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    t h e  n e o - c o m i n t e r n   e l e c t r o n i c  m a g z i n e
                   I n s t a l l m e n t  N u m b e r  6 8

                        .WE ARE THE 5th INTERNATIONAL
                         .June 21st, 1999
                          .Editor: BMC
                           .Writers:      
                            .Junior Haagis
                             .Cog
                              .Gnarly Wayne
                               .BMC


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                                                                        ";P'
                        Featured in this installment:                    `$
                                                                          $
                       The Steps To A Great Summer- Cog                   $
                           A Tribute To Bones- BMC                        $
                        Ball Lightning- Junior Haagis                    ;P
                          Bonus Story!- Gnarly Wayne                     d'
                                                                        ;P
                                                                        d'.
 .,;::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;,"*,;

                               EDITOR'S NOTE

        I don't even how what to say about this time of year.  I don't know
whether to mourn the death of Bones or to go swimming, get a tan and meet
lots of guys.  It was so much easier not to think of school when it was 2
months away, but what can I say?  Something in my heart was making me want
to be nicety to some ball lightning, so what could I really do but throw in
this excellently /<-r4D bonus article to cure those summer blues like Eddie
Cochran always wished he could do?  Well, that son of a bitch is dead now,
so let's kick off the summer with a beach storming spectacular!  Enjoy.

        P.S. I don't even know what day summer starts, but I hope that I was
at least kinda close.  It's just my woman's intuition.  Oh, by the way, did I
mention that I'm a woman now?  Paix.


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                                                                        ";P'
                         THE STEPS TO A GREAT SUMMER                     d'
                                    by Cog                              ;P
                                                                        d'.
 .,;::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;,"*,;

                   "Have a good time, cuz summer is here!"
                                           -Some girls singing

        Ahh, summer is here.  Yes, the time when a young man's fancy turn
from love to... well, summer.  And according to the entertainment industry, I
guess it's blockbuster season.  Although, the movies that are released during
this time aren't any better than the regular fare, they definately are more
marketable...!  And if you only see one movie this summer, the CIA Black Opz
will ensure you see more.

        I've noticed that television reruns strangely coincide with summer
blockbusters, as if there's some huge conspiracy to keep you indoors all year
or something.  I've decided that I won't watch any more movies this summer;
instead, I will stay outside for most of the summer (24/7) and watch
something infinitely more interesting like the concrete steps in Factoria.

        When we work the bugs out of time travel, I will elect to be the
first to go through so that I might take a picture of what these steps were
once attached to.  This has tormented me day and night for the last 12 years
of my life, and it would be nice to get some closure before I am "buried" at
those very steps.

        I know it was a house, but that just opens the door to so many more
questions:  What kind of house?  What color?  Is this the kind of house in
which they hold the Black Mass?  Is the owner at home right now?  Where does
he keep his valuables?  Is he a large man?

        What if the steps attached to a house that was only 3 feet small!
My heavens!  I would walk up to it while thinking thoughts like how it was
cute as a button and how you could just eat it up and couldn't you just die?
I would then hold a tea at the top of those steps with all the socially
prominant ladies of the day:  Scout Finch, Amelia Earhardt, and the Statue of
Liberty.

        What if those steps were attached to a large manor, hey?  It seems
possible, as there was a hog barn a few feet away which probably could have
doubled as servants' quarters.  I could walk up the steps (the very steps I
have ejaculated on many times in our present day) and knock on the door.
Imagine that!  Knocking on the very door that has refused to present itself
in my imagination even while staring at the steps and taking copius amounts
of opiates!  I would know that God was in his heaven that day even while I
put a bullet through the head of Mr. Silverwood, owner of the House.

        The other residents of Factoria would then build a Main Street so
that I could be paraded down it; all the while being hailed as a hero!  I
would then be escorted to the implement manufacture where I would discuss
plans of the war I have envisioned against Saskatoon, Nutana and Riversdale.
In a month's time we would attack and destroy all the buildings, while
leaving the steps intact.  It has been foreseen in my dreams and nightmares.

        I would bid a fond goodbye to the residents of Factoria as I boarded
my silver rocketship.  A small child, perhaps, would present me with his
grandfather's pocketwatch, and the most beautiful woman would kiss me on the
cheek.

        When I arrived in my own time, I would be in heaven.  Thousands and
thousands of steps-without-buildings would keep me busy imagining for the
rest of my life, and I would not have to see any summer blockbusters.  As I
curled up on the steps of my non-existant house, I would turn my eyes up to
the stars above to see if they knew what was to become of me.  And within
that hazy time before waking and sleeping, I would swear that in a voice like
the wind, the trees themselves whispered: "faaaaaactoooooooriiiiaaaaaaaaaaa!"

                                     FIN


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                                                                        ";P'
                             A TRIBUTE TO BONES                          d'
                                   by BMC                               ;P
                                                                        d'.
 .,;::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;,"*,;

        Now it has come to the attention of The Neo-Comintern staff that the
beloved Bones from Star Trek has gone to another place.  A better place.  Of
course, this place that I'm talking about is hell.  In the traditional
Comintern style, this issue will kick off a 75 issue epic dedicated to Bones,
better known as Doctor Leonard McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of The Starship
Enterprise.

        It was in the mid-60s when McCoy joined the crew of The Enterprise,
and right from the start he interacted with the crew as though they were one
big family (except for Spock, who never really gained McCoy's acceptance
because he was a Vulcan).

        McCoy always insisted that he was a "country doctor," but his state
of the art equipment and highly developed understanding of medicine almost
seem to indicate otherwise.  Anyway, since the show takes place in the future
we could assume that the doctor was not actually raised in the country and
that, in fact, it is probably an alcohol-induced delusion.

        Yeah, cause Bones had way more on-screen drinks than anybody else.
While everybody who has seen the show is familiar with the character of
Scotty who has the diseases associated with alcoholism, few remember the
classic scene where Spock intrudes into Bones' chamber where he is drinking
alone.  Spock is puzzled by the concept of alcoholism, and Bones says
something cute like "Don't knock it till you've tried it," or something to
that effect.

        It is well known that Bones hated Spock, and it is not without due
cause.  Just look at him.  LOOK AT HIM!  He is not a human being, and he
looks and behaves quite differently.  Isn't that reason enough to hate him?
Plus his heart is where his liver should be and he has green blood.  End of
story.

        So anyway, now Bones is dead and we all feel the pain.  His years of
service healing the sick on The Enterprise will not be forgotten and I'm sure
that they will give him an honourable burial in space or wherever he died.


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                                                                        ";P'
                               BALL LIGHTNING                            d'
                              by Junior Haagis                          ;P
                                                                        d'.
 .,;::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;,"*,;

        They had me cornered in an alley.  Six of them.  All prepared to tear
me apart.  As they were about to thrash me into oblivion, I grabbed my
waxpaper and comb and played these notes in succession...

        A...A#...C...(twelve beats)...G#...A...B...(nine beats)...F...

        Then, thunder filled the sky, as all eyes were directed upward.
Strings of electrical energy were abound, licking to and fro against the
cloudless blue backdrop.

	Suddenly, a giant ball of plasma energy formed in the middle of the
alley.  From nothing, it collected itself together and surged like the
heart-beat of God.

	My assailants, frozen with fear, agaped as the plasma hurtled forward 
and consumed them.  Their bodies shook and shattered in an instant.  Their
remains were nothing more than a few bone fragments that pulsated with
remnants of the anomaly, and then finally flickered out.

	Just then, Superman arrived.

        "You called for help?" he said.

        "Yeah," I said.  "There were these guys, but some ball-lightning
killed them."
	
        "Okay," he said.


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                                                                        ";P'
                                 BONUS STORY                             d'
                               by Gnarly Wayne                          ;P
                                                                        d'.
 .,;::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;,"*,;
                                                         
        Umar had gone to town for the day, so I had no one to hang out with.
I decided to look into the rain barrel and see what I could find.  At the
bottom lay a magic key, or so I thought.  It was just a normal key to my
house, which I had put there but forgot about it.  It was all rusty and red.
But I though it was /<rad.

        "This is so /<rad." I thought to myself.
 
        I took the key and put it in my pocket.  Then, I went over to the
fire and poked it with a stick.  It burned and blazed like a million suns.
Well, not a million, but a few anyways.  I was pleased.  I threw the now
useless key into the fire and poked it some more.  Then I got bored so I went
to sleep.
               
                                                       
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    ___________________________________________________
   |THE COMINTERN IS AVAILIABLE ON THE FOLLOWING BBS'S |
   |~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|
   | BRING ON THE NIGHT                 (306) 373-4218 |
   | CLUB PARADISE                      (306) 978-2542 |
   | THE GATEWAY THROUGH TIME           (306) 373-9778 |
   |___________________________________________________|
   |   Website at: http://members.home.com/comintern   |
   |           Email BMC at: thebmc@home.com           |
   |___________________________________________________|

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 Copyright 1999 by The Neo-Comintern                            #68-06/21/99

All content is property of The Neo-Comintern.
You may redistribute this document, although no fee can be charged and the
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