Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume V, Issue 2, AD MM
Tuesday, February 8th, 2000
ISSN 1482-0471
-------------------------------------------

Computers Make Fantasia 2000 A Reality
The difference between creating the original Fantasia and the new 
Fantasia 2000 (1999) is that much of the new film is created on 
computers, according to Disney vice chairman Roy Disney. Appearing on 
CNN Wednesday, Disney, who produced the sequel, remarked: "Now we can 
add a lot more elements, of course, like if there are bubbles in the 
water, the computers can make all the bubbles that you want." All of 
which increases the esteem with which Disney regards the studio's 
original animators. "One of my more favorite scenes of all time was in 
Cinderella when she's scrubbing the floor and the soap bubbles were 
coming up, and the reflections of her in each bubble floating around, 
all hand-drawn."
-- http://www.imdb.com

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

No, [sales reps] don't suck.  They all seem to suffer from a horrible 
illness that prevents them from understanding the difference between 
fact and fiction. The fact being what can be done, the fiction being 
what a client is asking for.

Client - "Can you get Pigs to fly?"
Sales rep - "Oh yeah we can get pigs to fly"

Later-
Sales Rep to techies - "You guys can make pigs fly can't you?"
Techie - "Fuck no, are you crazy?  We build TCP/IP networks."
Sales Rep (with glaze forming in their eyes)- "Oh..."

Even later-
Sales Rep to client - "Yeah we can do it"

That's why you volunteer to go with them.  To make sure they come back 
with a gig you can actually successfully deliver on.  Not some 
Franken-project.
-- From someone who goes by the nickname of "Fuck you"

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

1.  Editorial
2.  The Car Alarm
3.  What's Worse Than Eating A Shit Sandwich?
4.  Does Someone Smell a Rat?
5.  Sex is not what everyone brags about.
-------------------------------------------

This week's Golden Testicle award:

Chinese Celebrity Look-Alikes

http://www.acupuncture.com/al/look.htm

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

1. Editorial
By CoN staff

I've been wondering lately if there are actual human beings that work 
at Internic, or if it's just one big computer that does a quick search 
on what the e-mail may be saying, vomits a piece of the Internic FUQ 
and signs every e-mail I get back with a different name.

I get my bill.  I go to the bank, wait in line 45 minutes, make the 
money order and mail it out via express, just to make sure it got 
delivered. Hey, call me paranoid, but I like having hard proof in my 
hands in case something goes wrong.

About a week and a half of this I get a Final Notice letter from 
Internic. Apparentely I haven't paid for my domain, despite the fact 
that I am holding the receipt of a money order I've made and of the 
express delivery.

Considering that I could drive in half a day to Internic's building, 
they should've got the letter about 2 days after I sent it out.  But 
let's be nice, and assume that they just processed the letter 
automatically without checking.  I e-mail internic and billing and 
patiently wait for a response on the query. None of which, not 
surprisingly, arrived.

So I check their online status for my webpage.  The webpage says that 
I paid everything off.  Cool.  No more worries.

A week after that, I get a letter from Internic's general manager 
(some mass produced piece of propaganda he probably never read, much 
less signed himself), on how Internic is upset (boo hoo) that I 
decided to end my services with them.

Okay.  So I write to Internic asking just what's going on.  Again, 
hostmaster and billing gets a query from me.  Do I get a response?  Of 
course not.  Unless you count those automated bot replies a response, 
which are as useful as a gnat's testicle hair.

So I finally give in, call their non-toll-free number (it's toll free 
only if you are calling, credit card in hand, to pay your bill), sit 
there and listen to 6 minutes worth of directions, annoucements and 
stupid menus which bring me nowhere, and when I finally found what I 
wanted, nobody was there to take my call.  This is me calling during 
business hours on the same time zone.

Another long e-mail was sent to Internic today.  Tomorrow morning, I'm 
sure, I'll find a letter confirming my cancellation of the domain.  So 
if you try to reply to this issue and the e-mail bounces back, you 
have Internic to thank.


IGNORE the HYPE writes in regards to the last issue of CoN (and my 
women's clothes fetish, the prick):

    Hey Leo,  

    Great issue. Needs a longer editorial though. Run out of people
    to take the piss out of? <g> 

    Glad/amazed to see that "My Favourite Films Of 1999" by Jeff
    Wright included the truely entertaining Run Lola Run. Great
    fucking film!  But I disagree with eXistenZ being on there. That
    film sucked. Cronenberg had to much control and it shows. He's
    great when working with others but when he has complete control
    he tends to over-cook. Just my 2 (non)cents worth. 

    Having spoke with you electronically and in person, I don't
    think you have any problems with English - it's the lisp and
    high heels I'd be worried about if I were you <g> 

    Regards, neil 


John Iadipaolo after reading Samantha Craggs' Article, decided to 
start smoking:

    Leandro & Co: 

    Great work on the new issue.  I'd gone so long without a helping
    of CoN that I was starting to wonder whether my email server
    wasn't working (again), but I was most relieved to find the
    latest issue in my box last week.  Samantha's article in
    particular impressed me.  I am not a smoker, nor do I feel
    particularly sorry for those individuals who know all of the
    risks associated with smoking, and choose to do so anyways.  I
    could rant on this subject for weeks, but to sum it up, I think
    smoking is a filthy habit; a waste of time, money and health. 

    However, Samantha- in the very least- made me stop and think for
    a moment.  In her article, she took three of my biggest gripes
    about smoking and produced compelling, intelligent arguments
    which I couldn't help but agree with- or at least entertain-
    despite my convictions.  Her arguments have their weaknesses,
    but if she can score points on a guy like me- who likens smoking
    to French-kissing the toilet bowl of an overcrowded prison
    restroom- she must be on to something. 

    Keep up the great work guys,
    John Iadipaolo 


And lastly, Josh Bell, despite having him burnt at the stake for his 
post-editorial editorials, writes a post-editorial editorial:

    Wow... I haven't read CoN in forever... it's been even longer
    (yes, longer than forever) since I've replied to an issue.  Oh
    well, here goes. 

>     The brain is a wonderful organ. It starts working the moment
>     you get up and does not stop until you get into the office. --
>     Robert Frost 

    I don't know why, but I always figured Frost was queer.  Just
    one of those things that occur to me from nowhere. 

>     1.  Editorial 

    Be careful talking about the millennium, or the 1900's, or any
    reference this year, last year, or next year, for that matter. 
    The public will surely find something to argue with you about if
    you mention the big M word.  I prefer to call the next few years
    the Approxillennium. 

>     2.  Smoking Can Kill You 

    A tree almost fell on my house last night because it was covered
    in ice. Luckily, it was only my yard and fence that was
    demolished... for now.  (by the way, I live in Alabama, USA for
    those of you who are wondering where the winter storm is) 

>     3.  My Favourite Films Of 1999 

    Smokey and The Bandit (1970's) is great.  It is the film of the
    Approxillennium.  Some of the movies on the list were great, but
    a lot of them just sucked out the ass. 

>     4.  New Year 

    I was stoned, baked, fried, simmered, toasted, boiled --
    whatever-- and drunk.  Looking off this guy's bluff watching for
    the city to explode. 

>     5.  Carpe fucken' diem. 

    Macacos me mordam. 

>     This week's Golden Testicle award: 
>
>     The streetlight is currently red. 
>
>     http://www.somethingawful.com/stoplight/ 

    I wish that guy would cut that tree down or whatever.  It's
    hindering my plans for world domination. 

    So there, I hope you enjoy my post-editorial editorial. 
    Hopefully you will receive it  looking like I'm hoping it does. 

    J. Bell
    ---
    J. Bell has found Jesus!  He was behind the sofa the whole time. 

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

2.   The Car Alarm
By Jason MacIsaac

The car alarm has been ringing for about 15 minutes now.  

I'm living in an apartment in one of the largest and most populated 
cities in Canada, wearing the clothes I wear to bed.  I'll spare you 
the gory details.  Needless to say, it's the middle of January, and 
although it is way too warm for this time of year, I`m not dressed to 
go outside.

The car alarm has been ringing for about 15 minutes now while I write 
this.  Time enough for me to save my work, get dressed, go downstairs, 
locate the car with the raging alarm, smash its windows and yank out 
the radio, check my hair in one of the sideview mirrors, and then walk 
back up to my apartment.

You know, somehow I don't think that the Metro Toronto Car Alarm 
Taskforce will swoop down on me and drag away me or anyone else off in 
cuffs.  Could you imagine if the police were told to respond to car 
alarms?  They'd say "Yep, sure.  We'll do that right after we crack 
down on those hardened criminals that bring 9 items to 8 items or less 
counters." 

Car alarms are marvellous things, if you need something to annoy the 
neighbours.  If your intention is to prevent crime it's somewhat less 
effective.  I understand that most crimes against cars don't involve 
the actual theft of the vehicle, but the smashing and grabbing of 
anything valuable inside.  This takes about 1.5 seconds, which is kind 
of lean if you want someone to get there on time to do anything about 
the crime.   I imagine any nifty stickers that proclaim the car alarm 
manufacturer might deter the less courageous thieves... but stickers 
cost substantially less than car alarms and they don't wake the 
neighbours at 4 am.  And I'm sure stickers or dumb alarms don't bother 
the more experienced smash and grabbers.

The car alarm is still going as I write this.

Now it occurs to me that car alarms serve other purposes too.  They 
also can immediately alert the owners to the fact that an adult cat 
has jumped on the hood of a car, or a careless skateboarder has bumped 
into it.  I'm willing to bet than in at least 96% of the cases in 
which a car alarm goes off, it's not because the window has been 
broken and there's a dark gap in the dash with wires hanging out of it 
where the radio used to be.  I remember once closing my own car door 
hard enough to set off the alarm of the car parked right next to me.  
And it's not as if I slammed the door.  I've seen a marching band 
practising in parking lots, and the bass drum alone has sent a car 
detector wailing.  

That alarm's still going.  It's one of those alarms that has a variety 
of different noises for maximum annoyance.  Wheeoowheeoowheeoowheeoo-
oooh ooohh oooh ooh-pheow pheow pheow pheow--whoooop whooop whooop 
whooop-orina orina orina... repeat over and over again, until the 
doofus who owns it comes down. 

Maybe it's because I haven't driven in years and never owned a car, 
but I don't understand some car owners.  A car isn't a cheap 
investment I understand the need to protect it, but I don't understand 
why too many drivers treat their cars better than their wives.  Or 
believe that buying something expensive has somehow given them control 
over nature or the ability to claim land in the name of their vehicle, 
like some conquistador jabbing a flag into the ground and declaring "I 
claim this land in the name of Spain" while the natives look on and 
wonder who this arsehole is.

I was an autoshow with some friends once.  My admiration of cars is 
purely aesthetic.  Some of them have neat shapes and colours, but then 
again, so do birds, and I can't name all the families of birds.  So 
while they were talking horsepower and V whatever engines and strokes, 
I was more interested in the models that had been paid to look pretty 
and have very little clothing on while standing next to a car.  

One thing relating to cars actually did catch my attention though.  It 
was a demonstration of a car alarm, in fact.  Not like the one I can 
still hear.  This one had some sort of sensor that could detect people 
close to it.  And it spoke!  It warned people that they were too close 
to the car, and if they stayed long enough, it would warn them that it 
would sound an alarm.  

Pretty neat toy actually.  And it proves my point about the 
conquistador.  So what if I am standing close to your car?  What crime 
have I committed, exactly?  You've bought an expensive car and an 
obnoxious alarm system, and that gives you the right to determine 
where I can stand?  Tell you what: can you look deep within your heart 
and find it within your soul to stroke it, suck it, then shove it as 
far and as fast it will go?  Can you do that for me?  Unless I'm 
masturbating in front of your car, which is something a person who 
would buy this kind of alarm would more likely do, I am not doing 
anything illegal. 

Hm... doofus must have finally staggered downstairs. The alarm is 
finally off.

Let's not even talk about the mentality that "everybody on the road is 
an idiot but me" that seems to go hand in hand with driving.  Even I 
thought that when I was driving.  But I did remember the basic natural 
laws that govern our environment.  I remembered, for example, that 
there are seasons, including one called "Winter."  For drivers and 
those unfamiliar with life in the northern climes, we get this 
interesting substance dropping from the sky we call "snow."  It's 
white, it's cold, it's slippery, and if you're a man, you can write 
your name in it if there's enough it on the ground.  You see, one 
"snow-flake" by itself tiny and short lived, not significant.  They 
tend to travel in packs however, and when there's enough of it on the 
ground, roads become slippery, and it can even reduce your visibility 
if there's still snow in the air.  

It has snowed in this country every winter for quite some time.  
Strangely, every year drivers seem surprised that it comes back.  
"Stupid weather cycles, how dare it snow?" they rave.  "Don't you know 
that I've bought an expensive vehicle with an alarm system that talks 
to you, in fact it's a far better conversationalist than I am?"  As 
Mark Twain said, everybody talks about the weather, but nobody ever 
does anything about it.

Presumably the now silent car outside my building is surrounded by the 
city's finest detectives who are trying to determine what set off the 
alarm.  Maybe they found the culprit and he's sitting in a cruiser 
with metal bracelets behind his back.  There might also be a walrus 
down there explaining the origins of the Anglican church to a curious 
penguin who's writing a term paper on the subject.  

Oh fuck, the alarm just went off again.

---
Jason MacIsaac needs a ride home.

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

3. What's Worse Than Eating A Shit Sandwich?
by Jeff Wright

Scream 3.	

---
Jeff wants to see Episode 1 again, to get the taste of Scream 3 out 
from his mouth.

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

4.   Does Someone Smell a Rat?
By Mark Driver

Random violence is not cool. Arbitrary destruction and aimless 
vandalism suck, and are sad comments on one's inability to 
intelligently channel feelings of anger and aggression. I say this not 
because of some sort of Donnie and Marie family values seminar I 
recently attended, nor do I take the high moral ground of `wrong for 
wrong's sake'. I've just been the recipient of enough of this junk to 
realize that breaking other people's stuff isn't anarchy or chaos, 
it's petty bullshit that makes life tougher for other people, people 
you haven't even taken the time to get to hate yet. Far from promoting 
a sense of anger against The Man, pointless destruction does little 
more than transform everyone around you into a grumpy asshole who 
thinks that there should be even more cops on the street. 

This being said, cleverly targeted destruction is not something I'm 
all together opposed to. I can't say I agree with sneak attacks on 
people. Bombs are boring, shootings are unoriginal, and hiding in the 
bushes, putting a pillowcase over someone's head, and beating them 
with the claw-end of a hammer is downright cowardly. But if the 
creative individual can target the property and deal with the enemy on 
a psychological level, plenty of damage can still be done and no one 
has to go to the hospital. Prison time, which I highly recommend be 
avoided whenever possible, is also a lot less of a probability when 
you go after property. Some might call this revenge, I call it 
justice. I call it standing up for yourself as a human being. I also 
call it fun. 

Now, when I say enemy, I don't mean someone who just pisses you off. 
The enemy must have fucked you over pretty harshly, or else you're 
just an unhappy person being petty and stupid. You don't firebomb the 
guy with 25 items, using coupons for things he didn't buy, paying with 
a credit card and getting money back in the cash only - 10 items or 
less line, even though he desperately deserves it.. You don't hire a 
pack of thugs to dismember the person you had a one night stand with 
that suddenly won't return your calls; that's your own fault for 
hooking up with someone lame. You don't destroy a person defending 
themselves against an attack you started, and you don't send death 
threats to nice Internet writers whom you happen to disagree with from 
time to time. Words don't hurt, so don't let them. You must be 
innocently wronged in a serious way to embark down the path of 
revenge. Your enemy must be clear, your attack must be personal, your 
will strong, and your gaze unflinching. And you should make sure 
everyone else gets a good laugh out of it in the process. 

Back during a summer of my high school years, I worked as a lifeguard 
at a city pool in New Orleans. Now, if you enjoy sitting under the 
burning sun in 100+ temperatures, blowing a rusty whistle at little 
kids to stop them from drowning each other and keeping the teenagers 
from drinking beer in the bathrooms while their parents give you 
alternating lectures on how you're being too mean, too wimpy, and how 
you look like a slob, I would suggest taking up a career in 
lifeguarding. It combines the greatest elements of being a janitor, a 
chemical worker, a plumber, and a traffic cop. 11 hour days at 5 bucks 
per hour, it just can't be beat. The only good thing that can possibly 
happen is a thunderstorm, in which case no one's allowed to swim and 
you get to read until it blows over, but even then you have three 
dozen surly 10-year-olds nagging you to let them back in the water. Oh 
yeah, and if anyone drowns you can get sued. Great job. 

Around this same time, a friend of mine named Pancho was having 
problems with a bonehead named Keva. Keva was about 6 foot 3, a son of 
rich parents, stupid as a board, and in love with Pancho's girlfriend. 
Keva would show up drunk at her house at 3 in the morning and try to 
break in to see her. He followed her everywhere, and always tried to 
start shit when Pancho was around. Pancho was pretty stocky, but he 
was at least a foot shorter that his aggressor and had never been in a 
fight in his life, so he just put up with it and tried to avoid Keva 
whenever possible (not too easy when we'd all show up at the same punk 
shows). As the incidents escalated, Keva actually tried to punch 
Pancho through the open driver side window of a moving car. Things got 
out of hand once and for all when Keva ended up punching Pancho's 
girlfriend in the stomach after she denied him another date. Pancho 
and I agreed, something must be done. 

Not only was Keva was pretty big himself, he had tons of big friends 
who had nothing going for them other than the fact they were big, a 
condition that usually manifests itself in belligerence, nastiness, 
and physical violence to everyone else. A frontal attack was out of 
the question. We needed a weak link in the chain of power. Property. 
Something that was beloved by the enemy, almost an extension of the 
enemy himself. We put our heads together. A bit of reconnaissance 
yielded a target, and synchronized evil smiles spread across our 
faces: Keva's pride and joy; his brand new BMW 850I. It sat in his 
parents driveway every night, begging for a little attention. It was 
up to us to provide that much needed affection. But with so many 
options, what to do? 

Two days later, as I stumbled into another day work and opened the 
fence, I saw that the generous and all-giving Lord provided me with 
what I needed floating belly up in the pool: 3 and a half pounds of 
pure, drowned, Louisiana water rat. I fell to my knees and gave 
thanks, stood back up, got the skimming net, scooped and dumped the 
dead rodent into an empty airtight chlorine bucket. I sealed the 
bucket and put it in the back of the guard house to let it `ripen'. 
The guard house, more of a tar paper shack filled with pumps for the 
pool, always reached a good temperature of 140 degrees by noon, 
letting the rat slowly steep in it's own juices. After a day, the 
guard house started stinking, so I put the pail in 3 plastic garbage 
bags. That lasted for another day before it started stinking. I put it 
in a bigger plastic airtight pail, and 4 more garbage bags. It still 
stunk up the guard house, so I hid the bucket in the woods behind the 
pool, and forgot about it for a week. When I saw Pancho again, he 
asked about our plan. "Pancho, Keva's about to get another rat for a 
friend". 

We waited until about 2 in the morning, taking the bagged and bucketed 
rat to a shopping center near Keva's house. Pancho's girlfriend had 
conned this girl from the city to drive out and help us so no one 
would recognize the car. I took off the first bags and opened the 
largest pail. The smell made me gag, it was like rotten garbage boiled 
in bloody garlic and horseshit. I opened the second layer of bags. The 
smell got worse. I borrowed some perfume from one of the girls to 
spray on the collar of my shirt and pulled it up over my nose (to this 
day, whenever I smell `Paris' I think -'dead rat'). I finally got to 
the main pail. The smell was unbearable. I left the main pail shut and 
put it in the trunk of the girl's car. Pancho and I ducked down in the 
back seat and we pulled out of the shopping center. 

We pulled up across the street from Keva's house, a white pillared 
mini-mansion in an upscale neighborhood. His dad was a big man at one 
of the gas companies, and his mom sat at home and had ugly babies in-
between tirades against the minorities, the environmentalists, and the 
decline of American values (I suppose she was too busy preaching 
values to raise a son with them). Keva's car was parked in the 
driveway with the, gasp, sun roof partially open. I said another quiet 
prayer of thanks, got out of the girl's car, ran around to the trunk, 
and grabbed the bucket. Pancho ran into the street to serve as 
lookout. 

I sprinted over to the car with the sloshing bucket in my hand. I 
pulled open the lid and looked inside. The rat was hairless and 
bloated, stewing in about 3 inches of rat water. I grabbed the bucket 
by the bottom and turned it upside down, dumping its entire contents 
through the sunroof onto the beige leather interior of the Beamer. As 
I pulled the pail back, some rat water ran down my arm. I started 
gagging and threw up all over the outside of the car, no small mess 
considering how many bean burritos I had choked down at Taco Bell 
previous to the mission. I grabbed the lid and put it back on the 
bucket as I ran back to the getaway car. The girls had smartly turned 
the vehicle around to speed our escape. Pancho was already back 
inside. I threw the bucket back in the trunk, jumped into the car, and 
we took off. Everything went without a hitch, the getaway was clean. 
I, unfortunately, wasn't very clean, so we all drove to the pool and 
went skinny dipping to celebrate. 

So what did this act of destruction solve? Not much. Keva freaked out. 
He and his friends started an inquisition to find out who did the 
deed, but never got more than a laugh from the people he tried to 
interrogate. The car was totally ruined. From what I heard, they sold 
it for cheap and got some insurance money. Keva eventually gave up on 
Pancho's girlfriend and began stalking another girl who ended up ODing 
on speedballs while hiding out from him. I haven't talked to him 
since, but my friends back home said that the girl's death fucked with 
him enough to shock him out of whatever asshole coma he had been in 
for all those years. Although we were prime suspects for the rat 
incident, it was never proven. The four of us never told anyone what 
happened. That's another thing about revenge, don't brag about it, or 
if you do, at least until the statute of limitations runs out. Then 
put it up on the Internet for thousands to see. Give everyone a good 
laugh; that's the best revenge of all.

---
Stolen with permission from http://www.blindwino.com
"World's a party horse and it needs some fucking" - Mark Driver

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

5.  SEX IS NOT WHAT EVERYONE BRAGS ABOUT
or Children, don't Believe the Porn Industry
By Luke de Sade

Before some of you start a lynch mob and come to burn me at the stake, 
hear me out first. I'm one of those people that can either have sex or 
don't have sex. I don't care about sex as most people do, and because 
of this, I get all sort of comments by my friends. And by the way, I 
lost my virginity when I was 15 years old (I'm 23 at the moment.)

I remember one time that I was at my best friend's house drinking some 
beers because it was his birthday. We were there up until 4 a.m. in 
the morning. At that time, my friend had a "great" idea. We should go 
to a whorehouse and fuck some bitches. I was way past drunk at that 
time, and I said "sure, let's go". So off we went, drunk as hell, and 
(my two friends who were with me) horny as dogs.

I had no money, as usual, so my friend decided to pay me a hooker. To 
the place we went, a hooker is 10 bucks for 15 minutes, so my friend 
gives me 20 bucks to "enjoy" her for half an hour. Another thing you 
should know about me, I'm very afraid of Venereal Diseases, or any 
other diseases at that, and I also find any kind of woman's internal 
fluids (sweat, vaginal fluids, blood, etc.) completely gross (hey, I 
gross out quickly). So, my friend gave me 20 bucks for a hooker and he 
even chose one for me.

The hooker and myself walked to a room, and when she closed the door 
and started to undress, told her my plan. I would give her 10 bucks, 
because I refused to have sex with her, and she would keep her mouth 
shut about this to my friend (seems like my friend was a regular). I 
would keep the other 10 bucks for myself. She agreed to the plan, and 
we stayed 15 minutes talking shit in bed.

My friend never knew about it, and I got to keep 10 bucks of his.

I tell you all these because what I'm about to tell you guys will 
freak some people out. Last month I met this chick over the internet. 
She was my age and she was really smart. We became good (internet) 
friends in two days, and then she invited me out. We went out to eat 
and then a movie.

Days later, she told me I was very handsome (as if I didn't knew that 
already) and that she was having a hard time trying to control her 
impulses of jumping on top of me then. I just laughed at all this, 
because to tell you the truth, she was none too good looking. In fact, 
she was downright ugly, but had a good body.

Then, one day, I was commenting this with some friends and they told 
me things like "go for it", "fuck her silly", and shit like that. I 
was like "man, I don't want to," and they began calling me a sissy, 
fag, etc. You know peer pressure sometimes work, so I decided to give 
her a shot.

Was that the worst most idiotic decision I have ever taken! God 
dammit! I regret ever doing that with her! I was completely uninspired 
with her and I was not even excited. She, on the other hand, was 
moaning like a raving lunatic. We were at it for like two hours, and 
nothing. I didn't even came. Then, I suddenly stopped, completely 
bored, and told her I was going home (we were at her house) and since 
I didn't have any money for a cab, she should give me a lift. Well, 
her car didn't start, so she gave me 25 cents to get a bus to go home. 
For God's sake! 25 fucking cents to get a fucking bus at fucking 1:30 
a.m.! There were no buses at that time, so I had to walk home (I live 
like 30 minutes away from her).

When I was walking, I smelled myself. I reeked of her and her juices! 
That's when I started running. I wanted so bad to get a shower and 
clean myself off her filth, but I was so far away from home...

Then something hit me. I had a reeking-of-her underwear and one used 
condom on my pocket (with all the rush about me wanting to go home, I 
threw the condom in my pocket). I found a dark corner and took off my 
pants and underwear and then put my pants back on. With my underwear, 
I took the condom out of my pocket and folded the underwear around the 
condom. I was so grossed that as I passed a house, I threw the 
underwear on their front door (I still imagine the looks of the person 
that received that little "package" in the morning and the chaos that 
it would bring).

I finally made it home and I stripped off all my clothing and threw 
them in the trash (honest to God), then I hit the showers and I was 
there for about 45 minutes cleaning myself.

That's been the single most aweful sex related experience I've had, 
and I don't want it to repeat itself.

I know some of you will probably think I'm a closet gay, or whatever 
the name is, but really, I'm not. I like women. I like romance. I'm a 
romantic guy. I've never had a sexual thought about men before, and 
I've never been attracted to any men. Call me sick or whatever you 
want, but that experience grossed me out. She still calls me everyday 
to see when we can "see" each other, but I don't want to. If I never 
see her again, it will be too soon.

---
Luke de Sade is contemplating what to do with the $10 he saved.

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

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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
