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Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine Volume VII, Issue 14, AD MMII Monday, October 28, 2002 ISSN 1482-0471 ------------------------------------------- "So as we set out this year to defeat the divisive forces that would take our freedom away, I want to say those words again for everyone within the sound of my voice to hear and to heed, and especially for you, Mr. Gore. From my cold, dead hands!" -- Charlton Heston ------------------------------------------- "When I stand on a mountain and say `do it', it gets done!" -- Charles Manson ------------------------------------------- 1. Democracy is Bad for Business 2. Life in the Collector Lane: The Roommate 3. CoN @ the Movies 4. Lake Roommate 5. Cabbage Patch Clerk ------------------------------------------- This week's Golden Testicle award: http://www.irubmyduckie.com/ And it sure feels good. ------------------------------------------- 1. Democracy is Bad for Business Business is Bad for Humans By Tim King Recently I've been struck by the confusion Americans have over understanding the Indian subcontinent. Pakistan sided with the U.S. in the "WAR ON TERRORISM" and suddenly this military dictatorship that overthrew a democratically elected government to gain power are the good guys. That means their enemies, the Indians, must be the bad guys... right? I can only imagine the confusion swirling around in American brains. Indian already has a negative connotation to it thanks to Columbus' five hundred year old mistake. It's easy for the Americans to see Indians as the bad guys. Of course these Indians and those Indians are completely different, but that kind of distinction is simply too difficult to ask for. So here we have the good guys, the Pakistanis (or 'Pakis' as George Dubleya likes to call 'em), fighting the evil Indians. I've heard more than one American say, "we've got to stand up for democracy around the world," when referring to supporting Pakistan versus India. I try to politely point out that India is actually the largest (population wise) and one of the largest (geographically) democratic societies in the world. They are a liberal country with many religions and races living within their borders, you know, just like the United States. Confusion still fills the air though as Americans struggle to understand their own foreign policy. Here's the brief synopsis in case you missed it. American foreign policy is to support Pakistan (the aforementioned military dictatorship) because they assisted the invasion of Afghanistan, even though an overwhelming majority of very Muslim Pakistanis hate the United States and a large number of the Taliban shooting at U.S. forces were in fact Pakistani. India, which has had a democratically elected government since Pakistan separated from it fifty years ago, has never been in the good graces of American foreign policy. During the cold war they were forced to buy military hardware from the Soviet Union because the United States wouldn't deal with them. How can America, the supposed champion of Democracy be so cruel to one of its own? The answer is a simple one: it's all about business. American foreign policy directs billions of development dollars into China, a country that shoots its citizens and likes to use them as slave labour for foreign interests. Why would the US do this? Stability. Why wouldn't the U.S. instead put that development money into the liberal, multi-ethnic, democratic India? Lack of stability. You see, if you have a military based dictatorship you have a high degree of certainty that things will remain the way they are. The factories you are building will still be there next year and the labour you purchased for ten cents an hour will still be working for your interests years from now because if they don't, they'll get shot. If you put that money into India, where democracy has empowered the people and made laws to protect them from abuse, you won't actually be able to buy slave labour. If your business won't pay reasonable wages in reasonable working conditions you'll find yourself with no employees volunteering for your sweatshops. If you force people to work for you (because their government won't do it for you) you'll find yourself in jail. You see, slaves are much cheaper than paid employees, they don't have silly things like benefits or rights and you can use them much like you would use a machine - until it breaks. The best part is that you don't have to claim any moral responsibility for what happens because 'that's the way they do it in China!'. Of course, if that's the way they do it, you're supporting it by paying the people who do it that way, but I digress. The United States has a long and ignoble history with slavery. I suppose it's hard to break old habits. Back in India, which has an enormous population (like China), but no support from the U.S., business men scratch their heads and try to understand why China is "an economic miracle" and they are a threat to U.S. interests in the region. If you talk to an Indian businessman you'll find a savvy individual who has a startlingly clear grasp of what U.S. interests really mean. The U.S. acts on the best interests of its own citizens. They often hide them in the flag and paint them with words like freedom and democracy, but what they really mean is control and the self-interests of a very small percentage of the world's population (only about four and a half percent of the world's population lives in the United States and one percent of them own over ninety percent of the country's value). Even though there is an extreme gap between the rich and the poor in the United States, the government there strives to raise the standard of living for all its citizens. Since the rich aren't willing to surrender their power, security and comfort, the government needs to find a way to gain value without it costing anything to its richer citizens (many of whom, incidently, run that government). Fortunately the ninety five and a half percent of the world who don't happen to have U.S. citizenship provide a large reservoir of value from which to siphon worth. U.S. foreign policy unabashedly goes about ensuring that American companies have a competitive advantage in order to provide and avenue for this wealth to pour back into the country. Frankly there isn't enough to go round for six billion free human animals walking the Earth. In current human society we make commodities of our fellow humans. We do this to make value for our own benefit. All current economic systems are based on this fact. Anyone living a first world lifestyle does so as a result of the cheap products made in third world poverty. Anyone living in the third world does so because they are the commodities of more powerful individuals who use them as beasts of burden. We farm human beings to feed and cloth other human beings. "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness..." The American constitution is a powerful document that has caused all manner of problems within the States. Their crime rate is a direct result of human animals living without the limitations that exist elsewhere. Bragging about China's low rate of crime is like saying that domesticated cattle are less violent than wild ones, it's a truth that doesn't point to the real reason why it is the way it is. China farms its population. Its people, supposedly living in communism, are actually cattle used to produce value for the elite few. If there were only one billion people in the world resources would still be taxed to give us life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Imagine that the five nearest people around you at this moment disappeared and try and think how much emptier the world would be. Human relationships would have much greater value, murder and death would have a much greater stigma and business would mean much more if only one out of every five were available to make and trade value. Given sufficient resources societies of human beings could flourish without using one another as fodder, but in the adolescent crush of industrialization we find ourselves in now there is little hope for an end to monopoly and control. --- Tim is a value theorist with a poet's heart who is currently agonizing over whether or not to go to teacher's college. Often seen watching humanity make fools of themselves, Tim has been known to talk back to authority, make too little money and feel like an outsider in his own skin. ------------------------------------------- 2. Lake Roommate By Rolo Life, for all its complexities, throws a lot of things our way. The best parts are the really juicy experiences that you never expect. School, work, family, friends all weigh heavily on our minds. To add to this, some of us have the additional experience of having to deal with a roommate. Compared to some of the stuff you face everyday, dealing with a roommate is a completely different and horrid affair, especially if you are quite new to it all. Take, for example, my case. I moved out more than a year and a half ago, and now I am at this beautiful dilemma. I came home last night at 10:00pm to find my roommate mopping the walls with a towel. I'm not sure about you, but normally this isn't the sort of thing a semi-sane person is used in seeing. Nor had my roommate suddenly turned into a clean-freak. But I took it all in stride, feeling it before I actually saw it. You know, it's that shattering sensation when you finally arrive to your assumed safe and happy home after a long hard day and you discover, much to your horror, that you won't be relaxing anytime soon. It's similar to knowing that you've walked into a minefield. You don't know how or why, but you definitely know it's not directly your fault. Something is amiss, but you just can't put your finger on it. Dick (I have changed his name to protect his identity) had left the shower running since the morning. Well, I thought to myself, shit happens. Then it hit me. He left the shower running for nearly twelve hours. Now, normally I'm a very forgiving and patient person but this is the last straw. Yes. The very last, last straw. This "very last straw" comes after the other last straw that resulted in the destruction of my prized wok and baking pans. The first last straw came after his fat long-haired cat projectile vomited chicken bones, and peed all over my carpet and stairs. I won't even bother mentioning the five pound bag of used cat litter that he somehow forgot to throw out, much less try to figure out how he managed to accumulate five-pounds worth. Used kitty litter has everything but a benevolent smell. Last straw number one stems from the life lesson that you should never (EVER!) give a pet as a gift or do certain things on a whim. As a note to all, just because a person is capable of getting a credit card, pay bills, drive a car, vote and legally drink does not ensure that they can take care of a pet properly (or worse) a child of their own. The reverse is also true: just because you already have the above-mentioned things doesn't mean that you are a mature and responsible person. Yes, I could understand and forgive issues like leaving the household heater on, which nearly set my futon on fire. Yet, this was but a prelude to the many things that would come later. Allow me to elaborate. Last straw number two was leaving the stove and then later leaving the oven on, "cooking" everything stored inside. Last straw number three was taking my lunch to work. If there is ever a mundane rule to know, it is one of those that everyone should come to know and understand: sandwich making is truly an art and no man or beast shall ever come between a person and their precious lunch. Last straw number four is complimentary to last straw number three. When you have a roommate that cannot cook for himself and therefore consumes large amounts of mayonnaise, bread, peanut butter and jam, you are left with no lunch to make (which in my book is sacrilegious). Nothing shall come between a Filipino and his love for food. Last straw number five was the roach I had found happily roaming my living room. As I happily invoked my roach-smiting vengeance upon it, I began to ponder that something was definitely wrong here. You'd think it would be common sense for most people not to leave food out. In this modern and wonderful world, one has to realize that there are exceptions to every rule. Now it has boiled down to the very, very last straw, my beautiful sage coloured hallway is now wet as a swamp and running paint dye. My bathroom is quite literally soggy. It's raining in my kitchen. My stairs look like a stream. I shake my head at the possibility that all the walls may have to be replaced; not to mention the cost in damages for the repairs. Thank god we do not pay a water bill. You may ask yourself, what is this dumbass author thinking? Why is he so murderously generous to his obviously incompetent roommate? Perhaps it is because, you could say, that I'm generous to an extreme fault. "Too generous" is too light of an expression to measure the magnitude of my mistake. Perhaps it is my human belief that eventually everyone will learn how to do things right. I believe in the good in every person and that through classical conditioning they will learn one way or the other. It would also help to explain that this fellow, Dick, just happens to be my friend. In addition, Dick is obviously a guy. So much for "positive reinforcement", its time to bring in the "negative". If there is ever more life lessons to be learned, it's that anything can happen, and understanding and kindness should be used sparingly like horseradish on a steak. Maturity and responsibility is all in the eye of the beholder. For all those out there who are living with a roommate, I commend you and your bravery. May you all be more fortunate in dealing with those Dicks out there. As for Dick, sorry, but eight strikes and you're out... ------------------------------------------- 3. CoN @ the Movies By Jeff Wright A little late, and not the least bit great. That's the way I often be. That that's the way that this piece be. So I went to see some movies at the Toronto International Film Festival again this year. Saw some movies. Leo asked me to write something about my five favourites. Here they are in the order I saw them. Enjoy, or don't enjoy. I could give a toss. Go see at least one of the movies when it's released though. BUBBA HO-TEP (dir. Don Coscarelli) Bruce Campbell stars as a geriatric Elvis, whose nursing home is under attack by a soul-sucking (via the ass) mummy. Along with his friend John F. Kennedy (played brilliantly by Ossie Davis), he investigates where the mummy came from, and tries to send it back there. This was the most fun of the midnight films this year. Lots of laughs, really good performances from Campbell and Davis, and a hilarious question and answer session with Campbell and Coscarelli in which Campbell without hesitation made fun of any geek who came armed with a stupid question. Sadly, I don't see the film getting a better distribution than a couple prints that tour around North America or even worse, video. It deserves better than that, but isn't really that financially viable a film. It'll be out at some point no matter how, and when it is, check it out. MY LITTLE EYE (dir. Marc Evans) A group of twenty-somethings try to stay in a remotely located house for six months in order to each win a prize of a million dollars each. Their lives are monitored by gazillions of cameras, and sent over the internet. If even one person leaves the house, then the game is forfeited. The first few minutes of the film set it up, and fast forward us through the majority of the contest, bringing us to the last week of the competition. Sounds boring, yes? Well it isn't. Ya seez, things start going wonky. It seems as though the people who are running the contest don't want the contestants to make it. They start feckin' with their heads, and all that good stuff. This here's a horror flic, and for me to spoil any of the spooks would be wrong of me. Once the scares start coming, they're not quick to slow. The flic gets down and nasty in its last reel, so if you like horror flics you'll love this. If you don't, then stay away. This is probably the most effective thriller/horror film since KAIRO (I know that was only last year, but.). It's out right now in the U.K. and I think is getting North American release round the end of this year, or beginning of next. DIRTY PRETTY THINGS (dir. Stephen Frears) I thought this was a French lolita porn starring little Amelie Poulin. It wasn't. Was I disappointed? A little. Did I pretend it was anyway as I watched it? A little. I kid, I kid. So funny, huh? Ugh. A couple of illegal immigrants, who work in a hotel get mixed up in black market organ sales. It's more of a character film, so it's pointless giving much more of a synopsis. It's a really good film though. Definitely check it out when it's released. The performances are all top notch, and Stephen Frears does an assured and solid job directing. I'm getting sleepy. I woke up three and a half hours ago, haven't eaten yet (it's 7:38 pm), have a sore stomach, and am getting sleepy. But fear not! I won't eat or sleep until I've finished writing this!!!!!! Dedicate yourselves to the Capital of Nasty!!! Herr Leandro demands it. A SNAKE OF JUNE (dir. Shinya Tsukamoto) Best film of the festival! Best film of the year (so far)! Rinko, a help phone operator, is blackmailed by one of her "clients" to go out in the world and be as sexual as she wants to be. Stifled by her older husband, her mini-skirt wearing is restricted to her bathroom with the door locked. Her masturbation, to when he's not home. The blackmailer has pictures, and threatens to give them to Rinko's husband if she doesn't do as he says. That's the setup. It goes deeper than that, but I don't really want to ruin past that point. Tsukamoto is one of Japan's best filmmakers, and also one of its strangest. I can't say enough about this film and its greatness, so I'll say very little (Yes, I'm really getting hungry). KEN PARK (dirs. Larry Clark & Edward Lachman) Sorta like KIDS, but a whole lot better, a more explicit, more episodic than plot driven, and dealing with youth sexuality. This film ain't getting a theatrical release in its current form. There's a lot of boundary pushing sex in it, which will keep it from even getting an NC-17 rating. It's sad too, because it's a really good film. The main cast (well the youngsters at least) are a bunch of unknowns, and all give really strong performances. Tiffany Limos, who plays Peaches (and who I can't believe is Larry Clark's girlfriend), gives the best performance of the bunch. She's going to explode once people in Hollywood see the film. A lot of the audience seemed to at least enjoy the film's sex scenes, but judging from the question and answer period, it seemed like most liked or hated it as cinematic wank (not 'wank' in the literal sense, mind you). Should I say more? Yes. Am I going to? No. There's a cool little write-up on KEN PARK in this month's Vice magazine. It's a hell of a lot more articulate than my hungry ass is capable of being right now (or at anytime, truthfully). Check it out at: http://viceland.com/issues/v9n8/htdocs/bosom.php I'm going to get something to eat now. I'm sorry, though I'm sure many are thankful I'm done. I know my stomach is. --- Jeff is listening to a Rolling Stones bootleg, but for the life of him, can't figure out why. ------------------------------------------- 4. Support Safe Mosh Pits Punch a Crowd Surfer By John Iadipaolo Just recently, I attended an outdoor music/extreme sports festival at the Exhibition Place here in Toronto (`SnowJam', if anyone cares). In addition to the BMX, skateboard and snowboarding demos, there were a variety of fairly popular bands, ranging from hip hop and punk to rock. After spending the summer in Whistler, BC, I really enjoyed watching the athletes perform, and the majority of the reasonably entertaining musical acts were made even more palatable by consuming unreasonably priced beer. My only mistake of the weekend came during the set of the headlining band "Filter", when I decided to go up front into the mosh pit. Before I go on, let's back track a little. There was time, a few years ago, when I really enjoyed going to rock concerts. It's important that I clarify and explain that when I use the term `rock concert' in this article, I'm not talking about those `sit-in-your- seat, applaud-when-appropriate' deals. I'm talking about a loud band in a small, standing-room-only venue filled with crazy, moshing teenagers. This is the kind of concert where, if you aren't looking to be physically assaulted, you either stand waaaay at the back, or wait outside. Anyways, my friends and I would get liquored up and make our way downtown, usually to some hole like The Warehouse (recently renamed the tragically uncool "Kool Haus"). Once inside, we would spend approximately 90 minutes bashing our bodies against those of our peers to the musical stylings of such acts as "Orgy" and "Slipknot". Afterwards we'd return home sweaty, dehydrated and considerably harder of hearing. Hey, when you're 16 or 17, it's great fun. However, my recent experience at `SnowJam' reminded me of exactly why I no longer bother. If you've ever seen a rock video, you've probably got some sort of idea about what a mosh pit looks like. As I mentioned above, it's basically a large number of people pressed into a small space, where everyone is trying to move to the exact same spot at once (namely, right in front of the band). It's hot and sweaty, and--needless to say--there's a lot of physical contact. I know I'm not making a very attractive case for moshing. Nonetheless, there is something to be said for experiencing a full-blown "rock out" with an innumerable bunch of your peers, where everyone participates in a sort of organized, self-contained riot. While moshing appears to be violent, there's an amazing sense of camaraderie in most pits where people really take care of each other by helping up those who fall and making room when someone wants to move out of the crowd. The feeling of camaraderie becomes severely diminished, at least in my mind, when people start crowd surfing. Crowd surfing basically involves getting boosted on top of the crowd and lying spread eagle, while the people underneath propel you from one place to another. Your `ride' usually ends when you either, a) get passed over the security gate in front of the stage, or b) fall to the ground. Personally, I hate crowd surfing. I'll admit that I tried it a few times when I was younger (and liked it), but it didn't take me long to realize how dangerous and inconsiderate it is to everyone else trying to enjoy the concert. Keeping your balance and ensuring both feet stay on the ground is difficult enough in a mosh pit without having to worry about contact from above. Surfers aren't `passed' across the pit in an organized fashion so much as thrown from one place to another, flailing limbs and all. If you happen to be the poor sucker they land on, well, better hope you can get your arms up in time to brace for the impact. Of course, most people possess a fairly low tolerance for having heavy objects fall on them. This forces many moshers to either constantly look over their shoulder for the next torso, foot or head that's about to be unceremoniously dropped on top of them, or (better still) turn their back on the band they paid to see in an attempt to avoid getting injured. And believe me, surfing does cause injuries. I've got the gory stories to prove it. Regardless, what kills me is the fact that surfers can't be oblivious to the fact that it hurts when someone lands on you (as I'm sure they've all gotten a few shoes in their faces as well), yet they selfishly and inconsiderately continue to submit the rest of the crowd to their antics. Back to SnowJam: About ten minutes and five surfer collisions into Filter's set, I remembered something I'd come to believe when I was younger. It isn't fair that surfers continually annoy and/or endanger the very people they entrust their safety to (namely, everyone else in the crowd). I keep them in the air, I get hit in the head with their feet, and they have all the fun. Something. Isn't. Right. Reflecting to myself as I rubbed the bruise forming on my head, I decided it was time to give a little bit back. For the remainder of the show, every surfer that passed over me received, whenever possible, a personalized `thank-you' for helping to ruin my concert-going experience. I didn't do anything overtly malicious, and I left the girls alone entirely, but every able- bodied young dumbass I saw got a punch (don't worry, it's hard to `punch' someone hard when you're in a mosh pit), pressure-point, or- -when it was my only option--a pinch. Hey, as long as it gets the message across. As I said above, I wasn't trying to hurt those surfers, just make them uncomfortable. Whatever discomfort I caused them couldn't have equalled the aches and pains they gave me, but that wasn't the point. From what I've seen and the majority of people I've talked to, I'm not the only person who's fed up with crowd surfing. The thing is, surfers can't surf if the crowd refuses to keep them up. Contrary to the title of the article, I'm not saying that people should necessarily start punching and pinching every surfer that comes their way. When someone motions for you to help them get on top of the crowd, don't do it. When you see a surfer coming your way, `help' them into a controlled fall to the ground instead of passing them along. Surfers make up a small percentage of the entire crowd; it's up to you to decide if you want them on the ground or in the air (and your face). I think that I, on the other hand, will be staying out of the pit entirely. ------------------------------------------- 5. Cabbage Patch Clerk By REVSCRJ This was the first position I officially held in the lettuce industry of the Salinas and Imperial Valleys, and industry that was and still is pretty foul. Before lettuce reaches your table it has to go through a whole lot of stages. The ones I was concerned with, working at a lettuce cooler as the receiving clerk, was getting it delivered in large flatbeds freshly cut off the field, documenting its arrival and delegating it out to be cooled to just above freezing in the huge vacuum tube coolers. Someone in the process gets paid for the weight of the lettuce so another aspect of my job was to weigh the trucks out on the scales we had deep in the back lot area of the cooler, this eternally dusty area was where I spent most of my time. My snot turned hard and dark brown. Most of the guys that would drive in the lettuce from the fields were Mexican and spoke little English so communication was sometimes a bit difficult. I remember one of the loaders making fun of a guy because he couldn't communicate. I thought to myself "Fuck man, all you can say in Spanish is 'puto', at least this guy is learning!" I only thought this without actually saying it because, well, one simply does not say those sort of things to guys who can not only bend nails with their thumb, but found it fun. Here, this might put it in perspective: it used to be that the boxes of lettuce would be hand-loaded into railcars or trailers before the T-1 forklifts and tilt-machines automated a lot of the process. Each of those boxes would weight from 50-65 pounds, so in order to pick them up all day long (and at a fast pace), stack them up to eight boxes high, required as close to an "ogre" as Human genetics would allow. If these guys were smart they would've been soldiers or pro- wrestlers but they instead hefted these boxes all day long from the cold room to the loading dock. Even with their ox-like physiques the nature of the work was so hard that it commanded a toll of constant soreness and exhaustion. Management didn't care, they were well paid, and there was always someone who'd take up your shift if you wanted to drop it. This resulted in a non-stop stream of speed, painkillers, and barbiturates that floated in a virtual ocean of beer for these guys. It kept them capable of going on. Never fuck with a drunken, speed spun ogre. And that was the loading crew, the bulk of the folk that worked there. Next you got the truck drivers. Loath as I am to make sweeping generalizations I do it all the time; the drivers came basically in two catagories: 1) Redneck sociopath that is just simply for the best that they have as little social contact as possible. And 2) people for whom being able to drive is their only marketable skill. Truck drivers are most often pissed off. They get paid per job so if you see a parked semi or a driver walking around you can know that every second that they remain that way is another second till their next job, and thus paycheque. It is due to this that truckers have such an affinity for amphetamines. So add amphetamine delusion to basic rage and the whole mess of them become this volatile inertial potential: they are either doing NOTHING (all jacked up and pissed off) or driving like a bat out of hell (all jacked up and pissed off). The magic between those two groups of folk was oh-so-lovely--drugs sold, whores bought, bones broken, guns or knives pulled on each other. Pure magic. I got this job because my father was a dispatcher here--nepotism really does run the world--and somehow I think I was subverting the Union by working there because I was supposed to keep my mouth shut as to the capacity in which I was hired. I was never really clear on this, but if ever I had a problem I couldn't just get on the CB and ask how to do something. I had to use one of my five nicknames (Spider, Slim, No-Bluff, Kilroy, or Half-Dome) in conjunction with some oblique code like: "'Tention David T: this is Spider scuttlin' in to say there a knot in the web, over." I hope I wasn't subverting the union, I mean I am pro-union but it was nepotism: I was working in my Dad's business. So if I was, its a shame, but one that I don't regret. I didn't work there long in any event. The pay was good and the routine was easy. I should have stayed there, in that back lot. Sure, the dust was slowly filling my lungs and the carbon monoxide was likely shaving percentage points off of my potential but it was easy and non-demanding. Instead I was promoted to dispatcher. --- 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: CoN contributes to ear wax buildup. To avoid similiar complications with your brain, always read CoN aloud. 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 mosh pit 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