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 ____________________________________________________________________________

         "it's a brand new era, it feels great.  it's a brand new era,
                       but it came too late." - pavement


                        $$$ $$$
                        


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              $::::::$  $::::$ $::::$  $......$ $:::::$  $:::::$
              $||||||$  $||||$ $||||$  $::::::$ $|||||$  $|||||$
              $iiiiii$  $iiii$ $iiii$  $||||||$ $iiiii$  $iiiii$
              $$$$  $!!!!$ $!!!!$  $iiiiii$ $!!!!!$  $!!!!!$
              `"Y$$$ss$$$ `"Y$$ss$$$Y"' `"Y$$ss$$Y"'


          "doomed to obscurity" issue nine - released april 10, 1996.

 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #01> "SCENES OF THE COMMON & THE EPHEMERE ; PART TWO"
 ___  

 author : eerie


        the strangest things happen in the strangest moments.  just when i
 was pretty damn sure i'd have to go back to my parents' because of money
 shortage due to lack of job, that man from mega corporation hmv calls me &
 offers me a job at his store.  DUH@!  THAT MEANS THE WHOLE CAPITALISM THING
 REALLY DOES WORK!@  ALL I HAD TO DO IS WAIT & IT FALLS ON ME FROM HEAVEN!@##
 LIKE MAGIC!!!

        uh yeah, & i had to wait half a year with little or no revenue & i
 owe over $700 to several people, but that's a FUCKING DETAIL, isn't it?

        so i started working at that place - part time of course, anybody
 ever tell you nothing's perfect?  the employees & the manager are cool &
 basically hate the stuff that sells the most - namely alanis morissette &
 celine dion.  sharing hatred sure creates strong links between people,
 especially when you hear "falling into you" or that shitty oasis record in
 a shuffle for six consecutive hours.  well, at least i didn't have to _like_
 it.

        but that was until _today_.

 ___

        three pm.  i'm about to go, my day's done.

        manager tells me : "can you come to the backstore with me, i've
 something to talk about."  & being the naive fool that i am, i say : "uh,
 sure, yeah!@"

        guess what happened?

        "you didn't fit with the team, david.  i've had reports saying that
 you were working too slowly.  i don't believe you'd be able to work well in
 a real rush.  & well, the other employees didn't like your attitude.  i
 can't really keep you with us."

        of course, at that moment, i can't really say anything of worth.
 he's sort of kind with me.  "i don't hate you at all!@  you can even mention
 me as a reference in your resume if you want."

        exact translation of the above : "we couldn't break you.  go away."

        little eerie working for a mega corporation was an oddity.  he's gone
 now, tho'.  it's all back to normal.

        it was my mistake anyway.  if i _really_ wanted to stay, i should
 have had the blue & pink hmv logo morphing each of my thoughts.  i should
 have been part of the crew.  i should have liked them, deeply.

        really, i swear i thought i could _fake_ it.  just do my work the
 best i could, be kind with other employees even if i would never hang out
 with them, y'know, keep the whole smile & behave thing on the surface.  but
 i was wrong, oh so fucking wrong.  you can't fake that stuff.  if you do, it
 shows.  well, to them, it shows.  supposedly it has an effect on
 productivity.  like the more the company brainwashes you, the more you phear
 the company, the more you produce.

        i'm sorry.  i didn't let it wipe my brains out.

        my second mistake is that i don't care about money.  money doesn't
 actually _exists_.  what exists that i'd want is a bed, food, drugs & a
 couple cd's.  i'm more than willing to earn those by working for the
 society.  i dunno.  clean up stuff, build things, help people.  something
 _useful_ -  not like selling shit to people the highest price you can, which
 serves no purpose on an self-evolution level.

        to repeat : i _don't care_ about money.  but if i don't have any, how
 in hell am i gonna pay the next rent?

        money & (by extension) capitalism are humanity's greatest downfalls.

        hey, whatever, next issue i'll tell you how to steal cd's & cassettes
 in music stores.  it's really easy, you'll see.  (especially cassettes!@!)

 ___

        okay, enough of this prelude.  welcome to dto #9, you reader you.

        as you can see, our joyful crew of angst-fed kids came back to life &
 actually wrote stuff for this issue.  i'm sure you feel funny in the pants
 knowing that, eh?

        YEAH, SURE YOU DO.  hey, guess what, this is the official dto canuck
 issue (tm).  why so?  because i am from up north & i took over the whole
 'zine for the hell of it & fucked with the whole design & format.  yeah, &
 gratuitously, too!#  well, actually, they let me do it, & i seriously
 wouldn't see another reason for it to be a "canuck" issue, 'cause i
 personally never really cared about the country i live in, but so do 90% of
 those living under the red maple leaf flag!@

        but what's there to do in canada, else than watching hockey games,
 arguing about national constitution & basically feeling really stupid?
 strictly _nothing_.  our politics are ridiculous & we brought the world such
 musical plague as alanis morissette & celine dion.  at least you only have
 to be eighteen to be legally drunk.  & 98.9% of the teens smoke hemp at
 least once.  we all live in a stoned nation.  duh, yeah right, like there's
 no reason for it.

        but to the point.

        this issue is intended to produce some sort of dtomania in the wide
 world  (virtual & non-virtual) & possibly to get us headlined on the front
 page of the new york times ("DOOMED TO OBSCURITY - TEENAGERS SPREAD ANGER ON
 INTERNET"), time magazine ("MAN OF THE YEAR - M0GEL!@!@") & the national
 inquirer ("BLACK FRANCIS FOUND GUILTY OF MOLESTING LITTLE CHILDREN").  we're
 elite like that.  "NO YOU AREN'T!@!?&" is what you say?  hey, lay back &
 freeze, you dumbhead.  i got a call from letterman last week already - &
 we're working on geraldo, so shut up.

        who wrote in there?  well, just as usual, there's teen angst from
 mogel, pics from jamesy, & nothing from frannie.  i could name-check
 everyone, but that would be a waste of time since they're all in the table
 of contents.

        what's it about?  everything ranging from useless rants to
 teenager-friendly guidebooks about survival in life & society as a whole.
 i mean, you were warned, why you complaining, dork?!@

        okay, enough.  here's the sucker.

 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #02> "DOOMED TO OBSCURITY NINE & ALL CONTENTS THEREIN"
 ___  

 compiled by : eerie


        the following articles are listed in forward numerical order.  if
 there are any problems or misunderstandings with this listing, please let us
 know so that we could laugh at you.

 #01>  "scenes from the common & the ephemere ; part two", by eerie
 #02>  "doomed to obscurity nine & all contents therein", by eerie
 #03>  "girls can't write", by james hetfield
 #04>  "white lumps : big num nums", by dead cheese
 #05>  "sliced & diced hooker in a ziplock bag", by styx
 #06>  "videogames stole my childhood", by morpheus
 #07>  "paranoid & justified", by eerie
 #08>  "god likes dto", by mogel
 #09>  "a multi-cultural spectrum of anger", by creed
 #10>  "a whimsical treatise on the topic of interdimensional transgression 
       & the fallacy of modern scientific, theological, & philosophical 
       beliefs", by teletype
 #11>  "the conversation", by james hetfield
 #12>  "black shoe, blue shoe", by juke
 #13>  "kelly gets her tonsils out", by murmur
 #14>  "wild jesus", by dead cheese
 #15>  "ritalin - condiments ; chapter 815", by murmur
 #16>  "my belly", by mogel
 #17>  "ascii stoopit strips : bob's bucket bonanza", by dead cheese
 #18>  "the chaos theory ; sunday, july 17", by eerie
 #19>  "bread", by ogre de latoya

 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #03> "GIRLS CAN'T WRITE"
 ___

 author : james hetfield


        "i don't just write what i know ; i write WHO i know."

 ___

        "i'm telling you, mogel - girls just do NOT write text files.  it's
 not biologically possible."  i said, trying to reason with the thick-headed
 writer.

        "do0d!  yes they do!  look at whoops!  look at crank!  look at kaia!
 look at demonika!  look at metalchick!  do0d - they write them.  ok,
 jackass?  and fawn will write them, too!  just wait!" mogel replied.

        "i'm telling you, m0ggie, it's dangerous .. you don't know what
 you're getting yourself into.  you don't KNOW whoops.  you don't REALLY know
 crank .. oh, forget i said anything.  you can't understand."

        "do0d just watch!  they'll all write for dto!  dto will be as big as
 big itself do0d!#@!#"

        "ok, mogel.  when you need help though, let me know."

        "do0d phear me#@!#@!$#!@#"

 ---

        i headed over to whoops's and nyarlathotep's as fast as i could.
 mogel had to be stopped before it was too late, and maybe whoops would know
 how.

        "i can't do anything to help you, jamesy.  i told you before, you
 cannot meddle in these affairs.  what happens, happens.  you might have been
 able to help defeat me, but you can't take us all.  and i hope you don't
 dare trying." whoops said. 

        "NEIL .. you've gotta help me .. you can't let your wench whip you
 like this!  you're a hunter, god damn it!  stand up for yourself!" i pleaded
 with them.

        "i'm sorry, scott .. it's up to you on this one," neil sighed.

 ---

        nobody understands.  how can they?  they haven't seen the things i've
 seen.  they haven't witnessed the events i've witnessed.  they haven't felt
 the fangs of life grip at their necks like i have.  they just don't know.
 he doesn't know.  too soon, he will learn.

        mogel will be taking a plane to chicago on thursday, and then heading
 out to fawn's friday morning.  i'll have to follow him.

 ---

        i tried one last time to talk to him while he was in chicago, but to
 no avail.  we were in a denny's, eating away at our bacon and more bacon.

        "jamesy, fawn has been telling me she's an ANIMAL!  she BITES and
 everything!  i'm in LOVE!"

        "mogel, whatever you do, don't try to get her to write text files.
 please.  for me."

        "what the hell?  you're so weird, jamesy.  don't you want dto to be
 the biggest thing since string cheese?"

        "well, of course, but .. "

        "but nothing, assface.  fawn will be a head writer for dto and that
 is that."

        "mogel, i'm gonna tell you this one time.  CHYCKS CAN'T WRITE."

        as i said this, i felt a heavy purse slam into the back of his head.
 it made a noise, a noise sort of like THUNK, with a pinch of DING in it.

        "crank?  what are you doing here?!@?#!#" mogel questioned.

        "me?  oh, i get around."  she explained.  "i decided i had nothing to
 do with week, so i took the plane after yours into chicago and decided to
 find you here!  anyway, i've always wanted to meet fawn, after you've spoke
 so well of her!"

        "LIAR!  YOU FUCKING BITCH!" i screamed, but all i did was cause a
 scene.

        (scene here)

        "jamesy!  you're creating a scene!" mogel whined.

        "fine.  it's your LIFE, mogel, it's your life." 

        "just shut up, assface.  just shut up."

        "at least let me go with you."

        "what?  i am not letting you ruin things with my chyck!"

        "please?  let me go with you?" 

        "fine, fuckwad.  fine."

 ---

        the car ride to indiana was tense.  i kept my eye on crank the entire
 time, making sure she didn't pull any "funny stuff."  if there's one thing
 that will keep you up, it's making sure a girl that writes t-files doesn't
 pull any "funny stuff."  i kept my hands on my cane the entire time.

 ---

        there we were.  outside fawn's house.  i tried one last time to give
 mogel my puppy dog stare, but it didn't even phase him.  he wanted fawn and
 he wanted her now.  i simply didn't know how i was going to deal with two
 female 'zine writers.  one is hard enough.

        mogel rang the doorbell.  fawn opened up the door to her crypt, gave
 mogel a smile, and invited us in.  we all sat around her living room.  i
 didn't let mogel out of my sight, nor crank or fawn.

        "fawn, this is crank.  i think i've talked about her to you, before,
 haven't i?"

        "oh, yes, CRANK!  hi!  i'm so happy to meet you!  i've heard SO MUCH
 about you!" fawn said snappily.

        "and have i heard about YOU, fawn!  i hear you want to write for our
 little cozy 'ZINE!" crank said, cheery as she's ever been as well.  a
 tricker of sweat began to form my forehead.

        "oh, would i!  it would be great!  in fact, i think mogel was going
 to HELP me WRITE TONIGHT!  aren't you, moggie?" fawn said.

        "sure will, cutie!  we can write a story all about rattle!" mogel
 said with a smile.

        "NO!  I WON'T LET YOU!" i screamed, having enough.  i promptly stood
 up as i said this.

        "what is your problem, james hetfield?  do you have something against
 WOMEN who WRITE?" she sneered.  her eyes gleamed with yellow tint as her
 anger raged.

        all eyes were on me.  man, i love being the center of attention.
 however, i think i was outmanned, er, out-chycked in this case.  but, a man
 has got to do what a man has got to do.

        "MOGEL, RUN!" i yelled, as i drew the hidden sword within my cane.
 nobody messes with a guy with concealed weapons, i happily concluded.

        however, crank drew a shiruken from her pocket and threw it at me,
 hitting me in my right shoulder.

        "what the fuck#@!$?#$!?" mogel shrieked.  fawn quickly grabbed him
 and ran upstairs with him.  i attempted to peruse, but crank gl0cked me from
 behind with a metal pipe she had hidden in her jacket.

        "you bastard.  trying to ruin everyone's plans, eh .. who do you
 think you are?  god?" she sneered as she attempted to choke me to death.

        "no .. i'm .. an .. aspiring writer who wants to see all aspiring
 writers reach their greatest capacities and nothing can stop me from
 achieving greatness!" i screaming, all in one breath.

        "oh.  well.  too bad."  she hissed, pulling out a short dagger.

        damn, i was in trouble.  i had crank on top of me, mogel was upstairs
 being seduced by fawn, and both of us would be in not so pretty of a mess if
 i didn't think of something quick.

        oh yeah, duh.  knee her where it counts.

        i pulled all my energy left into bringing up my left leg and smacking
 her right dab in the crotch.  she whined in pain.  she was getting too tired
 trying to keep the illusion going, and her womanly form quickly began to
 disappear.  first went her legs, which shriveled up into little stubs to run
 around on.  then, her arms shrank to the size of tentacles.  finally, her
 face began to transform, her jawbones jutting inwards and out.  the yellow
 of her eyes gleamed through.

        "you BASTARD!  now look what you made me do!"  she squeaked, in a
 high pitched voice.

        "i might be an environmentalist, but lampreys like you need to become
 extinct!" i yelled, displaying my one-sided comic book protagonist side.  i
 also proceeded to give her a roundhouse right.

        she was much weaker in her true form, and i almost had her subdued
 when i heard a loud scream coming from upstairs.  mogel was yelling
 "glycerine" over and over again.  i couldn't let him just be drained up
 there.  crank would have to wait until later for her spanking.

        i hopped up the stairs to find fawn totally undressed.  however, she
 was in full lamprey form, slithering around on top of mogel.  she also was
 gripping his mid section with her tail and squeezing him very tightly.
 kinky.  "listen, assface!  it's time you picked on someone your own ..
 er .. YEAH!  JUST SHUT UP!" i screamed at her, diving at her.

        she got out of the way.

        i tackled mogel, knocking him off the bed and onto the floor.  fawn
 laughed, and scooted away out the door.

        "oops." i muttered, getting off of mogel.

        "do0d!#  what the fuck was dat?!@#" mogel yelled at me.  

        "why didn't you tell me that chyck was a monster?#!@?#" 

        "SHE IS NOT A MONSTER .. she's a .. lamprey."

        "oh.  ok.  SO?  SHE'S NOT HUMAN?" 

        "no.  she's not.  none of them are."

        "THERE AREN'T ANY HUMAN GIRLS$?@#!$?@!?$#?" mogel said, whining.

        "YES THERE ARE.  they just don't write 'zines, mogel."

        "oh.  ARE YOU SURE?"

        "yes, mogel, i'm sure."

        "oh. ok."

        i dashed out the door, but it was too late.  crank and fawn had
 already escaped.  there would be no catching up to them now, and even if we
 did, they'd probably be too powerful to attempt to off.  do0d, this human
 stuff sucks.

        mogel was rather sad on his way back to o'hare and philly.  he wasn't
 amused to find out a potential girlfriend was a blood sucking lamprey.  but
 hey, that's the way it goes sometimes.

        DON'T BELIEVE THE HYPE.  CHYCKS CAN'T WRITE.

 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #04> "WHITE LUMPS : BIG NUN NUMS"
 ___   

 author : dead cheese


        the rubber woman was dancing in the window while the young cat gazed
 up towards the strutting moon that was sitting on a greased elephant with
 gorgeous nibbled ears of gray which liked it when they stroked through the
 water with the greatest of ease and speed with which no one could compete
 not even ed or mary or bob or sarah who likes it when bubble gum splashes up
 in here face with a gentle laugh and a hug from mom who has just recently
 baked cookies for the man with the purple hair who likes to ride his bicycle
 in the park where the homeless dogs live with roger the turtle who always
 wears green on sundays because the african drummers do not like the blue
 colors that often appear on aviators with the large toes that smell like a
 mortified refrigerator whose shelves are filled with pickles which enjoy the
 occasional stroll on the sidewalk underneath the rubber woman who was
 dancing in the window.

 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #05> "SLICED & DICED HOOKER IN A ZIPLOCK BAG"
 ___  

 author : styx


        so here i am waiting for my friend to drop off some drugs before i
 have to leave for work in 2 hours.  real fun stuff.  i'm sick of it.

        for five days a week, all i do is wake up, go to work, come home, do
 drugs, and go to sleep.  post-high-school life sucks.  if you're in high
 school right now, FAIL.  keep failing OVER AND OVER AND OVER.  you're safe
 right now.  homework?  reports?  projects?  jocks?  BOO FUCKING HOO.  get
 over it.  you're safe.  here's a thought for you:  while you're in high
 school, you aren't obligated to do anything else!  did you know that?  well,
 it's true, idiot!  so stay!

        my life is monotony.  it drones on and on.  sure, i have my weekends
 off.  that's just great.  more free time for me to think about all of my
 friends that aren't HERE because they went to college to become doctors and
 lawyers like good little graduates should.  well fuck them.  one day one of
 them will be removing a charcoaled, tarred, and otherwise malformed lung
 from my body - it's all part of my master plan.  they're already doing what
 i want them to do.  preparing to serve ME.

        yeah, by working full-time i make money.  for what?  insurance for my
 piece of shit car that stalls everytime i hit a red light?  taxes for the
 government so they can test exactly how long it takes for czechoslovakian
 yellow-bellied mosquito larvae to die when exposed to radioactive sludge and
 hydrochloric acid on tuesdays?  there's a pothole the size of my
 EX-GIRLFRIEND'S SNATCH around the corner and it BROKE THE SHOCKS ON MY PIECE
 OF SHIT CAR.  hey BILL.  go get some asphalt and FILL THAT FUCKER UP NOW.
 you can even throw in one of those mosquitos to see what happens!

        i have no endearing talents at all.  i play guitar.  whoop-dee-doo.
 my gothic-bisexual-trentsucking sister plays guitar too, and she has trouble
 opening cereal boxes.  i've been in bands.  _entropy salad_ was the first.
 that sure was fun!  the singer thought he was kurt cobain, the bassist
 thought he was god, and the drummer thought he was a purple rabbit.
 unsuccessful attempt at putting my talent to use #1.  the second was a band
 called _dickhead_.  more fun!  we played the bongs more than the
 instruments.  i eventually left when they wrote a song called _lsd
 crackfuck_.  the drummer is in jail, the bassist lives in a dumpster behind
 acme, and the singer is frat-partying his way through college.  dumb shit!
 unsuccessful attempt at putting my talent to use #2.

        and where am i?  nowhere.  i feel like a character on _singles_ or
 _reality bites_ or some other stupid waste-of-my-oh-so-precious-time movie.
 but i'm living the american dream!  right?  yeah!  i can make whatever i
 want out of my life!  the land of equal opportunity!  hope!  liberty!
 justice!

        then i can complain, too.  and that's what i'll do.  if i'm sitting
 at home waiting for drugs before going to work at a gas station just so i
 can come home and go to sleep and wake up and do it again, then that's what
 i've made of my life and i will complain and complain about everything i've
 done wrong and there isn't a damned thing anyone can do about it.  the FIRST
 stupid-ass thing i did was graduate.  hahaha.  don't do it.

        * note *

        my dealer walked in just as i was finishing typing this up.  it went
 something like this :

 hooker : <she approaches>  hi!

     me : <hands over money>  yo.

 hooker : <hands over bag>  whatcha typin'?

     me : <takes bag>  i dunno.

 hooker : can i read it?

     me : i guess so.

        <at this point, she sits her filthy ass on my chair and takes about
 fifteen minutes to read the damned thing.>

 hooker : wow!  um .. that was long!

     me : huh?

 hooker : did you write that?

     me : yeah.

 hooker : why?

        <she was obviously confused as to why, exactly, anyone would partake
 in anything that didn't involve sex, drugs, or driving.>

     me : i don't know.  sometimes i write.

 hooker : oh.  what is it about?

     me : people like you.

 hooker : neat!

     me : yeah, it's going to be REALLY NEAT when i dismember you with my
          pocket knife.

        at this point, i was forced to dismember her with my pocket knife.

        one down.

 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #06> "VIDEO GAMES STOLE MY CHILDHOOD"
 ___

 author : morpheus


        my gripe is that living in my mom's basement sucks.  it's dark and
 there's too many cockroaches.  i'm tired of getting up at noon to go outside
 and do nothing.  i've spent way too long doing nothing.

        my situation can't help but seem dull when i tell my mom about the
 cool stuff i saw on the bus.  i make up stories about having friends i meet
 at the library during the day, so my mom doesn't think i'm a filthy weirdo
 looking at pornography all day in the basement ; which i am.

        video games stole my childhood, man.  i remember waking up a lot as a
 child to go play video games ; i would stay up very late to play my games,
 too.  i deeply regret every invaluable minute of my life spent saving my
 game.  i remember how i was way too involved in the role playing games, and
 how that genre of video game was particularly insidious.

        the cockroaches in the basement are worth more to me than those
 memories.

        errata : "they was having chicken and ham hocks and um fish eggs, but
 i didn't try none of those eggs, but i hear they taste like chicken."

 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #07> "PARANOID & JUSTIFIED"
 ___  

 author : eerie


        notice : this article is made from pure common sense <tm>.  it is
 blabbering-free & doesn't contain any sugary sophisms!@

 ___

        lemme tell you a story that really happened.

        nyc's got a big ass snow storm this winter.  saw it on the tv news.
 i personally thought it was funny in a way where i live we get three to four
 of those every year & we're not making such a big deal out of it.  actually,
 while the u.s. east coast was freezing its ass off, other places on the
 earth where it _should have snowed_ (here, for instance) were exceptionally
 _warm_.  hell, we broke heat records around here!  but to the point.

        what the tv news _never_ tell about is where that unbalanced weather
 comes from.  i'll give you a simple answer ; you heard it thousand times
 already between 1985 and 1990, in the middle of the eighties' ecolo-craze.

        "greenhouse effect" & "hole in the ozone layer".

        bleh.  aging lecture i'm doing here.  i'll tell you, greenpeace & co.
 were boring the hell out of me until i figured that they were kind of right.
 it's just a little different from what we thought it was.  i recall
 hearing : "yeah, greenhouse effect is rad, it's so fucking cold out here!@"
 well, we're getting no such candy.  instead, what we've got here is
 dangerously heavy climate distortion.

        typical reaction #1 : "you've got no way to prove it!@#  the weather
 changes may be produced by something else!  YOU NEVER KNOW!@"

        tell you what, those "typical reactions" scare me just as much as the
 actual "weather changes".

        YEAH, LIKE ANYBODY "KNOWS".

        i can't _really_ blame those people, though, 'cause i used to be like
 them.  always thinking that something was gonna save me & that the world i
 lived in would know no war, no fights, no problems.  it sounds pretty
 childish, but hey, it's an attitude 99.9% of the american adults share.

        what those people need to figure out is that the world is not a
 collective soul video.  there's no camera effects blurring our mistakes &
 covering our illusions with a blue halo.  you gotta live with what you've
 done, & if you don't, you're better off dead.

        your illusions have to fall down as soon as possible.  YOUR WORLD
 DOESN'T WORK RIGHT, OKAY?  now, for every single piece of information you
 get, you need to go through the _paranoia process_.  what's that shit, you
 ask?  well, i'd say it's :

        a. asking very silly questions.
        b. expecting the worst.

        OF COURSE, i have no proof that the greenhouse effect is responsible
 for the violent storms you've got, but to me it's most likely one of the
 most important causes.  fuck that "you've got no proof" attitude!  if
 there's any proof, it's hidden somewhere & you sure CAN'T GET IT, STUPID.
 like we're gonna call the white house & ask them why ..
 
        "hello mr. clinton, i'd like to know if the greenhouse effect & the
 holes in the ozone layer would be a cause of the snow storms we've got
 here .."

        "heh heh.  of course not.  we all know the cause is our beloved god,
 who is very angry these days because you're supporting republicans!@"

        hey, if the government says it's god, i guess they're right!@  those
 o-zone people are just a bunch of pinkos!@#

        the climate issue was an example.  in a previous article i explained
 that "the cia could have killed your rock stars."  (courtney love too,
 actually.)  it was another of the paranoid thoughts you can have after you
 think "a little too much".  & contrary to popular belief, those thoughts are
 _very_ wealthly & help personal growth.

        well, that's just as long as you don't start asking yourself super
 stupid questions such as : "hey, maybe my mom's a fbi agent, that'd explain
 why she doesn't let me listen to my nirvana tapes!@#"

        though, you never know, she might just as well be one ..

 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #08> "GOD LIKES DTO"
 ___  

 received by : mogel


 date: mon, 01 apr 96 10:36:57
 from: god <god@heaven.org>
 to: doomed@voicenet.com
 subject: y0ur 1mm0rt4l $0ul

 hi m0gel.  it's god.  it's been awhile since last we talked.  i just decided
 to drop you a line to tell you a few things.  first, archangel gabriel and
 have been reading over the last few issues of dto and if i were capable of
 phearing anyone, it would be you.  we were getting worried about you, and we
 thought you were the antichrist for awhile, but i guess you showed us.  keep
 up the good work.

 oh yeah, one last thing.  black francis is going to hell.

 * god almighty *
 * mail-to: god@heaven.org *
 * or send mail to "god1" through aol *

 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #09> "A MULTI-CULTURAL SPECTRUM OF ANGER"
 ___  

 author : creed


        vernie sat alone on his green burlap couch, wearing nothing but his
 ten-year-old boxer shorts that were way too small for him, cradling his
 double-barrel shotgun in his arms.

        "nobody loves me," he mumbled.  vernie was bored with life .. all he
 ever did was chew his cud and watch reruns of 'all in the family.'  "i'm
 just a redneck.  hee hee."

        vernie quickly jumped off his couch and aimed his shotgun at the
 refrigerator.  "eat this, you dirty redneck frigidaire!"  BLAM!#  the
 shotgun fired and potato salad flew violently across the room.  "hee hee!"
 vernie found great pleasure in this.  he aimed his shotgun at the noisy
 washing machine.  BLAM!#  soaking underwear and powdery detergent whipped
 through the room, smacking his naked body.  "hee hee!  how does it feel, ya
 dirty redneck washing machine?!"

 ---

        tim sat on his top bunk, in his favorite spider-man pajamas, playing
 street fighter 2 on his super nintendo.  kicking some video-ass always made
 him feel better late at night.

        "this game sucks!" he exclaimed after getting the poop beaten out of
 him by e. honda.  he slammed his controller down on the floor and jumped off
 his ed.  "stupid machine!  all you stupid games are too boring for me!"

        he looked over to his bookshelf and saw a pile of water balloons he
 had filled up earlier that day.  "alright!  i forgot about those!  hee hee!"
 he opened his window and threw a fat pink balloon at his neighbor's house.
 SPLAT!#  the balloon exploded and pink rubber bits covered the side of the
 house.  "haha, old man witherspoon's gonna flip when he finds out what i
 just did!  hee hee!"

        tim ran downstairs and out the door in his pajamas, arms filled with
 balloons of many pastel colors.  he saw his best friend's dog walking along,
 wandering the moonlit streets.  he imagined himself as a space marine in his
 favorite computer game, doom.  dropping the entire armful of balloons on the
 whimpering dog, he squealed, "hee hee!  suck my chaingun, ya stupid mutant
 hellfiend!!"

 ---

        john lay flat on his bed, listening to his new alice in chains cd,
 feeling the sharp edges of his mother's kitchen knife.  he was depressed
 with his life, and he was thinking about killing himself.

        "i hate this," he growled as he cut a hole in his new jeans.  "all i
 ever do is sit around and do nothing.  it's all my dad's fault.  life
 sucks."  he stood up quickly and kicked the television with his steel-tipped
 boots.  the screen shattered and glass fell all over the floor in one
 violent moment, with one loud crash.  john just stood there in amazement.

        "whoa," he thought.  "i broke the tv.  that rocked."  he grinned and
 kicked the window next to him.  CRASH!#  the window pane shattered and
 shards of glass fell down to the lawn outside.  "hee hee!  how do ya feel
 about that, daddy?!"

 ---

        cyndi blinked heavily as she snorted another load of cocaine in the
 bathroom at her local rave.  "jesus," she choked, "that's some heavy shit!"
 she opened her purse to get some more lipstick and fell across her handgun.
 her mother made her keep it there for self-defense.  "fucking whore bitch
 trailer-livin mom.  i wonder what she would say if she saw me doin' this."
 she snorted loudly and pulled out her handgun.

        spinning around quickly, she pulled the gun up and blew six shots at
 the toilet behind her.  KAPOW!#  shards of porcelain flew in the air and
 water dripped all over the dirty tile floor.  "hee hee!  i never liked you
 anyway, you damn toilet!"  she laughed and shot another round at the sink
 below her, where she had just washed her hands a few minutes earlier.
 BLAM!#  bullets lew in every direction and shattered parts of mirror and
 sink around her.  "hee hee!  look at all this carnage!"

 ---

        snakeeyez the modem warrior cackled madly as he connected to his
 local internet provider.  "look out cyberspace, here i come!@"  typing
 eagerly and as fast as he could, he logged on to his unix shelled and loaded
 up an irc session.  /join #hack, /join #warez, /join #ansi. "pr3pare t0 die
 l4ymurz!@"

        after talking for about five minutes and again realizing that irc is
 not a social marketplace, he loaded up his favorite warscript, d3th.irc by
 blackmoose.  grinning, practically drooling with excitement, he launched his
 attack.  /masscollide #ansi.  "hee hee!  bow down to the eliteness!#  i am
 the irc dem0n!@#"  innocent victims dropped like flies.  it was wonderful,
 seeing people hurt like that .. wreaking havoc across a worldwide network.

        the attack was complete, and snakeeyez went on to his next psychotic
 task.  he jumped on to a netsplit and went into #netsex, eagerly awaiting
 the rejoin.  and after about five minutes, it came.  server ops, /mass deop,
 /mode #netsex +mnsti.  "hee hee!#  carnage rul3z!@  some day i'll be a
 serial killer!@##@%*(!@(%*!#(%"

 ---

        dave the 'ziner yawned sleepily as he finished his boring little
 story and closed up his text editor.  "woo.  julio the bodybuilding yak."
 he was anxious to call out and submit it, but he was pretty tired.  it was
 4:30am.  he was REALLY tired.

        as his terminal program booted up, he anxiously dialed the board he
 was calling : atdt 1 215 313 3703 .. BUSY.  "damn it," he growled, "why is
 that stupid board busy at 4:30am?"  he yawned again ; his vision was
 starting to blur a bit.  "well, screw it.  i'm going to sleep."

        stumbling out of his chair, he reached his arms out to stretch and
 knocked over an empty glass of coke remnants and half-melted ice.  saying
 nothing, he ran over to his bathroom to get a towel.  a few seconds later he
 was on his knees with the towel, cleaning up the mess, responsibly.  after
 all the coke was picked up from the carpet, he grabbed the empty glass, took
 it down to his kitchen, and put it in the dishwasher.  what a nice young man
 he was.

        after his heroic deed of cleaning up the mess, dave yawned again and
 climbed into bed.  burrowing his face into the pillow, he grabbed his remote
 control and turned his television on.  an infomercial .. the miracle mop.
 dave let out a grunt and put the television's sleep-timer on.  a few minutes
 later he was fast asleep.

        what a dork.

 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #10> "A WHIMSICAL TREATISE ON THE TOPIC OF INTERDIMENSIONAL TRANSGRESSION
      & THE FALLACY OF MODERN SCIENTIFIC, THEOLOGICAL, & PHILOSOPHICAL
      BELIEFS"
 ___

 author : teletype


        i stopped to think the other day about dimensions and perceptions and
 some other mind boggling concepts incomprehensible to the likes of you.

        consider two core perceptions of which humans are incapable.  they
 are infinity and nonexistance.  this is the whole bloody infinity of
 creation we are talking about, not some mathematical infinity.  mathematics
 simply has no way to conceptualize these two concepts.  try to make a
 mathematical model of infinity.  draw a circle and follow the line from the
 beginning to the end.  you can't, wanker.  there's no beginning and end.
 this is a mathematical infinity.  consider the whole infinity of creation,
 and you get a quite different thing altogether.  likewise, you cannot
 represent a 4 dimensional nothing with a mathematical model.  yes, we are
 living in 4 dimensions - length, width, space, and time.  you make a lovely
 little x,y,z,t coordinate system and then try to plot 'nothing' on it.
 (0,0,0,0) would be a point in the very center of it all, at the beginning of
 time.  it would still exist.  humans simply cannot model the two concepts
 because we do not have means to communicate them, and hence the possibility
 of grokking them is very low.  consider an entity living in only the first
 dimension, which consists of a line.  the being would exist as a line
 segment.  moving to the fourth dimension the being can be any two
 dimensional shape living on the infinity plain of the dimension.  the same
 is true for the third dimension, in which a body would be a three
 dimensional object in the infinity of space.  up till now, they have been
 frozen in time, because time didn't exist.  add a fourth and you add time.
 now everything can move, and the whole mishmash makes bugger all sense.
 consider the popular big bang theory, in which at the beginning of time, an
 object with mass approaching nonexistance and heat approaching an infinite
 intensity.  heat == time.  could this have been a crossover from the third
 to fourth dimension?

        no.  dimensions do not exist, nor does time.  everything is there and
 that is that, damn it.  length, width, and height, and yes, time, are all
 human concepts we use to catalogue the cosmos in which we live.  just bloody
 admit that we cannot understand any of it, and philosophy is truly bunk.
 whatever you do basically doesn't matter, so sod society and do whatever
 makes you feel special.

 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #11> "THE CONVERSATION"
 ___  

 author : james hetfield


        i hurried out the door, into the bright, cold winter day.  not a
 cloud in the white sky could be seen.  in my right pocket of my grey wool
 coat laid my walkman, playing soothing sounds of tori amos into my ears.

        "hate is blindness."  i thought to myself.  "it's all relative,
 eally.  the only true way to hate someone is to ignore the fact that he is
 human and to only judge him by his flaws.  and his flaws are usually what
 puts you through pain."

        crossing the street, i was almost run over by a old, rusty, white
 thunderbird.  the driver honked at me for over 10 seconds, long after i was
 out of the way.

        "however, if hate is blindness, is love blindness as well?  can a
 person truly love another person?  or do lovers *ignore* each other's flaws?
 how can one really tell if he's in love at all?  if feelings are simply
 attraction and warmth is simply affection, where does love fit in?"

        i stood there a moment, examining this question.  i was right outside
 my junior high school, which isn't even a junior high school anymore, it's
 now a "middle school and technology center."  i think they removed a few
 trees from the front of the building and added a few more apple iies to
 create the distinction.

        "take my acting.  in the eyes of most of my peers, i was a very good
 actor.  however, my instructor always had a problem with me.  i never quite
 understood what he meant.  ever.  he always told me to 'stop trying so
 hard.'  he always told me to 'keep things simple.'  my problem was i acted
 when i acted.  actors aren't suppose to act.  they're suppose to *be*.  if
 an actor cannot *be*, he cannot act.  but actors *are not* the roles they
 portray.  this creates a paradox i never fully comprehended as an actor.  i
 still do not today.  how can i be expected to be someone i'm not?  i don't
 know what *real* acting is.  i only know what make-believe is.  i cannot be
 anyone else.  therefore, i cannot be a great actor."

        "but how am i supposed to be a lover when i don't know how to love?
 sure, i can make believe.  i can say "i love you." to her.  i can hold her
 the right way.  i can even breathe the right way.  but is that love or
 make-believe?  if love is what i think it is ; accepting someone else
 entirely into your heart and not letting go, i do not love her.  still i
 play this game, this game of make-believe, where i say my lines right and i
 have emotion and all that jazz.  but do i *love* her?"

        "god, i need her.  she fills a gap in my life that i've desperately
 needed to be filled.  i'm miserable when i'm lonely.  then again, i'm
 miserable when i'm fulfilled.  i want her around.  but is that love?  no.
 it's not.  it's a fulfilling of desires.  desires everyone has.  few want to
 be lonely forever.  many want someone to satisfy them physically,
 emotionally, and spiritually.  does that mean they love the other, because
 they meet the requirements?"

        i walked quickly past the avon factory.  workers scurried in and out
 of the building.  some went to their cars, some waited for a bus, and some
 simply stood there, smoking their cigarettes.

        "how do people *know* when they love someone?  am i missing some
 pieces of this brain of mine?  was my love-o-meter not installed when i was
 born?  or did i need to go through some rite of passage to obtain it, like a
 bar mitzvah or a confirmation?"

        "chances are love is only an illusion,  a trick played by our makers
 to get us to procreate.  "hahaha, look at the humans all lovey dovey, hahaha
 ?SYNTAX ERROR."  no, love is too easy, way too easy.  every time i even
 *begin* to like a girl, i want to let her know all about it.  it isn't hard
 to imagine the first three words that come to my mind.  but that's how we
 were taught affection was shown.  you told your parents you loved them.  you
 told the aunties and uncles you only saw once a year at christmas that you
 loved them.  you even told your pet english bulldog, dexter, that you loved
 him.  that's what you learned to say.  the words were taught, the words were
 easy."

        "but is feeling that easy?  shouldn't the love a man has for a
 woman ; and a woman has for a man be more sacred than your pet english
 bulldog, dexter?  it's true, i still think about other girls, after two
 years of our relationship.  i even fantasize about them.  but i don't love
 these other girls.  you happen to be the first girlie on my list.  does that
 automatically make me love you?"

        "damn it to hell.  i'm in xanadu with you.  with you, i escape to a
 world where all i know is peace and serenity, a world where only you and i
 exist.  still i'm very rarely lonely without you, even when we don't see
 each other for weeks on end.  i find other things to occupy my time.
 whether that means starting to watch tv again, or writing bad poetry, i
 still occupy myself.  the only times i miss you are when i'm actively
 thinking about you, which are usually only at the end of the day, when i'm
 about to fall asleep.  love would be something frequent in my thoughts,
 wouldn't it?"

        "many people have lived their lives driven by hate.  my mom's
 boyfriend lives his life this way.  instead of ever blaming himself for his
 problems, he's blaming the mexicans, or the indians, or especially, the
 africans.  prejudice is a prime example of blind hate, hating someone for
 uncontrollable factors.  people like my mom's boyfriend have no idea what
 equality is.  their lives completely center around the few faint moments
 they have observed of members of different races.  hate is a very
 self-centered emotion."

        the bus finally arrived, and then, almost as quickly as it came,
 scurried off towards rachel's house.  i had paid my 1.15 fare.  there were
 only a few of us on the bus, two factory workers, three old women going to 
 old orchard mall, and an italian with shades sitting in back.

        "therefore, love, if it is the polar opposite of hate, has to be an
 emotion that is not self-centered.  it should be one that deals with the
 other person.  but that is not true.  people love others without receiving
 the love in return.  they blindly love.  their love turns into a protection
 against reality, an umbrella against the world around them.  it becomes a
 protection against ones realization of their insignificance.  most
 importantly, it becomes a protection against the loneliness we all feel as
 separate entities.  only one human mind fits into one human skull.  until
 insane scientists figure out how to fix this problem, humans will be plagued
 with loneliness."

        i got off of the bus right outside a blockbuster video, two blocks
 from her house.  my never ending stream of consciousness made me move about
 like a zombie, aiming towards my goal without hesitation.

        i rang her doorbell, and she looked at me though the small glass
 window.  she tried to open the door, but to no avail.  the walked back into
 the kitchen.  moments later she came to the door with the key, and opened
 the door up.

        "i wish people would stop locking the fucking door while everyone is
 still home.  it's so damn annoying.  hi." she said, taking me in her arms.
 i gave her a very cold hug, one that should have obviously shown what was
 about to transpire today.

        "i have to finish cleaning up my room.  i'm sorry.  i didn't get it
 done yet.  i'll only take about ten minutes."  she said, and scampered off
 into her room.  i sat down on the nearest piece of furniture, her living
 room's two-cushioned couch.

        "what am i doing?" i thought to myself.  "am i just trying to destroy
 myself?  why am i always such a fucking truth seeker?  i'd probably be
 happier just accepting the way they are instead of over-analyzing them until
 they turn to jelly.  why am i obsessed with answering unanswerable
 questions?  why do i get off on this?"

        i shrugged off my thoughts.  "i've got to tell her.  i've been trying
 to get this out of my system for months and months, and it's about time i
 finally did something about it.  i've got to tell her."  i thought to
 myself.

        i planned out a speech a few more times in my head.  however, my
 exhaustion from staying up too late the previous night soon overwhelmed me,
 and i began to doze off on the couch.

 ---

        the lights had gone out at school that day, making it virtually
 impossible to practice in the room he and his two scene partners would
 normally use.  the entire cast of the one-act plays was scattered under the
 flood lights in the thin "n" hallway next to the theatre room.

        he stood under one of them, very amused.  "this is *perfect!* what a
 scene setter!"  he exclaimed.  his scene-mates laughed as well, for their
 entire play took place under a street lamp.

        joking around with his scene-mates, he noticed a few people he had
 never seen around the theatre room before.  one was an pakistani girl who
 spoke in a funny british accent.  the other was a very skinny, brown haired
 girl wearing a long, unbuttoned green jacket.  underneath she was wearing
 overalls, and skin tight gold velvet shirt.  she wore heavy red lipstick.

        "who is she?  more importantly, *what* is she?  talk about a confused
 get-up."  he thought to himself, and smiled.

 ---

        she was sitting on the floor of the black stage.  she was
 daydreaming, her head not moving at all.   she had on tight blue jeans and a
 baggy navy blue t-shirt.  he stood there, watching her, daydreaming as well.

        "zib.  you're staring."  steve, his best friend, said.

 ---

        the sky was a strong blue, and the warmth of a compassionate sun
 beamed down at two of its favorite admirers.  she was lying down on the red
 wooden bench, her knees up but her back on the bench.  the courtyard was
 singing a tune of its own, birds and other spring noises chirping about.  he
 looked down at her and her short-sleeved brown and green and off tone white
 and red and yellow striped t-shirt.

        "with marxism, we'd have a society without competition.  a society
 without competition is a society based on brotherhood and compassionate
 existence, all traits capitalism lack."  she bolted out.  he listened
 intently to her rants about the modern state.  he was acting like the boy
 who had found his first curve, pretending the benches he leaped across were
 tightropes.  " .. and it is a very practical institution.  although russia
 failed at it miserably, because the ussr leaders were too power hungry, i
 believe it can be done."

        she laid there, not moving a muscle, only looking up at him every
 once in a while.  he looked back.

 ---

        they sat next to each other in the back yard, absorbed by the
 darkness around them.  the small wooden ledge they sat on was little more
 than a piece of wood, but neither of them were complaining.  he watched her
 in her brown t-shirt and palazzo pants, watched her pull grass out of the
 ground handful by handful.

        "you know, you're doing quite a number on the lawn there."  he said.

        "oh .. well.  it's a habit i have."  she said.

        the night sky was not clear enough to see any stars, and the wind was
 only a whisper.

        "i only got an eighty-three on the paper i had to write for
 mr. schutt's class.  i just don't get it.  i spent a lot of time on that
 paper, and i'm easily one of the best writers in the class, but he never
 likes anything i write.  all my other teachers have loved my writing.  i
 just can't figure him out." she said.

        "you're pretty hard to figure out." he said.

        "you're pretty hard to figure out, too." she said.

 ---

        the air inside the stairwell sweat from the heat.  the smoldering sun
 blasted down against them through the paned windows that was the fourth wall
 of the stairwell.  they sat at the very top of the staircase, both dressed
 black on black.  she looked over at him, his face blinding because of the
 sunlight pouring down onto it.  he looked over at her, noticing pearl
 earrings and her clogs.

        they spoke about everything and anything, to keep each other from
 facing that awkward moment when no one is listening and no one is speaking.
 yet soon no one was talking.

        his eyes could not leave her face.  they were glued there by a force
 he simply could not control.  she stared at him as well, looking deeply for
 a sign within his eyes.  blue when afar, green when next to him, she noticed.

        without thought, without analysis, and without explanation, his hand
 crept up past her chin and caressed her cheek.  a slow, warm smile grew on
 her face.  she leaned over to him and lightly touched his lips to hers.

 ---

        i woke up to find her moving her hand slowly up and down my arm.  my
 first sight was her smiling face.  small bars of light descended upon it
 from outside the venetian blinds.

        "i'm done cleaning." she said softly.  she smiled at me again.

        there was no longer any choice in the matter anymore.  i had to say
 exactly what i was thinking.

        "i love you."

        "i love you, too." she said warmly, reaching over to embrace me.

 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #12> "BLACK SHOE, BLUE SHOE"
 ___  

 author : juke


        black shoe, blue shoe.  i have to get over the hill.  i had planned
 on being here today.  what i didn't plan on was having different coloured
 shoes.

        do you know how upsetting this is?  no, i don't think you do.  i'm in
 the middle of a war, and croatians are laughing at me because i have one
 black shoe and one shoe that is blue.

        at the moment, i'm just climbing over a hill, so it's no big deal.
 but when i get over the hill, how am i supposed to shoot those wacky
 CROATIANS?

 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #13> "KELLY GETS HER TONSILS OUT"
 ___  

 author : murmur


        kelly was a mischievous little girl.  she was only six but was
 already considered a #1 trouble-maker at school.  of course, she had an
 incredibly dynamic personality, for a six-year-old, and she got lots of
 other first graders in trouble, too.

        one day bobby came to school and was really excited.  he'd lost his
 first tooth the night before and the tooth fairy had come and given him a
 HALF DOLLAR.  he was positively ecstatic.

        "wow!  a whole HALF DOLLAR!" shouted mary.

        "wow, there really *is* a tooth fairy!" squealed roger.

        "i know!  i know!  and look!  this tooth here is loose too."  bobby
 wiggled at his other lower front tooth, which looked as if it may come out
 any day.

        "big deal," said kelly, walking into the crowd.  she wasn't bigger
 than any of them, but she was a mature six-year-old.  in a sense.  "the
 tooth fairy is nothing."

        "you call this nothing!?#" bobby frantically asked, wiggling his half
 dollar low in the air.

        "yeah.  that's nothing.  look at this!"  and thus kelly pulled out an
 actual DOLLAR BILL.  the other kids were stunned.

        "kelly, how did you get a whole DOLLAR?" asked susan, flabbergasted.

        "wow!  it's got george president d00d on it and everything!" said
 mark, positively amazed.

        "it's simple, really.  there's a better fairy than the tooth fairy.
 the butt fairy."

        "THE BUTT FAIRY#?!#?" squealed all of the other first graders,
 shocked at hearing of this new, magical creature.

        "yep.  the butt fairy.  the butt fairy works kind of like the tooth
 fairy.  but a little different.  what you have to do is, right before you go
 to bed, you've got to poop under your pillow.  i mean, you need to lift your
 pillow up and poop there.  then don't wipe your butt.  then when you're
 asleep, the butt fairy will come, and check under your pillow.  if you
 pooped for him, then he'll check your butt to make sure it's your poop, and
 he'll take the poop from under the pillow and leave you money!  if it was a
 really big poop he might leave you a WHOLE DOLLAR@!"

        the kids were absolutely amazed.  they talked about it all day.

        "do you really think there's a butt fairy?" asked john.

        "would kelly lie to us, john?" mary said.

        by the end of the day, they were all pretty darn convinced that the
 butt fairy existed, and they even decided they wouldn't poop all day until
 bed time so they could leave the biggest possible poop for the tooth fairy.

        the school bell rang, and they all went their separate ways.

        the next day, the first grade teacher, mrs. wheaton, was flooded with
 visits from various mothers and fathers, asking about some sort of "butt
 fairy" nonsense.  apparently at least twelve kids from the class had pooped
 on their beds before they went to sleep and at least one of them, bobby, a
 notorious tosser and turner, had wound up rolling his pillow off onto the
 floor and rolling his head through his own poop.

        one of the children said that it was kelly that had told them all
 about the butt fairy.  but kelly wasn't at school, because she was busy
 getting her tonsils out that day.

 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #14> "WILD JESUS"
 ___  

 author : dead cheese


        you think i _like_ being the son of god?  do you know what i have to
 go through every damned day?  "oh jesus, heal me!  i've got terrible corns!"
 or "christ, my lord, i need help!  my sheep have shrunken testicles and can
 not reproduce!  i'll be ruined!"  as if i give a flying sack of shit whether
 his sheep have big nads or not.  it's not my fucking problem.

        jesus fucking christ, stop hoarding the brewski.

        "forgive me father for i have sinned."

        like i was saying, these jackasses come up to me pissing and moaning
 about this affliction here or this dead mother there.  i've got better
 things to do than lay hands on some cockhead who has some green shit
 spurting from his member because he was left alone with the family dog for a
 few hours.

        man, if you try touching my hand again, i'll really lay hands on you,
 buttsucker.

        "my lord, i prostrate myself before thee and beg thee for
 forgiveness."

        anyway, now i have some wanker who must have a tiny prick after me
 because all these idiots are calling me king of the jews.  the jews can suck
 me for all i care.  just because i heal some weiner's mom and bring some
 asshole back from the dead, the damned semites think i'm their savior or
 something.  sorry sack of idiots.

        hey, what's up sugar?  what say you and i share a little heavenly
 love?

        "my lord christ, hallowed art thy name.  i must remain virgin until
 the day i am bound in love with another soul."

        hey baby, i ain't gonna tell the old man.  guh.  fucking bitch.  all
 that sweet purity shit really pisses me off.  you'd think one of these 
 people'd want to have a little fun.  you know, rub uglies.  stupid assholes.
 man, i hate people.

 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #15> "RITALIN - CONDIMENTS ; CHAPTER 815"
 ___  

 author : murmur (with help from jamesy, mogel, neko, & trilobyte)


        i take the knife, i take the knife, i take the knife, i take yo' hip.
 like, gangbusters, ninja chuck!  smack dem long johns to and fro, watch that
 engine, flow, flow, grimace like a walrus, you imp!  it don't grow on them
 trees, mister jimmy.  think about it.  _B_.  it's big, bigger than your cow,
 great horny toads!  "forever greece," reverberated she unto herself,
 spasmodically shimmying and jigging to the definitive jungle sounds:  "guh!
 guh!"  poor, poor jackasses.  little did they know that the sky was falling
 at little less than swallow speed.  avalanche@!  and thus went the dreams of
 the rest of the pitiful race, immersed in their chocolate candy-covered
 blood, disjoint from the intersection of a lattus rectum and your pathetic
 ass.  "save the whales!" shouted the immigrant, as he approached the
 officer, grinning through coffee-stained teeth.  little did he know that
 we're not gonna take it!  because i wanna rock and roll all night!  and
 party every day!  you filthy jackass.  like anyone wanted your input, you
 miserable excuse for a sloth-imitation.  just go to hell, or at the very
 least, pay that fuckin' toll on the way out, you miserable food.  unless,
 and there she goes again, she's my best friend's girl, but she used to be
 john denver's cousin.  then she was disowned by the man in the marble
 statue, and that probably really burns, doesn't it, mister sellout?  that's
 what i thought.  i don't need this corporation attitude, no matter how big
 your pansy-ass _B_ might be.  riboflavin for that?  like.  or whatever in.

        moral : i don't want to hurt you, even though you sell bread.

 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #16> "MY BELLY"
 ___  

 author : mogel


        i want to be a big, fat dope.  i was looking at my stomach today &
 it's just too, too dull.  i want to drink beer & hang out in bars.  i want
 to watch every sporting event that comes on tv.  i want to talk about
 "pussies" & "real men".  just sitting around, becoming more & more physical
 mass - completely satisfied with my big, stupid hunk of pointlessness.

        i sure hope that my sarcasm detectable enough *this* time, guys!  but
 what if i'm being serious this time?  uh oh!@

        in a matter of a year, i've bounced from a self-destructive fucknose,
 to a goal-making mover & shaker, to someone who doesn't give a fuck anymore
 about logic.  ok, that's a lie.  but i have been dreaming about ways that i
 can be more of a slacker & a free-loader & a generation-x stereotype my
 whole life.  i only need just enough money to survive - i should relax &
 enjoy things, right?  life is short & who cares, right?

        unfortunately, i've been *cursed* with thought.  smoking & beer & 
 drugs ain't nothin' to me.  i piss all over intelligence.  original
 thought?!  this is america.  WHO NEEDS IT?  the fact is that 99% of what you
 think and feel is not an original thought.  individuality is important, but
 relative.  today's original guy is not marked by the clothes they wear, or
 the level of 'rebel' that they are.  today's originality is measured by
 whatever new levels of synthesis a person's thought has taken them.

        "how can you measure thought?"

        you can't.  HOW VERY IRONIC!#

        stupid people should be thanking me for being the unlucky *asshole*
 that got stuck with the brain.  my hands are shaking 'cause i've shoveled so
 much slop into my mind in the past few years that i can't even think without
 triple-thinking myself into a debate-loop.  maybe i should just give up &
 start writing sit-coms.

        .. & people ask me why i think common sense is a joke.

        "the big give up" is a certainly not a pattern that i invented.  it's
 been going on for years, by everyone.  fun for the whole family!#  you can't
 help but look around & see so many things in ruin.  people are screaming for
 something new.  society's thousands upon thousands of piling up problems can
 ONLY overwhelm you.  i was thinking about tossing in some great little
 concepts like relativity & objectism, but it's all for waste.  i'm a
 burn-out before i even started.  if only the planet earth could just run
 away from it's problems - or better yet, pretend that they don't exist.  a
 fresh start, a new clean slate.

        bullshit congressmen & concerned citizens take it upon themselves to
 get informed on issues, debate them, & come to a "higher understanding".
 well, that is what's supposed to happen in theory.  the very concept of
 debate in modern times makes me break out laughing.

        you want to know what the inherent problem with debate is?

        you can win *ANY* debate.  an issue is *never* made ultimate, a
 discussion is never *really* over & there are no *final* conclusions on the
 planet.  there's this great rule that says there is an exception to every
 rule, but the only exception to that rule is humanity's lack of conclusion.

        a history professor once told me that the great thing about our
 world is that someone will always believe something, no matter how asinine.
 no matter what the issue, some dumbface out there will think the opposite.
 there will _never_ be a unanimous worldwide vote.  there will never be a
 point of anything that *every* human being on this planet will agree with.
 you begin realizing that there simply isn't enough death in the world,
 anymore.

        the question of individual significance gets hit back and forth for
 many people like a game of ping pong.  where does a human being even BEGIN
 to make their mark on the world?  how can someone take their own lame-ass
 personal problems seriously when there's so many people worse off?

        "your troubles are your own."

        whoever said that didn't live in the 90s.

        i can't wait.  i'll be a big, fat man with a massive belly.  i'd
 watch it wiggle & jiggle.

 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #17> "ASCII STOOPIT STRIPS : BOB'S BUCKET BONANZA"
 ___  

 author : dead cheese


 .-----------------------.-----------------------.--------------------------.
 | .zzzzz    do you like |                       |    mother always liked   |
 | j    o    / my butt?  |         enjoy!        |       the oak trees.     |
 | j c   ) /             |                       |                          |
 | j    <                |       \  o o  /       |               W          |
 |  aAAa                 |       .rhubarb.       |               |          |
 |   AA                  |         * o *         | %  N          |          |
 |   Aaaa                |          /\/          | % x  Vww      hh     S   |
 |  (A                   |           |           | %      wOOOOOOOooooooO   |
 |___A,,_________________|_______________________|__%%%%%%%OOOOOOOOOOOOOO___|


 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #18> "THE CHAOS THEORY ; SUNDAY, JULY 17"
 ___  

 author : eerie


        "you should _really_ look for work."

        "i know."

        the thermometer said 85.  i was still lying on the sweat stinking
 mattress, suffering from the heat.

        "i'm gonna check out the ads in the newspaper, don't worry."

        she left the bathroom dressed in underwear, still brushing her hair,
 & added, as if i needed to know :

        "i can pay the rent for next month, but for the one after it's gonna
 be a little more complicated."

        "i said don't worry."

        "alright."

        she went back to the mirror, while i was turning over myself, another
 time, just as i did all night long because of the incredible humidity.
 cynthia actually did sleep, though.

        "what are you doing today, dear?"

        "i don't like it when you call me dear."

        she threw an inquisitive look at me by the bathroom mirror.

        "why in hell?  you've never told me that before!"

        "i'm tired of it right now.  you get tired of everything, you know."

        she went back to her hair.  i answered her first question :

        "maybe i'll stay.  or else, i'll go.  i've no idea."

        "i have to go at sophie's today."

        "well, have a good day, then."

        "tonight we could go out, though."

        "uh-huh."

        i pulled the flannelette bed-sheet and covered myself with it so i
 could hide from the morning sun that was roaming through the half-opened
 stores.  i hate it when there's so much light in the room.  but cynthia
 _loves_ light.  i have no clue about how she does it.

        cynthia finished her hair, then her make-up, and she went back to the
 room to finish dressing up.  through the transparence of the bed-sheets all
 i saw was a short blue jean covering her butt.  haven't moved my head from
 its initial position.  she bent forward, uncovered my head and kissed me,
 then she departed.

        after the door closed i stayed for about half an hour, trying to
 understand my case.  while i was kissing cynthia's skin, the night before,
 and even the day before at noon, it was annie's skin that i was feeling.
 while pressing my lips against the space between her breasts i was seeing
 annie's heart, under an ear lobe i was seeing her jagged cortex.  while
 penetrating her i was feeling her cerebral space emtping itself, as a
 five-second liberation.  cynthia never enjoyed it that much.

 ___

        i finally went up and got dressed.  ate something, i think it was
 peach yogurt.  wrote a little message.  then i left the place.  i took the
 bus.  there wasn't too many people.  it was two pm.

        when i got at her place, i knocked the door but she wouldn't answer.
 so i tried to open it, and surprisingly enough it wasn't locked.  entered
 the apartment, called her name once.  then i caught sight of her ; she was
 lying, naked, on her bed, eyes closed, illuminated by the outside light,
 refreshed by the fan.  didn't want to act as a voyeur or to interrupt her
 slumber, so i let her sleep, and went to the kitchen.  once again i read the
 magazines so i could learn more about my future mental disease.  i read
 about neuroleptics, a medication that is used to calm the patient in crisis
 that was introduced forty years ago ; i read about the ratio of
 schizophrenics who can live a normal life : a third work without too many
 problems, another third are chronic patients of psychiatric institutions
 where the last third must reside regularly ; i read about a team of
 scientists who located a gene in chromosome 11 that's involved in the
 disease ; i read about side effects ascriben to the use of neuroleptics,
 affecting 20% of the patients, causing uncalled contractions of the face &
 the tongue ; i read about the manifestation itself of the disease, which is
 something scientists know - they just don't know _why_ it happens.  how
 cool, don't you think?

        haven't heard annie entering the kitchen.  she said hello with a
 voice that couldn't mask the surprise.  she was wearing a long blue bugs
 bunny t-shirt - well, not long enough to hide the lower part of her buttock.
 she took a pint of milk from the fridge & drank some.  then she came near me
 to see what i was reading.  i asked her how she was doing, she replied
 "fine, how about you?"

        "i don't know."

        "what time is it?"

        checked out my watch.  "quarter to three."

        "i went to sleep at five this morning."

        "i got in bed at three."

        "i'm gonna take a shower."

        she left me alone.  i went to her room, sat on her bed, facing the
 window.  while hearing the shower noise i observed the activity occurring in
 the alley outside.  kids playing kid games ; & still, in that ultra-cliche
 scene there was something kind of affecting me about it.  see, those
 children are built even more simple-like than the simpliest creature.  me,
 you, everyone knew that state of simplicity.  however, time passed & our
 brains grew out of proportions, giving us the conciousness of the interior &
 exterior worlds, & while complexifying, our knowledge turned into failure at
 an exponential rate.

        i felt on the mat, sucking up the bed smell, delicious imprint of her
 sweet skin, superb perfume.  then i watched the ceiling & waited for her to
 be done.  was still watching it when she came into the room & dressed up.

        "why did you come here anyway?"

        "wanted to see you."

        "really?"

        "yeah.  actually i thought about you all of last night."

        "when you're tired of the song, all you have to do is to sing it & it
 goes away."

        "yeah, but it always comes back to you, y'know."

        silence.  it was somehow a kitch convo anyway.  she too got tempted
 by the mattress & dropped sweetly on my side.  the ventilator was getting
 her hair dry, & its steady noise was a lullaby that put us to sleep.

 ___

        actually i could sleep calmly until an inhuman shriek woke me up,
 followed by another deadly call - her call - intermittent howls mixed with
 an abrupt breath.  that was coming from the kitchen.  i got up quick & found
 her crushed in a corner of the room as if she was thrown there, eyes like
 marbles, her cry turning more & more into a sickly orgasmic high-pitched
 squeal, trying to defend against an imaginary enemy.  i tried to take her in
 my arms to reassure her but i'm the one who got the hysterical pokes in the
 face.  i holded her, panicked.  her face was a quarry's face.  i shouted :
 "SHUT UP!  IT'S JUST ME!  HE'S GONE!  I DON'T WANT TO HURT YOU!" but she
 replied with wacks i couldn't understand & knocked her knee on my testicles.
 i felt on the floor, filled with loud pain.  she stepped back to the wall,
 breathed hardly.  the neighbour's complaints were crashing through the floor
 up to the kitchen, accompanied with thousand miscellaneous noises.

        she finally shut her eyes down & felt on the floor too.  i stayed
 there for a couple minutes, silently suffering, & when the pain started to
 lay back, i approached annie, checked out her pulse.  correct, she's alive.
 i put her in her bed, then went to the bathroom to wet my face & check out
 my genitalia.  it was almost a surprise that everything was still in place.
 her bugs bunny tee was in the shower, all damp.  i took it & put it on my
 face, don't know exactly why.  checked out the time : seven pm.  remembered
 the projects i had with cynthia for tonight & forgot it just as quick.
 there was something more important for now.  no matter the consequences.

        annie finally woke up in sweat.

        "w - what ..?"

        "shht.  nothing, just your aggressor.  he's come here, but now he's
 gone."

        she looked at me seeming amazed, as if she didn't really believe me.

        "i have .. really vague souvenirs."

        "forget that & sleep."

        "why are you worrying about me?  why are you doing this?"

        didn't answer.  "how about going to the theatre?  i'm sure there's
 some decent flick playing tonight."

        she smiled.

        we parted fifteen minutes later.  since we came back late, again i
 slept with her.  the temperature was hot, & she was only wearing the room's
 half-light.  she said i was gonna get tired of her.  i said i didn't think
 so, well, not right now.  she laughed & turned on the ventilator.

 ____________________________________________________________________________


 #19> "BREAD"
 ___  

 author : ogre de latoya


 if this loaf of bread
 were your head
 when i cut the bread,
 i'd cut your head,
 & i would be fed
 with your head.
 yes i'd eat your head,
 while in my bed,
 & then to your head
 i would've said :
 "'tis better being dead
 than a loaf of bread!"

                                     ____
                                  ___|  |_ _
                               ___|  |  _______
                               |     |  |     | 
                               |  |  |  |  |  | 
 ----------------------------- |  |  |  |  |  | -----------------------------
 ----------------------------- |  |  |  |  |  | -----------------------------
                               |  |  |  |  |  |
                               |  |  |  |  |  |
                               |_____|  |_____|
                                     |___ _

        please direct all dto correspondence towards - doomed@voicenet.com
  call that stupid place - doomed to obscurity's bbs system - 215-985-0462
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  (c) copyright 1996 doomed to obscurity productions - all rights reserved.

          "better living through sheer idiocy & a whole lot of free time."

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