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Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine Volume IV, Issue 13, AD MCMXCIX Monday, September 13, 1999 ISSN 1482-0471 ------------------------------------------- I think "extortion" is one of the words in the Italian constitution. ------------------------------------------- "The Web brings people together because no matter what kind of a twisted sexual mutant you happen to be, you've got millions of pals out there. Type in 'Find people that have sex with goats that are on fire' and the computer will say, 'Specify type of goat.'" -- Rich Jeni ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial 2. ...and other stories that should be true. 3. Grimm Trickbabies: The Films of Matthew Bright 4. CyberTalk ------------------------------------------- This week's Golden Testicle awards: IRC virgins, for sale. http://urbanlegends.about.com/gi/dynamic/offsite.htm?site=http://www .whattheheck.com/ebay/iconclast.html Submitted by Nicci. ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial By CoN staff Despite the fact that I am far from happy with this issue, especially due to my incredible inability to write anything that satisfies my picky requirements, I have to give in to the many complaints that I have received on where this issue was. So here it is. Everyone's life has shifted into school mode once again. Well, not for me, since I've been in school since January, and the only change I've seen is that now I have two placements and one class, giving me a total of half a day off on Saturday to do things like change my underwear or brush my hair. One of my placements has been a learning experience. Sent out to do work on ADSLs, and working on esoteric operating systems that I don't understand the workings of, while having preoccupied CEOs ask me questions that I answer in babble-tech just to confuse them even more. Jeff and I have been attending regular Toronto Movie Festival films, without too much fuss (except of course the fact that Jeff could not see Dogma, the one movie that he desperately wanted to see). Other than that, Benny Hinn was also in Toronto, bringing an incredible amount of handicaps, mutants and various other freaks to town from just about anywhere, to witness his "miracle cures" on stage. The other day I got on the streetcar, after coming back from a client, and an old Greek lady started hitting me with her purse. It was so logic defying that it took a while to sink in the fact that I was getting beaten by an 80 years old lady yelling obscenities in Greek. I'm not sure, to this day, what I have done, other than climbing on board. Among placement, we have but one class, on Monday mornings. It's called "Professional Practices", though I am not sure exactly what the purpose of this class is all about. So far we have been told about Brain-Gym(TM) and how we should be drinking lots of water. Long discussions on our bodily fluids. She told us how the Church of Scientology, to which we later discovered, she belongs, is being persecuted by the German government. There are only 3 months and a half of this silly drivel, and hopefully I will survive, get some rest, and be able to bring CoN back to you in its original glory and distribution time. William, from the organization of the "Purple rabbit runners" writes in regards to the usual hidden comments on CoN issue 12: > Just a short note. Squirrels chasing nuts is mentioned twice, but I > have never in my life seen a squirrel chase a nut. > > Birds fly was mentioned with one of them, but that too I have never > seen. But that may just be because they travel as cargo, and I > get a seat in the pressurised cargo bin known as 'coach' when I fly. I'll leave you with an entertaining e-mail from David Dylan, who goes to show that school in North America just sucks, and that those wacky Belgians(*) have it all figured out. Hi there, Your school-bashing and talk of famous femminists leads me to share a little anecdote. I'm the type that used to get "strongly advised to find another school". In the .nl they can't just outright kick you out unless you killed someone or something, but if they tell you, you won't promote to the next year unless you go to another school, what's there to do? And I was an angel, I never did anything wrong! Granted, I once Molotov-ed the school yard in a protest against new cuts on student income. But that was in part also defending the teacher's income. OK, I handed out "go home - school makes you stupid!" flyers printed by a local Anarchist group, but that just shows healthy interest in society, right? Maybe it's the time we burned our draft-cards and accidentally set a bush on fire? Or the time we glued the plug of the glue-gun into the wall-socket? If the teacher hand't yanked it so hard, the entire socket wouldn't have come loose, and he would never have fallen through that glass door! Ofcourse my English teacher was pissed at me for glueing his orthopaedic ergonomic ten-speed chair to the ceiling, but hey what's a little fun inbetween classes, eh? And don't think I was doing it alone. In fact, I was the "nerd", the stuff the rest was up to was even worse, albeit more stupid and less thought-out. I usually didn't get caught. Perhaps that ticked them off most? Anyway, after some adventuring sans-diploma, I decided I needed one after all. By then I was old enough to be accused of being an "adult". I went to a school for adults, named after a famous local femminist. Joke Smit. (Not a joke name, by the way) This school showed just about every quality other schools lacked. Art class meant painting nudes, and gettting decent instruction by real artists! Not just some frustrated crafts-teacher handing you some red green and blue finger-paint. They were on the forefront of the computer revolution, with internet-connected computers lining the hallways, for all students to use. In English class we read Baldwin and Joyce, not the silly "easy reader" books I still have nightmares about. In Dutch class we read a book, picked a character other than the narrator and rewrote a chapter of the book from this person's perspective. Fun to do, and it really teaches you something. The fondest memories however I have of the Biology teacher. This guy only taught as means of supporting himself inbetween discovery- missions to the Amazon. And he would share his finds with us first. Famous were his slide-shows. After a few pictures of snakes and such he would suddenly put on a slide of a tiny fish in a puddle of blood in the palm of someone's hand. Then he would explain that this fish feeds on blood of bigger fish, which he gets by attaching himself in the gills. He finds the gills (blind as a bat this fish) by swimming up any strong little stream. So, warns the teacher, DO NOT URINATE IN THE WATER! Ofcourse someone would ask what happens if you do anyway, and the teacher would reply, matter- of-factly.."machete time!". Demonstrating in an air-guitarrish way how one would cut out the fish from some poor soul's genitals. After enjoying our silence for a moment he would add, "this one we found in a big fish ofcourse". Yup, it was a fun little school. I got my diploma with high grades, and as a parting gift, glued a condom-shaped hat on the statue of Joke Smit. Greetz. DD. ------------------------------------------- 2. Sexually Transmitted Poison Ivy, Uncle Dale's Travelling Outhouse, and Other Stories That Should Be True By Jason MacIsaac If you study literature, painting, music, or any other kind of art, sooner or later you will hear phrases like "Art for Art's sake," and the like. Good art, that is, a fascinating sculpture, a portrait, even a movie or a good TV episode does not necessary have to have anything to do with truth or even meaning. In fact, some would argue that truth and meaning actually sabotage good art. How many times have you seen or read something that would be quite enjoyable, if not for the fact that every three second it flashed extremely enlightening messages such as "Drugs are bad," "War isn't fun" and "Racism is wrong"? Nobody enjoys being preached to, especially if they already happened to be converted. If you're in the habit of creating things for the sole purpose of delivering a message, here's a helpful tip that should cure you. The chances are that anyone who would really appreciate your stuff already is receptive to your message, and doesn't need to hear it. Those who don't appreciate your stuff won't change their minds upon hearing your message. Picture a member of the Klu Klux Klan reading a short story with the central message that "Racism is wrong." He will not slap his head, say "Bugger me, that's right!" strip off the pointy white hat, and donate 15% of his earnings to the National Association for the Advancement of Coloured Persons. Playright and novelist Oscar Wilde went even further with the idea of Art for Art's sake. In his essay "The Decay of Lying" he went on to claim that the artist should be "in the habit of telling beautiful lies." I have to agree with him there, because I'm harbouring a few stories that are so good that they must told. I have been told them as though they were truth, but in fact I don't have a shred of proof that they happened, but dammit, they're stories (like the time I was gang-raped by the Toronto Raptors cheerleading squad) that are so good, they *should* be true dammit! These stories have names today such as "Urban Myths" or "Urban Legends". They take place in a more modern setting than say, Aesop's Fables, and serve to instil a sense of fear, paranoia, like a ghost tale around the campfire, or humour and gruesome justice, like a joke around the water cooler. Though they sound recent, most are quite old. It's just as the years go and technology improves, the stories change. For example, there's the classic one of the mysterious hitchhiker, an enigmatic woman who asks a kindly driver to take her home--which turns out to be a cemetery. Such stories began with a horse and carriage driver taking the woman home until the arrivals of cars. The story was then adopted to include the new mode of transportation. The stories change with the times, and the location, but the essential ingredients (the supernatural resolution) remains the same. Some of them are probably based on one or more factual occurrences, shaken and stirred over the years so that they no longer resemble their original source. People sharing them, unaware that they are Urban Myths, often run into someone who says "That's funny, the exact same thing happened in my town." That's when the ugly reality of urban mythology sets in. My stories sound a lot like urban myths, and I fully expect to one day find someone who also had an Uncle with a Traveling Outhouse. But whether these are true is not important. They just should be true, aesthetically speaking. They're good stories, and can be repeated fairly easily. Here's the first one. This one was told to me by a friend (always the "friend" or third party). I can't remember if he said he actually knew the guy it happened too, but it doesn't matter. This story "could" happen, it's unusual yet plausible, with a twist that makes a good Urban myth. And it punishes that favourite target of sexual carelessness (or sexual imagination. You get the feeling that people who create or perpetuate these stories just ain't gettin' any). I will tell this story from the perspective of the person who told it me. Without further ado: SEXUALLY TRANSMITTED POISON IVY When I was in the militia, we went to CFB Borden for basic training. You really live like an animal during Basic; they hardly let you get any sleep, make you crawl through swamps and bush, and sometimes you live in your uniform for days without a break. Wearing the same pants for days in the hot summer sun, the men were in danger of getting what's called "Crotch Rot," the male equivalent of a yeast infection. It's caused by the same sort of thing--sweat trapped close to the genitals, the moisture causing a painful rash. To combat this, they would tell men to walk with their zippers down to allow the air to circulate. A friend of mine was doing this, walking through the bush and doing his exercises while "flying low." Unfortunately, CFB Borden is known for the high concentration of poison ivy (there's a rumor that it was the site of some too successful military experiments). Marching, crawling, and rolling though the bush as he was, my friend, with his zipper down, got in infected by poison ivy. Yes, down there. That's bad enough, except that he was seeing one of the woman trainees. Shortly after he was infected but before the rash broke out, he had sex with her. His pelvic area transferred the infection to her pelvic area. Sexually transmitted poison ivy. Soon, they were both extremely sore and itchy in a very inconvenient place. Urban myths cater to fear and paranoia, especially that brought on by reckless or less than chivalrous behaviour. These stories often serve as a warning. The "true" story of the person who took a one night stand home, awoke the next morning to find them gone except for a note that says "Welcome to the wonderful world of AIDS." Sexual promiscuity and its consequences are a popular topic with myth-makers. Another popular topic is about criminals receiving unexpected but gruesome punishment for their crimes. That's were my next story comes in. I believe it was told to me by my mother, who said it happened to my Uncle Dale. My Uncles are definitely the kind to tell tales (and punch out people who cut them off at the next set of lights, but that's another story about my Uncle Sonny). Uncle Dale's Traveling Outhouse My Uncle Dale once owned a huge recreational vehicle. Stove, fridge, bunk beds, and so on. The thing was so large that it had two gas tanks. However, my Uncle converted one of the tanks into a septic tank. There was a small toilet in the RV, and he ran a line right down into the tank from the toilet. One day while on a camping trip, my Uncle parked the RV in the lot of a provincial park, and then went into its offices to take care of some business. This took him about half an hour. Upon leaving the office, my Uncle discovered that he had been a victim of a crime. A thief had tried to siphon gas out of the RV. Unfortunately, the thief chose the wrong tank. My Uncle says that all he saw was a hose still in the tank, and vomit everywhere. The thief was nowhere in sight. Poetic justice, eh? This is actually the kind of think that you'd like to happen to the son of a bitch who stole your car radio or your bike. If only all criminals, with the exception of myself, received such punishment. There, now I've shared my stories, in the proper context. Perhaps someday I shall relate the story of my ordeal at the hands of the Toronto Raptors cheerleaders. Like many urban myths of its kind, it starts out with "Dear Penthouse, I never thought your letters were true or that this would ever happen to me, but..." --- Jason MacIsaac is terrified that he has dedicated his life to the pursuit and capture of the Spiralling Shape. ------------------------------------------- 3. Grimm Trickbabies: The Films of Matthew Bright by Jeff Wright Writer/director Matthew Bright is one of my favourite directors. This happened over a period of two days when I saw both of his films. His first film is FREEWAY, starring Reese Witherspoon and Keifer Sutherland in a re-telling of the Little Red Riding Hood fable. His second (which is still looking for a distributor) is FREEWAY 2: CONFESSIONS OF A TRICKBABY, which stars Natasha Lyonne and Vincent Gallo in a re-telling of the Hansel and Gretel fable. That's all I'm going to say about the films' plots. These flics should be experienced without any prior knowledge. It's more fun, just to be blown away by them as they happen. What makes Bright's films so great, is their tone. They're well made films that just happen to be fun, excessive, and trashy. Bright is a filmmaker who makes films the way I want to make films. Film is too stuffy nowadays. Everything takes itself too seriously, and if it doesn't, then it's too silly. Bright's style to me seems like a mixture between Peter Jackson, Sam Raimi, Robert Rodriguez, Russ Meyers, and I suppose even a touch of Troma films (Toxic Avenger, Surf Nazis Must Die). That's one hell of a combo, and has made for a couple of damn enjoyable films!!! My introduction to Bright was FREEWAY 2: CONFESSIONS OF A TRICKBABY. I saw it last week at the Toronto Film Festival, and enjoyed the hell out of it. Saddly it's going to have a hard time finding a distibutor, because it's really over the top, and just not commercially viable. I hope with all my heart that the film gets a theatrical release because Bright is a great filmmaker, and I'd hate to see his ability to get financing go down the drain after just 2 films. Bright deserves to make his films until the day he dies. Not only does Bright deserve these films, but so do I!!! I've waited for a long, long time to find a director who got EXACTLY what I'm looking for in a fun time at the movies, as far as tone goes. I'm not going to see two films that I love, and then let him not direct anymore films. He MUST continue to make his films. I'm already psyched for his 3rd film, which is going to be a re-telling of The Three Little Pigs, with 3 cops as the little pigs, and a vicious teenage girl as the wolf. YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!! I can't fucking wait for that flic!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But I'm gonna have to I suppose since FREEWAY 2 isn't even released yet. DAMMIT!!!!!! This is a hard wait!!!!! I'm getting way too excited. All I'm seeing is exclamation marks, so maybe I should just stop. Sure I haven't told you much about the flics (okay, here's a little more about themes in both of the films: lesbianism, drugs, murder, interracial relationships, youth prisons, white trash, and much much more), but as always, I hope I've conveyed my love of them. For now, you'll have to just rent FREEWAY (available on dvd with a, quite funny at times, commentary by Bright), watch it over and over again, then just sit and wait for FREEWAY 2: CONFESSIONS OF A TRICKBABY to get a distibutor, and be released. Matthew Bright rules!!!!!!! And he sure as hell ain't no trickbaby!!!!! --- Jeff ain't one to take shit. He's one to start it. ------------------------------------------- 4. CYBER TALK By Samantha Stasiuk So there I am, puttering from chat room to chat room, when all of a sudden, this message flashes before my eyes: "Hi honey, wanna cyber-fuck?" I sigh in disgust. This is not the first time this has happened to me. It seems the moment you reveal yourself as a female in a chat room, you are bombarded with questions from "men"- asking where you live, what you are wearing, and, like this particular loser, if you wanna cyber. So here I am thinking that I came into a CHAT room. CHATTING being what I had in mind. So I tell this guy "no, I'm only here to talk." Two seconds later, my screen lights up with this rather lovely response. "You snobby Bitch. Fuck you then." Now, I am sorry, but just because I did not want to tell some guy I look like Sable, or whoever the newest "babe" is, and am ripping off my clothes just to keep his interest, does not in my book, make me a bitch. And yeah, all those "men" are probably just thirteen year old boys looking for a thrill, and the idea that I would be any cause for some over-hormonal masturbation absolutely disturbs me. So I decide to test this theory. See I am not a male-basher or anything, so I wanted to see if it would work the other way around. So I posed as a guy and entered yet another room. Sorry ladies, that whole "we are sooooooo innocent" does not stand up to what I experienced within those five minutes in a chat room. Not only was I invited to "cyber", but I was asked if I liked whips and chains, told I could be the "dominant" one, and asked to join in a female group of cyber. So all you guys out there are drooling and wondering WHICH rooms I was in, I'll tell you. No-it was not a sex room, it wasn't even a flirting room. It was a Yahoo room and the "topic" was the TV show Friends. And to my knowledge, none of the "friends" engaged in any of the acts I was asked to be a part of. So I'm left with no where to go. Neither a man nor a woman can escape the "cyber" world in chat rooms. I JUST WANT TO TALK! If anyone finds one of these places anywhere on the net, let me know. I am down to the belief that they just don't exist. Oh, and if you happen to see angeleyes_545 out there, she DOESN'T wanna cyber! --- Samantha loves to dance to the tunes of the "Footloose" soundtrack, but that's only when she really feels like kickin it. There is nothing better than listening to "Let's Hear it for the Boy" on song repeat. ------------------------------------------- CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org. (*) - Yes, I know David Dylan is not Belgian, but would it have been as funny if I had written "naughty Hollanders"? Or perhaps "crazy Luxemburgers"? I rest my case. 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 A bi-weekly electronic journal. Subscriptions available at no cost electronically. Available on Usenet newsgroups alt.zines and alt.ezines. This mailing is sent exclusively to those poor souls who chose to subscribe to the Capital of Nasty mailing list. Spread the word! If you have friends who would like to receive CoN, ask them to send email to join@capnasty.org. If you'd like to unsubscribe because such email aggravates your delayed CoN issue deliverance, simply send an empty message to leave@capnasty.org. Brought to you by C.C.C.P. (Collective Communist Computing Proletariat) Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro Colin Barrett <leandro@capnasty.org> <tyrannis@capnasty.org> ZimID 708EC8D1 1994/09/14 EC B0 97 59 1D FE 7C 32 7E 04 2C 66 47 41 FB 7D