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Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine Volume IV, Issue 14, AD MCMXCIX Monday, September 27, 1999 ISSN 1482-0471 ------------------------------------------- Before he became a hermit, Zarathud was a young Priest, and took great delight in making fools of his opponents in front of his followers. One day Zarathud took his students to a pleasant pasture and there he confronted The Sacred Chao while She was contentedly grazing. "Tell me, you dumb beast," demanded the Priest in his commanding voice, "why don't you do something worthwhile? What is your Purpose in Life, anyway?" Munching the tasty grass, The Sacred Chao replied "MU". (The Chinese ideogram for NO-THING.) Upon hearing this, absolutely nobody was enlightened. Primarily because nobody understood Chinese. -- Camden Benares, "Zen Without Zen Masters" ------------------------------------------- "Writing and directing are for free. That part is free. You'd do that no matter what. You get paid to deal with idiots who don't care about movies." -- Paul Thomas Anderson ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial 2. One Stalker's Film Festival Experience 3. Pickles and icecream: The Daily Journal of a Pregnasaurus 4. CoN at the movies 5. Ask Alex ------------------------------------------- This week's Golden Testicle award: http://www.freeyellow.com:8080/members8/bahnrancid/witisota.html W.I.T.I.S.O.T.A. ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial By CoN Staff WELCOME TO ISSUE 14 of Capital of Nasty. I was close to delivering this issue in time, but it's past midnight, so despite the fact that I was nearly done in Monday, even this issue is late due to the fact that I can't think of what to write in this Editorial. So like. There. Special Guest Editorial By Jason MacIsaac Hello there. Our leader Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro is a little burnt out right now, so I'm stepping in to do a special guest editorial. Leandro's other commitments, school, work, placement, girlfriend and family are trippin' his nutsack into a frenzy of dikplay right now so he's too busy to write. Otherwise he'd be here to write about how his other commitments, school, work, placement, girlfriend and family are trippin' his nutsack into a frenzy of dikplay right now and he's too busy to write. I'm busy too. However, I've got a healthy sense of irresponsibility, which permits me to take a moment to write this editorial instead of fulfilling my obligations. Dammit, Dad can wait for his insulin until the end of the week. Since I may not get a chance to write an editorial again, I will take this moment to say that way back when I wrote "Shall I Compare Thee To A Guinea Pig," for CoN, a young woman wrote in and expressed her desire to marry me. I now accept this proposal, if it is still open. Looking at the old CoN mailbox, we find just one letter. William, from The Purple Rabbit Runners, questions: >> A bi-weekly electronic journal. > > So which weeks are bi? If I may, I'd like to paraphrase John Halcyon Styn of Prehensile Tales, who had this to say about being bi. He describes himself as a "political bisexual" and would sleep with anyone he found sexually attractive. So far however, this has only happened with women. So I think then that CoN can be described as a "political biweekly." It would also sleep with anyone it found sexually attractive. If anyone out there masturbates while reading CoN, please let us know. You could get lucky! I will close the editorial with some sage advice that has been passed on down through generations, and it's as relevant today as when it was first uttered: "Don't ask me what the hell `trippin his nutsack into a frenzy of dikplay' means." ------------------------------------------- 2. One Stalker's Film Festival Experience By Samantha Craggs Remember that girl who broke into Brad Pitt's house, wore his pyjamas and fell asleep in his bed? When you're a couple of bad breakups away from that, the Toronto Film Festival is a dangerous game. I heard a couple of months beforehand that the Toronto Film Festival would feature the North American premier of Ride with the Devil, directed by Ang Lee and starring the actor who has been the subject of my every dream, erotic or otherwise, since Poison was big. Whenever I hear the name "Johnathan Rhys Meyers," I like to follow it up with "is God." The lips, the hair, the eyes, the cold and calculated smirk...oh, and his acting isn't bad, either. The thing about Jonathan Rhys Meyers is that he can date Toni Collette all he wants, but he and I both know it's just an act. He belongs with me. He just can't admit to dating a measely Canadian reporter three years his senior. It would upset his management. I knew that Jonathan Rhys Meyers' new movie was playing at the festival, where celebrities often walk the red carpet to smile for the little people. A true stalker would have planned ahead. A true stalker would have gotten tickets before they sold out in the knowledge that there was at least a 50-50 chance that the object of her undying affection may show his face at Roy Thompson Hall. But adding to my failure complex, I'm not even a very good stalker. I waited until a week before, after pleading with my friend Debbie to make the two-hour venture to Toronto with me, and the tickets were sold out. Everyone was anticipating the arrival of that coffeehouse wench Jewel. "Show up early on Friday night," said the guy on the phone. "There may be cancellations. You could get rush tickets." Well, I didn't have much choice, did I? Jonathan was expecting me. Now, when someone says "show up early," it doesn't usually mean three hours early. But we're talking about Jonathan Rhys Meyers here. A drive that usually takes an hour and a half turned into three with Friday afternoon traffic. The Gardiner Expressway, arguably one of the busiest highways in Toronto, was packed to the gills. Debbie clutched the map with white knuckles, suddenly shrieking "you want that lane!!!" when it happened to be on the opposite side of the highway. The only consolation was that I was a short time away from seeing the man of my dreams. He knew I was coming. Once we made it into the city, there was a new dilemma. Where the fuck was Roy Thompson Hall? I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, thinking maybe Jonathan vibes would pull me there, but to no avail. We stopped and asked directions from a guy so drunk he could hardly stay on his bicycle. He wouldn't have been so nice to us if he'd known we were stalkers. We found the place with relative ease and still got there at 6 p.m. I couldn't help but swell with pride when I saw the weirdly- angled building shining in the sun. The scene of my crime. The movie started at 9:30. They were amazed by our gumption. We stood there for an hour by ourselves, the only ones dumb enough to show up three hours early. We'd exhausted our paper-scissors-rock tournament by the time a little man approached us with tickets in his outstretched hand and saying four of about five English words in his English vocabulary. "My partner cannot come." I would have blown him for the tickets at that point. After we bought the tickets he opened his wallet and said "Want to go tomorrow too?" But who was I to be picky when I was there to devise a way to kidnap Jonathan Rhys Meyers and tie him to my bed, a.l.a. Misery? We hurried in at 8:30, me snickering at the security guards and wondering what they would think if I was there to see a celebrity who had me so obsessed that I was ready to build an alter of candles and Velvet Goldmine movie boxes. But who cares? In just a short hour Jonathan Rhys Meyers would come waltzing down the red carpet, take me into his arms and moan "Thank God you made it!" So the celebrities entered. People oggled. "She's so pretty," the girl next to me whimpered as Jewel slithered by, her breasts bulging out of her pale blue dress. Yeah, yeah, whatever. Then there was Tobey Maguire, stopping to sign the Vanity Fair cover of the autograph hound beside me. "Buddy," I thought as I surveyed the autograph hound, "you don't even know how to stalk properly." Then there was Skeet Ulrich with his good ol' boy smile. Then Ang Lee. And...and...and no Jonathan. NO JONATHAN! How could my instincts be wrong? Did he not tell me he was coming the night before when I summoned his spirit with my ouija board? Did the man not know that I had dressed a Ken Doll as his Ride with the Devil character? How could he not show? Woe was me. In true stalker style, I take it as a personal slight. But life will go on, and so will I. My plane ticket is booked. I just know I'll love the adorable way he says "Who are you and why are you in my house?" ----- Samantha Craggs is actually not a stalker, but she does like to write stuff. Visit the homepage at http://www.velvet.net/~samantha. ------------------------------------------- 3. Pickles and icecream: The Daily Journal of a Pregnasaurus By Tess Toth My day usually begins by trying to get my mammoth butt out of bed. After rolling from left to right, I finally get enough momentum and flop onto the floor. And when I finally manage to stand on my feet, Nature calls and I make a straight dash for the john. Yes, I am pregnant, and I'm here to share the joys of it all....heh heh... "Pregnasaurus: (n) a woman whose stomach reaches massive proportions, and becomes aggravated easily and attacks at the first mention of "Dinner's On!" (name given by my friend Shannon) I have been watching this show called "A Baby Story" for a few months, and it makes me gag every time. They portray a cutesy family where the woman is just "glowing", with the father saying "Oh, even though it wasn't expected, I am just SO happy about it!!"...bleech...and when she goes into labour she says "Oh! There's a contraction! How wonderful! I'm just so happy that the baby is coming out today!"...well, I am not thrilled about the baby coming out, and I'm sure as all hell that I'm not going to giggle when I feel my first contraction....I feel sorry for my hubby...because if he's going to be in the delivery room with me, it won't be his HAND I will be squishing between my tightened fingers! When are they going to show the woman swearing at the top of her lungs saying "You bastard!! If you ever come near me again with sex on your mind, I will tear off your testicles with my teeth and wear them as earrings!!"...Now that would be entertaining...>:) Do I hear all the men's anuses tightening?! heh heh heh... Now now, don't get me wrong.... I love my hubby :), but with everyone telling me of the excrutiating events that are going to happen to me, I will probably swear left and right and yell out to the world that I will never have sex again...but maybe not, who knows. I have no idea how I will feel, but with all my friends and family telling me how they or their family members felt, I feel like if I don't try and threaten my hubby with each contraction, then I am somehow "inhuman". I will be thankful when my stupid hormones finally give me some peace!! It's bad enough I'm a bitch with the whole damned PMS thing