Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume VII, Issue 1, AD MMII
Wednesday, January 16, 2002
ISSN 1482-0471
-------------------------------------------

My New Year starts thusly:
I come home to see my apartment has been flooded from above. By 
trying to clean up the mess with paper towels I clog the toilet and 
also discover my freezer stopped working and everything inside has 
melted.
-- Konrad the Bold

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

[17:32] <Jeff> Here's the article.  Mel's Boyfriend's Grandmother, 
Is Dying by Jeff Wright
[17:32] <Jeff> She's bi-sexual, and had an affair with her nephew.  
Fucked up!
[17:32] <Jeff> The end!

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

1.  Editorial
2.  More Than Meets the Eye
3.  The End of My First Cyberlove
4.  CoN at the Movies
5.  Made bagel sandwiches
-------------------------------------------

This week's Golden Testicle award:

http://www.usc.edu/student-affairs/deanshalls/wtf/wtf%2003.htm

Yatta!

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

1. Editorial

By Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro

Some people know fine wines and can tell you what type it is, where 
it comes from and from what year it is.  Me, I love mustard.  Just 
like Jack's fridge in Fight Club, mine is filled with various brands 
of it.  Both the granulated and non-types from Dijon.  The classic 
hot-dog version.  Honey-Mustard from Russia.  I could go on.

Nothing gives me more pleasure than savouring a good slice of dark 
bread with a thin but evenly spread of the mustard I am keen at the 
moment to taste.

But it wasn't always like this.  Sadly, there was a time in my life 
where I couldn't look at mustard and not smell shit.

This was a time when my parents decided to give me a sister, and 
somehow delegated me as diaper-boy before she went to bed at night.  
I'm not sure how their logic worked in this, really.  Their 
perspective was that, she was my sister and I had a part in her 
raising and upbringing.  I hadn't asked for one, didn't take part in 
making her and most of all, just could not understand how diaper-
changing would dramatically change her world for the better.

Changing diapers is an extremely difficult and near-impossible task.  
The action per se, mind you, is pretty straightforward.  Take baby, 
put him or her on changing station, undress him or her, remove 
diaper, dispose of diaper, baby-wipe the naughty bits, apply oil and 
talcum powder, insert new diaper, close and re-dress baby.

Of course, babies are pretty active little buggers.  Unless they are 
high on cough syrup, actually getting them to stay still on the 
changing station is as easy as making a live salmon stay on top of 
your kitchen counter.

All of this of course is mind-boggling.  The average baby can hardly 
move and yet, when on the changing station, is capable of hauling 
itself off of it and fall to the ground.  Maximum attention is 
therefore required if you do not want a retarded sibling.  Learn 
from my mistakes.

At this point, with one hand holding the squirming little bugger, 
you carefully remove the tiny sticky straps that hold the diaper 
closed.  While it is always a marvel to see how two pieces of tape 
can hold a diaper ready to explode together, this is not the right 
moment to marvel at such engineering simplicity.

You open the diaper and you are greeted by the atrocious smell of 
liquefied feces.  The worse part, for me, is that it had the same 
colour and texture of mustard.  It has always amazed me how an 
intestine that could be defined as virgin can produce the sort of 
thing you'd expect in yours after eating at McDonalds.

At this point, you are tempted to let go of everything and dunk your 
face in the toilet to release your dinner, raise your eyes to the 
lord and scream, "WHY HAST THOU FORSAKEN ME!"  Unfortunately, you 
have to somehow do the following: hold the baby, prevent baby's feet 
from splashing into the diaper causing a wave effect that will land 
all over you, remove the diaper, avoid vomiting all over the 
creature.

The only way to remove the diaper safely is to grab the baby's feet 
and hold him up like a chicken.  You will easily slide the diaper 
off and find yourself with your baby-chicken in one and a bomb in 
the other that makes Anthrax look like the common cold.

While it is tempting to open a window and throw the chemical 
explosive out of it, you can't risk leaving the child alone.  It 
will successfully fall off the changing station and land with a 
smashing sound to the ground.

If this happens, your thoughts get around the fact that the creature 
is screaming like a siren and won't it please shut the fuck up more 
than the fact that your sibling will suffer eternal brain damage.  
Brain damage is easy to spot once your sibling grows up by dressing 
weird, saying incomprehensible things, has TV commercials memorized 
and generally wreaking havoc on anything that happens to be your 
property.

You quickly put the child back on the changing station, lift the 
legs, pretend nothing happened and proceed in cleaning out the 
naughty bits with baby-wipes.  Unfortunately actually getting a 
baby-wipe out with one hand is not a task for the tame.  The best 
way of doing it is to grab the baby-wipe, which will be followed 
immediately by the container.  Then give the wipe a good yank.  
You'll be left with a handful of them.  You can find out where the 
container landed later.

Done that, it's time to put some oil.  You'll have to master opening 
the oil with your teeth since the other hand is being used in 
keeping the baby still.  Apply a few drops, most of which will slide 
past your wrist and disappear down to your underwear.

Now it's time for the talcum powder.  Be advised that if you use the 
teeth technique to open the darned thing and you're squeezing it too 
hard, talcum powder has a pretty nasty taste.  You'll pretty much 
forget about applying it after that.

You're almost done.   Now you realize you didn't grab the new diaper 
from the package, so with the aid of your foot, you get it close 
enough so you can reach for one.  Unwrapping one is not as difficult 
as when it comes to closing it.  With two hands and the baby staying 
still, this is a joke. Placing the little sticky tabs with one hand 
(the other holding your squirming sibling) has the same straining 
effects as forty kilometre marathon.  On average, it takes about six 
tries to get the right tightness.

Here is a quick way to determine if the diaper is on incorrectly: if 
the baby's legs turn purple, it's on too tight.  If the diaper 
suffers leakage, it's on too loose.

You're done!  At this point, for having suffered through this deed 
and having done it almost correctly, you'll feel like the Good 
Samaritan.  Peace will envelop you; however, a dark slice of bread 
with a thin but evenly spread layer of mustard won't taste the same 
for a long, long while.

Captain America writes in regards of the fine art of Stove Fucking:

I like the stove fucking story, but you forgot the best part.  "When 
finished fucking your stove, if, by mistake, design, or accident, 
you find a bun in the oven, you can pull it out, eat it, and no one 
will try to stop you, unlike if you performed a similar action at an 
abortion clinic."

Enjoy this issue.

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

2.  More Than Meets the Eye
(A Strong Argument for Internet Shopping)

By Dan Foster

Movie projects require props, and for the next day's shooting I 
needed two ski masks.  Since it was already after eleven at night, I 
decided to try Wal-Mart; that fantastic marketplace for all that is 
wrong with American society.

I found the ski masks fairly quickly.  For those curious, they're 
located at the back end of the men's department.  I should say I 
found a ski mask-only one hung on the gondola (yes, that's what it's 
called), and it lacked a price tag.  I searched a small bin of 
discount winter clothes and found two more ski masks.  Fortunately, 
one of these small masks had a price tag.  Unfortunately, the one 
with the tag was unraveling.  Judging by the size, these last two 
masks were obviously for children.  It'd be tight, but an adult head 
would fit if enough force was used.  I dug through assorted matching 
hats and mittens for another minute, but found nothing else I could 
use.  Seeing I had no other options but to buy two of these, I took 
all three masks with me.

I wandered the store for a while, probably appearing suspicious to 
the security cameras concealed in black domes hanging overhead.  I 
enjoy looking suspicious in department stores.  I like to think it 
gives security something to do.
In the Food Department, I bought two boxes of Ritz Bits (cheese and 
the new S'mores) and a case of Dr. Pepper.  There was a sale on cans 
of Pringles:  two cans for a buck-eighty-eight.  The two cans were 
connected by pretty, Pringley plastic wrap, making it easier to 
carry.  I was sold.

In Automotive, I bought a Performance Pedal for my car.  I've been 
wanting to get a replacement pedal for my car for months.  I don't 
know much about engines, so instead of buying stuff to make the car 
faster, I buy accessories for the interior to make the car more 
suitable for my long-trip driving needs.  I have a leather cover for 
the steering wheel, a compass on the dashboard, a map light, 
convenience and trash bags hanging to the backs of the driver and 
passenger seats, and, to eliminate blind spots, small, curved 
mirrors attached to each side-view mirror and a Lane-Changer for the 
rear-view mirror (they help.  Really, they do).  The Performance 
Pedal may not actually help, but it looks like it will, and that's 
what matters.  Besides, it was on sale.

Coolest of all, in the Toy department I found fantastic new 
Transformers.  I've loved Transformers since I was a little kid, and 
these new Transformers look even more intricate than the old ones.  
I spent over fifteen minutes looking at the packaging of each 
figure, finally deciding to get two for myself.  The nice thing 
about being an adult is that, if I wanted, I could buy them all at 
once.  But doing that wouldn't be fun.  The limits that parents 
impose on children are what make collecting toys such an enjoyable 
activity.  What's the point of collecting if your entire collection 
is complete on the first day?

Of all the Transformers available, I chose the characters Side Burn 
and X-Brawn.  Besides the appeal to my collector instincts that 
there was only one of each left in stock, I thought both the 
automobile and the robot forms of each one looked cool.  Side Burn 
is a sleek blue sports car, while X-Brawn is an SUV.  I'd never seen 
an SUV Transformer.  I thought about getting Galvatron or Megatron, 
the leaders of the evil Predicons, because they can transform into 
multiple forms.  Megatron has six transformations, while Galvatron 
has TEN!  How cool is that?

But I decided against them.  Megatron and Galvatron have many 
different forms, sure, but they're all weird-looking dragons or 
similar creatures.  I was set on getting two realistic-looking cars.  
I always thought those Second Generation Transformers weren't as 
much fun because instead of changing from a robot into a tank or 
fire engine or even a dinosaur, they changed from robots into bubble 
ships.  Bubble ships aren't fun.  It's like that toy in the movie 
"Big" that changes from a robot into a building.  As Tom Hank's 
character said, "I don't get it."

I like to ponder things (I'm really not an impulse buyer), so I 
decided to wander around the store to debate buying these toys 
(action figures).  There's always a risk that someone else will buy 
what I want while I'm thinking, but risks only makes gains more 
rewarding.  It's sort of like poker, without the huge money loss.

I made my way to the Hardware Department to pick out some new bolts 
to hold together my car camera mount.  I'm very impressed with 
myself for putting together a rig that'll hold a camera steady on 
top of my car while going down a road up to forty miles an hour.  
Professional car camera mounts cost over a thousand dollars.  I made 
mine for twenty bucks in assorted parts from Lowe's hardware store.

Wal-Mart was out of the bolts I needed.  They only had flat screws 
and I HATE using flat screws.  I'm not so good at screwing, you see.

I milled about Hardware for a while longer, looking at very big 
hammers (Impressive!) before remembering I needed deodorant.  I 
walked over to the Health & Beauty Department to check out the 
sales.  I couldn't decide which to go with, so I got both Speed 
Stick and Gillette.  I made sure that they were both Deodorants AND 
Anti-Perspirants, because if you're going to put the gooey junk 
under your arms, you should make sure you're covered in both areas.

Because I hadn't planned on buying many items, I didn't bring a cart 
with me.  Being a guy, I couldn't do the smart thing and walk to the 
front of the store to get a cart.  No, I had to stack my merchandise 
awkwardly in my arms in an attempt to make it easier to carry.  On 
the bottom, because it's the heaviest, I held the case of Dr. 
Pepper.  I stacked the Ritz Bits on the case, giving me three nice 
boxes all in a column.  I added the two wrapped cans of Pringles, 
onto which I placed the Performance Pedal.  The pedal was enclosed 
in a bubble package, so I put the three ski masks on top of it to 
act as a cushion for the two deodorant sticks, hoping to prevent 
them from sliding off.

After walking only a few steps down the isle, the top box of Ritz 
shifted, sending the deodorant, Pringles, and Performance Pedal 
crashing to the floor.  A store clerk who had been stocking the 
shelves turned to find the cause of the disturbance. .  He made no 
attempt to hide his laughter as the remaining items (except the case 
of Dr. Pepper, luckily) hit the floor.  I waved at the stock guy, 
smiled, restacked my stuff, and left the Health and Beauty 
Department.

Having made my selection, I came to the moment of decision: either 
go check out and leave, or go back for the Transformers.  It's 
always good to weigh the pros and cons of any decision.  Cons:  I 
have a lot to do what with work and the movie, and really don't have 
time for toys.  Pros:  There's always time for toys.

So I rescued X-Brawn and Side Burn from the toy department.  I say 
rescued because there's a good chance they'd be bought by some 
bastard toy collector who would have stuck them in a closet for 
years unopened, hoping they'd one day become that all-important 
thing: a Collectable; suitable for resale and hopefully profit.  

With the toys stacked on top of the ski masks next to the deodorant, 
I carefully and happily made my way to the check out lanes.

At this time of night (it was now approaching midnight) there 
weren't that many lanes open.  Two are generally sufficient for the 
needs of the late night shoppers.  I guess the bad weather had 
brought out a few extra shoppers, because each lane was backed up by 
at least three people.  I looked at each line, making a quick 
estimate of how many items stood between the cashier and me.  One 
lane had three people in line, but each person had a shopping cart 
filled with merchandise.  The other lane had four, but three of 
those people were only carrying a few items.   I chose this lane, 
but as I walked toward it, a cashier opened another lane.  A blond 
woman with a shopping cart beat me by only a few seconds, so I got 
in line behind her.  In her cart, she had an Open Box Buy printer, a 
few ink cartridges, and at least five pairs of jeans.  She put the 
clothes and ink cartridges on the conveyor belt, leaving the printer 
in the cart.

She gave a quick, emotionless glance at me, and turned back to the 
cashier.  Being the judgmental bastard I am, I immediately had a low 
opinion of her.  A polite person, seeing all this crap precariously 
balanced in my arms, would have made room for my stuff on the 
conveyor belt and put down the separator bar.  This would allow me 
arrange my items to make them easier for the cashier to scan.  The 
blond woman was much too involved with herself.  Fine.  I had held 
my items this long, I could hold them a while longer.

The cashier, a very nice young woman, held the first pair of jeans 
up to her scanner.  She could not find the tag.  After a moment's 
inspection, she saw that it had no tag at all.  The woman gave a 
disgusted sigh, as though it was the cashier's fault there was no 
tag.  The cashier picked up the phone to call the Women's 
Department.

I was a cashier at that sadly now-departed retail store Venture for 
many years.  Even though registers today are more advanced than the 
ones I used, and credit card machines have taken the place of those 
stupid slide machines to imprint cards, some irritations about 
cashiering have never changed.  One such annoyance is the horrible 
wait for price checks.  It works like this:  a customer brings up an 
item without a tag.  The cashier calls back to the department.  
There's usually one person in each department.  That one person is 
using the toilet, or on the phone, or smoking, or hiding in the 
stockroom because good GOD does this job suck.  He hears hear the 
cashier's page.  That means the department guy has to run up to the 
front of the store, look at the piece of merchandise, go back to the 
department, find the shelf it was on, look up not only the price but 
the merchandise number, then call back to the front with the numbers 
so the cashier can enter them into the cash register.

A note to all you crappy shoppers out there: it does no good to say 
"On, that was $19.99."  The cashier needs the merchandise number.  
And "It's on sale" is very much a worthless comment.  And the 
cashier really doesn't care.

I guess the blond woman knew how the system worked, because she 
interrupted the cashier.  "I know where it was.  I'll go back and 
get another one."  And off she went.

The cashier-being what I considered very efficient-said to me, "I 
can take you now."

Yes, it's odd language, but everyone knows what it means.  Sort of 
like how when a waiter says, "You all set?" it really means "Are you 
ready to pay and leave?"

I handed the cashier my Transformers, deodorants, Pringles, 
Performance Pedal, Ritz Bitz, and Dr. Pepper.  She scanned and 
bagged each item before I could hand her the next one.  I'm sure her 
Productivity Rating was very high.

All that remained in my hands were the three ski masks.  As I 
mentioned earlier, I only needed two, but only one had a tag, and 
that one was unravelling.  I handed the two good ones to the cashier 
and told her I wanted those, but they were missing tags.  I handed 
her the torn one and said, "But this one has a price tag, so you can 
scan it."  She thanked me for being considerate enough to bring a 
tag with me, and scanned the tag twice.  That being the last item, 
she gave me the total.  I pulled out my credit card and slid it 
through the reader.

Just then, the blond woman came back with the second pair of jeans.  
Her formerly blank expression now looked irritated.  I got a good 
look at her this time.  She was the very essence of a Wal-Mart 
Shopper: tired and easily angered.  Her blond hair-dirty blond, I 
could now tell-was greasy.  She had attempted to feather it, which 
gave her the appearance of a biker chick.  Adding to that effect, 
she wore an old leather jacket with tassels hanging off the arms.  
Her jeans were old and torn.  Her face had the lived in look that 
comes from smoking too many cigarettes and drinking too many free 
beers, bought for her by dubious men in dark bars.  

I've never been a fan of Phrenology-the study of a person's skull to 
reveal personality traits, but I believe you can tell a lot about a 
person from the lines on her face.  This woman did not have laugh 
lines.  Her lines came from a lifetime of disappointment, 
frustration, jealousy, envy, and disgust.  Men had used her, only 
slightly more than she used them.  She was not pleasant to look at.  
Had she lived a different life, she could have been quite 
attractive.  As she was, she was not.

She avoided looking at me.  She tossed the jeans on the conveyor and 
said to the cashier in a voice of accusation and annoyance, "Y'know, 
you could've been ringing this stuff up."

I can't capture in print her voice.  The way she said the words.  
"Y'no. y'coulduv bin ringin' this stuffup" is the closest I can get.  
She sounded dumb.  Not mentally retarded.  Just stupid and mean.

The cashier handed me the credit card slip to sign.  She turned 
quickly to the woman and said, "Oh, I'm sorry."  No other comments 
came from either of them.
I looked at the cashier and smiled as I signed my name.

I said, "Thank you.  Very much," a little louder than usual, to know 
that she had been appreciated.

I turned to the blond woman, smiled, and nodded.  There was nothing 
I could say.  Nothing that would matter.  I know I looked at her a 
moment longer than was comfortable or socially acceptable.  Not 
because her tragic anger was attractive to me, but because I 
couldn't help but wonder why she was buying a printer.  

I took my bags and walked out of the store.  I really don't like 
Wal-Mart.  But boy do I like Transformers.  

(And for you Collectors out there, when I got home I ripped both 
Transformers out of the packages and played with them for hours.  
Great fun.  I suggest you try playing with your own toys sometimes.)

---
"Dan Foster is currently shooting a movie about a briefcase of 
cocaine (Some people say it doesn't totally suck).  In Theatres this 
Summer."

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

3.  The End of My First Cyberlove:
Why I (Justabout) Broke Things Off With AOL

By Cliff Yankovich
                          
"They say that breakin' up is hard to do.."

Yup, it's over between us - almost.  Our relationship began at work 
over two years ago, then we took it home and I pretty much figured 
it was going to be me and AOL forever. You don't know me and have no 
reason to believe me, but my intention was always to have a 
permanent, long term thing. I'm not one of those guys out hopping 
from ISP to ISP looking for instant internet gratification. All 
lasting relationships are about give and take.  Well, things reached 
the point where I kept giving every month and I just couldn't take 
it any more.  That is NOT the give and take one has in mind for any 
relationship.

(Soothing background music swells slightly and continues 
throughout.)

When I finally called to terminate service, as I sat in front of my 
screen obediently following the phone prompts, I did my best to find 
the exact "moment" when things began to slide.  (To demonstrate how 
hard this was for me, I actually had another connection up and 
running with an AT&T cable modem before I could make the call.)  In 
retrospect, the breakdown would have to coincide with the 
introduction of version 7.0.  We had been through upgrades together 
before - lots of them, but this one was different.  As mentioned 
above, I was in for the long haul.  Plus I kept buying the story 
that these upgrades were "improvements" designed to make our 
relationship stronger. Hah!

Version 7.0 promised me what every Net user wants:  Better, faster, 
and more possibilities than ever before.  It was with a certain 
amount of joy and anticipation that the new version was loaded into 
my trusty tower.  But within a
couple of days it was obvious things weren't right. Occasional 
computer freezes when clicking about online or in Microsoft Works 
programs were becoming unbearable.  We had experienced some of this 
with version 6.0, but the problems
escalated.  Then my modem refused to co-operate from time to time - 
once it happened in the midst of a flurry of e-mails to an AOL 
techie who was helping me with the freezing. Then, no hook-up at 
all.  Hmmm, should a modem slightly over
2 years old bite the dust all of the sudden?  No huge deal, a 
nominal amount of money combined with 10 minutes effort and a new 
modem was installed.  The connection was made and happiness appeared 
to return to our life together.

One day later it happened again - couldn't even get a dial tone.  I 
had AOL technical help on speed dial and called them pronto.  As my 
heart ached with disappointment, they told me it wasn't their fault 
and suggested the manufacturer of the modem should be contacted.  
(Don't you just love those deals, like when the tire guy blames the 
manufacturer of the rim who blames the supplier who has you call the 
tire store?)

My expectations were for some serious Blame Ping-Pong when I called 
the help line listed in the modem handbook.  What a surprise when 
the Man From New Jersey was a great help. When I described the 
incidents leading up to my call, he had me open the tower and simply 
click the modem in and out of its spot.  (Made sense to me - how 
many software glitches have been repaired with the old re-boot fix?)  
The MFNJ even stayed on the phone to see if his fix fixed it.

As we waited for the machine to re-boot, we chatted a bit. He put 
the blame all over AOL's new software and planted a big seed about 
getting myself hooked up with a cable modem. "No dial up time. Way 
faster than AOL," he said.   His conviction strengthened when 
everything worked fine after his simple solution.  The MFNJ even 
suggested there was nothing wrong with the old modem and he was 
proved right in this as well.  The damage was done - I felt 
betrayed... hurt... used.  His analysis of events and the placing of 
blame on AOL would not have been palatable for me if not for the 
foundation laid with the freezing incidents. When cracks appear in a 
relationship, words, ideas and concepts that would have been 
instantly rejected before now gain toe holds.

For you see, the AOL tech told me that there were problems with 
AOL's software not working well with "some Microsoft products".  
Remember we were in the middle of addressing THAT when the modem 
migraine commenced. Can you imagine the software of the company that 
owns the biggest portion of ISP business NOT playing nice with the 
software of the mega-goliath Microsoft?  My question at this point 
is who are the AOL.  In all those previous revisions shouldn't 
compatibility problems with Microsoft have been addressed?

So now my relationship with AOL needed to be addressed - things were 
strained to the Nth degree.  It just didn't feel the same to log on 
anymore.  There was no rush of excitement upon hearing, "Welcome.  
You've got mail", from my disembodied buddy at AOL.  Up until this 
point I had been willing to overlook the hypocrisy of a company that 
would do anything to prevent me from "spamming" anyone with an 
unsolicited e-mail while at the same time hitting me with 
unsolicited ads every time I logged on.  I could live with the 
static ads on the Welcome page - shoot, I used to sell radio 
advertising and I know what it takes to make the world go round.  It 
is a different matter when one is forced to click one's way to a 
clear path before even checking the mailbox!  I was paying them 
monthly for the service.  That would be akin to hearing an 
advertisement before I could dial out every time I picked up the 
phone.

"Good Morning Cliff, the new Titanium Visa is the answer to your 
life problems.  Stay on the phone to learn more.  If you want to 
actually make a call on the line you pay us every month to use, then 
press 9 now."   Who would put up with that? Not me.  With a new 
found determination I decided it was all over.  (Sorry to vent, I 
had no idea the bitterness ran so deep.)

AOL was almost as shocked as a couple of my ex-wives when I called 
to end it all.  The lady on the other end sounded truly saddened, (a 
paid professional, no doubt).  She asked me to explain why I was 
terminating service after all this time.  After all that was done to 
me and I have to explain???  How typical.  To make matters even 
worse, I started feeling guilty about breaking up!  Did I blast her 
with my real feelings about the obnoxious pop-up ads?  Did I empty 
my spleen with a blow by blow recounting of the hassles of the past 
few weeks?  Did I bring to her attention the modem I bought for no-
good-reason other than AOL won't own up to software problems?  Did I 
raise my voice and pound the desk with righteous indignation?  Nope 
- I lost my nerve.

"Well, uhhhm," I mumbled, "I decided to get a cable modem 
installed."

Then she made me confess about my relationship with AT&T.  I spilled 
my guts about how we had been connecting for a couple of weeks.  All 
stops were pulled at this point.  She, on behalf of the Big 
Corporate She, did what she could to keep me hanging on to a 
relationship gone bad.  Was it my imagination or did her voice drop 
an octave and become more breathy as she asked me to keep my cable 
modem, but to stay involved with both AOL and AT&T for a reduced 
monthly fee?

"Excuse me, but I am NOT that kind of man", I said,  "No dice".

When I passed on that "opportunity", her voice got even more broken-
hearted sounding and she offered to let me keep access to my AOL e-
mail account free for 3 more months.  I broke down.  I caved.  My 
friends, a combination of manipulation, feminine wiles and the 
awesome power of FREE has kept this tangled Web intact for the time 
being. (Admittedly aided by my lack of a spine.)

Okay, so I'm a weak-kneed sucker.  A pushover.  However, with the 
strength I am receiving from friends, family and a Tuesday evening 
support group, I am going to end this painful, destructive, 
expensive relationship in 90 days. Really... I mean it this time.

"Hello everybody, my name is Cliff and I am an ISP slut."

---
ps - Cliff lives and works in a fetid home office, secluded from the 
normal members of the family, in Ada, MI. (Just outside Grand Rapids 
and kinda near Canada.) Personally, he doesn't have anything against 
Canadians. Often he is overheard saying, "That Neil Young sure can 
play his guitar with verve and excitement, can't he?"

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

4.  CoN at the Movies
w/ Jeff Wright

Happy New Year bitches!  

I haven't been watching that many movies lately for some reason.  
Dunno.  Here's 5 good ones, anyways.

Movie # 1 you should see:
THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS
I already covered this in last issue, I know.  However, I don't 
think you've all seen it.  Why?  Are you-all retarded??!?!?  Am I 
going to have this hard a time getting you all to go see RUN RONNIE 
RUN, when it comes out?

Movie #2 you should see: 
CURE
Directed by Kiyoshi Kurosawa (who may be the best director working 
in Japan), this is a strange and captivating film about a string of 
murders which seem to be connected only by an 'X' mark carved in the 
victims' throats.  Let the creepy investigation begin!  

Look for the film to be released on video sometime within the year.  
It's been touring around North America for the last year or two now.

Movie #3 you should see:
THE STUNT MAN
This flic is a odd, but a lot of fun.  It's about a convict on the 
run from the law, who stumbles upon a movie shoot and is hired by 
its director to become a stunt man as a way to hide from the law.  
The film director is played by Peter O'Toole, and his performance 
simply rocks.  His camera crane rocks even harder!

If you're still not convinced to rent the movie.  Within the first 5 
seconds, we're treated to a close up of a dog licking its balls.  
That's movie making folks!!!!!

Movie #4 you should see:
BROTHERHOOD OF THE WOLF
I saw this at the Toronto Film Fest back in September, and now it's 
opening all over North America.  Go see it!  It's a mishmash of 
genres, but it's great fun.  If you like big action flics, this'll 
make ya happy.

Movie #5 you should see:
CABIN BOY
Just rent it.  It's $3 for Chrysler's sake.  Rent it!

That's it for this week kiddies.  Peace out.  Don't let your bi-
sexual grandmothers slip you the tongue, and I'll catch ya'll next 
issue.  

---
Jeff wants everyone to go out and get themselves a copy of IS THIS 
IT? by The Strokes.  He says it rawks!

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

5.  Made bagel sandwiches

By REVSCRJ

For all the shit I give hippies, truth is: I really like them more 
than most of the cliques Humans have coagulated into; but GOD FORBID 
that I should ever have to work with that many of them again!  GOD 
FORBID I should ever have to listen to SO MANY GODDAMN HOURS of 
Grateful Dead, collectively, for the rest of my life.

On any given especially sunny day SOMEONE would be "too sick to come 
in", or "had their car break down in Big Sur" (the amount of times 
that cars mysteriously broke down in Big Sur was just surreal...) 
and- come 'harvest' season- everyone would slow wayyyyyyy down.  
Hippies-god bless'em.

The job itself was non-stop drudgery, y'know: basic shlepping bagels 
to one person after another in an endless stream all day long.  I'd 
come home smelling like hot mayonnaise with poppy seeds in the most 
inexplicable locations.

At least I had no problem scoring dope.  I could eat for nearly 
nothing.  Life was good.

Speaking of dope, often I'd get pretty ripped during my breaks then 
come back in to start making sandwiches again.  This one time a guy 
orders: garlic bagel- toasted- with mayo, hot mustard,  egg, salmon 
and herb cream cheese.

I stand there for like 5 long seconds and he's looking at me as 
blankly as I was likely looking at him and then I come out with: 
"Damn man, that sounds REALLY good, I mean REALLY!  I'm gonna have 
THAT for lunch!  Wow, egg and salmon- talk about 'rich'!  Have you 
had it before or is this something that just came to you, coz no 
one's ever ordered that from me before- it sounds REALLY good!"

He looks at me in a way that makes him appear to be stepping back 
slowly and says "Uhhm... yeah, it's good... can you make it?"

I jolt a little, because I was imagining the flavor pretty 
intensely, laugh, roll my eyes stupidly, and make it for him.  He 
would never order from me after that.  Straight edge weirdo.

So, anyway, I'd been there for like 6 months or so and this one day 
I feel particularly beat down by the High School lunch rush so I go 
out front in an ebb and lay down on some warm bricks to bake in the 
sun for a moment.

I love times like that, where for a moment your body just forgets 
itself to the heat and you drift through a series of disconnected 
yet sometimes amazingly potent thoughts.  This one passes through 
"God... I know this place like the back of my hand..."

A minute or two later I sit up and stretch with that break's-almost-
over resignation and in the midst of it I look down at my hands and 
realize that their backs are TOTALLY unfamiliar to me.  Scars I 
can't place, colors that are wrong... new hair!

"My GOD" I think "I don't know the backs of my hands!"

I simultaneously laugh and feel like an utter idiot (an ability that 
has made my life a lot more tolerable).

So I sit there staring at them trying to ingrain the image into my 
skull.  It's odd, I can still remember what they looked like then 
(ask me what I did yesterday, however, and I'd have to strain).

I went inside and mentioned to the guy I was working with whose 
reaction is:
"Uh-heh! Thas'a trip Rev!" and he started looking at his own 
hands... the
palms...

---
REVSCRJ is a writer/musician living in Monterey, California. 
Constantly on the verge of homelessness, he hopes that you enjoy his 
work or else his life has been in vain. Contact REVSCRJ at 
revscrj@cloudfactory.org to lodge complaints, notify of lawsuits, or 
receive spiritual advice.

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

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CoN: <yummy_fur> "I can't really imagine waiting until 1997 to see 
all nine parts of the Star Wars series." - azure!randals (8 Jun 
1982)

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
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http://www.capnasty.org  ISSN 1482-0471

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