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Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine Volume V, Issue 3, AD MM Monday, February 28, 2000 ISSN 1482-0471 ------------------------------------------- "He's not famous. It may be that when his life at last comes to an end, he will leave no more trace of his journey on this soil, than a stone thrown into a river, leaves on the surface of the water. But it may be that the way of life he has chosen for himself, may have an ever-growing influence over his fellow man, so that, long after his death perhaps it will be realized that there lived in this age, a very remarkable creature." -- atman ------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial 2. Never on Video 3. Roommates: Identifying the Species 4. Love Cats 5. Kinky Sex With Minnie Driver ------------------------------------------- This week's Golden Testicle awards: http://www.scarysquirrel.org/ Submitted by Samantha Stasiuk http://www.rentajerk.com/ And of course, for those with a low end machine, TEXT MODE QUAKE: http://webpages.mr.net/bobz/ttyquake/ ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial By CoN staff Keeping up with CoN's tradition, this issue is late as well. There have been a few changes in life, such as a new job, fighting with the bank to get new cheques (took them one month and a half, charged me twice, and then to discover they weren't actually made yet), getting my new place and the new CoN redesign we're all working on (albeit I've done diddly squat other than bitch, but I'll take the credit put in by Colin and Gard). With the new redesign, not only will the webpages look more appealing, but there will actually be information, generated dynamically by Gard's database program, and include many more sections for your reading pleasure. Until then, you are stuck reading some October issue. After Jeff's article about Scream 3, we were all hoping for some hate mail from the last issue of CoN, but nooo. No, not our readership. We have to pry words out of them with a pair of rusted pliers. Well, you know what? You all suck. I mean, come'on, I thrive on hateful mail to make my editorials more fun, and you guys just sit there quietly and read the issues and have nothing to complain about? This is a nightmare. How good of a magazine can we possibly be without any resentful letters from our readership? Can you possibly all be happy with our silly drivel? I digress... Today on my way home this rather attractive girl kept turning around and staring at me. I went for the zipper thinking it was down, or that a massive booger had leaped out of my nose. "Hi" she says and I'm thinking "Okay, what's up with this? She's a drop-dead gorgeous girl saying 'hi' so she probably wants a cigarette or give me something like a set of speakers or religion." Seriously, if you think about it, in our North American society, who stops to talk to you? If it's not the odd American tourist that is lost and looking for directions (the CN Tower? Why, it's the tallest, biggest thing in Toronto, lumbering high above any sky- scraper in this city, visible well before you even enter the Metro Toronto area city-limits and you can't fucking see it?), it's some guy driving around with a suspicious look in his face and with that typical offer "hey, bud, wanna buy a pair of really good speakers?" (I must have the face of someone who really wants good speakers, cuz, this happens quite often). Alternatively it's just some nut case or someone spreading their religion (they fall under the same category, if you ask me). Nobody else will talk to you. They will do their best to ignore the fact that they are sitting in a crowded metro car. Everyone is looking outside (yeah, the dark, poorly lit tunnels sure make for a good view), reading a book, or staring at the shoes of someone else. No wonder advertising in the metro is so successful. It gives someone with no book who is tired of staring at shoes, something to read. The only people that do not fall in this category are Quebecers (the closest thing we have to Europeans here). Sure, they are weird, eat poutine and think they speak French, but one thing's for sure: you walk down Montreal's main street and half an hour later you have 3 new friends. But back to our heavenly creature: "Hello" says hi "what do you offer? Religion? Drugs? You want a cigarette?" "Uh, sorry? Why do you say that?" "Well, usually people here ignore each other as if the other person did not exist, so when someone says 'hi' to a complete stranger, I can only expect that you want something from me. Is it religion? I don't see a name tag, so you are not from the Church of Latterday Saints of Jesus Christ. What are you? Jehovah? I see no book. I give up." "I'm from [something I can't remember now] and I was wondering...uh...if I could invite you to join one of our sermons at our church". She looked a little uneasy. Either she was expecting me to tell her to fuck off 0.2 seconds after she had opened her mouth, or for me to be some religiously active person who would've gone apeshit after her ass (in a religious manner, of course). "Thanks, but no thanks. What is it with you people that constantly have to stop strangers and ask them this annoying shit? If it's not you, it's those pretty boys with the tags. If it ain't them, it's the Jehovah's and their end of the world story. Seriously, stop trying to save the world. Go away." "You are very bitter. Religion would help you heal..." Of course, no matter what you do, religion, Jesus, the discipiles and Ponzio Pilatus are all involved. "Sorry. Not interested in becoming a mindless drooling idiot. I rub the Bible between my legs everyday to get to know Christ better," and I stormed off. Last glance I threw at her she was still standing there with a shocked look. May Adam Trasher forgive me for stealing his rubbing-the-Bible line, but my mind was blank for originality. Maybe next time this happens, I'll use some of the lines Jason seems to create out of thin air: "Listen, your faith is using you as a prostitute, hoping your attractiveness will make men listen to you. If you're going to be a whore, at least make sure you keep the bulk of your profits, not your church. By the way, that's a lovely sweater." "Have you accepted Jesus as your personal savior?" "Who?" "Jesus." "Never heard of him." Or, "Yes I know. I'm Jesus. I just dropped by to let you know you're doing a swell job. Keep up the good work! By the way, that's a nice sweater." Enjoy this belated issue you all-too-happy and never-upset readership from hell. IN LACK OF STAMINA, I'LL STICK TO CHOCOLATE: Angie writes: i was thrilled to read about "Luke De Sade"'s endurance...2 hours and still didn't come....but too bad he's grossed out so easily by our girl-juice. he sounded like fun for a bit (yeah i know he's too young for me, i'll relax now) ------------------------------------------- 2. Never on Video By Jason MacIsaac Perhaps it's because my years studying Radio and Television gave me a healthy contempt for television and video, but I just don't understand the obsession some people have with it. I have no desire to grab a video camera and point it at my friends doing such gripping dramatic things as eating lunch. Hanging out at the mall. Lots of people however, do. Ever go into a mall and see some idiot dad filming his idiot family standing in front of the fountain, or some vaguely interesting lump of art the mall owners have dumped near the foodcourt? While I still think it's tacky, I can see why someone might want to tape their wedding, but what golden memories must be preserved in a mall? "Oh look darling, there we are in front of Le Chateau, and there's Music World off to the side! Remember how they had Meatloaf albums in the discount bin for $6.99? Good times." Is the sort of thing you go home and watch later, over and over? Wouldn't you rather rent a few movies instead? Please don't inflict this sort of thing on your guests. Picture albums are bad enough. You will you bore your guest into the sweet caress of oblivion. And what if you're doing things like video taping little Johnny on the potty, then showing his girlfriend 16 years later? I promise you Johnny will drop you in a nursing home that regularly fails standard inspections at the first available opportunity. I used to stand respectfully to the side or go around while idiots filmed themselves in public. Now I just march right on through. I've mentioned this before, but I do not believe that buying something expensive such as a car or nice compact Sony minicam entitles you to monopolize the public domain. So if your car alarm thinks I'm standing too close or making too much noise, or if my desire to go from point A to B ruins your shot of your mutant family in front of Radio Shack, too fucking bad. You'll just have to wait for me to pass if you want to film this somehow magical moment. If I'm feeling very nice, your film won't capture my middle finger and my unclad ass. I think that these people are in their own small way trying to be TV stars. It's sad really. TV isn't the source of many great things when the professionals are cranking it out, so what the amateurs are putting out is nothing short of video pee-pee. Although, in the future, the existence of idiots will be well documented, thanks largely to their own filming habits. People who have video cameras think nothing of pointing one at themselves and pressing Record while doing the most stupid things. What's even more mysterious, but perhaps encouraging, is the desire of people engaged in some kind of criminal activity to tape themselves. Quite recently, it's come to light that when you join a military outfit in North America, they make sure you won't be afraid of torture from the enemy by making sure they torture you as much as possible themselves in an initiation process known as "hazing." In order to welcome you to a unit or regiment, they insert irregular shaped items in your anus, rip your nipples off and then light you on fire, all to say "welcome aboard!" I shudder to think what a dishonorable discharge involves. This process of hazing has been going on for many years. It was one of those every-body-knows-nobody-said-anything kind of situations. It would have probably continued to go on for years without comment, but then some genius started videotaping them. Video tapes go to the press, voila, scandal. It was a touch difficult to cover up, what with actual video footage willingly taken by the perpetrators and all. This to me is the most mysterious aspect of this obsession with getting your ugly mug videotaped. Okay, you want to tape family gatherings, Hershel's Bar Mitzvah, fine. While such things when viewed will bore other people to death, at least the activities are legal. It's not a crime to bore someone, otherwise authors like Thomas Hardy would have spent their lives in prison. The trend nowadays though is to videotape yourself breaking the law, or doing something you don't want others to know about. The hazing thing is a prime example. But we've also got things like people committing assault on somebody and bringing along a buddy to videotape it. Drug users taping their parties. I don't want my face on camera at the best of times, never mind when I'm doing something I don't want mom to know about. Perhaps I shouldn't complain though, as it makes prosecuting these kinds of people much easier. Others would concur with me: http://www.jsonline.com/news/wauk/dec99/video22122199a.asp You know, it's not that the kids drank and groped each other. It's that they lacked the brains to keep it off videotape. If this is what future breeds of criminals are going to be like, we can relax the level of police training a bit. It's not like you need Sherlock Holmes to unravel this case. No mention of vidiocy would be complete without sex. Some couples enjoy filming themselves while in the act. Personally I'm all for kinky sex, but I'm also all for discretion. That means making sure that video tape isn't seen by anyone else. Oh, and be sure the person you're with at the time is trustworthy, and isn't libel to turn it into a handy downloadable .avi for the Internet. Perhaps the most famous example of this is Tommy Lee and Pamela Lee Anderson (or just Pamela Anderson, depending on whether or not she's still married to him this week). What two people want to do in the bedroom is nobody else's business, but they should have been taking precautions to make sure that's where it stayed. Apparently the video was stolen by someone who was renovating the house, which tells me they didn't have it locked away safely. Sadly, this marriage has produced offspring. The odds of the child someday curing cancer seem unlikely, given the parenting. At least the video was taken during one of the brief windows when Lee and Anderson were married to each other. Actor Rob Lowe had the ill grace to video tape himself with two women.at least one of whom was underage. Here we get back to the illegal thing again. Never video tape something you won't want a judge to see. Oh yeah--alcohol and video camera--big mistake. Enough said. Sigh. This rant shall now run out of steam as I realize I am guilty of this very behavior. Not to the same extent as some of these other yahoos, but I am suddenly reminded of one trip to a friend's cottage that had us re-enacting the kill-the-pig dance scene from Lord of the Flies. Well, at least my indiscretion wasn't illegal, plus it was fairly literary to boot. All the same, I hope Michelle destroyed the tape. --- Jason MacIsaac is like a circle in a spiral, like wheel within a wheel. Never ending nor beginning on an ever-spinning reel. Just like a snowball down a mountain or a carnival balloon, or like a carousel that's turning, running rings around the moon. ------------------------------------------- 3. Roommates: Identifying the Species By Mark Driver Let's face it, living with other people sucks. Other people's filth, other people's clothes, other people's friends, and other people's food in the refrigerator. Unfortunately the economic realities of most of us keep that constant, unwanted companion across the hall. I, like most people, have had my fair share of roommates, most of them good, some of them bad, a few of them unbearable, but I can't exactly say that I'm a joy to live with either (put me somewhere in- between The Slob and The Sketcher). But, in my ever vigilant attempt to elevate the human race past the status of dung beetle, I have set forth a classification system of roommates to help identify possible trouble spots and keep life moving smoothly. While I may have not nailed everyone, I think I got most of you bastards. Feel free to mail me with anyone I might have left out. The Athlete The Athlete lives to exercise. Jogging, rollerblading, gym membership, and intramural sports are dead giveaways to this species. Often assumes that hours spent at rowing machine somehow translates into life experience that boosts them above people of normal activity level. If you can handle jabs to your undefined pectorals and constant nagging requests to accompany them on their path to self-betterment, you should do just fine. The Neat Freak The Neat Freak demands a sense of order and cleanliness above and beyond the call to sanity. Spends most free time dusting, polishing silverware, and talking about you behind your back to her other neat friends. Usually in bed before 11:00 and up around 6:00, The Neat Freak can be a constant source of entertaining anecdotes, and can be baited into insanity embarrassingly easily with used condoms and misplaced chicken bones. The Neat Freak should live alone, so approach with caution. The Schizophrenic Cleaner Not to be confused with the Neat Freak, The Schizophrenic Cleaner is a slob 90% of the time, but during that other 10% (usually on Sunday afternoons), the Schizophrenic Cleaner becomes the most unbearable roommate known to science and attempts to clean two months of filth in two hours. Often this is accompanied by scathing diatribes against all other roommates in the house whose only crimes are that they aren't overcome by sanitary mania at the exact same time. This attribute is common to many other species. The Dealer Pros: Pays the rent, has a nice TV with matching Playstation, and has plenty of drugs. Cons: Sketchy people stopping by at 3 in the morning, bullets coming through the window, and the occasional police raid. The Dealer is usually a nice enough person, and as long as their trade isn't much more than pot and shrooms (with the occasional shipment of coke) you should be OK, especially if you live in a college town. Avoid sharing a bedroom, as it sucks to spend 5 to 20 in lock-up when someone else is making the bucks. The Professional The Professional is in their mid 20's going on late 50's, and a good roommate for no other reason than the fact that they're never home. Back from work late, out of bed early, the only time you might cross paths is on the weekend, when they're usually busy trying to make up for not having a life by drinking hard, doing laundry, and paying the bills. The Professional is an especially good roommate if you have a bullshit job, because it lets you justify your lack of cash with 'at least I'm not him.' The Stoner Say goodbye to the couch, because once The Stoner moves it, you're never gonna be able to sit on it again. The Stoner is the opposite of The Professional; where The Professional is never home, The Stoner never leaves, living out an entire existence between the TV, the bathroom, and the front door to get the daily pizza delivery. Be especially careful of The Social Stoner, who will have lots of boring stoner friends come over never leave your house either except to visit The Dealer, when they become uncharacteristically mobile. The Vegan Perhaps the most entertaining of all roommates is The Vegan. If The Vegan has a good sense of humor, a lively rapport with plenty of good fun thrown both ways can be established. "Hey, how can you live on twigs and leaves?" answered by The Vegan with phrases like "hey, I saw a cute dog running around outside, why don't you chase it down and barbecue it?" On the other hand, if The Vegan is completely without humor, treats a diet like a religion, and constantly preaches at you, your house becomes more repressive than a 24-hour Southern Baptist church, and you should move in with someone less dogmatic, like a member of the IRA. The Mystic Spiritualist The Spiritualist knows something that you don't. The Spiritualist understands the world, the planets, the universe, and what you're doing wrong. Not quite a hippy or a stoner, The Spiritualist lines her room with books of Eastern philosophy (which she diligently skims once before forever resting on her bookshelf), hangs Indian printed cloths from the ceiling, and burns incense constantly. The Spiritualist assumes she is wise simply because she aligns herself with something other than the Western world, and will decry Western thinking with a Marlboro in one hand and a bottle of Jagrmeister in the other. Be prepared to smile and nod a lot, and have a plan to dispose of the body when you snap and strangle her. The Loner No one knows what The Loner does, and it's probably for the best. If The Loner could afford to live by himself, he would. The fact that he can't is bad news for you. On the surface, a relationship with The Loner is great. He stays in his room, he doesn't talk to you, and he even schedules his daily activities so he doesn't have to interact with you. Bad news is this guy probably has a 9mm collection and has already dug a shallow grave with your name on it. The New Alcoholic The years of living in a repressive family situation are suddenly over when The New Alcoholic leaves home. Yes, it's time to break loose and go crazy, and what better way to exercise command over your life than to stay stinking drunk all the time? Sports bars, happy hours, Long Island Ice Tea Night, whatever - there's always an excuse to drink! Expect late night 'come pick me up' phone calls, 3am 'Wooooo!'s, bar detritus of the opposite sex spending the night, and the occasional renting of a carpet shampooer to clean all the puke stains. While initially a lot of fun, the New Alcoholic suffers under the delusion that it's necessary to drink after 3:30 in the morning, and thus loses and initial charm. The Leech The Leech doesn't really like you, she just doesn't have anything to do herself, and will therefore follow you wherever you go, and make fun of it. The Leech hears you are going to a movie and invites herself along, talking loudly about how stupid the movie is. The Leech hears you are going to a party and follows you there, ripping on the house, the drinks, and how much cooler the people are in the city where she grew up. It never really dawns on The Leech that the reason she has nothing going on for herself is that she sucks to hang out with, and she probably doesn't care, she's too busy making fun of your date, your clothes, your teeth, and your hair. The Borrower While not exactly poor, The Borrower never really seems to buy anything for himself. It would seem he is unaware that items such as toothpaste, shampoo, coffee, and sweatshirts are actually available for purchase at various stores, which he could probably borrow your car to visit. To The Borrower, nothing is off limits for borrowing, including prescription medicine, underwear, Chapstick, or toothbrushes. The Cheapskate Paying bills is stressful no matter how close you are with your roommate, and The Cheapskate doesn't make it any easier. Expect to hear phrases like "You're home more often than I am, so you should pay more of the heating bill" and "Can I have 35 cents for that cream cheese you took from me this morning?" And don't ever lend money to The Cheapskate, because you'll never get it back. Instead, you'll be reminded of the ride to the airport they gave you in Spring of 1995, the time you called the house collect, or how your sister used a bunch of water when she visited. The Copy Cat The Copy Cat respects you and your ways, so much, in fact, that she will slowly become you over the months of living together. First it's the clothes, and then the hair. Pretty soon it's the music, the way you talk, your friends, your eating habits, every aspect of your personality. Flattering for about 10 minutes, annoying forever, if The Copy Cat is not cut off right away, she will end up living across the street from your eventual family. The Sketcher The Sketcher seems nice enough, but you never really trust him. He's the kind of person to steal your beer and hit on your girlfriend, yet still occasionally do something nice, like pick you up during a rainstorm, and make it hard to 100% hate him. Usually possessing a decent sense of humor and generally cool, The Sketcher is most likely to borrow half your wardrobe and move across the country, sticking you with the lease and a $400 phone bill. The Sketcher isn't really a bad person, just one who is totally out for himself, which rarely bodes well for you. The Piece of Shit You know the Piece of Shit, she's the one you let move in as a favor to a friend. She does stolen cocaine on your coffee table, needs to get picked up from fucked up places at 4 in the morning, steals your shit, and has a parade of Piece of Shit friends who also enjoy rifling through your shit. She runs up phone bills, drinks everything in the house, makes a mess, doesn't pay rent, and bitches about everything else. Get her arrested as soon as possible, and for God's sake, don't ever sleep with her, you'll never get rid of her then. The Dresser Bible The Dresser Bible seems totally normal. He is responsible, well mannered, neat, and always in generally good spirits. You may actually start to like the guy. And then, after a few months, it happens - he busts out the Bible he keeps in the top drawer of his dresser and begins to start his sentences with words like "You know what Jesus says". Your friendship suddenly becomes a truce, as he promises to keep the Good News to a minimum, and you agree to stop slaughtering goats in the living room. The Touchy Feely The Touchy Feely is the nicest person you'll ever meet. She'll always have an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, and be a friend to depend on. She'll make you a healthy vegetarian dinner and give you a friendly back massage afterward. She'll always smile, let you borrow anything, and doesn't mind cleaning the entire house daily. She takes detailed phone messages, is nice to all your friends, and feeds your cat while you're on vacation. None of this changes the fact that she's creepier than a bathroom stall at a NAMBLA meeting. Beware of someone who never stops smiling. The Poor Guy The Poor Guy means well, but he's, well, poor. More likely he's just really bad with money, spending his meager paychecks on dope and good beer, crippling his budget for the rest of the month. The Poor Guy rarely leaves home, because he can't afford to. The Poor Guy usually has very good puppy dog eyes, and is rarely expected to chip in on generic household expenses like toilet paper, dish soap, and the electric bill. The Poor Guy doesn't mind sleeping on the couch for a reduction in rent, will follow you to any subsequent apartments, and isn't above taking handouts. Nothing like having your own, personal panhandler. Squeaky Clean Squeaky Clean lives in a general state of bemused shock, shock mostly aimed at you. Squeaky Clean lives a life that is beyond reproach, and won't hesitate to smilingly comment about your drinking habits, your cleanliness, your table manners, your choice of dates, your music, your friends, and anything else that is slightly off the Squeaky Clean Path. Squeaky Clean has fallen under the misbelief that there is one correct and proper way to go through life, their way, and attacks whatever doesn't support their generally dull and uneventful lifestyle. They do, however, always pay their share of the rent. The Slob Anyone seen my leftover pizza? Oh, there it is, underneath your jacket. I've been meaning to clean those steak bones out of the sink. Damn, is that my underwear? You guys have any idea how to get the smell of rotten milk out of shoes? I'm sorry my dog shit on your bed, I'll clean it up after I fix the shower drain I clogged while shaving last week. Wow, this beer has been open for a week and it still tastes good. If you wear a shirt long enough, the stains go away by themselves. Sound familiar? Daddy's Favorite Yes, there is something wrong with giving your kids too much attention, they become unbearable for the rest of us to deal with. Always well bankrolled, Daddy's Favorite expects to take the place of Most Important in your house, just like they had it growing up. The good news is if any problems arise with your residence, Daddy is just a phone call away and ready to save his little angel. The bad news is you have to deal with this little brat all the rest of the time. Daddy's Favorite has little concept of money, as unseen hands have always paid all the bills. This means Daddy's Favorite will assume you'll take care of them to a certain extent, even though you have 1/10 the money. Expect visits from parents at least once a month. The Player The good news is you'll meet a lot of eligible lovers, the bad news is they'll all be the used goods of your roommate. While The Player thinks he's racking up the stud points, you'll be sitting through the same dumb stories, the same cheezy lines, and the same ritual of sexual conquest that screams desperation at volumes hyper-audible to everyone but the dumbest deaf. Don't even try to learn the name of the Flavor-of-the-Hour because it doesn't matter. Buy some anti- bacterial Lysol for the bathroom, keep your toothbrush, bath towels, and razor locked in your room, maintain a strict 'no drinking out of the container' rule, and lastly, buy some earplugs to drown out the unnecessarily loud pathetic fucking grunts. Like I said, this list is for the generations to come, so let me know if I left you out. Give me reasons why you suck as a roommate, a) so I can complete my list of bad people and b) so I never accidentally move in with you. --- Stolen with permission from http://www.blindwino.com "World's a party horse and it needs some fucking" - Mark Driver ------------------------------------------- 4. Love Cats (Inspired by a true story) By Jeff Wright INT. A SMALL HOUSE. DAY. An elderly WOMAN puts on a shawl, and heads for her front door. Woman Bye Chester. CU of CHESTER, her cat. Woman Bye Felix. CU of FELIX, another cat. The woman continues to name off about twenty more cat names. She then leaves. EXT. WOMAN'S FRONT PORCH. DAY. A cat walks up to her leg and rubs up against her. Woman Hello Georgie. Why aren't you inside? Well mommy's going to get some food, and I'll be back in a couple hours or so. She walks out and waits on the curb for her GRANDSON. Her grandson arrives, and she gets into his car.. EXT. SUPERMARKET. DAY. The woman and her grandson get out and go into... INT. SUPERMARKET. DAY. They go and get a buggy. The grandson follows her off into the cat food aisle. She begins to grab two cans at a time of canned cat food. She then hands them to her grandson to put them in the buggy. They do about ten repetitions of this until she stops. The grandson looks relieved. But then she goes and starts grabbing cans of a different brand. This goes on for about the same amount of time. It's minutes to us, but it seems like an eternity to the grandson. A LARGE MAN walks down the aisle, and looks into the buggy. Large Man Gonna' have good sandwiches tonight eh? Grandson (confused) Uh, yeah. He looks at the large man as he walks away. Grandson (Under his breath) What the fuck was that? His grandmother, oblivious to all that just happened, nudges the grandson to get him to grab the cans of cat food in her hands. Woman James. Pay attention. JAMES turns around and continues to grab the cans that are passed to him. The woman stops grabbing cans and points to a bag of dry food. Woman Get me that bag dear. James bends down and reaches for a bag of cat food. Woman Not that one, the other one. That one there. James What's the difference Grandma? Woman Fluffy, Leroy, Steven, Bobby and Eliza all like that one better. James Okay. James gets the right food, and puts it under the buggy. Woman Lets go and get this rung through. I have to hurry back home to see Matlock. James Don't you need any food Grandma? Woman Oh yeah. I just need a couple things. They walk off to the juice section. Woman I need some apple juice, and I need some fruit punch. The woman gets them and puts them in her cart. They continue into the meat section, and she grabs a package of bologna, and a package of bacon. Woman Okay, lets go. James That's all you're gonna eat Grandma? Woman Yes. I have some stuff at home. INT. WOMAN'S FRIDGE. DAY. The fridge's door opens by itself to show that it's almost completely empty. INT. SUPERMARKET. DAY. James Okay. They go to the check out and the woman starts putting the stuff on the counter. James Grandma, I'm just going to get some fresh air. Are you going to be okay? Woman Yes, don't worry. The CASHIER begins to ring it up. James walks outside, embarrassed beyond belief and lights up a cigarette. Back at the check out, the woman is still putting the cans on the counter and the cashier is still ringing them up. CU of a clock, the hands spin around quickly to ten minutes later. Back at the check out, the cashier rings through the final can of cat food. Cashier That'll be... The woman reaches into her purse. Woman I have coupons for the special mix cat food. We zoom into a CU of the cashier's face. Cut to a MS of the cashier. She pulls out a gun, puts it under her chin and pulls the trigger. CUT TO: The same CU of the cashier that we had before we cut to the MS. Cashier Okay mam. How much is it for? Woman Five cents off each can. Cashier Okay. Well you have fifteen cans of it, so I'll just take seventy-five cents off of your bill. Woman But what about the taxes? Cashier Mam, to do that, I need to ring everything up again. Woman Oh, never mind then. I don't have the time to wait for that. You should be able to do it faster than that. Cashier I know, but we can't. So it's okay if I just leave the tax. Woman Yes. EXT. SUPERMARKET. DAY. The woman walks out without any bags. James Grandma, where's your stuff? Woman I'm having it delivered. I can't wait for them to bag it. They take forever. They should have to past a speed test before they get that job. You wait forever. James We can just wait for a couple more minutes. Woman No we can't, Matlock is on in precisely thirty-seven minutes. It's a continuation of yesterday's, and I can't miss it. Alexis wants me to tell her what happens, because she has a hair appointment this afternoon. And put out that cigarette. James puts out his butt. James Okay. Lets go. They get into James' car. INT. WOMAN'S HOUSE. DAY. The woman is sitting on her couch and a petting one of her cats. She turns on the television, and Matlock is on. INT. SUPERMARKET. DAY. The bag boy is still bagging the woman's cat food. INT. JAMES' CAR. DAY. James is driving home, and turns on the radio. "Love Cats" by The Cure comes on. FADE TO BLACK. --- ------------------------------------------- CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org. CoN: there is no fifth article 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 issue corrupts your daily thinking habits, 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