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Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine Volume VII, Issue 7, AD MMII Monday, April 8, 2002 ISSN 1482-0471 ------------------------------------------- What has this world come to? Ozzy osbourne has gone easy listening. Ozzy: "I'm just a dreeea-mer..." Listener: "No damnit, your paranoid, see, people think you're insane because you're frowning all the time damn you!" Ozzy: "I dream my life away..." Listener (disgusted): "you are NOT iron man" -- Kiwano ------------------------------------------- "The number of Unix installations has grown to 10, with more expected." -- The Unix Programmer's Manual, 2nd Edition, June, 1972 ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial 2. The Revival of a Nation 3. Drama is life with all the boring bits cut out 4. Never go "On the make" ------------------------------------------- This week's Golden Testicle award: http://www.g-news.ch/articles/nhp200nc/ Beyond the case mod. Simply Beyond. ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial Contradictory Emotions By Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro I learned an interesting lesson the other day when a series of events occurred. These events not only helped me understand what we do here, but also shed some light on what our manifesto and perhaps our ideals may truly be. It also left me, at least for a while, in a state of conflict with myself. Let me explain. A while ago one reader contributed a story. After asking whether he had read and agreed to our legalese, which he claimed he had, I ran his story. The legalese seems, to me, both fair and perhaps a little harsh: the story remains the author's, with all the copyright and related rights belonging solely to the author. We gain, however, the right to send the story to the subscribed members of CoN, post it on Usenet and display the article indefinitely on the website. Is this too extreme? The idea is not to take advantage of the author, make money off of him or steal his article but simply to let others enjoy the work, whether it arrives in their inbox or they read it online. Some time later, the same author found a publisher willing to buy the story from him on the condition that the publisher has "first rights" to the story. Rightfully, the author mentioned that the story had been run on this e-zine and another, causing the publisher to turn down the offer. In the hopes that the publisher would change his mind, the author requested that the story be removed from our site (and possibly, I assume, from the other) and wrote back to them. I'm currently not sure of what the situation is, but I do hope a cheque is in the mail for him. On my end, the first thing I did was remove the story. Later, I offered to write to the publisher that the article had been removed. But I can't deny that I was somewhat upset. Not much for the fact that we were given something and then it was taken away; I was upset because the removal of the article disrupted the integrity of the issue in question and that by removing the story to sell it defied what CoN stood for: writing for the sake of writing. Other issues occurred to me, such as getting slapped with some sort of lawsuit for "stealing" work we had been given. While the article in question no longer appears on our website, you can still look at the cached version of it on Google, probably Web Archive, Usenet and whoever happens to keep a copy online, all of them carrying the Capital of Nasty banner. And that's not counting the many, many copies received by subscribed members all over the world. I wonder if that would work to our advantage in a legal battle. As such, I am currently refusing to run any other article he has submitted just in case this happens again. I'm not sure if this decision was too harsh or just zealous carefulness. At the same time, I was happy for the author. In any way, shape or form, if we can help with the success of an author we'll do it. In some cases, we've even written letters for authors who use CoN as a place to show off their work. Nonetheless, I was annoyed and yet I did not want to be. I have absolutely no right to be such a wanker. An author decided, out of his generosity to provide content completely free of charge, and here I am whining like a little bitch. We have absolutely no right to interfere with one who would like to make a profit, even if minimal, from his or her work. It is that person's work after all, and our ideals, no matter how pretty they may be, should impose no obstruction. My only defence, if it can be accepted, is to be a gullible fool that believes things can be done, not for money, but for love. CoN is an expensive and time-consuming hobby but very rewarding. We do not provide any monetary compensation for the articles we receive. But we do provide an audience, take care of distribution and have a website where others can read an author's work. I am hoping that this does count as something. When CoN first started, it started as a labour of love, for a love of writing, entertaining whomever may read it. Money is nowhere in the picture (other than the money required to pay the bills to run CoN), and I foolishly assumed everyone else saw it the same way. It remains this way. This does get mocking comments and responses of surprise questioning our seriousness but remains an ideal that I and many others strongly believe in. So to the author or any other contributor to CoN, all I can say is good luck. I seriously hope that this is the first step into a great career in writing for you, but keep in mind the commitments you've made. For me, I shall begin by smelling the ever-famous coffee and realize that ideals are a great thing, but I can't possibly expect everyone to share them, for ideals don't pay the bills. ------------------------------------------- 2. The Revival of a Nation By Konrad the Bold I once spent some time in northern Europe, between Russia and the Baltic Sea, in a little country called Latvia. Latvia became independent after the break up of the Soviet Union and has had a fairly successful transition to a free-market economy. What makes the country so interesting is that it managed to resurrect its language and culture after decades of Russian cultural dominance. In the days of the Soviet Union, Russians continually migrated to the region, bringing with them their language, culture and laws. Russian was the official language so government business and university classes were conducted in Russian. What threatened the Latvian language even more than the influx of Russians was the fact that Latvians were learning Russian while most Russians remained determinedly monolingual. This made Russian the lingua franca and resulted in a steady erosion of Latvian culture. Even today, about 30% of Latvia's population is made up of ethnic Russians. After Latvia gained its independence, because of concerns about Russian cultural domination, laws were passed instituting a Latvian-language test as a pre-requisite to voting. Naturally, many Russians were outraged that they could not vote without first learning Latvian. The government's message was clear: if you want to live on equal terms with us, in our country, you must speak our language. Thanks to the lack of serious ethnic tensions, the country, while still poor by western standards, has been experiencing solid and steady growth since the early 90s. There is still some discord between the Latvians and the Russian minority though not nearly on the level of Yugoslavia. There is no real fear of violence; rather the situation is best described as mutual dissatisfaction. Latvians are uneasy about the influence of Russian culture while Russians feel sidelined in Latvian politics. What it reminds of most is the province of Quebec. For those unfamiliar with the situation, Quebec is a Canadian province where the majority of the population speaks French. The government of Quebec has made many attempts to launch a secession of the province from the rest of Canada. In the last referendum on the subject 49.4% of the population voted for secession. In Quebec, as in Latvia, the government felt the region's culture and language was under threat and passed laws that alienated much of its minority population. To me, one of the most striking parallels between the two situations was what could be called the Latvian fa�ade of Riga, Latvia's capital city. To the casual observer Riga appears completely Latvian. Everything visible from the street - posters, street signs, place names - is written in Latvian. (This is very easy to see because Latvian is written in the Latin alphabet.) The average tourist who cannot distinguish between spoken Russian and Latvian may not even realize there are any Russians in the entire city. The truth is that the majority of the city's population is Russian. In Riga, Latvians are a minority in their own country. The Latvian fa�ade is a result of laws restricting the use of the Russian language on signs visible to the public - the same kind of laws that give much of Quebec it's French facade. As an example, I got an eerie feeling of dejavu when I entered a bookstore. Although everything visible on the street was written in Latvian, the vast majority of materials in the bookstore were in Russian. I noticed the same thing everywhere I looked; kiosks and grocery stores with Latvians signs out front stocked mostly Russian magazines. Since Russia is a big market and Latvia isn't, there are far more Russian-language publications available. The same phenomenon is visible in Quebec; bookstores usually have more English books simply because there are far more English publications in the world than French ones - just try to find a French book on database-backed websites in Montreal. In their attempt to promote the language of some of its citizens, the government has ended up hiding the existence of another group of citizens, as if it were some shameful secret. This kind of official "cover-up" of the existence the minority culture is at the root of many feelings dissatisfaction of the linguistic minorities in both Latvia and Quebec. What one person sees as a necessary protection of their language another person sees as an attack on their freedom to use their own language, leaving them feeling like a second-class citizen. There is something taken for granted in the immigrant-based societies of Canada and the USA, but only slowly emerging in most other countries: the idea of a national identity that's not based on ethnicity. If you ask a Canadian of Russian or Chinese ancestry where they are from they'll generally say, "I'm Canadian". Despite their different ethnicities they can identify with each other as Canadians. This kind of national identity is very important in keeping multi-cultural countries unified. Citizens of Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia never really developed a common national identity. Czechs considered themselves as Czechs and Slovaks as Slovaks. I'm not implying that the lack of such an identity caused the break up of those states, but it was certainly a telling sign of their unity. As the Latvian economy steadily improves, ethnic problems are slowly becoming a non-issue. Latvians and Russians intermarry, the memory of the Russian occupation fades, Russian kids grow up speaking both languages fluently. These things all contribute to the creation of a feeling of a Latvian identity distinct from ethnic background. There are many signs that this relatively modern concept is emerging in Latvia. Many Russian kids are growing up speaking both languages fluently and the general trend seems to be that most Latvians will be bilingual to some degree. These days, when the Latvians face the Russians in hockey, Russians in Latvia will usually cheer for the Latvian team. Perhaps the most promising sign is not some grand demographic trend, but a single person I talk to while in Latvia: Andris. What makes Andris so special is that not only is he most patriotic Latvian I met, but that he is not ethnically Latvian at all. Born into a family of Poles and Germans, he's lived in Latvia all his life, considers it his country and sees it as his personal mission to defend the Latvian way of life from Russian cultural imperialism. The emergence of that kind of national identity, independent of ethnicity, says a lot for Latvia's progress towards becoming a modern democracy. In Canada, it was the French population that was largely responsible for creating the Canadian identity. When most English-speaking Canadians still considered themselves British subjects living in a British colony, the French were pushing the idea of Canada as a separate state. Still, most French Quebecers do not identify as much as Canadians as Quebecers living in Canada. Regardless of the good will of other Canadians, French Quebecers simply don't feel much of a shared identity with them - they are just too different. The rest of Canada doesn't understand this, and every time the Canadian federal government gets more power many French Quebecers end up feeling their laws are being made by people who are not like them and don't understand them. The paradox is that the Anglophone minority of Quebec generally thinks along these same lines. It's fair to say that many Quebec Anglophones feel they are more similar to French Quebecers than to Canadian Anglophones. Why then, are they so opposed to Quebec separating from Canada? The essence of the problem is this: the minority in Quebec doesn't feel a shared sense of identity with French Quebecers. There is a crucial difference between feeling similar to a group and sharing a common identity. While the Canadian national identity is no longer based on ethnicity, the Quebecois identity is still largely associated with having French ancestry. The evidence for this is simple: immigrants in Quebec, whether Anglophone or Francophone voted overwhelmingly against secession from Canada. If it were simply a matter of protecting one's language and culture Francophone Quebecers should have voted in the same way as other Francophones. The reason for this is that, for the most part, the drive for Quebec's secession has been fueled by French nationalism. However, unlike the nationalistic movement that created Canada, this one does not aim to preserve Quebec's current culture but the culture of its ethnically French population - effectively destroying any common Quebecois identity not based on ethnicity. Although many Russians may accept the idea that they are living in a country that belongs to the Latvians and therefore it's a matter of respect that they should learn to speak Latvian, the minority population in Quebec holds a very different view; Anglophone Quebecers don't consider themselves to be living in a province that belongs to the French. It's a very common sentiment among French Quebecers that people who come to "their" province should learn to speak their language. Just as most Canadians don't understand the real reasons why Quebec wants to separate most French Quebecers don't understand the real reasons why Anglophones want to stay in Canada. The Anglophone minority in Quebec feels they live on equal terms with other Canadians - however, because the Quebecois identity is based on ethnicity, they would feel like foreigners in an independent Quebec, and that is a transition they are not willing to make. --- You can reach Konrad the Bold by send mail to konradthebold at hotpop.com. He claims Latvia really exists and is not one of those made-up places like Elbonia, Gotham City or The Lost City of Atlanta. ------------------------------------------- 3. Drama is life with all the boring bits cut out By Richard Campbell The following tale is one that involves my neighbour who happens to be a homosexual black guy with a deep desire to floss my butt with his willy wonka. So if big black cocks and homosexual cravings for young white guys makes you sick, please read the following. My story begins with, me, coming home from a long day of looking at macro software do my work. I open my apartment door and I am greeted by a little note on the floor. The following was inscribed rather poorly on the back of a day planner page. "Hi iam kerry iam 19, 5/6 long red hair green eyes 32d 115lbs I saw your briefly and I want to know if you want to have fun with me. (followed by e-mail)" Being the proud owner of a penis, I was immediately enticed by the possibilities. It's not every day that you get some young red headed thin big-breasted teen wanting you to have "fun" with her. Somehow though, almost miraculously, my mind gained control over my body. Which is an incredibly difficult thing to do considering my penis' super human ability to control my every action. Once the old brain was back in power, I realised the absurdity of the situation. I also noted the possibility of the note being part of some devious practical joke orchestrated by my brother. I fell for the bait, I fired off an e-mail, and that's when my scepticism began its justification. *** I sent some along the lines of "What's up, got your note". The reply was from a Louis C********* (name withheld) from a sprint account with the following message. "Hi how r u iam kerry iam not home now so i am using a friend pc yes my friend tould me about you i saw you bref and i think you are intrested so what r you up to do u mind the note sorryy to be so foward ok please relpy this is what i look lik iam 5/6 long red hair green eyes 32d 115lbs and a swimmer i go to ottawa U tel me more about you do u have a g/f and what do u like and stuff like that .." Okay so what's up with the poor ass spelling. University? I guess when you got 32ds you don't need to know how to write, spell, phrase or punctuate. Secondly I understand yes, your contacting me from a friends place, but it's not like it costs anything to get your own e-mail account. Hmmmmm, It's chin stroking time. Okay, so Louis C********** is the person who owns the PC she used. Interesting... there is a Louis that lives downstairs. I quickly reference www.411.ca for a Louis C**********. Lo and behold, Louis C********* is the same guy that lives downstairs in app #1. Now I must state something here, Louis is a nice guy... He's also gay. I don't see him much but he's always going outside with his scary ass dog. But I never figure him to do something like this, though he does have a roommate. I figured, whatever, she's Louis friend and she saw me at some point while she visited Louis. My reply asked if she's a friend of Louis' and if the letter was meant for me or my brother. "HI yes this richard is it r you the younger one i saw you in passing r u up now do u have apic online and what do u think of me sorry to be so fowrad do u have icq if you do we can caht now let me know iam up and will be for a while ok let me know" The weird part was the fact that her name (Kerry Rightman) was now displayed instead of Louis C*********, but the e-mail address did not change. This really didn't sit right with me. My suspicions where starting to solidify into hard evidence. Someone; most likely a roommate from apartment 1, was pretending to be a girl for the pure satisfaction yanking me around. Either that or they where trying to seduce me. But why would you approach a heterosexual with the possibility of heterosexual sex in the goal of obtaining homosexual sex. I didn't get it......not yet. Consulting www.411.ca I look up Kerry Rightman in Ottawa. Nothing. Kerry Rightman in Ontario. Nothing. Kerry Rightman in Canada. Nothing... I type in Rightman for all of Canada. Still nothing. So this name is either incredibly rare or someone just happen to invent a last name that doesn't exist but sounds like it does. To make sure it wasn't the database, I entered the most fictional name I could think of. I typed in "Doubtfire" (a name that was made up by reading headlines in a newspaper in the Ms. Doubtfire movie) and I got several results for Ontario alone. I replied and gave her/him my number to see if he/she would call. Like a bluff, if she was really interested she would call. If she was in fact a man then I would know by the voice or the absence of any calls made by Kerry. Then came the voiceless messages. You know, I've been accused of being a stalker a few times after pulling a couple well meaning gestures. For example: 1. Changing the bus you take so that you have better chances of meeting and talking to a person you like. 2. Buying someone roses It's all very subjective. What isn't subjective and is very stalkerish indeed, is the following: 1. Leaving over 8 voiceless messages in one day. Shit, that creeped me out. 2. Sending multiple e-mails a day asking questions like. (14 on December 12th) - When are you coming home? - When do you go to work? - Is your brother there? Being a pussy I don't confront Kerry's phone calls (which ring at least twice a day) and write an e-mail asking for her number and or online messenger service nick. I get both, but neither is "hers". The phone number is a friends cell and the ICQ number belongs to "her" brother. Okay. now so far I have an e-mail that isn't hers, a phone number that isn't hers and her brothers e-mail. Anyway, I tried to meet up with "her", naming locations I'll be at and what I'll be wearing. She never replied to those e-mails and never showed up. I was still getting voiceless messages on my phone from a caller ID block. And each time I answered the phone (after working up the courage to actually answer a week after they started) no one replied. I decided then to send an e-mail pointing out most of this shit. The reply I got was a real voice message. Her words where "Hi this is kerry, I hear you think I don't exist, because my name doesn't come up in Ottawa phone book, I exist and I'm just interested in you, okay see you later" WHAT THE FUCK!. I called your bluff, and you get some 40 year old sounding lady to leave a message on my phone after you sent 2 previous voiceless messages (I assume this was done to check if I was actually near my phone). And, AND! All you do is reply to one of the many suspicious things that i confronted you with, and you got it wrong. I said ALL of CANADA. Let me transcribe an e-mail "she" sent just for kicks. "So y r u not chatting whit me o icq you r stil on ha " - Kerry Rightman What the FUCK is that? Half the letters are missing, NO punctuation, half a laugh at the end. Ha only works coupled with another Ha, not alone. Unless ha is like, "Ha I got you". But then you would have "phrased" it "Ha I gt U!1!!". She avoided several questions. Where she lives and how she knows Louis C**********. The note she left originally seemed urgent, knowing this, why leave an e-mail? If you want to get porked, leaving a phone number seems to be the obvious path to take for doinkage... Also, I burned the note and gay souls came lisping out. She said she lived with her parents, then mentioned roommates later. Her last name doesn't exist anywhere! (no offence to any Rightmans, if you indeed exist). Nothing belongs to her. If all that isn't enough proof that something is up then strap on a dildo and ride me like your pappy. Colombo, you can go home now, I think the local sheriff has things under control. Paranoia hit me like a sack of lead when I had to leave home to meet up with...frr..frriienn...friends (I'm still not used to that word). I seriously feared for my anal virginity. So I scoured the house for possible weapons. I came up with a knife so dull it couldn't cut piece of warm steaming poo, and a 200-dollar, 9lbs, 1 and 1/8th "snap-on" brand chrome plated wrench. After careful consideration I chose the wrench. Not even considering the validity of the wrench as protection, but simply for its shock value as a weapon. Seriously, If someone came after me with a huge 9lbs, shiny fucking "snap-on" wrench, I would first think "Wow, this man spends good money on exotic weapons", then I'd be running in the the opposite direction with bricks of shit bouncing in my underwear. So I jammed the wrench in my sock, taped the anal-expansion- preventer to my leg with masking tape and enjoyed an evening of beer drinking... Never in my life have I felt so fucken' paranoid. Protected, but paranoid. You know, throughout the whole ordeal I was waiting for the topic of gay sex to sprout forth in our e-mails like acne on D&D player. I've been expecting it like the unwelcome visit from that uncle that drinks your beer, touches your son and sleeps on your couch for 4 weeks. I was expecting it since the beginning. Since, of course, I can't have woman after me... no.. oh noo... I have to have gay men trying to fuck. Gay men have been after my ass since the age of 16. Christ. When it did though, it opened a whole can of thick black veiny worms. "do u know the black guy downstir he and i may bring his g/f her name is kim is that cool he like to get fuck you cannot tel anyone ok " - Kerry "Okay, so originally I was fucking some guys girlfriend and you. Now I'm fucking two women and one black penis is going to be in my anus. Hmm... Hmmm... NO!!!!!" - Richard "HI ok how about he blow you and u fuck me and kim" - Kerry. Oh, I see now, a black dude sucking my dick is much better then having his mocha viper in my organs. "I'm not homosexual! That means SPECIFICLY, no sexual involvement with men. No touching, watching, intercourse, sucking... NOTHING!!!!!!" - Richard "well sorry i thought u whnt to have some fun oh well if you change your mind let me know it is just for a short while com on iam all hot hor you " - Kerry Illiteracy really turns me on, look how hory I am ima ll sweety N hot 4 U. She doesn't stop with the begging. So I insist she come up first, to see if Kerry actually exists. No go. I insist again. No go. Finally I go to bed and I wake up to this. "You jackeass i was up this nock and no answer you like that it is not fair you know what thewell do u want i try to be nice but u r playing games so if u do chat whit me anyomr it is no proleam ok i though you where a nice guy and whant to have somefun ..>" - Kerry Kerry gets remarkably literate when she's angry. And that was about it. I saved all the e-mail in a fag folder and moved on. Haven't heard from Kerry since. I haven't seen the black guy either. I have seen Louis. I doubt he knows. Maybe I didn't handle this properly. Maybe I fucked up several ways. But its over now and I live on waiting for the next fag to fuck around with me. When that happens I'll dig out ol' wrench and live another month or two of total paranoia. "At least your life is interesting" - Anonymous friend "So was the life of a Jew in the late 40's" - Me --- Richard is currently at home. Alone. Right now. ------------------------------------------- 4. Never go "On the make" By REVSCRJ You know that moment when you meet a woman and you think something like "Damn, I bet she's wild in bed" or something of that nature? In that moment you make a decision: am I going to try and get her inside her OR am I going to try to see who and what she is. The decision is important because it determines your entire mode of approach to the woman, it shouldn't, but it does. Every time in my life that I have chosen to simply try and get sex from the woman it has gone HIDDEOUS. I don't mean standard rejection, or wasted time hideous, but funny universe-laughing-at-me hideous. Ok, here is an example: I was working at Kinkos copies, suffering the corporate inhuman sterile hell by stealing a lot and teaching myself how to use computers on their time -- almost a fair trade. All of a sudden, in walks this jaw dropping woman dressed in a short floral skirt and baggy white cotton shirt that was close enough to translucent to make me sweat. She was wearing knee high boots and goddamn if that doesn't arouse me. I have no idea why, really, "boots" -- what the hell is sexy about boots? "Everything" apparently, because I actually felt my knees tremble. She walked up to me smiling and right there I decided that I REALLY wanted this woman. I didn't care who she was, what she believed, whether she was good bad or indifferent -- I wanted to fuck her. "Hi, welcome to Kinkos, what can I do for you?" She wanted help designing a resume so of course I became a sudden expert on the subject -- having never actually made one -- and proceeded to explain why this lay-up was better than that one or why this paper would elicit a better response that that one. It was all just basic bullshit backed up only by the fact that I do have artistic sense for composition. She rubbed up against me. I felt my insides jelly and quiver like a jello mold. We talked about Big Sur, a stretch of nature that I have spent years in. She tells me: "Oh, I have family that live in Big Sur, but I've never hiked there at all." "WHAT! Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, THAT is SACRELIGIOUS! There is glory at your fingertips and your looking at your knees!" [er... sorry that would be me] "Look, if you want I could show you some spots there that would make you smile in places you didn't know you possessed." Despite the sleaziness of that, she gives me a cooing "maybe" and goes off to the DTP section of the store to tell the computer folk what to lay up for her. Suddenly streams of the faceless pour into the store and when I take notice she is gone. Alas. When I get back from my lunch break, a co-worker hands me her number and starts making a little "Sean's gonna get laid" song. Jumping ahead. She picked me up, as I have only once or twice in my life had the want and capital to own a vehicle, and we are driving down the coast on a fairly blustery day. I ask her if she hikes much to get a gauge on what kind of terrain I should take her to. She says "all the time" so I figure a little ocean side bouldering might lead us to a picturesque beach on which to... "Where should I pull over?" "Oh any of these pull outs have trails that lead down to magnificence." She proceeds to drive another 45 minutes into an area I had never been to. We hit a trail down to the rocks. Real quick: I cannot do the splendour of these high cliff lichen crusted coastal glories justice, they are alive to me and truly the only place that I can feel utterly human without a sense of disgust at that. The tide is high, the waves are enormous and there is no beach. "Cool" I think "we'll just traverse the cliff-side." As it turns out when she said that she hikes a lot she meant she walks on paved trails pretty often because as we start free climbing this cliff-side she is moving slow and with obvious fear. I try to be all manly and aid her by bracing her body, or guiding a foot -- pointing out handholds, etc. The effect is that she is impressed by my abilities, so I figure its all going as planned until... We are crossing a cave mouth that drops below the wave-line so it requires a little speed to race in-between waves. I drop down, run, jump up on to the rock wall on the other side, no problem. I look out to sea and see this massive wave coming in and turn around to tell her but she has already jumped down and is slowly tight-wire- walk walking toward me. The wave hits her up to her belly WHAM! Water shoots up over her head from the impact. As horrible as it is my first thought was "Well, that just killed any chance of sex" BEFORE "Oh fuck is she okay!?" We would've turned back there if not for the fact that a) she was trying to impress me with her non-existent hiking skills and b) the way we had come was now being far too regularly pummelled by waves to return by. We pressed on. It got worse. She froze up on a cliff-side yelling that she was going to fall so I had to go beneath her and have her stand on my shoulders while I climbed and she just stood, palms on the wall- I was so low that I was getting beat by waves that were trying to pull me out- I was terrified and thought we were both going to drown here. I still have some scars on my palms from holding on to barnacles while a huge wave hit me knocking out my feet. In order to not drop her into the surf I supported us with just my hands- the barnacles sunk into my palms, getting a taste of Human flesh. Later, sitting on a cliff top in uncomfortable silence freezing, I asked her what time it was -- because it was time to end this ridiculousness -- and she pulls this little machine out of her coat that looks like a Palm Pilot. I notice that there is a tube that runs out of it that goes into her coat. Before I can even guess what it is she says "OH MY GOD- I haven't been getting my insulin! FUCK FUCK OH GOD- I gotta get home NOW!" Apparently when the first wave hit her, it shorted the machine. Her life really was in danger that whole time. We literally run up the path to the road back to the car. She takes off and I hitchhike home. About an hour into hitchhiking it starts to rain and I start to laugh. The whole thing becomes a divine comedy, from bloody palms to potential diabetic death, and from that I whether the weather truly amused until a guy lets me sit in the back of his pickup for a ride back into Monterey. EVERYTIME I go "on the make" something like this happens. Its a curse, yes, but it IS FUNNY which I am thankful for- as most curses aren't- and due to it my life has been made a degree more entertaining. Obviously I don't get laid much --- 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. ------------------------------------------- CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org. CoN: don't forget your insulin. 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 wanker intolerance, simply send an empty message to leave@capnasty.org. Brought to you by C.C.C.P. (Collective Communist Computing Proletariat) Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro Colin Barrett <leandro@capnasty.org> <tyrannis@capnasty.org> ZimID 708EC8D1 1994/09/14 EC B0 97 59 1D FE 7C 32 7E 04 2C 66 47 41 FB 7D