       ____    ______
    __/  _/_   \   _/__   ________        _________   ________  ________
    \   ____)__/  __   )_/ ______/_       \   __   )_/ ______/_/  _____/\
    /   \)    /   (/    / ________/       /   (/    / ________/   \)    /
    \___ \   /____/    /____     /       /____/    /____     /_________/
       \____/    \____/    \____/            \____/    \____/
                               ____
                              /___/          ____
   ________ ________ _________ ___ ______ __/  _/_ ________  ______ ______
  /  _____/_  _____/\  __ __  )_  \  __  )\   ____)_  ____/_/      )  __  )_
 /   \)    /  \)    /  (/ (/   /  /  (/   /   \)   / ______/   /___/  (/   /
/____ \   /________/___/__/   /__/___/   /\___ \  /___    /___/   /___/   /
    \____/               \___/      \___/    \___/   \___/           \___/

::::::::.:::..::...:.... ...  ..   .    .   ..  ... ....:...::..:::.::::::::

        t h e  n e o - c o m i n t e r n  i n s t a l l m e n t  3 3

                        WE ARE THE 5th INTERNATIONAL
                            September 24th, 1998
                                 editor: BMC
                                   writers:
                                     Cog
                                     BMC      
                                  
::::::::.:::..::...:.... ...  ..   .    .   ..  ... ....:...::..:::.::::::::
                                                                           .
                        featured in this installment:                      .
                    The Story Of How Things Happened- BMC                  .
                          Baggin On Zolitaire- BMC                         .
                               Mechannia!- Cog                             .
                                                                           :
          .      .     .    .   .  . .. ...................................;

                                EDITOR'S NOTE

        New stuff this issue?  But of course!  This installment features the
first article in my "Return to Atlantis" series.  (unless you count the
article in #32)  Oh well.  So read that, and read some other crap, and then
(and only then) will you be able to laugh at Cog and his car.  When is that
car going to be done, Cog?  Oh well, it's been a few months, and it will
probably be a few more.  READ IT! (peace)

::::::::.:::..::...:.... ...  ..   .    .   ..  ... ....:...::..:::.::::::::
                                                                           .
                      THE STORY OF HOW THINGS HAPPENED                     .
                                   by BMC                                  .
                                                                           :
          .      .     .    .   .  . .. ...................................;


        This is the story of how things happened.  Back in 1995 I was the
leading an expedition of the Bermuda Triangle.  This area of the sea has
always been viewed by the world as mysterious, evil, treacherous, and even
dangerous.  I saw the triangle as being my engagement ring which would
possibly hold the world's most beautiful gem- Atlantis.

        Most skeptics, including 98% of my fifty crew members and
occasionally myself, considered the exploration of an area with no known land
masses to be a waste of three billion dollars of the taxpayers' money. The
funding came chiefly from the Canadian government, but large amounts of money
were also supplied by the U.N. and several Baltic countries which I will not
specifically name.

        Anyway, my elite exploration unit combined many experienced sailors
and a few dozen specialists in other fields.  The crew included ten sailors
(7 captains and 3 admirals) for purposes of navigation and other ship-related
tasks.  There were also two monks who were trained at exceedingly high levels
of kung fu.  The rest of the crew consisted of scientists, political
analysts, musicians, and circus performers.  Not to be forgotten is the
stowaway we found; a Spanish harlot named Juaine who had great hopes of
traveling to the "great sea bazaar".

        Our ship was launched in secret from an invisible port on a secret
Canadian coast.  As the moon mist touched my face, I wondered whether times
ahead would be good, bad, or even, mad.

          To be continued...


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                                                                           .
                             BAGGIN ON ZOLITAIRE                           .
                                   By BMC                                  .
                                                                           :
          .      .     .    .   .  . .. ...................................;
                                                
        
        Greetings.  Some of you have played Zolitaire before, but I have some
important information for you.  This game, Zolitaire, is not very fun, but
is very addictive.  You can get this game for Winblows, and there are a
variety of settings for game type.

        The most addictive of these forms is "draw 3 Vegas style zolitaire",
and addiction is not only probable, but it is also possible.  I must stress
the fact that this game is tiring and stressful, and there are no positive
effects to playing the game.

        For those that don't know, Zolitaire is a card game which is
supposedly a solo random game, but in reality it is a game which the computer
sets up for you.  And the computer beats you.  It beats you not only
mentally, but also emotionally, spiritually and very very physically.  I have
been scourged for hours at a time by my usually mild mannered computer.

        If you put your computer through abuse (i.e. using it too little,
making it process lots of information, etc.) this is where the computer
lashes back at you.  At this time I would like to mention that I have been
held captive by the computer's Zolitaire for the last 5 hours, 25 minutes.
Let me just say that it is a draining experience.

        I suggest that you do not try to play this game.  If you do, however,
it is a thing similar to smoking or drinking coffee.  It's something that
you constantly yearn to quit doing.

        Here are 3 things you might hear yourself say to the computer while
you play Zolitaire:

        -This next one is going to be my last game.
        -How long has that card been sitting there for?
        -God, I hate this game.

        After time has passed, your alertness will have been sapped by the
game, and you will be unable to function for several hours after finishing
the many many games.

        When you play Vegas style, the goal is to have a cash flow in the
black, but if you don't win within the first 3 or 4 games, you may be playing
forever.

        Anyway, Zolitaire PC is not the game for you.  It is a game that will
be banished within the Canadian-Communist Realm, but it will be forced upon
several MLC inmates for experimental purposes.  

                                                                    
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                                                                           .
                                 MECHANNIA!                                .
                                   by: Cog                                 :
          .      .     .    .   .  . .. ...................................;


        Can you take a mechanic to court if he lies to you?  Seeing as how
this is how mechanics make their living, it seems doubtful.  I took my
chariot into a garage in early August.  By the way, it's a 1980 Ford Mustang
Turbo, and (to borrow a line from Ben Edlund, creator of The Tick) it is "the
pride of the American auto industry, circa 1980".

        I was told to bring my chariot in on a Monday, and that it would be
out on Tuesday.  I kick myself now for not having asked WHICH Tuesday.  I had
it towed to the garage early Monday morning, went into the office and agreed
to having my car put into surgery, and left with tears welling in my eyes.
"Get well soon," I wished while the Mustang, MY Mustang disappeared over the
horizon as I drove away.  "It's only for one night..."

                                  Tuesday.

        There was no call from the garage this day.  I drove past and noticed
that my car was still in the same spot it had been in since yesterday.  I
decided to ask what was amiss.  It seemed that the mechannic assigned to my
vehicle was not there.  Also, I learned that he would have to find time to
work on it.

   "Why was I supposed to bring it in on Monday," I wondered to myself...

        The next few days, I noticed my car was still in the same place.  The
days turned into weeks.  The weeks turned into duo-weeks.  My mechanic was
never there.  It is at this point that I start to wonder if the word "garage"
was mis-spelled.  Perhaps it should be spelled "garbage".

                        ring ring says mister phone

        "Hi, this is the Garbage.  Wayne speaking.  Your car is not broken
where we thought is was.  It is fine there.  That will be $500."

        "When can I get it?" I asked, not the least bit surprised that my
mechanic's name was Wayne.

        "NO!  It is bleeding somewhere.  We will send all to the Expensive
Place for testing."

        "Yes, I figured as much."

        "Love me."

        "Goodbye."

        Well, at least they were working on it, right?  Right.  I was getting
hopeful!  I even recieved a call a few days later saying that they were
putting my car back together!  Days later, I recieved a call:

        "Hello, this again is the Garbage.  Wayne is speaking!  Your car is
a bit more fixed.  It blows no more white smoke, only blue smoke!  $500!"

        "Really?"

        "Do you like blue?"

        "What's wrong with it now?!"

        "Turbo unit I figure is broke."

        "I will be too, soon..." I craftily ascertained!

        "Life rocks!  I am somebody!  Super-Wayne!"

        "Goodbye."

        So here it is, the middle of September.  I'm calling people at
salvage yards trying to find an obscure part for a 19 year old car.  I've
found one that will work from a 1984 Ford Thunderbird, and I was quoted $200.
When you figure in the $30-or-so dollars an hour that Wayne is making off
this, it seems that I will have to start selling organs to pay for this. Then
there's the vehicle registration to worry about.

*UPDATE!*: They won't take any of my organs.  I'm going to have to start
conceiving black market babies with lonely, eldery women.  They should be
born about the same time my car is ready.


::::::::.:::..::...:.... ...  ..   .    .   ..  ... ....:...::..:::.::::::::
    ___________________________________________________
   |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 http://www.sfn.saskatoon.sk.ca/~ad357   |
   |         Email BMC at manta1@hotmail.com           |
   |___________________________________________________|

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                                                               #33-09/24/98
Copyright 1998 N-Com
All content is property of The Neo-Comintern.
Unauthorized use of any part of document is prohibited.  All Rights Reserved.
