     ______________________
     |     |  |     |     | 
     |  |  |  |  |  |  |  | one
 ___ |  |  |  |  |  |  |  | _________________________________________________
 ___ |  |__|  |  |--|  ___| _________________________________________________
     |  |  |  |  |  |  |  | 
     |  |  |  |  |  |  |  | rice is a literary militia.
     |__|  |__|_____|_____| 

        this 'zine is shareware.  however, if it evokes thought, or drives
 you to any sort of emotion, wether it be happiness, anger, pity, or the 
 like; you owe us, like, $8.50.
 
        thanks.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 rice issue one - table of contents.

 001 - introduction
       by - black francis
 002 - "die, bF, die!"
       by - cerkit
 003 - "confused"
       by - dead cheese
 004 - "the blind date"
       by - black francis
 005 - "a little celery never hurt anybody"
       by - dead cheese
 006 - "free junk!"
       by - the rice militia
 
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
 --- 001 --------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 "introduction"
 by - black francis
 
        hello & welcome to the first issue of rice.  rice is a monthly
 electronic 'zine independently published & produced by dead cheese & myself
 (in no particular order).  together, we form the rice militia, a top secret
 strike force dedicated to the liberation of rice & rice products.  but, 
 enough about you, let's talk about me & cheese a little more.  this 'zine, 
 doomed to a short life of low readership & minimal recognition due to my 
 poor planning & organization skills, was created for one reason & one reason 
 alone; the cheese & i love to write.  we love to write so much, it borders
 on pure graphomania.  now, we both think so highly of ourselves & our
 writings, that we have decided to share them with you, possibly making your
 bleak lives a little happier.  material published in rice is not limited to
 anything in particular such as humor, fiction, or editorials, but we do not
 accept outside submissions.  if we want you to write for us so badly, we'll
 ask you.  we also don't give out distribution sites or have a world
 headquarters, nor do we ever intend on it.  so, once again, don't bother
 asking.
        so, without any further ado, i bring you rice.  enjoy.
 
 - bF [rice militia]
 
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
 --- 002 --------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 "die, bF, die!"
 by - cerkit
 
        this piece was written quite a few months ago by cerkit, one of
 those guys from that 'zine.  while i doubt this was ever intended for
 publication, somehow, i got my grubby little paws on it, & now, i'm passing
 the savings onto you.  the beginning of the article was somehow cut from my
 capture, but, 99% of it is still here & just as poorly written as any other 
 short story cerkit has ever written.

 - bF [rice militia]
 
 *--*  01-09-96  -  15:41:20  *--*
 4
 from usenet helps sometimes to ease my pain. tonight seeing the animaniacs
 in various sexual positions just wasn't funny anymore. especially yakko.
 perhaps i needed socialization. so i reached out to my pals on #zines, and
 yea i was welcomed with open, albeit somewhat sticky, arms. they heaped 
 the elite warez upon me. i even got a 0-hour ganja phile. the warez were
 the corn and i was the reaper. somebody even gave me awpz. there were haqr 
 chix too, and they loved me for who i was. it was incredible. at least,
 until that fateful minute that changed my life forever.                    

 *** bF has joined channel #zines

 he was like some sort of hell-spawned yukky demon guy. he immediately 
 scared off 3 or 4 d00ds and one haqr chik whom i was very close to 
 convincing that i would be as good a lay as m0gel. then he made it so you 
 couldn't say "warez" and my world fell apart. and when i raised my voice to
 protest he kicked me for using vowels. i got back in and started pleading 
 with my homiez for awpz. and it continued as such, with me begging for awpz 
 and watching as frannie destroyed what little awpz i would get again and 
 again and again until i was nothing but a dried husk at my keyboard. 

 i decided right then that frannie must die. but how? he's many kilometers 
 away, and i was fresh out of icbm's and my dad took the polaris sub to work.
 maybe i could send him a mailbomb. but then, i could afford neither the bomb
 nor the shipping. ok, i could contract a really nasty disease, say ebola,
 and cough on a bird and send it flying towards the east. no, that would kill
 me. it seemed hopeless.

 but therein lied the answer. if i couldn't remove frannie from the picture,
 then maybe i could remove myself from the picture and be rid of him forever.
 i could move on to the next life where he wasn't going to be there to steal 
 my awps or my chix. and even if i was just reincarnated i might turn up as
 a pubic louse and be able to avenge myself. i hoped if that happened that
 god would give me abnormally large fangs. in any case, the decision was
 made. i had to die. and it would be a lot easier to kill myself than it 
 would frannie. i didn't have any mentos. 

 so now i needed to die, and all i needed was a method. it wasn't like i 
 didn't have a choice in the matter or anything. i never realized how many
 ways one could kill themself. i decided i needed to keep it clean, whatever
 i did. the last thing i needed was for my mom to bitch about something ELSE.
 that left out putting a butcher knife into my chest or jumping down the
 stairs headfirst. maybe i could drown myself. naah, i know what 
 drowning victims look like in a casket, and the "bloated" look just isn't
 in this year. maybe i could overdose on a random medication. yeah, that'd be
 GREAT! so i open the medicine cabinet and... SHIT. all we've got is tylenol. 
 fucking acetaminophen. you can't kill yourself with tylenol no matter how 
 hard you try. i really wished we had a lake full of man-eating pirannhas in 
 the backyard. that would have solved all my problems. I could try hanging 
 myself, too. unfortunately, all our ceilings are made of that plaster shit
 and wouldn't support my weight. there's a tree in the backyard but the only
 branch i can reach comes up to my chin. that's no good. 

 frannie had won. i always thought that when you realized you didn't want to 
 kill yourself anymore that there was some voyage of self-discovery and
 you felt great and everything was happy again. well it's NOT.

 fuck you frannie.

 FUCK YOU!

 ? 
 
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
 --- 003 --------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 "confused"
 by - dead cheese

        my dad beats me because i won't play his little dog.  i dyed my hair
 black and he doesn't understand me.  he's always trying to change me,
 distort who i am.
        this is me.  sure i've changed a lot during my 16 years.  sure i've
 followed every trend.  it never got me any friends though.  i'm an outcast
 and i hate everyone.  now i have friends.  three of them... and i have sex
 with them all.  of course, they'd still be my friends if i didn't let them
 knock me up.  they like me for who i am, unlike my dad.
        i painted my nails black and i'm getting a tattoo of an upside-down
 cross on my shoulder.  that furthers who _i_ am.  i have sold my soul
 to satan because satan pays my car insurance.  satan will take care of me
 because i do what he says and i get bad grades in all my special education
 classes.  satan doesn't talk to me directly, but zach tells me what he wants
 and that's good enough for me.  zach is my friend.
        you only want to make me conform.  i won't conform.  i get all my
 clothes at hot topic because nobody else does.  i buy shirts with bands on
 them that i've never heard of, but i don't care as long as it looks cool.  i
 buy incense called "morbid scents" for my satanic rituals.  well, i never
 was really in a satanic ritual unless you count that time with zach and the
 ouija board, but i have an image to maintain, you know?
        i'm thinking of becoming a vampire.  they're evil and all, but they
 suck blood, too.  i know 'cause i read _vampire_, the magazine for vampires
 and other children of the night.  i've been saving up for a spider tattoo,
 but i could use that money to get my teeth pointed by a dentist.  that would
 further my expression of me, as a person.
        i'm going to apply to hot topic if it ever comes to the mall near me.
 they'd hire me in a flash.

        "so why should we hire you?"
        "because i'm dead."
        "wow."
        "i eat people."
        "that's perfect.  what bands do you listen to?"
        "anything remotely evil.  type o-negative, metallica, marilyn manson,
 ozzy osbourne, and, of course, nine inch nails."
        "you're hired."

        i once went to hot topic with my ex-boyfriend.  the girl working
 there had a dog collar with a leather leash hanging from it.  my ex was
 talking to her while i picked out a new leather wristband.

        "do you do tricks?"
        "what?"
        "you've got a dog collar hanging from your neck."
        "i know that!  i just got it yesterday."
        "you don't _really_ look like a dog."
        "um.  thanks."
        "if i pulled on that, it would hurt."
        "then don't pull!  hee hee!"
        "that's a neat hair color.  did you know that's the _exact_ color of
 rotting entrails?"
        "really?!  wow!"
        "that tattoo of a spider web on your neck makes you look scary."
        "yeah, i know.  i'm going to pierce it with a black obsidian spider
 so it looks really cool!"

        i don't know if he was making fun of her or not, but i dumped him the
 same day.  he just didn't understand.  nobody understands me except zach.
 zach is my friend.  he told me so.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
 --- 004 --------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 "the blind date"        
 by - black francis
        
        mark stared deeply into the vanity & adjusted his hair.  he took 
 notice to the slightly dimmer light bulb on the upper right corner & let out
 a deep sigh before lowering himself into the powder blue director's chair
 directly behind him.  he then leaned back & began to imagine life with his 
 new girlfriend; there were romantic dinners, walks on the boardwalk only lit 
 by a billiant full moon, vacations to bermuda, & sensous evenings at home.  
 a faint hint of a smile began to cross his lips when there was a sudden 
 knock at his dressing room door.
        
        "mr. lerner, we're all ready for you in the studio." said the voice.
        
        this was it.  after years upon years of the tired bar scene, mark
 was ready to give his pride a rest & try one of the many video dating
 services he had been hearing so much about.  after all, that's how his best
 friend, martin, had met his lovely wife, angelique.
        with another deep sigh, mark sprang from the director's chair, made
 a final adjustment to his hair, & headed towards the door.  he paused before
 reaching for the doorknob to gather his nerves & wipe the sweat from his 
 brow.  he took a final tug on his new button down shirt & joined the crew 
 outside.
        the room was buzzing with activity, almost like an actual tv studio.  
 there were directors, cameramen, & makeup artists.  mark was sort of 
 overwhelmed by the whole thing, but he continued walking towards his chair
 set in the middle of a bright white stage.
        mark took his seat & stared into the camera directly in front of him.
 he felt another droplet of sweat run down his face.  he was rather
 intimidated by the whole thing & considered running away to hide in his
 dressing room, but then he saw the boardwalk & the candlelight again.
 he saw them clear as day, & he wasn't going to let anything get in their
 way.
        after a few "pointers" given by his "director" & a few more layers of
 makeup, everything was ready to roll.  everyone soon became quiet & all eyes
 were on mark.  he swallowed the lump in his throat & smiled.
        
        "lights, camera .. ACTION!" shouted the director.  the quiet buzz of
 the cameras filled the room.
        "hi.  i'm mark lerner.  i'm 26 years of age & i am a professional
 accountant.  i am financially stable, & i am looking for a girl aged 25-30
 years old who also likes long walks on the boardwalk, romantic dinners,
 the movies, & sensous nights at home."
        "CUT!  excellent!" shouted the director.
        "but, i wasn't done .. " mumbled mark.
        "great.  thanks a bunch, mark.  that's a wrap.  we'll keep in touch
 with you & let you know if anyone responds to your video.  great.  thanks
 again, mark." bullshitted the director as he lead mark to the exit.
        " .. & good luck to you!"
        
        mark spent the next two weeks alone, but, that saturday afternoon,
 he recieved a phone call from the folks at "connect-a-date, usa (tm)".

        "hello, mr. lerner.  this is judy; your connect-a-date, usa (tm)
 represenative."
        "oh, hello.  i was wondering if i was ever going to hear from .. "
        "i'm calling you to let you know we have some responses to your 
 video & we just need you now to tell us which clients you may be interested 
 in so that we can set you up on a date as soon as possible."

        right then & there, mark became a schoolboy once again.  he became
 both anxious & nervous at the thought of being with a woman.  he began to
 sweat uncontrollably as his clamy hands gripped the reciever closer.

        "well, what kind of responses did i get?"
        "well, mr. lerner, let me see what we have here .. "

        mark heard papers rustle on the other end of the phone.  while he
 waited, he dreamt of women; all kinds of women.  blondes, brunettes, & red
 heads short & tall, volumptous & stick-thin danced through his mind until 
 the voice of his connect-a-date, usa (tm) represenative brought him back to
 his lonely reality.

        " .. alright, mr. lerner, we have four responses to your video.  we
 have here a .. a chicken, a donkey, a pig, & a goat.  would you like maybe a
 little background on each one, mr. lerner?" asked judy.
        
        mark couldn't believe what he was hearing.  his jaw dropped to the
 floor, as did his hopes of finding that special someone through
 connect-a-date, usa (tm).
        
        "is this some kind of sick joke?"
        "certainly not, mr. lerner.  these are our female clients who 
 responded to your video."
        "but these are animals!"
        "that's correct."
        "i thought you were in the business of getting singles together!"
        "that's correct."
        "single *HUMAN BEINGS!*"
        "oh no, mr. lerner, that would be ridiculous.  there are already at
 least a dozen-or-so human matchmakers in your area alone."
        "isn't this illegal?!"
        "oh, no!  it most certainly is not!  now, sex with animals, now
 *that* would be illegal.  dating animals; however, is not.  what you do with
 your date on your time is none of our business."
        " .. really?"

        mark lerner courted tricia for six months before they married &
 settled down in the southwest.  it is there in the peaceful trailer parks of
 bumpus city falls that they continue to reside, four years & three beautiful
 goat-children later, as happy & content as any couple could ever be.
 
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
 --- 005 --------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 "a little celery never hurt anybody."
 by - dead cheese
        
        would eddie like to touch the celery?  eddie never liked the celery.
 eddie always seemed afraid of the celery.  i like the celery.  i don't see 
 why eddie doesn't like the celery.  the celery never did anything bad to me.
 the celery's always been good.  the celery's always been there when i need
 it.  not eddie.  eddie's always running away from me.  eddie calls me 
 "poo-poo face" and runs away from me.  he says i'm dirty and i like celery.
 what's wrong with the celery?  the celery doesn't run away from me and call 
 me mean names.  i like the celery.  if eddie doesn't want to touch the
 celery, i'll touch the celery.  mrs. potter says the celery can't hurt me.
 she said, "it's only celery, how could it hurt you, bobby?"  i don't know.
 i've never met a celery before.  i'm sure i'll like the celery.  i bet the
 celery will be my friend.  i like the celery more than eddie.  there's 
 nothing bad about celery.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
 --- 006 --------------------------------------------------------------------

 "free junk!"
 by - the rice militia
 
        ever say to yourself, "boy, i sure wish 'zines gave away free
 stuff."?  well, stop talking to yourself already, kid, 'cause your pals at
 rice have all the bases covered!  just send a SASE (that's a "self-addressed
 stamped envelope, you twerp) to the rice miltia correspondence address (6666
 pickwick dr., bensalem, pa 19020 for those of you who are just too damn lazy
 to look at the bottom of this file) & we'll send you your very own "i'm
 different" bumpersticker!  try finding one of them in cracker jacks, bucko.
 
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
 --- important junk ---------------------------------------------------------
 
        rice number one - june 1996.  published by black francis & dead
 cheese (in no particular order).  all characters, stories, & art (c) 1996
 the rice militia.  no part of this magazine may be reproduced, except for
 the purposes of review, without the written permission of the rice militia.
 any similarity to persons living or dead is satirical in nature or
 conincidence beyond belief, & must be part of some divine scheme.  to
 contact the rice militia, write to : 6666 pickwick dr., bensalem, pa 19020.
 no cheese or celery was harmed in the production of this magazine.
        we don't accept outside submissions, so, don't even think about it.
 if we want you to write for us, we'll ask you.
        ian paul dietrich 1971 - 1990
        thanks for your time.
                                                   
                                                   ______________________
                                                   |     |  |     |     |
                                                   |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |
 _________________________________________________ |  |  |  |  |  |  |  | ___
 _________________________________________________ |  |__|  |  |--|  ___| ___
                                                   |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |
                                                   |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |
 rice number one - completed & released 06/10/96   |__|  |__|_____|_____|
 [EOF]
