Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume III, Issue 14, AD MCMXCVIII
Thursday, August 06, 1998
ISSN 1482-0471
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Sounds like a good place, if you like hell.

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"So let us imagine that a bear does go for us out in the wilds. What are we to 
do? Interestingly, the advised stratagems are exactly opposite for grizzly and 
black bear. With a grizzly, you should make for a tall tree, since grizzlies 
aren't much for climbing. If a tree is not available, then you should back off 
slowly, avoiding direct eye contact. All the books tell you that, if the grizzly 
comes for you, on no account should you run. This is the sort of advice you get 
from someone who is sitting at a keyboard when he gives it. Take it from me, if 
you are in an open space with no weapons and a grizzly comes for you, run. You 
may as well. If nothing else, it will give you something to do with the last 
seven seconds of your life. "
-- A walk in the woods, Bill Bryson

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1.  Editorial
2.  A Catalog of Grocery Customer Species
3.  You're a FUNNY GUY, Now Shut the Fuck Up
4.  Urine Smell
5.  Hate me

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This week's Golden Testicle award:

Artificial Turd Industries

http://www.ati.com

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1. Editorial

Monday, July 20th, 1998 - this was supposedly the date in which Issue 14 of CoN 
was supposed to leave my computer and loiter your mailboxes.  Unfortunately it 
wasn't so.  After problems with my computers (special thanks to those that wrote 
telling me that I should switch to Linux, among them David Welton), our Linux 
server decided to die.  If you e-mailed us in the latter part of July, chances 
are, we did not get your e-mails.

To make things more exciting, I couldn't connect to the Internet for a whole 
week due to some other mysterious problem, apparently on the server's side.  To 
login now I enter my password only the second time it asks, and although it 
reports an error, I can connect fine.  If I enter the password right away, I 
can't connect to the rest of the world. It works, I stopped asking why.

FOOBAR - I had a chance to see "Saving Private Ryan".  I was tired to hear 
people tell me how much they hated it or loved it.  Honestly I can't find words 
to describe the movie. I found myself hanging on to my chair hoping it would 
end, soon.  Not because the movie was bad, but because I wanted off the 
battlefield.  Steven Spielberg was able, just like with "Schindler's list", to 
create a special movie, bring characters to life, and make you realize how 
important life itself is.  Words give it no justice, go see it for yourself.

I also went to write my test for being accepted in college.  Let's just hope 
whoever will read my essay has a good sense of humor.

Lastly, here is a letter of reply to J.W. by NeuronKal.  This was in regards to 
J.W.'s comments in our sex issue about the high content of homoerotica.  Our 
next issue of CoN (undelayed hopefully) will deal about "Relationships".  There 
is one spot left for anyone interested in submitting a piece. Have a great one 
folks and thank you for your patience.


Ranting With Neux
today's topic: People We Hate

	People we hate?  You want to hear about people we hate?  Well then, we 
will tell you about people we hate!  (ok, lose the royal "we"...)  The only 
people I hate (that's better) are People Who Complain About Jokes They Don't
Understand Because They Are Humor Deficient Stuck Up Pricks With Too Much Free
Time On Their Hands.  Bitter?  Yeah, you betcha!  As a Perfect example, what the 
hell is up with J.W. and his "homoerotica"?  Was this person never a teenager?  
What seminormal teenage male has not been forced into kissing another guy in a 
game of Truth or Dare?  Granted, I didn't Enjoy it, but I sure as hell am not 
about to bitch about it!  The part that really gets my goat, (and here I assume 
that J.W. is a guy, because, well, I can't even mentally picture a female 
writing that letter), is that if the story had mentioned two girls kissing on a 
dare, He Would Have Been Fine With It.  Don't even tell me I am wrong here, 
because you know how right I am.  Not to mention that the part in question 
wasn't even the main part of the story.  Look at the way that J.W. just zooms in 
on it!  This man has some issues.  If I were him (and thank GOD I'm not) I would 
be looking into some psychiatry.  Pronto.
	But here I have not even gotten to my main point.  The thing that truly
pisses me off to no end is when people complain about 
racist/ethnic/whateverthehellyouwanttocallit jokes.  I am sorry, but if you 
can't look at your own background and laugh at it, there is something wrong with 
you.  I find, in fact, that for me, a Jew, the Jew jokes are the funniest.  
Jokes are meant to be funny.  They poke fun at things.  People (at least the 
ones I know) don't tell Welsh jokes to offend Welsh people.  (why Welsh?  I 
don't have the slightest fucking clue, it just came to mind) Seriously, the only 
thing that ever offends me is when people are offended by jokes or other 
materials that weren't meant to offend.  I wish that J.W. and the multitudes of 
others like them could remove the poles from their asses and follow my example.  
	J.W. - did this rant piss you off?  Because if it did, then you're not on 
the right track yet, buddy.

-Neux

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2. A Catalog of Grocery Customer Species
by Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro
with comments and suggestions by Jeff Wright

All of you have been at one time done your shopping in a grocery store.  When 
you go there all you notice are the high prices, the long lines at the cashes, 
and of course, the rude grocery clerks.  If you worked in a grocery store like I 
do, you would start to be a little nicer to the employees, knowing all the abuse 
they have to put up with customers.  Many of you think that because you are a 
paying customer, you have to get everything you want, the way you want it.  
That's not true.  So, I wrote a little listing of categories of people I have to 
put up with.  Chances are you might fit into one of them.  Chances are I hate 
you.

1) EVERYONE'S BEST FRIEND

EBF is one goddamned bastard that finds it necessary to share his personal life 
with unsuspecting grocery clerks.  Doesn't matter if the grocery clerk is a new 
guy or someone who has told them off several times before, he will calmly 
proceed in informing them of their back pain, of how well their nephew is doing 
in school, or some useless piece of trivia.  EBF also finds it necessary to 
inform the staff why he is buying some item "I just love this type of lasagna, 
and since I have family coming over and the love lasagna, I just thought that 
I'd buy lasagna, although that brand over there is not so good, in fact last 
time I had it I had some terrible pains and went to the washroom for most of the 
night and...".  How a clerk reacts to an EBF usually depends by how long the 
clerk has been in the store, and how many times he has had to endure the same 
guy.  A fresh new clerk will stand there and politely smile and nod, the 
"customer is always right" line still ringing through his head.  A veteran will 
probably contemplate murder (or suicide) or if in a really bad mood tell the 
customer where to go. EBF's favorite phrase (usually when they find out that the 
total of their groceries is $19.76) "nineteen seventy-six!  That was a great 
year!".

2) THE COMPLAINER

The Complainer is as common as wheels on a car. Usually of the female sex, their 
only joy is to find something to complain about in order to make other's lives 
as miserable as theirs. The complainer will usually complain about stupid stuff, 
like a tomato over there has turned one zillionth of a shade darker, therefore 
it has gone bad, or that the milk's expiry date is on the other side.  Or, if 
the milk has the expiry date on the facing side, that the milk's label is in 
French and that we are not in Quebec (for those that don't know, Canada is 
supposedly bilingual: French and English. Each product therefore must carry a 
bilingual label so that they can be sold in the French speaking province of 
Quebec).  Usually they will go to a manager and complain that we should face all 
our labels on the English side.
The Complainer is usually more visible when they go to the express cash with 
more than eight items, tell the cashier they are paying customers and are in a 
hurry and demand to pay with a cheque or (worse) with endless change.  The 
Complainer can usually be spotted complaining to a friend how some products are 
8 cents cheaper at the other store.  Unfortunately they will never go and 
actually shop there to make the staff of this store happy.

3) CLUELESS

These are the same folks that when they drive they make a turn and don't signal, 
or as soon as the light turns green, they signal to turn left.  Doesn't matter 
how many times Clueless has been to the store, they will still find it necessary 
to ask where something is.  A typical encounter is usually in front of the dairy 
section, where clueless will ask the clerk in charge of the milk, where the milk 
is located in the store.  They usually carry a list with them with items they 
need and will ask help from a clerk in finding some unreadable item from it.
Clueless is also the type of person that is unable to read a sign:
CL: How much is this?
CG: - pointing at 4 feet by 6 feet yellow sign with a large black 1.99 written 
on it - 1.99 sir".
Clueless usually giggles and they make some comment that they couldn't see the 
sign.
Clueless are quite common when trying to free a buggy.  Although each cart has a 
label with precise instructions written for a Grade 5 mind, and diagrams are 
posted on the wall on how to insert the quarter to free the buggy, Clueless can 
be seen pushing the quarter in just about anyway except the right one while 
giggling histerically.

4) CHEAP BASTARD

There are two categories of cheap bastard.  Looks fine, smells fine or looks 
dirty, smells just as bad.  The former is usually an older person (see STARVED 
FOR ATTENTION), who after done their shopping, ask for someone to help them 
carry their grocery to the car.  At the car they will ask you to load the 
groceries in the trunk.  Done so, they want you to bring them the quarter used 
to free the buggy back.  After that, they pocket the quarter and leave.
The latter usually is seen lurking around the reduced bin section, examining 
carefully each damage package and complaining they are too expensive.  A typical 
conversation with a Cheap Bastard of the latter section usually falls like this:

CB: How much is this?
GC: 2.99
CB: 2.59?
GC: No, 2.99

The cheap bastard will usually go to a clerk with a broken package and ask for 
it to be reduced.  Cheap bastard also has an amazing memory as they can remember 
the price of each item they bought, so they can make sure the cashier is keying 
in the right price.  If the Cheap Bastard thinks he has been overcharged 3 cents 
on some item, he will complain to the cashier, who will call a clerk for a price 
check.  9 times out of 10 the price is the one that the girl has entered.  The 
Cheap Bastard will mutter something like "well, the signs are not too clear, I 
couldn't tell..".  The Cheap Bastard's favorite line can be heard if by chance 
some item does not scan properly: "well, I guess it's free!"  They will laugh at 
this as if it was the funniest thing on earth (see FUNNY GUYS, article 3).

5) TRASH

This type of customer only arrives on the 27th of each month.  They are here to 
cash their welfare check and it is impossible not to notice them.  Dirty and 
usually surrounded by a particular aroma as if they haven't washed for over a 
week.  Trash usually have 3 or 4 kids (trashlings) who run around the store, 
opening boxes and creating havoc, no matter how much the trash yells at them 
with threats of beatings and killing.  Although most are ignorant and 
uneducated, trash generally are nice, although they can be heard yelling to 
their companion across the other side of the store to grab some more Kraft 
Dinner. Trash never buys essentials such as toothpaste or deodorant.

6) LAZY

Lazy usually is a customer that not only expects to find everything they want 
the moment they arrive but that when they find it, they expect the underpaid, 
understaffed and overworked clerk to carry their grocery around for them.  They 
are also the only ones that ask for something like prune juice and buy an entire 
case of it, and then demand that the box is rewrapped for them with some sturdy 
tape.  Lazy usually is quite bitter (see "THE COMPLAINER") and if the service is 
not up to their standards they will usually make life hell for the poor clerk 
they have intercepted and complain to the manager.

There is also the semi-lazy.  These bastards don't do all their shopping, then 
have the cashier make one of us clerks go get some more stuff for them, that may 
have been in the last aisle.  Much to far for them to walk with their delicate 
feet.

7) CALCULATOR PERSON

Usually falls under the category of Cheap Bastard, however the Calculator Person 
is usually a financial wizard that will bring with them only $14 and change, 
while their buggy is holding more than $100 worth of groceries.  Once they get 
to cash, they will calculate the costs together with the cashier and have her 
remove certain items to keep everything well within the budget.  Guess who ends 
up bringing most of the stuff they left behind back?

8) THE HELPER

Usually they mean no harm, but they can be more annoying then anyone else around 
the store.  They seem to find a need to help every member of the staff, like 
holding the door for them when they are bringing something in (although the 
doors open by themselves), helping another guy put stock on the shelf, or just 
about anything that might get them killed.  The Helper is convinced that he can 
make the world better for everybody else, and that his knowledge is above 
everyone else's.  The Helper can be found lurking around the buggies in the 
desperate attempt to find someone unable to free one, or when a cashier is 
having trouble, asking the very dangerous question "did you type the numbers 
correctly?  Here let me check..".  The Helper will also help the cashier by 
personally handing to her each item. The Helper completes his visit by ripping 
out the receipt from the cash-register by himself, usually when the machine is 
not yet done printing.  These type of customers are fortunately rare.

9) STARVED FOR ATTENTION

SFA are usually elders that are in desperate need of company.  SFA seem to get a 
kick out of entering a conversation between two clerks or to send some wise 
crack about working (ie: clerk is drinking water from a bottle, SFA will usually 
say "Did you substitute that water with Vodka? Hee hee").  SFA also seem to 
always be in need of something.  A hand grabbing an item at stomach's height, 
reading the labels because they are blind (or so they claim, but they seem to be 
able to recognize us right away) or bagging their groceries in different bags, 
usually divided in size, weight, perishable, geometric shape and location in the 
fridge.

SFA are very careful with their budget.  Overcharging a SFA of 1 or 2 cents will 
cause them to call the manager and complain that they have been robbed.

10) THE SUBSTITUTE

The Substitute is usually someone who doesn't do grocery shopping on a regular 
basis.  Completely unable to navigate around the store (see CLUELESS), they tend 
to come up to a grocery clerk and with a long list in their hands ask for the 
most absurd items (some of them which are usually not even in a grocery store, 
like shoe polish).  When learning that the item they are searching for cannot be 
found here, the Substitute will ask where he can find it and if the clerk 
happens to know of another store, what type they carry, if it's in stock and how 
much it costs.

11) ENGLISH AS A SECOND LANGUAGE

ESL is usually fresh off the boat and discovering for the first time the beauty 
of a grocery store, apparently quite a rarity from their original country of 
origin.  ESL will speak to a clerk in their native language expecting them to 
understand what they are looking for. When the clerk returns the favor with a 
clueless look, ESL will keep talking by making the gesture of eating something.  
Removing all the aisles where there are only items that are to be spread or 
drank, we find ourselves with 6 and a half aisles of possibilities or over 3,500 
different products.  Eventually by dragging the customer to a staff member that 
speaks the same language, can an ESL be fully served.  Some ESL will attempt 
speaking in English requesting some strange item: by listening carefully and 
asking strategic questions (do you drink it? Is it for cleaning?) one can 
determine what it is for.  At other times ESL will ask for something that is 
found in the product (in one case looking for a kaboo.  After about half an hour 
I discovered she was referring to a box of cereals with Batman's tatoos inside).  
ESL are usually nice, although there are ones where will ask for something (like 
"cofa") and when you finally realize they mean coffee (this usually arrives with 
the comment "Oh! Coffee!" as joy fills your body) they will get upset that you 
are making fun of their accent, call you racist and go to the manager and 
complain. ESL can usually be found asking if the product contains eggs or any 
other animal product.

12) The Perfect Customer

This one usually comes like a rarity.  They are understanding, ask questions 
politely and don't bother sharing their personal lives with the staff.  Can 
perfectly understand that we might be out of stock on some item.  Doesn't tell 
clerks how to do their jobs.  Doesn't complain if the store is extremely busy 
and although all the cashiers are open, that there are line ups.  Lastly the 
Perfect Customer is happy with the way things are and doesn't want them to 
change.  Unfortunately this type of customer is in danger of extinction and is 
hardly seen anymore in their natural urban habitats. 

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3.  You're a FUNNY GUY, Now Shut the Fuck Up

By Jason MacIsaac

Indulge me a moment.

Notice I asked your permission first.  Most people don't do that.

I have been told that I'm a funny guy.  Thanks for the compliment, but I try not 
to think that way.  The reason I do this because I don't want to be obnoxious in 
elevators.  I'll explain.

The other day I was riding in an elevator to my 18th floor apartment.  It was 
crowded, so as people boarded, we called our floors so that a person near the 
buttons pressed our floor for us.

Manning the button panel, and clearing enjoying the spotlight, was a FUNNY GUY.  
I mean that he was trying VERY HARD to be VERY FUNNY.  He was talking very loud 
and boisterously to a friend, and he was giving everything he had.  He probably 
would have sawed off a testicle with a rusty straight razor if he thought it 
would get a laugh (actually, come to think of it, I should have told him "If you 
saw off either testicle with a rusty razor blade, I promise to laugh."  He 
probably would have done it.)

We called out our floors.  "Seven," "Fifteen," "Eighteen,"  "Twenty-three," and 
he burst out like an auctioneer "Twenty-four! Do I hear twenty-four!  Going 
once, going twice!"

His friend thought it was the funniest thing ever.  Geez.  Don't sit him down 
for an episode of Gilligan's Island.  He'll have an oxygen mask pressed to his 
face while the paramedics try to revive him before the theme song is done.  

The rest of us did what most people do when confronted with a FUNNY GUY.  We 
smiled politely at his jokes.  He didn't stop there.  A forced smile only 
encourages a FUNNY GUY.  Noticing that someone was carrying a case of beer, he 
said "At least we've got refreshments if we get stuck.  HAHHAHAHAHAHA!"

Yeah, and we've even got a place for the empties.  Bend over, FUNNY GUY.

You know what I mean by a FUNNY GUY.  The kind that's always laughing loudly and 
needlessly with friends about things only they find funny.  That would be okay, 
but they insist on sharing it with the world around them.  FUNNY GUYS (and FUNNY 
GIRLS) flourish in places where there's a captive audience.   Buses, elevators, 
and worst of all, when people are at work.  At work you've got to put up with 
that shit.  Unless you're a cop, in which case you beat them about the head and 
neck with a baton until they're dead, then put a switchblade in their hand as a 
cover story.

FUNNY GUYS are convinced that they are the cutting edge of wit.  Their 
observations are always fresh, never stale.  I worked at a movie theater at the 
confection stand for nearly two years, and each and every week, a different 
FUNNY GUY would place on order like "I want a Big Mac, large fries." (suddenly 
pretending to realize) "Oh, I'm sorry."  And then they would laugh (FUNNY GUYS 
always laugh at their own jokes).

The FUNNY GUYS are always convinced that their roach-sized brains come up with 
these things first.  I would usually respond in one of three ways.

1) "Can you rob us so the Emergency Task Force has an excuse to shoot you dead?"
2) "You know your mother, sir?  I killed her.  You know your father?  I killed 
him too."
3) "That's funny.  You'd think I'd get tired of it hearing it every week.  But 
nope, it's as funny as the day I first heard it.  No, better than that.  It's 
getting funnier with each telling.  If it gets any funnier, I may have to 
castrate someone."

When FUNNY GUYS finally realize that they're not being entertaining, they get 
all tender and say meekly "Sorry.  Just trying to be friendly."  

For God's sake, it isn't that hard.  Humor and friendship are natural.  If you 
see someone you'd like to hang out with, just hang out with them.  Before you 
know it, you're friends.  It does take some effort sometimes, but it doesn't 
take a sledge hammer.  If FUNNY GUYS were surgeons, then would remove an 
appendix with an automated ditch digger instead of a scalpel.  If you think 
something's funny, say it, and people will laugh, or they won't.  If they don't 
laugh like an idiot at your joke, you won't be embarrassed if it bombs.

For me though, the worst thing about a FUNNY GUY is his coup de grace.  When you 
leave, thankful to be breathing unpolluted air again, the FUNNY GUY confides 
loudly to his sidekick, "I'll bet he thinks I'm crazy."

Ohhhhh gaaaaaaawwwwwwwd.No, crazy people are interesting.  The Emperor Caligula 
was crazy. But he was a fascinating guy.  I think FUNNY GUYS are boring.  They 
push an aspect of their personality that is quite frankly, weak.  It would be 
like me promoting myself as the world's greatest nuclear physicist when I can't 
even remember if radiation is good for you or not.  These people might have some 
other favorable personality trait.generosity, kindness, thoughtfulness, 
whatever.but their SENSE OF HUMOR keeps getting in the way.  

But if you don't laugh, you're the tightass.  I once kept a poker face through a 
FUNNY GUY'S monologue, not reacting once.  A friend I was with did the polite 
smile thing.  Seeing this, the FUNNY GUY said to me "You've got to relax, get a 
sense of humor."

To which I said very calmly, "On the contrary, I have a wonderful sense of 
humor.  You're just not funny."

You should have seen the look on the face of a) the FUNNY GUY, and b) the friend 
I was with.  Sorry, people have to be taught not to take advantage of courtesy 
and politeness if they don't want to drive it out of the world.  Sometimes they 
have to learn the hard way.

The FUNNY GUY, of course, was just trying to be friendly.

Here's a tip.  The next time you meet a FUNNY GUY, scar him for life.  You can 
do this quite easily.  When he says something witty like "What can I do you 
for," laugh.  I don't mean use that polite chuckle you have to recognize that 
some attempted humor even though it wouldn't make an unsophisticated four year 
old smile.  I mean laugh.  HARD.  Laugh extremely loudly and forcefully.  Do it 
for about two minutes straight, don't let up.  It works great if you're in the 
presence of other people.  Initially, FUNNY FUCKING GUY will think he's scored, 
but the longer you laugh, the more he will realize that you find more humor in 
war atrocities than in him.  Now it's his turn to politely smile and make like 
he doesn't mind any of this.  

For example, with my elevator FUNNY GUY, when he said "Twenty-four," I should 
have just bellowed with laughter.  Shattered the eardrums of the person standing 
next to me.  I should have kept laughing until it got to my floor, 18 stories 
up.

And as I left, I should have topped it off with my own coupe de grace:

"Hey!  You're A FUNNY GUY!"

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4.  Urine Smell: Tales Of Public Transit
True Stories as told by Jeff Wright

	To drive, or not to drive.  That isn't a question.  One, it doesn't have a 
question mark at the end of it, and secondly because I don't have my driver's 
license.  Due to my fear of hitting people with a car, I remain license-less.  
This forces me to often use public transit.  The TTC.  The Toronto Transit 
Commission. 

	There are weird and annoying people on public transit.  Anyone who has 
rode in a streetcar, bus, or subway knows that.  This is a document of some of 
the oddballs I've encountered, and a survival kit of sorts when dealing with 
public transit.

	There are a few things that help ward off weirdoes while riding the 
rocket.  

1)Friends:  Friends are often a good garlic for the streetcar vampires.  But 
often, it can backfire since it gives a person more of an audience to preach 
their craziness.
2)Walkman (or personal cassette recorder, to not use a TM):  Having a pair of 
headphones on and closing your eyes makes you impossible to approach to speak 
with.
3)Book:  Pretty much makes you look as occupied and out of your surroundings as 
number 2.

	Now on to the stories.  You will understand why I hate the weirdoes on 
public transit.

	Flashback a couple years back.  I'm sitting down on a red underpadded 
seat, minding my own business as usual.  I'm not a trouble maker.  Lets just say 
I was looking out the window, admiring the beautiful night.  Looking at the 
hookers and what not.  "I'd do her.  Nope.  I'd do her.  Yeah, she's hot.  Eww.  
I'd do her if she wasn't twelve."  Well, how about we say I was just looking out 
the window at the stars.  Yeah.  All of a sudden, a drunkard sitting in the seat 
behind me, (who had been sleeping like your sister's baby since I'd gotten on 
the car) wakes up and somehow his leg swings up and around the seat to hit me 
squarely in the back of the head.  "I am King Tut.  Bow down before me!"  The 
guy kicked me in the head again, bringing me back into the real world.  He 
apologized and got off.  

	Later that year.  Coming home from school.  That's what students do.  The 
streetcar is packed, and I'm sitting down.  A guy comes up to me and tells me to 
get out of my seat.  This guy is only a couple years older than me.  He's not 
with walker and bag full of cat food.  

"No, I don't think so."
"Get up.  I want to sit down."
"No."
"Get up now or I'm gonna beat you up."
"I'm not getting up."
"I said get up."
". yeah, whatever.  I told you I'm not getting up."
(turning over to his friend)"He ain't gonna move.  Does he know who he's talking 
to?  (back to me) Get up."
"No.  Look, I'm getting off in about four stops.  You can have my seat then."
"I want it now.  Get up"
"I'll get up when I'm gonna get off."
(at this point, the guy grabs my hat off my head and throws it down the 
streetcar)
"He he he.  Now get up."
"No.  (to the guy who has caught my hat) Yeah, that's mine.  Can you pass that 
back here please?  (the hat starts its way back to me) Thanks." 
"No, don't give him that hat back."
(I get my hat back, and put it on my head) "Thanks a lot."
"Get up bitch, I'm gonna beat you up."
"Okay, I'll get up.  This is my stop. (I get up) There ya go.  Was that really 
worth all the hassle?  I told you I'd let you have it when I got off."
(I get off and he sits down)

	Early this year. I was going on the streetcar on my way home from buying a 
couple Cds, and as I got on, somebody grabbed my arm.  It was the kind of grab 
that people you know do when they want to stop you and get your attention.  So I 
look back expecting to see one of my friends.  But it's not one of my friends.  
It's this old guy who looked like he hadn't showered in a while.  Actually I'm 
not sure if he ever had.  But he looks at me with a drunken glare.

"Honey."

I'm a bit confused.  So I look at him a bit closer, just to sort of suck in the 
details.  Whatever, right?  Well I break loose from his grip and walk into the 
second section of the streetcar to make distance between us.  Then a moment of 
guilt came over me.  I did know that drunk.  So I walk back to him.
 
"I'm so sorry I brushed you off.  I didn't recognize you." "You hurt my feelings 
man.  I molest you as a small child and you forget me?  That's not friends.  
That's not pals."  "I'm sorry.  My parents sent me to therapy for it and I was 
hypnotized by some quack and he made me forget all about you.  It's all still 
sort of cloudy but I do remember you pulling down my pants then touching me."  
"I've got pictures if you want; so that you can refresh your memory."  
"I think I would like to just so that I don't lose that part of my life."  
"They're at my place.  You can come up to my apartment to get them."  
"Hold on now.  I never said I enjoyed it.  I don't want to be molested again.  
If you had had the pictures on you, fine.  But I'm not going to your apartment."  
"Okay.  Do you have an e-mail?  I could send them to you that way."  
"Okay.  Do you have a piece of paper for me to write it down on?"  
"In my apartment."  
"Look.  I'm not gonna go to your apartment.  I was just trying to catch up on 
old times and you have to persist on trying to get me into your apartment so you 
can rape me again.  I don't like your attitude.  If you ever see me again, don't 
grab me because I don't want anything to do with you anymore.  Stay away from 
me."

The latter part of that story is completely, well mostly, fictional.  

	Last Sunday.  Coming home from a movie on the subway with my friend.  A 
couple stops fly by us, and then a guy who somehow looks familiar boards and 
sits near us.  Of course, he needs to talk to us.  My friend stays silent 
through the whole conversation.

"I'm going to kill myself tomorrow."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah.  So this might be the last time you see me."
"Oh."
"Life just isn't worth it.  The cops keep putting me in jail.  I get out and 
then they put me right back in.  I'm not saying that I'm not doing anything to 
deserve it, but when you get to my age, you just can't stand it anymore."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah.  The secret is to take pills.  That way you just fall asleep.  Just take 
about a hundred pills at once."
"Yeah."
"You've gotta make sure you take enough though. (guy opens up a pill bottle he's 
got that has about 6 to 8 pills and pops them all into his mouth)  If you don't 
take enough, you can have a heart attack. (the guy starts to grab his chest and 
moans a little)". (a small smile that doesn't quite crack)"
"Oww."
"Buddy, no offence, but I really don't want to hear about your killing yourself, 
okay?"
"(turning to a couple sitting across from him) Where am I?  What station is 
this."
"So. (I start to talk to my friend, see survival tip # 1)
"Hey guy.  I'm really sorry to talk to you about all that shit.  I probably 
won't see you."
"Yeah.  Okay."
"Bye. (guy gets off the subway) What stop is this?  I don't even know where I 
am.)
"Anyways. (I continue to talk to my friend)"

	That's all the public transit stories I feel like writing tonight, so 
that's it.  I didn't express my hatred for these people in this little piece 
because it should be pretty evident.  You have to take these people with a grain 
of salt.  But if I knew that these were the people that I'd hit accidentally 
driving, I think I'd probably go get my license tomorrow.  Kidding, kidding.  I 
don't want to promote murder.  I happen to be one of the few people who still 
feel that it's morally wrong.

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

5.   Hate me
by IMPROV

	I'm not sure what it is, but my writing of late has lacked an edge...So 
when I learned that CoN's next issue was hate oriented (although I can't think 
of one that hasn't been yet), I was quite excited...I'm going to attempt to get 
many people to HATE me!!  Do you know that I haven't received one rebuttal 
letter in months!!  I'm very disappointed in myself...I mean, Christ, I even 
wrote a poem...A POEM!!  Not a cheesy love poem...but free verse never the less, 
and still a poem.
Could it be...that it's because I'm in love?
Could it be...that I'm just not a cynical bastard anymore?
Could it be...that everyone is desensitised to my sharp wit?
Could it be...that I'm not creative enough to piss anyone off?
Maybe I should just try to piss people off...but you see, that's the problem if 
I go off saying stuff like:  
I think abortions should be paid for by the Government, OR The Catholic Church 
is the world's largest and most accepted cult, whose members are stuck up 
useless middle class inbred mother fuckers,  OR  I was molested as a child and
it made me a better rapist,  OR (for all you computer geeks out there) AOL is 
really good,  OR The X Files ids the worst television show ever produced, in
fact I'd rather watch the 12 hour Full House-a-thon.

	If I try to be difficult, is it contrived? If I intend to offend, am I 
turning into a Howard Stern? A Howard Stern being defined as: someone who every 
now and then has an interesting point, but when he doesn't he reverts to dick 
and fart jokes...appealing to the lowest common denominator...Bathroom humour... 
what a fucking waste... I'm not talking about unnecessary swearing (which I'm 
guilty of), what I'm talking about is raising a point about a pertinent subject, 
but when that idea is exhausted, and there is nothing left to say... you let one 
rip.  Whatta dick.  

	I will now share with you my favourite insult...This term is the term I 
use to describe jack asses that are easily hateable, like Howard Stern and my ex 
girlfriends best-friend.  The term is WASTE OF FLESH.  People whom I loathe are 
Wastes of Flesh.  That meaning, that if you take the flesh that the good Lord 
above used to create a Howard Stern, you could probably make two good dwarfs... 
Dwarfs that could go on to entertain thousands daily in the Ringling Bros. 
Circus as the Amazing Pintaki Twins who swallow each other!!! (or something 
insignificant like find the cure for some deadly disease...ah who am I kidding, 
they could never reach the test tubes)...Or you could take the Waste of Flesh's 
flesh and feed some African cannibal family two or three good meals!!! (or some 
Arkansas family).

Thanks,
IMPROV

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

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

"Life sucks. Get a helmet."
Denis Leary

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

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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
