💾 Archived View for clemat.is › saccophore › library › ezines › textfiles › ezines › CON › v06.con01… captured on 2021-12-03 at 14:04:38.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume VI, Issue 1, AD MMI
Monday, February 19, 2001
ISSN 1482-0471
-------------------------------------------
"The added bonus is that it could also be considered tragic if you
actually maimed or killed yourself. That would put you up there with
Van Gogh! You would be the world's greatest writer! People would
stand in line to get your signature and try to not stare at the
large fountain pen jutting from your forehead. Women would sense
that you are the worlds greatest lover because the constant pain
that you feel from having a pen stuck in your forehead would allow
you to empathise with the daily aches and pains our sisters suffer
and would thus allow you to be more sensitive lover. The stories and
experiences you would have then! So you see, stabbing yourself in
the forehead or some other prominent area most definitely would
allow you to write with passion, aggression, sympathy, etc."
- Rev. M
-------------------------------------------
And yea, Jesus said onto the disciples:
"They are those who bring forth the wrath of God, for verily they
have co-operated with the makers of tinned meats and for this they
shall be punished and the disciples took to heart what the lord hath
spake and they cast out from the holy temples those that did work
for the tinneries and their friends and family members and also
those that sold and distributed breakfast cereals".
- Konrad
-------------------------------------------
1. Editorial
2. Fun With Nike
3. TV Sucks
4. Happy Birthday Bonzo
5. The Journal of a Smell
-------------------------------------------
This week's Golden Testicle award:
http://drew.corrupt.net/lp/series1.html
Lego Porn
-------------------------------------------
1. Editorial
By Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro
Despite the fact that the groundhog popped his furry head out of the
hole on February first, and, if memory serves me correctly, didn't
get it blown clean off his shoulders by a 12 gauge, it was supposed
to mean that warmer weather was around the corner.
Or rather, warmer than the temperature that is suitable for snow to
fall on. Mother Nature, of course, the moment the "heat wave" sent
our barometre from a -30 Celsius to a tropical -2, promptly dumped a
hefty two feet of snow on the city in less than a few hours.
Now, I used to hate snow. Yes, I know snow is as Canadian as
hockey, but this fluffy crap that falls from the sky loses quickly
its appeal, when your first task in the morning is to grab a shovel.
Especially where I lived, where the snow removal duties relied
solely on myself, and if I intended to get out of my house, I had to
shovel tons of this stuff just to work my way towards the sidewalk.
Fortunately where I live now there is a sucker called the
Superintendent who has to do it, and I've began the slow healing
process of reappreciating the white shit falling from the heavens.
That was, of course, until it got just a tad warmer for the two feet
of snow to quickly turn the equivalent of two feet of water, turning
my grandmother's basement into her own, personalised swimming pool.
Now, for reasons that I cannot explain even to myself, whenever I am
around members of my family, they all seem to forget essential
things they have been doing without me. My father forgets how to
use a computer. My mother forgets how to use a car. My
grandmother, who arrived here in 1948, forgets how to speak English.
Most of all, they all forget how to deal with society.
They also seem possessed by the phone demons. The moment you don't
show your face or call them for a period longer than 24 hours, they
quickly call and fill the answering machine with messages of them
talking to themselves. So I was paying my regular weekly visit in
order to keep the demons at bay, when I found myself in charge of
the sewage problem.
First thing I did was call the Emergency Department of the City to
see if the problem was on their side. A few hours later, they
showed up, put a long flexible pipe down some exhaust vent, and less
than 15 seconds later, determined that the problem wasn't in their
part of the pipes, and left. I'm sure we're dealing with
professional workers from the City, so who am I to argue with them?
So it's now time to call a plumber. My grandmother's friend
suggested someone and shortly after John the Plumber arrived. John
must've been a little hard of hearing and short in memory, cuz it
was necessary for him to introduce himself about 16 times with a
loud, booming voice. Maybe that's why it said in large letters
"John the plumber" on the side of his truck, just in case he forgot
what he was driving.
After about two hours in my grandmother's flooded basement of
inserting long flexible pipes down some hole, John declares there is
nothing he can do. He blames the city. I tell... I yell at John
that the city was here earlier and determined it was our problem.
John tells me to call the Engineering Department of the City and
find out the drainage plan of the house. That way one could more
easily determine where the problem might be.
I call the Emergency Department of the City once again and I ask for
their Engineering Department. "It's Friday night, nobody is here
until Monday. Call them again here on Monday". Well, so much for
this being an emergency.
On Monday at work, I call back and someone else answers, totally
shocked that I am looking for an Engineering Department at the
Emergency Department. In fact, he is so shocked that he has to tell
me about four times that this is the Emergency Department of the
City, and what they deal with. I tell him what was said to me, and
he tells me to call 392-7797.
I call the number. "Transportation Department, how may I help
you?". Well, this clearly wasn't Engineering. I patiently explain
why I am calling, how I got there and who I am looking for. "But
this is the Transportation Department". Well, no shit. There must
be some rule somewhere in the City that whenever someone calls you
have to tell them more than once that this is not the department
they are looking for. Fortunately, after some whimpering, the woman
finds what the number for Engineering was and gives it to me. It's
342-7787 instead of 392-7797.
Calling that number gives me the shrieking sound of a fax. I was
tempted to send a fax with my request for the drainage plan of the
house, but I could only expect a reply of several faxes stating this
was some other department.
In a flash of greatness, I decide to change the first three digits
from 342 to 392 seeing as all the other numbers so far started with
that.
"This number belongs to the City of Toronto and is no longer in
service. If you're looking for someone specific, call 340-8340 and
ask for the person you are looking for".
I call that number and another woman answers. It was just a "Hello"
so for a second I thought that I had hit someone's house. It turns
out it was some receptionist of some other department I did not
catch the name of. I explained in long, painful detail how I had
gotten there and who I was looking for and if she could help me.
She puts me on hold and returns shortly after with two different
numbers I could call.
It went on from there for a while. First I hit the Parks and
Recreation department. Then I was transferred to the City Works
department. Then somehow I went to the Snow Removal department.
And so on. It was like dealing with the bureaucracy of the movie
Brazil. This was of course in between phone calls from my mother
and my grandmother ensuring themselves, every 15 minutes or so, that
I was finding out what they needed.
Eventually I arrived to the Archive Department of the City. Once
again, I explained my extremely long story to the woman, querying if
there even was such a thing as an Engineering Department.
"Well, it depends. Which one are you looking for?"
"You mean, there is more than one?"
"Well, yes. What are you looking for?"
"The drainage plan of a house" and I give her the address.
"Is this for Toronto?"
No, Phoenix, Arizona. "Yes"
"Well, I'll see if archives has it, you'll have to call back
tomorrow and I'll let you know".
We'll see what the City has set aside for me tomorrow.
This issue has long been delayed. Part of it has to do with the
lack of submissions I've received, and also do to the lack in my
ability to write. I'm not sure what's wrong with me. I sit down,
start the computer, write a total of four lines, and then my mind
goes blank. I've started many good articles, which all just sort of
end halfway. Kinda like this.
-------------------------------------------
3. Fun with Nike
By Jonah Peretti
[Note: Nike now lets you personalise your shoes by submitting a word
or phrase
which they will stitch onto your shoes, under the swoosh. So Jonah
Peretti filled out the form and sent them $50 to stitch "sweatshop"
onto his shoes.]
From: "Personalize, NIKE iD" <nikeid_personalize@nike.com>
To: "'Jonah H. Peretti'" <peretti@media.mit.edu>
Subject: RE: Your NIKE iD order o16468000
Your NIKE iD order was cancelled for one or more of the following
reasons.
1) Your Personal iD contains another party's trademark or other
intellectual property.
2) Your Personal iD contains the name of an athlete or team we do
not have the legal right to use.
3) Your Personal iD was left blank. Did you not want any
personalization?
4) Your Personal iD contains profanity or inappropriate slang, and
besides, your mother would slap us.
If you wish to reorder your NIKE iD product with a new
personalization please visit us again at www.nike.com
Thank you, NIKE iD
From: "Jonah H. Peretti" <peretti@media.mit.edu>
To: "Personalize, NIKE iD" <nikeid_personalize@nike.com>
Subject: RE: Your NIKE iD order o16468000
Greetings,
My order was cancelled but my personal NIKE iD does not violate any
of the criteria outlined in your message. The Personal iD on my
custom ZOOM XC USA running shoes was the word "sweatshop."
Sweatshop is not:
1) another's party's trademark,
2) the name of an athlete,
3) blank, or
4) profanity.
I choose the iD because I wanted to remember the toil and labor of
the children that made my shoes. Could you please ship them to me
immediately.
Thanks and Happy New Year, Jonah Peretti
From: "Personalize, NIKE iD" > <nikeid_personalize@nike.com
To: "'Jonah H. Peretti'" <peretti@media.mit.edu
Subject: RE: Your NIKE iD order o16468000
Dear NIKE iD Customer,
Your NIKE iD order was cancelled because the iD you have chosen
contains, as stated in the previous e-mail correspondence,
"inappropriate slang".
If you wish to reorder your NIKE iD product with a new
personalization please visit us again at www.nike.com
Thank you, NIKE iD
From: "Jonah H. Peretti" <peretti@media.mit.edu
To: "Personalize, NIKE iD" <nikeid_personalize@nike.com
Subject: RE: Your NIKE iD order o16468000
Dear NIKE iD,
Thank you for your quick response to my inquiry about my custom ZOOM
XC USA running shoes. Although I commend you for your prompt
customer service, I disagree with the claim that my personal iD was
inappropriate slang. After consulting Webster's Dictionary, I
discovered that "sweatshop" is in fact part of standard English, and
not slang. The word means: "a shop or factory in which workers are
employed for long hours at low wages and under unhealthy conditions"
and its origin dates from 1892. So my personal iD does meet the
criteria detailed in your first email.
Your web site advertises that the NIKE iD program is "about freedom
to choose and freedom to express who you are." I share Nike's love
of freedom and personal expression. The site also says that "If you
want it done right...build it yourself." I was thrilled to be able
to build my own shoes, and my personal iD was offered as a small
token of appreciation for the sweatshop workers poised to help me
realize my vision. I hope that you will value my freedom of
expression and reconsider your decision to reject my order.
Thank you, Jonah Peretti
From: "Personalize, NIKE iD" <nikeid_personalize@nike.com>
To: "'Jonah H. Peretti'" <peretti@media.mit.edu>
Subject: RE: Your NIKE iD order o16468000
Dear NIKE iD Customer,
Regarding the rules for personalization it also states on the NIKE
iD web site that "Nike reserves the right to cancel any Personal iD
up to 24 hours after it has been submitted".
In addition it further explains: "While we honor most personal iDs,
we cannot honor every one. Some may be (or contain) others
trademarks, or the names of certain professional sports teams,
athletes or celebrities that Nike does not have the right to use.
Others may contain material that we consider inappropriate or simply
do not want to place on our products.
Unfortunately, at times this obliges us to decline personal iDs that
may otherwise seem unobjectionable. In any event, we will let you
know if we decline your personal iD, and we will offer you the
chance to submit another."
With these rules in mind we cannot accept your order as submitted.
If you wish to reorder your NIKE iD product with a new
personalization please visit us again at www.nike.com
Thank you, NIKE iD
From: "Jonah H. Peretti" <peretti@media.mit.edu>
To: "Personalize, NIKE iD" <nikeid_personalize@nike.com>
Subject: RE: Your NIKE iD order o16468000
Dear NIKE iD,
Thank you for the time and energy you have spent on my request. I
have decided to order the shoes with a different iD, but I would
like to make one small request. Could you please send me a color
snapshot of the ten-year-old Vietnamese girl who makes my shoes?
Thanks, Jonah Peretti
<no response>
---
This article appears courtesy of Jonah Peretti.
Visit http://www.shey.net
-------------------------------------------
3. Reasons Why TV Sucks, and Movie Recommendations
By Jeff Wright
Here's why TV sucks:
1) Adebisi is dead.
2) `The Larry Sanders Show' isn't on anymore.
3) Michael Moriarity episodes of `Law & Order'.
4) `Who Wants To Marry A Millionaire' isn't a weekly program.
5) All of the shitty shows my family, watch.
6) `The Critic' isn't on anymore.
7) `Freakazoid' isn't on anymore.
8) HBO isn't available in Canada.
9) Where the fuck is Tom Snyder?
Here are some movies you should watch:
1) DEAD MAN, dir. Jim Jarmusch (rental)
2) THE GIFT, dir. Sam Raimi (theatrical)
3) SNATCH, dir. Guy Ritchie (theatrical)
4) SMALL TIME CROOKS, dir. Woody Allen (rental)
5) PRINCESS MONONOKE, dir. Hayao Miyazaki (rental)
6) STARDUST MEMORIES, dir. Woody Allen (rental)
7) DOUBLE TAKE, dir. George Gallo (just kidding, and yes I did have
to look up who directed it)
---
Jeff thinks that The Golden Globes, are a fine example of what an
awards show should be. It's about time, people recognise GLADIATOR
as the cinematic masterwork it is! (He's being sarcastic. -Ed.)
-------------------------------------------
4. Happy Birthday Bonzo
By Rev. M
Q: What do you give a ninety-year-old ex-leader of the free world
for his birthday?
A: An interview with YTC
Now that we are well into the 21st century, we are compelled to
interview a man who many American citizens consider to be the
greatest man of the 20th century. That's right, you guessed it; our
man of honor for this week is none other than Ronald Reagan. First
off, let it be known to the vast amount of YTC readers out there all
of the horrendous red tape that had to be waded through and all of
the insane lying that had to be done to procure this once in a
lifetime interview. At this very moment there are some very unhappy
executives at NBC pulling together a legal team to have those at YTC
who orchestrated this event castrated and then fed to grizzly bears.
Also, we are currently in need of around 500 dollars to post bail
for a strange event that occurred in a hotel somewhere in Santa
Monica, but that is another story.
The interview began around 11:00 AM last Friday and concluded around
11:20 AM when the credentials held by our brave interviewer who
shall remain anonymous became suspect and he found himself kissing
some concrete poolside at the Reagan ranch. Luckily for him no
charges were pressed for the false identification as of yet so he
was able to deliver the interview in its entirety to you, the
faithful YTC readers. So, without further adieu YTC brings you a
morning with Ronald Reagan.
YTC: First off President Reagan, I want to thank you for allowing
this interview.
RR: It is my pleasure young man.
YTC: I might also add that you look very healthy for a man of your
age.
RR: It is my pleasure young man.
YTC: Excuse me?
RR: Do you believe in mermaids?
YTC: No Mister President I do not. May I ask you a few questions?
RR: Well, (laughter) I suppose a few of those won't hurt.
YTC: Thank you kindly sir. First I would like to ask how you feel
about George Bush Jr. becoming president and if there was any advice
you could offer him, what would that be?
RR: Well I always knew that the "W" stood for win. I suppose it
reminds me of those times when I used to take Ron Jr. out to the
stream to do a little trout fishing.. Well he was afraid of worms so
it never did much good to take him but we did anyway. One time
George hid in the bushes, as he liked to do, he was a secret agent,
like James Bond with beady eyes and no women.
Then he jumped out of the bushes with one of those frogman suits on
and scared little Ronny so bad he wet himself. Hehehehe. HOT DAMN!
Those were some dog garnit good times. So George Jr. was laughing
and calling little Ron a faggot and we all just laughed and laughed.
Whew doggie! Then there was that one time we put little George on
that SR-71 and had the pilot fly him to Iran. He thought he was
flying to Houston! Ha! He will never live that one down. (At this
point during the conversation he also waived off Nancy who had come
from the ranch to give him his medication. Nancy rolled her eyes and
walked away briskly)
YTC: OK, so what would your advice be?
RR: Well I would tell him what I told his father, that never forget
that you CAN push that button if things start getting out of hand.
YTC: That's frightening sir.
RR: SNAKE!!!
YTC: Where? WHERE?!
RR: Lot of snakes out here on the ranch. Where's my Viagra, woman?!
YTC: Sir it is just you and I here.
RR: The poofle woofle's probably stole the Viagra. Just like they
steal the silverware. ...shiny, pretty, sparkly silverware...
Everywhere is the silverware! I have some for sale in the closet in
the bathroom.
Shhhhh! No one knows! It can be our secret! You stand watch and I
will run down the center, fake to the left!
YTC: ? UM?
RR: They never wanted me to touch the vase! And I did it anyway! I
am Randy! Randy Ronny! GRRRRRR!
YTC: OK, well you brought up an interesting subject in Viagra. Are
you and Nancy using Viagra to stimulate your sex life?
RR: SNAKES!!!!! SNAKES! AHHHHHH!
At this point President Reagan apparently jumped up and lunged at
our patriotic interviewer. Alerted to this, the secret service
agents thought that our interviewer may have been attempting to
attack President Reagan and were upon our man like the wrath of God
Almighty himself.
Which meant that our unfortunate interviewer was hauled off to some
place in the desert and interrogated by secret service agents for
the rest of the day. After reviewing the video and audiotape of the
interview they had decided that Mr. Reagan was having another one of
his spells and decided to let our journalist go. Fortunately, they
somehow forgot to confiscate the audio. Which gave us the
opportunity to bring this scathing and informative interview to you.
We wonder if America will learn anything from this interview? Well,
hopefully that it is a bad thing to let a man with chronic
Alzheimer's go even a few minutes without his medication.
YTC: We lie through our teeth, you decide!
---
This article appears courtesy of Yank The Chain
(www.yankthechain.com), Rev.M's turnips and of course, Eric's ..
uh.. Eric's... something.
-------------------------------------------
5. The Journal of a Smell
by Melissa De-freakin-Wilde
Day One - Oooh, that smell
I come back to school after my thanksgiving break. I sit down at my
computer to check my e-mail or piddle around with something or
other. I lean back in my chair and take a deep breath ...and I
smell it for the first time. It's.. play-doh-y, maybe a bit of rot,
something else. I look for possible sources. under the desk? No.
The garbage can? Nope. The 2 week old bowl of macaroni and
cheese...? Surprisingly enough, no. Oh well. I give up and go to
bed.
Day Two - Can't you smell that smell?
I come home from after class, kick off my shoes and sit down to
check my e-mail (like I ever have any) and there it is again. That
smell. I search for it again, in vain. But I do notice something:
It seems to be concentrated in one spot, right where my head is when
I lean back in my chair. Okay, then, that's a simple enough
solution. Just don't lean back.
Day Three - Oooh, that smell
Sit down, lean back, smell, lean forward, sit there for a while,
lean back, smell, get fed up, leave. Lather rinse repeat.
Day Four - The smell of death surrounds you
The smell is part of my life. The smell has become a daily
annoyance, much like the lip and tongue smacking of Ann ( See "11
Noises My roommate Makes. ) I don't like it, but there's nothing i
can do about it. (well, I could just rip her tongue out, but that
wouldn't get rid of the smell. ) ( but I'd feel better. )
Day Five - Oooh, that smell
Still there. But I don't care. ({singing} smell is still there,
but I don't care. )
Day Six - Can't you smell that smell?
I'm on ICQ complaining, I mean, Talking to every person I know about
that damned smell.
They've all got suggestions. Is it your garbage? Stick my nose in
there, once again, and take a big whiff. Nope, still not the
garbage. Is it something dead? Nope, pretty sure it's not. We
don't have mice and it doesn't smell dead. Is it you? Stick my
nose under my pits. Not B.O. I breathe into my hands and smell my
breath. Not halitosis. Bend over a bit and smell down there.
Nope, ain't that either. Besides, if it was me, I'd smell it all
the time, right? not just at my computer, when I lean back. I give
up. It's really not that bad. And I am kinda getting used to it.
Day Seven - Oooh, that smell
I go most of the day without trying to find the smell, or even
complaining about it. I still wonder, "What the hell IS that?"
every now and then, but I've pretty much accepted the smell.
Later in the day, sick of leaping over a two-foot wide pile of
miscellaneous junk to get to my bed, I decide to go on a much-needed
cleaning spree. I suppose I might have had an ulterior motive as
well.
After I clear away and organise the junk, I empty the garbage. The
smell is still there when I'm done. So it's not the garbage
Since I'm already cleaning, I decided to try to fix the shelves
under my desk. They've never been right. (Ann got the good side of
the room.) They collapse under the lightest of loads. I work from
the top down. The bottom needs the most work. With disgust, I clean
the 2 week old mac and cheese bowl. The smell goes away. Hey!
Maybe it was that. But I stuck my nose in it enough times, I was
sure it wasn't the source. But I may have been wrong.
I attack the shelves. I take the top one out to fix the bottom.
My nose is assaulted again. WHOA! Ug, ick, pew, barf! This one is
so much worse! Eew, puke, gag! I think this smell _IS_ something
dead. This sucks! I'm definitely going to find out where this is
coming from, even if it kills me. And I think it might. I go get
my flashlight and disassemble the lower part of my desk to see what
crawled under there and died. It takes a really long time to do
this, seeing as how I need to come up for air frequently. I get my
light and shine it around.
Nothing.
Sigh.
But wait. Sniff, sniff. The smell is gone! Cool. I guess it just
needed to be aired out a bit.
"Melissa?" I hear from across the room.
"Yeah"
"Did you find out what that smell was?"
"No, I didn't. Why?"
"Cause it's over here now!" She says as she sprays her God-awful air
freshener and waves her arms around.
Hee hee hee. No longer my problem.
Problem solved.
And yet, the mystery remains....
---
The titles for the sections in the above journal were taken from
the Lynyrd Skynyrd song, "That Smell". They were used without
permission, but who really cares? Besides, how many of you knew
they did that song? They should thank me.
-------------------------------------------
CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org.
CoN: Jen C: BACK OFF! THIS IS MY SANDWICH!
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 Turnip intolerance, simply send
an empty message to leave@capnasty.org.
Text issues of CoN archived exclusively by Disobey www.disobey.com
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