Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume III, Issue 8, AD MCMXCVIII
Monday, April 20th, 1998
ISSN 1482-0471
-------------------------------------------

I'm sure that you will find your soul mate someday...
Somewhere out there, there is... well either a shepherd, or a souvlaki 
chef who you can start a life with. 
I can see it now
~~~~~~~dream sequence~~~~~~~
Seven little goat-man thingees runnin' around, wondering if they should 
be offended when the other children call them "kids"... a burly Greek 
man sweating while creating the Friendly Greek's new "Tatziki Sauce"... 
and Leo balled up in the corner wondering where it all went 
wrong..."Mmmeeehh, MMMMMmmmmeeeeehh, (cough--hack--hack) Its all 
because of that French Goat Whore junkie from New Orleans.  Damn 
you...." He waves his fist. "Damn you......" And fades away.
~~~~~~~end dream~~~~~~
 -- IMPROV

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

While I often wish to support euthanasia for idiots, 
I then stop to think that if there were no idiots, 
the rest of us would look stupid...
 -- Lilith DemHareIs

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

1.  Editorial
2.  Political Correctness
3.  The Spice Girls are brilliant
4.  PURSUING MOODS to Tracey Hilkey
5.  Is your fly open?
-------------------------------------------

This week's Golden Testicle award:

Elmo doesn't like to be tickled.
(And no, it's not the one from Sesame Street.)

http://http.tamu.edu:8000/~kcv5938/elmo.html

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

1. Editorial
  by Leandro

INSTRUCTIONS, even when clearly written, seem to be impossible to 
follow, for some people.

After our last issue of CoN, many users wrote back complaining about 
the size.  In fact, CoN Issue 7 was probably one of the biggest issues 
ever, passing the 60K mark, rather than following the usual 25K 
average.

Anyway, writing back and complaining is not a problem.  User feedback 
is always welcomed here and it is a way to determine where we went 
wrong and prevent from repeating the same error twice.  In fact, this 
time we learned that CoN should maintain it's “short and nasty.. err.. 
sweet” attitude.

Some of the e-mails we had received complimented us, others where not 
so polite, and a few more wanted off the list.

Now, unsubscribing from CoN should be easier than slicing a loaf of 
sliced bread (1).  Now, we'll gladly help a user out if he or she is 
having trouble removing themselves from the list, however, on a normal 
situation we cannot sit there and manually remove everyone who writes 
us so.  This is why we provided an automated subscribing/unsubscribing 
service.

The instructions on how to unsubscribe are at the end of this issue.  
In fact, they are at the end of every issue.  And since the majority of 
people can't spell the word “unsubscribe”, we've changed the e-mail 
address that handles this to “leave”.

Of course we never expected people to read the entire zine and discover 
the helpful, clearly written instructions on how to remove themselves 
from this distribution list.  Therefore when a user first subscribes, 
he receives a welcoming message that informs them, of all things, how 
to unsubscribe.  And for those particularly lazy, replying to the 
welcome message will get them removed from the list as well.  What more 
could you ask?

Well, apparently this is not enough.  Several e-mails of extremely 
rude, and particularly ignorant former readers arrived, first cussing 
the fact that CoN was suddenly too long, and that they wanted off this 
list immediately since they didn't recall subscribing in the first 
place(??!).

I'm not surprised of this too much.  In both my jobs, I have to deal 
with plenty of individuals, may they be people I work with or for, or 
just plain customers, that don't reason.  They may be standing right in 
front of the milk section, and they will still ask where the milk is.  
The shopping carts are of the type where you insert a quarter to free 
them, and even though instructions (on each cart I may add) graphically 
explain the correct procedure to insert the quarter, people still sit 
there struggling, while complaining that freeing the buggies is too 
hard.  I can only raise my eyes, and shake my head...

THE LAST DINOSAUR – okay, it was too long.  Some people told me they 
didn't read it in fear it might've sucked at the end.  So, my question 
to the readership is... how many people have actually read the whole 
thing?  I'm curious to find out.

ALT.SPAM – Spam will significantly decrease in your mailboxes.  After 
the last ISP has cancelled it's contract with CyberPromotions, one of 
the biggest spamming sites on the net, its president Samford 
Wallace(aka Spamford) has finally abdicated.   Mr. Wallace apologized 
for what he has done, after realizing the damage he had been doing to 
the virtual community of the ‘net.  But even as this giant has been 
stopped and new bills are being decided to put an end to illegal 
soliciting, spam will not just go away.  For further info on these 
stories, visit the following links:

http://www.techweb.com/wire/story/TWB19980413S0020

http://www.techweb.com/wire/story/TWB19980416S0009

http://dailynews.yahoo.com/headlines/human_interest/oddly_enough/story.
html?s=z/reuters/980416/odd/stories/spam_1.html


This marks the end of this week's editorial.  Special thanks to all of 
those that have helped, without who, this issue would never have seen 
the light.  And thanks to those that just didn't unsubscribe because 
one story was a wee bit too long.  Have a great one.

--
(1) Sliced bread is obviously already sliced.  What we are trying to 
say is that unsubscribing from CoN is an easy thing to do, not the next 
best thing to sliced bread.  Let's get our facts straight here, eh!

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

2.  Political Correctness
by IMPROV

Last night I was coming home from a hockey game with my girlfriend, 
when I witnessed something that I thought was non-existent in today's 
politically correct world.  Sitting near the back of the streetcar in 
Toronto late a night is always an experience, to say the least.  But 
tonight was remarkably disturbing. 

We were just sitting there engaging in our usual mindless, but 
important to us, conversation, when a two gentlemen sat down beside us.

One of these men was obviously intoxicated, severely.  No big deal on 
the Toronto Transit Commission.  Now, for future reference (and not 
because I'm racist) these men looked to be from an African nation, 
specifically Somalia.  This will be important later, trust me.  Just to 
clarify the situation we'll call the intoxicated one... Norm and the 
other guy... Cliff.

Okay? Good.

Out of the blue Norm starts to yell something incoherent... kind of in 
an accent that I can only describe as French-Jamaican, 
“Bahhsstahhrds... Bahhsstahhrds!” 
Oh I get it he's saying “Bastards” I think to myself.  Okay, no problem 
someone has pissed this fine drunk off.  Then I realise who it is, 
because in amongst the “Bahhsstahhrds” I hear a “Fahhgetts”.  And I 
realise that there is a gentleman in front of us with his arm around 
another man.  Now my girlfriend and I are in shock... is this really 
happening? 

I'm thinking... I wanted to elbow smash this guy in the face, I'm not 
gay but I have friends who are and if they want to show their affection 
to each other in public, so be it!  I mean, Christ, if my girlfriend 
and I can, why can't they?

But it doesn't end there, this drunken ass has the nerve to go up to 
them and ask if they're gay!!  The two guys said that they were.  Norm 
starts telling them that they're strange and are sinners.  At this 
point my girlfriend and I are now hoping that these two gentlemen stand 
up and pulverise this piece of shit, and we also notice that the guys 
that Norm has a problem with are huge.  Even better.  But I'll give 
them credit, they did not stoop to this lower life form's level and 
stayed calm.

They told him to be quiet and sit down.  He complied to the later.

As they are getting off we notice they are not alone.  They have a 
friend with them.  A friend that is even larger then them and clad in 
leather (you know, the kind of guy you'd find in the Blue Oyster bar).
 
One of them turns to Norm and says (ever so classily, I may add), “If 
you still have a problem, step off the streetcar.”  We were like, 
“Yeah... gotta love that.”  Norm does the schoolyard stare down and 
watches them as the streetcar sped away.  But continues his little 
tirade.  He goes so far to tell me, “Thohhse guhs thay were GAYS, GAYS, 
y know fagghhets?”  I tried to ignore him, but I couldn't.  (This is 
where the fun begins.) A loose transcript follows:

Imp:	Yes they were, but so what?
Norm:	You approve of this?
I:	Who am I not to? Who are you not to?
N:	You are very strange, sir...very strange. It's not right.
(By this time I've turned around and find myself nose to nose with this 
waste of flesh, and the back of the streetcar is now empty except me, 
my girlfriend, Norm and Cliff.)
I:	Maybe I am strange...
N:	In Africa this is not accepted... it is your society that this is 
accepted... not mine.
(Well now... we do have problem now don't we?)
I:	Excuse me?  This is not wrong.
(Finally, Cliff speaks up)
Cliff:	It is a sin... a sin against the Lord
N:	Yes you read the bible?... You know Sodom & Gomorra?
C:	(Gesturing to my girlfriend) Is that your girlfriend?
N: 	Are you gay?
I:	This is my girlfriend yes
C:	You are a good man.
(Now, there is no way I want these fuck-ups to think I agree with them)
I:	But just because I'm not gay, doesn't mean I think its wrong
N:	You are very strange... It is a sin
I:	WHEN did God say it's a sin to be gay?
C:	It's God's commandment.
I: 	Really?  Which number commandment is this?
N:	You know what happened to Sodom & Gomorra? You know?
I:	Yeah, they were destroyed.
N:	That is correct, and you know. 
(I interrupt)
I:	You tell me why, where does it say specifically that it's because 
of homosexuality... tell me!!
(Without being able to quote the Good Book he changes the subject and 
is back on the your society thing)
N:	In Africa, this is not accepted behaviour... it is your 
country...
(All right, the redneck in me is now wide-awake!!)
I:	Well then maybe you should have stayed in Africa...
N:	Excuse me?
I:	You come to this country and expect to practice any religion you 
wish and are free to do so... who the hell are you to tell others how 
to live?
       	
Time for these boys to get off (thank God).  Back to the school yard 
stare down, this time with me, though. He gets off... stand on the 
corner, still staring... so I flipped him the bird. How nice it would 
have been to beat the hell out of this guy, but what would that have 
proved?  I'm just appalled that it happened.  I applause the gentlemen 
who were took the brunt of this guys attack.  I applaud them for their 
patience and the fact that they could walk off that streetcar with 
their heads held high.  Because, if there is a God, I'm damn sure he 
appreciates their civilised reaction to Norm's barbaric thoughts, views 
and the way he dealt with them.

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

3. THE SPICE GIRLS ARE BRILLIANT
By Jason MacIsaac

It's fashionable now to bash the Spice Girls, which greatly puzzles me.  
If
Einstein were to come back to life, would you make fun of his accent?  
If
Socrates walked the streets of your present-day city and contemplated 
the
nature of being, would you tug his beard or splash mud on his toga?  Of
course not.  Like the Spice Girls, these people are some of the 
greatest
thinkers the world has ever seen, and they deserve our respect.

The problem is, while the theories of Einstein and Socrates have been
considered, examined, re-examined, indexed, expanded on, and 
deconstructed,
nobody has taken time to get to the bottom of the complexity and genius 
that
is the lyrics of the Spice Girls' songs. 

It is the purpose of this treatise to examine these lyrics and place 
them in
their proper intellectual context.  That no-one has done this before is 
a
severe artistic oversight.  It would be like leaving a play of 
Shakespeare
unread.  Like leaving a theory of Carl Sagan unexplored.  Like not 
eating
that pile of toppings that builds up at the bottom of the pizza box 
before
you throw it out.  You know--how sometimes you take a slice of pizza, 
and
the toppings slide off and they get on that cardboard thing that looks 
like
cardboard corduroy, and then solidifies?

Anyway, here is the Spice Girl signature song, a searing indictment of
Totalitarianism, called "Wannabe."

Wannabe 

 Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want, 
So tell me what you want, what you really really want, 
I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want, 
So tell me what you want, what you really really want, 
I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really 
really really wanna zigazig ha. 

COMMENT #1:  It is here the we first see the Spice Girls' concerns over
Totalitarian regimes.  The theme does not develop fully until later in 
the
song, but in retrospect, this verse takes on a sinister meaning.  

In George Orwell's masterpiece 1984, the nightmare regime of Ingsoc and 
Big
Brother demanded citizens whose minds were utterly malleable.  Their 
only
knowledge was what the ruling party wanted it to be.  In the final 
chapters
of the novel, the protagonist Winston Smith, having been re-educated 
through
gruelling mental and physical torture, is left completely as a party 
puppet.
Winston's knowledge is entirely dependent on what the Party tells him.  
When
last seen, Winston cannot answer the question "What is 4+4?" because he
didn't know what the Party answer was.  The lyrics of "Wannabe" play 
out an
eerie echo of this scene.  Here, there are two distinct voices.  One is
demanding what the other wants, the other is attempting to answer.  
However,
the ultimate answer is a nonsense lyric "I wanna really 
really really wanna zigazig ha," suggesting that the second voice 
doesn't
know.  In Orwell's novel, Winston's torturer O'Brien forces Winston say 
that
he doesn't know the answer to the question "What is 4+4?"  This is the 
first
step in Winston's re-education.  Eventually, O'Brien succeeds after 
much
torture and the repetition of his question. The repetition in this 
opening
verse "So tell me what you want, what you really really want," also 
suggests
interrogation.

We speculate that they really want something, too.


If you want my future forget my past, 
If you wanna get with me better make it fast, 
Now don't go wasting my precious time, 
Get your act together we could be just fine 

COMMENT #2:  Here, the idea of Totalitarianism as envisioned by Orwell
becomes more prominent.  "If you want my future forget my past."  The
residents of 1984 were frequently asked (told) to forget things.  For 
weeks
they would be told about a hated enemy, and how the armies of the Party 
were
fighting valiantly against it.  Then, suddenly, not only would the 
hated
enemies be friends, but they always had been friends, according to the
Party.  Citizens were expected to accept these facts without question.
Sometimes they would be told two entirely contradictory facts at once, 
and
expected to see no incongruity.  There was even a term for it-
Doublethink.

"If you wanna get with me better make it fast,  Now don't go wasting my
precious time, Get your act together we could be just fine," sounds
suspiciously like a Big Brother-issued threat (i.e. "Conformity is the
safest course of action, do it now.")

 I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want, 
So tell me what you want, what you really really want, 
I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really 
really really wanna zigazig ha. 

COMMENT #3:  See Comment 1.  Note, though, the repetition.

CHORUS
 If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends, 
Make it last forever friendship never ends, 
If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give, 
Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is. 


COMMENT #4   It is possible that "lover" is meant ironically.  In 1984,
there were ministries, each ironically named.  The Ministry of Truth, 
for
example, was charged with feeding the public the lies.  The Ministry of 
Love
was a centre of hate and torture.  "If you wanna be my lover, you gotta 
get
with my friends" could refer to the fact that O'Brien traps Winston 
Smith
into revealing his subversive attitudes by pretending to head up a 
faction
of resistance.  Perhaps it was a subtle, coded warning from the Spice 
Girls.
"Make it last forever, friendship never ends" could be a chilling and
satiric commentary on O'Brien's vision of human history as being a boot
coming down on a human face-"forever."


What do you think about that now you know how I feel, 
Say you can handle my love are you for real, 
I won't be hasty, I'll give you a try 
If you really bug me then I'll say goodbye. 


COMMENT #5:   If you picture this verse as being said by O'Brien as he
reveals to Smith that he has always been on the side of Big Brother and 
is
now about to become his torturer,  asking if Smith can handle his 
"love"
(bearing in mind the real purpose of the Ministry of Love), we see here 
the
Spice Girls retelling the elimination of Wintston Smith's rebellious 
thoughts. 

"If you really bug me then I'll say goodbye."  Naturally, Big Brother 
had no
qualms about eliminating subversives through force.


 Yo I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want, 
So tell me what you want, what you really really want, 
I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really 
really really wanna zigazig ha. 

COMMENT #6  See Comment #3.  Again, repetition.

REPEAT CHORUS 

 So here's a story from A to Z, you wanna get with me 
you gotta listen carefully, 
We got Em in the place who likes it in your face, 
we got G like MC who likes it on an 
Easy V doesn't come for free, she's a real lady, 
and as for me you'll see, 
Slam your body down and wind it all around 
Slam your body down and wind it all around. 

COMMENT #7: The language of 1984 was Newspeak, issued annually in a
dictionary ("From A to Z").  Newspeak is unique in that it is the only
language that got smaller as time went on.  The Party wished to 
eliminate
diverse thinking in order to reduce the intelligence of the population 
and
the possibility of rebellion.

"We got Em in the place who likes it in your face"-could be another
reference to O'Brien "boot on a human face" analogy, or to the 
harrowing
torture scene where O'Brien threatens to let a rat into the cage 
covering
Winston's face.  The use of initials in this verse also serves to
demonstrate the purpose of Newspeak.  Instead of using full names, such 
as
"Emma" and "Victoria," they are given condensed versions-many of them 
one
letter.  In the book, the example of the word "good" is used to 
demonstrate
the Newspeak in action.  Rather than use the opposite term "bad," 
Newspeak
uses the word "ungood," effectively excising a word from the English
language, and very nearly the entire term.  Think of the damage caused 
by
the reduction of names to a single letter-"V" could be short for 
"Victoria,"
"Viola," "Violetta," any number of names.  All of them are no more, 
thanks
to Newspeak.  It has succeeded in annihilating not just words, but
personalities and individuals-just as the Party desires.   We even see 
its
effectiveness-the singer is unable to complete the "who likes it on an"
line-she is confused, unable to make a coherent thought-again, 
precisely
what the Party wants.


REPEAT CHORUS 

 If you wanna be my lover, you gotta, you gotta, you gotta, 
you gotta, you gotta, slam, slam, slam, slam 
Slam your body down and wind it all around. 
Slam your body down and wind it all around. 
Slam your body down and wind it all around. 
Slam your body down zigazig ah 

 If you wanna be my lover. 

COMMENT #8:  The final line echoes the predicament of Winston Smith.
Re-educated by Big Brother, he is unable to answer the question "What 
is
4+4?"  Writing the question out, he is forced to leave it blank.  The 
last
line of the song is very similar.  The question as to what one must do 
to be
her lover is left blank.  Another victim of the Party.

CONCLUSION:  As we can see, once the lyrics of the song are dissected, 
the
true meaning becomes clear.  While it might be hard to accept that five
girls wearing strange shoes are capable of such insight, there it is, 
for
any that care to look.  
 
I am greatly indebted to Spice Master's Spice Page
(http://web.globalserve.net/~gbell/) for the lyrics to "Wannabe"

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

And now for something completely unusual:

Solider:  My God, look at all the sheep!

Corporal:  They're heading right for us!

Sergeant:  Squad, on your own time, FIRE!

(Machine guns rattle, sound of sheeps being massacred by the truckload)

Soldier:  There's too many!  They just keep coming!

Sergent:  Fall back!!  Everyone fall back now!

Sheep:  BAAAAAAAA!!!!!!

Soldier: ARGGGGGGRGGGGGGGGGG! HELP! ARGGGGGH!

Corporal:  It got Riggs!  It got Riggs!  Die you MOTHERFUCKER!

Sergeant:  Fall back now, that's an order!

BIG HUGE, LUMBERING SHEEP CASTS A SHADOW OVER THEIR POSITION.

Giant Sheep.  BAA.

Sergeant:  (whispers) Oh my God.  Look at the size of that sheep.


A SCENE FROM "STARSHEEP TROOPERS" by Jason MacIsaac

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

4.  PURSUING MOODS
To Tracey Hilkey

  By Christopher Stolle

i hear footsteps following
me
or maybe i'm following them
but in the early morning,
when everything is

quiet
and it seems no one is around,
there's enough aroused to scare
me
into believing it's afternoon
and i should be

somewhere else, doing things
normal
people would do in the later
stages of a day, but instead
i find myself keeping watch
on a world that won't sleep

alone
because in the flickering
night sky, this planet makes
love
with various massive bodies
that float in its atmosphere
and still, and still i

listen
for those footsteps to remind
me
that i cannot escape
from being followed
and i cannot stop following

someone
although i do not see anyone
there's no touch, no voice
and there's just a sound
trying to tell me something
about this path i take, about

myself
and how it cannot be sane
to wander blindly behind
invisible footsteps or realize
footsteps
are walking hand in hand
with my tracks, with my

frustration
that swells in my feet,
that lingers in my face,
that travels through my
tunnels
to seek that shimmering light
but i cannot

cut
myself to let blood force
out my indelible hatred,
to taste an inner freedom
that gropes for an opportunity
to feel like a normal shadow

walking
in front of the pack, not behind
where footsteps rattle the staircase
and i am confident, in rare form, to
shout
for someone to step forward,

reveal
that he is that constant in my life,
this imaginary friends i've spoken with
since i was seven, since i
fell
into desperate hallways inside
school buildings that helped trap

myself
within my invisible cosmos,
where words on paper gave me
shelter
gave me something to savor
when underestimated forces

swallowed
me whole, to digest me inside
their stomach tract where i found
myself
surrounded by people without faces,
without voices, without any markings to
distinguish
one person's fears from another's
but we felt safe, we could share

feelings
with just words written down
and when we finish this digestive
process
we can, i can again hear footsteps
made by an imaginary friend
or some wingless guardian

angel
that can comfort only through
telepathic means, that motivates
through photosynthesis, needing
nothing
but someone to believe in them
and i believe in footsteps that guide

me
to somewhere that i can feel
secure with my voice, my face
and with those scars only
i
can see on the membranes inside
and i'll secure faith in what

spirituality
rests, or works, in my poems
because that's where my happiness
waits
for me to take control and forget
about footsteps that lead, footsteps
that follow me endless journey

nowhere
because the best footsteps
are those i strategically,
those i confidently place for
others
to examine how i paced myself
in trying to deal with everyone's

footsteps

April 2, 1998


"Then I found myself alone, hopin' someone would miss me." - Cat 
Stevens 
Visit my dying, listless website here -- 
http://php.indiana.edu/~cstolle
My chapbook is here: 
http://members.tripod.com/~johnniebbaker/chris.html

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

5.  Is your fly open?
Or “Tiny little aliens inside a fly suit”
by William (Purple Rabbit Runners Organization)

[Editor's note: at the end of each issue of CoN we have a saying, a 
quote or a question.  This is done in part to aid our sanity and to 
provide diversity all the way to the end, but also to see how many 
people actually read CoN all the way to the very bottom.  So... in our 
last issue there was a simple question: is your fly open?]
 
> Is your fly open?

Why, yes, it is.  Took me three weeks to figure out how, though.  
First, I had to catch the damn thing.  do you know how hard it is to 
catch a live fly?  Up and down, back and forth, then it lands to 
rest, and you think you've got it, and zip! it flies the opposite 
direction you wanted.  I tried everything I could think of, even the 
venus flytrap, which sorta worked, but then I couldn't get it opened, 
and the fly was digested by the trap.  

Then, after losing a short 
battle with a can of whipped cream (I lost), I figured it out.  I 
went to the local fast food place (yeah, bugs eat there too) and 
waited until after closing.  I locked myself in the restroom, knowing 
they wouldn't bother me, they never clean them.  I spent the next two 
hours sealing off the bathroom, and then ran the hose from the 
nitrous tank in my backpack under the door, and opened the valve.

After about 4 minutes I heard an odd thud, and decided to empty the 
tank.  I opened the valve all the way, and a couple minutes later the 
hissing stopped.  I took a deep breath, cut the seals from the door, 
and opened it.  My quest was successful.  Around the nastiest trash 
cans were dozens of flies.  I gathered them up and put them into a 
salad container with clear plastic lid, and took a quick look around. 
the thud had me wondering what happened, and I found the night 
manager asleep on the floor, money scattered around him where it fell 
as he passed out from the nitrous.  He was still alive, so I stripped 
him bare and laid him on his back.  I took one of those ice cream 
cones and covered his privates (not much to cover).  After taking a 
couple polaroids for later use, I gathered up my flies and left as he 
began to awaken.

Then there was the task of sorting the dead from then living.  The 
flies were more succeptible to the gas than I had thought they would 
be, and most were dead.  Or maybe it was the nasty lettuce that 
killed them.  I seperated the living into little film containers with 
holes and peanut butter on the lids, then closed them up.

Now, I realised I didn't have any tools small enough to open them 
with.  I had an old microscope that my parents gave to me when I was 
in school, but was never used for it's intended purpose.  I guess 
this didn't qualify either, though.  

I started off gluing a fly down onto a slide, but the damn thing 
wouldn't keep still and drowned in the Elmers.  the second one, I 
used a very thin layer of glue, which glued the wings down nicely, 
until one broke as the fly attempted to escape.  Now it was useless 
to me.

The third one I tried some sort of superglue on.  Didn't quite have 
the expected result, the glue turned the fly into a rock hard lump.  
Really gross.  After giving up on this method, I turned to my VCR for 
some mindless entertainment (I get some of my bestest inspirations 
this way).  I was watching Independance Day, AKA ID4, and the scene 
where the pilot punches out the alien in the crashed ship came on.  
This started me thinking, and when they opened up the alien suit I 
figured it all out.  Why these voices had been telling me to do this 
all along.  Flies weren't really insects at all, but tiny aliens in 
little flying suits trying to destroy us one by one, by playing 
around in dirty places, then walking on our food, trying to make us 
sick.  That's why they are here.

So, taking my cue from the movie, I made a tiny little glove, got 
my next fly, and punched that sucker out.  Only I hit him too hard, 
and his little head just flew off.  Oops.  So I got the last fly out. 
 Punching went better this time, only knocked him out.  I decided to 
go back to one of the earlier methods, since he wasnt moving, and 
glued him down to the slide.  

Once I got him in view under the microscope, I could see what he was 
made of.  Flys aren't flys at all, but are actually little transport 
devices for the aliens inside!  Flying Aliens!  But I had to see 
more, which wasn't possible with my cheap little microscope.  

I got a job at a med lab, where they take samples of what ails you to 
be looked at under a really good microscope.  After about a week 
there, just when they were about to fire me, I grabbed the biggest 
microscope I could find and hauled it home.  

Upon closer inspection, I could see this was no simple bug.  He had 
antennae, but tehy were metal, and I can only assume they are meant 
for communicating to other aliens so organised assaults can be 
launched.  Their legs are very complicated, with little suction cups 
for feet that make them look really weird.  He was also covered in a 
protective suit, which I then procededed to attempt opening.  It was 
resistant to all my efforts, tweezers, razor blades, even tiny 
explosive charges made from mathes failed to get this suit off the 
damn bug.  I got pissed, and threw the microscope at the wall, and 
the slide flew out, hitting the wall, leaving a little yellow stain 
where it hit.  I took a closer look, then set the thing back up, 
realising I may have figured out teh problem.  I put the slide back 
in and looked, there it was.  YES!  My fly is open!

Be careful when opening flies, sometimes what comes out of them 
smells really bad, and carries diseases.


_________
"There's a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased this
line" -- Oscar Levant 

I need to find a more suitable host body.

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

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ZimID 708EC8D1  1994/09/14 EC B0 97 59 1D FE 7C 32  7E 04 2C 66 47 41 
FB 7D
