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Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine Volume VI, Issue 3, AD MMI Friday, May 4, 2001 ISSN 1482-0471 ------------------------------------------- "Every day I get up and look through the Forbes list of the richest people in America. If I'm not there, I go to work." - Robert Orben ------------------------------------------- [05:07] <Mel> tell leo, rev and rasputin hi all! you're not here, but i thought i'd tell you that i'm stumbling drunk and can still type as well as usual. well, almost. [05:07] <Funnep> I sure will tell leo, that, Mel [05:07] <Mel> tell rev hi all! you're not here, but i thought i'd tell you that i'm stumbling drunk and can still type as well as usual. well, almost. [05:07] <Funnep> I don't know the name rev, so I can't deliver that, Mel ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial 2. Pelicans 3. Ran graveyard shift at a satellite relay radio station 4. At the Movies with CoN 5. A modest proposal ------------------------------------------- This week's Golden Testicle award: http://www.bekkoame.ne.jp/ha/dins/onarafetish3english.htm PLEASE LISTEN TO MY FARTINGS ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial By CoN staff Prophet Muhammad used to say that instead of going after his enemies, he would sit by the shore of a river, and wait for the bodies of his enemies to float by. Sometimes, all you can do is wait. Sometimes, you can give faith a little nudge. Allow me to explain. A year and a half ago I started working for this company. It's thanks to this place that, besides being one of the strangest and most deranged places I've ever worked at, allowed me to take advantage of such luxuries as food in my fridge, a comfortable bed and my very own toilet. A toilet that I did not have to share with retarded roommates. For that, I am grateful, especially considering the large amount of friends that lately are enjoying their sudden state of unemployment thanks to this whole dot com crash. The site I work for was in dire need of both a redesign and remodernization. Management assigned us one of their programmers as our web master. We will call this person Monkey Boy [CoN would like to apologize to all the chimps reading this issue - Ed] Monkey Boy promised a completely new site in two weeks. Ten months later our website was far from finished. Half still relied on hand modified HTML code, and the half that did work [CoN would like to apologize to all websites that do work -Ed] was a shamble of the most convoluted ASP code, with plenty of bizarre features that would appear and disappear on a regular basis. And slow. The best part was Monkey Boy's attitude. The man had no shame and would not only constantly insult us and our knowledge, but accuse us of "breaking his code" when things stopped working (more often than they did work). He proceeded even to insult management whenever they requested a report on his status. Oh, did we scream and kick our feet to rid of this chimp through the year, but lo, our cries would fall on the deaf ears of management. In fact, management would make excuses for Monkey Boy's lack of development and make us look like the bad guys that had it out for him. The thing is, our department may be populated by strange people, but we're a closely-knit group. Had he been more supportive and shown that he had actually tried to build a site but wasn't good at it, we would probably have been on his side and not bitched. We would've found ways to help him. Alas, he just did not care. When the one-year mark hit, and our site was nowhere in sight, management had to agree that indeed, Monkey Boy, was the arrogant, useless fuck we had proclaimed him to be. So our site remained without a webmaster, while we patiently wait for another incarnation of our site to be built. Money Boy was, unfortunately, not fired, because he enjoyed the protection of the powers that be at our old office. A protection that recently came to an end, as the company decided to sell the office and its entire staff that he is currently at. Since the market is terrible for anything with a .com next to it, chances are that the office will simply be closed and everyone there laid off. Monkey Boy probably sensing this, started applying around, because shortly after I received an e-mail from a friend. This friend is the executive director of a small but very successful media company. Monkey Boy had applied there and he was wondering about his ASP skills, reading the claim he had built the entire site I worked for. I think I can recall very few instances when I was this surprised. Not a "I just got kicked in the nuts" type of surprise. More like "Did I just read that?" followed immediately after "How do I reply to this ensuring this company will never want to talk to Monkey Boy again?" My response was short, but diplomatic, explaining that Monkey Boy's skills were top notch if he was looking for a way of going out of business really quick. Needlessly to say, Monkey Boy did not get the job. And they say that revenge isn't sweet? I savoured it for days after that. Then, I decided, just to add the final touch, I forwarded the query from my friend to management and asked with the most innocent tone I could muster "That's strange, isn't it? I thought Monkey Boy still worked at our other office". We'll see how long it takes for the dust to settle, and then I'll go sit by the shore of the river and wait. Rev.Sean C. Rothstein-Jacobson asks: JESUS MAN- you STILL have problems with people being unable to unsubscribe? This baffles me! This baffles me and I am not one to underestimate Human stupidity! Ellen Kokoris confirms the Reverend's bafflement: leave/unsubscribe/drop dead Ron Chmara writes: > Working with web, sucks. Now, it's not the technology. Sure, I > could write pages and pages about Microsoft and their concept of > reliability (I'm sure it's thanks to Windows that computers have a > "reboot" button), or the many new Internet applications to spice > up your website so that it takes an extra five days to download. People can run better OS's. If they want a drool-proof unix, Apple now makes OS X for their hardware. If they want fascistic uptimes and use X86 hardware, there's linux and freeBSD. Reliability doesn't *have* to suck. It just requires learning a new OS. Of course, that doesn't leave that much to be nasty about... other than complaining about how bad you had it before, and how hard it is to learn a reliable OS, and get stable software..... :-) > It's the managers. Managers are lost. They have no clue > about how anything works. PHB's can be amusing to toy with, once you've lost all respect for them, and can manipulate them with no moral qualms whatsoever. :-) > They have an idea in their mind, and even if means > a website that's a 5 MB flash animation with non-vector > based images just to get the right touch and what not, they > will demand it. > Useless are the cries for sanity by the peons that work for them. I like to demo such evil monstrosities for them over a modem, to show what a user will actually see. A technique that works well for those managers who aren't cable/dsl folks is to send their _home_ email address a link, early in the evening, so they try to view it on their dinky 56K winmodem. They usually assume the site is broken. :-) If that doesn't work, try doing a "laptop demo" (just to show how cool it looks on a laptop) using a dial out modem. If that doesn't work, start collecting client names, so when the dotcom goes bust due to clueless management, you can start your own thing. It's what I did. My sympathies, -Ron Chmara ------------------------------------------- 2. Pelicans: Friendly niche in the bird eco-system or death from above? By Rev.m Maybe it is something about the way they look when they fly, possibly that they are unusual looking even by a bird's standards. Could be that they are just plain ugly but in any regard, I hate them. I hate everything they do. I hate the way they fly, the way they roost, the way they catch fish, everything! They are stealing human babies from the storks and eating them! They steal jobs from decent hard working Americans. They were involved with the Nazi's during WWII! Who do you think helped find the allied convoys for German submarines? It certainly wasn't the seagulls! I can't see why other people don't get this? Well, actually I can because all of my claims are utter nonsense. This is one of the things that happen whenever I promise I am going to write something. I start out with some bizarre idea such as why everyone should hate pelicans and then the humor slowly beads away like rain on a ducks back. You see, I believe I have a mental affliction that has yet to be named by science. That affliction is that I still find things funny, stuff that usually only twelve-year-old boys find funny. I get some word in my head, such as "pelican", and I use that word over and over again until I drive myself and everyone around me completely insane [I still remember the "turnip" moment -Ed]. I will admit that it is fun for a day or two to scream at people that they are pelicans. I mean what is funnier than screaming, "BACK PELICAN, BACK FOWL AND EVIL PELICAN!" at your boss when he comes up to ask you a question pertaining to your job? It is however everyone's obligation (including myself,) to go to the joke and not through the joke... For those of you that actually know me, I apologize for my incessant ramblings about pelicans and all of the horrendous things that they have done to me and humanity. What is even more irritating is when you come up with some brilliant (well maybe brilliant isn't the appropriate term) insane thing like this and then others start using it. It is ok to use someone's idiocy for humor a few times, but please try and come up with your own material, or at least add something to it! I mean, I can only take this pelican thing so far! Damn, now I feel as if this probably isn't making sense to the reader. I highly doubt that I am making any sense what so ever. Which leads me to believe that there are most likely some in the CoN email list that have probably been influenced by pelican mind control. In other news, I have been very bad about writing for other folks. And after reading this I am sure that they are now happy about that fact. Recently I have been told that my writing is so good *cough* that people actually want to pay me for it... This is a horrible thing to happen, as I never believed my writing worth anything. The first day I read this proposal I was elated... then some weird and heavy fear came over me... that would make writing a job of sorts and anything called a job usually means hours of meaningless frustrations and someone demanding more and more of you. This is especially stupid because I know that any money received from this would be minimal. However as dumb as I am, I am going to try it anyway. At least I will find comfort in the fact that due to my poor grammar that I will be an editor's worst nightmare. Anyway, if everything turns out, I may finally be able to afford that shotgun that I have been eyeballing and initiate my one man crusade against the evil and treacherous-pelican. --- Rev.m writes really crappy bio's about himself and wishes that someone else had done it for him. If you would like a reason to never listen to music again, you may visit my "bands" site at: http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/251/cheeseberger.html All profits go to buying Leandro an American accent ------------------------------------------- 3. Ran graveyard shift at a satellite relay radio station By Rev.Sean C. Rothstein-Jacobson There have only been two occasions in my life when I felt like I was on the brink of true insanity. I don't mean manic-depression/ co- dependence/ neurosis-du-jour but REAL madness- true dementia. Once was when the mother of my son and I split up: I felt the entire universe had become an infinitely thin tunnel of unrelenting anguish. It was no good. The other time was when I worked graveyard shift at a soft rock radio station that played piped-in music from Los Angeles. All I had to do there was make sure that the proper commercials were cued to play, and that the satellite link stayed up. We had carts with each of the D.J.'s saying 3 or 4 versions of "K-O-C-N, Monterey Salinas Santa Cruz" Yeah... "K.O.C.N.- we pronounce it 'Kay-Ocean' because 'Cockin' would be obscene." Seems like an easy enough job, eh? On par with Photomat in regard to responsibility level and free time. I was working alone in the middle of the night. Just the sort of job I thought would be totally perfect for me... ahh, but this place had some insidiously pervasive forces working within its walls... Firstly, it was graveyard shift so I began seeing my friends less and less so that the usual checks and balances the presence of other psyches enact were less and less frequent- my personality began to grow unchecked. Nothing bad in that, were that the only factor. Next, I was responsible for answering the phones and lying to people about the fact that we weren't actually playing music from Monterey. Now, it wasn't the lying that got to me --as odd and foul as it was-- but the people who called. I mean think about it: it's 4:am and you are not only listening to Neil Diamond and Bruce Springsteen, but you want to call up and request a tune, or compliment our taste in music... think about the kind of person you'd be... I shudder... I had a woman call me up one night and say that she had just seen her Brother's gang shoot someone and then drive out to some undisclosed location and bury them. She thought that they were going to kill her too because she wasn't technically a member of the gang and thus a witness so, tonight, she decided to take a whole bunch of downers and just... go... to... sleep... ALL she wanted from ME was to hear "Hold on to the night" of all things before she just... fell... asleep... MY HEART WAS POUNDING! I kept talking to her trying to keep her awake as she slurred more and more. I tried to get her to give me her address but she wouldn't, which I suppose is good practice in every OTHER situation! I couldn't call her an ambulance so I tried to keep her talking- asking her random shit until finally I hear the phone thump against something and she won't respond. I slam the phone down like four times screaming "LIKE I FUCKING NEEDED THAT!" So you can imagine the effect of having little to no social interaction aside from folk like that- I began to warp. Throw in a sound studio that was kept unlocked HOWEVER I was technically not supposed to use. I'm a musician that was simply impossible. It did mean that I couldn't bring any conspicuous instruments into the place. This made me turn mike springs into drum-sets, chair creeks into arpeggios, rigid plastic carpet covers into washboards and my mouth into any other sound I might need. I was in a highly charged creative state most of my waking hours. My son's mother became pregnant during this time, which, of course, means a mind-bending stress. It was unplanned and she decided to keep him, thankfully, but it was something that took me all the way up to his birth to come to terms with. I inherited an old archive of porn mags from a co-worker and started doing collage with it. Creating things that should not be, doing things unspeakable. It was bizarre: centipedes of breasts with legs at every segment wearing fishnets, women with hair of penis and hands of bodies. Made me look at people like re-arrangible pieces of meat for awhile... eheh... real dehumanizing. Lastly I never really got used to the hours so some days I'd sleep marathon and some days not a wink. Truly destabilising, Okay, real quick, lets review the cocktail for madness I had going here: highly charged creative state, destabalized, ultra stressed about the future, my only support group: lonely psychotics, EASY LISTENING MUSIC PLAYING AT ALL TIMES, and becoming estranged with people as individuals and not just puzzle parts. Mmmm, serve that cocktail shaken. The distortion came on pretty slow but was marked by occasional episodes such as this one time I get this blues song stuck in my head that I can't shake. Now, unlike the usual background annoyance that this typically generates I start to panic a little because the song actually is drowning out all other thoughts and I find myself flashing into the reality of it, the very physical reality. I mean I can feel cool wind over me as I am sending my daughter off to the city, can feel the stiff doily-like quality of the lace on her cuff and BOOM I am back in the radio station sweating and breathing heavy. I get up and pace, try talking to myself for distraction and BOOM I am pushing her on to the train as she is crying that she doesn't want to go, she want to stay with me BUT I KNOW that MY life will forever be in bars and ditches playing for change, she stands so much a better chance in the city than with me. I push her on again as the train moves and I feel the coolness of a tear strike my wrist. BOOM I am standing mid-pace, still talking to myself- I go directly to the bathroom and run cold water over my head and cut my chest with a bent paperclip. This seems to help. Like I said, I wasn't right in the head during this span. There was this girl, Trisha, that used to call me. She was 15 and thought she was pregnant with her married, 31 year-old, Social Worker's child. It turned out to be untrue- he had taken her virginity and she just assumed she was with child. Her father beat her and her mother regularly and she claimed he was head of the Carmel masons, which would mean he would have the cops wrapped around his pinkie. She said that her mother was always talking about wanting to leave the family and move back to North Carolina where they came from. In other words this girl's life was fucked up. I mean it. It was hard to find even a shade of her that wasn't brutalized in some way. She once professed undying love to me because I understood her so well. That basically translated into this: "No one in my life treats me with any scrap of respect. YOU don't tell me what to do, YOU listen to me and suggest things and THAT is so ALIEN to ANYTHING in my ENTIRE LIFE that IT MUST BE love that I am feeling." As she told me why she would profess such a thing I began to slowly start crying at the sinking realization of how truly barren this girl's life was- it was terrible, a crippling empathy. She often tried to do things like instigate phone sex and the like- it's the age and the nature of her abuse- and once tried to actually come to the station when she had run away from home. I was away at a wedding that weekend and, considering how fucked up I was at the time, I am thankful that we never met. I can't honestly say what would have happened if we had. My whole life began to compress on every level- like a tangible density and weight was slowly increasing from every angle at once. I started mumbling unconsciously and uncontrollably. The only thing that was keeping me together was the deranged screaming I'd do in their production room. See I was on real shaky ground. I started doing things like reading the newspaper columns downward through the middle, without including the left and right peripheral words, in search of sensical streams of meaning- IT WAS MADENING! I'd cut out the 'choice' sensical streams and tape/ glue them in hidden places all over the station. Under desks. Inside of the casings of the telephones. On the tops of ceiling high ducts. Once I risked serious injury by climbing upside down on a girder in the ceiling to glue down a quote that read: "The lengths I am willing to go to for a joke are truly ridiculous" in a place that ONLY the destruction of the building would ever reveal. I turned neurotic in ways that were entertaining me, which is dangerous, because it meant that I was making little effort to stop them. I slowly drifted from "the person that is me plus the tools to exist in society" into one that was only "me". Now, this was a valuable lesson: the truest expression of the person I am, is one that could not function in this society but is also one that would be so self contained that it would not NEED to. Mania will show you things you'd never expect, like: the depths to which you can sink, the malleable nature of your identity, how easy it is to slide downhill, and how weak you are to your environment. Serve that cocktail shaken. --- REVSCRJ is a writer/musician living in Monterey, California. Constantly on the verge of homelessness, he hopes that you enjoy his work or else his life has been in vain. Contact REVSCRJ at revscrj@cloudfactory.org to lodge complaints, notify of lawsuits, or receive spiritual advice. ------------------------------------------- 4. At the Movies with CoN By Jeff Wright Movie One: IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE Wong Kar Wai's newest film, starring Tony Leung and Maggie Cheung, is the best film released this year, so far (domestically released in 2000, but in February of this year in North America). It's an absolutely beautiful film, about neighbours, who find out their spouses are having an affair with each other. They begin to spend time together, and eventually, fall in love. I really want to do this film justice in my description, but I'm a dummy and have a vocabulary that consists of 495 words. Go see it if it's playing near you. If you're not lucky enough to be in an area where it's playing, it's available on HK DVD and VCD. Both have subtitles, but the DVD is lacking fairly important ones, that set the year for you, near the end of the film apparently. The VCD has the complete subtitles. Movie Two: FREDDY GOT FINGERED Get thee to a nunnery, or to the nearest Cineplex playing this film. Your choice. Watch the film (not something else that's playing at the same Cineplex, ya semantic fucks), or know that I think you're an idiot. RIP TORN RULES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Among a great many other things. This is revolutionary filmmaking. I've got five words for ya to think about when watching FREDDY GOT FINGERED. And the Oscar goes to. Movie Three: MISSION TO MARS Save your money. Not that anyone else is dumb enough to rent this piece of shit, but just in case you take a stupid pill instead of an Aspirin one day. Know that it's a very bad, bad movie. The same way Adolf Hitler was a very bad, bad man. Movie Four: MEMENTO This thing pissed me off. I didn't care about the characters, it moved too slowly, and every frame of re-used footage insulted my intelligence. Not a very good film. No need to get into it though. From what I gather, most fans of the film are rabidly so. I don't want any of them mad at me. I'm weak. Movie Five: THE BEATLES ANTHOLOGY I just got this on LD the other day. I'm only half way through part 3 of 8, but I'm really liking this documentary/mini-series. The bit about the gay looking French boys was pretty amusing. MOVIE STUFF ENDS HERE The following has nothing to do with movies, but it pissed me off enough that I wanted to write about it. Walking home from work last Friday, my faith in humanity dwindled to a new low. As I was walking along the street, I noticed a group of say 10 people on the corner closest to me, looking across to the next corner. There, was a group of maybe 30 people, the one in the centre, being a police officer. It always annoys me, how interested people are in other people's business, and how freely they'll stick their noses in it. This was the worst case I've ever seen of the phenomenon, though. As I walk by the centre of attention, I see that by the cop, is a little girl, who's no more than 10 years old, with her dog. Something like a Doberman. The little girl was crying, and screamed out, "I DON'T WANT TO LOSE MY BABY!!!." It just about broke my feeble Grinch sized (pre-Mary Lou Who) heart. So obviously the dog bit someone, and it needed to be taken away, but the little girl was shattered. Once I had passed the mob, I got really mad at the douche bags huddled around the little girl. If it hadn't been for the fact that my yelling, would have probably added to the little girl's hysteria, I had a good mind to turn around and curse out each and every one of those motherfuckers. Its called common decency. Clearly, a good number of the people who live on this planet don't have it, or can't grasp the concept; acting as though it were abstract. Fuck them! --- Jeff wants someone to make adult sized Powerpuff Girls shirts. He's not a little girl, and doesn't like wearing pink (in public at least). ------------------------------------------- 5. A MODEST PROPOSAL By Robert A modest proposal for the removal of unruly high school students to impoverished nations. It is with a heavy heart that one walks though the public high schools of this country to see the halls crowded with rude, loud- mouthed adolescents mindlessly meandering toward the next classroom. Beleaguered teachers, instead of being able to follow their profession of imparting knowledge, are forced to employ nearly all their time and energy just attempting to maintain order in classrooms packed with ignorant ruffians completely uninterested in learning anything who as they age either turn to welfare and crime, or worse, become lawyers and politicians, for lack of employable skills, or continue to ungratefully leech the life-blood of their hard-working parents. Public high schools have become little more than day care centers. I think it is agreed by the general populace that this enormous number of troublemakers and spoiled brats is the major contributor to the widespread deterioration of schools and, therefore, whoever could propose an effective and easily implemented solution to this problem would richly deserve the gratitude of the entire country. The number of adolescents of high school age in this country is estimated by the census bureau at 20 million. Of these, I reckon, based on 25 years teaching experience, that there may be around 10%, or 2 million nationally, who are genuinely interested in preparing themselves for the responsibilities of adulthood. From this number I feel justified in subtracting 500,000 who are lost to drugs and violence. This leaves approximately 1.5 million adolescents nation- wide that could possibly benefit from high school education. The rest are an inordinate burden on the financial and emotional resources of every city, county and state. Having occupied my mind for a number of years with this exceedingly grave problem and having thoroughly examined the various solutions proposed by overpaid clerks known as school administrators, it has become painfully obvious that behind their verbiage they have no answers. Therefore, I shall humbly propose my own solution. Those who are unused to decisive action are advised to withhold judgement until they have thoroughly considered the numerous advantages to society. I have been assured by a highly placed government official of my acquaintance from a Middle-Eastern country that there is a great demand in third-world countries for young Americans to perform the work that up to now has been assigned to children. Due to their healthy bodies, adolescent Americans are seen as prime candidates for the type of jobs that the middle and upper classes in those countries prefer to avoid, similar to the American attitude toward their own immigrant workers. I propose that the 18.5 million unruly American high school students be removed immediately to impoverished nations around the world. Some of the many advantages to this proposal are as follows: 1. The American high school students will have many golden opportunities for learning about life first-hand. They will be able to test their infantile attitudes and arrogance against the standards of a less developed society where respect and integrity are more highly valued. 2. As indentured servants the high schoolers will acquire valuable working skills in basic service occupations such as cooking, waste disposal, farming, fishing, animal care, garment making, vehicle repair and manufacturing. 3. Those who are addicted to drugs and alcohol will find them more readily available, thus allowing them to continue their comatose life-style. 4. Promiscuous high school students can indulge their immorality as members of the international sexual slavery trade. 5. A larger number of bright students from impoverished nations will be exchanged with United States to be educated. A significant number of these will choose to remain in this country and invigorate the economy. Impoverished nations will also be strengthened by the young, energetic work force being sent to them. 6. Only serious students will be enrolled in public high schools. Because of a smaller, safer and more studious environment and teachers who are allowed to teach, these students will excel, as they never have before. The same will be true of the colleges and universities, who recruit their students from the high schools. Increasingly intelligent populations will soon manifest social, scientific and spiritual improvements unimaginable under present conditions. Addictions to drugs, violence and sexual exploitation will all but disappear. 7. Because of the smaller enrolment, fewer high schools, colleges and universities will be needed, greatly reducing the expenses of governmental entities nation-wide. Conversely, more funding will be available for the remaining schools. The unused buildings will now be available for government offices, homeless shelters and for public sale. 8. There will be much more space available for the illegal aliens flowing into this country. 9. Largely uninhabited areas, such as the Sahara desert, Russian steppes, Australian outback, the Mongolian and Tibetan plains, and the Amazon jungle, will benefit from the availability of American high schoolers for help in exploration and development. 10. The third world exchanges and workforce augmentations can only lead to greater tolerance and understanding between nations. Many other advantages will become apparent as this proposal is implemented. The idea is not without precedent. The practice of England and other nations of transporting socially undesirable people to other parts of the planet in the 1600s and 1700s led to the prosperous development of uncharted territories. Parents of the unruly adolescents who object to the removals will be transported with their children to the new lands. I have tactfully avoided mentioning their culpability for the behavior of their children. With the advancement of space technology, this program can be extended to nearby planets, such as Mars. --- Robert can be reached at plieades@yahoo.com ------------------------------------------- CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org. CoN: Please listen to my fartings. Pretty please? 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 fartings 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