Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume IV, Issue 13, AD MCMXCIX
Monday, September 13, 1999
ISSN 1482-0471
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I think "extortion" is one of the words in the Italian constitution.

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"The Web brings people together because no matter what kind of a 
twisted sexual mutant you happen to be, you've got millions of pals 
out there. Type in 'Find people that have sex with goats that are on 
fire' and the computer will say, 'Specify type of goat.'" -- Rich 
Jeni

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1.  Editorial
2.  ...and other stories that should be true.
3.  Grimm Trickbabies: The Films of Matthew Bright
4.  CyberTalk
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This week's Golden Testicle awards:

IRC virgins, for sale.

http://urbanlegends.about.com/gi/dynamic/offsite.htm?site=http://www
.whattheheck.com/ebay/iconclast.html

Submitted by Nicci.
-------------------------------------------

1. Editorial
By CoN staff

Despite the fact that I am far from happy with this issue, 
especially due to my incredible inability to write anything that 
satisfies my picky requirements, I have to give in to the many 
complaints that I have received on where this issue was.  So here it 
is.

Everyone's life has shifted into school mode once again.  Well, not 
for me, since I've been in school since January, and the only change 
I've seen is that now I have two placements and one class, giving me 
a total of half a day off on Saturday to do things like change my 
underwear or brush my hair.

One of my placements has been a learning experience.  Sent out to do 
work on ADSLs, and working on esoteric operating systems that I 
don't understand the workings of, while having preoccupied CEOs ask 
me questions that I answer in babble-tech just to confuse them even 
more.

Jeff and I have been attending regular Toronto Movie Festival films, 
without too much fuss (except of course the fact that Jeff could not 
see Dogma, the one movie that he desperately wanted to see).  Other 
than that, Benny Hinn was also in Toronto, bringing an incredible 
amount of handicaps, mutants and various other freaks to town from 
just about anywhere, to witness his "miracle cures" on stage.

The other day I got on the streetcar, after coming back from a 
client, and an old Greek lady started hitting me with her purse.  It 
was so logic defying that it took a while to sink in the fact that I 
was getting beaten by an 80 years old lady yelling obscenities in 
Greek.  I'm not sure, to this day, what I have done, other than 
climbing on board.

Among placement, we have but one class, on Monday mornings.  It's 
called "Professional Practices", though I am not sure exactly what 
the purpose of this class is all about.  So far we have been told 
about Brain-Gym(TM) and how we should be drinking lots of water.  
Long discussions on our bodily fluids.  She told us how the Church 
of Scientology, to which we later discovered, she belongs, is being 
persecuted by the German government.  There are only 3 months and a 
half of this silly drivel, and hopefully I will survive, get some 
rest, and be able to bring CoN back to you in its original glory and 
distribution time.


William, from the organization of the "Purple rabbit runners" writes 
in regards to the usual hidden comments on CoN issue 12:

> Just a short note.  Squirrels chasing nuts is mentioned twice, but 
I
> have never in my life seen a squirrel chase a nut.  
>
> Birds fly was mentioned with one of them, but that too I have 
never
> seen.  But that may just be because they travel as cargo, and I
> get a seat in the pressurised cargo bin known as 'coach' when I 
fly.

I'll leave you with an entertaining e-mail from David Dylan, who 
goes to show that school in North America just sucks, and that those 
wacky Belgians(*) have it all figured out.

Hi there,

Your school-bashing and talk of famous femminists leads me to share 
a little anecdote.
I'm the type that used to get "strongly advised to find another 
school". In the .nl they can't just outright kick you out unless you 
killed someone or something, but if they tell you, you won't promote 
to the next year unless you go to another school, what's there to 
do? And I was an angel, I never did anything wrong! 
Granted, I once Molotov-ed the school yard in a protest against new 
cuts on student income. But that was in part also defending the 
teacher's income. OK, I handed out "go home - school makes you 
stupid!" flyers printed by a local Anarchist group, but that just 
shows healthy interest in society, right?  Maybe it's the time we 
burned our draft-cards and accidentally set a bush on fire? Or the 
time we glued the plug of the glue-gun into the wall-socket? If the 
teacher hand't yanked it so hard, the entire socket wouldn't have 
come loose, and he would never have fallen through that glass door! 
Ofcourse my English teacher was pissed at me for glueing his 
orthopaedic ergonomic ten-speed chair to the ceiling, but hey what's 
a little fun inbetween classes, eh? And don't think I was doing it 
alone. In fact, I was the "nerd", the stuff the rest was up to was 
even worse, albeit more stupid and less thought-out. I usually 
didn't get caught. Perhaps that ticked them off most? Anyway, after 
some adventuring sans-diploma, I decided I needed one after all. By 
then I was old enough to be accused of being an "adult".
I went to a school for adults, named after a famous local femminist. 
Joke Smit. (Not a joke name, by the way) This school showed just 
about every quality other schools lacked. Art class meant painting 
nudes, and gettting decent instruction by real artists! Not just 
some frustrated crafts-teacher handing you some red green and blue 
finger-paint. They were on the forefront of the computer revolution, 
with internet-connected computers lining the hallways, for all 
students to use. In English class we read Baldwin and Joyce, not the 
silly "easy reader" books I still have nightmares about. In Dutch 
class we read a book, picked a character other than the narrator and 
rewrote a chapter of the book from this person's perspective. Fun to 
do, and it really teaches you something. 

The fondest memories however I have of the Biology teacher. This guy 
only taught as means of supporting himself inbetween discovery-
missions to the Amazon. And he would share his finds with us first. 
Famous were his slide-shows. After a few pictures of snakes and such 
he would suddenly put on a slide of a tiny fish in 
a puddle of blood in the palm of someone's hand. Then he would 
explain that this fish feeds on blood of bigger fish, which he gets 
by attaching himself in the gills. He finds the gills (blind as a 
bat this fish) by swimming up any strong little stream. So, warns 
the teacher, DO NOT URINATE IN THE WATER! Ofcourse someone would ask 
what happens if you do anyway, and the teacher would reply, matter-
of-factly.."machete time!".
Demonstrating in an air-guitarrish way how one would cut out the 
fish from some poor soul's genitals. After enjoying our silence for 
a moment he would add, "this one we found in a big fish ofcourse". 

Yup, it was a fun little school.
I got my diploma with high grades, and as a parting gift, glued a 
condom-shaped hat on the statue of Joke Smit.

Greetz.
DD.

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2. Sexually Transmitted Poison Ivy, Uncle Dale's Travelling 
Outhouse, and Other Stories That Should Be True

By Jason MacIsaac

If you study literature, painting, music, or any other kind of art, 
sooner or later you will hear phrases like "Art for Art's sake," and 
the like.  Good art, that is, a fascinating sculpture, a portrait, 
even a movie or a good TV episode does not necessary have to have 
anything to do with truth or even meaning.  

In fact, some would argue that truth and meaning actually sabotage 
good art.  How many times have you seen or read something that would 
be quite enjoyable, if not for the fact that every three second it 
flashed extremely enlightening messages such as "Drugs are bad," 
"War isn't fun" and "Racism is wrong"?  Nobody enjoys being preached 
to, especially if they already happened to be converted.  

If you're in the habit of creating things for the sole purpose of 
delivering a message, here's a helpful tip that should cure you.  
The chances are that anyone who would really appreciate your stuff 
already is receptive to your message, and doesn't need to hear it.  
Those who don't appreciate your stuff won't change their minds upon 
hearing your message.  Picture a member of the Klu Klux Klan reading 
a short story with the central message that "Racism is wrong."  He 
will not slap his head, say "Bugger me, that's right!" strip off the 
pointy white hat, and donate 15% of his earnings to the National 
Association for the Advancement of Coloured Persons.

Playright and novelist Oscar Wilde went even further with the idea 
of Art for Art's sake.  In his essay "The Decay of Lying" he went on 
to claim that the artist should be "in the habit of telling 
beautiful lies."  I have to agree with him there, because I'm 
harbouring a few stories that are so good that they must told.  I 
have been told them as though they were truth, but in fact I don't 
have a shred of proof that they happened, but dammit, they're 
stories (like the time I was gang-raped by the Toronto Raptors 
cheerleading squad) that are so good, they *should* be true dammit!

These stories have names today such as "Urban Myths" or "Urban 
Legends".  They take place in a more modern setting than say, 
Aesop's Fables, and serve to instil a sense of fear, paranoia, like 
a ghost tale around the campfire, or humour and gruesome justice, 
like a joke around the water cooler. 

Though they sound recent, most are quite old.  It's just as the 
years go and technology improves, the stories change.  For example, 
there's the classic one of the mysterious hitchhiker, an enigmatic 
woman who asks a kindly driver to take her home--which turns out to 
be a cemetery.  Such stories began with a horse and carriage driver 
taking the woman home until the arrivals of cars.  The story was 
then adopted to include the new mode of transportation.  The stories 
change with the times, and the location, but the essential 
ingredients (the supernatural resolution) remains the same.

Some of them are probably based on one or more factual occurrences, 
shaken and stirred over the years so that they no longer resemble 
their original source.  People sharing them, unaware that they are 
Urban Myths, often run into someone who says "That's funny, the 
exact same thing happened in my town."  That's when the ugly reality 
of urban mythology sets in.

My stories sound a lot like urban myths, and I fully expect to one 
day find someone who also had an Uncle with a Traveling Outhouse.  
But whether these are true is not important.  They just should be 
true, aesthetically speaking.  They're good stories, and can be 
repeated fairly easily.  

Here's the first one.  This one was told to me by a friend (always 
the "friend" or third party).  I can't remember if he said he 
actually knew the guy it happened too, but it doesn't matter.  This 
story "could" happen, it's unusual yet plausible, with a twist that 
makes a good Urban myth.  And it punishes that favourite target of 
sexual carelessness (or sexual imagination.  You get the feeling 
that people who create or perpetuate these stories just ain't 
gettin' any).

I will tell this story from the perspective of the person who told 
it me.  Without further ado:

SEXUALLY TRANSMITTED POISON IVY
  
When I was in the militia, we went to CFB Borden for basic training.  
You really live like an animal during Basic; they hardly let you get 
any sleep, make you crawl through swamps and bush, and sometimes you 
live in your uniform for days without a break.

Wearing the same pants for days in the hot summer sun, the men were 
in danger of getting what's called "Crotch Rot," the male equivalent 
of a yeast infection.  It's caused by the same sort of thing--sweat 
trapped close to the genitals, the moisture causing a painful rash.  
To combat this, they would tell men to walk with their zippers down 
to allow the air to circulate.

A friend of mine was doing this, walking through the bush and doing 
his exercises while "flying low."  Unfortunately, CFB Borden is 
known for the high concentration of poison ivy (there's a rumor that 
it was the site of some too successful military experiments).  
Marching, crawling, and rolling though the bush as he was, my 
friend, with his zipper down, got in infected by poison ivy.  Yes, 
down there.

That's bad enough, except that he was seeing one of the woman 
trainees.  Shortly after he was infected but before the rash broke 
out, he had sex with her.  

His pelvic area transferred the infection to her pelvic area.

Sexually transmitted poison ivy.  

Soon, they were both extremely sore and itchy in a very inconvenient 
place.



Urban myths cater to fear and paranoia, especially that brought on 
by reckless or less than chivalrous behaviour. These stories often 
serve as a warning.  The "true" story of the person who took a one 
night stand home, awoke the next morning to find them gone except 
for a note that says "Welcome to the wonderful world of AIDS."  
Sexual promiscuity and its consequences are a popular topic with 
myth-makers.  Another popular topic is about criminals receiving 
unexpected but gruesome punishment for their crimes.

That's were my next story comes in.  I believe it was told to me by 
my mother, who said it happened to my Uncle Dale.  My Uncles are 
definitely the kind to tell tales (and punch out people who cut them 
off at the next set of lights, but that's another story about my 
Uncle Sonny).

Uncle Dale's Traveling Outhouse

My Uncle Dale once owned a huge recreational vehicle.  Stove, 
fridge, bunk beds, and so on.  The thing was so large that it had 
two gas tanks.  However, my Uncle converted one of the tanks into a 
septic tank.  There was a small toilet in the RV, and he ran a line 
right down into the tank from the toilet.

One day while on a camping trip, my Uncle parked the RV in the lot 
of a provincial park, and then went into its offices to take care of 
some business.  This took him about half an hour.

Upon leaving the office, my Uncle discovered that he had been a 
victim of a crime.  A thief had tried to siphon gas out of the RV.  

Unfortunately, the thief chose the wrong tank.

My Uncle says that all he saw was a hose still in the tank, and 
vomit everywhere.  The thief was nowhere in sight.

Poetic justice, eh?  This is actually the kind of think that you'd 
like to happen to the son of a bitch who stole your car radio or 
your bike.  If only all criminals, with the exception of myself, 
received such punishment.

There, now I've shared my stories, in the proper context.  Perhaps 
someday I shall relate the story of my ordeal at the hands of the 
Toronto Raptors cheerleaders.  Like many urban myths of its kind, it 
starts out with "Dear Penthouse, I never thought your letters were 
true or that this would ever happen to me, but..."

---
Jason MacIsaac is terrified that he has dedicated his life to the 
pursuit and capture of the Spiralling Shape.

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

3.  Grimm Trickbabies: The Films of Matthew Bright
by Jeff Wright

	Writer/director Matthew Bright is one of my favourite 
directors.  This happened over a period of two days when I saw both 
of his films.  His first film is FREEWAY, starring Reese Witherspoon 
and Keifer Sutherland in a re-telling of the Little Red Riding Hood 
fable.  His second (which is still looking for a distributor) is 
FREEWAY 2: CONFESSIONS OF A TRICKBABY, which stars Natasha Lyonne 
and Vincent Gallo in a re-telling of the Hansel and Gretel fable.  
That's all I'm going to say about the films' plots.  These flics 
should be experienced without any prior knowledge.  It's more fun, 
just to be blown away by them as they happen.  

	What makes Bright's films so great, is their tone.  They're 
well made films that just happen to be fun, excessive, and trashy.  
Bright is a filmmaker who makes films the way I want to make films.  
Film is too stuffy nowadays.  Everything takes itself too seriously, 
and if it doesn't, then it's too silly.  Bright's style to me seems 
like a mixture between Peter Jackson, Sam Raimi, Robert Rodriguez, 
Russ Meyers, and I suppose even a touch of Troma films (Toxic 
Avenger, Surf Nazis Must Die).  That's one hell of a combo, and has 
made for a couple of damn enjoyable films!!!

	My introduction to Bright was FREEWAY 2: CONFESSIONS OF A 
TRICKBABY.  I saw it last week at the Toronto Film Festival, and 
enjoyed the hell out of it.  Saddly it's going to have a hard time 
finding a distibutor, because it's really over the top, and just not 
commercially viable.  I hope with all my heart that the film gets a 
theatrical release because Bright is a great filmmaker, and I'd hate 
to see his ability to get financing go down the drain after just 2 
films.  Bright deserves to make his films until the day he dies.  
Not only does Bright deserve these films, but so do I!!!  I've 
waited for a long, long time to find a director who got EXACTLY what 
I'm looking for in a fun time at the movies, as far as tone goes.  
I'm not going to see two films that I love, and then let him not 
direct anymore films.  He MUST continue to make his films.  

I'm already psyched for his 3rd film, which is going to be a 
re-telling of The Three Little Pigs, with 3 cops as the little pigs, 
and a vicious teenage girl as the wolf.  YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!  I can't 
fucking wait for that flic!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  But I'm gonna have to I 
suppose since FREEWAY 2 isn't even released yet.  DAMMIT!!!!!!  This 
is a hard wait!!!!!  I'm getting way too excited.  All I'm seeing is 
exclamation marks, so maybe I should just stop.  

Sure I haven't told you much about the flics (okay, here's a 
little more about themes in both of the films: lesbianism, drugs, 
murder, interracial relationships, youth prisons, white trash, and 
much much more), but as always, I hope I've conveyed my love of 
them.  For now, you'll have to just rent FREEWAY (available on dvd 
with a, quite funny at times, commentary by Bright), watch it over 
and over again, then just sit and wait for FREEWAY 2: CONFESSIONS OF 
A TRICKBABY to get a distibutor, and be released.

Matthew Bright rules!!!!!!!  And he sure as hell ain't no 
trickbaby!!!!!
---
Jeff ain't one to take shit.  He's one to start it.

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4.  CYBER TALK
By Samantha Stasiuk

So there I am, puttering from chat room to chat room, when all 
of a sudden, this message flashes before my eyes: "Hi honey, wanna 
cyber-fuck?"  I sigh in disgust.  This is not the first time this 
has happened to me.  It seems the moment you reveal yourself as a 
female in a chat room, you are bombarded with questions from "men"-
asking where you live, what you are wearing, and, like this 
particular loser, if you wanna cyber.  So here I am thinking that I 
came into a CHAT room.  CHATTING being what I had in mind.  So I 
tell this guy "no, I'm only here to talk."  Two seconds later, my 
screen lights up with this rather lovely response.  "You snobby 
Bitch.  Fuck you then."  Now, I am sorry, but just because I did not 
want to tell some guy I look like Sable, or whoever the newest 
"babe" is, and am ripping off my clothes just to keep his interest, 
does not in my book, make me a bitch.  And yeah, all those "men" are 
probably just thirteen year old boys looking for a thrill, and the 
idea that I would be any cause for some over-hormonal masturbation 
absolutely disturbs me.
So I decide to test this theory.  See I am not a male-basher 
or anything, so I wanted to see if it would work the other way 
around.  So I posed as a guy and entered yet another room.  Sorry 
ladies, that whole "we are sooooooo innocent" does not stand up to 
what I experienced within those five minutes in a chat room.  Not 
only was I invited to "cyber", but I was asked if I liked whips and 
chains, told I could be the "dominant" one, and asked to join in a 
female group of cyber.  So all you guys out there are drooling and 
wondering WHICH rooms I was in, I'll tell you.  No-it was not a sex 
room, it wasn't even a flirting room.  It was a Yahoo room and the 
"topic" was the TV show Friends.  And to my knowledge, none of the 
"friends" engaged in any of the acts I was asked to be a part of.
So I'm left with no where to go.  Neither a man nor a woman 
can escape the "cyber" world in chat rooms.  I JUST WANT TO TALK!  
If anyone finds one of these places anywhere on the net, let me 
know.  I am down to the belief that they just don't exist.  Oh, and 
if you happen to see angeleyes_545 out there, she DOESN'T wanna 
cyber! 

---
Samantha loves to dance to the tunes of the "Footloose" soundtrack, 
but that's only when she really feels like kickin it.  There is 
nothing better than listening to "Let's Hear it for the Boy" on song 
repeat.

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CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org.

(*) - Yes, I know David Dylan is not Belgian, but would it have been 
as funny if I had written "naughty Hollanders"?  Or perhaps "crazy 
Luxemburgers"?  I rest my case.

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
electronically.


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