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Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine Volume VI, Issue 11, AD MMI Monday, December 24, 2001 ISSN 1482-0471 ------------------------------------------- That reminds me of how nice it is to work without having to stop to explain how to operate toilet paper. "Then, you drag it across the part where the shit comes out of, and try to clean up as much as possible. Uh, why are you wiping your mouth?" "You said wipe the part the shit comes out of." ------------------------------------------- "He seems to do more than Ken, but I mean, you'd have to be decomposing to do less than Ken". ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial 2. One Flush Later 3. The Unisex Bathroom 4. CoN @ Zee Cinema 5. Bah, so this is Christmas... ------------------------------------------- This week's Golden Testicle award: In a Galaxy Far, Far away, oh, the Force, OH! http://www.sexylosers.com/comic.cgi?002 ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial Tidbits Or how 2001's last Editorial is a bunch of unfinished Editorials which, when put together, make no sense. By Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro Welcome to the last Issue of Volume 6. The year 2001 has seen 11 issues (an average of 0.9 issues per month), 48 articles (an average of 4.36 articles per issue or 4 per month), 22 acclamations and 11 Golden Testicles (averaging roughly a point 9 of a nad per month). Volume 7 will hopefully be a little more constant in the mailboxes of our readership. For those that had not noticed, it is currently that great commercial festivity also known as Christmas. I've had to endure shopping, not much for myself, mind you, but for being the lucky bloke that got picked for doing other people's purchases. If that wasn't pain enough, as I have to body wrestle people in order to get that last gift (and God only knows I have yet to finish), I had to endure Office related parties. Not my office party, mind you. These are parties my girlfriend drags me to, mostly to show me off as that intellectual person I really am not, with the promise I will keep my mouth shut and not say something incredibly rude and offensive (she knows me so well... ah, love). Unfortunately, while I'm happily unemployed at the moment and I have no 2.3 kids, my conversations options seem somewhat limited. That's all people seem to talk about. Their jobs and their kids. `Absolutely nothing' to what I do for a living and `I hate anything younger than 6 years of age' when talking about kids seems to leave me all alone for the rest of the evening... --- I feel somewhat awkward at times to go visit my girlfriend's family. It's not that they are not nice or anything, but I feel a little odd, I don't understand them too well and the giant Sikh man that is her grandfather doesn't exactly like me. Fortunately, today, Grandpa Jihad wasn't there. If hate could have a face, it would be his. I think it's the fact we live in Canada that he held himself from skinning me alive and leaving my body in the jungle for the tigers to find. --- Stove fucking. Ever tried it? It's all in the beauty of living by yourself. And that's really all there is to it. The moment you live by yourself, in your own apartment, you can do whatever you want. All without the hassle of your mother telling you how to do things proper. You can eat chocolate fudge cookies. Before dinner. In your bed. And when was the last time you actually did do your bed? You can walk around the house naked wearing nothing more than your Fez. You can have the TV on and not watch it. And, you can fuck your stove. This also brings, of course, a whole bunch of witty comments that apply in stove fucking. Such as `she got really hot' and `it was nice and steamy'. And let's not forget the classic `she had a real nice hot oven' or the `I turned all her knobs', which, per se, is quite the hoot. --- I had originally started to write a witty editorial about how I was in vacation, and how the girl sitting next to me on the plane was beautiful but as charming as a pitbull, or how Canada Custom agents have the greatest sense of humour. But no, not anymore. Since I first opened this file, to now, I went back into my bitter self. And no, it has nothing at to do with the clever, smart and intelligent (did I mention well hung?) Canada Custom agents. Not at all. I sleep soundly at night knowing that these brave men and women protect the entrance to my country. Honest. --- Since finding a job for myself seemed to be a task next to impossible, considering how badly our economy is doing, I decided to rely on Head Hunters. But now the economy is shit. Oh, I've put my resumes on sites. I've sent it to just every possible job position I find, even those that require the last two millennia in experience with computers. And job sites were as dry as the Sahara desert. I had never tried Head Hunters before. This was a time when the market was ripe and I was able to find work almost immediately, before and after going to College and getting the most useless and expensive piece of College issued toilet paper with my name on it. My first head hunter was a chubby short little woman. She greeted me in her office, which reminded me more of a place to slaughter animals. There were several of us, actually, all well dressed, all looking hopeful. In her pink dress with her high pitched piggy voice she starts asking me questions. Clearly this woman cannot read. All the information she wants about me is on my two page curriculum vitae but she still asks me dates and personal info as if it was some sort of test. She told me she will keep on looking for work for me until I tell her to stop. And that's the last I heard from her. Better yet, she ignores both my calls and my e-mails. And while I found some other Head Hunters, all of which promptly disappeared like her, she's the only one that comes back to mind. Maybe I should drop by her office. "Hi Heleonore". "Oh, hi.. er.." and she would fumble, looking for my resume with my name. "I just wanted to set something clear between the two of us, is that okay?" "Er.. yes?" "It occured to me, and I find it important you should know that you are a stupid fuck". "I'm sorry?" "You heard me. And I should make it clear that whenever I'll talk to you, about you, or I'll refer people to you, you'll be known as STUPID FUCK. Got that?" I'm bitter. Enjoy this very non-belated issue, for once. ------------------------------------------- 2. One Flush Later By Jason MacIsaac When I screw up and do something stupid, I like to look for meaning in it afterwards, so I can convince myself that I've learned something. Even gained greater insight into the nature of the universe. Our species has the ability to obtain knowledge, and pass what we've learned unto others. This is one of the things that separates us from the lesser beasts of the Earth--the chimps, the earth worms, the Chief Executive Officers. I'll tell ya though, I find myself working hard to find greater meaning in my latest boneheaded stunt. It happened early Saturday morning. I awoke, feeling great and excited about having a weekend, something else that separates Home Sapiens from the chimps, the earth worms, and the Chief Executive Officers (although to be fair, CEOs are working hard to eliminate this evolutionary advantage). I went into the bathroom with a song in my heart, and did some typical preening/refreshing stuff for a man in the bathroom on a Saturday morning. I finished off with the use of the toilet. As the toilet was flushing, I accidentally knocked a stick of deodorant off my sink. It dropped into the bowl, where the water was just disappearing. Anybody who has ever been in a car accident knows about the weird phenomena of time slowing down just before impact. You know you're about to get hit, and then you get about two hours in some mystic place outside the normal space/time continuum to contemplate what's about to happen. It feels like you have enough time to get out of the car, walk down the street, grab a burger, and come back again before the impact. But this time is only for tormenting you. Though it feels like you have time to do something about it, the moment you try to avert disaster, you instantly drop back in real time. This is what I felt as I watched that stick of Mennen Speedstick rattle around at the bottom of the toilet. And when I snapped out of it, of course it was gone. Somewhere deep in my toilet. In a place I really did not want to venture into. So I did what any rational human being would do. I stomped through my apartment cursing my toilet, frightening the cat. What a way to start a weekend. My tantrum was a little unfair on the toilet too. After all, it was just following instructions. It was my fault it had the wrong cargo. I have a plumber's snake, but I couldn't seem to make contact with the deodorant. I immediately went out and bought a plunger, not the way I normally choose to spend my Saturday mornings. I was hoping I could either force the deodorant back up, or maybe even further down. The thing about a stick of deodorant in relation to your plumbing (only I have ever had reason to think about this) is that the deodorant isn't very big. It's not enough to dam up the plumbing entirely, just block it up a bit. I hoped, not too optimistically, that maybe it was small enough to get through the pipes entirely, and puzzle the employees of a sewage treatment plant five miles away. The plunger failed to bring it back up. It did however, bring up a small earring shaped like musical notes. The origin of this earring I could not say. It wasn't mine, and I know it didn't belong to my girlfriend or any female visitors I'd had in my apartment. And I'm pretty sure I didn't eat the earrings and pass it somehow. After working the plunger some more, I gave and decided to take a chance. I flushed the toilet. The bowl flooded, but thankfully didn't overflow. Then the water began to slooooowly drain out of the bowl. When it was down to the end, I could hear the stick of deodorant rattle somewhere inside the toilet, like some fucked up maraca. Another round of swearing. The cat was getting annoyed with me. Obviously, the toilet was unusable. Suddenly I found out how spoiled we all are. We go into major depression when our Internet connection is cut off. Try living with the knowledge that you don't actually have any place to shit. The only thing to do was to tell the superintendent. In our building, we have to fill out maintenance requests, and then hand them over. There's a part where you describe the work you need done. I realized there was no way to fill out this form without looking like an idiot, which helped take the pressure off. I wrote down "While toilet was flushing, stick of deodorant fell in and became stuck." I didn't stuff it in the request box, because I knew that I would be explaining myself further. I handed it to one of the superintendents, who read it and immediately said "WHAT?!" as if I had written "I need you to close the dimensional rift in my bedroom closet that is causing all the gremlins to escape into our plane of reality." So I explained myself as quickly as possible, trying vainly to make it sound like deodorant sticks get stuck in toilets every day, and that it's really not that unusual a request. I don't think I convinced her. She did arrange to have a plumber come in while I was at work though. The plumber had to actually turn off the water, drain the toilet, and remove it from the floor before he could extract it. When I came home, I was relieved to discover my toilet had been fixed. No small relief actually, because I really had to go when I got in, and didn't relish the idea using the bathtub for unnatural purposes. As I was using my newly restored porcelain beauty, I noticed the stick of deodorant, still wet, sitting on my bathroom sink. What, did the plumber think I wanted it back? I threw it in the garbage immediately. Thankfully no, uh, extra material was clinging to it. I used toilet paper to handle it and washed my hands after anyway. Then, I immediately moved all objects not larger than a bowling ball at least five meters away from my toilet. This whole thing was--let's get to it--really stupid of me. And like I said, I need to convince myself that some great cosmic truth was revealed to me through my act of stupidity, so it wasn't a total loss. That's why I am choosing to see this whole incident as a commentary on the plight of humanity at the dawn of the 21st Century. How ironic it is in a world that grows ever more sophisticated daily, where vast stores of information are exchanged across the globe in a heartbeat and human cloning is a reality--that we've yet master the simpler technology. I have decided to see my toilet and my deodorant as a metaphor for the lonely individual struggling to keep pace with a world advancing out of control. That's my story, and I can almost repeat it with a straight face. --- Jason MacIsaac has been looking for Betty Moon. If you see her, please have her contact him at jason@scriba.org. ------------------------------------------- 3. The Unisex Bathroom By Su West Some may think that the show's creator of Ally McBeal is a genius. The idea of having a unisex bathroom in an office environment among lawyers certainly provides a lot of entertainment. However, in reality, a unisex bathroom would never happen. It's a big lawsuit waiting to happen and most companies would never have a work environment, that has potential for a feeding frenzy for lawyers. Moreover, the bathroom rules differ between the sexes somewhat. For instance, men never talk while doing the deed at the urinals. If however, they decide to talk while at the urinals, eye contact is never made; peeking is also forbidden. It is often a nod of recognition if they know the person then, their eyes focus straight in front of them counting the odd shapes on the tiles. Only when they are done and head toward the sink to wash their hands (hopefully) that words spew out of their mouths. Any man caught carrying a conversation with another man while going to the bathroom has broken the most sacred rule of the toilet code especially if in the stalls. Women on the other hand can go on gabbing for 15 minutes about nothing and everything, before even going inside the stall. And, if the conversation is engaging, they continue to speak to each other while inside their respective stalls, until the sound of the flushing toilet interrupts them. Similarly, the topics of conversation is much the same for both sexes. Both want to know of any juicy gossip among their co-workers or who is sleeping with whom in the office. Strangely enough, health or medical problems at times can be discussed among their colleagues. Other topics most commonly spoken in these bathrooms are fashion, clothes, and fitness. Another function the bathroom is often used [other than the intended one] is deep, meaningful at times stressful decision making. How many times have you gone to the bathroom before a big presentation and either looked yourself in the mirror fix your hair, make-up or pay a visit to the toilet god? Some of us even go to the bathroom after a meeting just to vent to another co-worker and complain about how so and so should not have said certain things. Sometimes, the bathroom can be a place of comfort. The facilities are certainly available. There is plenty of toilet paper to wipe away the tears. There is also plenty of running water. In addition, the d�cor of the bathroom is often an eyesore that it makes your problems seem less dismal than the tile colour chosen. However, if you are looking for soul-searching songs that will make all your problems go away, think again. For some reason in the show Ally McBeal, Barry White songs often play in the background when you need that boost of confidence. Moreover, you cannot do any sort of acrobatics or dance moves either. There is no automatic device that you can have where the toilet gives you a fresh flush before using it. Nor is there a secret passageway to some hiding place room to take a break from your daily duties. And there are no dancing babies either. If any do show up, that is another story. --- Editors comments: In case you're wondering the source of my information, a good journalist never reveals her sources. ------------------------------------------- 4. CoN @ Zee Cinema w/ Jeff Wright Thumbs up? Thumbs down? I feel like doing something original this issue. THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS Thumbs so far up, it's insane!!! Therapy has never been this cheap. I just got back from seeing the film, and I don't really have the words to express my love for it. This article was all ready and done, but I asked Leo "Pretty please, let me write something about THE ROYAL TENEBAUMS, so that people can go see it when it's released." He said "Sure", and that's why you're reading this paragraph. This is the best film I've seen in years. GO SEE IT!!!!!!!! It goes into wide release on Friday. Oh, how I love this film. LORD OF THE RINGS Thumbs down. It was too big for its own good. It needed intimacy to work. Even though, that's just the beginning of its problems, I'm going to leave it. I love me my Peter Jackson, way too much to publicly diss him up. BEHIND ENEMY LINES Thumbs down. WAY DOWN! I love me my Owen Wilson, but that couldn't save this. I was really looking forward to it, but it's one of the worst films I've seen of late. Save your money (not that anyone else was excited about it like I was, were they?). HEDWIG AND THE ANGRY INCH Thumbs up! Hedwig (pronounced Hedvig) rocks!!! ROCKS!!! One of the best films of 2001. Rent it, rent it, rent it! If John Cameron Mitchell doesn't get nominated for Best Actor, then things in the wurld is screwy. TREKIES Thumbs up. Lots of disturbing fun. A documentary all about Star Trek fans. Features interviews with both the fans, and the stars. Really fun documentary. Trek fans unite! Those with screws loose, and spare ammunition, go to where the Trek fans have united. Do what needs to be done. ALMOST A FULL MOON by Hawksley Workman (Not a movie, but rather, a CD.) Thumbs way the fuck up!!! Hawksley's released a Christmas EP. It's fantastic. Pick it up. You'll listen to it after the fact too. MY FAVOURITE CHRISTMAS FILMS: A CHRISTMAS STORY ROCKY IV!!! DIE HARD THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS RUDOLPH THE REDNOSED REINDEER Now go off and try to have a lovely holiday. If your family isn't much fun to be around, know that you're not alone. Just grin, bear it, and eat as many Christmas sweets as you can. Enjoy yer New Year's Eve, too. If you'll excuse me, I have to go get my sister to wrap all these gifts I've bought. --- Jeff's been wearing a Santa hat at work for the last week. Pity him. ------------------------------------------- 5. Bah, so this is Christmas... By Tess Toth If I hear "Deck The Halls" one more time I am going to take a couple of candy canes and ram them in my ears to stop that horrific tune from destroying the little brain matter I have left. So help me God. I hate the holidays. Yes, and I know I'm not the only one out there. But maybe I'm the only one who will admit it. I don't like turkey with stuffing, I don't like buying ornaments, and don't even get me started about carollers... In my youth I loved Christmas. Of course the only reason I liked it was because I got presents, but that's so friggin' obvious isn't it? I'd get a million Barbie dolls that I would tear the hair off of and make them do lewd things with Ken. I'd take my brand new pairs of jeans and rip holes in the knees. I'd take the Christmas fruit cake with all its layers of plastic wrap and feed it to the pigeons in hopes they would become over-stimulated from the obscene amount of sugar and have a heart attack. Ah, the childish innocence. But soon I grew out of my juvenile malicious tendencies and adopted more grown up and refined mannerisms. As such, I no longer took interest in the holiday season except for the fact that I could have a few weeks off to sleep in and eat cold pizza in the morning. I'll admit it, I am an avid fan of Ebenizer Scrooge, I'll "bah humbug" any chance I get. My friends usually have a get together during Christmas time to exchange presents and eat rumballs. I REALLY feel uncomfortable surrounded by cheery perky people smiling. Maybe it's just me --but don't get me wrong, I love the rumball portion of the evening. I feel guilty because I don't have any money and I can't afford get anyone gifts. They always tell me "That's okay, that's not what Christmas is about anyway". Well I know that if I got gifts for my friends and they got me squat I would be a bit pissed off... yeah, how selfish of me. I've heard it before, I know... it's the time for giving, for peace, yadda yadda... bleech. Why is it that only CHRISTMAS is the season to be jolly? So does that mean the rest of the year we can all be crotchety ol' bastards? Is it the snow that makes ppl be filled with the spirit of giving? It just makes my juvenile arthritis kick in. Is it the lights? The horrendous music? The candy canes that the stores give out and with the stock they don't sell they resell on the up coming Christmas? I think if we all really listened to "it's better to give than receive" we'd all be a bit bitter for not getting that power drill of our dreams or that diamond bracelet. ....wait....I have something heart warming to share. Even though I detest Christmas for my own selfish reasons, I enjoy getting gifts for my two daughters. I mean, what's more satisfying than watching the oldest one shred the paper on the floor and toss out the gift just to play with the box? And since the littlest one is only 3 weeks old, she'll just drool over it, while looking at the lights on the tree. I want them to have fun with the holiday even if I don't. That's all that matters, isn't it? That even if we don't like something ourselves we shouldn't' ruin it for others. And maybe when they're old and bitter like I am they'll enjoy watching their little ones destroy the 50 buck porcelain doll they got for them as a keepsake. Ah... traditions... Good grief I'm getting old and sappy. Ah well...happy holidays and a bah humbug to you all. --- Tess Toth is sure that in Hell they play Christmas carols all year long. ------------------------------------------- CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org. CoN: Bad Norwegians eating yummy Whales. 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 tapeworm 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