Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume IV, Issue 14, AD MCMXCIX
Monday, September 27, 1999
ISSN 1482-0471
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Before he became a hermit, Zarathud was a young Priest, and took great 
delight in making fools of his opponents in front of his followers.
One day Zarathud took his students to a pleasant pasture and there he 
confronted The Sacred Chao while She was contentedly grazing.
"Tell me, you dumb beast," demanded the Priest in his commanding 
voice, "why don't you do something worthwhile?  What is your Purpose 
in Life, anyway?"
Munching the tasty grass, The Sacred Chao replied "MU". (The Chinese 
ideogram for NO-THING.)
Upon hearing this, absolutely nobody was enlightened.
Primarily because nobody understood Chinese.
-- Camden Benares, "Zen Without Zen Masters"

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

"Writing and directing are for free. That part is free. You'd do that 
no matter what. You get paid to deal with idiots who don't care about 
movies."
-- Paul Thomas Anderson

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1.  Editorial
2.  One Stalker's Film Festival Experience
3.  Pickles and icecream: The Daily Journal of a Pregnasaurus
4.  CoN at the movies
5.  Ask Alex 
-------------------------------------------

This week's Golden Testicle award:

http://www.freeyellow.com:8080/members8/bahnrancid/witisota.html

W.I.T.I.S.O.T.A.

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

1. Editorial
By CoN Staff

WELCOME TO ISSUE 14 of Capital of Nasty.  I was close to delivering 
this issue in time, but it's past midnight, so despite the fact that I 
was nearly done in Monday, even this issue is late due to the fact 
that I can't think of what to write in this Editorial.  So like.  
There.
 

Special Guest Editorial

By Jason MacIsaac

Hello there.  Our leader Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro is a little burnt 
out right now, so I'm stepping in to do a special guest editorial.  
Leandro's other commitments, school, work, placement, girlfriend and 
family are trippin' his nutsack into a frenzy of dikplay right now so 
he's too busy to write. Otherwise he'd be here to write about how his 
other commitments, school, work, placement, girlfriend and family are 
trippin' his nutsack into a frenzy of dikplay right now and he's too 
busy to write.

I'm busy too. However, I've got a healthy sense of irresponsibility, 
which permits me to take a moment to write this editorial instead of 
fulfilling my obligations.  Dammit, Dad can wait for his insulin until 
the end of the week.

Since I may not get a chance to write an editorial again, I will take 
this moment to say that way back when I wrote "Shall I Compare Thee To 
A Guinea Pig," for CoN, a young woman wrote in and expressed her 
desire to marry me.

I now accept this proposal, if it is still open.

Looking at the old CoN mailbox, we find just one letter. William, from 
The Purple Rabbit Runners, questions:

>> A bi-weekly electronic journal.
>
> So which weeks are bi?

If I may, I'd like to paraphrase John Halcyon Styn of Prehensile 
Tales, who had this to say about being bi.  He describes himself as a 
"political bisexual" and would sleep with anyone he found sexually 
attractive.  So far however, this has only happened with women.  So I 
think then that CoN can be described as a "political biweekly."  It 
would also sleep with anyone it found sexually attractive.  If anyone 
out there masturbates while reading CoN, please let us know.  You 
could get lucky!

I will close the editorial with some sage advice that has been passed 
on down through generations, and it's as relevant today as when it was 
first uttered:

"Don't ask me what the hell `trippin his nutsack into a frenzy of 
dikplay' means."

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

2.  One Stalker's Film Festival Experience
By Samantha Craggs

Remember that girl who broke into Brad Pitt's house, wore his pyjamas 
and fell asleep in his bed? When you're a couple of bad breakups away 
from that, the Toronto Film Festival is a dangerous game.

I heard a couple of months beforehand that the Toronto Film Festival 
would feature the North American premier of Ride with the Devil, 
directed by Ang Lee and starring the actor who has been the subject of 
my every dream, erotic or otherwise, since Poison was big. Whenever I 
hear the name "Johnathan Rhys Meyers," I like to follow it up with "is 
God." The lips, the hair, the eyes, the cold and calculated 
smirk...oh, and his acting isn't bad, either. The thing about Jonathan 
Rhys Meyers is that he can date Toni Collette all he wants, but he and 
I both know it's just an act. He belongs with me. He just can't admit 
to dating a measely Canadian reporter three years his senior. It would 
upset his management.

I knew that Jonathan Rhys Meyers' new movie was playing at the 
festival, where celebrities often walk the red carpet to smile for the 
little people.  A true stalker would have planned ahead. A true 
stalker would have gotten tickets before they sold out in the 
knowledge that there was at least a 50-50 chance that the object of 
her undying affection may show his face at Roy Thompson Hall. But 
adding to my failure complex, I'm not even a very good stalker. I 
waited until a week before, after pleading with my friend Debbie to 
make the two-hour venture to Toronto with me, and the tickets were 
sold out. Everyone was anticipating the arrival of that coffeehouse 
wench Jewel. "Show up early on Friday night," said the guy on the 
phone. "There may be cancellations. You could get rush tickets." Well, 
I didn't have much choice, did I? Jonathan was expecting me.

Now, when someone says "show up early," it doesn't usually mean three 
hours early. But we're talking about Jonathan Rhys Meyers here. A 
drive that usually takes an hour and a half turned into three with 
Friday afternoon traffic. The Gardiner Expressway, arguably one of the 
busiest highways in Toronto, was packed to the gills. Debbie clutched 
the map with white knuckles, suddenly shrieking "you want that 
lane!!!" when it happened to be on the opposite side of the highway. 
The only consolation was that I was a short time away from seeing the 
man of my dreams. He knew I was coming.

Once we made it into the city, there was a new dilemma. Where the fuck 
was Roy Thompson Hall? I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, thinking 
maybe Jonathan vibes would pull me there, but to no avail. We stopped 
and asked directions from a guy so drunk he could hardly stay on his 
bicycle. He wouldn't have been so nice to us if he'd known we were 
stalkers. We found the place with relative ease and still got there at 
6 p.m. I couldn't help but swell with pride when I saw the weirdly-
angled building shining in the sun. The scene of my crime. The movie 
started at 9:30. They were amazed by our gumption.

We stood there for an hour by ourselves, the only ones dumb enough to 
show up three hours early. We'd exhausted our paper-scissors-rock 
tournament by the time a little man approached us with tickets in his 
outstretched hand and saying four of about five English words in his 
English vocabulary. "My partner cannot come." I would have blown him 
for the tickets at that point. After we bought the tickets he opened 
his wallet and said "Want to go tomorrow too?" But who was I to be 
picky when I was there to devise a way to kidnap Jonathan Rhys Meyers 
and tie him to my bed, a.l.a. Misery?

We hurried in at 8:30, me snickering at the security guards and 
wondering what they would think if I was there to see a celebrity who 
had me so obsessed that I was ready to build an alter of candles and 
Velvet Goldmine movie boxes. But who cares? In just a short hour 
Jonathan Rhys Meyers would come waltzing down the red carpet, take me 
into his arms and moan "Thank God you made it!"

So the celebrities entered. People oggled. "She's so pretty," the girl 
next to me whimpered as Jewel slithered by, her breasts bulging out of 
her pale blue dress. Yeah, yeah, whatever. Then there was Tobey 
Maguire, stopping to sign the Vanity Fair cover of the autograph hound 
beside me. "Buddy," I thought as I surveyed the autograph hound, "you 
don't even know how to stalk properly."

Then there was Skeet Ulrich with his good ol' boy smile. Then Ang Lee. 
And...and...and no Jonathan. NO JONATHAN! How could my instincts be 
wrong? Did he not tell me he was coming the night before when I 
summoned his spirit with my ouija board? Did the man not know that I 
had dressed a Ken Doll as his Ride with the Devil character? How could 
he not show? Woe was me.

In true stalker style, I take it as a personal slight. But life will 
go on, and so will I. My plane ticket is booked. I just know I'll love 
the adorable way he says "Who are you and why are you in my house?"

-----
Samantha Craggs is actually not a stalker, but she does like to write 
stuff.
Visit the homepage at http://www.velvet.net/~samantha.
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3.  Pickles and icecream: The Daily Journal of a Pregnasaurus
By Tess Toth

My day usually begins by trying to get my mammoth butt out of bed. 
After rolling from left to right, I finally get enough momentum and 
flop onto the floor. And when I finally manage to stand on my feet, 
Nature calls and I make a straight dash for the john. Yes, I am 
pregnant, and I'm here to share the joys of it all....heh heh...

"Pregnasaurus: (n) a woman whose stomach reaches massive proportions, 
and becomes aggravated easily and attacks at the first mention of 
"Dinner's On!" (name given by my friend Shannon)

I have been watching this show called "A Baby Story" for a few months, 
and it makes me gag every time. They portray a cutesy family where the 
woman is just "glowing", with the father saying "Oh, even though it 
wasn't expected, I am just SO happy about it!!"...bleech...and when 
she goes into labour she says "Oh! There's a contraction! How 
wonderful! I'm just so happy that the baby is coming out 
today!"...well, I am not thrilled about the baby coming out, and I'm 
sure as all hell that I'm not going to giggle when I feel my first 
contraction....I feel sorry for my hubby...because if he's going to be 
in the delivery room with me, it won't be his HAND I will be squishing 
between my tightened fingers! When are they going to show the woman 
swearing at the top of her lungs saying "You bastard!! If you ever 
come near me again with sex on your mind, I will tear off your 
testicles with my teeth and wear them as earrings!!"...Now that would 
be entertaining...>:) Do I hear all the men's anuses tightening?! heh 
heh heh...

Now now, don't get me wrong.... I love my hubby :), but with everyone 
telling me of the excrutiating events that are going to happen to me, 
I will probably swear left and right and yell out to the world that I 
will never have sex again...but maybe not, who knows. I have no idea 
how I will feel, but with all my friends and family telling me how 
they or their family members felt, I feel like if I don't try and 
threaten my hubby with each contraction, then I am somehow "inhuman".

I will be thankful when my stupid hormones finally give me some 
peace!! It's bad enough I'm a bitch with the whole damned PMS thing 
*don't worry guys, I'm not going into that...*, but now I feel like I 
have PMS all the time! For example...I am usually not a very emotional 
person (it takes a lot for me to cry), but one day I was watching this 
commercial where there was a Grandfather and Grandson eating 
breakfast, I think it was oatmeal? whatever... and the Grandfather had 
cerebral palasy and couldn't hold his spoon, so the Grandson said 
"Here Grandpa, I'll help you" or something to that affect. Now usually 
I would be laughing my ass off because he couldn't put the spoon to 
his mouth (I can be cruel, I don't deny it), but here I was, sobbing, 
saying outloud "That is so precious! What a beautiful moment! *bawl*" 
..... I didn't stop crying for about an hour.... man! Is that pathetic 
or what?! I don't care if it's "common" to have uncontrollable mood 
swings, I hate 'em, I HATE 'EM!!

.....*loud rumble in the lower region*.....time to raid the 
fridge....where are those damned blasted pickles?! I can't have ice 
cream without pickles, do you HEAR ME?! *sigh*...only 4 months to 
go....

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

4.  CoN at the movies

Part One:  Good Movies You Should Watch
Part Two:  Some Really Cool Movie News
bY JEfFfff wRight

Part One:
	I'm not in the mood to write anything profound (like that ever 
happens anyways, but you know what I mean), so here's a few movies 
that you may not have seen, that are really good, and you should 
watch.

1
Deliverance:

Starring John Voight, Burt Reynolds, and Ned Beatty.
Directed by John Boorman.

I bought the DVD last week, and hadn't seen it in a while.  Damn this 
movie still kicks ass.  It's one of the best GUY MOVIES ever made, and 
the opening scene (post credits) puts me in stitches. 

2
Short Cuts:

Starring Tim Robbins, Frances MacDormand, and Lyle Lovett (sp?).
Directed by Robert Altman.

This is one of my favourite films, and would take a long time to 
describe.  It's a suburban epic.  A brilliant film of multiple 
characters, with intertwining lives.  It's Altman at his best, and 
that's good.

3
Freeway:
Starring Reese Witherspoon, Kiefer Sutherland, and Brook Shields.
Directed by Matthew Bright.

I know I raved about this in length last issue, but it's just that 
cool.  Seriously, rent this movie.  It's sooooooooooooooooooooooo 
cool.

++++++

Part Two:
-Music video director Paul Hunter is going to direct the sequel to 
Blade.
-What's Sam Raimi doing next?  He's directing a crime/suspense script, 
written by my favourite Southern-boy, Billy Bob Thornton.  Yeehaw.
-Jay and Silent Bob may make a cameo appearance in Scream 3.
-Not really news, but has anyone seen the tv ad for Man On The Moon 
where Jim Carrey does the Mighty Mouse bit from SNL?  Damn that kicks 
ass.
-Aarron Eckhart (In The Company Of Men, Your Friends And Neighbours) 
is in Any Given Sunday (Oliver Stone's upcomming football movie).  I 
think this may have been popular knowledge, but I just read about it 
today, so it's news to me.

_________________

As a treat, Jeff didn't use one exclamation mark in his entire piece.  
He recommends you enjoy it, because next issue, he'll be back to his 
exclamation mark `lovin ways.
-------------------------------------------

5.  Ask Alex
By Jason MacIsaac

Alex is a former teen criminal who was reformed by the controversial 
Ludovico technique, as chronicled in the novel "A Clockwork Orange" by 
Anthony Burgess and the feature film by Stanley Kubrick.  He now works 
as the advice and etiquette columnist of Capital of Nasty.

Dear Alex:

My 24-year-old niece is getting married soon.  The wedding invitation 
we received specifically asks that instead of wedding presents, we 
simply give cash. Now I know things are different since my husband and 
I were married, but this seems pretty tacky to me.  Have times changed 
and I'm just "out of it," or is this in bad taste?  How should I 
handle the situation?

Signed,
AM I JUST OLD-FASHIONED?


Dear OLD-FASHIONED

The little ptitsa desires a malenky bit of cutter instead of a nice 
prezzie all wrapped with a bow real horrorshow?  Well, give up your 
pretty polly. Then she and her ded can kupet the veshches she wants, 
and not have to hold on to the grahzny junk you give her.

-Alex

Dear Alex:

I have a 17-year-old son that my husband and I have raised very well 
in a loving Christian home.  He doesn't do drugs, he's never been in 
trouble with the law, and he's polite and courteous. However, a week 
ago I was shocked to find a packet of condoms in his dresser!  Worse, 
it looks like he's using them steadily.  I don't understand how all 
our teaching and Bible readings could go to waste on him.  I want to 
confront him about this, but I'm afraid he'll accuse me of "snooping."  
What do I do?

-WORRIED PARENT

Dear WORRIED

Your little malchick is doing a yumyumyum bit of the ol' in-out in-out 
and I don't see why you are so oh-oh-oh about it.  It's nature, 
baboochka, remember it?  You can teach him about Bog and the Good Book 
all you like, but when a malchick sees a fine devotchka, he gets a 
pan-handle and he wants to do some lubbilubbing with her.  At least 
he's not a gloopy prestoopnik, always in trouble with the millicents 
and being dragged off to the Staja.   Let him and his little ptitsa do 
the in-out in-out.  Next you'll be all razdraz about him smoking a 
cancer.

-Alex

Dear Alex 

I am engaged to marry a wonderful woman who is as devoted to her 
career as I am to mine.  Problem: she lives in New York, I live in 
Miami. Neither of our jobs permits working at home, and we can't 
decide who should move where after we get married.  What do you think 
we should do?

-MIAMI OR NYC?


Dear MIAMI OR NYC?

One or both of you has got to ask yourself "what's it going to be 
then, eh?," and make up your rassoodocks.  Perhaps it should be you, 
nazz.   Would you rather have a jeezny full of rabbit in Miami, or a 
sammy, steady supply of the ol' in-out in-out from your zheena in NYC?  
Doesn't sound like such an oozhassny hard decision to make to Your 
Humble Columnist.

-Alex


Dear Alex:

I viddy your column in the gazetta every week, and normally I say you 
are one oomny malchick. But I read your response to HEARTBROKEN IN 
VERMONT and now I say you are really Dim. How can you tell the little 
ptitsa to break up with the millicent and make her pee and em all Boo 
Hoo Hoo?  You owe the poor devotchka a retraction and an appy polly 
loggy, before she ends up on her oddy knocky, thanks to you.

Sign me,

-DISAPPOINTED IN ALEX

Dear DISAPPOINTED

O my dear brothers, what is Your Humble Columnist to do?  The vonny 
bratchny says I don't know my sharries from a yahma in the ground.  My 
madmenny droog, a piece of advice: shut your rot before Yours Truly 
gives you such a sweet tolchock to your brooko that your guttiwuts 
plesk all over the walls of my cantora.  I am the Columnist here. 
Pony, nazz?

-Alex

Dear Alex:

A while ago you printed a wonderful poem about fathers. I just 
recently lost my father to a long illness.  Could you print the poem 
again in dedication to this loving, wonderful human being that has 
made so many lives brighter?

-WOULD BE GRATEFUL


Dear GRATEFUL  

O my brothers, this poem is so choodessny Your Humble Columnist gets a 
bolshy many requests to reprint it.  Here it is, odin more time.

My Father's Hands
(author unknown)

I am just one
and his hands are strong and hold me safe
Warm are my Father's Hands

Now I am five
and his hands throw me the ball and beckon me with encouragement and 
promise
Strong are my Father's Hands


Then I am ten
and the still sturdy hands bandage the scrape on my shin from falling 
off my bicycle
Gentle are my Father's Hands

And Now I am fifteen
and his hands teach me how to wave a britva with a blade oh so sharp 
that one shive across the guttiwuts of a poolgy millicent has the red 
red krovvy flowing real horrorshow for a good night's Ultraviolence
Sammy are my Father's Hands.

---
Jason MacIsaac is a bezoomny chelloveck who likes to write a good 
raskazz.

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

William, I know you are reading this.

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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