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Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine Volume V, Issue 9, AD MM Monday, July 24, 2000 ISSN 1482-0471 ------------------------------------------- Christian Critic's spiritual comment for his review of The Perfect Storm: "The movie vividly depicts the unleashed power of nature. And yet as awesome as nature's fury is, it pales in comparison to the manifested power of God." ------------------------------------------- "Oooooh! One of those `I'd rather trim my pubic hairs with a chainsaw' sorta days." - Ange ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial 2. Homeless 3. Shite, Shite, Shite! 4. Ruining Boba Fett 5. I've Been Poisoned ------------------------------------------- This week's Golden Testicle award: http://www.pulpphantom.com/ Is Darth Vader your bitch? ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial By Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro I'm starting to wonder if the Christians are determined to pollute and shatter everyone's testicles (especially mine) in every possible way. The latest attack to my persona this time did not come via little Christian comic books scattered on the subway or some prostitute of Jesus stopping me and inviting me to their Church. No, this time, it came via e-mail. Most jurisdictions are under increasing pressure to make Spam illegal. (http://www.cauce.org/newsletter/v4n1.shtml) Many already have. I have no idea if these people are in a state where Spam is or isn't legal, but where in the Bible does it tell you to ignore both the letter of the law and the spirit? The moment I saw the e-mail in my box, I knew it was Spam. And I was troubled by that, because here on Scriba, we have some pretty hefty anti-Spam measures. Having my address splattered across the Internet, I can safely say that I have an average of 1 or 2 Spams a month at most. Now, when we do get Spammed here at Scriba, we know where to look and who to bother to get something done about it. But this Spam had no phone number, no contact, and the address was valid (albeit from one of those WebMail places) and did not bounce. I couldn't help it but think to myself "Holy shit! It did not bounce!" But they won't reply. Especially now that I got their account closed after I Spammed every single possible e-mail account I could find for them, their parent sites, their providers, their hosts, their administrators. About 55 people got to enjoy my complaint... I swear, Christians bring out the worse in me. --- William Mark (aka Psycho Bill) responds: > CoN: Build a man a fire, you keep him warm for the night. > Set a man on fire, and you keep him warm for the rest of his life. > Sam C. Set ten men on fire, make the news. Do it one by one on live TV from a truck, make history. Paint a Nike swoosh on the roof of that truck, make money. Jay Lohner sends us "More of my rantings....." Leo, 'tis I, the "couldn't last 4 seconds, much less 4 hours" bullocks spanker. I know I'm writing about some things that happened a few issues back, but I've been having a hard time getting my CoNs read. I do have some good news though, this would be a great time to plug your online archive, and I've figured out that if I print out my CoN, I can read it at work and get paid at the same time. Imagine that, getting paid to read CoN! Leandro, I would like to submit a formal apology to Luke DeSade. I was a little out of line back in CoN #4 and showed extremely bad taste in my comment that "he should shoot himself". Recently one of my friends did pick up a gun and shoot himself. Suicide is not a solution. To show the sincerity of my remorse I have written my apology in Luke DeSade style.... Luke, for me I am apologizing alot. Please, if you may be forgiving me, do not kill youself. With that said, I have come up with a new "5 ways for Luke DeSade to spend that 10 bucks that he fucked his buddy out of, instead of fucking a 'HO' with, like he should have". 1. A Bestiality video - They say a dog's mouth has fewer germs than a human's. 2. The Accu-Jac - available at any fine porno retailer. 3. A nice card with an apology to that gal he fucked over stating "it's nothing personal, I just hate girl-juice..". 4. A large plastic bubble environment with a hole in the side of it just big enough to stick his condom-wrapped prick through. 5. A date with Angie so she can stop fantasizing, and find out first- hand what it's like to fuck someone that couldn't give a shit about her, and so she'll realize that if she wants to have cold, impersonal sex, all she needs is a dildo. At least it won't bum money off of her for a taxi ride home, and then bitch about it 'cause she only has a quarter. Is it just me, or who in the hell sticks a used condom covered with gross girly-juice in their pocket? Next on the agenda, a little article titled "Learn to save money fast by buying our 150$ book!!" by Samantha Stasiuk seemed awfully familiar to me. Especially the parts about "oily anal discharges" and "rectal bleeding". In fact, the more I thought about it, the more it sounded like a stand-up bit that I saw Janeane Garofalo do on Comedy Central a few months ago. This set me to thinking... 1% probability. Samantha stole Janeane's material. She may have embellished it, expounded upon it, etc., but it's original concept was first put forth by Janeane, in which case Samantha would simply be guilty of plagiarism. I would never entertain such a thought, until I read her plea for people to send her A and B graded essays. 10% probability. Samantha is a comedy writer for Janeane and is doing a little moonlighting in CoN. No problems here, except that she might want to try to publish her work somewhere that will pay her. 30% probability. Janeane stole her standup material from Samantha, in which case Samantha could sue Janeane and get a ton of money. Only problem here is Janeane probably isn't making that much money off of it because it wasn't that funny. 90% probability. Janeane and Samantha are identical twins that were separated at birth via a UFO abduction, they are linked psychically, and they both came up with the same idea at the same time. In this case, we are back to rolling in the money, because we will have conclusive proof of alien abductions, and psychic links between identical twins. The Enquirer alone would probably pay her a million bucks, and Sam could quit school and become a media celebrity on par with Monica Lewinsky. And she probably wouldn't have to 'smoke' the 'cigar'. (wink wink, nudge nudge). If in fact, the truth is that she stole the material from Janeane, I would like to suggest to her that she go to blindwino.com and steal from them. Hell, the CoN staff does it every month. ------------------------------------------- 2. Homeless By IMPROV I fucking hate the homeless. I mean it, I hate them... I feel no pity or anything of the like for them, I just flat out hate them. Although I must admit that my hate is concentrated mostly on pan handlers. Fucking people looking for hand outs from me! ME! The guy who makes so little money the bank laughs when they cash my paycheck...you know when they say someone laughs all the way to the bank? Well I'm the opposite, the banks laughs at me when I'm on my way there. Anyhow, who cares I could be the richest motherfucker in the world (and by the way the richest people in the world do indeed fuck their moms)...either way I wouldn't give them shit. "Spare some change?" They ask as I walk by..."NO!!" I yell as I kick them in their rotted teeth... I wish. No I actually apologize! I say, "Sorry, man." Like I should feel guilty for not giving them money for absolutely nothing. But to avoid confrontation with these wastes of flesh I tap my front pockets, as if to say they are empty, and apologize. I live in a country where there is a very large social net to help those who are "less fortunate". Which, by the way, is a load of shit too. Fortunate? Since when does luck have any thing to do with one's plight in life? As master of your own destiny it is your job to keep your ass housed and off the street. But this net is in place, nevertheless. If you're twenty something and living on the street and hungry, don't ask me for money...because you're just like me....young and able bodied and therefore you can get a shitty paying job, just like the rest of us. And as for those who are not able to work because of physical ailments like a missing limb or something...well that's no excuse either. A guy who is missing his left arm from shooting up too much, has a better chance at getting a government subsidized job than me. I'm a white male age 18-49, with no particular disability, I mean at least if dyslexic I was maybe good job could get I government from. Now, far be it from me to complain with out offering a solution. Seeing as these people serve no particular service to society in life, I think they should do their part in death. There are still many communities relying on coal to get power, coal, which is expensive, and bad for the environment. I say replace the coal with the homeless...ad no I'm not talking abut getting them to run around big hamster wheels to turn turbines (although that is plan B) but then you have to feed them No. I say incinerate the bastards. Hospitals burn human waste all the time, and really what better way to describe a homeless pan handler than: "human waste". That's right, burn `em. I'm not talking in a fire place or anything, the smell would be awful, I'm saying, let's rid the streets of this nuisance and build some power plants that work on human flesh. I'm sure it's possible. There has got to be some engineer out there who shares my view, but is to afraid of the moral backlash his idea would cause. Well to you Sir (or Madame) I say, "I support your death machine to power huge metropolises!!" So next time you see a homeless person shivering on the street, do one of two things for me: either kick them right in their rotted teeth, or look them straight in the eyes and say, "You won't be cold long... trust me." --- You got to the bathroom. You finish. You wipe yourself. You flush. Minutes later you go back and notice one solitary log that did not want to work his way down with all his other brothers. It fought against another four flushes. I had to push it down with that scrubby-toilet thing thingy screaming "DIE!! DIE!" before it disappeared. Annoying, I tell ya. ------------------------------------------- 3. Shite, Shite, Shite!!! Psuedo Reviews By Jeff Wright Hey-now. This issue's gonna wade through a lot of shit, so if you don't want to wade along with me, go out and rent SWEET AND LOWDOWN. I'm gonna talk about it further into my ramblings, but there's a lot of "Don't go in there" type stuff I've got to get out of the way first. Piece of shit number one: TEACHING MRS. TINGLE Now, I know this was my own fault. When I rented this, I knew it was going to be bad. I was even embarassed to rent it. However, I knew that I would eventually have to see it (Yes, it's a Katie Holmes thing, I can't help it), so I figured "I'll get it out of the way, and never have to see it again". Had I known exactly how bad this movie was, I would've felt less embarassed to rent a stack of porn. Kevin Williamson should never direct another thing. For some reason beyond me, he IS directing again. But it's a Sandra Bullock movie, so not many people will see it anyways (Yes, I'm aware that her movies do make decent money. I was just making a joke. Loosen up). Williamson has been successful at writing such films as SCREAM, and THE FACULTY. I just assumed that that's what he wanted to do, and after seeing this; his directorial debut, I hoped that he would keep at it, and leave the directing to people who knew what they were doing (Not that the script isn't shit). And lets face it people; directing ain't that difficult a job. Williamson however, wanted to be a director, not a writer. WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!? All of TEACHING MRS. TINGLE is shot with the same fucking lense!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That's just unacceptable. And let me tell ya. If you were for some reason (I don't know what it would be, but lets just say there's a reason) going to shoot the entire thing with one lense, it sure as hell wouldn't be as long as it was. The lense choice worked for a whole ONE sequence. I'm sure that was a mistake though. I could go on and on about how horrible this movie is, but I don't have the energy. I'd like to say however that it should be shown in film school, as an example of what not to do when making a movie. It's a cinematic blood shit. Piece of shit number 2: THE PERFECT STORM MOVIE BAD! HURT HEAD! SOOOOOOO POINTLESS AND BORING!!!!!! WE FISH. ICE MACHINE BREAK. MUST GO HOME FAST, SO FISH NOT SPOIL. FISH EQUAL MONEY. BUT STORM IS PERFECT. COULD KILL US ALL. BUT... MONEY. FISH. MONEY. MONEY MORE IMPORTANT THAN LIFE. GO INTO STORM THAT IS PERFECT. STORM THAT IS PERFECT KILL EVERYONE. BOO HOO. SO SAD. GONNA CRY. Piece of shit number 3: X-MEN Leo got a pass to an advanced screening tonight (Wednesday), so we went. I was really excited about the movie. I was a big fan of the X-Men cartoon, and I've read a few of the comics. Brian Singer was directing, so that was a good thing. Hell; I even treked through a whole bunch of snow in order to go see them filming the damn thing, one day. After that day of shooting, I was pretty excited about it. It looked pretty damn cool, and like they were on the right track. They weren't. All I can say is that the script is where the troubles started. Then it just snowballed from there. The movie is a giant mess. Unlike most movies, that could be saved by some editing; X-MEN would need to start over from scratch. I'm not saying that there aren't a few enjoyable moments; there are. But I just wasn't impressed by the movie. It was a giant disappointment. Finally, a good film: SWEET AND LOWDOWN Woody Allen is back up to form. After I saw SWEET AND LOWDOWN, I was torn. Which was my favourite Woody Allen flic? Was is SWEET AND LOWDOWN? Or was it still HANNAH AND HER SISTERS? Hum. Hah. Hum. Hah. I think it's SWEET AND LOWDOWN. It's just that damn good. What's it about? It's about Emmett Ray. The world's 2nd best guitar player (Though if you're like me, by the end of the film, you'll say he's the best). His music, his women, his emotions. Sean Penn plays Emmett, and gives one of his best performances ever. Of the people nominated for Best Actor last year at the Oscars, it's a disgrace that Penn didn't win. It's also a disgrace that Samantha Morton, who plays Emmett's mute washergirl, love interest, didn't win Best Supporting Actress. I don't want to say anymore, in fear of ruining something. Please rent this movie, and see how damn good Woody Allen can be. When the man is doing good work, he's one of, if not the funniest man we've got on this here planet Earth. Good night everyone. Sleep, or fuck well. --- Jeff completed his second feature length screenplay on Monday. Anyone wanna buy it? He really wants to move out of home. ------------------------------------------- 4. Ruining Boba Fett By Jason MacIsaac I am lifetime Star Wars fanatic. I didn't even mind The Phantom Menace, though like any rational human being I wanted Jar Jar Binks to die a horrible, gory and pointless death. As much as I love Star Wars and consider it an integral part of my childhood (I consider Lao-tse, Socrates and Yoda to be the greatest philosophers of all time) some aspects of Star Wars fandom really puzzle me. In fact, troubles me. There is a very large part of the Star Wars fan community that is absolutely obsessed with the character of Boba Fett. There are comics, graphic novels and fansites dedicated to him, and this I really don't understand. He's basically a neat looking set of armor, not a character. Yet a huge following hungers for more Boba Fett. So much so that George Lucas put additional scenes of Boba Fett into the special edition re-released of the original Star Wars trilogy. Boba Fett was first introduced in an animated sequence in The Star Wars Holiday Special, a nearly forgotten travesty resurrected by the Internet (where no secret is buried for long). This alone is reason to totally discount Boba Fett. The Holiday Special is so awful that George Lucas is alleged to have said that he wished every last copy were burned. My friend Kenn Scott, who saw a bootleg copy, says that Lucas' wish is too restrained. Watch the Star Wars Holiday Special, and you will learn startling facts, such as the cantina on Mos Eisley is owned by Bea "Maude" Arthur. You'll watch a stoned Carrie Fisher sing a song about friendship to the tune of the main Star Wars theme. And you thought Jar Jar made a mockery of Star Wars. Next to the Special, Jar Jar is a shining icon of dignity. If you don't count the Special or the numerous novels, which I don't think should count (Lucas Authenticity Committee my ass. Do you really think they won't contradict something from a novel in the next two movies if it's convenient to do so?), Boba Fett hasn't actually done much. As far as I can tell his contribution to the Star Wars series is this: -Tailed Han Solo and crew to Cloud City. -Pointed a gun menacingly at Han Solo. Who had already been disarmed by Vader and surrounded by Storm Troopers. Didn't fire. -Pointed a gun at a rampaging Chewbacca. Didn't get to fire. -Fired a few shots at Luke Skywalker and missed. -Pointed a gun at Princess Leia in her bounty hunter disguise. Didn't fire. -Wrapped a cable around Luke Skywalker, then fell flat on his face while Luke cut himself free. -Killed by a blind Han Solo. By accident. Oh, in the special editions they added a few extra shots of him looking at the dancing girls and things like that, but this isn't exactly depth. Let's face facts here. Boba Fett, for all the posturing the novels have done, is a candy-ass pansy. I understand that Boba Fetta Cheese's less than glorious death in Return of the Jedi (yes, I know the brought him back in a novel, big deal) really pisses off the fanboys. For this reason, it seems likely that Fett might be brought into episodes 2 and 3 and be actually given something to do. One story breakdown floating on the net (probably pure speculation) indicates that he will be an important player in Episode 2. Fanboys will be pleased, but they should be worried. If Darth Vader can say "Yippee!" then believe me, Booba Fett's embarrassing death might be the least of the indignities inflicted on the character...I mean suit of armor. In fact, let's speculate on some nifty ways to further ruin Boba Fett. 1. Darth Sidious sends Boba Fett on a top-secret mission to a distant forest planet. Though he thinks he is alone, Fett is surprised by two big, burly aliens who subdue him in the deepest darkest part of the woods. The two aliens note that Fett has "a purty mouth, boy" and proceed to make him squeal like a Gamorean until he is rescued by a passing band of Storm Troopers. 2. Boba Fett is played by Robin Williams. We learn that Fett was part of the elite Mandalorian Shock Troopers, but his comical way of looking at life often put him at odds with the more uptight institution. He thought even though they were hunting and killing people, there was no reason it couldn't be done with a laugh and a smile, frequently painting happy faces on their helmets. Although it looks like he will be kicked out, eventually his popularity with the younger Shock Troopers forces the institution to change it stodgy ways. 3. Fett participates in the Star Wars version of the "Wazzap?" Budweiser commercials. 4. Add a good, long lengthy seen where Jar Jar Binks kicks the living shit out of Boba Fett then declares "Meesa making yousa meesa bitch." 5. Make one of the weapons in Fett's deadly arsenal the Orgazmorator from Orgazmo. In fact, throw in Ron Jeremy as Fett's sidekick. 6. Jake Lloyd did such a great job as a young Darth Vader, let's get him to play a young Boba Fett. Let's give him more opportunities to say "Yippee!" too. 7. You could ruin Boba Fett with a mere wave of the casting wand. Consider these fine actors playing him: Jim Carrey. Tom Hanks. Leonardo DiCaprio. Keanu Reeves (they wouldn't even need to give him the helmet. Just paint his face grey). Macaulay Culkin. William Shatner. Tom Arnold. Tim Allen. Woody Allen. Drew Carey. 8. Give Fett a cute, cuddly Disney-esque sidekick, like Meeko from Pocahontas or Philoctetes from Hercules. 9. In a surprise twist, we learn that a character we have previously been introduced to in The Phantom Menace evolves into the Boba Fett character. Though this character fought for the forces of good alongside Obi-Wan and Queen Amidala, bravely risking his life for the greater good, by the time Episode Two roles around he has become embittered, disillusioned, and twisted. He switches loyalties to the forces of darkness. And that character is Jar Jar Binks. He puts on the armor, and through the cold steel mask you can hear him say "Meesa no Jar Jar no more. Meesa Jar Jar Fett. No, exsqueeze me, meesa thinking better name. Meesa Boba Binks. Meesa new name is Boba Binks, yousa fear meesa." Well, there's speculation that the outcry will help fix the weaker elements of Episode 1 (cough, cough Jar Jar) in Episode 2. That may well be, but that doesn't mean all new mistakes won't be made. Personally I think that Episode 1 was too driven by a marketing plan and Lucas' perception of what the audience wanted. Which means he could very well plan a movie around a virtual non-character just because the Boba Fett action figures sold a lot of units. This ain't no way to make a movie. When I go to see episode 2, I'll use a tactic I've been employing which has helped me get through many a movie relatively unscathed: I'll go in expecting to hate it. --- Jason MacIsaac is strong with the dark side of the Force. ------------------------------------------- 5. I've Been Poisoned By Samantha Craggs When I was about 14 and determined to be a rock star, I wrote a song called "I've Been Poisoned." It was mostly just heavy drum beats, kind of like Queen's "We Will Rock You." There is no way in hell you're going to get me to recite the lyrics, but suffice it to say I was a big Poison fan. Biiig Poison fan. On June 28, my friend Debbie and I went to the Molson Ampitheatre in Toronto to see them again. It was a trip down memory lane. We didn't really still think they were cute. At least not much. Okay, okay, we did. Old habits die hard. Opening for Poison were Cinderella, Dokken and Slaughter. It was the seventh time I'd seen Poison, and it was definitely the most interesting since the time I almost got arrested trying to sneak on to the tour bus. When Debbie picked me up from work, she was playing the southern Ontario rock radio station 97.7 Hitz (sic) FM. The station, maybe because it was of interest or maybe just to be nice, was broadcasting live from the concert. We heard an interview with Mark Slaughter, lead singer of Slaughter, and he was talking about the subject journalists always bring up when interviewing aging metal bands - what went wrong with the music scene? Why did metal fall on its face so quickly? Mark said that grunge was responsible, but now people want "good time party music" again. "All of the guys who were in (the grunge) scene are either out of it now or dead," Mark said. Does anyone out there, other than Mark Slaughter and his padres, really think grunge killed heavy metal? Is it really so hard for them to face that their kind of music was a fad and it's just not popular anymore? Must there really be finger pointing? If grunge became popular, it was because there was a cry for something different. Besides, grunge was not as strictly defined as metal. I mean, what is grunge? The definite grunge bands of the mid 1990's are still around, to my knowledge. Pearl Jam is still touring. Nirvana is dead, along with its lead singer, but the Foo Fighters are still kicking. But I digress. That's a whole other rant. We arrived at the Molson Ampitheatre by street car. Most of the people on the car, we discovered, were going to the Benson and Hedges Symphony of Fire at nearby Ontario Place. We were pretty much the only ones going to the concert. We saw a pair of ghastly red-headed twins, their chubby bodies exploding out of their leather pants, wearing these pink sequined tube tops that would have made Ziggy Stardust say "That's ridiculous." They also wore hot pink cowboy hats and contact lenses that made their eyes look cat-like, not to mention cowboy boots. "I bet they're going to the fireworks," Debbie joked. I laughed and that egged her on. "I bet they are the fireworks," she said. We followed the silly twins into the Molson Ampitheatre. On the way in we saw Mark Slaughter standing outside with what must have been his son. He looked like he had recently come offstage. He was just sort of standing around talking. "That's Mark Slaughter," I told Debbie. "Really?" she said. "I wouldn't have recognized him." Debbie and I had it in mind to meet Poison. We couldn't do it when we were kids, so we were going to do it as adults. If Mark Slaughter was just standing around on the sidewalk, things were looking good. Never in my life, or at least not in the last 10 years, have I seen so much fuzzy hair and concert shirts in one place at one time. If the townspeople wanted to kill off the guys who commit fashion crimes and try to grow their hair long at the back even though it frizzes, or the assholes who won't stop blaring Warrant from their car stereos, they could have dropped a bomb on the concert theatre and gotten them all in one place. But at the same time, I felt completely at home. Sometimes I walk into a trendy nightclub and everyone is dressed better than I am. The girls six years younger than I am dance around looking fantastic and I get the feeling that I am just an old hag who doesn't deserve to live. But at the Poison concert, it was like visiting my family. I knew the score. I knew this scene. I knew what the people were like, I knew what they were talking about and I was absolutely, positively in my element. I have never felt more comfortable or more attractive than that night. I knew the lyrics to the songs people were singing. It was like the metalheads, who have had their music pushed off the radio and their clothing squeezed off the racks like they're a dying breed, had gotten together for a show of solidarity. I walked by men with short hair and wedding rings and saw new versions of the guys with long, wild hair and ripped jeans that had once made my heart stop. I was older, but so were they. It was like a high school reunion. If metal is going to make a comeback, it will be because of that feeling. We were older and smarter and within those walls, we were too fucking cool. Being able to drink at the concert added a new element. They sold $6 beer and $5 apple coolers that made my face screw into a ball like I'd just chewed a lemon. It was Debbie's idea to order two at a time, since we figured this was an occasion and the lines were long. Holding one in each hand severely hindered our ability to move to the music. I paid the most attention to Cinderella and Poison. Cinderella played a good mix of music from all three albums, relying most heavily on their last one that anyone bought, Heartbreak Station. The last time I saw Cinderella was when Slaughter opened for them in Kitchener. I wore heart-shaped sunglasses and a bustier to that concert. (I had a shirt on over top of the bustier. Even at 17 I wasn't that bold.) I was pleasantly surprised to see that Tom Kiefer, Cinderella's lead singer, has aged well. He still has long hair, and he wore eyeliner, which isn't as scary as it sounds. He actually looked better than he did in the old days, and sounded just as good. I haven't listened to Cinderella in a long time but when they started playing I knew all the words to their songs.. It was like riding a bike, baby. They launched into a great version of "Don't Know What You Got OTil It's Gone" and the now-dark theatre filled with lighter flames. Everyone sang along like it was their anthem and I swear I had tears in my eyes. Around this time a guy in front of us who said his name was Tom Green (he later told us his real name, but I forget what it was) was going crazy in a noticeable way. He started turning and singing the words to us, like this was the highlight of his year. He sang to us until a skinny girl in a tube top took her seat next to me, and then he sang to her. Men! Tom Green was to be regarded with the same grain of salt as the rest of the aging metalheads, so I wasn't exactly bummed about his shifting attention span, so don't think I'm catty when I say this: the girl next to me represented everything I used to hate about metal chicks. She danced to the music like it was Technotronic, with no real feeling behind it. She gave us sidelong glances like she was sizing up the competition. Every once in awhile she'd put her hand up and do the metal symbol with it, in this weak and faltering way, like she was there for the guys and the backstage pass rather than the actual music. I never wanted to fuck the band. I wanted to be the band. After Cinderella, during the break, I saw Don Dokken walking around the theatre. Another good sign. With Poison, I realized that some things never change: Bret thrust his hips like Elvis, Rikki Rockett played the drums with is mouth open and C.C. DeVille got a 20-minute guitar solo that sucked. The guy still cannot play guitar. His wrong notes made me cringe and it felt nostalgic. He got to sing a song, which was something new. He was the same old attention hog, putting his hand to his ear so the crowd would cheer louder, and you could tell everyone was thinking "Get on with it!" They played "I Want Action," which sounded a little pathetic since it's the year 2000, it is no longer cool to objectify women and the guys are in their thirties. From Look What the Cat Dragged In, they also played the title track and, of course, "Talk Dirty to Me." They played "Fallen Angel" and "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" from Open Up and Say...Ahh and a bunch of stuff from Flesh and Blood. They played very little from Native Tongue, although I was dying to hear "Theatre of My Soul." It was the same deal as with Cinderella in that I knew all the words and sang until my voice was hoarse. It was amazing. At the end Bret Michaels dragged about 30 people up on the stage, including the moronic twins. You could tell it was the highlight of their lives, since they probably work at Quickie Mart. Another thing that didn't change is that we did not meet Poison. After the show there were a bunch of people standing around near the tour buses. Debbie and I stood there for a few minutes in the crowd of people armed with T-shirts and CDs to be autographed. I felt like such a starfucker. I said "I want to meet them, but not like this." She agreed and we went home. The concert was the most important part anyway. --- Samantha Craggs plays various instruments, all of which she done mock- album-cover poses with in front of the mirror. Visit the homepage at http://samantha.scriba.org. ------------------------------------------- CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org. People think I'm a woman, despite my name, and always ask me "are you wearing panties?" I can picture this... walking down the street and some guy stops and says "Excuse me, Sir?" "Yes?" goes I, because I am such a bloke "Are you wearing panties?" Well, what if I am? 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 Poison intolerance, simply send an empty message to leave@capnasty.org. Text issues are stored exclusively at: http://www.disobey.com/text/capital_of_nasty 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