Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume VII, Issue 8, AD MMII
Tuesday, April 23, 2002
ISSN 1482-0471
-------------------------------------------

"If you are wearing a seat belt, your chances of being killed or 
seriously injured in a traffic crash are at least 50 percent better 
than if you are not wearing one. In addition, we all share the 
financial burden of deaths and injuries due to traffic crashes."

 -- "NEW YORK STATE DEPARTMENT OF MOTOR VEHICLES - DRIVER'S MANUAL", 
page 66

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

Only presidents, editors, and people with tapeworms have the right 
to use the editorial "we."

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

1.  Editorial
2.  You're a FUNNY GUY Now Shut the Fuck Up Part 3
3.  Kid's Corner
4.  George W. Bush's "Evil Empire"
5.  Coffee Tip
-------------------------------------------

This week's Golden Testicle award:

http://www.misanthropic-bitch.com/hot_pregnant_teens_here.html

Teen Mothers: poster children for forced euthanasia

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

1. Editorial

The Measure of a Man (Or, Clamp my Nipples)

By Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro

My grandmother's 38 years old gas stove decided to break the other 
day.  It turns out that if you have a stove that's more than 20 
years old, you can't find any spare parts for it.  So you're stuck 
with a semi-functional stove just because a small bracket the size 
of a credit card that holds a piece together somewhere inside is no 
longer made.  My grandmother decided therefore to go and buy herself 
a new gas stove.  I overheard this whole conversation in the back of 
my brain but took no notice, mostly figuring that a gas stove could 
not possibly interfere with my life in any way possible.

The first sign that this assumption was terribly wrong was when I 
arrived at her house and found the new stove just sitting there, and 
I saw that evil gleam in my family's eyes.  I realized right there 
and then that I was the new Gas Stove Installer.  This seems to be 
one of the faith induced cruces I enjoy, thanks to the random cosmic 
chance of my birth that assigned me to this family.

I have never installed a stove before.  I don't know half of the 
things that are involved in doing such a thing or if there are any 
special rules, other than making sure the gas main is closed while 
you work.  This is where I think school should come in handy.  
Instead of teaching you algebraic formulae that you forget four 
minutes after the end of high school, there should be a course that 
gives you practical teachings in life that you will actually use.

An example of this would be teaching young students how to change a 
flat tire. How to change fuses.  The proper handling of a baby with 
a full diaper.  How to operate a washing machine, with the 
understanding of hot, cold wash, the difference between whites and 
colours, and how to fold clothes once done.  And, in my case, if 
your grandmother buys a stove and makes you the install man, how to 
do so with the least amount of swearing, broken fingers and spilled 
blood.

It's no surprise that no amount of Math, English, Biochemistry or 
History, or tuition paid helped me out here.  Physics was the 
exception, which made me realize that gravity works at all times, 
when the huge pliers fell right on my toe.

Logic dictated, however, that this could not be a difficult task. 
Pull out the old stove, close the gas valve, undo the flexible cable 
that hooks up the old stove to the gas main, move old stove, insert 
new stove and repeat in reverse the steps involved.  If I can build 
a computer with random scattered parts, a stove should be a 
primordial piece of technology in comparison.  So I pulled up my 
sleeves and with a sigh of surrender I began.

About two hours later, I discovered that pipes, when they've been 
well tightened together for over 38 years, form some sort of bond 
that prevents them from ever coming apart.  It doesn't matter that 
you just may have the right tools for the job or have plenty of 
strength to open an endless supply of marmelade jars.  They're stuck 
together no matter how many helpful suggestions your family -- all 
hovering around you -- can possibly come up with.

On the bright side, parts that were not meant to come off, did, 
allowing me to take the flexible tube, the regulator and two feet of 
pipe with me to the hardware store.

At the hardware store, after explaining my tale to the clerks, we 
tried to remove all the extra pieces of piping that were attached to 
the flexible tube.  We failed miserably, despite the tools and a 
workshop.  The pieces proved to be as stubborn as one of those old 
Italian men that sits all day long in a barber shop.  So I opted for 
the only option left: buy everything new.  The clerk also explained 
that I needed some sort of compound in some parts of the bolts but 
not in others, albeit I am still at a loss as to why.

This turned out to be the first of many trips to the hardware store. 
When I got home I discovered that the beauty of standards is that 
there are many of them to pick from.  Whoever makes stoves seems to 
pick the one that wasn't used for the previous one.  My only task at 
this point was to figure out which standard the new stove and the 
gas main followed and get the appropriate pieces.

Back at the hardware store I explained how the new flexible pipe had 
female connectors at both ends and both the stove and the main were 
female connectors.  I was asked if I had any nipples at home ("Yes 
sir, I do, but I fail to understand what that has to do with a 
stove..."), but I suppose the look on my face explained both my 
ignorance and confusion.

The clerk quickly explained what a nipple is.  For all you pervs out 
there, it is some sort of piece that has both ends as male 
connectors, allowing it to be a bridge between two female 
connectors.  Or something.  I forget now.

When I went back home I discovered I had the right pieces, but of 
the wrong size.  To add insult to injury, all the measurements for 
these pipes, connectors and related were in inches, which I still 
fail to understand.  All the measuring tapes I found in the house 
are metric.  And to me a quarter inch to a three-eighths of an inch 
look exactly the same.  It's like when I drive in the States and I 
fill up the car in gallons.  Am I being ripped off or is the price 
good?  I have no idea, meanwhile my car took a ridiculously low 
amount of gallons but the tank appears to be full.

So I drove back to the hardware store and we tried to figure out 
what size I needed.  I got different parts, and headed back to my 
grandmother's.  The pieces this time were too small.

Out of desperation, and since this was already taking three hours 
longer than the one I had planned, I drove home, grabbed my Polaroid 
camera, drove back to my grandmother's, snapped photos of the main 
with the pieces I had next to it as a comparison, snapped a few of 
the stove's connector and then drove back to the hardware store.

At this point they seemed to have an idea of what pieces were 
involved.  They muttered incomprehsible jargon that involved inches, 
nipples, males and females, making rude gestures with fingers. 
Confused, I quickly traded the old pieces I had bought before for 
the new pieces, ran back and lo, they fit.

In less than five minutes I had the main fixed, secured with the new 
connectors and the flexible pipe, connected the stove, opened the 
valve and watched as the methane blue flames lit up without any 
problems.  People that had climbed Mount Everest and came back to 
tell the tale with their feeling of achievement are nothing in 
comparison.

When I returned home, I found my mother measuring the height of the 
fridge to that of the cabinets on top of it, less than a centimetre 
above it.  She bought a new fridge.  It's significantly taller than 
the one we currently have.

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

2.  You're a FUNNY GUY Now Shut the Fuck Up Part 3
FUNNY GUYS and their FUNNY VOICES

By Jason MacIsaac

Having worked in a restaurant once, I'm of the opinion that nobody 
should be allowed to get service in one until they completed a three 
part course on manners, patience, and how to calculate 15 percent.  
Anyone who's worked in a restaurant will agree.

FUNNY GUYS love to go into restaurants, because no rational person 
is actually willing to listen to them, but at a restaurant, the 
staff has little choice.  If you missed my previous installments, 
you'll need a definition of a FUNNY GUY.  A FUNNY GUY is a person 
who works very hard at being funny, thinks he is extremely funny, 
and isn't, causing great pain in misery to those subjected to their 
humour.  It's a little like getting surgery from the guy who swears 
he knows the heart is up in the chest somewhere.  

Servers are taught to be polite to everyone, even FUNNY GUYS.  Few 
things are more humiliating than standing in a dopey uniform (dopey, 
but with a higher IQ than most customers), waiting for some FUNNY 
GUY to cough a twenty dollar bill and hope he actually leaves you 
more change.  If Ghandi and Mother Theresa had ever worked in a 
restaurant, believe me, they'd be chain smokers with a history of 
random violence against people who ask for a third glass of water.  
Turn this other cheek, buddy.

Take the other day, when I was in a local Mexicali restaurant.  At a 
table nearby was a FUNNY GUY, laughing at his own jokes.  FUNNY GUYS 
are always laughing at their own jokes, loud enough so that the rats 
out in the alley behind the restaurant are thinking "Who's this 
asshole?"  The FUNNY GUY in question was impressing himself with his 
ability to imitate famous characters.  Some FUNNY GUYS have the 
ability to make their voices slightly lower or higher.  And they use 
this one FUNNY voice when they want to impersonate a Frenchman, a 
stereotypical homosexual, Donald Duck, Carl Sagan, whatever. 

I feel it is my sacred duty to humiliate FUNNY GUYS with FUNNY 
VOICES.  It's easy, just guess out loud what the voice was supposed 
to be. 

"Very FUNNY, guy. Adolph Hitler, right?"

"No," says the FUNNY GUY, slightly non-plussed.  "Marilyn Monroe."

"Oh."

But actually, I have to give this FUNNY GUY at my local Mexicali 
restaurant credit.  He did an excellent Arnold Schwarzenegger.  I 
mean that honestly, without the usual bitter sarcasm.  He sounded 
exactly like Arnold.  Bang on.

The only problem was that he was using his Arnold voice to say 
things like "Luke, I am your father.  Come to the Dark Side..."

And then he laughed.  Loud. Fortunately, I have a guaranteed cure 
for this behavior.  Read the next line, and I guarantee you'll never 
laugh at your own jokes again.

Bob Saget laughs at his own jokes.

And he's the only one who laughs at them at all.  Get the message?

There are a certain people who you want to get served first in a 
restaurant.  FUNNY GUYS are one of them.  While they're eating, they 
can't make "jokes."  I bought this guy five plates of nachos to shut 
him up.  His Yoda sounded like Michael Jackson.  When he announced 
that he was going to do Michael Jackson, and sounded like Bill 
Clinton, I interrupted him and then told him that his voice wasn't 
high enough for Michael Jackson.  I asked if perhaps castration with 
blunt garden shears would help.

"I was just trying to be friendly," he muttered, hurt.  Not as hurt 
though, as if I'd actually castrated him.

The best FUNNY GUYS with FUNNY VOICES are the ones who impersonate 
actors impersonating other people.  Particularly if they're eight-
year old Saturday Night Live bits.  Oh please, can we hear you doing 
Dana Carvey doing George Bush saying "Not gonna do it!  Not gonna 
gloat?"  How about Hans and Franz promising to "pump you up"?  You 
know that Saturday Night Live always milk a gag at least five years 
after it stops being funny, but WHEN YOU DO IT, SUDDENLY IT BECOMES 
FUCKING HILARIOUS ALL OVER AGAIN.  GOSH MR. FUNNY GUY, WHAT'S YOUR 
SECRET?

Can you do Mr. T?  How about ET?  Or wait, Richard Nixon?  How about 
anyone that hasn't been dead for 20 years?

The voices are really one of the most pathetic tricks in the FG's 
limited repertoire.  At least when he's in the elevator eyeing a 
case of beer someone is bringing up to their apartment, he has a 
chance to stumble on something legitimately funny.  Or at least 
raise a grin on your face when you discover that someone else has 
the courage to tell a FUNNY GUY that it is unlikely, though not 
impossible that a six pack will fit up his rectum.  But when he 
insists on bringing in the voices, he's just going over material 
that has already been gone over a million times before.  The FUNNY 
GUY'S need to shove an aspect of his personality down everyone's 
throat is ever more apparent.

I will say no more on FUNNY GUYS and their FUNNY VOICES.  Nothing I 
can say here can compare to the immortal words of Rowan Atkinson as 
Lord Black Adder:

"Oh, well, we are proud of our comic serving-wench voice, aren't we? 
Just because we can say 'zur' instead of `sur.'  Essential at all 
social gatherings, the tedious little turd who keeps putting on 
amusing voices. What else have you got in your outstandingly 
inventive repertoire, I wonder?  Ah, a brilliant drunk Glaswegian, 
no doubt.  An hilarious black man: `See you, Jimmy,' 'Where am dat 
warty-melon.'  Fabulous! I can't wait to see your side-splitting 
poof and your funny little croaky one who isn't anyone in 
particular, but is such a scream. And most of all, I like the one 
you do all the time, the fat-headed German chamberpot standing in 
front of me."

Incidentally, I do a wicked impersonation of Black Adder, but 
because I ain't a FUNNY GUY, I'll spare you.

---
Jason MacIsaac presses 4 on the keyboard to select a water arrow.

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3.  Kid's Corner: Bringing complicated issues down to a level even 
you can understand

Dear Kid's Corner,

We were reading the constitution in school and when we got to the 
part where it says "No bill of attainder or ex post facto Law shall 
be passed" the teacher didn't know what a bill of attainder was. 
None of the other teachers could figure it out. We even asked the 
principal and he didn't know either. Could you tell us what that 
means?
	Katie, Grade 5
	Assboink, Idaho


Well Katie, a bill of attainder is basically a law that says takes 
away someone's rights without giving them a trial. For example, a 
law that says, "John Smith is a bad person and all his property now 
belongs to the state" would be a bill of attainder because it takes 
away his property without going through the courts.

The reason bills of attainder are prohibited has something to do 
with a concept your teacher has probably mentioned a few times: the 
separation of powers. That means that there has to be a balance 
between the people who make the laws (the legislature) and the 
people who decide if laws have been broken (the courts). If the 
legislature were allowed to pass a bill of attainder that balance 
would be gone because the courts wouldn't get a chance to stop them 
from abusing their power.

What the legislature can do is make a law that says, "Being John 
Smith is a crime punishable by having one's property confiscated". 
That is not a bill of attainder because John's property can't be 
confiscated until a court finds him guilty of this "crime". Of 
course, if such a silly law were passed the court would probably 
decide that the law is unconstitutional and refuse to carry out the 
sentence. In this way the authors of the constitution ensured the 
courts could stop the legislature from abusing their power.

You probably think that the constitutional is pretty clear when it 
comes to bills of attainder and that's all there is to it, but it's 
not that simple. The constitution was written a long time ago, and 
while most people think it's full of good ideas, it's not really 
followed too closely. After all, just because someone writes down 
some rules doesn't mean everyone else has to follow them. Right, 
Katie?

One example of when people had to ignore the constitution is the 
internment of Japanese-Americans during the Second World War. At the 
time, Japan was America's enemy and people were worried about spies 
and traitors. President Roosevelt issued what's called an executive 
order - that's like a special law - to arrest and hold Japanese-
Americans in internment camps. Since people were effectively locked 
up without a trial, President Roosevelt's order was a bill of 
attainder. Just imagine the hassle if they had to give trials to 
over 100 000 people!

More recently a law was passed that prohibits crazy people and 
convicted felons from buying guns. In theory, since being crazy is 
not a crime, this law is a bill of attainder because it takes away 
someone's constitutional right to bear arms without giving them a 
trial. The interesting thing is that's it's also an ex post facto 
law (a law that punishes someone for something they did before the 
law was passed). If someone went to jail for a crime before this law 
was passed then they still can't buy a gun, even though that wasn't 
part of the original punishment the court ordered for them. It's 
like they got punished and then later the law changed and they got 
another punishment on top of it. Isn't the world a crazy place? In 
one law both parts of the "No bill of attainder or ex post facto Law 
shall be passed" clause are broken!

It just goes to show you can't always follow the rules, but I guess 
every kid in the world already knows that.

---

Konrad the Bold believes is teaching children to rationalize 
dishonesty and hypocrisy. He must be stopped. Email: konradthebold 
at hotpop.com.

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

4.  George W. Bush's "Evil Empire"
or Get your Assault Rifle Out of my Ass

By Reverend Martinez

As a devout and impartial Canadian, I (along with many others I'm 
sure) have some bones to pick with the unfolding of events in recent 
months. What remained for a long time semi-political thoughts about 
the war on terrorism kept to myself and only revealed to friends at 
parties where my inebriation muddled the message somewhat, have 
abruptly become up-front personal views that I would not hesitate to 
discuss at any moment.

The turning point from grassroots rambler to grassroots politico 
came one day at the office as I read the daily news from 
www.pulse24.com.. I need my news live and late breaking. One (or two 
- like it matters) US laser-guided bombs found their way to a squad 
of Canadian troops in Afghanistan killing 4 and injuring several 
during a training exercise. Now, I won't even begin to go into how 
stupid I think the whole military exercise in Afghanistan is. Okay I 
will.

Now, you've probably heard this time and time again, but it remains 
a fact that the war on 'terrorism' is flawed in at least two 
respects: one, in that 'terrorism' does not occupy a set 
geographical land mass with which to be readily bombable (the Onion 
has a great article on this
http://www.theonion.com/onion3734/us_vows_to_defeat_whoever.html) 
thus disabling the US from doing just about anything to it except to 
acknowledge that it will be around for a long long time, and two; in 
that the war is being waged on a very loose interpretation of 
'terrorism'. I point the learned readership to a talk by Noam 
Chomsky on the whole topic 
(http://www.zmag.org/GlobalWatch/chomskymit.htm) because he will be 
better able to give a background on that than I ever will. There is 
arguably a third flaw  - that war is stupid - but I am willing to 
discount this since, although stupid, war and violence as a whole is 
regrettably effective.

Not to cherrypick, but it seems that the United States has more 
proverbial fingers in more proverbial pies than it knows what to do 
with.

The whole issue of them funding the same group of Afghani fighters 
fighting against Russia at the time that turned around and blew up 
in their face is just one of many blunders their foreign policy has 
committed. This coupled with the fact they didn't provide evidence 
of Bin Laden's direct involvement before condemning him and, 
vicariously, the poverty-stricken nation he occupied at the time, 
and also oppose such apparently normal and common-sensical things 
like the Ottawa Convention on the Prohibition of Landmines as well 
as the International Criminal Court (Michael Byers, Globe and Mail, 
April 18th, 2002, p.A13 - web version of article can be found at
http://www.globeandmail.com/servlet/GIS.Servlets.HTMLTemplate?tf=tga
m/search/tgam/SearchFullStory.html&cf=tgam/search/tgam/SearchFullSto
ry.cfg&configFileLoc=tgam/config&encoded_keywords=northern+command&o
ption=&start_row=7&current_row=7&start_row_offset1=&num_rows=1&searc
h_results_start=1) doesn't exactly give them much credibility in the 
eyes of the world when they leap forth and proclaim they fight for 
freedom and won't take no crap from nobody.

I, for one, never really elected the United States to be my 
defender. In fact in the face of terrorism, all their military might 
is really good for is not to protect against attack, but rather to 
exact blind, vengeful acts on a populace which doesn't deserve 
anymore than what they've already been through. The same Globe 
article mentioned above talks about a proposed 'Northern Command' 
that would put our nonexistent forces under the command of General 
Yankee Tankenheimer. I really hope this doesn't come into effect, at 
least not without some serious conditions and/or exceptions, as 
there are far too many differences in our countries' respective 
foreign affairs and domestic public attitudes for one to literally 
be 'burdened' with the other: if the States want to shoot up the 
world, I wouldn't want Canada to have to tag along like an unwilling 
younger sibling. Likewise, I wouldn't want to be accused of 
hindering a superpower in its pursuit of 'Enduring Freedom'. 
Although I have been labelled thick-skinned, I don't think I'd be 
able to withstand sniper fire from unidentified gunmen sent to shut 
me up.

All I have left to say on the topic is that the US is getting too 
involved in everything and pissing too many people off. How long can 
Canada withstand being its top trade partner and not start to draw 
attention to itself?

---
The reverend lives an impoverished life in London, England and is 
currently looking for a cave to protect his white ass from doomsday. 
Hell - it's working for al-Qaeda.

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

5. Coffee Dive

By REVSCRJ

One of the perks of working in a coffee shop is that often you get 
to work with really beautiful women and develop friendships without 
the innate suspicion that all you are trying to do is fuck them.  
It's a good thing, that.  I never really go on the make 
(tangentially: whenever I do something really horrendous happens), 
so its really annoying to me when a woman blows me off simply 
because she is used to guys having ulterior motives at all times, 
and assume that I am the same.

I mean, I understand the necessity of the defence mechanism, as most 
men are simply fists and penises with legs to move them around, but 
not ALL of them.  Just because you are pretty doesn't mean I want to 
make love to you, because that is what it is to me: making love, 
solidifying the bonds of connection between two people, 
communicating in movement and sensation, the language of adoration 
and union.  So it's great to be able to work with women who wouldn't 
normally give me the time of day, unscrutinised.  I have made good 
friendships like this.  The other perk is, of course, all the free 
caffeine you can drink... mmmm....

So anyway, I'm working with this beautiful Sicilian woman, Andrea, 
when in walks this ogre of a man carrying a huge club/walking stick.  
He is shabbily dressed and sports a huge red beard.  He comes up to 
the register where I am waiting to serve.  Andrea has her back to 
the ordering area as she is grinding a bulk coffee order that has 
just been called in.

"Hey Hey, what can I get for ya?"

He still hasn't made eye-contact with me and is shifting back and 
forth stretching a little to look over the espresso machine with 
rather trollish obviousness at Andrea's ass.

"Hey, did you - uhm -- want something?"

He wrenches his fixed gaze over at me as if having to dislodge 
vertebrae to do so and says with this booze abuser gravel in his 
voice:

"NOT FROM YOU, I want her to help me."

I look over at Andrea who shoots me this I'll-help-him-if-you-want-
but-he-scares-me look on her face.  I turn back to the guy and say:

"Look man, she's busy. I'm here.  If you want something I'll get it, 
if not then please leave."

He makes some guttural noise, ignores me, and trys to get Andrea's 
attention.

"Allright man, get out."

Now he looks at me.

"WHAT?  ARE YOU TRYING TO KICK ME OUT OF HERE?"

This guy stands a full foot above me, and shifts to that puffed 
chest intimidation posture.  I'm not impressed, I mean, I figure 
that he is just fronting.

"Yeah, I'm asking you to leave, man."

He starts in to a string of profanity that is barely cohesive and 
gets red in the face like I'd just stolen his last meal or slept 
with his wife -- I mean really, he goes aggro: veins all popping, 
fat face shaking, body tense and pitched forward.  Okay, he's 
serious I see, but I try to stay calm and focused.

"Look man, I don't want to have to call the cops but I will if you 
don't go right now!  JUST GET OUT!"

He lifts up his club like a batter and pulls it back to swing, 
yells:

"YOU WANNA FIGHT ME YOU LITTLE PUNK?  HUH?  YOU WANNA FIGHT ME?"

"NO, I DON'T want to FUCKING fight you, I WANT you to GET THE FUCK 
OUT RIGHT
NOW!"

I stand there unflinching, just waiting for him to swing.  Andrea is 
already on her way to call the cops and there is this eternity (real 
time: 3 seconds) in which time is still.  He drops the club to his 
side and yells:

"I'LL BE WAITING FOR YOU MOTHERFUCKER, I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

He wasn't waiting for me later, primarily because the police came by 
later to drive me by and ID him -- apparently he had also been 
threatening some folks on a park bench.  The owner of the coffee 
shop did show me where he kept an axe, "Should anything like that 
happen again."  An 'axe' -- Jesus!

Andrea was impressed with how I had handled the situation, but I 
didn't use it for leverage to try and sleep with her, thus, we are 
friends to this day.

---
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.

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

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