Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume VII, Issue 14, AD MMII
Monday, October 28, 2002
ISSN 1482-0471
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"So as we set out this year to defeat the divisive forces that would 
take our freedom away, I want to say those words again for everyone 
within the sound of my voice to hear and to heed, and especially for 
you, Mr. Gore. From my cold, dead hands!"
 -- Charlton Heston

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"When I stand on a mountain and say `do it', it gets done!"
 -- Charles Manson

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1.  Democracy is Bad for Business 
2.  Life in the Collector Lane: The Roommate
3.  CoN @ the Movies
4.  Lake Roommate
5.  Cabbage Patch Clerk
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This week's Golden Testicle award:

http://www.irubmyduckie.com/

And it sure feels good.

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1.  Democracy is Bad for Business
Business is Bad for Humans

By Tim King  

Recently I've been struck by the confusion Americans have over 
understanding the Indian subcontinent. Pakistan sided with the U.S. 
in the "WAR ON TERRORISM" and suddenly this military dictatorship 
that overthrew a democratically elected government to gain power are 
the good guys. That means their enemies, the Indians, must be the 
bad guys... right?

I can only imagine the confusion swirling around in American brains. 
Indian already has a negative connotation to it thanks to Columbus' 
five hundred year old mistake. It's easy for the Americans to see 
Indians as the bad guys. Of course these Indians and those Indians 
are completely different, but that kind of distinction is simply too 
difficult to ask for.

So here we have the good guys, the Pakistanis (or 'Pakis' as George 
Dubleya likes to call 'em), fighting the evil Indians. I've heard 
more than one American say, "we've got to stand up for democracy 
around the world," when referring to supporting Pakistan versus 
India. I try to politely point out that India is actually the 
largest (population wise) and one of the largest (geographically) 
democratic societies in the world. They are a liberal country with 
many religions and races living within their borders, you know, just 
like the United States. Confusion still fills the air though as 
Americans struggle to understand their own foreign policy.

Here's the brief synopsis in case you missed it. American foreign 
policy is to support Pakistan (the aforementioned military 
dictatorship) because they assisted the invasion of Afghanistan, 
even though an overwhelming majority of very Muslim Pakistanis hate 
the United States and a large number of the Taliban shooting at U.S. 
forces were in fact Pakistani. India, which has had a democratically 
elected government since Pakistan separated from it fifty years ago, 
has never been in the good graces of American foreign policy. During 
the cold war they were forced to buy military hardware from the 
Soviet Union because the United States wouldn't deal with them. How 
can America, the supposed champion of Democracy be so cruel to one 
of its own? The answer is a simple one: it's all about business.

American foreign policy directs billions of development dollars into 
China, a country that shoots its citizens and likes to use them as 
slave labour for foreign interests. Why would the US do this? 
Stability. Why wouldn't the U.S. instead put that development money 
into the liberal, multi-ethnic, democratic India? Lack of stability. 
You see, if you have a military based dictatorship you have a high 
degree of certainty that things will remain the way they are. The 
factories you are building will still be there next year and the 
labour you purchased for ten cents an hour will still be working for 
your interests years from now because if they don't, they'll get 
shot.

If you put that money into India, where democracy has empowered the 
people and made laws to protect them from abuse, you won't actually 
be able to buy slave labour. If your business won't pay reasonable 
wages in reasonable working conditions you'll find yourself with no 
employees volunteering for your sweatshops. If you force people to 
work for you (because their government won't do it for you) you'll 
find yourself in jail. You see, slaves are much cheaper than paid 
employees, they don't have silly things like benefits or rights and 
you can use them much like you would use a machine - until it 
breaks. The best part is that you don't have to claim any moral 
responsibility for what happens because 'that's the way they do it 
in China!'. Of course, if that's the way they do it, you're 
supporting it by paying the people who do it that way, but I 
digress. The United States has a long and ignoble history with 
slavery. I suppose it's hard to break old habits.

Back in India, which has an enormous population (like China), but no 
support from the U.S., business men scratch their heads and try to 
understand why China is "an economic miracle" and they are a threat 
to U.S. interests in the region. If you talk to an Indian 
businessman you'll find a savvy individual who has a startlingly 
clear grasp of what U.S. interests really mean. The U.S. acts on the 
best interests of its own citizens. They often hide them in the flag 
and paint them with words like freedom and democracy, but what they 
really mean is control and the self-interests of a very small 
percentage of the world's population (only about four and a half 
percent of the world's population lives in the United States and one 
percent of them own over ninety percent of the country's value).

Even though there is an extreme gap between the rich and the poor in 
the United States, the government there strives to raise the 
standard of living for all its citizens. Since the rich aren't 
willing to surrender their power, security and comfort, the 
government needs to find a way to gain value without it costing 
anything to its richer citizens (many of whom, incidently, run that 
government). Fortunately the ninety five and a half percent of the 
world who don't happen to have U.S. citizenship provide a large 
reservoir of value from which to siphon worth. U.S. foreign policy 
unabashedly goes about ensuring that American companies have a 
competitive advantage in order to provide and avenue for this wealth 
to pour back into the country.

Frankly there isn't enough to go round for six billion free human 
animals walking the Earth. In current human society we make 
commodities of our fellow humans. We do this to make value for our 
own benefit. All current economic systems are based on this fact. 
Anyone living a first world lifestyle does so as a result of the 
cheap products made in third world poverty. Anyone living in the 
third world does so because they are the commodities of more 
powerful individuals who use them as beasts of burden. We farm human 
beings to feed and cloth other human beings. 

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created 
equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain 
unalienable rights that among these are life, liberty and the 
pursuit of happiness..."

The American constitution is a powerful document that has caused all 
manner of problems within the States. Their crime rate is a direct 
result of human animals living without the limitations that exist 
elsewhere. Bragging about China's low rate of crime is like saying 
that domesticated cattle are less violent than wild ones, it's a 
truth that doesn't point to the real reason why it is the way it is. 
China farms its population. Its people, supposedly living in 
communism, are actually cattle used to produce value for the elite 
few.

If there were only one billion people in the world resources would 
still be taxed to give us life, liberty and the pursuit of 
happiness. Imagine that the five nearest people around you at this 
moment disappeared and try and think how much emptier the world 
would be. Human relationships would have much greater value, murder 
and death would have a much greater stigma and business would mean 
much more if only one out of every five were available to make and 
trade value. Given sufficient resources societies of human beings 
could flourish without using one another as fodder, but in the 
adolescent crush of industrialization we find ourselves in now there 
is little hope for an end to monopoly and control.

---
Tim is a value theorist with a poet's heart who is currently 
agonizing over whether or not to go to teacher's college.  Often 
seen watching humanity make fools of themselves, Tim has been known 
to talk back to authority, make too little money and feel like an 
outsider in his own skin.

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2.  Lake Roommate

By Rolo

Life, for all its complexities, throws a lot of things our way.   
The best parts are the really juicy experiences that you never 
expect. School, work, family, friends all weigh heavily on our 
minds.  To add to this, some of us have the additional experience of 
having to deal with a roommate.  Compared to some of the stuff you 
face everyday, dealing with a roommate is a completely different and 
horrid affair, especially if you are quite new to it all.  

Take, for example, my case.  I moved out more than a year and a half 
ago, and now I am at this beautiful dilemma.  I came home last night 
at 10:00pm to find my roommate mopping the walls with a towel.  I'm 
not sure about you, but normally this isn't the sort of thing a 
semi-sane person is used in seeing.  Nor had my roommate suddenly 
turned into a clean-freak.  But I took it all in stride, feeling it 
before I actually saw it.

You know, it's that shattering sensation when you finally arrive to 
your assumed safe and happy home after a long hard day and you 
discover, much to your horror, that you won't be relaxing anytime 
soon.  It's similar to knowing that you've walked into a minefield.  
You don't know how or why, but you definitely know it's not directly 
your fault.  Something is amiss, but you just can't put your finger 
on it.

Dick (I have changed his name to protect his identity) had left the 
shower running since the morning.  Well, I thought to myself, shit 
happens.

Then it hit me.

He left the shower running for nearly twelve hours.  Now, normally 
I'm a very forgiving and patient person but this is the last straw.  
Yes.  The very last, last straw. 

This "very last straw" comes after the other last straw that 
resulted in the destruction of my prized wok and baking pans.

The first last straw came after his fat long-haired cat projectile 
vomited chicken bones, and peed all over my carpet and stairs. I 
won't even bother mentioning the five pound bag of used cat litter 
that he somehow forgot to throw out, much less try to figure out how 
he managed to accumulate five-pounds worth.  Used kitty litter has 
everything but a benevolent smell.

Last straw number one stems from the life lesson that you should 
never (EVER!) give a pet as a gift or do certain things on a whim.   
As a note to all, just because a person is capable of getting a 
credit card, pay bills, drive a car, vote and legally drink does not 
ensure that they can take care of a pet properly (or worse) a child 
of their own.  The reverse is also true: just because you already 
have the above-mentioned things doesn't mean that you are a mature 
and responsible person.

Yes, I could understand and forgive issues like leaving the 
household heater on, which nearly set my futon on fire.   Yet, this 
was but a prelude to the many things that would come later.  Allow 
me to elaborate.

Last straw number two was leaving the stove and then later leaving 
the oven on, "cooking" everything stored inside.  

Last straw number three was taking my lunch to work.  If there is 
ever a mundane rule to know, it is one of those that everyone should 
come to know and understand: sandwich making is truly an art and no 
man or beast shall ever come between a person and their precious 
lunch.

Last straw number four is complimentary to last straw number three.  
When you have a roommate that cannot cook for himself and therefore 
consumes large amounts of mayonnaise, bread, peanut butter and jam, 
you are left with no lunch to make (which in my book is 
sacrilegious).  Nothing shall come between a Filipino and his love 
for food.

Last straw number five was the roach I had found happily roaming my 
living room.   As I happily invoked my roach-smiting vengeance upon 
it, I began to ponder that something was definitely wrong here.  
You'd think it would be common sense for most people not to leave 
food out.  In this modern and wonderful world, one has to realize 
that there are exceptions to every rule.

Now it has boiled down to the very, very last straw, my beautiful 
sage coloured hallway is now wet as a swamp and running paint dye.   
My bathroom is quite literally soggy.  It's raining in my kitchen.  
My stairs look like a stream.

I shake my head at the possibility that all the walls may have to be 
replaced; not to mention the cost in damages for the repairs.  Thank 
god we do not pay a water bill.  You may ask yourself, what is this 
dumbass author thinking?  Why is he so murderously generous to his 
obviously incompetent roommate?  

Perhaps it is because, you could say, that I'm generous to an 
extreme fault.  "Too generous" is too light of an expression to 
measure the magnitude of my mistake.  Perhaps it is my human belief 
that eventually everyone will learn how to do things right.   I 
believe in the good in every person and that through classical 
conditioning they will learn one way or the other.  It would also 
help to explain that this fellow, Dick, just happens to be my 
friend.  In addition, Dick is obviously a guy.   

So much for "positive reinforcement", its time to bring in the 
"negative".  If there is ever more life lessons to be learned, it's 
that anything can happen, and understanding and kindness should be 
used sparingly like horseradish on a steak.  Maturity and 
responsibility is all in the eye of the beholder.

For all those out there who are living with a roommate, I commend 
you and your bravery.   May you all be more fortunate in dealing 
with those Dicks out there.

As for Dick, sorry, but eight strikes and you're out... 

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3.  CoN @ the Movies

By Jeff Wright

A little late, and not the least bit great.  That's the way I often 
be.  That that's the way that this piece be.

So I went to see some movies at the Toronto International Film 
Festival again this year.  Saw some movies.  Leo asked me to write 
something about my five favourites.  Here they are in the order I 
saw them.  Enjoy, or don't enjoy.  I could give a toss.  Go see at 
least one of the movies when it's released though.  

BUBBA HO-TEP (dir. Don Coscarelli)

Bruce Campbell stars as a geriatric Elvis, whose nursing home is 
under attack by a soul-sucking (via the ass) mummy.  Along with his 
friend John F. Kennedy (played brilliantly by Ossie Davis), he 
investigates where the mummy came from, and tries to send it back 
there.  

This was the most fun of the midnight films this year.  Lots of 
laughs, really good performances from Campbell and Davis, and a 
hilarious question and answer session with Campbell and Coscarelli 
in which Campbell without hesitation made fun of any geek who came 
armed with a stupid question.

Sadly, I don't see the film getting a better distribution than a 
couple prints that tour around North America or even worse, video.  
It deserves better than that, but isn't really that financially 
viable a film.  It'll be out at some point no matter how, and when 
it is, check it out.

MY LITTLE EYE (dir. Marc Evans)

A group of twenty-somethings try to stay in a remotely located house 
for six months in order to each win a prize of a million dollars 
each.  Their lives are monitored by gazillions of cameras, and sent 
over the internet.  If even one person leaves the house, then the 
game is forfeited.  The first few minutes of the film set it up, and 
fast forward us through the majority of the contest, bringing us to 
the last week of the competition.

Sounds boring, yes?  Well it isn't.  Ya seez, things start going 
wonky.  It seems as though the people who are running the contest 
don't want the contestants to make it.  They start feckin' with 
their heads, and all that good stuff.  This here's a horror flic, 
and for me to spoil any of the spooks would be wrong of me.  Once 
the scares start coming, they're not quick to slow.  The flic gets 
down and nasty in its last reel, so if you like horror flics you'll 
love this.  If you don't, then stay away.  This is probably the most 
effective thriller/horror film since KAIRO (I know that was only 
last year, but.).

It's out right now in the U.K. and I think is getting North American 
release round the end of this year, or beginning of next.

DIRTY PRETTY THINGS (dir. Stephen Frears)

I thought this was a French lolita porn starring little Amelie 
Poulin.  It wasn't.  Was I disappointed?  A little.  Did I pretend 
it was anyway as I watched it?  A little.

I kid, I kid.  So funny, huh?  Ugh.

A couple of illegal immigrants, who work in a hotel get mixed up in 
black market organ sales.  

It's more of a character film, so it's pointless giving much more of 
a synopsis.  It's a really good film though.  Definitely check it 
out when it's released.  The performances are all top notch, and 
Stephen Frears does an assured and solid job directing.

I'm getting sleepy.  I woke up three and a half hours ago, haven't 
eaten yet (it's 7:38 pm), have a sore stomach, and am getting 
sleepy.  But fear not!  I won't eat or sleep until I've finished 
writing this!!!!!!  Dedicate yourselves to the Capital of Nasty!!!  
Herr Leandro demands it.  

A SNAKE OF JUNE (dir. Shinya Tsukamoto)

Best film of the festival!  Best film of the year (so far)!

Rinko, a help phone operator, is blackmailed by one of her "clients" 
to go out in the world and be as sexual as she wants to be.  Stifled 
by her older husband, her mini-skirt wearing is restricted to her 
bathroom with the door locked.  Her masturbation, to when he's not 
home.  The blackmailer has pictures, and threatens to give them to 
Rinko's husband if she doesn't do as he says.

That's the setup.  It goes deeper than that, but I don't really want 
to ruin past that point.  Tsukamoto is one of Japan's best 
filmmakers, and also one of its strangest.  I can't say enough about 
this film and its greatness, so I'll say very little (Yes, I'm 
really getting hungry).

KEN PARK (dirs. Larry Clark & Edward Lachman)

Sorta like KIDS, but a whole lot better, a more explicit, more 
episodic than plot driven, and dealing with youth sexuality. 

This film ain't getting a theatrical release in its current form.  
There's a lot of boundary pushing sex in it, which will keep it from 
even getting an NC-17 rating.  It's sad too, because it's a really 
good film.  The main cast (well the youngsters at least) are a bunch 
of unknowns, and all give really strong performances.  Tiffany 
Limos, who plays Peaches (and who I can't believe is Larry Clark's 
girlfriend), gives the best performance of the bunch.  She's going 
to explode once people in Hollywood see the film.

A lot of the audience seemed to at least enjoy the film's sex 
scenes, but judging from the question and answer period, it seemed 
like most liked or hated it as cinematic wank (not 'wank' in the 
literal sense, mind you). 

Should I say more?  Yes.  Am I going to?  No.  

There's a cool little write-up on KEN PARK in this month's Vice 
magazine.  It's a hell of a lot more articulate than my hungry ass 
is capable of being right now (or at anytime, truthfully).  Check it 
out at:  http://viceland.com/issues/v9n8/htdocs/bosom.php

I'm going to get something to eat now.  I'm sorry, though I'm sure 
many are thankful I'm done.  I know my stomach is.

---
Jeff is listening to a Rolling Stones bootleg, but for the life of 
him, can't figure out why.

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4.  Support Safe Mosh Pits

Punch a Crowd Surfer

By John Iadipaolo

Just recently, I attended an outdoor music/extreme sports festival 
at the Exhibition Place here in Toronto (`SnowJam', if anyone 
cares).  In addition to the BMX, skateboard and snowboarding demos, 
there were a variety of fairly popular bands, ranging from hip hop 
and punk to rock.

After spending the summer in Whistler, BC, I really enjoyed watching 
the athletes perform, and the majority of the reasonably 
entertaining musical acts were made even more palatable by consuming 
unreasonably priced beer.  My only mistake of the weekend came 
during the set of the headlining band "Filter", when I decided to go 
up front into the mosh pit.

Before I go on, let's back track a little.  There was time, a few 
years ago, when I really enjoyed going to rock concerts.  It's 
important that I clarify and explain that when I use the term `rock 
concert' in this article, I'm not talking about those `sit-in-your-
seat, applaud-when-appropriate' deals.  I'm talking about a loud 
band in a small, standing-room-only venue filled with crazy, moshing 
teenagers.  This is the kind of concert where, if you aren't looking 
to be physically assaulted, you either stand waaaay at the back, or 
wait outside.

Anyways, my friends and I would get liquored up and make our way 
downtown, usually to some hole like The Warehouse (recently renamed 
the tragically uncool "Kool Haus").  Once inside, we would spend 
approximately 90 minutes bashing our bodies against those of our 
peers to the musical stylings of such acts as "Orgy" and "Slipknot".  
Afterwards we'd return home sweaty, dehydrated and considerably 
harder of hearing.  Hey, when you're 16 or 17, it's great fun.  
However, my recent experience at `SnowJam' reminded me of exactly 
why I no longer bother. 

If you've ever seen a rock video, you've probably got some sort of 
idea about what a mosh pit looks like.  As I mentioned above, it's 
basically a large number of people pressed into a small space, where 
everyone is trying to move to the exact same spot at once (namely, 
right in front of the band).  It's hot and sweaty, and--needless to 
say--there's a lot of physical contact.  I know I'm not making a 
very attractive case for moshing.  Nonetheless, there is something 
to be said for experiencing a full-blown "rock out" with an 
innumerable bunch of your peers, where everyone participates in a 
sort of organized, self-contained riot.  While moshing appears to be 
violent, there's an amazing sense of camaraderie in most pits where 
people really take care of each other by helping up those who fall 
and making room when someone wants to move out of the crowd.

The feeling of camaraderie becomes severely diminished, at least in 
my mind, when people start crowd surfing.  Crowd surfing basically 
involves getting boosted on top of the crowd and lying spread eagle, 
while the people underneath propel you from one place to another.  
Your `ride' usually ends when you either, a) get passed over the 
security gate in front of the stage, or b) fall to the ground.

Personally, I hate crowd surfing.  I'll admit that I tried it a few 
times when I was younger (and liked it), but it didn't take me long 
to realize how dangerous and inconsiderate it is to everyone else 
trying to enjoy the concert.  Keeping your balance and ensuring both 
feet stay on the ground is difficult enough in a mosh pit without 
having to worry about contact from above.  Surfers aren't `passed' 
across the pit in an organized fashion so much as thrown from one 
place to another, flailing limbs and all.  If you happen to be the 
poor sucker they land on, well, better hope you can get your arms up 
in time to brace for the impact.

Of course, most people possess a fairly low tolerance for having 
heavy objects fall on them.  This forces many moshers to either 
constantly look over their shoulder for the next torso, foot or head 
that's about to be unceremoniously dropped on top of them, or 
(better still) turn their back on the band they paid to see in an 
attempt to avoid getting injured.  And believe me, surfing does 
cause injuries.  I've got the gory stories to prove it.  Regardless, 
what kills me is the fact that surfers can't be oblivious to the 
fact that it hurts when someone lands on you (as I'm sure they've 
all gotten a few shoes in their faces as well), yet they selfishly 
and inconsiderately continue to submit the rest of the crowd to 
their antics.  

Back to SnowJam:  About ten minutes and five surfer collisions into 
Filter's set, I remembered something I'd come to believe when I was 
younger.  It isn't fair that surfers continually annoy and/or 
endanger the very people they entrust their safety to (namely, 
everyone else in the crowd).  I keep them in the air, I get hit in 
the head with their feet, and they have all the fun.  Something.  
Isn't.  Right.  Reflecting to myself as I rubbed the bruise forming 
on my head, I decided it was time to give a little bit back.

For the remainder of the show, every surfer that passed over me 
received, whenever possible, a personalized `thank-you' for helping 
to ruin my concert-going experience.  I didn't do anything overtly 
malicious, and I left the girls alone entirely, but every able-
bodied young dumbass I saw got a punch (don't worry, it's hard to 
`punch' someone hard when you're in a mosh pit), pressure-point, or-
-when it was my only option--a pinch.  Hey, as long as it gets the 
message across.

As I said above, I wasn't trying to hurt those surfers, just make 
them uncomfortable.  Whatever discomfort I caused them couldn't have 
equalled the aches and pains they gave me, but that wasn't the 
point.  From what I've seen and the majority of people I've talked 
to, I'm not the only person who's fed up with crowd surfing.  The 
thing is, surfers can't surf if the crowd refuses to keep them up.

Contrary to the title of the article, I'm not saying that people 
should necessarily start punching and pinching every surfer that 
comes their way.  When someone motions for you to help them get on 
top of the crowd, don't do it.  When you see a surfer coming your 
way, `help' them into a controlled fall to the ground instead of 
passing them along.  Surfers make up a small percentage of the 
entire crowd; it's up to you to decide if you want them on the 
ground or in the air (and your face).

I think that I, on the other hand, will be staying out of the pit 
entirely.

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

5. Cabbage Patch Clerk

By REVSCRJ

This was the first position I officially held in the lettuce 
industry of the Salinas and Imperial Valleys, and industry that was 
and still is pretty foul.

Before lettuce reaches your table it has to go through a whole lot 
of stages.  The ones I was concerned with, working at a lettuce 
cooler as the receiving clerk, was getting it delivered in large 
flatbeds freshly cut off the field, documenting its arrival and 
delegating it out to be cooled to just above freezing in the huge 
vacuum tube coolers.

Someone in the process gets paid for the weight of the lettuce so 
another aspect of my job was to weigh the trucks out on the scales 
we had deep in the back lot area of the cooler, this eternally dusty 
area was where I spent most of my time.

My snot turned hard and dark brown. Most of the guys that would 
drive in the lettuce from the fields were Mexican and spoke little 
English so communication was sometimes a bit difficult.

I remember one of the loaders making fun of a guy because he 
couldn't communicate.  I thought to myself "Fuck man, all you can 
say in Spanish is 'puto', at least this guy is learning!"

I only thought this without actually saying it because, well, one 
simply does not say those sort of things to guys who can not only 
bend nails with their thumb, but found it fun.  Here, this might put 
it in perspective: it used to be that the boxes of lettuce would be 
hand-loaded into railcars or trailers before the T-1 forklifts and 
tilt-machines automated a lot of the process.

Each of those boxes would weight from 50-65 pounds, so in order to 
pick them up all day long (and at a fast pace), stack them up to 
eight boxes high, required as close to an "ogre" as Human genetics 
would allow.

If these guys were smart they would've been soldiers or pro-
wrestlers but they instead hefted these boxes all day long from the 
cold room to the loading dock.  Even with their ox-like physiques 
the nature of the work was so hard that it commanded a toll of 
constant soreness and exhaustion.  Management didn't care, they were 
well paid, and there was always someone who'd take up your shift if 
you wanted to drop it.

This resulted in a non-stop stream of speed, painkillers, and 
barbiturates that floated in a virtual ocean of beer for these guys.  
It kept them capable of going on.  Never fuck with a drunken, speed 
spun ogre.  And that was the loading crew, the bulk of the folk that 
worked there.

Next you got the truck drivers.  Loath as I am to make sweeping 
generalizations I do it all the time; the drivers came basically in 
two catagories:

1) Redneck sociopath that is just simply for the best that they have 
as little social contact as possible.

And 2) people for whom being able to drive is their only marketable 
skill.

Truck drivers are most often pissed off.  They get paid per job so 
if you see a parked semi or a driver walking around you can know 
that every second that they remain that way is another second till 
their next job, and thus paycheque.  It is due to this that truckers 
have such an affinity for amphetamines.  So add amphetamine delusion 
to basic rage and the whole mess of them become this volatile 
inertial potential: they are either doing NOTHING (all jacked up and 
pissed off) or driving like a bat out of hell (all jacked up and 
pissed off).

The magic between those two groups of folk was oh-so-lovely--drugs 
sold, whores bought, bones broken, guns or knives pulled on each 
other.  Pure magic.

I got this job because my father was a dispatcher here--nepotism 
really does run the world--and somehow I think I was subverting the 
Union by working there because I was supposed to keep my mouth shut 
as to the capacity in which I was hired.

I was never really clear on this, but if ever I had a problem I 
couldn't just get on the CB and ask how to do something. I had to 
use one of my five nicknames (Spider, Slim, No-Bluff, Kilroy, or 
Half-Dome) in conjunction with some oblique code like:

"'Tention David T: this is Spider scuttlin' in to say there a knot 
in the web, over."

I hope I wasn't subverting the union, I mean I am pro-union but it 
was nepotism: I was working in my Dad's business.  So if I was, its 
a shame, but one that I don't regret.  I didn't work there long in 
any event. The pay was good and the routine was easy.  I should have 
stayed there, in that back lot.  

Sure, the dust was slowly filling my lungs and the carbon monoxide 
was likely shaving percentage points off of my potential but it was 
easy and non-demanding.  

Instead I was promoted to dispatcher.

---
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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Published every second Monday (or when we get around it)
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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
