Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume VII, Issue 10, AD MMII
Monday, June 24, 2002
ISSN 1482-0471
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I was part of that strange race of people aptly described as 
spending their lives doing things they detest to make money they 
don't want to buy things they don't need to impress people they 
dislike.
-- Emile Henry Gauvreay

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"You know you worked in the 90's if... You've sat at the same desk 
for four years and worked for three different companies."

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1.  Editorial
2.  The Windows of Apathy
3.  The Thunderthief
4.  How to Drive Home Drunk
5.  Writings on the Bathroom Wall
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This week's Golden Testicle award:

http://www.1800autopsy.com/

For fast, friendly thanatology services!

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

1. Editorial
Random Observations of the Newly Employed

By Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro

It is currently day three of my new job.  I'm standing in front of a 
store.  Metallica is blaring.

"Ah, these kids listening to their vampire music!  When I was their 
age, I took me girlfriend to see Frank Sinatra and she was screaming 
and standing for him!"

The old Scottish guy who looks disturbingly like uncle Scrooge is 
talking.  Not to me per se, and not really talking either.  More 
like mumbling incomprehensibly.  The only reason I haven't pushed 
him towards oncoming traffic is because he's one of the owners.

"But that was real music... none of the crap you kids listen to 
today.  Oh I remember a lot of the good bands back when I was a kid.  
I love that stuff and I listened to it with a passion!"

The battle between those that like Metallica is briefly overcome by 
those in favour of rap, judging by the shuffling noises from the PA.  
Lil' Bow Wow's voice comes alive through all fifteen speakers, 
echoing through the empty parking lot.

"Oh now they are listening to black music!  My mother was stabbed 
fifteen times by a black guy!  I really don't like this music!  What 
is this crap you kids listen to?  I really don't understand why you 
guys do this!"  The music makes the mumbling even more 
unintelligible.

He walks towards the garbage can, still talking.  Not to the garbage 
can either.  I slowly walk backwards towards the doors.

"Four shopping carts have gone missing!  Four!"   The man is 
obsessed with them.

"I counted them all twice, there are only 48 of them now!"

I take this chance to make a run for it inside and disappear.

A few weeks ago it came to the point where I found myself completely 
broke.  Employment Insurance had finished, funds had ran out in my 
bank account and all I had left to my name was some assorted change 
in the pockets of various pants.

Until then, I had used the advantage of the cheques the government 
sent me, to look for work and be a little picky about what I applied 
for.  By picky I mean that I applied for jobs that asked for a 
little more than just "Ability to read and write" or being able to 
distinguish between a Tall and a Grande at Starbucks.

However, when you find yourself with no money, you have to put what 
little pride you have left aside and start looking for something, 
anything, to get the flow of cash going again.

It would seem that the field of Technical Writer, for as unexciting 
as it may be, is dead.  I'm one of those thousands of unemployed 
people that the employed (a rare breed of people these days) either 
snob (because being unemployed is like being of the pariah cast) or 
feel sorry for.  You know the kind: they give you that understanding 
smile and tell you that the market is picking up, that things will 
get better...

I think the next time that someone says that to me, I'll kick him 
straight in the nuts.  He will fall to the floor, clutching his 
genitals, unable to talk.

Half an hour later, when he's regained the ability to focus with his 
eyes, he'll look at me and with a tiny whisper of voice will ask me, 
"What did you do that for?  It hurts!"

I'll say, "Don't worry, they will get better."

Because I didn't want to go down to the local grocery store and ask 
my former manager for a job, much less work there again, I called up 
a friend that runs a security company.  After a quick call and some 
paperwork, I was officially a security guard.

Looking back in my history of employment, it would seem that every 
job I've had so far has been thanks to knowing someone from the 
inside.  And it's not like I am not qualified or incapable of 
working, but when you go look for work the traditional way, there is 
a lot of competition you have to fight against.

So perhaps being a security guard isn't the best form of employment 
ever, but it's better than stocking shelves and besides, I look 
spiffy in the uniform.

Ironically enough, my first assignment is at a grocery store.

The first thing I did was to introduce myself to all the staff as 
"Leo" and get to know them.  I did this to avoid having problems 
people calling for "Leonardo" and I not having a clue that they were 
looking for me.

"LEONARDO TO THE FRONT!" Sound of guns shooting, people screaming 
"LEONARDO TO THE FRON..AARRGGH!!"  Hmm.  I wish.

It seems that the only problem people have is with my first name.

At College for four semesters, I kept having any document that had 
my name on it written as Leanne Asnaghi-Nicastro.  It puzzled a lot 
of people, especially me.  I just muttered `Casablanca' and 
something about `Still have to get my vagina implant' whenever a 
professor queried about that.

People who look at my ID usually refer me as `Leonardo'.  When I ask 
them where they read that, they point at the document they have been 
looking at.

I point out it's `Leandro' not `Leonardo' and they go, "Oh."

"Can't you read?" I ask.

"I'm dyslexic," they tell me in an irritated tone.

I've met a lot of dyslexic people.

As I am walking around the store, bored out of my mind, I decided to 
entertain myself a little by looking at things in a Jerry Falwell 
state of mind.  You know the type: right wing Christian mentality, 
capable of spotting perversion and attacks on morality on just about 
everything.

The first thing I noticed was a product display with the photo of a 
kid who looked way too happy for something as insignificant as Kool 
Aid.  My guess is that the kid, rather than mixing the crystals with 
water, snorted a few of the bags.  The rest of the display features 
psychedelic colours followed by floating products, clearly a sign of 
intoxication.  If this isn't telling kids that doing drugs is good, 
I don't know what is.

Clearly children's food is filled with messages designed to corrupt 
their young minds.  For example, a box of cereals that featured 
marshmallow clone soldiers from the Star Wars movie.  Fairly 
innocent, at first.

If you think about it, the clone soldiers were genetically altered.  
Kids eat the marshmallow representation of genetically altered 
soldiers.  In other words, eating genetically altered food is okay, 
and also fun.

And talking about cereal, what's the message children are getting 
out of Trix?  You know how the whole gag in the commercial: rabbit 
tries to get cereals, kids snatch the cereal away and say something 
like "Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids!" and they laugh, evilly.

The rabbit walks away looking like someone just shot, cooked and ate 
his parents in front of him.  And we're supposed to laugh at this?  
This is teaching kids that discrimination is plenty of fun and we 
should abuse those who are different, without any of the guilt that 
should come along.

But it gets worse.  Remember the Monsters Inc. movie?  The movie 
featured a big blue furred monster and a small one named Mike 
Wazoski.  Mike is a monster.  He has a big eye.  Get it?  Mike is 
the one eyed monster.  That's also slang for penis.  So here we have 
Fruity Peel Outs (and may I emphasise fruity!) which feature the one 
eyed monster.  And kids put this in their mouth!  I'm not sure if to 
look at this as some corrupt way to turn all our children homosexual 
or if this is some perverted way to promote paedophilia.

As you can see, I have plenty of time at work.

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

2.  The Windows of Apathy

By REVSCRJ

You know how greeting cards sometimes have an "About the Artist" 
statement on the back of them?  You know how those statements, 
regardless of the quality, always make the art seem like the be-all-
and-end-all of artistic accomplishments?  You ever think to 
yourself, "Jesus, who the Hell can write this drivel?"  Well, that 
would be me.

Semantics run the world in a more direct sense than even money.  
See, everyone has their jargon and interpretative style in regard to 
language, their individualised dialect and in regard to that you can 
tell anyone anything if you phrase it right.  The Word is a powerful 
tool with an almost infinitely subtle range of potential.  My 
strength is the printed word.

Once in a chat room I got a (theoretically) Christian cop to admit 
that "chaos" was, in fact, "God."  It took about an hour and a half 
of exchanges, but eventually I got him to sacrilege.  I mean, I 
believe chaos is God, at least the primary hand of, so it wasn't 
like I was being malicious.  But I learned his jargon, analysed his 
arguments, and approached him in a leading Socratic manner so that, 
to him, it appeared as if he came to that conclusion on his own.  I 
was very proud of myself.

The Word, when used correctly, can accomplish feats money simply 
couldn't.  I try to use this skill for good.  Luckily, at the 
greeting card company, most of the art was truly great so I didn't 
have to slip into 'copy writer' mode.  For your edification, 'copy' 
is the term for a blurb of written words meant to achieve a 
commercial purpose.  It is the most twisted version of creativity 
you can endeavour in.  Poets who go to Hell write copy.

However, since most of the work was good, I wouldn't really need to 
stretch at all to write up a few glowing paragraphs of prose on how 
glorious X's art was.

There were, however, exceptions to that...

There was this guy who painted windows.  Just widows.  Oh, Hell, 
occasionally there would be a flower on the sill or a half-drawn 
curtain, but it was always windows!  White wood panelling with 
shadow of noon sun. Aged red brick with Bird-of-Paradise behind 
pane.

I looked over this guy's work trying really hard to come up with 
something, ANYTHING, to say about it other than "Initial concept 
both inexplicable and weak, after which gathering a momentum of 
repetitious monotony."  I'm not trying to be a prick here, but 
JESUS, if you'd seen one you'd pretty much seen them all!

The angle I kept dwelling on was "Fascinating that someone would put 
as much time as G. Paris has on a singular, and most mundane, topic 
as the still life with so little diversity.  Surely the works of G. 
Paris are a testimony to the zen like patience, or psychotic focus 
that a human is capable of."

Of course the C.E.O. would have tried to backhand me over that if I 
had submitted it. And really, I didn't want to have to kick his ass, 
so I tried to come up with another angle.  Now, I'm pretty easy to 
please in so far as art is concerned--the fact that one is actually 
creating is enough to make me happy inside--so the art either has to 
be really bad, really tired, or totally commercialised for me to be 
unmoved.  This guy's work wasn't moving me enough to even feel 
venom--at least with venom I could write something fascious and then 
rewrite it to sound serious.  I was drawing a blank.

Unlike other several of the other artists I wasn't able to meet up 
with him in order to get him to explain himself, deadlines needed to 
be met so one day I sit down in Tillies's Cafe, drink a pot of 
coffee, and write something like this:

"The windows of G. Paris, at first glance, appear simplistic and 
commonplace-- something that the eye would pass over walking down 
the street--but at a closer inspection one begins to notice a solemn 
beckoning from the darkened interiors, as if there were a calling 
from deep inside where another world waits, inviting the observer to 
come.

Angles and lines take on powerful characteristics in the world of G. 
Paris who places the observer of his work as eternally on the 
outside looking in.  Mr. Paris shows us, so elegantly, that somehow 
there is magic in even the most ordinary things and does it with a 
grace that is purest subtlety."

Had to smoke a hefty bowl after that stream of fertilizer left my 
pen.

To know the way The Word works is both a curse and a blessing. I can 
do things like write copy which entails making the beautiful ugly, 
the ugly beautiful, confusing and titillating with words and images.  
These are things I intimately understand and as a result I could 
make a lot of money in the field of advertising.

Ultimately it has been experiences such as the time I was an art 
director that showed me, firsthand, how truly wrong they are in the 
form that they exist and are desired by employers.  The Word is a 
malleable medium that is accepted as a vehicle for truth.  
Advertisers use this to manipulate their fellow humans into wasting 
their lives spending the money that they clocked hours off of their 
lives to make.

I ask you: where is the beauty in it?  I try now to use The Word 
only in honesty, and toward ends that are good, serving truth.

One more quick thing to say about this job: I did actually write the 
insides of a few greeting cards and, perhaps to my credit, they 
didn't sell too well.  Here, I'll let you be the judge:

"Another kissy ass day chokes up phlegm and spits.
Its all grind in and grind out
and I'm stuck in the back of the line
EVERY mother-lovin'-time
Howabout you?"

"Discord is my lord, but chaos is my master
here where there is silence
all I hear is laughter."

"Crumbs beginning to mold...
fingertip twitches on the remote...
I begin to drool...
and somehow
I'm reminded of you..."

PERFECTLY MARKETABLE MATERIAL!  Heh heh. I mean, how many times have 
YOU wanted to express those sentiments with someone else's words, by 
mail, with someone else's artwork...?

---
REVSCRJ is a writer/musician living in Monterey, California. 
Constantly on the verge of homelessness, he hopes that you enjoy his 
work or else his life has been in vain. Contact REVSCRJ at 
revscrj@cloudfactory.org to lodge complaints, notify of lawsuits, or 
receive spiritual advice.

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

3.  The Thunderthief
"Take the bull by the horns, darling, what do you say?"

By Sean B. Palmer

Review of: The Thunderthief, John Paul Jones, released 2002-02 on 
the Discipline Global Mobile label as DGM0104.

A mark of musical quality is when an established artist-
notwithstanding previous success and fame-can produce albums that 
make good musicians weep for joy in this world of "one shot and then 
they're serving you drinks at a fast food outlet" bands. John Paul 
Jones has already attracted critical acclaim, and manages to further 
underline his superiority with his 2002 release, The Thunderthief.

This is Jones's second major solo album since he put his production 
work aside, with the legend of Led Zeppelin still looming but ever 
more distant. The theme of his first album--Zooma--is continued and 
extended, with the thunderous bass-driven tracks still evident, but 
giving way to traditional mandolin workouts such as "Down By The 
River To Pray". Jones's mastery of a dazzling array of instruments 
showcased on this album (from the autoharp to the ukelele) produce a 
eminently listenable and cohesive sound.

Jones contributes vocals to the album, with lyrics co-written with 
conceptual artist and cartoonist Peter Blegvad. Robert Fripp--of 
King Crimson, and now Jones's label boss--is the notable guest on 
the album, providing the wailing guitar for the catchy prolegomenon 
of "Leafy Meadows".

All of the songs on the album are impressive, although the post-
punk-punk "Angry Angry", and the whimsical "Freedom Song" may not 
appeal to some. Personally, I find the former amusing, and the 
latter inspirational. In any case, this album is its own highlight, 
so I'll just pick some songs out of the tracklist at random to give 
you a feel for what you'll be getting in return for your hard earned 
cash.

"Hoediddle", track three, features a wailing and heavily-delayed 
guitar for the first three minutes. At 2:52, yank the volume all the 
way up, and strap yourself in. The bass comes in following the 
guitar riff, and then a clattering of symbals heralds the entrance 
of the percussion. More overlaid guitars in the background account 
for the thickness of the sonic explosion, with deft variations 
thrown in quickly (this is the usual ten ideas in five minutes JPJ). 
The piece quickly leads to a wonderful celtic mandolin piece, 
reprised for the coda.

"Daphne", split from "Hoediddle" by the atmospheric and slightly No-
Quarterish "Ice Fishing At Night", is a fairly conventional electric 
blues song, with synthesized voice embellishments bringing an end to 
the slightly jazzier middle section. With its catchy riff, wailing 
guitars, and conversation overdub on the bridge (evocative of an 
ocean cruse party), this song has plenty of feel.

"Down To The River To Pray" is a traditional bluegrass song here in 
a full main riff triple-neck mandolin interpretation. It's great 
that there can be one fully acoustic song on an album with lots of 
variations--consistency is itself here a variation. The song itself 
is finely layered, with delicate harmonies, and a duet of memorable 
main passages and phrases. Jones's timing, impeccable on every song, 
is particularly notable here for the depth of the multitracking.

Picasso once said that success is dangerous since "one begins to 
copy oneself, and to copy oneself is more dangerous than to copy 
others." John Paul Jones achievements in diversity are that he 
continues to develop his own music whilst providing inspiration for 
others. It's very difficult to rate a new album in terms of its 
longevity, but the genre-independent aspect of The Thunderthief 
ensures that it will always be an interesting album to listen to. 
Overall, The Thunderthief is an album full of variations, and 
musical surprises that not only entertain you the first time around, 
but will also keep the dust from the cover.

---
Sean B. Palmer: now cooler, swhackier; more chic, proactive, and 
phenomic.

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4.  How to Drive Home Drunk

By Brian Newman
 
Okay, let's face it. Drunk drivers are the lepers of the modern day. 
Yet driving 'over the limit' happens perhaps to us all. We go to a 
party, we have a beer too many and we drive home. 
 
The trick, of course, is getting home. Hopefully uncaught. Ideally, 
in one piece. 
 
Drunk driving, however, is the major sin of the decade. The police 
are out to catch you, the courts are out to punish you, and public 
disapproval is at a media intensified all time high, but people 
still do it. And with good reason, too. Some people get completely 
smashed and then have the balls to drive home. 
 
Now, lets say you had one too many. I'm talking `the ugly girl over 
there still looks ugly, but I feel somewhat tipsy' type of drunk. 
How to get home safe should be a real concern. It can be indeed 
difficult to judge ones 'limit' and even an average good time can 
make you 'legally drunk. The courts themselves define that limit 
with different levels of intoxication. In some places a mere .06 
reading can get you in trouble, while other places allow you .12. 
Generally a .08 or a .10 makes you over the legally drunk. If you 
are ever over the limit, with no cab fare home, and you need to keep 
your driver's license, the following may just be the advice you 
need. 
 
Most police forces combat drunk driving in two ways: 1. They rely on 
the regular officer on patrol pulling over a 'suspicious' car. 2. 
There are also special programs to set up spot checks, on certain 
roads, at certain times, to check for drivers who have been 
drinking. Let's deal with these possibilities one by one. 
 
You are rarely at risk at being pulled over by a regular patrol if 
you don't do something obvious that the police specifically looking 
out for. Don't speed, don't weave. Wear your seatbelt. Red lights 
are for stopping. Stop signs are for stopping. While it would seem 
that some people have trouble understanding that concept even when 
completely sober, you should avoid directing any attention to you by 
not following the rules after you have been drinking. 
 
Also, before you head out for the night to go to the bar, give a 
quick check to your car. Do not drive a car that has a burnt out 
headlight, or taillight. Doing so considerably increases the odds of 
being stopped. It is not worth the risk. A noisy muffler, a cracked 
windshield, or obvious body damage makes your car stand out, and 
will increase the odds of that random check. If you have a leaking 
tire, get air before the visit to the bar, not after. Make sure you 
have enough gas to get home. Any unnecessary stop could become a 
problem. 
 
You know those folks you see driving at night with only the parking 
lights on? That is almost a sure sign of a drunk driver. Police pay 
extra attention to those cars, just for that very reason. So make 
double sure, you drive with your lights on! Do not drive with your 
bright lights on either. 
 
And while letting your 'friends' yell out the window might seem like 
fun, those flashing lights behind you may be a good party pooper. 
Avoiding simple mistakes virtually eliminates a random stop by 
police. 
 
The police also use special roadside stops to catch drunk drivers. 
Usually these crackdowns are announced well in advance. Watch the 
local newspapers, and know when they are coming. 
 
At any special holiday season, expect more roadside checks. Both New 
Year's Eve, and St. Patrick's Day are prime time for extra spot 
checks. The locations of those spot checks are often easy to figure 
out. Most towns and cities have areas that are known for having lots 
of bars, and spot checks are often the major roads leaving just 
those places. Police often pick a street that had no turn off areas, 
and they like a location somewhat hidden behind a curve in the road. 
In talking to friends, one car hear the exact locations of pervious 
spot checks. Those checks often return to those same spots. Can you 
avoid streets like that, and get home via a secondary road? 
 
Now, lets say you have been at a bar all night, and as you drive 
home, you see a road check ahead. You may be contemplating gunning 
down the block, crashing through the barrier and ending the long 
enduring car chase in a glorious ball of flame. Relax and realize 
that is not worth it. You want to go out drinking tomorrow, don't 
you? Fear not, all is not lost. 
 
As soon as you see the roadblock, tab a stick of gum, and/or a 
cigarette I was once saved by taking a bite from an apple I had in 
the car! If going out on the town, why not put a n apple in the car? 
And have gum ready. The road stop involves a short conversation, 
with the police officer looking for signs of impairment, and trying 
to smell booze of off the driver. Open your car window. Put the 
car's fan on, to move the air. Pull up smoothly to where they want 
you to stop, and do not panic. 
 
The police often start with an explanation of why they are stopping 
you. Never argue, always be polite and refer to the nice man in 
uniform as `Officer'. Being rude only ensures that they will be rude 
to you. And they have the power to cause you real trouble and 
inconvenience.

They will often peer into the car, looking to see any open bottles. 
Never, ever, have open alcohol in the car. Not only does doing so 
magnify the smell of booze, it gets you an automatic further check, 
and in most places, an automatic ticket or charge. Should you have 
prepared with a bite of that apple, or the gum, never swallow that 
while the cop is talking to you. That is a sign, to him, that you 
are trying to get rid of something. Drugs, he suspects! You will be 
asked if you have had anything to drink. The best answer is No. 
Unless it is more that obvious that you have had been drinking. 
Often that simple no gets you a polite wave through the road block.

Sometimes, the police ask where you have been coming from. You must 
have a sensible answer ready. If you say the name of a bar, they 
automatically assume you have been drinking. If you claim to have 
just come from work, they will ask you where you work. 

Coming from a job that has usual business hours will obviously raise 
more questions. Saying that you are coming from, or going to, a 
girlfriend's place is a common and innocent answer.
 
There are times, however, when you have to admit you have been 
drinking. Especially if you have been followed from a bar's parking 
lot, or if that spot check is within sight of the bar. Sometimes it 
is better to answer in half-truths or, if you prefer, half lies. But 
be prepared, because anyone who admits to have been drinking will 
receive the immediate question: 'How many have you had?' 
 
Almost everyone who answers that they have indeed been drinking says 
the exact same thing about the amount: two drinks. The police hear 
that so much, the no longer believe that. So, saying something 
different may be to your advantage. 
 
Admitting drinking anything is dangerous, should you have a short 
explanation to go along with it. You explain your one beer with the 
statement that your buddy did not show up, so you left the bar. Or, 
that the place was too expensive, too busy or that you got a call to 
meet friends elsewhere. Or, you explain your three drinks with the 
fact that you also had dinner there. If there are well behaved 
buddies in your car, you can just say that you are the `designated 
driver' and you're taking your friends home. Any statement of more 
than three drinks is almost a guarantee of more questions, and of a 
test of your soberness! 
 
As always, be calm and polite. Do not mention your friends on the 
police force. Concentrate on answering the questions, and getting 
through the check point. If you find that difficult, just think of 
the alternative!

Roadblocks and most random checks happen in, or just past, bar 
hours. Knowing a nearby coffee shop or twenty four hour restaurant, 
and stopping there is very much in your favour. The coffee and the 
food help you sober up, but the time spent might just be what saves 
you. As such places attract people who have been drinking, they 
often see disputes of various kinds. Do not get involved. Do not 
stir up a fuss. Be polite. Leave a tip. Workers there often get low 
pay, and have been known to report drunks to the police themselves. 
You do not need that. Keep your car keys out of sight. 
 
Oddly, many people are charged and convicted of 'drunk driving' and 
they have not actually driven. Laws are often written that having 
the car running, or even keys in the ignition, can be enough to 
convict you. Do not warm the car up, or fall asleep in the back 
seat, with your keys in the ignition. That could cost you the same 
penalty as the drive home even though you have been very safe. 
 
Now, it should be pointed out that it is never a good idea to be 
well blitzed, and try and drive home. Especially after reading these 
ideas meant to save you. However being one beer over the line is an 
easy thing to do. Acting smart may just save you a lot of time and 
trouble. 
 
--- 
Mediocrities, entrusted with power over their fellow-creatures, 
invariably develop into tyrants. All history proves it.
-- Frederick Baron Corvo

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

5. Writings on the Bathroom Wall

(Found on a bathroom wall somewhere in the U.S.A.) 

You've taken over my mind. You've raped my thoughts with your image 
viruses then sold me fake cures for your own disease. Your words and 
pictures scream orders at me like angry prison wardens. When I cover 
my ears, your voices echo in my head. I hate you. When I see your 
billboards, your talk shows, your rock concerts and your factories, 
when I see the work of your twisted libidos, I want to kill you. I 
want to set fires, plant bombs, derail trains. I want to smash your 
buildings and tear at your bodies until the skin of my hands is worn 
to the bone. I am filled with a rage that burns my eyes. 

I don't want to feel this way. You have done this to me. These 
feelings are the fruits of your multi-billion dollar sowing. And I 
am not alone. There are others like me out here. Every suicide, 
every madman, every man and woman who gets a gun and just starts 
shooting -- these are your illegitimate children. They don't all 
know what they are doing. All they know is hate for the invisible 
walls which you have raised around them, hate for the narrow path 
you have tried to make them walk. And the innocent pay in blood for 
your negligence. 

Remember this: My mind is big. The more you try to push me down and 
make me small, the greater the pressure inside me becomes. The 
greater the pressure, the greater the chance of an explosion. There 
was once a time when I felt love, but now I feel only hate and 
anger, and fear at what I might do. And you can tell me to "BE 
HAPPY," but I know that you really mean "BE QUIET". 

Believe me, I want to be happy. You stand in my way.

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

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Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine    "media you can abuse"
In memory of Father Ross "Padre" Legere
Published every second Monday (or when we get around it)
Disclaimer: unintentionally offensive
Comments, queries and submissions are welcome

http://www.capnasty.org  ISSN 1482-0471

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