Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume III, Issue 10, AD MCMXCVIII
Monday, May 26, 1998
ISSN 1482-0471
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Why don't you just go down to Staples. Buy a camera on credit or with
money, whatever you have. Use it for 13 days, bring it back and say it
didn't work out for you. Then get another one.  And keep doing it. Its
a no questions asked policy, you could probably do it three or four
times before they start getting suspicious. -- Morbus,
http://www.disobey.com

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"I think you should know I worry a lot. Like the Nobel sperm bank.
Something bothers me about the world's greatest geniuses sitting
around reading pornography and jerking off." - Jane Wagner

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1.  Editorial
2.  How to get rid of a body
3.  The Gospel According to Some Guy I Met on the Bus
4.  Emilio Juarez Dies

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This week's Golden Testicle award:

How to seriously fuck up your kids about Dinosaurs and God

http://www.parentcompany.com/great_dinosaur_mistake/tgdmintr.htm

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1. Editorial
  by Leandro

WELCOME TO ISSUE 10 of Capital of Nasty.  But before I go any further:

Suzanne Schumacher writes:

> vUNSUBSCRIBE ME!!  Do it manually, footfully, any way you want, just
> do it DAMN IT!  It's become the most fucking, boring waste of time
> imagineable!  And by the way,  Who the hell gives the least amount
> of fuck about Fabrizio, Maurizio, or
> how-the-hell-ever-he-called-himself on the Titanic, nobody!  That's
> why he was only there for five minutes!

Sometimes words are just not enough, but... fuck off anyway.


Ahhh.  That felt good. With that out of the way, I have an important
notice to make our readership aware.  A while back we published a
rewritten script of the Titanic.  Well, the article was copyrighted
and by another author, rather than the one we published.  "Clash of
the Titanic" was printed in Eric's weekly humor column of BYU's Daily
Universe newspaper on February 9th this year, and has been copied and
altered on the Internet since, and a lot of people have used the
chance to put their name on it. In case you did not know, doing such a
thing is very illegal.

Fortunately after explaining to Eric what had happened, he granted us
the rights to continue displaying the story on the web site (there
have of course been changes to reflect the original version).

Eric can be reached by email at ericdsnider@byu.edu or you can visit
the "Clash of the Titanic" web site at
http://www.burgoyne.com/pages/edsnider/writings/du26titanic.html.


ICQ - FOR THOSE of you that use ICQ, you will probably be shocked to
learn that it has been bought by AOL for a mere $300 million dollars
(part cash, part AOL stock).  AOL originally tried to compete with ICQ
with their Netscape/AOL combined messenger, which really sucked and
offered nothing compared to what ICQ offers us today.  ICQ has over 14
million users worldwide, the Mirabilis web-page marking as fourth as
most visited page through the entire world.  What does AOL plan to do
now?  Send us AOL each time we start the program up?  I certainly hope
not.

The best site to visit for information and to vote against the buyout
is probably this one: http://members.xoom.com/absolutez/

And yes, I am on ICQ: 889318.


THE LAST DINOSAUR - The numbers in victims that have read the whole
article keep rising.  Paul, Karma (who likes our stuff better than
what he has to read in English literature class), REVSCRJ and lastly
an Engineer named Joe Wilger have all written to inform us that they
too went through the story and suffered minimal trauma.  Frankly, I
found it a better read than, say, Joseph Konrad's "Heart of Darkness"...
oh the horror, the horror...


And lastly, special thanks to Chuck Collins who made us notice that
our clocks were one year behind.

Just one last request for those that actually managed to read this
far: WHAT would YOU like to see in CoN?  Anything particular we should
write about or be nasty about?  Send in your requests by replying to
this issue and we will do our best to sneer at you.. err I mean, see
what we can do.

Be good.

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I HAVE DIRECT PROOF OF MICROSOFT ANTI-COMPETITIVE PRACTICES!  CALL THE
US JUSTICE DEPARTMENT!  

"A young Editor find proof of the ultimate cover-up.  A grizzled
alcoholic lawyer has to protect him from the evil Microsoft
corporation.  Bill Gates hires death squads!"  --From "This Program
Has Performed an Illegal Operation and Will Be Shut Down."  The New
John Grisham novel

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2. How to get rid of a body

By Leandro

  It happens, once in a while, that you end up with a fresh dead body. 
Or corpse to be more precise.  And you'll notice that the very first
question that always comes mind is not "who is this guy?" or "how did
he die?" but more likely "how do I get rid of it?"  At first, it was
not an easy task; I would chainsaw the body, and scatter the pieces
around, use cement and ditch it in the lake, hoping the fishies would
like the free snack.  I have even tried acid, but it's bloody messy
and the washroom never looks the same.  And the myth that a starved
dog will eat a corpse?  Not true.  Plenty of leftovers, not including
the bones.

Yup, I've tried all the various brute force techniques, and I can
assure you, none work too well.  Even stashing the body in the trunk
of my car, driving several hours up North and ditch the body in a bush
in the forest.  And that's the problem: brute force attack in getting
rid of a body is exactly the wrong way of doing things.

Fortunately through years of experience, I have found several methods
to easily dispose of a body before it starts to smell and it upsets
the local authorities.  First of all there are a few things you have
to take in consideration when getting rid of a body: you don't want to
attract scavengers.  While this might seem as a good thing, since they
quickly chew up the fleshy part of the body, it attracts too much
attention.  Where did that fox get that arm?  I'm sure you wouldn't
let that go by. You don't want the body to be found for a long time. 
If the body is not found, well, then maybe, just maybe, the person is
not really dead, but just disappeared. Lastly, you don't want any
connection between you and the corpse.

In my case, I have learned to make best use of the resources I have
around me.  Take for example No Frills, a convenient grocery store
where many of my connections are located.  Need drugs?  Stolen U.S.
Army computer equipment?  Underground Israeli Army surplus? 
Cigarettes?  You can get it all here if you have the right connections
and you know what department to go to.  There is also this great sense
of brotherhood among the clerks and they will gladly help a fellow
brother in need of help.  Many times I have found myself parking in
the back, take out a big black garbage back with the boys.  We'd take
the body down to the "Grinder".  The meat guy loves me when I drop by
with one of my jobs, because he can lower the prices of his ground
beef by having a 50/50 mixture of ground human meat and ground beef,
since human, he once told me, "tastes more like chicken".

This method has worked many times.  It has the downside of requiring
so much work, especially in the preparation of the meat to ensure that
no clothes or jewels or other recognizable items are found by the
customers.

Of course there is a quick and easy way these days: the compactor.  It
only works well in the summer unfortunately.  First of all the body
must be put in several black plastic bags to ensure that they will not
break and reveal that the garbage is indeed a person.  During the
summer, a compactor usually starts to smell real bad, partly due
because of the rotten meat and vegetables thrown in there, with the
occasional chemical bottle, and part because... well, who knows who's
been throwing what in your local grocery store's compactor eh?

Alas, not everyone has access to these delightful conveniences.  Of
course, you could try the daring way.  Pack the body in a hefty bag
and leave it for the garbage men to pick up.  If you do try this,
don't leave it in front of your house.  Many good men I knew got
caught by the authorities for doing a stupid mistake like that.

A friend of mine told me of a neat trick, which is to leave the body
in an hospital.  The hard part is not bringing it down to the morgue. 
You see, if you are wearing the right clothing, with the hint of a
nametag or some sort of fake ID, and you act as if you were supposed
to be there, people will leave you alone.  So, the real challenge, and
too risky if you ask me, is bringing the body from the car, to the
hospital entrance.  Unless you have the hospital worked out well
(other entrances, someone from the inside that you can trust), I would
highly avoid this.

One of my friends has an easy way to get rid of his bodies.  He
dresses them in sky-diving gear, puts a parachute on their back and
pushes them off.  Many of those "accidents" you hear on the radio? 
Fear not, the victim was already dead.


There is a saying that "two is company, three is a crowd".  Many of my
suggestions are unfortunately involving quite a crowd.  You need
someone there to help you out.  Not all of us are lucky to have people
that are willing to take such a big risk to help you rid of a body. 
So, here are a few suggestions for those that need to or prefer,
working solo.

Niagara Falls: avoid it like the pest.  Even at 4 o'clock in the
morning, there is always someone there.  And even if you do throw the
body over with a pair of cement slippers, eventually the strength of
the current will snap the body at the knees and guess who'll flow back
up?  So avoid this method with the passion.  It's the first place the
coppers look anyway.

Take the body, place it on the rail tracks of a well traveled line. 
Near a bend if possible.  This will avoid the body from being spotted
virtually immediately and the chance that a slow moving freight train
could stop in time.  You want momentum to be your friend.  Of course,
you have to make it look like an accident.  Take out a freshly bought
bottle of some strong alcohol, pour some on the body, and put the
bottle next to the body, but far enough so it won't break.  People
will think the obvious, while the body will be nicely mauled making it
unrecognizable for a while.

If you don't need time, but just want to get rid of the body quickly
and in a clean way, steal a wheelchair.  The person that was on it
will most likely not chase after you.  After that, go see a movie. 
With the body.  On the wheelchair.  As you enter, talk to the body on
how good the movie will be.  Buy the tickets and wheel the body to see
Titanic (the movie is three hours and 15 minutes long, giving you
almost 4 hours to play with to create an alibi).  When the movie
starts and the lights are dimming, tell the body you are going to get
some popcorn and stuff.  Instead, leave.

There are of course many other ways of solving problems of this kind.
It all depends by your imagination and resources and how good your
alibi is.  Remember though, you should try to avoid at all costs to
end up with the terrible task of getting rid of a body.  If your job
is done well from the beginning, all you have to do, is go and collect
the other half of the cheque.

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3.  The Gospel According to Some Guy I Met on the Bus

By Jason MacIsaac

There's a great scene in Pulp Fiction (one of many), where Vincent
Vega is trying to convince Jules Winnfield that an incident that they
survived earlier in the day was not divine intervention--not a
miracle. Vincent defines a miracle as when "God makes the impossible
possible" and says more or less that this particular case doesn't
count as impossible.

On the surface, he's right.  If the history of firearms has taught us
anything, the results of  firing a gun at someone's head aren't nearly
as predictable as you might think.  There are cases of soldiers
charging nest full of blazing machine guns and not only living to brag
about it, but also walking away without a scratch.

Jules objects to this definition, saying that the actual possibility
or impossibility of what happens is immaterial.  What does matter is
that Jules "felt the touch of God.  God got involved."

He's absolutely right, and I have a similar story. 

On my last year of high school, I skipped an assembly to go do some
banking.  For one reason or another that I can't remember, I actually
wanted to go back after skipping.  To do so, I went off the beaten
path and cut through an uncleared field.  If you grew up in the
suburbs, you've seen a million of them.  They're fields that haven't
been built on yet, but will one day.  The grass is overgrown and
vegetation is at least up to your knees.  There's usually some really
ugly trees here and there, and discarded furniture and auto parts.

As I walked through this field, I stumbled on a mother cat and her
newborn kitten.

The kitten was so young it could hardly stand.  It was, as most babies
are, completely adorable.  I didn't touch it...the mother had already
retreated to a safe distance.  I looked at the kitten for a moment. 
Then I slowly went around the little hideaway the mother cat had made
under a discarded sofa and car door.  Later, I went back to make sure
the mother hadn't abandoned the kitten.  Fortunately, she hadn't.

What happened to me was not impossible.  Unlikely, sure, but stranger
things happen all the time and I don't give them a second thought. 
But this was different.  Because I felt something.  For a brief
second, it was if something said to me "Come this way.  I want to show
you something.  Look.  Don't touch, just watch.  And see."

For one instance, I was looking at a bigger picture.  Something larger
and greater than myself.  While I was skipping high school no less. 
Which, incidentally, was a Roman Catholic school.  Now, admittedly the
experience of having a gun fired at you and seeing a kitten are not
quite the same thing, but once again, it doesn't matter.  I felt the
touch.

That few seconds looking at a newborn cat taught me more about
religion than all my years in the Peel Roman Catholic School system. 
To recap, I had skipped school, the thing I was supposed to be at may
even have been some kind of mass.  I had a religious experience
anyway.  That day I was convinced that there is a kind of superior
intelligence, a guiding force in the universe, and it thinks a little
like me.

For anyone who knows me, there's a sobering thought.  Quite terrifying
actually.

But this isn't some huge ego trip for me, or a sales pitch for my
groovy new religion.  I would urge you to treat this whole thing with
skepticism.  Skepticism is great, it saves lives.    This incident
sums up all my religious beliefs.  For everyone else, it is
meaningless and that's okay.  For me, religion really is a personal
thing, which is why I treat other people who try to sell their
religion to me suspiciously.

I, like several other people I know, actually look forward to
answering my door and finding Jehovah's Witnesses smiling prozac-like
at me.  I'm part of a club of Recreational Jehovah's Witnesses
Baiters, actually.  One of my fellow members is a Roman Catholic
priest.  He likes to quiz them on their Bible knowledge.  Now, the
Bible has been revised more times than Webster's Dictionary.  You
don't study the Bible, you study versions of it.  The King James.  The
Guttenberg.  Some of them differ subtly, others drastically.  Some
contradict each other entirely.  The priest I knew liked to get them
wound up explaining contradictions.  Me, I don't know that much about
Bible history, so I just like to fuck with their heads.  When asked if
I was Protestant or Roman Catholic, I once told a "Joho" I was
Buddhist.

That really messed her up.  She had to look me up in her Jehovah's
Witnesses Giant Fun Colouring and Activity Book.  I scratched my upper
lip to hide my smirk as she read out "Buddhism is a monotheistic
Eastern religion started by Siddartha Guatama, also known as the
Buddha, or 'enlightened one'.  There are three main kinds of
Buddhism."  As she began to ask me which kind I was, I struggled to
remember what I had learned in World Religions.  

"There's Zen, the trendy one," I thought, "Theravadan, a more
traditional and fundamentalist religion (fundamental as Buddhism goes,
anyway), and one that begins with M, which is more moderate and is
probably the one I'd be if I was Buddhist."

I mumbled an M world.  She then read to the end of her little entry,
which said that overall Buddhists have a positive view of the future. 
She asked me if I had a positive view of the future.

I had just finished reading Brave New World by Aldous Huxley, but
before I could get very far into English Student mode with a literary
comparison of that and 1984 by George Orwell, I finally snapped her
patience (no mean feat), and she politely excused herself.

I could say that I have no problem with religions of any kind as most
people do, but that would be a lie.  I have a real problem with some
of them.  I hold the ones that want to sacrifice me to some god in a
really dim view.  I don't care really what other people believe--it's
their business and I'm happy to let the mind it alone.  It's the ones
that want to inflict their religion on other people that piss me off. 
And I'm not talking about the obvious stuff, like forcible conversion
or holy wars.    I'm talking about people who talk about it without
being asked.  Endlessly.  Or go door to door trying to convert people.
 "Convert" is actually the wrong word.  It's recruiting.

I suppose you could say I'm guilty of the same behavior by writing
about this, but I urge you to stop reading if you don't want to hear
this.  I'm also not trying to convert people.  In fact, what I'm
trying to say that my religion is no good for you, and if you see it,
run in the other direction.

You know the recruiting religions.  Jehovah's Witnesses.  B'hais (is
that how you spell it?). Scientology.  Scientology is a particularly
sore spot for me, since they not only actively recruit, they
selectively recruit.  They go after people with prestige and money. 
By the way, would you really want to join a religion that saved
Kirstie Alley's life...twice?  Gee, and thanks to Scientology, we now
have great films like Look Who's Talking and For Rich or For Poorer. 
And let us not forget the amazing TV show Victoria's Secret.  Gee,
thanks Scientology.  Thank you so fucking much.  

Once I was on the bus to work, and I bumped into a guy named George. 
George worked not far from me, and I noticed him a few times in the
ride.  George decided to introduce himself to me.  God, I hate
friendly people.  I like the surly ones.  More character.  And, they
don't ask you what George asked me...I'll get to that in a minute.

After some small chit chat about what we did for a living, George
asked me if I was a spiritual person.

Woo hoo, here we go.

"In my own way," I told him.  I hoped he would get the hint.  Of
course, he didn't. George invited me to his church.  Just to see it,
of course.  No pressure.  I told George I wasn't interested.  George
must have sensed that he had overstepped his bounds (we'd known each
other a total of five minutes), and said that when he was growing up
his parents tried to shove religion down his throat and he resented
it.  I guess he was trying to imply that he wasn't trying to shove
religion down my throat.  Meanwhile, I was envisioning Georgy getting
religion shoved into another bodily orifice all together.

It's suspicious.  Partly I think of that old Woody Allen bit about not
wanting to join a club that would have me for a member.  The Roman
Catholic Church didn't recruit me.  I was born into it.  People like
to complain that you don't really get a say in what religion you grow
up with, but the RC church didn't get much of say in how its new
member turned out, either.  They baptized me and let me take
Communion, and all along, they had no idea what they were getting into
until it was far too late.

Now, these turkeys, they're actively head-hunting me.  That's a dead
giveaway.  Any religion that would take me as a member has to be up to
no good. Part of being in this religion is to recruit your friends
(actually, a good way to lose your friends) and anyone else you can
get a hold of.   That's not right.

George Orwell once wrote this great essay on Patriotism versus
Nationalism.  Orwell defined patriotism as a love for one's own
country or culture, but a comfortable love.  An Orwell patriot sees no
need to go around forcing his or her way of life on someone else and
are not threatened by other approaches to life.  The door is always
open to those who want to participate or join, but no-one is over
pushed through.  Nationalists, on the other hand, see their group only
in terms of conflict, always against one or more conflicting forces.
Nationalists always seek to convert someone to their side, insult the
competition, bolster their own victories, in a never-ending struggle. 
Most Nationalists don't get the chance to force their opponents into
anything, but there's nothing a nationalist likes better than seeing
an opponent humiliated and beaten.

It's almost like an insecurity.  The religion is failing because its
numbers are down.  Or that Protestants are up two point on the
Exchange and we're down three.    Never mind the comfort or meaning it
gives to its members' lives.  

It can have a few ironic twists though.  I was told of one incident
from a friend out in Saskatoon about a room full of B'hais and
Jehovah's Witnesses trying to recruit each other.  Hopefully, each
found the other to be full of self-righteous, brainwashed bores and
were glad they weren't like that.

This article may have had a point at some time, but now that we're
near the end, I seem to have forgotten it.  That's all for the best
really.  People who make points about religions start inquests and
holy wars.  And the only thing worse than war is people singing "Give
Peace a Chance."  I wouldn't want to be responsible for that.  There's
always some idiot in every crowd who completely misinterprets what
someone says, and thinks I'm trying to take people away from other
religions to join my own.  Nah.  I'd make a lousy
Pope/Messiah/Avatar/Whatever.  

I do make a mean batch of fajitas, though.

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4. Emilio Juarez Dies

By Christopher Stolle (INDIANA POET)

left front row -
dense country breeze
gently rains down.

inadequate crowd -
naked in tears
for showing up
empty-handed.

someone speaks -
i have never met him,
but he knows names,
places, accomplishments.

stone-packed field -
i see two for my parents,
and my sister, fragile,
drops a tulip between them.

civilian tradition -
no honorable flag,
no guns, no bugle;
generic newspaper ashes.

it's unbelievable to think
poets die like everyone else.

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extension 438 "the extension that cares"

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

A bi-weekly electronic journal. Subscriptions available at no cost
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