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t h e n e o - c o m i n t e r n e l e c t r o n i c m a g z i n e
I n s t a l l m e n t N u m b e r 1 5 1
We Are the New International
April 22nd, 2001
Editor: BMC
Writers:
Heckat
BMC
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;P Featured in this installment .b
$ $
$ Crossing the Alps - Heckat $
$ The Semicolon - BMC $
`q p'
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EDITOR'S NOTE
(please do not read the following)
Don't be scared, it's just a new era for the Neo-Comintern. The
days of Metal Steeze are behind us and now we can move on to a braver and
sexier future. But what lies in store? I'm sorry to inform you that you
will never find out.
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;P CROSSING THE ALPS .b
`q by Heckat p'
`nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'
Mr. W likes elephants and his greatest wish in life is to be able to
go to Africa and ride an elephant over the Alps like Hannibal Lecter did.
Sometimes, when he is really hungry, he goes to the local peanut shop and
orders a special brand of Zairian peanut that makes him feel closer to his
dream. Everything is beautiful and serene in the world he imagines for
himself.
The trouble (not for him, but perhaps for us) is that W lives in
Climax, Everlocal and the name is merely a poor substitute for any real
action. The local peanut shop I mentioned is actually just Gordon's General
Store and the Zairian peanut is just the half-nut on the top of a jar of
Squirrel butter. But not to fear, Mr. W can always dream, and dream he
does.
One day, a little girl came upon W lying under what he imagined was
a sycamore tree. It was actually a pine tree, but Mr. W just pictured a
tree with five-lobed leaves and two-winged fruit instead of pointy needles,
and he was in Heaven. Anyway, this girl came hopping along, and now I
remember that she was not that little but a mature woman of sixteen. The
girl came hopping along and saw our man under the tree and she thought,
because he looked so peaceful and was lightly humming, that he was a gentle
spirit from another land. She stood and stared at the gent who was draped
in gauze-like clothing and began to wonder how to approach him. Oh, you may
be wondering about the gauze-like attire of Mr. W because it has not been
mentioned thus far, but there was a perfectly good explanation for it. He
had a condition called Chronic Uticaria and had to wear loose clothing that
didn't rub in order to prevent hives from erupting all over his body. In
fact, he had a robe made out of the gauzy fabric to meet his special needs.
Even that did not prevent all hives from appearing. Actually, W had a huge
collection of hives on his left shoulder blade as he lay under the tree, but
he was not worried about them or uncomfortable at that moment because he was
so entranced by the sycamore... erh... I mean pine tree.
Anyway, back to this girl. Her name was Beebread because her
parents had died in a horrible bee-attack just before she was born in a
rescue-ambulance. The orphanage kids had named her after they found out
about the accident.
So, when Beebread hopped upon Mr. W under the tree, she whispered
under her breath in order to attract his attention. She did not think it
wise to speak too loudly to a wonderful angel, but because her whisper was
so quiet, Mr. W did not hear her and stayed lost in his own world. She
decided he must be in a contemplative trance, so she walked away sad and
lonely, no wanting to disturb him.
Later that day when it was pitch black outside (ok, I guess that
would make it night), Beebread went back to the place where she had seen W,
and she laid in the grassy indent where his body had been. Soon she began
to notice that the pine was not a pine at all but a beautiful fruity kind of
tree she had never seen before. Ecstatic, she believed her vision to be
inspired by the kind spirit.
Over the next year, the planets continued to move in their orbits
and everyone continued to grow old. Mr. W died and his spirit drifted
happily over the African Alps (yes, there is ignorance even in death) on the
back of a golden elephant. As for Beebread, she eventually realized that
her spiritual revelation was little more than a telepathic delusion and she
lost her virginity to a travelling salesman who, in a post-orgasmic moment
of clarity, told her he used to train elephants in his past life.
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;P THE SEMICOLON .b
`q by BMC p'
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The semicolon is a wonderful piece of punctuation; you can use it to
join two independent clauses AKA two chunks of written language that could
otherwise stand by themselves as sentences; this is good; it prevents comma
splices and allows you to link two sentences that the reader might not
otherwise connect; I have loved the semicolon for a long time; the semicolon
has been a friend of mine ever since I learned how to use it back in my
first year of university; I didn't know how to use it at first; my current
ability to use the semicolon is PERFECT; I can use it so well that there is
no need for me to use other forms of punctuation anymore; other punctuation
might look better and be easier to read but I don't care; I do it for me and
nobody else; I don't even use any punctuation but the semicolon ever anymore
because it's my life and I can do whatever I want;
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___________________________________________________
|THE COMINTERN IS AVAILIABLE ON THE FOLLOWING BBS'S |
|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|
| TWILIGHT ZONE (905) 432-7667 |
| BRING ON THE NIGHT (306) 373-4218 |
| CLUB PARADISE (306) 978-2542 |
| THE GATEWAY THROUGH TIME (306) 373-9778 |
|___________________________________________________|
| Website at: http://members.home.com/comintern |
| Email BMC at: thebmc@home.com |
|___________________________________________________|
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Copyright 2001 by The Neo-Comintern #151-04/22/01
All content is property of The Neo-Comintern.
You may redistribute this document, although no fee can be charged and the
content must not be altered or modified in any way. Unauthorized use of any
part of this document is prohibited. All rights reserved. Made in Canada.