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Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume VII, Issue 5, AD MMII
Monday, March 11, 2002
ISSN 1482-0471
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... and on top of all this, this girl is so fucking sexy, I would
kill members of my immediate family just for five seconds alone with
her bicycle seat. Or, as someone else put it once, I would crawl
through a barrel of broken glass to put matchsticks in her shit.
-- 665 http://www.sixsixfive.com/184.html
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Tim stole a fish from me yesterday. It's a little fish ornament.
The fish is in a judicial robe holding a scroll. The caption says,
"Carp Diem" and the scroll says, "Seize the Worm."
Tim enjoyed looking at it immensely. I said he could have it (I
guess it was my mom's. We have a lot of crap here.)
-- Dan Foster
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1. Editorial
2. The last (half) straw
3. A WASP Speaks
4. CoN at the Movies
5. Hurricanes and Hand Grenades
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This week's Golden Testicle award:
Why dating your boyfriend's boss is a bad idea.
http://www.ifilm.com/ifilm/media/player2/1,4566,2410176,00.html?fid=
2410176&mt=&bw=&refsite=&rcid=&prn=&it=&pop=&lid=&cch=3
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1. Editorial
Something Purely Brilliant
By Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro
Something purely brilliant is really what this Editorial should've
been. The idea came to me while I was driving the other night, in
between the thoughts of how good the slice of cake I ate had been
and how the car I was driving has two settings for temperatures: hot
and hell.
That the idea was pure brilliance, however, is the only thing I
remember about it. I've been sitting here, on and off, staring at
this file, trying to remember what it was, but the only thing that
pops to mind is the fact that, back when the idea popped to mind, I
realized how brilliant it was. That's about it.
Of course I should've stopped at the side of the road, looked for a
pen and a piece of paper and jotted down that idea. I usually carry
with me the basic essentials to make MacGyver look like an inept
child. That includes pen, paper and whatever is needed to build a
glider using my pants and this piece of plastic I found under the
seat. However I seem to lack the basic knowledge to write down a
fresh idea before I forget it.
Writing things down, though, seems to sort of defy the whole purpose
of doing it. Because once you've written it down, it's like you can
never forget it. Maybe, really, that's the trick. You write
something down, to ensure that it stays with you without having to
look at the paper every five minutes. Unless of course you loose
the paper you wrote it on. Then, promptly, you'll never remember
what it was.
People of course are all understanding and helpful and provide you
with useful tips on how to regain lost and forgotten thoughts.
"Think backwards!" they tell me. The idea here is that you start
from your most recent thought and then you work your way back to
whatever it was that you were thinking of. This has never worked.
I seem to manage to go off in a tangent once again, except this
time, in reverse.
Someone else suggested going back in the car, doing what I was doing
and seeing if the place would help my recollection. Indeed how good
that cake had been popped to mind; the fact that the stupid heater
in the car only has hot and hell as settings; and, naturally, that
the idea was so damn brilliant it wasn't even funny.
It also occurred to me that a few nights ago I had been stopped by
police. I still am not sure as to what may have caused them to grow
all suspicious on me, but perhaps the fact that I drive a beater and
that I was going 40 in a 50 zone, following them, rather than
passing, might've made me highly suspicious. They pulled up after
me in the driveway, checked my ID to make sure that a guy that looks
like me and drives that thing actually lives in this relatively
decent area and then we discussed how their on board computer runs
Windows 98. But I'm digressing and I still don't know what the
brilliant idea was.
Lastly, someone said that I should associate what I'm thinking with
a specific word so that when I think of that word it will `unlock'
my mind. It's my guess that just the word `brilliance' won't do the
trick here.
Some people have no bowel control; I seem to have no mind control.
My mind and I seem to be two different creatures sharing the same
body. We both want to do different things and argue about it. But,
ha ha, brain, I managed to write so much drivel even without
remembering what the idea was about in the first place!
Of course, my brain will find a way to stall me when it comes to
writing the closing paragraphs, but then again, I seem to have
problems doing that on a daily basis. I don't think he's to blame.
Richard Campbell writes:
Con should not give me a hard on
Indeed. We only give testicles. Please return the defective issue
to whomever gave it to you.
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2. The last (half) straw
By Revscrj
I'd been reading my poetry at this place's open mike for quite
sometime when, lo and behold, I found myself unemployed again.
Times weren't all that hard though. I was sleeping in a sleeping
bag in a room of the barren two bedroom apartment I shared with
another writer friend of mine, Johnny.
Our only furniture was a bed in the living room that simulated a
couch -- neither of us slept on it -- and a bucket filled 2/3rds
with water to use with a gravity bong. Rent was cheap, overhead was
minimal. It was, unfortunately mid-month, so I had to come up with
some income pretty quick.
The result: I got a job as a barrista in this poetry dive coffee
house run.
My boss and owner, Barbara, was probably the outright stupidest
person I ever worked for -- the kind of person who'd forget why she
was yelling at you while she was yelling you -- and then have the
audacity to ask you if you remembered. I mean at first I thought it
was some kind of asshole-ish trick to see if I was listening to her
but quickly I realized that she literally could not hold a train of
thought for more than like 90 seconds. I learned to use that to my
advantage a number of times:
"Sean?"
"Yes Barbara?" She'd come up to me slightly hunched, face balled up
in an expression of possible irritation, but conveying an air of
total confusion.
"Did you just give that guy a double mocha for coffee price?"
Of course I had, he's a friend of mine, so I say: "Yes Barbara, you
said that I could make my friends drinks for a dollar as long as I
wasn't using ice-cream in them." Total lie.
"I did not."
"Well, you did, but I'll stop if you want."
"When did I say it?"
"Geez... about a week or two back."
"Hmm... well lets just say half price okay?"
"Yeah sure, whatever you want -- 1/2 price?"
"Yes"
In actuality she had originally told me that my friends couldn't get
discounts, but hey, that was like a month or so prior. Anyway,
apply that model to any confrontation I might have with her and you
can begin to understand the entertainment factor this job offered...
at first...
This one day she asks me to do inventory of all the goods in the
shop. No problem. I ask her if that also means the perishables in
the fridge, which are generally monitored more closely, and as I ask
she waves me off -- which I translate into "No."
An hour passes. I give her a list of goods, she says: "What about
the produce? GOD SEAN- 'INVENTORY' is a SIMPLE concept!"
I swear my hand twitches in want to knock her down. "Sure Barb', no
prob' mein Fuher!"
Her stares daggers at me. I inventory the produce and give her the
now complete list...
"Sean?"
"Yes?"
"This says we only have 3 and a half straws left. I can see more
than that on the counter, and why do we just have half of a straw?
Throw that away."
I am vaguely dumbfounded by this, "...uhh -- heh -- No, that means
we have three and a half boxes of straws left..."
"THAT doesn't tell me how many straws we have left!!"
Openly dumbfounded now, "...Barbara? Are you saying that you want me
to count the individual straws?"
"INVENTORY IS A VERY SIMPLE CONCEPT SEAN!"
"RIGHT. Surrre. I'm on it Barb'."
I think the grand total was somewhere around 3,650 straws... 4,800
some odd amount of swizzle sticks and roughly 1600 napkins. I
counted them all aloud over the course of the rest of my shift and
anytime anything, especially her, would interrupt me I'd "lose
count" and have to start over. For some totally inexplicable reason
this behaviour seemed to totally placate her!
I ended up quitting this job when she decided one day, on the spot,
that we needed to change the chocolate ratio we used in the mochas
we made. That thought apparently consumed her so much that she
grabbed my hands, in front of a bunch of customer, and literally
tried to physically restrain me from making the drink INSTEAD of
simply asking me to stop. I don't care who you are you just don't
do that kind of shit unless you're saving a child from grabbing a
pot of boiling water.
I slammed the pitcher down and we both got splashed with near
scalding milk. She jumps back. I look at the guy who is at the
front of the line and he looks at me with both pity and confusion
(as to whether he would get his mocha any time soon or not). I
calmly walked over to copy down my hours and Barbara stands with her
arms out, supplication style, and busts out with:
"YOU'RE GOING TO FINISH THAT MOCHA, RIGHT?"
People in line even laugh at her. I shake my head and walk out. It
was either that or rip something off the wall. Next time I saw her
she was chipper and cheery. She gave me my last check like she'd
just sold me a latte and I don't think it was because she was trying
to amicably usher me away, but in fact that she just simply could
not even retain anger for longer than 90 seconds.
Dope addled hippie burnout.
---
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.
-------------------------------------------
3. A WASP Speaks
By Cliff Yankovich
There are some interesting things going on in the world today, are
there not? Before I go any further I want to emphasize that the
violent actions of any group of men and women which result in pain
and death to other people sickens me. No matter what their skin
color, religious and/or sociopolitical motivation may be.
That said, I must confess to some sort of odd feeling of vindication
lately. One bit of background, not only am I a white Anglo Saxon
protestant, (if that were not enough these days), I happen to be a
male, heterosexual to boot. Yes, I am a member of that most nasty
of all groups - the feared straight, white male (SWM). You know us,
the group responsible for all the oppression, slavery, corruption,
and any other bad thing you can think or name in the world.
Personally I think Hitler was a sick, twisted man deserving of some
form of eternal punishment. There is no racial pride in my life -
for the simple reason that I, along with so many other Americans -
am a mutt. My father is Serbian and Croatian (how on earth that is
possible is beyond me!) and my mother is a blend of English, Irish
and whatnot. (You have never heard of the Isle of Whatnot?) When
you consider the "diversity" of my genetic make-up you would realize
that I could be at the top of the hip list except my hair is too
brown and my skin is not brown enough to have anyone notice my
diversity. Tiger Woods is certainly ethnically diverse, but he
isn't any more so than I am. His diversity is hip these days, mine
ain't.
Anyway, my purpose today is to challenge you to put aside the last
decade of learning that the White Male is the source of all evil.
We aren't. Sad fact of business is that mankind (or should I say
"person kind") of every color and stripe is sadly capable of evil.
From everything available, there seems to be no evidence that the
guys who flew the planes into the WTC were even remotely white or
protestant. Of course there is the white boy from California who
aligned himself with the terrorists, but we can cut him slack
because, after all, he is from California and therefore must have
been cleansed of any lingering SWM genes. I have it from a good
source that he turned to the Taliban because of his oppressive,
white father. Pardon my sarcasm - I shall reign it in.
One can crack open the paper or listen to the radio and learn that
Hindus are killing Moslems by the droves over in India. Not for the
first time either. Yeah, you know India, the belly button of peace,
love, and harmony. Seems that there exist men, women and children
of the Hindu religion who have such a low tolerance for men, women
and children of the Moslem religion that they heard them into houses
and burn them alive. From my limited research it seems the reason
for these hate crimes is that the Moslem population in India wants a
little better treatment by the predominantly Hindu government. This
seems to greatly irritate some Hindus.
Odd, isn't it - our public schools can't teach anything remotely
getting close to the "white man's religion" because it is so
intolerant while at the same time many Eastern religions are held up
as shining moral beacons. Hmmm, guess the facts just don't support
that very much, do they?
I am not saying that atrocities committed in the name of
Christianity are any less atrocious. What I am saying is that we
should not fool ourselves - people are people all over the world.
To put the other religions of the world on some kind of pedestal
while ignoring reality is no different than someone trotting off to
church on Sunday while they cheat and oppress people the rest of the
week. Hypocrisy by any other name remains nonetheless "a false
claim to virtue".
In our collective white guilt we have a tendency to make heroes of
people, cultures, races, and religions other than our own. Am I
saying that the treatment of the Native American people by white men
fuelled by manifest destiny is something to be proud of? Nope. But
we cannot forget what some of the Indian tribes did to other Indian
tribes. There were hostile, war loving Native Americans who did
some very atrocious things to other Native Americans, okay? Native
Americans killed and stole property from each other. Let's not
pretend that ALL Native Americans were docile, peace loving
respecters of all life forms. It is a great fantasy but it merely
represents a delusion brought when the pendulum of correction swings
too far. There were some crazy, murderous, mean-spirited Indians
just like there exist the same kind of Hindus.
To personalize it, I mentioned above that my father is a mixture of
Serbian and Croatian people. Hello - those two groups of people are
supposed to be at each other's throats, not marrying and having
kids. From what I read, there isn't too much to be proud of on
either side in that "religious" war. So called Moslems and
Christians are doing some very nasty things to one another. On my
mom's side there are the English and Irish - whoops, I just read a
review about a novel telling the story of a young Irish girl sold
into slavery to English people way back when. It seems that was a
common practice. And I may be wrong, but the Irish and English have
been carrying on at each other for a long time - shooting, bombing,
and burning one another. The Irish have been oppressed, but let's
not forget that they blow up men, women, and children. Is such
murder heroic?
Yes, white people calling themselves Christians enslaved black
people. Nothing to be proud of there. But a scan of history also
tells us that certain African tribes used to enslave other African
tribes AND even sell members of said captured tribes to the white
slave traders. We love to romanticize the simple, humble, gentle
people of Africa hey, guess what - Idi Amin was an African who shot
Africans for Sunday afternoon fun. He was a non-moustachioed,
bloodthirsty, very black version of Hitler. Africans can be very
nasty to each other. Hmmm, maybe reparation should be ultimately
sought from the first link in the slavery profit chain - the
Africans who captured and sold other Africans.
Let me play one more card - sexual preference. Gays and lesbians
have been outcast and discriminated against by white Christian men.
No doubt this is a bad idea and a deplorable plan of action. Jesus
admonished that the person with no sin could throw stones. Read the
account, everyone dropped their weapons and left. However, let's
not ignore the truth that militant gays have interrupted church
services by doing vile acts - destroying property and urinating on
carpeting and pews. This is wrong and disgusting. It is just as
much of a hate crime as when somebody screams "faggot" and throws a
punch. Is one disgusting action more noble than the other? When
gays make snide remarks at the expense of straight people is their
hate crime somehow cleansed because of their gayness? Can you join
me in saying aloud "Hypocrisy is hypocrisy"?
When a Hindu burns a Moslem alive is it somehow a more peaceful
death than when a Christian burned a living Native American? I
would suggest that the "Hindus" burning Moslems are no more a
representation of Hinduism than the "Christians" who burned Native
Americans represented Christianity. Were the Moslems who killed
thousands of innocents on September 11 following the true path in
obedience to God? Not the God I believe in.
I am an American, protestant male of a diverse, albeit not so-
colorful, ethnic make up and I am not sorry about it anymore.
---
c Copyright 2002 Cliff Yankovich www.chimeradesign.ws
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4. CoN at the Movies
With Jeff Wright
This is a re-write. Leo told me that what I originally submitted to
him was the worst thing I've ever written. Boo hoo! I'm not
changing the stupid headings though. F you Mr. Editor-in-Chief!!!!
MOOZIE ONE:
BOOGIE NIGHTS
I love me my BOOGIE NIGHTS. I've said it before a couple times,
maybe even more. I however, don't care. I shall promote it yet
again.
Y'all know the story. Boy with big cock becomes an overnight
success in the 70's porn biz. This is all ruined of course, by
drugs, egos, and bad haircuts.
I fucking love this film! I said that already, didn't I? Go watch
BOOGIE NIGHTS.
"Oh how I wish that I had Jesse's girl! Why can't I find a woman
like that? Like Jesse's girl."
MOOGY TWO:
MEN WITH BROOMS
Don't watch this movie!!!!!!!!! Have I seen it? No. Should I?
No. Should you? No. Unless you're retarded. In which case, I
still encourage you not to go see it. You're retarded, and should
stay indoors with your un-employed mother.
And while it is a perfectly good reason not to see it. The fact
that it's a comedy about curling isn't even close to the top of the
list.
MOODY TREE:
FREE ENTERPRISE
Don't watch this movie!!!!!!! Have I seen it? Enough of it.
William Shatner does not even come close to saving this wretched
piece of s.h. Where's George Takei? He's the man!
DOOGIE WHORE:
BODYGUARD FROM BEJING
Leo and I watched it Saturday night. It was good times. Jet Li
plays a bodyguard who has to protect a spoiled girlfriend of a rich
guy. There's some pretty cool action in the flic, and really funny
supporting characters (Did someone say 'Fat Po'?).
Jet Li's supercool, and Leo said he'd fuck him. :)
So did I though. :(
LOUVIE FIVE:
EVIL DEAD
Because I saw it last night in a theatre, and it's fun.
Later.
---
Jeff only said he'd fuck Jet Li, so Leo didn't feel awkward.
-------------------------------------------
5. Hurricanes and Hand Grenades
By Eric Rosenfield
I went to New Orleans for the weather.
That was my joke, anyway, the weather being about thirty degrees
Fahrenheit. Apparently they get one week of cold in New Orleans, and
it just so happened to be the one week I was there. It was literally
like some cliche' - it got nice on the day that I left.
My idea was to go to New Orleans and play music on the street. I
ended up in Jackson Square my first day pumping out the only two
songs I knew with "New Orleans" in the lyrics - Proud Mary and
Tangled Up in Blue - a couple times over, then I played "Short
People" and some old lady who was the only one who remembered the
song came over and give me a dollar.
Street performing in the cold is a bad idea for so many reasons. It
hurts your voice, it warps the neck of you guitar so you're
constantly out of tune, it makes your strings break, and no one
wants to stop and listen to you and most importantly, give you any
money. So eventually I gave up and went into a strip club.
I got into the strip club for free, the guy was giving away tickets
and it was some kind of promotion.
Here's how to get a lot of attention in a strip club: Go sit in the
corner and look moody. Every time a stripper comes up to you,
whatever she says, she just wants to give you a lap dance, so tell
them that you don't want a lap dance within the first 5 seconds or
so. That way if they stay, then they're just there to talk to you.
Don't watch the dancers much. Sigh heavily to yourself, as if you
cannot take the overwhelming heart-ache of your own ennui. Soon the
strippers will all be fascinated with you. It helps if it's not a
busy night and you're the only guy under thirty. Try it sometime.
Bourbon street is kind of like Times Square was supposed to be. It's
an ugly glitzy tourist trap that few locals in their right minds
would ever go to, but it also held onto the sleaziness in the same
way Vegas did - there are tons of strip clubs and sex shops and gay
leather shops and whatever your fetish might be - there's even, in
the middle of January and in the middle of the week, still hoards of
frat boys getting drunk off of really cheap beer and throwing beads
to women on balconies so they'll take off their shirts.
It's an adult town, is all I'm trying to say.
It's also an incredibly drunk town. Even the pizza places here -
little pizzerias - have fully stocked bars. People just don't stop
drinking, they wake up in the morning and drink until they fall over
sometime the next morning. There's the touristy drinks - the
hurricanes and hand grenades - tropical concoctions of rum and fruit
juices, but mostly people drink beer. For four dollars I got the
tallest biggie size plastic cup of Budwiser you've ever seen, and it
came with two free refills. There was also this thing where the
clubs would pay these girls to girl around with little vials of
brightly colored drinks and put them in places in their bodies (like
their mouth, cleavage, pants) while tourist men drank from the other
end. I had never seen that before, but it struck me as one of the
most singularly stupid things to pay for ever.
There are a lot of really truly crazy people in New Orleans, and
while there are certainly a lot in New York as well, I think the
ratio in NO seems to be higher. At one point while I was street
performing a guy walked up to me and grabbed my hand and started
staring intently at my palm. Then he said "you have a nice bear
there". Naturally I looked at him like he was out of his bleeding
head. "Nice... nice little grizzly bear". He patiently explained to
me that my animal totem was the grizzly bear and his animal totem
was the timber wolf and grizzly bears and timber wolves don't get
along so he couldn't talk to me. Then, despite his own warning, he
introduced me to his friend the "dragonite" ("dragon knight"?) and
that's when I carefully removed myself from the situation.
And there was Keith the Cabby, the decisively overweight, long-
haired sunglass wearing cab driver who drove me from the airport to
the hostel, where I stayed. He saw my guitar and well, nothing would
stop him from telling me all about how his band was signed to Geffen
records and he had to leave because he got his girlfriend pregnant
(I nod nod nod) and how he was a big player back in the day and,
well, there's nothing like having two women at once let me tell you
(I nod nod nod), and his wife was fucking some other dude but that
didn't matter because he was fucking some other chick too and that
wasn't what was really important (I nod nod nod) and well, fuck it
all, I'm driving a cab now and who gives a fuck about anything
anymore anyway because nothing really matters and I just hope my son
does better then me little brat he's just like me (I nod nod nod)...
And of course I had heard about the much vaunted "Gothic" scene in
the home of Trent Reznor and Anne Rice, but all the Gothic clubs
were pretty small and lame and I ended up one night escorting two
Gothic girls through a really bad neighborhood off the French
Quarter in the middle of the night to get to a club where they were
supposed to be having a "Heavy Metal vs. Punk Rock Night", that we
got there just in time to miss. We ended up having a drink and being
joined a man who called himself "Chris the Dick" but who I prefer to
think of as the Single Most Pierced Man Alive as he regaled us all
with the brief and fascinating life of his Prince Albert.
"Yeah, so I got everything pierced except for, y'know, that, and I
tried it once. I had it, but like, you can't y'know DO anything for
like WEEKS after you get it and man that was just two much because
not four days after I got it did this girl who I had been after for
like ever and suddenly she was into to me and I was like " - makes
funny mouth noise - " off it comes, y'know."
And the story of his ex-girlfriend -
"I mean fuck, girl fucked with me once but fuck, look at the tattoo
on the back of my neck, okay?!" (tattoo reads: FUCK OFF in big, bold
letters) "So the fucking bitch dumped me on my birthday, right, can
you believe that shit? She dumps me on my birthday so, you know, I
went out and found some other bitch and we had a fucking great time.
Then the fucking first bitch is like 'how was your birthday?' and I
was like 'great! Better without you in it!' y'know, I'm such a dick,
I remember I was moving my stuff out of her apartment and she had
some other guy over there and I like had a threesome the night
before and I'm like 'yeah, sorry, I gotta wipe all this shit off my
dick before I can talk to you, yeah, that's it'. I'm such a dick."
Then there was the polar opposite characters down there. I was
talking to this little Christian girl who was very sweet ad nice and
she was telling me about how she had never been further north then
Atlanta and that she thought people from the north were scary -
they're just scary, scary people.
So, naturally, I mugged her.
But the moment that felt most New Orleans to me was when I was
walking down this street which is right on the border of the French
Quarter (which is the touristy district) and the really bad
neighborhood. I was heading for an open mike night at some bar when
I heard some people calling out to me. I turn and there are these
two short-haired old ladies - in their sixties at least - sitting on
their porch. "Play guitar for us!" they called out, "we'll give you
wine!" Not one to pass up free wine, I went up there, and these two
little old ladies told me that they had just gotten married that
night and were celebrating. So I congratulated them, and though I
didn't know any old lady lesbian wedding songs, I did my best.
And it was there under the cool night playing New York songs for
this strange couple, on a nice wooden porch on a nice wooden house
that could have been a wooden porch on any wooden house in any
little town in the world, when I saw a palm tree out of the corner
of my eye, and suddenly had a sense of vertigo that made me dip and
let go of the guitar. It was the first time in a long while that I
had felt like I was in a truly alien environment.
That, and New Orleans is probably the only town that can make a palm
tree creepy.
-------------------------------------------
CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org.
CoN: Even at one in the morning, there is some freak waiting to
vomit his religion on you. All I wanted was a tea.
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.
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ZimID 708EC8D1 1994/09/14 EC B0 97 59 1D FE 7C 32 7E 04 2C 66 47 41 FB 7D