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 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

             Radioactive Aardvark Dung E-Zine :: ISSN 1092-5449
                  Issue #18 % Released September 23, 1997
   Without Prejudice and Explicit Reservation of All My Rights, UCC 1-207

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 "Introduction"
 Written by Mercuri
 E-mail: mercuri@rad.edu

        Welcome to the eighteenth issue of the official electronic magazine
 of the Flat Earth Society: Radioactive Aardvark Dung.  I know we've been
 missed during our brief hiatus; I've even heard that some chauffer in Paris
 was so forlorn about our lack of work in the recent months that he got drunk
 and drove around Princess Dian...

        Ooh, a joke in bad taste!

        Really though, have you been watching CNN the past few days?  Isn't
 English Royalty the stupidest thing you have ever seen?  I saw videos of
 Queen Elizabeth with a crown on her head and she was carrying a sceptre.
 Doesn't she feel like an idiot?  She should.  She should feel like a pompous
 little eight year-old playing dress up, because that's exactly what the
 whole royal family reminds me of.

        You know what pisses me off more?  The people here, in America, who
 feel sympathetic toward this whole fiasco.  The only difference between
 Diana and a volunteer giving clothes out to homeless people is that the
 volunteer in Minessota who makes less than $20k per annum doesn't have
 cameras permanently sewn up her ass.

        Maybe I'm way off base, here -- but hey, fuck you, I'm Mercuri.

        Enjoy the issue.

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 "RAD News"
 As broadcasted by Mercuri
 E-mail: mercuri@rad.edu

        Silly Cat Comix, drawn by Puck, is now being published by Radioactive
 Aardvark Dung E-zine (HEY, THAT'S US!)!  Make Puck feel good about himself,
 read them and tell him how much you absolutely love them!  They're 
 available at:

                http://sillycat.rad.edu/

 [-----]

        Phew.  Yes.  We're late.  Please deal with it.  Next time you find
 yourself going through RAD withdrawl, step away from your keyboard and do
 something else.  Because if you're anything like the people at Dummercon, I
 don't even want you reading RAD... that is, unless, of course, I can change
 your life and make you more like the writers here at RAD.

        Here's what I mean.

        Stop reading RAD if:

             A) You're drastically underweight.
             B) You're drasicatlly overweight.
             C) You can't remember what a woman (or man!) looks like.
             D) You look like any of the DTO Inner Circle &/or its readers.
             E) It hurts to lift your keyboard.

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 Guess what's in this issue, dear lovable reader?

 I bet you can't guess!

 Oh wait, you did?  Well, by all means, read on & see if you were correct.

 We won't spoil the surprise by telling you now.

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================
 
 "Toilet Humor"
 Flushed by Mercuri
 E-mail: mercuri@rad.edu

        A couple weeks before school ended, I was sitting in German class
 when I felt the incredible urge to take a shit or, perhaps, I would soil my
 newly-acquired underwear in front of all my peers.  So I interrupted the
 teacher's lecture and asked him for a pass to go to the bathroom, after
 assuring him it was definitely an emergency.

        So I set off like the determined Mercuri that I am to find a bathroom
 that was empty so I could move my bowels in peace.  I checked two bathrooms:
 one was locked, and people were using all the stalls in the other one (I had
 no idea that moving one's bowels during school hours was so popular).

        I found an empty bathroom in the math hallway; how silly I was to not
 think of that before -- no one leaves math class: it's too much fun.  So,
 being quite content with my "campsite," I did all necessary things to begin
 a bowel movement.

        Mere seconds into my movement, the principal walked into the very
 same bathroom and glanced in my direction.  He started to unzip and use the
 urinal.  Keep in mind that there were no doors on the stalls.

 Principal: Kinda peaceful in here, isn't it?
   Mercuri: Yeah ... heh.
            (GET OUT OF HERE)
 Principal: I was walkin' down the hall & I thought I was gonna wet myself...
   Mercuri: (Politely) Heh.
            (CANT YOU SEE WHAT I'M TRY TO DO?)
 Principal: I figured that wouldn't be a good image I want to project to the
            students or faculty.
   Mercuri: (Somewhat sarcastically) No, sir!
            (HAVE YOU NO SENSE OF DECENCY?!)
 Principal: So what are you doing this summer?
   Mercuri: Oh, I don't know.  I might try to get a job.
            (OH GOD, MAKE IT STOP)
 Principal: I still remember the job I had in college ... I helped build
            houses, the pay was real good.  Sometimes I think the experience
            was worth much more than the pay, though, you know?
   Mercuri: Yeah...
            (I DONT CARE)

        Okay, at this point I just wanted him to finish his business or
 shutup.  I cannot move my bowels whilst someone is talking to me, nor can I
 imagine letting someone hear the sploosh of my feces as I speak to him.

 Principal: Well, it was nice talking to you.
   Mercuri: UH YEAH, DITTO.
     
 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 "In Retrospect: Dummercon"
 Reviewed by Mercuri
 E-mail: mercuri@rad.edu

        I was supposed to write an extensive review of Dummercon.  Oh well.
 Here's what I thought of all you cool zine people who attended:

 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA 
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

        YOU ARE ALL LOSERS!

 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA 
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

        YOU WILL NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING!

 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA 
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

        PLUS, YOU'RE ALL UGLY!!

 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA 
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

        UGLY UGLY UGLY UGLY!!

 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA 
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

        WEAK!  WEAK!  YOU'RE ALL EITHER CRACK WAIFS OR FATASSES!

 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA 
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

        IF YOU HAD FUN AT DUMMERCON, YOU HAVE NO SOCIAL LIFE!

 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA 
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 "More Dummercon Reviews"
 by TMM
 Email: tmm@rad.edu

        I didn't go to Dummercon for the second year in a row.  I, unlike our
 naive friend Mercuri, didn't think it would be cool.

        I was really surprised when I was told by an actual "normal" person,
 Mercuri, that it sucked really badly.

        Zine people are losers; it doesn't take seeing them in person for me
 to come to that conclusion.

        Thank you very much.

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 "The Final Word To Sum Up The Last 3 Articles"
 by TMM
 Email: tmm@rad.edu

        When I said "Zine people are losers," I wasn't including the staff of
 RAD.  To put it bluntly, we are in no way, shape or form losers.

        Shut up, I know you don't believe me.  I mean, it would be RIDICULOUS
 for me to ADMIT that I, as well as the rest of the RAD staff, am a loser.
 Of course, it's easy to just SAY I'm not a loser, but _everyone_ says that,
 right?

        Well, I have proof, crapface.

        Go to the RAD Homepage (http://www.rad.edu) & go to the Member Photos
 area to see all of our pictures (excluding Phorce & Intrepid who, for all I
 know, could very well be losers.  They don't ACT like it, though) for your
 very own eyes.

        "Well, I still think you're a loser, TMM."

        Note my prom date in my picture.  Have you ever gone out with someone
 equally as attractive as her?

        I think we both know the answer to that.

        Besides, my friends were mad because I wasn't going with the normal
 type of girl that I date, which are supermodels.

        Hey, I just didn't want to put up with all their crap.  Always
 wanting sex & stuff.  It just gets to be a little too much sometimes.  I
 guess that's just the sacrifice you make for being a RAD writer.

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================
 
 "Igneous Rocks Are Cool"
 by Styx
 Email: dropdead@mindspring.com
 
      Earlier today, while I was going through my sister's room looking for
 anything remotely interesting (she's out at the Ozzfest), I stumbled upon my
 mother doing the same thing.  Soon, we found a test my sister had discarded.
 It was from her General Science course in high school.  She's a freshman.
 According to my mother, she has completely given up on the class because
 science just isn't her forte.  Anyway, there were six essay questions she
 had to answer.  Not only does my sister kick ass, but she's funny!  Behold!

 [-----]

      1.  Describe the 2 types of magma.  Include what each is made of and
          the volcanic cones they would form.

            Well, see when you scientifeicly research the magma cones, you
            realize what they are.  they are formed from ice cream.
            ice-cream cones, that is.  i eat them.

      2.  How does cooling time effect crystal size?  Give an example of one
          rock type that cooled quickly and one that cooled slowly.

            When they cool slowly, the elements have more time to move
            around.  so it changes the shape of the crystal.

      3.  How do we know the Earth's core is very dense?

            Well when the earths core is made of peanuts, it makes happy men
            sad, so it makes it dense.

      4.  How do we know the Earth's core is solid?

            if the Earths core was mushy like melted marshmellows, it would
            fall apart and we would all float away.

      5.  How does the formation of igneous rock differ from the formation of
          metamorphic rock?

            igneous rocks are cool.  they listen to cool music & wear cool
            clothes but the metamorphic rocks are all dorks.  They wear thick
            glasses & they eat cheese on ice cream & wear there pants above
            their ankles, and have pocket detectors, So no one steals their
            $50 dollar pens.

      6.  How does the formation of clastic sedimentary rock differ from the
          formation of chemical sedimentary rock?

            clastic sedimentary rock compares to the growth of old tomato
            mold, it turns green with age.  the chemical sedimentary rock,
            however, compares more to old apples and banannas, they get kind
            of mushy, like how the earth's core isn't.

            i am very sure i got an A+.

 [-----]

      All spelling and grammar mistakes were hers, but who cares?!

      Thanks to the grade curve, she got a 22 out of 98.  The teacher then
 added one point for creativity.  She got a 23!

      You can find pictures of my sister at:
              http://www.dto.net/~styx/pix.html

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 So whatever happened to Hypercolor t-shirts?

 Do they still make them?

 If so, where can I buy them?

 Do they have any new colors?

 All of these are questions that need to be answered.  Email me, tmm@rad.edu
 if you have any ideas.

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 "The Mountain Men"
 Spelunked by Mercuri
 E-mail: mercuri@rad.edu

        I spent the last week in one of our countries least populated states:
 Montana.  Being the country boy I am, I enjoyed the solitude and roughness
 of the countryside.  What makes Montana cool?

        When we exited our plane I could not believe the size of the airport;
 it was literally a cabin.  It had two baggage claims and four gates.  I'm
 used to Chicago's O'hare -- the biggest, busiest airport in the world.
 There were heads of wild game on the walls, and I'm guessing about 50
 employees total. There's not enough traffic there to even have two seperate
 bathrooms: it's just a unisex bathroom.

        Montana doesn't have speed limits.  So I was thinking it's gonna kick
 ass to max out the rental car: it's not mine, & it's insured.  The friendly
 Avis employee looked at me, smiled, and handed me the keys.  I look down in
 my hand.

        I read it & mouthed "Geo Prism."  Fuck.

        Now, if you don't know much about cars. Let me explain something, Geo
 Prisms are not "fast." They speedometer only goes up to 110, and it's a 2
 cylinder engine.  On the way to my encampment, people were passing me with
 dirty looks and I just wanted to yell out the window, "I'D DRIVE FASTER IF I
 COULD, BUT THIS IS A PRISM!  A PRISM!!  DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?!  A PRISM!
 I'M SORRY!"  Going up the steep mountain roads I would literally push the
 pedal to the metal and nothing would change except the sound of the engine.
 No acceleration whatsoever.  I travelled 7 miles going 38mph up a mountain
 road.

        Oh, they don't give tickets out in Montana for parking in a
 restricted zone -- they just smash the passenger side winshield.  Yes, it
 happened.  So I called Avis and they said they would take care of it.  I
 asked for a car with a little more power.  Once again, I looked at the keys
 to the new car and faced disappointment.  "Toyota Corolla."  Fuck.

        Avis: "It's all we have on the lot."

        It did have more power, though: I got up to a mean 48mph on the 7
 mile stretch of mountain road in this car.

        I had fun, however.  Montana just feels like "the real America."
 Rugged individuals out there.

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 Recall that I, TMM, have seen "Deliverance" over seventy times.

 Mercuri is a much different person since he got back from Montana.

 What happened?  Only he & the John Birch Society will know for sure.

 [-----]

 * Mercuri's Note: GUNS GUNS GUNS!!!

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 "The Most Dangerous Place to Live in the Entire World"
 As identified by TMM
 Email: tmm@rad.edu

 [The following conversation took place between me & this "Guy"]

  TMM: So where do you live?
  Guy: South Dakota.
  TMM: Sounds boring.
  Guy: Actually, it's kind of cool.
  TMM: HOW?!  Is it something like "A River Runs Through It" where everyone
       fly fishes & becomes an alcoholic?
  Guy: Well, yeah, a majority of people, but the Dakotas can be exciting
       too.
  TMM: I guess you didn't listen: HOW?!
  Guy: Well, it's kind of a long story.
  TMM: Tell it then!
  Guy: Well, if you drive around the Dakotas you'll notice huge chain-linked
       fences with barbwire around the top with huge signs everywhere that
       say: "PROPERTY OF THE UNITED STATES MILITARY.  DO NOT TRESPASS" &
       these are--
 Hippy: Whoa, do they grow weed out there, maaann??

 <TMM & Guy beat up hippy>

  TMM: So you were saying.
  Guy: Yeah, well, it turns out that the Dakotas are basically huge grids of
       chain linked fences.
  TMM: I don't understand.
  Guy: Well, all of the US's ICBM (Intercontinental Ballistic Missile) Nukes
       are set up in huge grids all over the Dakotas.
  TMM: Whoa, that might explain some things.  You guys get lots of radiation
       exposure I bet!  That's pretty cool!
  Guy: But that isn't even the best part.
  TMM: WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE COOLER THAN RADIATION EXPOSURE?
  Guy: If you were a country that wanted to go to war with the US, what
       would be the first thing you'd take out first?
  TMM: Well, the nuclear weapons.  OH, WAIT!  HOLY SHIT!
  Guy: Exactly.
  TMM: I can't talk to you anymore, I'm too disturbed that you find that
       INTERESTING & not a REALLY GOOD reason to just move away.

  [-----]

        The "Guy" died two weeks later of cancer.  The autopsy revealed that
 outrageous amounts of radiation exposure caused him to become one big tumor
 chock-full of cancer.

        Fish heads, fish heads, eat 'em up yum!

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 "Spiders and Other Crazy Crap"
 as told by an arachnaphobic Skrubly
 Email: skrubly@rad.edu

        The setting: Davis, California.  (Motto: "It's flat AND hot.")  I was
 visiting friends a few weekends ago that attend the hallowed halls of UC
 Davis (actually, "attend" is to strong a word; "live on campus and
 occasionally show up for class" would be a better way to put it) and was
 happily engaging in the various acts of smoking cheap cigars and attempting
 to flirt with people who were really stoned.

        Consequently, I got very sweaty (I tend to do that for some reason.
 I think the sun might have something to do with it.) and therefore had an
 intense desire to take a shower.  Unfortunatly, I had brought no supplies
 with which to do this (i.e.: towel, shampoo, inflatable rubber duck, etc.).
 I was forced to do the only honorable thing.  I stole my friend's towel and
 all of his showering supplies, except for the condoms.

        The showers in the dorm that I were staying at were actually fairly
 nice, all things considered.  Not a huge percentage of sharp objects that
 can cut you on the inside of the stall, nobody playing "drop the soap", etc.

        After entering the stall and placing all of the appropriate shower-
 like things within reach, I turned on the shower itself.  After a few
 minutes of attempting to turn the knob to produce water, I discovered this
 was the pull-out kind.  Not unlike attempting to use a phone while drunk and
 eventually figuring out it's a rotary instead of a touch-tone.

        Once safely inside the semi-darkened abode of the shower stall, I
 attended to all of the vital issues of cleansliness, and then slowly relaxed
 against the back wall. It was at that point that my day became unnecessarily 
 exciting.

        Perched upon the ceiling a mere two feet from the top of my head was
 a fairly large black spider.  It hung with its large bulbous body downwards,
 and why the fuck it had decided to build a web in a shower stall was beyond
 me.  Then a startling realization struck: it had been surviving off of
 inattentive and most likely inebriated college students!
 
        I don't know what kind of spiders everyone else in this world has,
 but where I live in California there are basically two kinds:

                1) Daddy Longlegs, and
                2) Black Widows.

        And like any other hip and with-it California guy, I am scared of
 only two things in this world:

                1) Multinational corporations, and
                2) Things that will kill my ass.

        The spider hanging from the ceiling certainly fell into the latter
 catagory of fear.  It was at this point that I voiced aloud my concern for
 sharing showering quarters with such a spider.  ("Agughghhh!!")  Little did
 I realize at the time that another unwary student had entered the bathroom.

        So I did the only thing I knew how to do.  I gathered water in my
 mouth from the shower head and attempted to squirt it at the spider with
 enough velocity to kill it.  Now, before we go any further, let's go over a
 couple of crucial points.

        First of all, I am actually able to squirt water through my two front
 teeth fairly well courtesy of a neato game of hide-and-seek that involved a
 light pole as "base" when I was five years old.  ([bongggggggg!]  "ack.")

        Second, what purpose would squirting water at the spider serve? I
 doubt I would have sufficent velocity to even annoy the spider let alone
 kill it.  The only other option would for it to drop down onto my naked,
 frantic form and kill me.

        Nonetheless, because my fear-addled mind was working in overdrive, I 
 proceeded to begin making semi-obscene squirting noises while attempting
 to hit the spider with the water.  Bear in mind that the other student was
 still in the bathroom and probably wondering what the hell was going on in
 that shower stall.

        Because I couldn't quite seem to get the water all the way up to the
 spider, I began to hop up and down inside the shower stall.  Now although
 the floors are pretty well made, they tend to make a wet sort of smacking
 sound.
 
        It was at this point that the other student made his presence known
 to me while I was making wet-sounding squirting, smacking, and occasionally
 grunting noises.  He said "Is everything okay in there?"

        I immediatly stopped all of my activities and shifted my attention to
 the dark form on the other side of the shower curtain.

        "Just fine, thanks."

        Pause.

        "Ok ... just checking."  I have to wonder what the look on his face
 was like.

        Once I heard the outside door open and slam (either he had left, or a
 whole troop of people had come in to hear the squirting-smacking-unfing-guy-
 in-the-shower-stall show.)  I quickly attempted to turn the water off, and
 since this was the pull-out kind, the only thing that happened was that the
 water got to be the temperature of molten slag and almost burned my nipples
 off.  Holy geez.

        After finally manage to turn the water off, I looked up at the spider
 again, and having regained my composure noticed that it hadn't moved a damn
 bit.

        I gathered my clothes up quickly and left the bathroom with a towel
 around my waist and started to trudge down the hall.  I felt pretty damn
 silly, as you can imagine, getting all worked up over a little spider like
 that.  It probably wasn't even a black widow.  I mean, it didn't even look
 ALIVE for that matter, let alone wanting to eat me.

        Then I noticed something scrawled on the chalkboard at the end of
 the hall.

        "CLEAN UP ALL HALLOWEEN DECORATIONS IN THE HALL AND BATHROOMS!!  THIS
 MEANS YOU!!"

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 "A Fourth of July DISGRACE"
 as belched by TMM

        On July 4, a holiday that exists for the sole reason of celebrating
 the independence, patriotism, & general righteousness of the United States
 of America, there was a hot dog eating contest in New York.

        These contestants vied to set the new world record for most hot dogs
 eaten in three minutes, & the old record of 17 was indeed shattered.

        The leading US contender, a 330 pound construction worker from
 Queens, New York finished with 20 hot dogs in his stomach, shattering the
 world record.

        Unfortunately, he didn't win, he lost to a 130 pound Japanese man
 from Tokyo, who ate 24 hot dogs.

        If this isn't a complete DISGRACE & PERVERSION of the historical
 tradition of the Fourth of July, I don't know what is.

 [-----]

        UPDATE: The Japanese winner was beaten savagely by a still unknown
 330 pound man immediately after the competition.

        He is recovering in Bethesda Hospital in New York & will be deported
 as soon as he is concious.

	His room number is coincidentally 24.

	Ouch!

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 "Strange occurances in the world of sporting goods"
 Submitted by Tungsten
 E-mail: unknown

	Well, for all of you out there who are considering a career, or even
 a summer job in sporting goods, I have made this brochure.  It has been made
 to prepare you for the world of old people, yuppies, and confused parents.
 The pay is average, the job isn't very taxing, and it is money, after all,
 and just a job.  However, upon having worked in such an environment for
 about a month, I feel it to be my DUTY to let others know of the strange
 people they will be facing.  The following stories are all true, but the
 names have been changed... well, no, let's just embarass the hell out of
 these poor souls anyway.

        Mr. Walton has come to the store looking for hunting equipment.  He
 is extremely old; his hands noticably shake when he picks up a pair of
 boots.  He begins talking to me about his large arsenal of guns that he has
 at home and all of his various trophies of the hunt.  Well, he asks to see
 an expensive pair of binoculars and I ask them if they will be for hunting;
 to this, he replies, "No they're for looking at my neighbor: she's got a
 great set of knockers."  It is at this point that I notice the smell of
 whiskey on his breath.

        He then looks through the binoculars to see how well they work and I
 see him focusing on a woman bending over while trying on shoes on the
 opposite end of the store while chuckling to himself.  His wife then walks
 up to him -- she's apparently finished finding the best deal on socks and
 has saved herself a shiny nickel after half an hour of comparing.  She
 begins yelling at her husband in a high-pitched voice and looks at me with
 an accusing stare as if it is my fault that I gave him the binoculars.
 Somehow I should have known that he has some kind of history of this kind of
 thing.

        Our next story may get a little graphic, so brace yourself.  Another
 fine day underneath the glow of the singing lights.  As I am staring off
 into space wondering where it all went wrong, a young Asian boy approaches
 me.

        He looks around and asks me, "Do you have cock?"

        I stare at him with a look of confusion; he sees this and quickly
 asks again.  "Cock with feather, I want to see cock and feather."  My
 co-workers are now suggesting that I show him my personal collection of
 "cock."  The boy becomes frustrated with the laughter of the fools that I
 work with, and runs off to get his dad.  His dad comes over, and apparently
 he is equally adept at English as his son.

        He says to me, "You guys have cock here, show me where."  Now, all
 this while, I know he's talking about shuttlecock, but I am just so bored
 that I want to see what he will say next.  I show him the shuttlecocks and
 they leave probably thinking how stupid we Americans are.

        Then of course there are the countless instances where a yuppie comes
 into the store rambling on and on about how he is going to use his new two
 hundred dollar running shoes to stay fit when we both know that all he is
 going to do with them is sit around his house all day in them and try to
 look cool for his dog.

        And the overweight people who try to somehow fool themselves into
 thinking that they will somehow be able to lose all of their weight by
 buying a pair of 10 pound weights.

        Oh, and I mustn't forget the kids who come into the store and ask to
 try on four hundred dollar pairs of rollerblades and tell their parents that
 they only cost one hundred dollars, whom are suddenly shocked when they go
 to the register.

        And you certainly must watch out for your fellow co-workers, who are
 in their mid-thirties and try to tell you how they could have been a big-
 time athlete, but mysteriously ended up working in a sporting goods store;
 gives them some kind of edge, I imagine.

        I won't mention the countless times that a fine girl has walked in
 and I've stared blankly at her face while drooling and mumbling.

        And you can only begin to imagine the entertainment that a busload of
 Japanese tourists gives you when they proceed to walk in and trash the
 entire store five minutes before closing.  Also, be wary when you are
 telling weight-lifting guys that the pair of shoes that they are looking at
 is a ladies shoe and they give you a coy smile and ask for it in a lady's
 size.

	I hope this has been informative and will help to prepare you for the
 world of sporting goods sales.  May you never be asked to model athletic
 supporters by an elderly woman seeking sporting goods for her teenage
 grandson.

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

        It has come to our knowledge that certain people in the e-zine
 "scene" view RAD as childish, juvenile & uncreative.

        The High Society's only response to that assertion is that they must
 be jealous of our outrageously large penis sizes.

        Who's juvenile & childish now????????

        You are, you small-penised heathens!!!!

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 "Ouch"
 Discovered by Ap0c (from www.bizzarre.com)
 E-mail: ap0c@rad.edu

        In Crown Point, Indiana, police have reopened the case of a man who
 died from 32 hammer blows to his head.  The cause of death had been ruled a
 suicide, in spite of the county coroner's opinion that a man simply could
 not remain conscious long enough to hit himself in the head 32 times...  25,
 26... wait, how many was that?

 [-----]

 * Merc's note: Both me, Ap0c, & Handle live in Crown Point, Indiana.
 * TMM's note : The slang term for Crown Point, Indiana is Cow Point,
                Indiana.
 * Merc's note: It can also be called Corn Pit, or Corn Point. It's inter-
                changeable.

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 "fear the sheep"
 as scrawled by ninja
 e-mail: ninja@rad.edu

         i'm sick of this. everywhere, .. everywhere i look. there they
 are. talking, running, laughing, crying, frolicking around. everywhere.

         those damn humans. they think they're so bad. they "run" this 
 planet. they build shit, they tear it down. all in all, i hate them.
 i'm sick of seeing them. everywhere.

         so forth i call, to my brothers. let us not hide anymore! let
 us show our true faces! these humans no longer deserve to be without
 us! they have shown no reason for us not to come forth!

         i'm talking to you, my fellow weresheep! step forth now! talk
 freely among the human race! "bahhh bahhh!" i call! we shall conquer
 this planet! the mountains, the plains, all of it! it can be ours if we
 strike now!

         grass! ohh, the abundance of grass that will be ours! eat! eat
 freely! and we shall free our captive brothers, the goats! go, now! cut
 the fences! let them roam free! this planet shall be ours & ours alone!

         this is the time! now i ask for you to show your true colors!
 red, purple, yellow - whatever color your sheeply side may be, let it
 be free! 

         i shall become a sheep at this very instant, and when i have 
 finished my transformation, i will proudly continue to type out our 
 plan!

         here i go! transformation, commence!!

 irts sreally jkindfa ghard 2 typoer  as aaa SHEheep aswww cfuck
 my daamnb feett 
 arrre 2 bbig

 kkeepo in mindsa ghthat oncewww uu turnm intog a shEEEpkjcv,. u loozae
 urrtypiNGfff ABIlitiezjs

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 "Eskimos"
 As canucked by Intrepid
 E-mail: intrepid@rad.edu

        It never fails; every year, from the time I started school to my
 current grade, my history teachers make the same point.

        "Twice the Americans have attacked us, and twice we've repelled
 them!"

        I suppose this is supposed to instill a patriotic fervor in me, but
 unfortunately, it fails.  Miserably.  We'll forget the fact that both
 attacks took place a long time ago, and the fact that we imported eskimo
 ninja assassins to help with the defense.

        Anyways, my curiosity was piqued.  What makes us canucks so vastly
 superior?  Well, there are many parts to this answer, and I'll explain them
 all.  Eh.

        First off, we all know mobility is one of the key assets of winning
 any military conflict.  By doing away with all unneccesary equipment (tanks,
 jets, guns, ammunition, and uniforms, for example), we travel quick and
 light.  Deadly.

        Eskimos.  Yes, Eskimos.  To many americans, this is a word, little-
 used, but often-feared.  And with good reason.  Brutal killers, raised in a
 harsh environment, and fed seal blubber since birth, these deadly fighters
 obey no code but their own.

        We all know it, experience counts.  When our "boys" head into their
 first battle, they come packaged with plenty of it.  Taking the cream of the
 crop, we scour the prison systems, gutters, and all sorts of unsavory places
 for the best of the best.  Even our peacekeepers are deadly!  If a group of
 four Canadians can kill a malnourished, unarmed, adolescent somalian with
 THEIR BARE HANDS, imagine what they'd do to a trained soldier!  Bam!

        Eh.  A little known fact, but "eh" is a word in an amazing twenty-
 seven languages.  We can ask for 'toast' in France, and we can tell those
 haughty cambodians exactly what there mother did in that closet.

        And last, we get respect.  Canadians are so incredibly nice.  C'mon,
 burn our flag!  Burn it!  We don't care!  Yah!  It is physically impossible
 for a Canadian to insult anyone.  Put our flag upside-down at the Olympics,
 we don't care!

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 "An Exerpt From 'Menace II Society'"
 as exerpted by TMM
 Email: tmm@rad.edu

 *TMM's note: This is as correct as I remember it, if I'm just a little bit
              off, shut up.

 [-----]

 Crackhead: Yo, O-Dog man!
     O-Dog: Yeah, man, whassup?
 Crackhead: You got any more rock, man?
     O-Dog: No man, you got any cash flow?
 Crackhead: Naw man, I got this cheeseburger!
     O-Dog: Fuck that shit, niggah.
 Crackhead: Please man, you gotta help a niggah out.
     O-Dog: I don't gotta do shit, man.  Get outta my face!@$#%
 Crackhead: Please man, I'll suck yo' dick!
     O-Dog: You'll what?!
 Crackhead: I'll suck yo' dick man, just gimme some rock!
     O-Dog: Suck on this!

 <O-Dog shoots Crackhead>
 <Crackhead's lifeless carcass falls to the ground>

     O-Dog: Anybody want a cheeseburger?

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 Woo!!  A new writer!

 Check out what our dear friend Iggy wrote for us.

 Iggy is one of the more learned writers for RAD.  He is now TMM's roommate
 (not the one whom TMM wrote about previously) & also a debater at the same
 school that TMM goes to.

 TMM & Iggy debated together for a large part of last year & were quite
 successful.

 Watch out, ladies!
                  
 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 "After a Pleasant Summering in Martha's Vinyard I..."
 as told by Iggy
 Email: iggy@rad.edu

        ...decided to get a summer job.
    
        Which was, of course, the worst decision of my life.
    
        I thought I would see if I could get a job working for this news-
 paper that I wrote for last summer, but the manager of a fast food restraunt
 that I got my very first job at (sniff!  sorry, I hate that nostalgia thing)
 asked me if I wanted to work for her and I decided I'd take the job and not
 go through the hassle of actually applying for a job.
    
        Big mistake.
    
        Listen to me, oh ignorant soul, never, under any circumstance work
 for a fast food restraunt.
    
        I thought that I would like having a brainless job where I had no
 responsibilites, but I learned that you should never, under any
 circumstance, work for a fast food restraunt.

        Never ever never never ever never.

        I go to school with TMM and therefore have to at least have half a
 brain.  When the manager found out that I wasn't the ordinary, run-of-the-
 mill high school brat she usually hires, she made me assistant manager, for
 $4.75 an hour. I am the only person in the city of Troy who manages a fast
 food restaraunt and gets $4.75 an hour.
    
        That sucks! 
    
        That REALLY sucks!
    
        So while I'm on the subject, did I mention that you should never work
 at a fast food restaraunt?
    
        So now I am this managerial type person, but I still get paid minimum
 wage.  Do you think my lacky co-workers who I order around respect me?  No.
 They make just as much money as me.  That really sucks.
    
        I just got home from work where I had to mop the floors because some
 dickhead who has the IQ of a pile of shit "forgot" to do them.  By the way,
 this shithead is about 40, she has just broken up with her live-in boyfriend
 of 9 years and is in the process of moving into a new house which she can't
 afford so she is trying to get a loan while working for minimum wage and
 trying to get into the pants of her ex-boyfriend, whom she has no plans of
 seriously dating anymore.  By the way, she has a bad back and "can't mop
 floors," even though she does them every night when I'm not working.  People
 who suck suck.

        Whew!  All that in three sentences.

        Oh yeah, before I forget: never get a job at a fast food restraunt.
    
        So after I mopped the floors I balanced the store's books, wrote a
 note to tell the manager that the guy who got fired today for cursing out
 one of the other assistant managers gave his shirts to the new girl who
 works up front and dates a guy whose nickname is (and I'm not making this
 up) "Crack Baby," shut everything down, realized that I had to go into the
 computer (a 186 -- I think -- that has less ram than my calculator) and
 change somebody's hours because they forgot to clock in, turned everthing
 back on, went to print out the changes, realized that the printer was out of
 ink, changed the ink cartridge, realized that they had ordered the wrong
 toner cartridge, cursed a lot, and then came home.
    
        But I get free drinks. 
    
        Whupty shit.
    
        Did I mention that you should never work at a fast food restraunt?
    
 [-----]
    
        Well, it is the day after I wrote the first rant about my fast food
 experiences and things are a little better.
    
        I got a raise!
    
        Now I am an assistant manager and make $4.90 an hour.
    
        I almost wet myself.  
    
        Never work for a fast food restraunt.

 [-----]

        You remember that 40 year old dickhead who had the IQ of a pile of
 shit and wouldn't mop the floors?   Well, she got fired today because she
 didn't show up for work.  Turns out she went to Atlanta to party.  Wish I
 could have gone, but I had to work.  Working?  The irony is bewildering!

        That's the good news.  

        The bad news is that the manager who usually has to deal with her has
 to fill in for her in the kitchen.  Guess what that means: now I have to
 come in on my days off and work for the manager who is filling in for the
 dickhead who wouldn't do floors and got fired because she didn't show up
 for work.

        The moral of this little story you ask?

        Working for a fast food restaraunt sucks.  My advice?

        Never, under any circumstance, work for a fast food restaraunt.

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 I think we should get "Crack Baby" to write for RAD.

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

        Is it me or is there a disturbingly prevalent crack motif going
 through this issue?

        I don't know what the rest of these crazy cats are doing with their
 summers but it sounds SICK to me.

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 "TechTales"
 as told by TMM
 Email: tmm@rad.edu

        So I'm doing this simple little job that I'm getting paid $20 an hour
 to do, which is to walk into this office building place, unpack the two new
 workstations that have just arrived via FedEx & switch them with two
 existing workstations.

        Simple enough?

        So I walk into one of the weirdest places I've ever been in.  It's
 called "Country Companies Insurance" & the people are fucking ridiculous.

        & I wasn't on LSD at the time, so I'm pretty sure I know what I'm
 talking about.

        Anyways, the following people are in the office:

        Secretary #1: A chain-smoking ugly old hag.  Probably around 50 years
        old who laughs a lot & coughs every time she laughs.  She's new &
        doesn't have any idea what she is doing or supposed to be doing.

        Secretary #2: A young, semi-attractive female.  She's been working
        there a while & is apparantly Secretary #1's daughter.  Weird.

        Owner: A fat old guy whose workstation I'm switching.  He's fat &
        makes bad jokes.  He tried to talk to me but I just scowled at his
        bad joke & didn't reply.  He grabbed some pretzels off his desk &
        left.

        Other Insurance Claims Guy: At least 600 pounds of smelly, bad joke-
        telling, bad pickup lines on Secretary #2, pathetic waste.  He's
        Owner's son & he sucks.  He left to get Chinese food while I was
        there, but alas came back too soon for me to escape.

        So I walk in, unpack the workstations that arrived & walk into
 Owner's office to change the workstation.  I ask what the problem is; he
 replies, "The damn thing doesn't work!  I don't know what's wrong with it!"
 I turn it on & it works, except for a small little sound of sparking/
 shorting inside the computer itself.  I look down & see coffee spilled all
 over it.

        "Hmm, I wonder what the problem is..." I say, insinuating that he's
 a fat, inept fool.  "I dunno!!"  He replies & dies laughing.

        So I change the workstations & start working on installing them on
 the network.  My boss calls & he helps me with some stupid problem I was
 having (the coffee spilled on the token-ring adapter too) & then I tell him
 about the coffee.

        He asks to immediately speak to the Owner, but the Owner is gone &
 his son is back & is cramming his face with Chinese food.

        They proceed to get in a verbal fight, complete with yelling.

        I get called inept & I leave.

        The good part?  I was there for two hours.  Forty bucks in my pocket.

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 "The Second Coming!"
 Retold by Mercuri
 E-mail: mercuri@rad.edu

        So I was at a three way stop in the official RAD Hate Buggy (a 93
 Jeep Wrangler Sport [just as a side note, the RAD Hate Buggy USED to be a
 Hummer until I let TMM take his girlfriend for a ride in it -- he let her
 drive and she ROLLED it.  SEVEN-FUCKING-TEEN TIMES!  Yeesh.  Women drivers.
 *shakes head*  Actually, it's not her fault.  TMM is, ah, rough on his
 women.  Yeah, that's a good way to put it.])

        So anyway, I was at this stop, and across from me I wave a guy
 through because it was too-close-to call.  So he waves back, and as he's
 rolling away from me on my right I notice his plates; they said "JESUS".

        Folks, I'm not a very smart man, but wasn't he the Son of God? The
 guy who, according to most prophecies, will be coming to judge the living
 and the dead in the very near future?

        Yes!  The Son of God doth driveth a trucketh!

        Repent, compact car owners!  Repent!

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

        Doesn't everyone watch PBS?  Well, since everyone does, you know what
 the hell Riverdance is.  Don't deny it, loser, go find that tape that's
 hidden in your closet.  You know you watch it, so put it in.  Look really
 close; push your ugly face right up to the screen.  Now don't stare at the
 chicks -- look at those guys.  Do they remind you of certain e-zine writers?

        No?  Well then, you are mistaken.  Our hard-working writers here at
 RAD have another passion.  Now, if you ask these guys if they know of this
 Riverdance, they'll call you "forkin' losers," because, yes, they are
 ashamed.  Isn't that sad?  These guys are ashamed to be onstage cloggging in
 front of a bunch of old women that watch their bods.  Wouldn't you pay hard
 money to watch these writers entertain you?  Well, guess what.  You don't
 have to, all you have to do is send e-mail after e-mail to your favorite RAD
 writer.  Beg and plead with him to give you free tickets.  He will, really,
 so do it.

        Have a nice time at the show.

 ============================================================================
 ============================================================================

 "Editor's Corner"
 Edited by Phorce
 E-mail: phorce-gets-all-the-wacko-email@rad.edu

        Now that school's back in session, everyone's eager to start using
 their college's e-mail capabilities, right?  Everyone's so happy to use the
 "information superhighway" as a means of communication, eh?

        Well, not me.

        I've just discovered the negative effects of having your own .edu
 hostname: everyone mistakes you for a *REAL* college.  But since Raleigh Art
 and Design (RAD) doesn't really have that many students, I start getting all
 these crazy e-mails to rad.edu that I frankly don't want to read.

        I mean, once you've read one e-mail that wasn't addressed to you,
 you've read them all.  "how is it going olivia???" the person asks.  "how
 is everyhting?  jjust wanted t oknow if this was your emaill address write
 me back if you get this."

        And I'm getting a ton of these.  Apparently, a lot of colleges have
 a radiology (?!?) department -- and this radiology department has so many
 students that it needs its very own mail server (really!!!).  For example,
 RAD.UCLA.EDU.

        Also, all these artsy acid-usin' graphic design people at Ringling
 School of Art and Design (RSAD.EDU) are sending me their marijuana-inspired
 rants because of a simple typing mistake.

        So I'm getting all these private, confidential e-mails that have
 mistakenly arrived in my mailbox.  What a better thing to do than print the
 best ones in RAD?

 LEGAL NOTE: All of the following e-mails were mailed to rad.edu, making them
 the property of me, recipient of the messages.  Therefore, there should be
 nothing standing between me printing them here, uncensored.

 Please don't sue me.

 [-----]

 This is pretty much the average kind of e-mail I get every day.

 [-----]

 Date: Wed, 25 Jun 1997 11:50:39 -0400
 From: john <johndoe@aol.com>
 To: erich@rad.edu
 Subject: hello

 hey wanna have lunch?

 [-----]

 Date: Mon, 14 Jul 1997 11:22:40 -0700
 From: mAURA hARRINGTON <iatpprog@access.sanet.ge>
 To: cassels@rad.edu
 Subject: HELLOO!!!

 Dear Helen,

 Is this your damn address?? I have tried everything else. Please respond and
 I'll give you all the news.

 Your loving cousin,

 Maura

 [-----]

 Apparently, this guy's planning an African safari.  Wow.

 [-----]

 Date: Thu, 17 Jul 1997 18:07:00 -0700
 From: NADINE DAVIDSON <nadine.davidson@travel-store.com>
 To: JGOLDIN@MAIL.RAD.EDU
 Subject: SOUTH AFRICA SAFARI


 Dear Dr. Goldin:

      I just heard from Alison that you did not get my first E-mail
 yesterday. We did have some trouble with our linkage although I thought this
 message went through before that. In any case, here is where we stand on the
 South Africa arrangements.

 The air is confirmed for eight people departing on Dec 27 via AA to JFK and
 SA  to JNB. Returning on June 7th from Capetown via SA to Miami and AA to
 Lax. at 1564.45 round trip. And for you, the same schedule except departing
 on Dec. 26th. They do not have  to be ticketed until November but fares are
 subject to change until ticketed. Once tickets are issued, they carry a
 penalty of 25pct for cancellation or change.

 Langolosi is not available except for one room  in the main lodge on Dec
 29,30,and 31. I have waitlisted five rooms, although it's not clear who is
 sharing and who is not.( I only have last names for a couple of the
 travelers.) I do know that there are at least three couples, but Alison
 wasn't sure about Dr. Michelle Melani and Dr. Hart, if singles or sharing.
 
 In the meantime I have a hold on five rooms at Tanda Tula in the Timbavati
 section of Kruger Park. This is a small privately owned game reserve on the
 western boundary of Kruger Park. There are 8  rondavels with air
 conditioning and bathroom en-suite. There is also a swimming pool. This is
 the place where it is possible to see the rare white lions. I understand
 that it has won the "Best of Africa" award two years in a row,and they are
 noted for excellent cuisine.

 I have a hold on this space until Wed, July 23.  And in the meantime, we are
 trying to see if the rooms at the Langolosi are all under deposit or if we
 can shake some loose. In the mean time, if there is any other camp, you
 prefer to try for, let me know . E-Mail is tvlstore@aol.com. Phone is
 310-575-5540.

 [-----]

 It looks like this guy had a little too much to drink one night.  The real
 mystery: is "Pat" male or female?  Gay or straight?  I guess the only way
 to find out would be to e-mail this Walter guy...

 Hmm...

 [-----]

 Date: Sat, 26 Jul 1997 06:22:49 -0400 (EDT)
 From: walterp@fourbrooks.com
 To: devtemp5@rad.edu
 Subject: Last night

         Pat

         I was going to talk to you some more until I was rudely told I could
 not have a second drink. I don't know who that waitress thinks she is but
 that was unbelievable! I was standing there eating my food I had talked to
 you and was minding my own business etc that place I don't think I'll be
 visiting there again. However I would like to have coffee or a drink with
 you sometime if you would like.

         I have several e-mail addresses that all end up in the same place.
 This is my personal one so you can use the one I gave you or this one here.
 I'll talk to you soon.

         Walter
 [-----]

 This guy's the best of them all.  He's just ASKING for your e-mails, loyal
 RAD readers.

 [-----]

 Date: Fri, 12 Sep 1997 16:31:35 PDT
 From: Ryan Jones <jersey100@hotmail.com>
 To: kitty200@rad.edu
 Subject: CYBERSEX ;-)

 Hi Kitty,

 Enjoyed talking with you today in chat. i said i would e-mail

 I would like to communicate with you and hopefully we'll have some fun
 together, some great sex, and both CUM as much as we like too.

 Let me tell you a few things about myself and see if your interested in
 pursuing a conversation.

 My real name is George, live in New Jersey,age 48, white, 5' 9",
 165lbs., physically in good shape, not bad looking, etc., etc.

 Do you go to chatropolis often ? Which room(s) do you visit and any
 particular name(s) you use in addition to kitty or cat?  I started going
 about two weeks ago and find it can become quite addictive. Hard to get
 work done sometimes  :-)   I always use the name jersey(m).

 It's a great service they provide, I have had some great sex there, even
 if it's only fantasy. Also, where or how else would I get a chance to
 communicate with someone like you, who as I am,looking and willing to
 explore our sexuality/fantasies in a very safe, discreet environment
 without the fear, embarrassment or whatever of being caught or judged by
 friends, spouse, lovers, etc.

 Would you like to tell me anything about yourself ? If so, only honestly
 and if not that's OK too. I would be interested in knowing anything at
 all about you. Race, nationality, you said you were single, ever
 married, children, physical measurements, etc., etc. Not that it's
 important but I guess I'm trying to get a mental image of you.  I know
 you must be very sexy just for your willingness to try a sexual e-mail
 affair  :-))  Do you feel yourself to be sexy ?

 I don't think there is anything wrong with a good, hard, quick and
 passionate fuck your brains out affair. I prefer a slow, sensual,
 romantic affair. Strictly physical can be great but I think the physical
 along with the emotional and mental joining of two bodies is much more
 satisfying when each is seeking to give pleasure to the other.

 In fact as I'm writing to you I'm starting to get a hardon. I only wish
 you were here so I could lay you down on this blanket by the lake and
 slowly and passionately KISS your lips as my hands explore your sexy
 body, and as my hands move under your blouse and gently squeeze your
 tits our breathing becomes a little more rapid. Then my hands begin to
 move gently down to your waist and then reach for your lovely ass and
 then we pull each other closer and you can feel my cock pressing against
 you as we breath even harder.

 I gently push you away so I can remove your clothes and as I begin to
 rub your thighs you begin to moan slightly causing my cock to ache even
 more. I start putting my hand on your wet, hot pussy and you begin to
 squirm as your aching body feels my finger gently playing with your
 pussy and barely entering you.Ohhhhh, you feel so good. I move my face
 to your cunt and begin to lick your clit and then begin to tongue fuck
 you.Ummmm, your juices taste so good.

 You move your hand to my cock and feel the semen oozing to the head of
 my prick and this excites you even more so you move my lips away as you
 want my prick in your hot, wet mouth and you begin to suck it so good.

 We're both as  hot as a fucking firecracker, as you spread your legs and
 tell me to shove my prick in you. As I begin to fuck you I can't believe
 how good and warm your pussy feels around my shaft.

 I start pounding my prick in you harder and harder and you are pushing
 yourself harder into me with each thrust of my cock. It starts slowly at
 first you feel it beginning in you toes and that feeling gradually and
 warmly starts rising in your body and begins to peak deep inside of you
 .As you start having an orgasm and I continue to fuck you and we're both
 groaning as my cock begins to explode inside you....You feel the hot cum
 as I'm squirting it in you and this excites you again....and you begin
 having another orgasm, Ohhhhh you moan as I keep my cock pushed inside
 of you  and we continue KISSING & HUGGING each other as only two lovers
 can.

 I have to go for now...WRITE SOON...I hope

 Hugs & Kisses......George

 P.S. i hope my age doesn't turn you off, i would love to communicate
 with a young lady with an open mind and be able to talk about anything
 honestly, life, sex, whatever & maybe bridge the generation gap, i'm
 also very curious about your fantasy or r/t domination need, i know it's
 common but i wonder if the seeds of that need were planted from r/t
 experience or ? of course you don't have to answer any of my questions
 as i know it's none of my business

 [-----]

 There we have it, RAD readers: send your cybersex requests to
 jersey100@hotmail.com.  A 48 year-old white guy is waiting for your love!
 And he doesn't mind bondage!@  Lookout!

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              Radioactive Aardvark Dung E-Zine :: ISSN 1092-5449
                    Issue #18 % Released September 23, 1997
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