                            ~`~~~`'~~'~~'
                        ~`~~~`~~~~~~~`~~~~`~
                     ~`~~~,~~~~'~,~~~~~,~~'~~'
                   ~,~~~,~~~~`~~~~~~`~~~~~`~~~'~
                    ~~~`~~~~'~~~~~~~~~`~~~~~'~
                      ~~ ~`~~~~`~~~`~~~~~'~~
                         ~ ~`~`~~,~~~`~~~~~
                              ~~~~~~~~'~~
          ___________________  `~~~`~
         / =Mad Ludwig=     /   ~`~
        /                  /   ~~
       /................../   ~'
       ³:..-.V.-.V.-.-.-.V|  ~          :#@#@#@:#@#@#:@:#::::@::::
       ³\:..-.U.-.-U.U..-..:            :*::::::&:::*:&:*::::&::::
       ³ \:..G.-.G.-.-.G.-..:         * :#::::::@:::#:@:#::::@:::: *
       U\ ³   ~.~.~.~.~.~   ³         * :&::::::*&*&::*:&::::*:::: *
       ³ \³_____o*oOo*o_____³         * :#::@#@:#@:#::@:#::::@:::: *
       ³__U________________ U           :&::::*:&:::*:&:*::::&::::
       ³\ ³                \³           :#::::@:#:::@:#:@::::#::::
       A_\³_________________³           :*&*&*&:*:::&:*:&*&*:&*&*:
       O\ ³                \³             - = I S S U E  # 9 = -
         \A_________________A      "It's time to play Spot the Looney!"
          O                 O

          Still lookin' bad Grill font by Quarex
          Grill ascii by Swiss Popopoppopopopope

=-=-[MARCH 31, 1997]=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
|                                                                       |
| CONTENTS OF ISSUE #9 OF GRILL (The Zine for Heretics):                |
|                                                                       |
|  <1> Neve Campbell riot                                               |
|  <2> Todd Rundgren Fucking Rules!                                     |
|  <3> Why Cats are like Women                                          |
|  <4> The Frat Party at Camelot                                        |
|  <5> Bad Memories                                                     |
|  <6> The Smurfish Patient                                             |
|  <7> Tard Soccer                                                      |
|  <8> Something that might be Fan Mail                                 |
|  <9> Chipmunk & Cat: The Two Witnesses to The Apocalypse              |
| <10> Quarex apologizes for the abundance of Editor's Notes in Issue 9 |
| <11> Without Further Adieuauejaks                                     |
| <12> Palimpest: Or Every Student Written Poem Ever Written            |
| <13> Rants & Raves about Various Things                               |
|                                                                       |
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

=*-*= INTRODUCTION
= By: Quarex

      Issue #9?  Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with us?  We're still
churning out issues of Grill (the Zine for heretics!!!) two calendar
years after we started producing it.  You'd think that an awful idea like
making your own Zine would kill itself off after a few months. . . but,
such is not the case. This issue is going to be dedicated to how I hate
everyone on earth with the exception of myself and Pol Pot.

      Well, not really.  Anyway, while I was sitting writing this, I got
a great idea for a TV Sitcom.  It would star Fred Astaire as Marie
Antoinette's Pimp, with the clever title of "Let them eat Cock".

      Now that I've got my vulgarity out of the way, let's dive directly
into what all of you really want to see in a 'zine:  WHINY RAMBLINGS!

      EEEEEEEEENGH.  MY FOOT HURTS.  EEEENNNNNGGGGHHhhhHhhhhh.. .   .

      No, on second thought, let's not do that.  Let's instead celebrate
that today is not only St. Patrick's day, but also Billy Corgan's
birthday.  Though I couldn't possibly care less that it's Billy Corgan's
birthday, I happen to know that fact, so I felt it warranted inclusion.

      This issue of Grill was supposed to be released on the 28th of
February, but due to my forgetting about it completely, as well as
everyone else's forgetting about it completely, nothing got done.  I have
a poem from a guy who's never written for Grill before, and hopefully
something on Todd Rundgren coming soon.  But other than that, it's going
to be my own damn material, yet again.  I hereby predict that Grill shall
reach Issue #13 and henceforth never be heard from again.  :)

      Since I wrote that last bit, the Todd Rundgren article has
thankfully come through.  And, just like Todd Rundgren, it's 12 letters
long.

                              ~ FIN ~



=*-*= Todd Rundgren Fucking Rules!
= By: Kheldar

        Whenever anyone asks what kind of music I like, along with a few
other various groups, I say Todd Rundgren.  The typical response is,
"Todd who?"  Well, I don't think many people realize how much Todd
Rundgren fucking rules.  You can keep your Rush!  Take that Beck CD back!
Just leave me with my Todd Rundgren.  Don't try to tell me I'm nuts.  I'm
not nuts.  I've been listning to Todd Rundgren ever since I was 3 or 4,
and have 15 of his CDs, and one of his LPs, so I know what I'm talking
about.

        You think you know good music?  You think you've heard it all?
Well, you haven't heard anything until you've heard the Viking Song.  You
think you've heard a funny song?  You haven't listened to Piss Aaron!
Todd Rundgren has something for everyone.  Now go out and buy ALL OF HIS
FUCKING CDS!  NOW!

        They called him, Piss Aaron, they always caught him pissin' in
the halls!

        Back yet?  Ok then.  I figure any artist who can put out over 30
albums and still be fresh and origional has to be good.  Well, I'm right,
so fuck you.  You see, there is no denying that Todd Rundgren is truly
Jesus.  Yes, it's true.  Todd Rundgren is your savior.  He did that
locust swarm thing back in the summer of '74, and he went through the
whole angel-of-death thing when he was 6.  I'm not bullshitting you.  He
is Jesus.  My respect for Todd Rundgren can never deminish.  Now, for
your next project, I want you to make a shrine to Todd Rundgren in your
bathtub with holy water and pieces of Noah's ark.

        Done with that?  Ok, you're ready for the final step.  Listen to
Todd Rundgren albums for 3 hours a night while playing solitaire (the
game for people with no friends) in Windows.  Real cards just won't do.
Or, if you have one of Todd's interactive CDs, this is even better.  If
everyone spent 3 hours a day on Todd's interactive CDs, the world would
be a better place.  Todd Rundgren is god.  Do not argue with me or I
shall eat you.  Whole.  He is Todd.  Hear him roar.

                                          Bow-wow-how-now-brown-cow-FUCK?


[Editor's note: I heard the Todd Rundgren song "Espresso" once on
 everyone's favorite college radio station, WESN, and thought it was the
 absolute coolest thing I'd ever heard.]

                              !!! FIN !!!



=*-*= Why Cats are like Women
= By: Quarex (with a few from Spirit and Kreeg)

      Cats and women have always gone together.  There was catwoman in
the comic "Batman", for one thing.  And for another thing, . . . uh,

      So this is why Cats and Women are alike:

 1. They're both really cute.
 2. They're both smaller than we are.
 3. They both smell nice after they lick themselves.
 4. They're both right next to me meowing right now.
 5. They know exactly how they work, and they also know exactly how we
    work.  But we don't have a clue how they work.
 6. Either can be covered with wet Terrycloth for an amusing effect.
 7. They'll come up to you and rub up against you for a while, but if you
    try to pick them up, they scamper off.
 8. They both come back to you a little while after scampering off, rub
    against you some more, then run off again, leaving you feeling worse
    than before.
 9. They can both find food on their own.
10. They both bring dead mice back to their owners once in a while.
11. They were both worshipped by the Ancient Egyptians.
12. They develop rabies easily.
13. They both love chocolate, though neither one wants to love it.
14. This is the track number that "Aenima" is on the new Tool album.
15. They both have tails.
16. They're both covered in hair.
17. They both eat off the floor.
18. They're both faster than us.
19. They both sleep all day.
20. They both boss us around and we accept it.
21. They both shed.
22. Both of their tongues are really rough.
23. They're both evil.
24. They were both burned at the stake at fun periods in history.
25. At night, they'll both suck all your breath away, like in Cat's Eye.
26. They both shit in a sandbox.
27. They're both pussies.
28. They both have fleas, ticks, and spiders.  Spiders everywhere.
29. They both get drowned when there's too many in a litter.
30. They both bleed when you cut their heads off.
31. They both lose all their appeal when they get too old.
32. Either one can be found freely at your local Humane Society.
33. Both are attracted to owners with lots of food and a nice house.
34. They both would make good Adult Contemporary song titles.
35. They will both come sleep on your face if you let them out of the
    basement.

                              $_$ FIN $_$



=*-*= The Frat Party at Camelot
= By: Yossarian

The moon's shadows lit up the stark 
shine of the street;
The gallant knight streamed through the dark
with urine on concrete

The gentle cry of an owl was heard, 
Echoing through the sky;
Yet soon the soft laments of the bird
Drowned in drunken cries

A fair maiden, blonde Chalott,
Emerged in the mist,
Passing out in the exact spot,
The Knight had just pissed.

A minstrel's voice sang to my mind
to comfort all my need,
Urging me to treat dear maidens kind
And to smoke lots of weed.

The goblet's brought out, the wine was poured
A toast was made to the maiden bright
A prayer for the dead, a blessing for the lord,
to get laid tonight.

A maiden who indeed faired the best,
with golden eyes and shining braid
Knew that fucking a knight was indeed a quest,
And she on her third crusade

The feast was finished, the knights passed out
vomit dripped ear to ear,
Today's romanticism and what love's about
makes this pilgrim shed a tear

                              ... FIN ...



=*-*= Bad Memories
= By: Quarex

      There are certain things that happen to you when you're a little
kid that you never want to remember.  And, if you do accidentally
remember them, you'll never say anything about them to anyone, because
they're just so damn stupid.  However, I'm Quarex, and it's my job to
tell everyone things that they have no interest in and that I should be
embarassed to talk about.

      So there I am, little Quarex, age 7.  I'm with my parents in French
Lick, Indiana.  They give me a plastic bag with quarters in it, and send
me down to the arcade of the hotel where we're staying.  I put my
quarters up on the Gauntlet game I was playing, and some kid who was a
few years older than I started taking quarters from my bag and using them
to give himself more health.  Now, keep in mind there was really nothing
I could do.  I was young, fat, and alone.  So, I just begged in a
obsequious, whimpering voice, "Please don't take my quarters!".  It
didn't work, though.

      Eventually, I took the quarters off the machine, and put them in my
pocket.  The kid got mad at me, and insisted that I was a jerk, saying,
"Oh, THANKS, there goes my health!".  I honestly believed that I had done
something wrong, so I probably let him have more money at that point.

      I made several trips to the arcade, and was able to avoid the kid a
few times and play a game (which I considered to be the greatest game
ever made at the time) which I think was called "Zwackery" or "Zwizardry"
or something like that, in which you were a wizard with a wand and a
shield and you had a little rotating knob. . it looked and ran unlike any
other game I've ever played, but it was basically a side scrolling game
like Mario, but mixed with Rolling Thunder somehow.  Anyway, that's not
important.

      The kid came back with a bunch of his friends eventually, and I
told him to give me my money back.  He said "Kid, I don't know who you
are.  You must be thinking of my twin brother, he's up in my room."  I
didn't believe the kid, fortunately for me.  I think if I HAD believed
him, this would be a much better story.  But, c'est la vie.  So, I kept
saying "You're lying", until eventually I said "Oh, okay, I'll just go to
your room."  At that point, he muttered to his friends, "What an idiot, he
believed me," to which I said, "I HEARD THAT!"  So, they left without
giving me money.  How shocking.

      At some point, I must have left the arcade, and went back to my
parents.  Apparently, I didn't tell them what had just happened, but
rather asked my dad to come down to the arcade with me.  He did so, and
the kid was there, sure enough.  I told him to give me my money back, and
he responded by punching me in the stomach, right in front of my dad.
Gee, thanks for defending me there dad.  Anyway, I crawled off, saying
"That. . didn't. . hurt. ." and started crying once I reached my dad.  Oh
well, maybe I was a bit less powerful then than I am now.  In any case, I
had dreams of beating those kids up with high-powered karate moves for
years afterwards, and would still love to beat the living shit out of
those fuckers, who will have somehow aged at an incredible pace, and be
well over 60 by now.

--

      Another story I can remember is one that most everyone I know has
heard, but should probably be shared.  It helps explain why I really have
never liked women too much, I believe.  I was almost 2 years old, and
probably not all that good at walking just yet.  But, walk I did, and as
I walked down the streets of Washington D.C., a little 5 or 6 year old
girl came up to me.  I turned to her and flashed her a cute 2 year old
boy smile, to which she responded by punching me in the face and knocking
me over.  My mom confesses that she thought it was hysterically funny,
even though her only child had just been knocked over by a girl.

      This was, of course, the last time I took any form of physical
abuse from a female without returning it in kind.  I believe in equal
rights, after all!

--

      Actually, I can think of one other awful experience from my
childhood.  I was around 9 or 10, I believe, and was at my grandma'z
house.  I developed a really awful case of the flu all at once, it
seemed, and I think that was the sickest I've ever been.  I threw up a
couple times in the morning, which was bad enough.  However, around noon
time, my grandma started making pizza.

      Now, for those of you who don't know, pizza tastes revolting to me,
because I feel extremely disgusted when I eat tomato paste of any sort.
Also, pizza's smell always turned me off big-time.  However, when you
couple an extreme flu with the worst smell I know. . well, bad things
happen.  I started throwing up every 10-15 minutes, all alone in the den,
while everyone else ate pizza.  My mom says that they didn't bother
checking on me, because they knew I was sick so they assumed nothing bad
was happening.  I, however, was crying unceasingly when not throwing up,
because not being able to escape the worst odor you can imagine and
feeling sicker than you ever have before makes for the worst feeling I
can comprehend.

      Since that day, I haven't been able to smell pizza without feeling
like destroying the source of the odor, and have been able to only eat
about one full slice of pizza with all the little bites I've taken
combined.  God, I hate pizza.

                              @o@ F i N @o@



=*-*= The Smurfish Patient (Editor's title!  :>)
= By: Vanir

In the Smurf village, all the Smurfs were ecstatic when Baby Smurf came
along.  Nobody really knew who his parents were, even though the only
female Smurfs in the whole place were smurfette and sassette.  God knows,
maybe Smurfs reproduce asexually or something.  But that would sort of
negate the need for gender in Smurfkind.  I don't know, nor do I care.
But anyway, like I said before, the whole damn village was happy they had
a baby to care for.  Except soon some of them got tired of making
sacrifices for Baby Smurf, taking time away to do more smurfy activities.
And so some of the smurfs resented Baby Smurf's being there.

Anyway, one morning shortly thereafter Baby Smurf's cries didn't wake any
of the little Smurfs up.  This wasn't noticed by anyone except for Brainy
Smurf, who bitched and moaned about it until somebody threw him on his
head. Then Smurfette turned on the little blue water works and all Smurf
broke loose.  Smurf parties were sent forth to find Baby Smurf and they
looked and smurfed and looked and smurfed and looked and smurfed some
more but nobody found him.  And they all missed him.  Then like maybe 2
days later weird lights were seen in the forest and a smurf party was
sent to check it out.  And there, bathed in a weird light, was Baby Smurf
lying in a little Smurf basket.  And there was a note on the basket
reading, "Hi, we're aliens.  Here's your Smurf back.  P.S. we did some
alterations and experiments on him."  And Smurfette smurfed big happy
smurfy tears and everybody was happy and never resented Baby Smurf again.

                              ~"~ FIN ~"~



=*-*= Tard Soccer
= By: Quarex

As I leafed through my Psychology book tonight, I gazed upon three or
four pictures of retarded kids in wheelchairs.  These kids were each
flanked by two or three normal kids, who were all smiling and enjoying
the retarded kid's company.

Every single time I see a picture like this, I WANT TO THROW UP.  Do
Psychologists honestly believe that people who have no (obvious) mental
deficiencies are often willing to communicate with profoundly retarded
individuals?  Psychologists should KNOW that it's against human nature to
treat someone who is obviously inferior and someone who isn't on the same
plane.  People in wheelchairs, maybe.  Most people don't think they're
above someone in a wheelchair.  But a RETARDED kid in a wheelchair,
well. . . .

Let's run through a brief scenario as a Psychology book would have you
understand it.  Vid Kid, our retarded hero, is cascading through a park,
with the help of his faithful chair, "Wheelz".  With him are his two
buddies, Kit & Carrie.  Vid Kid realizes that he wants to get a drink of
water from the fountain.


VID KID: "Hey Kit, can you get me water?"

KIT: "Sure thing, Vid Kid!"

CARRIE: "Here, let me help you out of the wheelchair!"

KIT: "Watch his legs, Carrie!  They're not as strong as yours or mine!"

CARRIE: "I've got him!"

VID KID drinks water.

VID KID: "Thank you, Kit and Carrie!"


Now, let's see the same scenario from a real-life perspective.

This is assuming that a retarded guy in a wheelchair could even GET two
people named Kit & Carrie to be near him to begin with.

VID KID: "Hey Kit, can you get me water?"

KIT: "God, tards are so worthless!  Why didn't someone just suffocate
      this thing when it was born?"

CARRIE: "No shit.  It's bad enough when his stupid ass tries to flirt,
         but when Captain Muscle-Spasm here winks at me, I want to set
         his wheelchair on fire and pump five rounds from a Walther PPK
         into him."

KIT: "Here's your water, you pathetic cripple!"

KIT knocks VID KID's wheelchair over.

VID KID: "Noooo!  My chariot!!"

CARRIE: "You remind me a lot of Corky from "Life Goes On" . . . except
         there's no one here to save your ass after we beat it."

CARRIE whips out a crowbar from behind a tree.

KIT & CARRIE mercilessly beat VID KID until he is dead.

KIT: "Another of mankind's disgraces is destroyed.  Heil Hitler!"


Well, at least that's how I think it would go.

If I offended you with this article, then you really shouldn't be reading
Grill.  :)  Incidentally, this article was inspired by memories of Stacy
Hardwick, the retarded girl who would get me a detention or some other
form of punishment nearly every day of my first grade year.  Every day,
she would go up to my teacher (Mr. Zehr) and tell him that I had hit her.
I had never come near her, let alone hit her.  However, since she was
retarded, *I* was the bad guy, and was chastized by the first grade
teacher coterie.

I think I ended up killing Stacy Hardwick a few years later, but I can't
be sure.

                              @@@ FIN @@@



=*-*= Something that might be Fan Mail
= By: Per-Johan Pettersson

Date: Sun, 30 Mar 1997 02:45:20 -0800
From: Per-Johan Pettersson
<per-johan.pettersson@stockholm.mail.telia.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0 To: amhunt@odin.cmp.ilstu.edu Subject: (Ämne saknas)
X-URL: http://www.altavista.digital.com/cgi-bin/query?pg=q&what=news&fmt=.&q=petshopboys

Eeeh... Jag tror jag kom fel...uräkta så mycket
GLAD PÅSK! :-)


[Editor's Note: Granted, this mail looks like it was in response to my
page somehow showing up on Altavista when he looked for Pet Shop Boys.
But, since I have no idea how my page would show up on Altavista, and I
felt like having something in Swedish in this issue, I included it.]

[Also, special thanks to Hrothgar for actually being able to translate
enough of this e-mail to know that he was saying something like "Thanks
for the help".]

                              Jag FIN Jag

=*-*= Chipmunk and Cat: The Two Witnesses to The Apocalypse
= By: Hieronymous

           Chipmunk and Cat: The Two Witnesses to The Apocalypse

      We were driving as usual, Cat and I.  It was getting to be about
curfew, so I began to take her home.  At around 12 A.M., the first few
seconds of Easter (the celebration of the resurrection of Jesus Christ,
in case you forgot).  We heard a demonic voice on the radio say, "It
smells like hell in here!"

      About that time the car began to reek.  "What is that smell?" I
asked.

      "OH my GOD!!", Cat replied, It smells like. . . FETAL PIG!!"  We
rolled down the windows, but that only made it worse.

      Further down the road, Cat looked up into the night's sky and said
"ChIpMuNk?!?!?  Look at the moon!@!!#@$"  You wouldn't have believed it!
It was almost black, it was so red.  No, it was scarlet!

      Are you familiar with revelations in the bible?  The part about the
moon turning to blood as one of the signs of the world ending?  Well, many
a night I have sat and stared at the moon, wanting and wishing for it to
turn to blood, and _FINALLY_ it happens.

      Cat and I screamed, then cried a little.  Then, we started to think
of all the weird things that had happened to us.  The "Pete Parrot" that
worked with no batteries, the recent suicide of the cult people, the
comet being as close as it was to the earth, the mysterious fetal pig
smell, the fact that it *was* Easter, and then the moon turning to
blood. . it was all too much for we little furry creatures.

      After driving a little more, the moon sort of morphed into a
orange-esque colour, then turned yellow, so we finally felt safe in going
home.  All day Easter we watched carefully for any more signs, but
by nighttime we laughed at ourselves.

      "Silly Chipmunk, you thought the world was going to end, hahahaha!"

      "Silly Cat, the apocalypse is a long ways away! Hahaha!"

      And that's how Chipmunk and Cat were (for a short time) the Two
Witnesses to the Apocalypse.


[Editor's note: This represents the first ever female-written submission
for Grill, and I feel it symbolizes quite a bit, since Grill started as
quintessential female-hate propaganda.  :)]

[Also, my apologies to Hieronymous, but I had to go through and change
her article a bit to fit it into Grill's grammar-correct stylings.  The
line "It was all too much for us little furry creatures" was driving me
insane.  ;)]

                              ___ FIN +++



=*-*= Quarex apologizes for the abundance of Editor's Notes in Issue #9
= By: Quarex

      I hereby formally apologize for having so many Editor's notes in
this issue of Grill.  It was completely uncalled for, and I hope to
completely stop throwing in Editor's notes by the time the next issue
rolls around.

[Editor's note: This is contrived.]

                              ))) FIN (((



=*-*= Without Further Adieuauejaks
= By: Ghort

Siddhartha walked down the the water's edge.  He leaned over and peered
into it's serene, flowing depths.  Then, all of a sudden, Boris (wearing a
Holden Caulfield mask, of course) came up behind him and pushed him in. 
It sucked for Siddhartha, but was quite amusing for Boris.  He laughed and
laughed.  He laughed so hard that his sides started to ache, and he keeled
over.  Pulling a small, white and red metal box from his pocket he mumbled
"Ah, my friends.  You make it all worthwhile."  Boris took his usual
dosage and, after admiring the label which read, "Made in Great Britain"
he replaced the box in his pocket.  Eventually it came to be dinnertime,
and Phil could hear his mother calling to him from across the buttercup
field. 

The wind blew lazily, tossing loosened bits of flowers, soil, and grass
across Boris' rosy cheeks.  "Fuckin' spring!" he muttered, but not too
loud.  Sometimes when he was out there in the field by the river, he
didn't like to be too loud, because he didn't want to disturb all the
things that were existing and trying very hard not to be disturbed.  Yes,
the Kool-Aid was definitely starting to wear off now, as Boris could feel
the old pain of new friends gone by and old friends wearing off.  "I need
to stop pondering this," pondered Boris as he got off his haunches,
brushing the loose dirt that had managed to cling to his courduroys.  This
was surprising to Boris, because his pants were electrified to prevent
just such an incident.  "I'll have to have them looked at," thought Boris
hatefully. 

He ran as fast as his little legs could carry him back to that little house,
there on the prairie.  He fell down a couple of times, but even though he was
pretty sure he sprained his ankle in what was most likely a snake hole, Boris
kept running because he knew that his mother would be pretty made at him if
he was
late for dinner.  Boris came creeping up to the house, accursed of God.

Now as you all know, every good story needs a conflict, so here goes:

Boris walked into the house, fully 23 seconds late.  His mom's voice, which
sounded a lot like the noise that 3.5 inch disks make when you push the
little metal guard back, screeched resoundingly through the house.
"Boristocracy, get your motherfucking ass in here post ad ergo proctor hoc!"

"Jeeze mom, you don't have to bust out the Latin!" Boris retorted.

His response was drowned in the Throbbing European Electro Dance Fury (tm)
of the Armageddon Dildos.  I hate this CD, Boris thought.  His mom always
played it at excessive volumes when they had lasagna for dinner.  I hate
lasagna, Boris thought.

"I'm gonna cut your head off and feed your guts to the dog!" The guy from the
Armageddon Dildos screamed in his drowling, cudgelprong voice.  He had a
funny accent too.  He still does, for that matter. 

"Can't we listen to Leaetherstrip, Mom?"  Boris pleaded.  They'd already had
Lasagna and Dildo night three times that week.

"Shut the fuck up Borisabulbous!  You know that your father has been having a
very rough week at work and this is his only chance to relax."

"What about after dinner?"

"Well I suppose he could relax after dinner, but shut the fuck up anyway."

--More meaningful dialogue--Time passes--

"How was school today Borisotope?" His mom asked after much meaningful
dialogue and some time had passed.

"Mom, I graduated 47 years ago and,"

"Don't you talk back to me young lady!"

"FOR THE LAST TIME MOTHER, I am NOT female!"

"That's it, I'm not going to put up with your shit anymore.  Gunnlaug, say
goodbye to your daughter."

"Goodbye, daughter." Gunnlaug Worm-Tongue said, his eyes a clouded swirl of
rainbow color and negative ions.

That said, Mrs. Worm-Tongue got out her big Deadline-Knife (tm) and started
cutting poor little Boris Worm-Tongue's heart out.  It was a bloody site, as
one might expect when someone gets their heart cut out.  After she was
finished with the dirty business, she carved the word "fin" and some cool
ascii shit in her son's forehead and put him down the laundry chute.

"Viva la muerte!" The Dildo's "sang".  It probably means something morbid in
another language.

                              +++ FIN !!!



=*-*= Palimpest: Or Every Student Written Poem Ever Written
= By: Yossarian

I gaze into my heart
  blackness awaits     ,
Sharp and angry, as the cud of incurable sores
         on
the mouths of men,
      Poets like me.
 
       I watch the angry boil that is my soul)
Come to an angry head(
   I hurt for love
   I hurt for soul
   I hurt for apple pie.
 
Do I dare?                              (I exist)  *


I write another pretentious sentence     .
   Knowing full well that nobody gives a fuck       .
       But I feel smarter having written it.

I wonder if I even understand the irony of writing just one more stupid,
pretentious poem in the first fucking person about how miserable my life
is while I suck down a Diet Coke and listen to top 40 music on the radio;
writing stupid things such as "My black soul awaits the arrival, / Of my
white conscious," while in the fucking bright computer lab surrounded by
people as stupid as myself:  Why am I so Pretentious, and do I think it is
good?

  I exist
    exist
    exist...................

"Yes, sir, but that does not instill in me, any sense of obligation."

Being       that      this    is    your     everyday     student    poem
        I         have     to   abuse    laws         of         grammar

For some reason (   I think that making a period four spaces after the
sentence is over, makes me look deeper and more complex     .

I am a student
How prudent
I have no time
to rhyme
Yet don't know shit
about wit.

Black heart in the maelstrom of existence      (that was only included
 						because I went a while
						without using the words
) 						"black", "heart" or
		children toes			"existence.  Staples
						Of student poetry)


	Hey, I haven't used these yet:  @#$%^^&+

Greg + Joni 4-ever


I don't believe in the constrains of mediocrity,
Yet bow to the master of conformity.

I am on the operating table,      The doctor is life
      I am d
	   i
    	   sected by life.

(Guess what, Poet, we don't care)

I am a student poet.

Shit, that sentence was fairly normal, let me try it again:

I am
 a
  student poet of hypocrisy         ~

There, that makes it more showy, therefor making it more complex,
therefore making it better.
 
Fuck Calvin Klein

		Do you see my open soul?   Do you want to touch?

(I don't know what that means but I had to address the reader in here
somewhere.  Why?  Because I am a student poet)       

				Sweet Cakes and Milk Shakes

I scream with no sound
                 cares
                 brains


Kiss me, fuck me, bite me, buy me an apple pie

 					JUST DON'T LOVE ME
  

my black (there we go again) heart (uh-huh) cannot stand love

seething with       desir    e    .

		So to all you student poets out
				there

I tell you this 

Listen:  

GET A FUCKING LIFE, YOU ARE NOT e.e. CUMMINGS! NOBODY CARES

		s	l	e	e	p




                .           ..    fi   n .. .




=*-*= Rant & Rave about Various Things
= By: Quarex

This issue, I'd like to talk about why I named this column "Rant & Rave
about Various Things" in the first place.  The original working title for
this column was "Miscellaneous Rants & Raves".  However, miscellaneous
was one of those words whose proper spelling always confused me, so I
changed it to something easier to spell.

In the mean time, I changed one of my BBS' ANSI screens to read "Miss
Cell's Aneous", and ever since have been able to remember quite easily
how to spell it.  It's amazing how far making an ANALogy will get you.
HAHAHAHAHAAHAH FUCK YOU

                              : : : : :

In light of the recent Cult Suicides in California, I feel that I've
finally discovered the key to a successful business.  The hits on their
web page no doubt went up exponentially since their untimely deaths, due
to the fascination people have with anyone appearing in the media.

Therefore, I suggest this.  Richard Garriot, C.E.O. of Origin Systems
incorporated, should publicly shoot himself at the upcoming E3 Gaming
Convention.  This will cause sales of Ultima Online and Ultima 9 to shoot
through the roof.

I also suggest that David Lee Roth kill himself, but for completely
unrelated reasons.

                              : : : : :

I've noticed recently that all Japanese song lyrics, when translated to
English, become hysterically funny.  A good example of this would be a
children's song sung in the film "Shanghai Triad", containing the line
"Two Yellow Dogs carry the Litter to Grandma".

Now, if this is the kind of thing we can get from translating a
CHILDREN'S song across ethnic and cultural boundaries, I'd hate to see
what would happen once the Japanese see a subtitled version of the
Bloodhound Gang's "Fire Water Burn".

                              : : : : :

If you take a moth and stuff it into a baby's mouth, then sew the baby's
mouth shut, I'm fairly certain it'd be good for a laugh.

                              : : : : :

I saw a commercial on MTV today, which had a gothic-dressed Englishman
in a cemetery reciting a poem about metal fans.  The poem was somewhat
funny, but very appropriate, and I fully expected it to herald the
birth of a new Metal show on MTV, which caused me to be ecstatic.  THEN,
the final line of the poem is "And to hope that some day, they meet a
real woman".  HELLO?  FUCK YOU, MTV.  TAKE YOUR FUCKING SHIT AND SHOVE IT
UP YOUR FUCKING ASS.  METAL DUDES PROBABLY GET MORE SEX PER CAPITA THAN
ANY OTHER MUSICAL GENRE.  DO YOU THINK WILCO OR WEEZER ARE OUT GETTING
LAID EVERY NIGHT?  I SAY NO!

                              : : : : :

Again, I sit alone at my keyboard into the wee hours of the morning.  As
5 A.M. rolls around, I wonder why I'm editing Grill rather than writing
my Speech that's due on Thursday.  For that matter, I could also be
reading any of my textbooks, all of which (save my History book) have
gone essentially unopened this semester.

What's my point?  It's simple.  I can't wait for Ultima Online!

                              : : : : :

Puntime begins here:

What do you call the labor that cheese-makers do?

Kraftwerk!

                              : : : : :

What's Intel's new snack food called?

Penti-yum!

                              : : : : :

What does Bill Gates' wife call his dick?

MICROSOFT.  HA HA HA HA.

                              : : : : :

Sorry.  Anyway, I think it's time for me to complain about something new
in the advertising world.  I've noticed a rather bizarre drop in the
number of advertisements for Violent Action Figures(tm) in the past year
or so, and a shocking rise in the number of commercials for Shitty Lego
Imitations(tm).  Now, this could be a good thing, in that it could
trigger the re-emergence of Legos as the #1 toy on earth.

Or, it could just give even more SHITTY ACTRESSES a chance to MAKE IT ON
TV as the STUPID MOM who says "With new GLOW IN THE DARK, RETICULATED,
AUTO-GYRO BETTER BLOXXX, you can build a PIRATE SHIP, a ANTI-GRAVITY
UNIT, some WARHEADS or a DILDO.  If you CALL NOW, we won't END THE
WORLD."

                              : : : : :

As long as I'm talking about shitty actresses, let's talk about the
average Local Business(tm) commercial.  Now, of course, most everyone
reading this issue of Grill will have different Shitty Local
Commercials(tm), but the underlying themes remain the same, at least in
my experiences.

There are three main ingredients to a Shitty Local Commercial:

      * A bald guy
      * One or more awful puns to try to sell a product
      * Ugly women playing sex objects

The bald guy will, at some point in the commercial, touch the Ugly Woman.
The Ugly Woman will say, "Awful Pun!".  The Ugly Man's family will say,
"Horace, come back to Boot Camp!".  The commercial then will be over.

                              : : : : :

Joan, I love you.

                              : : : : :

Just when you thought the Music Industry was starting to push bands with
talent again, in comes Matthew Sweet and Fountains of Wayne to prove you
wrong.

                              : : : : :

My cat is sneezing right now.  He looks very odd.

                              : : : : :

There's a kind of unexplainable rush that you can only get from
procrastinating.  When you've got a 7 page paper due in a couple days,
and you haven't started it yet, there's nothing better than kicking back
in an easy chair, sipping down some Sunny Delight, and cranking up Jethro
Tull's "Stormwatch".

                              : : : : :

Ever wonder how you can lose so damn much hair and still have hair left?
Every day of my life, I guarantee that I either comb out, wash out, or
eat out at least 50 hairs.  Now, I realize that there are hundreds of
thousands of hairs on the human head, or at least Science would have you
believe that.  However. . .

50 Hairs Per Day (HPD)
365 Days Per Year (DPY)
5 Years Since I Had Long Hair That I Noticed Falling Out (YSIHLHTINFO).

HPD * DPY = 18,250.
18,250 * YSIHLHTINFO = 91,250.

Even giving Science the benefit of the doubt, that I had 900,000 hairs on
my head, I would have already lost NEARLY 1/10TH OF MY HAIR.  I do NOT
THINK SO, BUDDY.  My hair still looks exactly the same as when I first
had it long, not to mention that 50 hairs a day was probably
underestimating, and that I've been losing hair for more than 5 years.
There's a serious conspiracy at work here, my friends.

                              : : : : :

Have you noticed that you can tell a lot about a band from its name?
Sure, you say, that makes sense, why would a band choose a name that
didn't fit its image?  Aha, but that's not what I'm speaking about.  You
can tell whether a band is talented or not, simply by examining its name!
This really only works with Metal and Indie Rock, though.

Let's go through some examples.

Band names that would be used by talented metal musicians:

Majestic Empire
Sky Castle
Pandora's Box
Lexicon
King's Domain
Icon


Band names that would be used by untalented metal musicians:

Corpse Butcher
Corpse Sniffer
Corpse Jumper
Corpse Cross-Examiner
Corpse Fillibuster
Corpse Haberdasher
Orangutan Corpse
Peace Corpse
Corpse in a Bucket
Corpse on a Stick
Burger Corpse
Taco Corpse
Dairy Corpse
Corpse of your Grandma
Corpses are Cool
Smashing Corpses
Fountains of Corpse


Band names that would be used by talented indie rock musicians:

Oh wait, there's no such thing!


Band names that would be used by untalented indie rock musicians:

Heavy PhlashLight
Queer Mailman
Cancellation Notice
Pore Splitter
Look at what Jimmy Did!
Unkempt Guy
Orange Jew Lice
Mongoloid Haberdashery
Captain Hornface
Look At Kevin's Face
Poo-Too-Weet
Tears for Beers
Luggage Compartment


I think my point is proven.  Yep.  This particular Rant should have had
an article all to itself, but I didn't want to give myself yet another
article, ya know.  :)

                              : : : : :

This may well be the longest Rant & Rave section ever.  This means it's
time to throw in some hard-core nudity to catch people's attention!

                                  o
                                  |
                                 /ì\
                                  |
                                 / \

This may well be the best ascii the world has ever seen.  Sorry for those
of you who aren't using something that can pick up on high-order ascii.
:)

                              $$$ FIN $$$

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Submissions to Grill (hahahaha) can be sent to:

Quarex - Quarex@atheist.com


Any comments about their material can be sent to:

Yossarian - gsmartin@uiuc.edu
Vanir - Vanir@cube.ice.net
Kheldar - sewalter@oratmail.cfa.ilstu.edu
Ghort - mpackard@uiuc.edu
Hieronymous - rlphill@rs6000.cmp.ilstu.edu
Kreeg - jmthomp@odin.cmp.ilstu.edu
Spirit - Spirit@Dave-world.net

(Or, you could complain about them to me, see if I care. . .)

All material contained within this text file in its entirety is
copyrighted. No part of it may be used in any other text file, archive,
book, album, albino, algorhythm, alabaster vase, aligator, alistaire
cooke, alimony, a la carte, a la mode, a.k.a. pablo, alley cat, alf,
aloof, or all in the family without express-written consent of ME.
QUAREX.

That's right Neko, not even YOU are immune to this law.  We're gonna hunt
your Russia-Bound ass down and BUST A LEATHER CAP IN IT.

The 9th issue of GRILL was completed sometime around March 31.

I'm kind of like Jim Henson, always stroking my own Piggy. . (BOO!!!)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
^Z
