Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume III, Issue 12, AD MCMXCVIII
Monday, June 22nd, 1998
ISSN 1482-0471
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"procreatrix: n., a mother"
 -- definition from _American Encyclopedia of Sex_, edited by
    Adolph F. Niemoeller, published 1935

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"You can rent rooms by the hour at the Strathcona Hotel."

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1. Editorial
2. The Infamous Condom Incident
3. Condoms
4. The Touch of a Master
5. Truth or Dare

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This week's Golden Testicle award:

Women who want to pee Standing Up

http://www.geocities.com/Yosemite/Gorge/1377/standing.html

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1. Editorial

WELCOME TO ISSUE 12 of Capital of Nasty.  My apologies for this long 
delay, unfortunately life has taken its toll, and time has become a 
precious rarity.  If anyone out there with an insane amount of money is 
willing to sponsor all of us, then we can finally start dedicating 
ourselves fully in the publication of this silly drivel.  Until then, or 
until I win the lottery, all we ask, is to bear with us.

SEX - Being something we cannot live without, it has also been the most 
popular request from the readership when CoN had asked what should appear 
in future issues.  So here you have it folks, an entire issue dedicated 
to sexually related topics.  We hope it'll rock your monkeys.

LETTERS - John Komdat writes:

> At the bottom of the current Capital of Nasty zine is 
>
> ZimID 708EC8D1  1994/09/14 EC B0 97 59 1D FE 7C 32  7E 04 2C 66 47 41 FB 7D
>
> It looks sorta like a PGP thingy.  What is it really?

What you see at the end of each issue of CoN, is the `zine's PGP key 
fingerprint.  ZimID for Zimmerman, the creator of PGP.  Capital of Nasty 
supports encryption for the masses.  Our public key, version 2.3, is 
available here:

http://www.capnasty.org/info.html#reaching

RUMORS - Apparently AOL will charge for ICQ and/or send advertising 
through the ICQ network.  Anyone with information regarding to this is 
kindly asked to let us know.

This marks the end for this issue's Editorial.  Our next issue will deal 
with jobs.  What would you like to see in CoN? Our question is always 
thirsty for your comments.

Have a good one.

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2. The Infamous Condom Incident

Or, Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex But Were Afraid to Ask 
Because You're Catholic

By Jason MacIsaac

I was raised in the Catholic School System.  Elementary, and high school.  
And everything they say about Catholics is true.  We make rabbits look 
chaste, but we deny that we even know sex exists and we all feel very 
guilty about getting some afterwards.  This guilt lasts about ten 
minutes, when we start thinking about it again, unless we're in the 
company of a priest or Crucifix, then we can usually go a half-hour 
without the urge to bonk somebody.

In my high school things were a little more progressive than the old days 
(when Nuns would beat you with a yardstick if you so much as said 
"underwear"), and sex was actually discussed, and there was a decent sex 
ed program.  We also learned about drugs and racism.  Specifically, we 
learned that all this was going on in the public schools, and not in our 
school.  I was even told once that we wore a uniform (while I wore my 
sneakers and a blue non-regulation sweater) because it made it possible 
to tell students apart from undesirable elements, such as drug dealers.  
Meanwhile, Stephan was enjoying a tremendous hash buzz and chatting 
merrily with a car about its paint job.  In Stephan's drug-assisted mind, 
the car may have been talking back, complimenting Stephan's on his well-
pressed school uniform.  

Occasionally, hopelessly optimistic people like myself would try some 
reason to point out a problem in the hopes of changing it, or getting a 
teacher to talk real, and not parrot the school board propaganda.  As a 
matter of fact, our drug dealers were wearing uniforms and enrolled in 
our classes, I would say.  But it was hopeless to say such things. We 
didn't deal in real issues.  Everything was strictly generic, and they 
tried to hide the fact that knowing something about sex, drugs, and rock 
and roll might actually have a practical application.  Our drug ed 
program was very enlightening.  I did learn all sorts of things about LSD 
etc., except one thing...if drugs are so evil and stupid, why do people 
take them?  Similarly, our sex ed class was reduced to the bare facts (no 
pun intended).  We knew that the penis was inserted into the vagina, but 
nobody explained why someone would want this to happen. "And the blood 
fills the penis, creating an erection.  The vagina lubricates when the 
woman is aroused, and the man then inserts the penis into the vagina.  
This is called 'penetration'."  No-one ever added "And god-damn, let me 
tell you it FEELS GREAT."  For what was being described, it was just 
another bodily function, like a bowel movement.  They never explained 
that although it is used to procreate, most people do it because they 
like it.  Then again, about 1/3 of us knew this before high school sex ed 
anyway, and the rest of us would find out Prom Night.  

I was told ethnic gangs sprouted up shortly after I graduated, and that 
there were 30 student pregnancies in one year.  They continue to talk 
about how awful it is in public schools with the rampant racism, drug 
abuse and sex, and that condoms are evil.  To this day, many Catholic 
institutions refuse to concede that perhaps a condom isn't as evil as 
unwanted pregnancy, or AIDS.

I found this out first hand once.

Our school had a little radio station, where I was a DJ.  It was just a 
tiny sound system that was pumped into the cafeteria during spares.  It 
was impossible to run since everyone liked different kinds of music.  
Only about 1/10th of the audience was enjoying it at any one point.  We 
tried comedy sketches and stuff that we'd write and perform ourselves, 
but most people didn't listen.  They just talked or ate their lunch.  It 
was fun for us, but we didn't have a fanatic fan base, to put it mildly.

I have the distinction of being the only DJ to command complete attention 
of the cafeteria for a full minute.  

This incident also led to the creation of the "Jason Rule," in which all 
material had to be screened by the two managers, or the staff instructor, 
Mister K.

I read a joke commercial.  We did that all the time.  This one made fun 
of McCarthy's, which provides the uniforms for most of the Catholic 
schools in the Greater Toronto Area.  If you've gone to a Catholic high 
school in the GTA, chances are you've been there and worn a McCarthy's 
tartan tie or kilt, or pair of grey pants.

Mostly the commercial made fun of our uniform policy itself, which had 
been stricter of late as they tried to crack down on people like me, who 
made it a point to be out of uniform.  This meant I had to put up with a 
lot of hassling, so I wrote a little retaliation.

Here is the commercial, with commentary (consider it the laser disc 
edition):

"Hello, my name is Billy Bob Joe Plus-Tax."

(Don't ask.)

"I represent McCarthy's, the people who provide you with the wonderful 
uniforms you're wearing now."

(At this point, the caf was still noisy, people not paying attention.)

"It's come to our attention that some of you are engaging in pre-marital 
sex."

(At the word "sex" the caf instantly goes to dead silence.)

"You know, you shouldn't be doing that.  But, since some of you are, 
we've come up with a wonderful new product for you.  McCarthy's Condoms."

(Big laugh.  I actually had to pause for the laughter to subside.  I 
never had to do that before.)

"Choose from over 50 varieties, including our school spirit condom, which 
comes with your school's crest printed right on it."

(Another laugh.  The bit about "comes" was an unintentional pun.)

"And don't forget the Tartan condom, which comes with your school's 
pattern, exactly like the girl's kilts."

(A tartan covered penis.  Think about it.)

"And last but not least, the sweater condom, built exactly like the 
school sweater.  It's green, and it even itches, just like the school 
sweater."

(Laughter getting louder.)

"So remember, if you're going to have sex, be safe with a McCarthy's 
Condom."

(I changed my goofy slick salesguy voice into a more serious one).

"A special notice to students: McCarthy's Condoms are now a mandatory 
part of the school uniform.  Teachers are authorized to check to see that 
you are wearing your condom at all times."

This got the biggest laugh of all.  It was a time when teachers were 
carrying swatches of grey fabric to see that our pants correctly matched 
school-issue pants, and although we didn't have to wear a sweater, we 
were required to carry one at all times (?).  Why?  Don't ask, shut-up, 
just do what we say.  This little commercial of mine took a stab at that 
kind of mentality.  Everybody knew that I was very anti-uniform.  I would 
wear my sneakers instead of dress shoes constantly.  When teachers came 
up to me and ask "Where are your shoes?" I would say "On my feet."  This 
would prompt an angry "Where are your DRESS shoes?"  My dress shoes were 
in my locker (where they stayed for four years).  I would tell them this 
(omitting the four years part), and they would tell me to put them on.  I 
would go away, and just try to avoid that teacher for the day.  They took 
the uniform policy very seriously, and if they'd been thinking clearly, 
they should have been pissed at my taking
the piss out of it.

But nope, I had acknowledged the existence of sex, which is a hundred 
times worse.  I could have announced to the cafeteria "Mr. Q, that 
bastard vice-principal, buggers goats in a Nazi uniform."  They wouldn't 
have been mad at the character assassination or the contempt for a school 
official.  They would have been mad at the use of the word "buggers," 
which is a form of sex, and we're not supposed to know about it.

So Mike, my partner, tried to contain his laughter while introducing the 
next song, when suddenly Mr. K. walked into the radio booth with Mr. G, 
the school Chaplain. Mr. K had a long look on his face that spelled 
trouble for your humble narrator.  The Chaplain looked like I had trashed 
his car.  I hadn't of course, though we did affix a "PUBLIC EDUCATION: 
PRIORITY #1" bumper sticker to the Principal's car later that year. 

The Chaplain was plenty mad.  So I got an earful for promoting sex, which 
is what he thought the commercial did.  Actually, I was saying the school 
uniform policy was moronic, but anyway.  The Chaplain actually said, "I'm 
censoring this."  Well, at least he was honest.  I was told to apologize, 
for what I'm not sure, but I had to go back on the air and explain that I 
actually hadn't meant to encourage people to fuck like there's no 
tomorrow (I'm paraphrasing obviously).  I had to do this twice.  
"Sincerely."  I had to fake the sincerity part.  And the biggest fallacy 
of this apology was that fact that nobody needed my encouragement to have 
sex.  Nobody said, "Oh, Jason actually didn't want us to have sex, so 
we'd better not."  I'm sure students around the school who didn't hear 
the incident got lucky that night.  Or maybe were in the janitor's closet 
that very moment.    

Thirty student pregnancies in one year.  

In addition to the radio station, our school had a nursery for the 
student's children. Maybe I should have read a real commercial for 
Trojans instead of a fake one for McCarthy's.

Ironically, Mr. G, the Chaplin, wasn't a bad guy.  I liked him actually.  
We had a few run-ins about other things not worth recounting now, but he 
was young and misguided, and well, I was write and he was wrong.  But I 
kept an open mind, and I'm mature enough not harbor any hard feelings. 

In fact, a friend of mine told me that Mr. G not long after confided to 
him "Why don't they wear the little rubber thingee?  I mean, I wish they 
wouldn't do it at all, but if they're going to, why don't they wear the 
little rubber thingee?"  This after consoling a young girl who had just 
learned that she was pregnant.  Quite a risk for him to say that.  If the 
school board had found out, they probably would have buried him under 
Highway 10.  Good Catholic people, of course, don't use condoms, because 
as the Pope (and Monty Python puts it) every sperm is sacred. 

Mr. G had an agenda to follow if he wanted to continue drawing a 
paycheque from the school board, and I thought high school was like a 
load of manure, but less useful.  We were bound to have our 
disagreements.  And even though we sorta agreed on this issue, he 
couldn't make his feelings public.  Perhaps it had something to do with 
the fact that other schools were visiting us at the time, and heard the 
wild goings-on in our radio station.  One of them was an all-girls 
school, who couldn't believe what they were hearing.  One of these 
visitors actually turned out to be the woman I'm going to marry, and this 
was her first exposure to me.  Fate does some weird things.  But at any 
rate, perhaps this display in front of other schools pissed Mr. G off at 
that moment (Mister K thought it was "Good satire").

I didn't get kicked off the air.    I was allowed to continue being a DJ, 
but my racier stuff was killed by Antonia, Nadine or Mr. K.  That wasn't 
their fault.  They had responsibilities.  Personal feelings didn't enter 
into it.  For a while though, Len and Raph, two DJs who had a later 
shift, they liked to court disaster by reading ads for "McCarthy's 
Condiments!   On your hot dogs and hamburgers!"  We never did manage to 
get the cafeteria's attention quite like that again.

And Catholic people, including young students, continued to have sex.

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3. Condoms
by Leandro

Back in high-school we had this things called "Sexual Awareness classes", 
where we'd be fed propaganda about not having sex and that giving our 
virginity to someone else after marriage was the only way to go.  A nun, 
of all people, was teaching the course.  Of course nobody, except the 
ugly weird kid sitting at the corner there, much cared about this shit, 
in fact, probably a good 90% of the class was already sexually active.  
But it was no use: if you had the fortune to get educated in a Roman 
Catholic school, part of the torture, beside religion class, was to 
endure in this long sessions in the auditorium on sex.  Or their version 
of it.

When talking about sex, one would think that they would teach you 
important things, like when a woman is most likely to get pregnant, when 
she is not fertile, and of course ways of preventing an unwanted 
pregnancy.  And why not learn more about each other genitals?  I mean, I 
was born with this array of tools down my pants, which works in a 
relatively simple way, but how does a woman's work?
 
Of course, in a Roman Catholic school, sex is a big taboo.  It's a no-no, 
and they don't want you to have sex.  So, they would start talking about 
all sorts of terrible sexually transmitted diseases, make us watch 
horrifying videos of people who got an STD and could not have sex anymore 
because they had become carriers, and had people with AIDS giving us long 
boring lectures on how easily one could become sick for life for a few 
hours of pleasure.

Their goal, I think, was to turn people off on sex completely.  You'd 
look at a girl, start thinking dirty little thoughts and then suddenly, 
you'd be on the ground twitching and convulsing just at the thought of 
having sex.

It didn't seem to work too well however, as each year the number of 
pregnancies kept on rising.

This was especially due to the fact that they never said anything, during 
their brain washing sessions, about the amazing Condom(tm).  It slices!  
It dices!  And not only will it protect you from unwanted pregnancies, 
but it will also cut down dramatically on the number of sexually 
transmitted diseases.  And since my school was packed with quite a large 
ignorant bunch, condoms even come with helpful instructions on how to 
correctly wear them.

It was no use though, the nun insisted in making us write these essays 
that sex was bad (like, she would know) or make silly presentations on 
how important it was to be a virgin.  And if you intended to graduate, 
you'd better do a good job at it.  You got lucky last night?  Good for 
you, but if the nun asks you if you are a virgin, stand up proud and 
scream "yes I am!".  Graduation was one step closer.

Of course, I had the chance to go to a public school for a while. I did, 
all because of a girl, and when you are in love, you'll do a whole bunch 
of stupid things.  Among them, go back to school.  Now, Public schools 
are a lot of fun.  People shooting up in the stairs, someone making out 
in the washroom (just washing my hands, don't mind me), and of course, 
someone would get the shit kicked out of them as you were going to 
another class.  The cops would be parked in front of the school 
automatically after class as a deterrent for violence.  A friendly 
environment indeed.  Surprisingly sex-ed here was based on having the 
nurse passing around condoms and instructing everyone how to correctly 
use them.  They had it figured out here, and since they couldn't prevent 
people from having sex, they could at least hope to reduce the amount of 
pregnancies.

Catholic folks still had to buy their condoms.  Of course there were four 
types of people: those that didn't have sex, those that had sex without a 
condom, those that bought condoms at 7-11 and finally those that bought 
THE condoms at a Drug Mart.

Drug Marts sell the best condoms. From Trojans to LifeStyles, you can't 
get wrong.  These condoms are bullet proof.  They come in every possible 
variety, from ribbed, to lubricated, with spermacide, to the triple combo 
with fries and the chance to win a vacation for two in Amsterdam.  They 
are pretty reliable, they don't break easily and they come in handy 
packages that look professional.  And of course, a graphic pamphlet on 
how to properly use one (or to convert them to a damn).  Even a rookie 
will quickly be able to install one and get ready for action.  They 
forgot to mention one thing: when you pull them off, try to peel'em off, 
don't pull them from the tip.  Condoms create a vacuum and you'll have a 
strange hickey appearing along the side of your tool as the blood is 
sucked near the surface.

7-11 sells condoms as well.  The advantage is that they are open 24 hours 
a day and they are never out of stock on anything.  You can go there at 4 
in the morning, get a slushy, a copy of Playboy (or Playgoat, depending) 
and a pack of condoms and you can rest assured they will have them.  7-11 
however sells only one brand, called Sheik.  Now Sheik look like they 
were marketed by some porno magazine, as each different type of condom 
has a picture of a semi-nude woman on them.  I guess this was to tell the 
idiots that you used them when having sex with a woman.  Not only that, 
Sheik condoms looked and felt as if they were made of cheap plastic and 
had the durability of a plastic bag.  Actually, a plastic bag is probably 
sturdier.  And whatever chemicals they used to kill sperm or to provide 
lubrication seem to have the strange tendency to cause strange rashes in 
the user.  A sure pain in the.. eh.. ass.

Of course there are those folks that don't buy condoms.  Why?  Because 
they believe a lot of sensation is lost with them. The truth is that they 
are simply scared shitless to go to the store and line up in front of the 
cash with a pack of condoms.  The woman behind you is probably looking at 
them weird and they can feel the muffled snickering of the cashier as she 
totals up the amount.  What's there to be ashamed?  When I go and I line 
up in the cash, I proudly present my box of condoms to the cashier.  Not 
only does this show that I am a caring and concerned guy about my 
partners and my own health, but that if anyone should be grinning, it's 
probably me.  I don't see anyone else here in line with a box of condoms 
and getting ready for action...

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4. The Touch of a Master
by Lilith DemHareIs

When it comes to the Act of Love, many, if not most, people are woefully
unskilled.  Now before you go off on some tirade about how you've had sex 
a thousand times, with hundreds of lovers...

That is exactly what I'm talking about. You, gentle reader, are a 
beginner, a novice, an 'armchair amour'.  You know, in a subconscious 
way, that you lack the skills of a great lover.  That is probably why you 
bounce from bed to bed.  Once you have sex with someone, they're 
reluctant to ask you back, because you weren't as good as they had hoped 
you would be.  And knowing your own skills (subconsciously), you are 
afraid of settling down with a single partner, because they will uncover 
how unskilled you really are.

Many people are under the erroneous impression that many partners makes a
great lover.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  In fact, the 
fewer partners you have, the greater your skill can become.  

For example, take the concert master.  He (or she) is a master at the 
violin.  They are the best-of-the-best.  Experts in music look at them 
and say, "wow, they are the best!".  And if you asked the concert master 
how long they've been using that particular violin they hold, you would 
find that they have been using it their whole violin-playing life.  
Forty, fifty years or more.  If you asked them to play a different 
violin, they would scoff at you.  For the concert master knows their 
instrument, and the violin sings best at the touch of the master's hand.

Of course, there are violinists out there that can pick up many different
instruments, and play them with no little skill.  But while they can 
crank out a tune, they can never reach the level of a master.

Why is that?

Because they have never become "wedded" to any one particular violin.  
They have not the time nor opportunity to learn the various nuances of an
instrument.  Thus, they miss out on all the little extras that make the
difference between an average musician and the best-of-the-best.

Thus it is so with the act of love.

When people hop from bed to bed, they claim that they are learning 
"variety".  Who are you kidding?  Bed-hoppers do not learn true variety.
They are merely relearning basic skills they already possess.  Where do 
they touch their lover, how do they kiss their lover, what turns their 
lover on... that sort of thing.  And if the bedhoppers have to learn 
these basics each and every time they jump in the sack, they're not 
learning variety, or even new skills.  They're simply repeating the same 
old beginners' stuff again.  And they fail to progress.

Some people claim "experienced" lover status because they try something 
"kinky".  Get real.  Thinking that the "kinky" stuff make them 
experienced or advanced is a delusion.  They seem to think that all these 
strange variations on lovemaking (or even plain sex) is the "next step 
up".  

They're wrong.  It's like trying to bow a violin with a sock.  Sure, 
it'll make noise of some sort, but... why do it?

Many people turn to kinky stuff because they are inadequate in their own 
basic lovemaking skills.  They fail to get pleasure from the tried-and-
true because they don't know enough to be successfully satisfied.  So 
they turn to the bizarre in hopes of getting their thrills.  But it is 
not a sexual thrill the bizarre gives.  It is simply the thrill of 
something strange that exites people.  Believe me, if you stuff gerbils 
up various body orifices to get your thrills, do it often enough, and the 
"thrills" will begin to fade.

The true lovemaking master is one who has a steady and regular partner.  
(I prefer virgin monogamous marriage, myself.)  With a little (correct) 
verbal instruction from someone with experience, the two beginner lovers 
can figure out the basics.  (After all, you've got to start somewhere.) 
Once they've got the basics going, they can begin to explore more.  They 
can learn, over a period of time, their own personal likes and dislikes.  
And they can fine tune.  Once in a while, they can do external research 
from reputable sources (like the Kama Sutra or Song of Solomon) to help 
perfect their skills.  The more they practice, and the more they 
communicate one with another, the better their skills will become.  And 
this is what makes master lovers.

Master lovers will have satisfying sex most of the time.  Man's delight 
will last longer than a few minutes, and a woman will orgasm (more than 
once, if she's lucky enough).  The signs of masters do not show in just 
one session of lovemaking.  But they will show over a period of time.  

If both partners are not gaining satisfaction on a regular basis, then 
they're doing something wrong.  It could be something as simple as a 
change in position, or it could be that they need to return to basics, 
and tune up their skills.  It could even be something as simple as 
kissing.  If one partner is not a good kisser, then they may not be 
arousing their lover enough to enjoy the act of love.  Little tunings of 
skill can make a world of difference.

In today's world, it is becoming more foolish to "sleep around" for 
health reasons.  But it has always been sensible to keep a single partner 
in a faithful relationship for far more than just keeping the warts away.  
The ancients knew about the skills of great lovers, and practiced them 
widely.
It's a shame that the touch of the master is almost lost today.

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5.  Truth or Dare
By IMPROV

	Going up north.  The great Canadain Getaway.  I just got back from 
going up north.  Woo Hoo!  Actually it was quite fun...just me and 
nature...and 140 spf sun block and OFF insect reppelant, and tonnes of 
alcohol.  Okay okay, just me nature, sunblock, insect reppelant, mind 
altering drugs, ten other drunken idiots and loud blasing music.  If ever 
there was a true representation of the natural wonders of the world, I 
just listed them.   

	Anyhow, it was typical of an "I'm going up north" trip.  A bunch of 
people who basically don't really know each other with the exception of 
one couple, usually the couple who owns the cottage ot trailer (depending 
on their degree of white trashed-ness).  Y'know what I mean if you own 
the cottage you have these types of introductions: "Rob this is Mike.  
Mike and I have known each other since high school...Mike, I work with 
Rob."  AND/OR  "Rob this is Tara, even I don't know her that well she's 
Lisa's friend...Tara, I work with Rob."  AND FINALLY  "Rob this is 
Joe...Joe this is Rob"  and then there is no explaination.

	So it's me and ten other Twentysomethings...too young to be Gen X 
ers too old to be able to get away with the adolecent shit that went on.  
Specifically the ever popular game TRUTH OR DARE.  Sitting around the 
campfire getting people to reveal personal things about themselves and 
exposing ther bodies.  That's the concept.  But that's never what really 
happens...but before I tell you what really happens let's delve into the 
history of TRUTH OR DARE as I know it.

	Back in elementary school there were more dimentions to the 
game....sure it was still known as TRUTH OR DARE but there were other 
categories...allow me to explain:

Truth:  One asks you a question that you must answer  truthfully....
        most often phrased as follows--"Is it true that you drink pee?"
        (remember this is elementary school)

Dare:   Self expalinatory...although it was usually along the lines
        of--"I dare you to kiss Juliete's arm."  To which Juliete 
        would cry, stop playing and go get her mom...what a bitch.

Double Dare: Similar to Dare but the Darer had to do whatever they dared 
        to Daree as well...this of course was a pretty wimpy way out 
        unless 	you got the fucked up kid who dared you to eat his 
        booger...cause it didn't matter to him cause he already eats
        it...I'll never fall for that again.

Promise to Repeat:
        The epitomy of a wimp...You have to repeat what the other kid
        says. The only time this ever worked was when you got one of
        the shy kids to play...and of course this is what they would
        always pick...but you get them to swear, something they never 
        do..."Okay Kathy...promise to repeat eh?  Hmmm...Alright....
        Shit piss fuck cunt cock sucker mother fucker tits blow job
        dick pussy bitch whore ass wipe FUCK FUCK FUCK."  Kathy never
        played again.

	But I digress....back to this weekend.  I join the game in 
progress.  this is because my freind Gerry and I are in the cottage doing 
shots and headbanging to Mettalica...than we got Jiggy Wit It...that's 
when I knew we were dunk)  So anyhow I join the game in progress.
  Nothing good has really happened.  Two guys have had to kiss...a guy 
has had to lick another guys ear...a guy has had to run across the field 
with his pants down.  See a pattern yet?  
IT'S ALL GUYS DOING THINGS.  Back to the last one... "I dare you to run 
across the field with you pants down."  To which Gerry replied, "Okay".  
But took it a step further, he took them right off.  And streaked around 
in his gotchies.    Gerry is the type of guy that if you're playing strip 
poker with him, the pants go first!  (be forewarned)

	This whole time, though, when a girl is asked to do anything 
remotely risque they act like you just raped them.   "Streak across the 
field toppless"  and this is the reply you get, first a lot of, 
"Howw....unnnn.....aaaa" (all in really high "I'm offened" voices).  
Then that's when the conditions come in..."I'm keeping my bra on...and 
I'm taking my shirt off behind that tree....and I'm carrying it with 
me...and and and "  Its four o'clock in the fucking moring no one's gonna 
call the cops because of indecent exposure.  Why play? 
 It's the biggest cop out ever.  I'd prefer to play with Kathy again..I'd 
have more fun getting her to swear.

	Well...inevitably it's my turn.  It's starting to rain.  The game 
is going to end soon...and, well, after my turn there is not much left to 
do.  "Dare", I say.  "I dare you to pull your pants down, right here in 
front of the fire, so we can see and turn around."
  So my bitching about the girls wimpiness has not went unnoticed.  
"Underware, too?" I ask. 
 "Of course"  is the answer I get.  So there I am listening to Geoff (who 
is standing right beside me) and I proceed to drop `em and show the girls 
that I'm not all talk, in more than one way.  I do my little spin and its 
over.   No big deal.  Well, above average deal...but....anyhow.  That's 
pretty much where the game breaks up.  But what's all the fuss....if 
you're going to play TRUTH OR DARE....then goddamn well play it.

Epilouge

	The next morining at the breakfast table Geoff's gitlfriend payed 
me a BIG compliment....much to Geoff's shugrin, I'm sure.  She said, "I
can't believe you did that Rob...I mean I was listening to Geoff talk,
then all of a sudden...I couldn't concentrate...I mean I don't remember
a thing he said after that....I woke up this morning and the first
thing I said was `I can't beleive Rob did that'...Wow..."  
Thanks Lee.

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

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"Ladies and gentleman, welcome to violence; the word and the act.
 While violence cloaks itself in a plethora of disguises, its favorite 
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 -- "Faster Pussycat, Kill! Kill!"

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)
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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
