

 FBI Agent #1: "THIS IS A BUST! NOBODY FUCKING MOVE, MOVE AND GET BLASTED!
                NOBODY STAY STILL! STAY STILL AND GET SHOT!! OK, THAT'S IT
                YOU GREASEBALL MOTHERFUCKERs-- one sec"  (he flicks a
                greaseball out of his hair) "OK, THAT'S IT YOU GREASEBALL
                MOTHERFUCKERS! DIE!#%"

        [ With those words, a huge gunfight erupted.  Vincent (who was
          sitting) was taken down early.  Nybar, though, channels the power
          of concentration and becomes... THE LAST DRAGON! ]

 Nybar: "I AM THE LAST, DRAGON!  I POSSESS THE POWER, OF THE GYAHHHgubhh"

        [ Nybar gets shot in the Neck. ]

        xoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxox

        [ 1 year later, Mt. Sinai Intensive Care.  Nybar sits propped up,
          with a bunch of tubey thing-things in all of his orifices.  He
          is being interviewed for an emotional film, "How I Learned to
          Shit Again". ]

 Nybar: "And then the Doctor told me..." <Nybar chokes back tears> "Lil Jo
         Jo was dead and--" <sniff> "I'd never shit again!!!!!"
 Geraldo: "Why, that is powerful and moving.  Just not BOWEL moving,
           hahahaha!"

        [ Nybar cries. ]

 Nybar: "Why can't you... understand my pain!?  You're evil... <sniff> EVI--"

        [ The scene goes back to the Living Room, with Jubjub, Nybar's
          brother, now being penetrated by 2 dildos. ]

 Jubjub "Nybar, we need your hands to wield the third one.  You can tell
         us about how you learned to shit again later."
 Nybar: "Nope, gotta tell it right now-- the whole world needs to know!
         You see, having a nice hard cock up your ass at alll times is
         essential to proper bowel motion!  Those Homo-sexua-ls are just
         practicing cleannnnnn living!  Take it from me, Nybar, or if you
         will, my new screen-name, AssPirate 2000.  See you on AOL!"

 Annnddd CUT!

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "An Interview with M4D 3LF"
 -> by M4D 3LF

        The following is an in-depth interview between the M4D 3LF and
 myself as the Devil's Advocate about marijuana and me.

 Devil's Advocate: What's up M4D 3LF, thanks for coming today.

 M4D 3LF: No prob, bob, thanks for havin' me.

 DA: Well, let's get right down to brass tacks.  What were your feelings
     on marijuana, and the usage there of, in your youth?

 ME: In my youth?  Fuck man, I'm only 22!

 DA: Well, in your school days.  I assuming you had health classes dealing
     with drugs at some point in elementary school.

 ME: Yeah, the first time I ever saw weed was in sixth grade when "Officer
     Friendly" hosted a week-long class telling of the dangers of drugs
     and alcohol at my school.  They pre-dated the DARE program, but I
     guess it was about the same thing.  Anyhow, the cop brought a small
     amount of greens to the class so we would be able to recognize it by
     sight n smell, and thus stay away from it.  I guess I was intrigued
     by this because I knew at this time that my dad used, or had used,
     marijuana, as my psychologist asked me if he ever used it around me.
     Still, at this time I believed the "man's" propaganda.

 DA: "The Man's" propaganda being that drugs are bad, bad people do drugs
     and so forth?

 ME: Yeah, when I was in high school I never did anything.  Never even
     skipped school except for senior skip day, and even then I had my mom
     call me in.  I bought in to the whole idea that weed, although not as
     bad as say crack, was the gateway drug.  A gateway to promiscuity and
     pregnancy, a gateway to harder drugs, a gateway to death.  I
     considered my mom, who tried pot a few times with my dad, to be one of
     the lucky few who got away unscathed.  I even stayed away from
     smoking, I thought of cigarettes as the "gateway drug to the gateway
     drug".

 DA: Did you change your mind about this after high school?

 ME: Well, when I turned 18, I was "bad" and tried a cigar with my best
     friend.  I started dating a slut who said she was a virgin, but I was
     a Horney teenager and my thoughts about waiting until marriage were
     dashed in a Madison hotel room, but I still remained adamantly against
     drugs and alcohol.  When I found out my psycho-ex had gotten high and
     fucked two guys at the same time while we were still going out it just
     confirmed everything I though about marijuana.

 DA: So when did you decide that you wanted to try marijuana?

 ME: Well, I was always curious about what I would feel like, listening to
     Dr. Dre and Da Brat rap about how great it is, smoking pipe tobacco in
     my dad's bong.  I guess it all came to a head in the winter of 1997.

 DA: That's when you first tried it?

 ME: Yeah, I guess it was because I was with people I trusted, and they
     wanted me to try it.  I didn't even feel anything the first time, it
     really did nothing for me at all that night.

 DA: Yet you still smoke weed today, why is that?

 ME: Maybe I'm genetically inclined to smoke weed, my dad does it, my
     sister does it, ya know what they say about alcoholism being passed
     on.  Or maybe it's cuz I was positively re-enforced to like weed, the
     first night for that was also the time I had a threesome.

 DA: Heh, I guess that would do it!

 ME: But for whatever reason, the first time made it easier for there to be
     a second time, then a third, and it just kept getting better and
     better.  Like the time I was so high that my back was stuck to the
     floor.  We were so loud the cops got called, but they just told up to
     turn down the TV and be quiet.

 DA: That must have been freaky!

 ME: Oh yeah, it was.  When the cops were asking my friends for their
     names, I was freaking out trying to remember how to spell mine.  It
     was almost a year later when I started meeting a lot of cool people
     through weed.  That's how I smoked some primo Seattle shit, met my
     boys in the IWP.  I've never had a bad time on it.

 DA: IWP, what's that?

 ME: The Insane Weed Posse or the Insanely Wasted Posse, me and 3-4 other
     guys I hang with.

 DA: So you got over your fear of pot corrupting people?

 ME: Yeah, I used to think that weed was the reason that my ex cheated on
     me, that kinda fucked me up a little there, but now it's all good.  In
     fact I had the time of my life this weekend getting high and drunk
     with the girl I'm seeing now.  I just realized it wasn't the weed, it
     wasn't me, it's just some chics are slutty bitches.

 DA: So with everything going ok in your life weed just adds to the fun,
     but what about if you get down, are you going to start to use it as a
     crutch.  Do you ever think you may become like one of DARE's poster
     children??

 ME: No, I know I'm not hooked on weed, it's just something I like to do.
     In fact, I stopped smoking it for a while when I wasn't feeling too
     good about myself, so I know I can stop in the future if need be.

 DA: So you feel in control of the situation?

 ME: It's not even a question.  I am way more addicted to caffeine than
     anything else.

 DA: Do you ever use marijuana as an enhancement, creatively, sexually, or
     otherwise?

 ME: Well, I've never written while high or stared at the back of a dollar
     bill trying to figure out if the guy in the bushes has a gun, but I
     have come up with some fucked up shit while "unda tha influence".

 DA: Like what?

 ME: My theory on Bob Saget for one.  I was stittin' in my friend Bill's
     car thinking about how he smokes weed like it's green crack, that got
     me thinking about rehab, which reminded me about Bob Saget in _Half
     Baked_.  I started to wonder how they approached Bob Faggot..ah Saget
     about doing the part.  They must've been all like "Hey Bob, we have
     this movie we're making, and we have a small role that needs a cameo,
     wanna have a look?"  And Bob was all, "Sure, lemme see."  Then he
     would come back all like, "Dude, my line is 'You think you're an
     addict?  I sucked dick for coke, pal!'  What kinda movie is this?"
     Then the movie people would've been like, "It's one of those stupid,
     gen-x, stoner movies.  It'd be a riot to have you on this."  And
     obviously he said ok, cuz he's in the movie and all.  So my theory on
     Bob Saget is that he must smoke a hella weed to think anything he says
     is funny.

 DA: Well, that is a rather interesting theory.

 ME: I think so, anyway.

 DA: Huh, well what about sexual enhancement?

 ME: Well, I don't need anything to enhance my sex drive, but weed does
     make me fuckin Horney as hell.  It usually sucks cuz, except for
     getting high with my girlfriend, I don't smoke weed with anyone that
     I would want to have sex with.  Plus I'm still a walking hormone when
     I'm sober so it just makes it worse.

 DA: Well, I guess we've dove deep enough into your head for one interview.
     Thanks for your time M4D 3LF.

 ME: Gee thanks, fuck nutz, glad I made your day.

                           ***  Special Bulletin ***

        If I can generate enough interest in another M4D 3LF interview, he
 says he'll come back for an encore interview.  If you have any dire
 questions to ask of the M4D 3LF, send them to nevets@geocities.com!!

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "What You Were Missing Out On At 12:02a.m. - 02/12/99"
 -> by Styx

 <kreid> swisspope: HAHAHAHaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
 <kreid> slindsey: AHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!
 <Mogel> AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 <kreid> styx: AHHAHAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH!!!
 <Mogel> AHAHAhahAHhaHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAAH
 <kreid> HAHAHAH
 <Mogel> HAHAHAHAAHAHHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAH
 <kreid> HAH!
 <Mogel> HAhaAHAHahAHAHHA/HAahHAAHAH
 <kreid> MMMPHPHHPHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 <Mogel> Sorry AHAHAh when someone starts laughing I can't AHHAHA control
         myself!!! HAHAHAHA
 <kreid> AHHAHH OH SHIT AHAHAHHAHAHA I FORGOT TO TAKE MY HEART MEDI AHHAHAHA
         HEAR AHAHAH HEART MEDICATION AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 <Mogel> HAHAHAHAhahahAhaAHAHAHHAHA AHHAHAHAHAHA
 <Mogel> AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA BUT AHAHHAAH BUT AHHAHA WHY? AHAHAHAHA
 <Mogel> I'M DYING AHHAHAHAHAH CAN'T..BREATHE..HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA
 <Mogel> AHHAHAHAHA HELP...AHAHAHHAHAHAHAA
 <kreid> AHAHAHAHAHaHAHaHAHAHAH SOMEONE'S GOT THE SILLIES!!!!
 <Mogel> HAHAHAHAHAHHAA AHAHHAAHAHAHA HAHAHahahaha/2?$E?$@ 2 2q$E?2 2 $@
 <kreid> AHHAHAHAHAHAAHA MAYBE I SHOULD AHHAHA CALL THE SILLY POLICE!!?!!?!
 <Mogel> AHAHAhaHAHAHAHAAHAH AHAH AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA AAHH
 <kreid> HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH MILK IS COMING OUT OF MY NOSE LIKE
         AHAHHAHHAHHAAHAHAHAH NIAGARA FALLS
 <SwissPope> Lindsey, whose balls would you rather fondle: Don Knotts' or
             Andy Rooney's?
 <PezMonkey> andy rooney

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "Where is Creativity?"
 -> by The Jester

        recently, in my english class i read "flight" by john steinbeck.
 a short story, merely pages.  a very good story which illustrates a young
 man's coming of age, and ultimately, death.  it shows a transformation
 from a lazy boy, to a man.  set in the early twentieth century, a very
 moving piece.

        where is creativity?

        upon a trip to a book store, i noticed something.  my fiction
 section was dominated by recent publications.  i glanced at many titles,
 authors, and the little story on the back, providing an overview.  all
 these books are exactly the same.

        john mcnardle is running away from a government who is hiding
 things from him and is eventually caught and put on trial, where he is put
 to the ultimate test of his life, the truth or the lies?  

        do you call this creativity, america?

        do you read these stories?  if you do, you should probably be shot.
 these stories provide hardly any thought processes.  even better, you do
 not even have to buy the book, just wait for the made for tv movie.  it
 will provide you with the same storylines, with even less work on your
 part done.

        where is creativity?

        i listened to my dark side of the moon cd today.  quite possibly
 one of the best cds ever made, in my opinion.  innovative ideas, great
 lyricism, great music.  if you don't own it, go buy it right now, i won't
 care if you stop reading this article, really!

        where is creativity?

        i turned on my radio today, and listenned for a little while to the 
 new "hip" bands.  eve 6!  yeah!  matchbox 20!  cool!  third eye blind!
 neet!

        if you didn't catch the sarcasm there, and agreed with what you 
 thought was me being serious, you should be shot.  

        what people do not realize is that these 3 bands, although there
 are more, are all playing the same music.  nothing new here.  i know the
 album was just recently released, but this isn't new.  maybe, just maybe,
 the first two years of "alternative music," and i use that term loosely,
 was creative.

        what is now being released under the name of alternative, is no
 longer what i would term creative.  kurt cobain screaming music, yes, was
 creative.  it was new.  it was a fresh idea.  a band, in 1999 playing the
 on the same idea as a band from more than ten years ago, is, well, you get
 the idea.

        i guess what i am trying to say, is that in today's culture, it is,
 apparently, too difficult for so-called "artists" to be inventive.  the
 whole idea that a person can copy the idea of someone who really was
 trying to be new and fresh, and make millions of dollars, is suppressing
 _true_ artists.  why should one change something that works?

        where is creativity?

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "Girl Vibe Magazine Feature: Weight Problems? Ask Anjee!"
 -> by Anjee

        Girls often have weight problems but always lack someone to turn
 to in their time of need.  Anjee has decided to help out these poor
 unfortunate souls with her incredibly fantastic advice.  Reader's
 discretion advised.

 [-----]

 Dear Anjee,

	I am 21 years old and I'm extremely overweight. I have
	tried several diet plans and so-called miracle pills,
	but neither helped me lose the fat. I've had a weight
	problem for years now, and I am begining to experience
	depression. Sometimes I even wonder if suicide is the
	only solution to my situation. Please help me!

                                        Sincerely, Flabulicious.

 Dear Flabulicious,

        Stop eating, you fat bitch.

 [-----]

 Dear Anjee,

	I have heard about you, and a few people recommended I
	come to you for help. I am currently a high school girl
	who has a slight weight problem. Because of this awful
	situation I seem to have found myself in -- I never get
	the chance to make friends, boyfriends, or people that
	will just talk to me. I've cried myself to sleep many
	nights, and I'm hoping you have some advice that you
	can give me.

                                        Fat-ass-tic.

 Dear Fat-ass-tic,

	I can't change the fact that you're ugly. And stop
	eating, you fat bitch.

 [-----]

 Dear Anjee,

	I am writing you because I do not approve of the advice
	you have been giving to the sweet people who had the
	courage to write to you for help. I hardly believe that
	saying "stop eating, you fat bitch" will improve one's
	self-esteem (which, in these cases there seems to be
	incredibly low). Do you even have any experience in
	these areas? Please, respect the ones who come to you.

                                        Thanks, SlimTrim

 Dear Slimtrim,

	Who cares? I'm not paid to be polite, and I am obviously a
	perfect example for humanity, so you should listen to my
	advice. Now shut up, you fat bitch.

 [-----]

        That's all, folks! I hoped all of you fat bitches got the advice
 you all were aching for. There's no better way to lose weight than to
 stop feeding your chubby fat fucking faces.

        Stay tuned for the next issue:  "She was, in fact, being paid to
 be polite".

 [-----]

 Side Note: Boredom can create vast amounts of stupid, pathetically
 pathetic t-files.

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "Why Don't You Lick The Sweat Off My Balls You Spoiled Fat Catholic Cunt"
 -> by Styx

      That's what I *wish* I could've said.

      Amoco.  The glory days of my life, you might say.  Three to eleven,
 Monday through Friday.  Wake up at 1:30p.m.  Check my email.  Get dressed.
 Go to work.  Come home around 11:15p.m.  Do a bunch of drugs, drink a bunch
 of drink, go on IRC, complain, go to sleep around 5:00a.m., and start the
 whole process over.  They were, perhaps, my formative years in learning
 exactly how to be alone.  I also learned that, beyond any text file, beyond
 any book or video game, beyond any daydream or poem or song, people really
 aren't very good creatures.  It is cliche, but it's not - not how I mean
 it.  There really are people who, at their very core, suck.  Most of them
 do.  Your friends aren't who you think they are.  Your enemies aren't who
 you think they are.  You don't know anybody.  You never will.

      Human interaction is based solely on what one gets from the other.
 Period.  If somebody doesn't benefit you, you won't have anything to do
 with them.  Any good deeds you do for anybody is only to secure yourself
 in your idea that you're a good person.  There's no such thing as "out of
 the good of the heart."  There never was.  It's a lie.  Mother Theresa
 had a diary full of alterior motives.

      Which brings me to Amoco again, where I learned this firsthand.  Not
 necessarily from the customers - it was just the time of my life when this
 revelation came and stuck with me.  From 18 to 21, I sat in that damn
 booth.  I complained in text files, I complained to my friends, and
 sometimes I'd complain to the customers.

      One sent me a complaint back, in the form of a letter.

      It was amazing.  I sat and I thought about it.  Then I thought about
 it some more.  I kept it up.  Through the haze of vodka and cigarettes, I
 thought and I thought.  I had driven a person to sit down at, like, a
 table, and they brought a pen with them, and they sat down, and they
 thought about me, and they wrote about it.  It was a malicious attempt to
 get me fired, and it took effort.  I thought about all of this, over and
 over again, feeding my already developed idea that people are only out for
 themselves.

      This customer was, oh, 20 years old.  Her father owned a local
 limousine company.  She drove a classic Ford, given to her, and acted like
 you'd expect her to act.  She was also an orthodox Catholic, often telling
 me to find Jesus.  She was smart, though, and clever.  I was attracted to
 her personality, only, and we'd always engage in conversation whenever
 she'd come get gas.  It was the well known harmless but aggressive war
 between Rich Girl and Poor Boy, documented in about 792 movies.  At the
 end, they usually end up having sex and then the credits roll.  I never
 once considered sticking it in her.  She was the first person to see Silly
 Fat Comix!, drawn sloppily on loose-leaf at the gas station.  She laughed.
 I decided to send them to Steve Gadlin, then.  If *she* got enjoyment from
 them, anybody would.  Then one night I yelled at her because I was drunk
 or in a mood or whatever.  I really don't remember.

      And as described above, she sat down, at a desk, with a pen and
 paper, and put effort out into trying to rid me of my job.

      I had thought she was pretty cool.

      I had to respond to her letter - company policy and all that.  You've
 all pictured Amoco as a generic, dingy station, I'm sure.  Sounds assinine,
 but it was the cleanest, most professional gas station I've ever seen.
 Full benefits, pension plans - the whole nine yards.  So, yes, it was
 company policy to respond to a complaint.  And I did.

      I sat down at my computer and I thought about it.  Do I risk the job
 by verbally raping the hell out of her, or do I respond like my manager
 wanted me to?  It's not like the job wasn't replaceable, but I had (and
 still have) a fondness for it.  It was the most boring job in the world
 and dealing with the public is possibly the most mentally exhausting thing
 I've ever done, but the job itself - it was cake, it was great.  It was
 hard to finally quit.  I felt so guilty I gave a full 2 month notice,
 found a replacement for me, and trained her.

      Anyway, I decided to sit on the fence.  I sent her a response.  What
 follows is her original complaint letter and what I sent back to her.
 Things I don't want stalkers to know have been blocked out by asterisks.

                             --------------------

 Kimberly x. xxxxxxx                                           March 4, 1998
 xx xxxxx Road
 Rich****, PA xxxxx


 To Whom it May Concern,

      On the evening of March 3, 1998, I went to the Amoco Gas Station in
 South******, PA to get my gas per usual.  My company (xxxxx Limousine
 Service, Inc.) uses this particular Amoco extensively and therefore, a
 company card is kept inside the booth with the attendants.  After entering
 the necessary codes on the keypad outside, the attendant, whose name is
 Matt, started to tell me a story of a wrestling event he attended the night
 before.  Having little interest in the story, I casually laughed.  Upon
 doing so Matt yelled into the microphone several obscenities and a threat
 to "never serve me again".  I merely walked away, shocked at his reaction.

      I feel as though I, nor anyone else, should be spoken to in this
 manner.  Furthermore, because of the abundance of business my company gives
 this particular gas station, his mannerisms were highly unprofessional and
 as a result, considerations are being made to withdraw our account.

      The following day, being today, I called the Amoco Customer Relations
 department and asked how to file a complaint, and being told it had to be
 written, I was more than willing to comply.  I also asked if it was
 recommended that I call the gas station and speak to the supervisor,
 however, the woman with whom I spoke told me a copy of the complaint would
 be mailed to them.

      I will assume that proper actions will take place regarding this
 matter and that I will be notified accordingly, if necessary.

 Sincerely,

 <signature>

 Kimberly x. xxxxxxx

                             --------------------             

 Matt x. xxxxxxxxx
 xxx xxxxxxxx Drive
 xxxxxxxxxxx, PA xxxxx-xxxx
 March 16, 1998                                                                             


        To Kimberly x. xxxxxxx,

	I interact with my customers in an open manner in a (quite possibly)
 futile attempt to break the monotony of the hello/thank you-exchange that
 is seemingly ever-present at my workplace.  This is, admittedly, more for
 my benefit than any of the customers; nonetheless, it does no harm and
 makes for a friendlier atmosphere.  I'm quite positive that the employees
 of your father's company can attest to that.  I also get along superbly
 with your parents and, I thought, even better with you.  There are several
 customers that I actually look forward to seeing, and you're one of them,
 if only for your witty, intelligent nature (a rarity at any workplace, let
 me tell you).
 
        With this in mind, I must say that when my boss handed over your
 complaint letter addressed to me this afternoon, I approached it with no
 small amount of interest and trepidation.  I had never received one before.
 It was akin, I'd say, to being called to the principal's office knowing
 full-well I had done nothing wrong to the best of my recollection, yet
 still interested in hearing the accusations anyway.  It is that same
 interest that fuels my reply to you now.

	To be perfectly honest, Kimberly, I do not recall the incident
 detailed in your letter, which certainly isn't to say that it never
 happened.  After all, you don't strike me as being particularly delirious.
 The fact of the matter is that I received your letter 2 weeks after you
 sent it.  Whatever it is that happened was fresh in your mind.  It is
 hardly fresh in mine.  Due to the amount of customers I get in one day,
 let alone one week, let alone two, I hope you understand this.

	I will address your letter bit by bit, to the best of my capability.
 March 3rd was, infact, the day after I had attended a live wrestling event.
 Being the fan that I am, I was understandably excited about it and probably
 prattled on about it to half of my customers that Tuesday (much to their
 dismay, I'm sure).  Most had "little interest" and most "casually laughed,"
 and I wouldn't expect any other reaction.  Professional wrestling isn't
 exactly a hot, mainstream conversational topic anyway.  Most would prefer
 something about the weather, or maybe gas prices, but the point is moot.  I
 try not to make myself feel like I am working while I'm at Amoco, and one
 way to do that is to socialize with my customers instead of acting like a
 button-pushing machine.  From personal observation, it is my humble opinion
 that the customers prefer it that way.  I'd much rather be "Matt" instead
 of "that guy behind the glass."  Nonetheless, my first apology is for
 boring you into a casual laugh.

	I stand accused of yelling "several obscenities."  This is the most
 disturbing part of the letter by far, although not something I will deny,
 for one reason only; what may be considered obscene to one person may not
 be to another.  It all depends, I would assume, on one's upbringing.  While
 some things are undeniably obscene, others remain in a gray area
 (Michelangelo's "David" being a good example).  You would be correct in
 pointing out to me that nothing I say to my customers should even
 borderline on the obscene.  Again, though, I have no recollection of this
 incident, so I am unable to defend myself appropriately.  My second
 apology, then, is for offending you in any way.  I am sorry and the offense
 was entirely unintentional, I assure you.

        As far as my "threat," it was purely in jest.  In retrospect, this
 is actually the only part I remember.  I would never say anything like
 "I'll never serve you again" to you and mean it, and I had figured you
 knew that in the first place.  Do you think I would mess around with you
 like I sometimes do if I thought you took it personally?  Not only do I
 enjoy our conversations and occasional wit-wars, I would never jeopardize
 the relationship with Amoco and xxxxx.  So my third apology is for nothing.
 The fact that you took what I said out of context is out of my control.
 Relax.  Smile.  Goof around.  Visit the McDonald's playground.
 Unalphabetize your CD collection.  Next time you stop by, I'll give you one
 of my mother's fantastic chocolate-chip muffins at your request.  They're
 good for the soul and will lighten any spirit.  I always have at least two
 at the ready.  Your sister stopped by and got gas today.  She was very
 friendly.  She's welcome to a muffin, too, as are your parents.

        Don't take me so seriously.  I'm only a gas station attendant,
 after all.

 Predictably (and apologetically) yours,

 <signature>

 Matt x. xxxxxxxxx
 The Best Cashier in Southxxxxxx(TM)

                             --------------------

      The next time she came to the gas station, she asked for her muffin.
 I gave it to her.  She never talked to me again.

      To quote Bukowski (instead of ripping him off like I usually do);

      "the trouble with these people is their houses have never been bombed
 and their mothers have never been told to shut up."

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "PAT"
 -> by Aster

        once apon a time there was a princess called red.  she was the most
 beautiful and wonderful princess in the land.  many people wanted to meet
 her, but she was very shy.  one day she was walking around the garden in
 her castle and she met a strange man with a strange machine.  she was very
 interested and got in.  when she got out she found herself on hard grey
 ground with loud, scary machines rushing past her.  all of a sudden, one
 of these strange things ran her over.  the man inside was named joe white.
 he was wanted in 5 countries, 43 states, and uncountable counties for
 murder and wearing orange.  his daughter, bevin, was only 5 years old and
 lived with her mother in l'vern, mississippi.  her favorite color was
 yellow and she liked flowers and the rain.  one day she met a boy named
 pat.  pat soon became her very bestest friend.  he was a very good friend
 but she did not know very much about him.  but he was really a secret
 agent that was sent to watch over bevin because she was a princess that
 would take over when the space people come.  but one day when she went on
 a fishing trip with pat, she fell overbored.  pat tried to save her but 
 she could not swim and drowned.

        THE END.

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "The Text File As A Collective, Post-Modern, Masturbatory Experience"
 -> by Mogel

        I have a lot of pets.  Well, they're not actually pets.  They're
 human.  And they aren't actually real:  they're a studio audience, and
 they sit in my head, laughing at my jokes.

        Except they're not really jokes.  I like awkward humor.  I think I
 might have inherited my father's absolutely terrible sense of humor.  Not
 that I blame my parents for anything.  Not that I blame anyone.  I remember
 an episode (Yes, I've begun cataloguing my experiences in life as episodes,
 like a sitcom.) where my father interjects a terrible pun.

        Interject turned out to not be the appropriate word.  He intended it
 to be, but I completely stopped in mid-sentence.  Here's what he said:

        "[Uhm, imagine a generic, terrible pun here.  I can't remember the
 actual line.]".

        I wondered why my father said this.  I asked him, "why did you say
 that, dad?"

        "It was a joke."

        Naturally.  But I thought jokes were supposed to be funny.  I did!

        "I thought jokes were supposed to be funny."

        Rather than the predictable "humor-is-relative" tangent that
 could've evolved, my father suggested that funny jokes were a corporate
 plot to control our humor.  He went on to suggest that his jokes were
 "rebel humor" -- jokes that challenged the system because they were so
 completely unfunny.

        Ironically, this is probably the funniest thing my father has ever
 said, which speaks novels about the sort of life I've been subjected to
 growing up.

        So, that's where I've become awkward.  And the studio audience in
 my head is more like a captive audience, laughing at my jokes.  Or not
 laughing in my case -- as I bypass the bullet model... and I bypass the
 co-author cultural theory.

        Sometimes, when I'm at a social gathering full of strangers, I end
 up doing the same thing.  I have a strange walk.  I tend to skip over
 superficial conversation.  I distinctly recall an episode (there's that
 expression again) where an attractive girl approached me for a
 conversation.

        "Hi.  What brought you here?" she asked loud enough to be heard
 over the music, peering over her glass of miscellaneous alcohol.

        "I don't know."  I didn't!

        "Who are you here with?"

        "My friend.  He's having sex upstairs right now."  He was!

        For some reason the girl stopped talking to me.  This happens a
 lot.  I'll admit someone this particularly touchy probably isn't worth
 the effort to get to know as a general rule, but I should probably become
 more wacky and entertaining so I can get laid more often.

        Not that getting laid is the end-all of existence... it's just a
 good reminder that you're just as stupid and human as everyone else.  But
 I don't even need girls -- I have my awkward jokes to keep me company.

        They translate relatively well into text files.  Especially HOE,
 the crowning jewel of the text file style.  Post-modern, for sure.
 Self-referencing, re-contextualizing, and swimming in the seas of a culture
 that can no longer be innocent, forever self-aware.

        But I can't be a *true* experimental, post-structural, post-modern
 deconstructualist, minimalist cunt if I write in a direct and rambling
 style such as this, huh?  I'm far too apathetic here.  I have to fill it
 with seemingly random cultural references, like, "hey, there's Monica
 Lewinsky and Joan of Arc drinking Pepsi and reading Plato."  Which isn't
 very funny or entertaining at all.  It doesn't hint at "the big picture"
 in some pseudo-subtle way.  It's just stupid.

        But stupid is the best art you can find.  Stupid is the empty space
 you find, bouncing between moments.  Like now.  I'm here in the middle of
 the night, using normally wasted time.  The pointless space between having
 done something, and wanting to do something... where you feel anxious and
 frustrated, ready to create something formal.  You know you can do it,
 but it's not there yet.  That's where I'm at, that's what this is.  This is
 my empty space, which the real beauty is... where the dynamics *really* get
 measured.  Just like the circumstances (probably boredom) that brought you
 to reading the words I've typed out for you to read.

        Text files take many forms, and they're all genuine expression.
 Emotional words, ever-ready to be labeled as "angst", like, "My heart is a
 bottomless pit."  That's a style that will never die.  That's what this is
 based on.  

        The counter, the cynical, the Seinfeld-esque parody to this is
 essential for text, too.  Have you ever thought about actually falling
 into a bottomless pit?  It's probably the most passive and absurd way a
 human being could die.  First of all, since you'd be falling infinitely,
 with immediate source of food, you're biggest obstacle would be starving
 to death.  Being aware of Newton's theory that all objects fell at the
 same rate, you could take with you hundreds of bags worth of extra food,
 so that you could continue to eat.  But eventually you're going to have to
 go to the bathroom, in which Newton same law is going to have your
 excrement fall at the same rate as you, thus you're always going to have
 to deal with your own shit.  You might as well not eat and get it over with
 as quickly as possible.

        Plus you'd probably get at least a little bored.

        Obviously neither of these styles can completely do the job.
 Brilliance rests in the rest.  The middle way... the act of being aware of
 all the elements of the pseudo-philosophic (what I'm being), Hegelian
 Dialectic, and being able to spin them all together in an original,
 complex, and thoughtful way.

        Uhh... what?

        The studio audience in my head is not pleased.  Would you like a
 refreshment?

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

 -> "Quit Bitching and Toke"
 -> by AnonGirl

        The following exerpts are collected pieces of conversation between
 my twin brother and I, while smoking up.  Enjoy.

 Donny: Man.. you know what'd be cool?
 Audrey: What?
 D: If we could make this show.. with a camera hooked up in our basement,
    and it just shows us doing whatever.. like right now, it'd be cool.
    Is that legal?
 A: Yup.. people are doing it on the net with webcams.  Like jennycam.org.
 D: Ah fuck the net, I mean actual TV!
 A: I was just saying!  I mean if people can do it on the web, I'm sure
    soon enough people rich enough will be able to buy a station and call
    it TV Jennycam or something.. I'm so sure it'll happen.
 D: That's fucked, man.. like 24 hours?
 A: I haven't done extensive research on webcams, so I dunno.
 D: Ah well.  I just think it'd be cool to have a camera set up 24/7 and
    people would just watch us and everything we do.
 A: Everything?  Like as in.. everything?
 D: Well, not _everything_, but you know.. if ever I needed privacy, for
    you know, then we could just put a cover on the camera.
 A: Or turn it off.  Toke, don't talk.
 D: Yeah, that too.  Yeah cause if I put a cover over it people would 
    still hear things.. so yeah, turning it off would be better.
 A: Yup.

 D: So yeah, James wants to get his motorcycle license now.
 A: Hahahahah what?!
 D: Hahaha I know!!  What a dork!  
 A: Dude, that guy isn't even tall enough.  His feet would be dangling 
    and he'd for sure crash.  He can barely even drive!
 D: I know.  He tells everyone he's like six feet tall but he's really
    like five foot five.
 A: Fuckin' idiot, man.  What kind of bike does he plan on getting?
 D: Like 950cc's!
 A: HAHAHA.  He wishes.
 D: He'll probably wind up with one of those baby racebikes that look
    retarded.  Imagine how stupid he'll look.  Especially when he bails.
 A: Fuck that, he'll probably get a scooter.
 D: Hahah for real, man.  Pass the J.  I dunno, James thinks he's all hot
    shit now.  He's such an idiot, man.
 A: Tell me about it.  I wouldn't mind getting a bike, racebike of course.
    But it'd probably have to be like 300-400cc because I'd fly off
    anything bigger.  Plus my height is a huge factor.  Maybe when I'm rich
    I'll get once custom made.  Shit man, the dog's smiling at me.
 D: I'd get a Harley, in a second.
 A: Nah man, you're so not the Harley type.  You know what you'd look like?
    One of those business men in the suits who ride around on a Harley.  Do
    you know how stupid that would look?  No offense or anything.  I think
    a racebike would suit you much better.  You're not... butchy enough to
    ride a Harley.
 D: So I'm a fifi?
 A: No, I didn't mean that!  But you just don't fit the criteria to ride a
    Harley.  I mean, sure, go ahead, get a Harley, be my guest.  People
    will laugh at you, though.  
 D: I know, I get what you mean.  Like a person skiing in his underwear,
    right?
 A: Yeah!  I mean think about how much of a duphus I'd look like.. 
    5'2" on a racebike.  Shit man.  I can't believe I'm only 5'2".
 D: Yeah man, that's pretty short.
 A: Fuck you man, it isn't my fault.  It's fucked, though, how everyone
    else in this family is tall with blue eyes, and I come along, short
    with hazel eyes.  Sucks ass, man!
 D: Shit man, that really must suck! Hahah.  Want me to roll another?
 A: Why not.  You really don't know how much it sucks to be short, do you?
 D: I think I can understand shortness.
 A: The fuck do you know about being short?!  You're 6'1"!
 D: Hahah yeah.  But I was short once!  In grade school.
 A: Guy, I used to be one of the tallest girls in the grade, in grade 
    school.  I was the same height in grade four as I am now.  Do you know
    how much that sucks?
 D: Guess not!  At least you're not four feet, though.  Then it'd really
    suck.
 A: Hell yeah.. But I dunno, 5'2", it seems stumpy.  Am I stumpy?
 D: No.
 A: Okay cool.

 D: Did you see MadTV last week?
 A: I dunno.. what was on it?
 D: Clops!
 A: No way!  Which one?
 D: Part three.. with the Pillsbury Doughboy.  That shit was so fuckin'
    funny man.  I taped it, we should watch it later.
 A: Yeah I have to see that shit.
 D: It's so much better than Saturday Night Live.
 A: Yeah man.. MadTV is to the late 90's what Saturday Night Live was to
    the late 70's.  
 D: Did you hear that?
 A: Hear what?
 D: I thought I heard footsteps.
 A: Probably just a dog.  Toke that shit.  Plus if anyone is up, the smell
    is covered up from the incense.  
 D: No man, those weren't dog footsteps they were people footsteps!
 A: Yo, stop having kittens.  No one's up.  It's fuckin three in the 
    morning.  Chill.
 D: Okay, yo.  I'm going to roll another.  But this is the last of it.
 A: Alright, cool.

 D: I thought of a cool way to smuggle drugs across the border.
 A: Haha, yeah right.
 D: No seriously.  Check it out.  You know those Maison orange juices?
    The ones in the medium-sized orange plastic bottles?
 A: Yeah.. the orange drink that you can't see inside the bottle?
 D: Yup, that's the shit.  So, yo, you get like a seven of whatever, weed,
    shrooms, whatever, wrap it in a lot of plastic.  Get a bottle of that
    orange shit, put the juice in another container, stuff the drugs to the
    bottom of the bottle and stick it there, with tape or whatever.  Not
    glue though, unless it's Krazy Glue.  And then you fill up whatever's
    left with the orange juice.  They'll never know!
 A: Hmmm.. that could actually work.  But how would you tape the plastic
    to the bottle?  It'd be kinda hard to get your hands through that tiny
    hole.
 D: I'd be able to do it.  Trust me.  There are ways.
 A: Well that's cool.  We should try it sometime.

        [Played Time Crisis for 37 minutes]

 D: Man.. you know what was fun?  Fishing in Bermuda.  
 A: I dunno.  It didn't do it for me.
 D: No man, you don't understood, you fished for like an hour.  I was out
    there all day for like three days.  I almost caught this big-ass fish.  
    I think it was a marlin.  Do you know how hard it is to catch a Marlin?
 A: I really don't.  Are there even marlins in that area?
 D: I dunno.  It was big and had a pointy nose.
 A: Fucked if I know.
 D: I also almost caught this big brown fish.  But the fucker was smart. 
    He hooked onto the lure and swam underneath the bridge I was standing
    on.  Bastard broke my line.  But then after I caught another big fish.
    I gave it to John, and he ate it.
 A: That's homicide, you know.  Pass the J, yo.
 D: How?
 A: You took lives!
 D: I guess it is homicide.  You know how many ants you step on in a mile? 
    Like 32.  
 A: I try to avoid them when walking.  I don't walk staring at the ground 
    or anything but yeah, I try.
 D: Doesn't matter.
 A: Shit.

 D: I dunno about James, man.
 A: Me neither.  He's got what they call 'issues'.
 D: Seriously fuck.  [Pulls out old National Geographic from 1980] Doesn't
    that just look like shit, man?  I mean look at that... look at these
    people.  Man.  People  just dressed like fucks back then.
 A: You should see the ads.  
 D: Check it out, the all new 1980 Toyota Celica.  What a ride, man.  Yo, 
    check this out, it's a picture of a Korean mall.  This shit looks like
    2005, not 1980.  
 A: Shit... it looks like something out of Brazil.
 D: They have shit like that in Brazil?  What?  How?
 A: Brazil is also a movie, by Terry Gilliam.
 D: Who?
 A: 12 Monkeys.
 D: Oh!  Cool!
 A: I'm gonna draw.  Yo, there's gotta be more weed around here somewhere.
 D: I'll look around.  I feel like drawing, too.
 A: Find weed first! 

        [Ten minutes pass]

 D: Alright, found another three and a half.  Must've forgotten about it!
 A: Wicked shit.  Roll!
 D: Why don't you ever roll?  You're a good roller, I've seen those bats 
    you can roll.
 A: I tell people I can't roll, so I don't have to.  Anyway I'm drawing, 
    I can't roll now.  
 D: Okay.  But next j, you're rolling.
 A: We'll see.  My lips are chapped.. I need more Chapstick.
 D: Ah don't worry about that chick stuff.  'Your monthly visitor', 'Aunt 
    Flow', hair and make-up.  Fuck it!
 A: I'm not worried about waxing my legs.  These are my lips, man.  Male 
    or 'chick', chapped lips are sick!  Have you ever kissed someone with 
    chapped lips?  I dunno, something about the dry chapped pieces of dead 
    lip skin breaking off into my mouth just doesn't sound very appealing.  
    But maybe that's just me.

        [More Time Crisis, then NFL Blitz]

 D: That Clockwork Orange poster can be really scary on acid.
 A: Last time I was on acid, there was a huge spider on that poster.  
    Like in real life, I wasn't hallucinating.  And no one would kill it
    for me.  I went upstairs and played F-Zero because of it.
 D: Shit, that sucks.  Where was I?
 A: You were fucking sleeping.  Who drops acid and goes to sleep?!
 D: Well you guys were being fucking retarded, man.  You couldn't stop 
    laughing!
 A: Oh, sorry.  Fuck!  It's 4:50?!  I've got to sleep.  Dad's picking me 
    up at like 10.  Fuckin' shit.
 D: I really can't draw for my life.
 A: Don't worry, I'm not that good either.
 D: Fuck off!  At least you can put your drawings up on the wall.
 A: Whatever, mom makes me.  [Draws a strange looking gun]
 D: Yo, that's a cool gun, man.
 A: Yeah?
 D: Yeah.
 A: Thanks.  Give me something to draw.
 D: Hmmm..  draw him.  [Points at guy from Time Crisis]
 A: Him?  Okay. [Draws]
 D: Shit, yo, that's wicked.
 A: Fuck off, it sucks.  [Crumples up paper]
 D: What the fuck did you do that for?!
 A: It sucked.  Quit bitching and toke!
 D: Ah well.. you're on crack.
 A: Apparently.  

 A: Can people die from not getting enough sleep?
 D: Yeah.
 A: What happens?
 D: You just go insane and everything shuts down.
 A: Fuck, man.  I was awake for seventy-two hours when that quack 
    prescribed me with anti-depressants to help get rid of the insomnia.  He 
    gave me valium two weeks later, though.  I was pleased about that.
 D: Lucky you.

 A: You know what's funny?  Daddy got this new winter coat and the pockets 
    don't turn inside out.  So he keeps his cigarettes in a little plastic 
    baggie.
 D: Why?
 A: What?
 D: Why?
 A: So the tobacco doesn't get in his pockets.
 D: Oh.  Hahahah.
 A: O.C.D. all the way.

 A: What the fuck is with these Hanson kids?  What are they, 12? 13?  And 
    why should they want to know where to love is?  What to these 12 year 
    olds know about love?  What the fuck?  Any why are we listening to the 
    radio?
 D: They're fags.
 A: I'm goin to bed.  Nite.
 D: Nite.

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]

        "Zorgblip!@#"

        "Yes, Captain Foozaza?"

        "Turn the ships around.  We're going home."

        "Uhh... sir?  You don't think the creators of these writings would
 actually pose a threat to our invasion, do you?"

        "Of course not, Zorgblip... but take a look at THIS."

        ...

        "My god."

        "Yes.  I couldn't believe it.  Their pornography is far more
 advanced than our wildest dreams."

        "Let's get the hell out of here (and download a lot of it)."

        "Yes, we must flee (let's make sure to hit all the major sites
 first, though)!"

        "Do you have a credit card number?"

 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
 [ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS!  #500 - WRITTEN BY VARIOUS ARTISTS, 3/3/99 ]
